Murder Actually

by Stephanie McCarthy

  I choked back more giggles as Julia’s elbow firmly embedded itself in my ribs, and I looked over the company assembled at the cemetery. I guess you could’ve called us the usual suspects, except there was nothing noticeably sinister about our group. Rose and Sabrina Elliott were the height of respectability in blue and dove gray, and Alex and Coco Ware were in solid black from the tips of their fingers to their toes. Crispin Wickford’s slim form was encased in gray tweed and red bowtie, and Nora Ware was adorable in a pleated dress.

  I wore my old black and a new straw hat with a floppy brim. I thought it made me look mysterious, and wondered if I could wear it to Archer Antiques without incurring too much ridicule.

  “Why are you peeping?” Julia demanded; loudly enough to draw the attention of everyone in our immediate vicinity. Crispin grinned and snapped my photo.

  “I’m not peeping; I’m mourning.”

  Nora came hurrying up to us, looking radiant in her grief. “Did you find any clues?”

  I explained to her about the safety deposit box, Thrubwell and the hairpin at the bookstore.

  She looked shocked, then gratified. “You and Julia are amazing, Elspeth. I was going to tell you that Chief Liddell released the contents of the safety deposit box yesterday, and I brought everything back home.”

  “Including the gun?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “Why did Jasper have a gun?”

  “He always imagined himself like one of his characters; you know, Sam Spade or Mike Hammer.”

  “So he wasn’t afraid of anyone?”

  She laughed and then glanced around guiltily. “Jasper wasn’t afraid of anything.”

  “Do you know anyone who might’ve been blackmailing him?”

  “I have no idea, and I really can’t see Jasper paying. He was more likely to find out who it was and confront them.”

  “Maybe he did.”

  * * * * *

  The memorial gathering was at Black Birches at four, and as I passed through the front door I noticed Mrs. Jennings’s housekeeping skills hadn’t improved with the passage of time. The space was dusty and the parquet floor dim with dirt.

  I got a glass of sherry and began to mingle. The floral tributes of the day were arranged on a low table by the door and they each represented their sender: a large, ostentatious collection of lilies from Alex and Coco; a rough bouquet of daisies from Mrs. Jennings; a waxy houseplant from the Elliotts; and garish blue carnations from Crispin Wickford. My own humble contribution, a spray of tiny white rosebuds, was almost lost in the wilderness of petals and greenery.

  “Lovely flowers.”

  I hadn’t noticed Rose Elliott approach until she was standing at my elbow. I watched as she took a drink of sherry and gestured towards Nora.

  “She seems to be doing better.”

  “Yes, I think all this formality is good for her.”

  Rose nodded. “She told me she might be able to make it to our next book club meeting.”

  “That’s a good idea. She needs something to take her mind off Jasper.”

  Rose shook her head. “I think he’s putting her through more torment now than he did when they were married, which is quite an accomplishment.”

  “Maybe there was a side to him you and I didn’t see,” I said doubtfully.

  She grimaced. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but with Jasper I think what you saw was what you got.”

  “He certainly was a prolific writer. Have you read all his novels?”

  “Yes, I’m not a huge fan of detective noir, but I felt obligated since he was a neighbor.”

  “Did you ever notice anything strange about his writing?”

  Her expression turned wary. “Strange how?”

  “Like he changed point of view or his voice changed or something?”

  Rose glanced away, as if she were uneasy. “No, I never noticed anything like that.” She looked past me and waved. “Here’s Sabrina.”

  I noticed Sabrina had made some effort in conformity with her loose, low-cut dark blue gown and strings of jet beads. She carried two plates loaded with food and a small glass of sherry. “Have you tried the raspberry scones? They’re divine. Nora ordered them from Sweet Annie B’s.”

  I shook my head. “Not yet.”

  She grabbed my arm and hustled me towards the dining room.

  “You better hurry, I saw Crispin Wickford filling a doggie bag.”

  The dining room table groaned with hot and cold appetizers, and I commended our group for not letting grief interfere with our appreciation of free food and drink. I quickly scooped up the last of the mushroom puffs, some dip and a few quiche tarts. I almost choked on my first bite when I saw Chief Liddell stride into the room, Sergeant Jack at his side. He went to talk to Nora and I noticed her face was tense and strained.

  I turned back to Sabrina.

  “Looks like the cavalry has arrived.”

  She nodded. “Yes, with the hunky Jack in tow. I’m surprised Julia isn’t over there getting some pointers on the art of detection.”

  I was about to suggest that the solemnity of a funeral service might dampen even an ardor as strong as Julia’s, but then noticed the lady in question was making a beeline across the room.

  I turned back to Sabrina. “Julia’s dedicated to the pursuit of truth.”

  “And Jack. I heard the two of you were investigating the murders.”

  “We’re doing what we can to help Nora.”

  Sabrina nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Nora is no killer. She wouldn’t know where to start; not like me and you, Elspeth.”

  I decided this was some form of backhanded compliment and smiled. “Isn’t it hard to remember things when someone is questioning you?” I hoped my voice sounded naively innocent as I continued. “The police asked me about that Monday, and I remembered you’d dropped by my place to ask Rose to unblock your car for a lecture.”

  Sabrina let out a comically exaggerated sigh as Rose approached and glanced between us with a worried expression.

  “It’s all true,” she said. “I was listening to my first year poetry class do iambic pentameter.”

  I tried to adopt a sympathetic expression but couldn’t remember what iambic pentameter was, something to do with Shakespeare?

  “So you were at Essex U all day?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I got home around four.”

  “You didn’t visit Quammy-on-Hudson that day?”

  The change in her expression was extraordinary. She flashed white, then red. “No,” she said shortly. “I told you, I was at work. Can you excuse me, Elspeth? I see someone I have to talk to.”

  Sabrina hurried away and Rose turned back to me. “Poor Sabrina, she’s had a miserable time over all of this. She was in love with Jasper once, did you hear about that?”

  I nodded my head as she continued. “It was disgusting the way he treated her. He waited until just before the wedding to tell her he couldn’t go through with it. The coward! Poor Sabrina already had her wedding gown made. You should’ve seen it; it was gorgeous, white satin and handmade lace. When Jasper left her for Nora, Sabrina asked him to pay for the dress to help with some of the wedding expenses. He just laughed, the vicious bastard.”

  Rose spoke with a quiet vehemence. It was the first time I’d ever heard her criticize anyone, and she must’ve noticed my look of shocked surprise.

  “Sorry, Elspeth. Water under the bridge, isn’t it? Especially now that Jasper’s been killed.”

  “I suppose so. Do you know what time Sabrina got home on Monday?”

  “Around four,” Rose smiled. “I’m sorry; Elspeth, but you can’t possibly consider us suspects! You’ve eaten our brownies,” she concluded reproachfully.

  I really had to stop accepting dessert from possible murderers.

 
* * * * *

  I left the dining room and wandered towards the front of the house. As I walked down the hall I passed by the open door of the library. I could hear voices conversing in low, urgent tones; a man and a woman. I stepped a little closer and realized it was Nora and Alex Ware.

  “You have to tell the police where you were the night of the book reading.”

  I peeked through the doorway just in time to see Alex Ware run a hand through his hair.

  Nora regarded him sadly. “I can’t do that, Alex. You know I can’t! Imagine what it would be like if I said anything…the scandal.”

  “Now isn’t the time to be noble.” Alex touched her arm. “You have to tell the police you met me that night.”

  Nora pulled away. “What about Coco? Imagine what that would do to her. Everyone would assume you and I were having an affair.” Nora flushed and I noticed Alex’s cheeks were stained a ruddy hue.

  “Who cares what people think?” he demanded roughly. “You and I know the truth. We’re…friends.”

  Nora gazed up at him. “Your friendship means so much to me.”

  He groaned and grabbed her hand.

  “Don’t worry, Nora. Everything will work out. I’d never let anything happen to you.”

  I watched as he kissed her hand and then turned and quickly walked out the door. I flattened myself against the wall opposite but he was oblivious as he stormed past, his brows pulled into an angry scowl. Nora stood as if turned to stone and stared at the open doorway, still absently rubbing the spot where Alex had kissed her hand, and then she too walked away.

  I emerged from behind the door and stepped into the now empty hallway. Nora seemed intent on ending up in prison, and I was running out of ways to stop her. I glanced at my watch and saw it was nearly six, so I slipped outside into the early evening air.

  The sky was an angry, leaden gray and the wind came in hot bursts. It began to rain, a mournful drizzle that soaked my black dress and made the brim of my hat droop. I must’ve been quite a sight when I finally arrived home but after a change of clothes and a double brandy I felt nearly human again, and I pushed the button on my machine for any missed calls.

  “Hello, Elspeth?” The voice was deep and hesitant, and Blue glanced up from washing his butt, a suspicious expression on his face. “It’s Edgar Archer. We met at Archer Antiques. I hope you don’t mind my calling like this, but I met a friend of yours at the shop, Julia Berry, and she was kind enough to give me your number. I was wondering if you were free for dinner some night. I’d love to see you again.”

  I wrote down the number he left and sang the theme song to The Greatest American Hero. Blue walked by and I grabbed him and gave him a congratulatory hug. He yowled and arched away and I wondered how he’d deal with his new sister, Ingrid.

  The phone rang and I picked it up expectantly. “Hello,” I used my Marilyn Monroe sex kitten voice.

  “What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?” Julia’s voice cut through my romantic musings.

  “No, I’m not sick. I was hoping you were someone else.”

  “Oh, thanks a lot.”

  “Edgar Archer. You gave him my number.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “How did my phone number come up in your conversation?”

  “I asked him if he wanted it.”

  “Subtle.”

  “You don’t have time for subtle! You aren’t getting any younger.”

  “You sound like my mom.”

  “You really lucked out finding Edgar Archer. If things weren’t going so well between me and Sergeant Jack I might be jealous. We’re about to enter third date territory.”

  “I always thought you were a fourth date kind of girl.”

  She sighed. “I moved it up a date when I turned thirty-five.”

  “How progressive. What happens when you turn seventy?”

  “If I’m still dating when I’m seventy please kill me. Anyway, I just wanted to touch base to figure out what we should do next.”

  I thought for a few seconds. “I want to talk to Nora’s housekeeper.”

  “Mrs. Jennings?”

  “Yes. She had access to Nora’s house and Jasper’s studio. If anyone saw anything it would be her.”

  Julia gave me directions to Mrs. Jennings’s trailer and ended the call with a warning. “Whatever you do, don’t mention Mr. Jennings.”

  I felt an icy shill down my spine. “Why? What happened to Mr. Jennings?”

  “That’s exactly what you shouldn’t ask.”

  “Julia!”

  The phone went dead and I slowly hung up the receiver.

  I was a bit nervous about meeting Truly Jennings.

  Chapter 17

  The Jennings clan lived in a dusty village north of All Hallows called Tappan, just past Williamsburg Road. It was rumored there were between fifty to a hundred Jenningses residing on the properties, set up in various shacks, sheds and lean-tos. I drove through streets cluttered with dust heaps, garbage pails and dog crap, and passed by a church sign exhorting passersby to ‘Wait Patiently for God’. I thought the message rather ominous in the context of the dilapidated storefronts and boarded windows.

  Mrs. Truly Jennings lived in a beat-up silver trailer about a mile down Penny Pot Lane. I didn’t have any experience dealing with goats, chickens, or pigs, all of which Truly Jennings had in abundance, and I picked my way carefully through the animals, discarded beer cans, and old copies of Trout and Stream before knocking on the front door.

  Mrs. Jennings herself answered.

  I’d never seen anyone quite like her.

  She was as curvy as a mastodon, with about two hundred pounds of rippling flesh tightly encased in gray jersey. Black hair was twisted around curlers, and a cigarette dangled negligently from one corner of her mouth. She was holding an infant dressed in a dirty Superman costume, and she shifted him slowly from one hip to the other as we stood and stared at each other.

  “Mrs. Jennings?”

  She nodded her head in the affirmative and eyed me narrowly.

  “Hi, my name is Elspeth Gray. My friend, Julia Berry, and I have been hired by Nora Ware to investigate the deaths of Violet Ambler and Jasper Ware. Did Julia tell you I was coming?”

  The massive head shook itself forward again, and suddenly she removed her cigarette and smiled: a wide, blinding smile that showed an odd miscellany of teeth and gaps.

  “I know who you are. I seen you at the funeral. I got all your books.”

  She stepped into the trailer and deposited the squalling baby onto a blanket. He wailed until she pulled a pacifier from somewhere in her dress and shoved it in his mouth.

  “Kid loves his plug.”

  The infant scowled up at me, wanting to protest, but desperate to keep the tiny bit of rubber in his mouth. A bloodhound approximately the size of the trailer came ambling in from the hallway and the baby quickly replaced his pacifier with a giant, wet jowl.

  “He’ll suck on Otis for hours,” she said happily. “They’re best friends.”

  I tried not to shudder and looked for a relatively clean spot on the ancient plaid couch. For once I was glad of the thick, pungent aroma of cigarette smoke, as I detected various other odors I didn’t want to be disseminated.

  Mrs. Jennings lowered herself into a ratty recliner and pulled the lever for the footrest. “I’m disabled,” she announced. “When I get my attacks of the lumbago all I can do is lie here on my recliner. I’m a slave to pain.”

  I expressed my sympathy but she waved me aside.

  “Don’t matter. We’re pretty well-fixed with my part-time work at the Wares, and I sometimes clean the office at St. Anne’s.”

  “That must be difficult for you with your health problems.”

  “I got my niece, she lives down the road. She comes and helps me sometimes.”<
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  Mrs. Jennings motioned towards a cardboard box on the scarred coffee table, and I saw a messy collection of paperbacks in various stages of abuse and neglect. My poor books!

  “Will you sign my books?”

  “Of course,” I said smoothly. Paula was always on me to do more book signings. “But do you mind if I ask you a few questions first?”

  Mrs. Jennings nodded her tight curls in the affirmative and I took out my notebook.

  “How long have you worked for the Wares?”

  Mrs. Jennings’s porcine features arranged themselves into a look of pensive thought. “I guess it’s been about four years now. I go three days a week and help out around the house and clean the studio. I got a room in case I have to work late, but that don’t happen too much,” she chuckled. “Ms. Nora’s none too particular about the house.”

  “What about Mr. Ware? Was he a neat person?”

  She snorted in disgust. “Him. Yeah, not much work to do for him. He just liked the blinds kept dusted and his bookshelves in order.”

  “Did you ever see anything he was working on in his studio?”

  She shook her head. “Every time I come in he was on the phone, talking about how great he was.”

  “Did you know Violet Ambler?”

  Mrs. Jennings’s features shifted to an expression of rabid dislike. “She was a sneaky little thing! Always creeping around the studio, looking over my shoulder, tattling on me if I missed something. You might work for me one day, Mrs. Jennings. That’s what she said the last time I saw her.”

  “What did she mean by that?”

  “She had a thing for Mr. Ware. She was always giving him looks and poking around, asking questions. I even caught her in the house a few times, going through Ms. Nora’s things.”

  “Did you tell Mrs. Ware?”

  Mrs. Jennings’s chortled in delight. “Did I ever! But Ms. Nora’s so nice she didn’t say nothing about it. And there was Ms. Ambler, looking all proud of herself like a dog with two tails. I never thought Mr. Ware would be interested in someone like her, she wasn’t much to look at, but you know what men, are, Ms. Gray…” she leaned forward and motioned for me to do the same.