I nodded. “Slightly. It’s Jasper Ware. He’s a writer.”
Liddell scowled. “What time did you find him?”
“It was about eight-thirty. I was helping clean up after the book reading and came up here to make a phone call.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“No.”
“Did you touch anything?”
I shook my head.
Liddell glanced around and scowled. “Was this area off limits tonight?”
“Yes. Charlotte had the second and third floors roped off for the book reading. She wanted everyone to stay on the first floor for security.”
“But you didn’t.” Liddell sounded accusatory and I hurried to defend myself.
“Charlotte was downstairs and I wanted some privacy for my call.”
“Did you notice anyone go upstairs during the party tonight?”
I shook my head. “No, sorry, I didn’t see anyone.”
Liddell motioned towards a tall, broad-shouldered officer in blue. “How about it, Jack?”
Sergeant Jack Wilkins flipped open his notebook and began to read aloud. “The victim is Jasper Ware, age forty-nine. Mystery writer. He lives at 90 Sleepy Hills Lane with his wife, Nora Ware. The deceased was attending a book reading tonight hosted by the manager of Inkwell Books, Charlotte Whipple. The deceased arrived a little before six and according to several guests was somewhat intoxicated. According to Ms. Whipple, the lights went out around 7:55 p.m. She went and fixed the fuse and the lights were restored around 8:00. Presumably the murder was committed during that time.”
“Small window,” Liddell noted. “What about suspects?”
“Yes, sir, too many. There were fifty-five people at the book reading tonight according to the guest book. Ms. Whipple had a rope across the stairs to keep everyone on the first floor, but as you can see it would’ve been easy to duck underneath.”
“What about the back door? Could someone have snuck inside?”
Jack shook his head. “The back door was unlocked but the alley has a lot of a dirt and debris. We couldn’t find any sign of footprints in or out.”
Liddell let out a sound between a grunt and a groan. “So, it looks like it was one of the guests.”
“Yes, sir. We’ve made a list of everyone who was here and are in the process of getting them to come downtown and make a statement. It might take some time.”
“What a nightmare.” Liddell knelt down again by the body. “Doesn’t look like there’s much chance of suicide judging by the angle of the knife, but I guess anything is possible. The weapon looks unique, that should tell us something.”
“Yes, sir, we have our photographers on it now and can get some experts as soon as we remove the body.”
“No doubt as to cause of death?”
“There aren’t any other wounds on the body but we’ll have to wait for Doc Lewis to tell us officially.”
“It’s an interesting pose: one hand pointing directly up over the head and the other at a ninety degree angle to the left. Doesn’t look natural, does it?” Liddell followed the direction of Jasper’s outstretched hand and I followed his gaze. Jasper was pointing towards a large collection of Bibles in foreign languages. “No signs of a struggle.”
“No, sir.”
“Not much blood, is there?”
“No, sir, but we can probably assume the murderer at least got something on his or her hands.”
Liddell turned back to the body with a grunt. “Okay, let’s get to it.”
Sergeant Jack knelt down beside Liddell, and I watched as they began to catalogue the items in Jasper’s pockets. The right hand coat pocket held a crumpled letter addressed to the deceased from Bryant Ross Publishing and two wadded twenty-dollar bills. The left-hand pocket had a comb and a black notebook filled with names and numbers, mostly women. The trouser pockets held pens, loose change, receipts and Jasper’s wallet. As Sergeant Jack flipped through the contents I noticed a number of credit cards and a large wad of cash. Mixed up with the money was a slip of paper.
“What is that?” Liddell demanded.
Sergeant Jack handed it to his boss. “It looks like a book list, sir.”
I edged closer to Liddell and read the short list of titles: A Case of the Mondays: Self-Help for Daily Life; Hotel Du Lac; and A Tale of Two Cities. It was hardly a glimpse into the twisted mind of a homicidal killer, although I’d always considered self-help books a slippery slope.
Liddell bent again over the body. “He has something in his hand.”
Sergeant Jack bent down and carefully extracted a small scrap of paper from Jasper’s right hand.
“It’s a note, sir. Meet me in International Classics at eight.”
“Is it signed?” Liddell asked hopefully.
Sergeant Jack shook his head and Liddell sighed. “Alright, let’s get this cleaned up.”
As Jack began bagging the items they’d found, I glanced down the stairs and saw a small crowd forming at the bottom. Rose and Sabrina Elliott were at the front of the group, and I turned back to Liddell.
“Can I go talk to the locals?”
“Don’t go too far, Elspeth, we’ll need you to come to the station and sign a statement.”
“Sure thing, Chief.”
I gave a mock salute and walked down to the Elliott sisters. I noticed they’d both changed clothes since I’d seen them.
“Charlotte just called us. What happened, Elspeth?’ Sabrina asked eagerly.
I explained to them about finding Jasper’s body and the dagger and Sabrina nodded. “I’ve been expecting something like this!”
I was a little taken aback. Expecting Jasper Ware to be stabbed in the chest with an antique dagger at a romance book reading? Even for a fiction writer it seemed a bit of a stretch.
“I heard there was something odd about the body. The arms didn’t look natural.”
“Yes,” I said. “One was directly overhead pointing towards the window and the other was ninety degrees to the right pointing towards some Bibles.”
Sabrina nodded. “Poetic justice, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“The murder scene. It’s just like the one from Jasper’s first book, Deadly Harbor.”
Everything suddenly clicked into place. That’s why it all seemed so familiar! The one and only book I’d read of Jasper’s featured the murder of a writer, a bloody dagger, and the position of the arms on the body as the main clue.
I shook my head. “That’s crazy.”
“No, it’s all here, Elspeth,” Sabrina said decisively. “Rose was just telling me about it. The scene of the crime is a bookstore in a small town in the Hudson River Valley. The murder weapon is an antique dagger, and the arms on the body point toward the Hudson to the north and towards a stack of Bibles to the west, giving us the initials of the murderer, NW. Or in this case, Nora Ware!”
“Nora,” I exclaimed. “That’s ridiculous.” But even as I spoke the words I felt a frisson of doubt.
“Was the wife the murderer in Deadly Harbor?” I asked.
Sabrina flushed and seemed to lose a bit of her composure. “Well, I don’t really remember that part, it’s been a while since I read it.”
“Yes, you do, Sabrina!” Rose declared. “I was just telling you before Elspeth got here: the murderer was the jilted fiancée! She killed him with the dagger she’d bought as a wedding gift.”
The enormity of what she’d said finally dawned on Rose and she flushed and looked away. “Of course, it’s all just silly nonsense. In the book the fiancée’s initials were NW and your initials are SE.”
I was about to reply that reality was becoming stranger than fiction, but just then Liddell came back down the stairs. He eyed me narrowly and I sensed further interrogation was imminent. Before I could get away s
omeone clapped me hard on the back.
“Wow, Betts, you’ve really done it this time! A real life murder mystery!”
Julia glanced around excitedly and I grimaced. As much as I disdained mysteries, Julia adored them. She was a sucker for any locked room, caper, cozy or whodunnit that crossed her path, and she chattered on about Dalgliesh, Lewis, Jury, Alleyn and Wimsey like they were old friends. It was widely known that Julia’s penchant for mystery novels often spilled over into real life, and on numerous occasions she’d been convinced something dark and sinister was going on in All Hallows. If every one of Julia’s suspicions had panned out our town would have more mysterious deaths than St. Mary Mead, Carsely and Maggody combined.
I tried to shush her as I saw Chief Liddell look over at us and frown. “Please don’t say I’ve done it, Julia, you’re going to send me to the electric chair!”
She snorted. “They don’t use the death penalty here; you’ll just get life in prison.”
I was hardly cheered by her legal assessment. “How did you hear about it?”
“Charlotte called me. She’s been phoning all over town; it’s free publicity for her store. Here comes the press!”
We watched Crispin Wickford scurry down the stairs, and I noticed his cheeks were red and splotchy. “I saw the body! I thought I was going to be sick. Isn’t it terrible?
“Yes, it’s awful,” I agreed.
“Apparently, everyone who was here for the book reading is a suspect.” He turned to the Elliott sisters. “Would either of you give a statement?”
I listened as Rose and Sabrina filled him on the details. They got to the part about the dagger and Crispin paused in his writing.
“No hard feelings, then, Elspeth?”
I regarded him uneasily. “Hard feelings about what?”
“About that argument you had with Jasper tonight.”
“I would hardly characterize it as an argument,” I noticed Chief Liddell was watching us closely and I lowered my voice. “We merely agreed to disagree.”
“Didn’t you specifically mention a dagger?” Crispin persisted.
“Yes, but that particular weapon fits the plot of dozens of mystery books, not just Jasper’s.”
“Still, it’s an interesting coincidence.”
“It’s no such thing!”
“Whatever you say, Elspeth,” Crispin assumed an expression of oily bonhomie. “But Rose and Sabrina were just telling me that Jasper’s arms were positioned to the south and east, just like in Deadly Harbor.”
“North and west,” I corrected automatically.
Crispin closed his notebook and observed me in triumph. “I think I have enough for my article, but I’ll have to move the story on the Bracebridge Festival.” He said the last somewhat reproachfully, as if my inconsideration in finding the body of Jasper Ware had a deleterious effect on more worthy local events.
We all turned as Chief Liddell approached. He observed each of us before addressing me.
“Did Mr. Ware do or say anything tonight that seemed out of the ordinary?”
I shook my head. “He was no more offensive than usual.”
“Yes, he was, remember, Elspeth?” Rose broke in eagerly. “He announced his engagement to Violet Ambler! We were all shocked, especially since Jasper is still married to Nora…was still married…” Rose’s voice trailed away again as Liddell regarded her sternly.
“Are you telling me that Mr. Ware announced his engagement to another woman, here, tonight?”
Liddell sounded incredulous and I hurried to explain. “It wasn’t really an announcement; it was more of an accident. I mean, Violet Ambler was talking to me about it and the rest of the group overheard us.”
“What exactly did Mr. Ware say?”
“Well, he didn’t really say much, Violet did most of the talking. She said Jasper was divorcing Nora and that she and Jasper were going to be married sometime next year.”
“Was Nora Ware at the book reading tonight?”
I shook my head. “I never saw her.”
Liddell was silent a moment and then gave his fingers a final sniff. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to come down to the station with me, Elspeth; I need to hear more about this book reading.”
I’m sure you can appreciate my conclusion that book readings are a very bad idea.
Chapter 5
“What are you doing here?”
As the place in question was the All Hallows Public Library and I had a book propped open in front of me, I was understandably reluctant to offer further explanation.
“I’m reading,” I said finally, and to demonstrate I turned a page.
Julia snorted. Her expression told me such an endeavor on my part was highly suspect. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Why aren’t you out investigating your murder?”
“I don’t have a murder.”
“Sure you do,” Julia pulled out a copy of the All Hallows Gazette and thrust it under my nose. “Here you are; right on page one.”
I groaned when I saw the headline, “Murder by the Book” and groaned again after I read the article.
Romance novelist Elspeth Gray makes no secret of the fact that she does not like the mystery genre. In fact, at a book reading last night at Inkwell Books, Ms. Gray informed an eager crowd that she thought clues like antique bloodstained daggers were the stuff of Grubstreet. Imagine her surprise when the body of mystery writer Jasper Ware was found in an isolated corner of Inkwell. Cause of death? Stab wound to the chest. Oh, and did we mention the murder weapon was an antique dagger? If we didn’t know any better we would say our Ms. Gray has been reading too many mysteries, maybe even Ware’s own Deadly Harbor.
There was a picture of me, dazed and tousled, on one side, and a picture of Jasper, sneering and supercilious, on the other.
“Don’t you see, Betts?” Julia demanded. “Someone at the reading heard what you said and used your idea to bump off Jasper Ware!”
“It certainly seemed that way to the police; Liddell was questioning me until one o’clock this morning.” I stifled a yawn.
“So?”
“So what?”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing!”
Julia sat forward in her chair, her cheeks red with indignation. “Elspeth Caroline Gray, since you gave the murderer the idea to kill Jasper Ware you have a moral obligation to investigate this crime!”
I regarded her impatiently. Anytime Julia started throwing around terms like ‘moral obligation’ I knew she wanted something, and in this case I knew what it was.
“I’m not going to let you embroil me in a pseudo-investigation; I have research to do.” I pointedly held up the book I was reading, 365 Days of Cupcakes.
“Betts, this is your big chance!” Julia exclaimed. “Jasper Ware was murdered at your book reading and the murderer was there, too. Imagine if we track down the killer; it’ll be a story you can tell your grandchildren.”
That was a bit much. “I’m not even dating anyone!” My voice was a bit too loud, and I noticed a man in a dark corner of the arts and leisure section look over at us and grin.
The assistant librarian, Miss Thrimper, who’d been listening to our exchange in pained silence, approached and asked if she could be of assistance. “The latest Booker winner, Julia?” she suggested hopefully.
Julia snorted. “I’m currently only reading books with crime-solving cats,” she said in her bright, loud voice.
Miss Thrimper cringed and scurried back to the safety of her desk.
“Julia,” I said firmly, “what do you want us to do, go out and grill suspects?”
“Yes! That’s just what Pippa Pepper would do.”
I sighed. “I’m afraid to ask, but who’s Pippa Pepper?”
“Sheesh, Elspeth, don’t you read a
nything but cookbooks? Pippa Pepper and her cat, Ms. Weebles, are the hottest ticket in cozies right now!”
Julia pulled a paperback from her tote bag and I glanced down at a white cat wearing pearls and a lorgnette. One white paw was dabbed in blood and the other rested on a stack of coffins. The title was at the top in red ink, Meow for the Undertaker.
“Ms. Weebles really does all the crime-solving,” Julia explained. “But she needs Pippa to do the legwork.”
“I don’t want to do legwork. I have a real job.”
Julia’s tone turned from cajoling to pleading. “If you won’t do it for me then do it for Nora. The police think she killed Jasper!”
“That’s ridiculous.” I’d known Nora Brecht-Ware since grade school. She was pretty, sweet and incredibly naïve; the term ‘pushover’ sprang to mind. Nora was no more likely to pick up a dagger than I was to write a mystery.
“Why do the police think Nora did it?”
“Jasper’s attorney served Nora with divorce papers last week and the police believe she’s the woman scorned. Plus, she has no alibi for last night. She needs our help, Betts.”
“Of course I’ll help her, but I don’t see what we can do.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve already thought of that. The first thing Pippa Pepper does is make a list of suspects.” Julia pulled out a messy sheet of paper covered in her sloping, cursive script. I was impressed. It was the only actual piece of real ‘work’ I’d seen Julia do in months.
“I tried to think of everyone who might’ve wanted Jasper dead,” she said.
“I’m surprised you had enough paper.”
“I was limited to the people at the book reading.” She leafed through her notes. “First, Sabrina Elliott.”
I raised a brow. Of all the people I could think of who might’ve wanted Jasper dead (myself included), Sabrina wouldn’t have even made the team photo.
“Sabrina and Jasper’s engagement was three years ago,” I pointed out. “Why would she wait all this time for revenge?”
“Haven’t you ever read a Jasper Ware book? It’s obvious the flighty ex-wife of Inspector Grimaldi is based on Sabrina Elliott. They even look alike.”
Murder Actually Page 4