Prize and Prejudice: A Cozy Mystery Novel (Angie Prouty Nantucket Mysteries Book 2)

by Miranda Sweet

  “You see, Angie,” he said with his arm around his wife, “we had a long talk and realized we are both quite sick of this RV and the travel. Even though we both pretended to like it, turns out the Beauchamps are a stationary pair, not meant to wonder. We are headed out on the ferry right after we wrap a little business with this treasure hunt.”

  The Beauchamps were positively bubbling. Angie had never seen them like this, it was all so… sweet. They were usually so harsh to each other, but I guess being stuck in an RV behind a coffee shop will do that to anyone.

  “Well, I guess I’m happy for you two. What business do you need to wrap up before you leave?”

  It was Mrs. Beauchamp who began to explain. “We’ve found the painting,” she said. “We’ve both seen it.”

  Angie’s eyes widened.

  “It’s beautiful,” Mrs. Beauchamp said, “and quite safe where it is, as long as…well, as long as a hundred different things that might go wrong, don’t. I think it should be made public. Charles doesn’t—he thinks we should leave well enough alone.”

  “Dottie was the one who worked it out,” Mr. Beauchamp said proudly. “My Dot.”

  “I went through piles and piles of old hospital records,” Mrs. Beauchamp said. “Most of them on microfiche. Not all births and deaths are listed in the newspaper, you know, especially when there’s a question as to the father.”

  Angie smashed her palms into her eyes. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “You wouldn’t have known, dear,” Mrs. Beauchamp said. “Times were different then. It’s not the terrible shame to be born out of wedlock now that it was then.”

  “I still feel like I should have caught that,” Angie said.

  Mrs. Beauchamp gave her a slightly smug look. Angie couldn’t blame her.

  “I found the name of a young woman who gave birth to a child, and it struck me,” Mrs. Beauchamp said. “The name given was ‘Katherine Doleur.’”

  “Katherine…Doleur? Sadness? Grief?”

  “Yes. In French, of course. And Katherine’s after Saint Katerina, the one who was tortured on a spiked wheel.”

  “Ah,” Angie said.

  “Exactly. A babe was born to her, a little girl who unfortunately died before leaving the hospital, or at least that’s what the records show. The trail on the baby goes dead.”

  “But the mother?”

  “Left behind an address, to a house on Sconset that wasn’t a house at all, but the Sconset terminal for the old railroad. It’s a rental cottage now; me and Charles rented it for a night and searched the place. The painting is under glass, behind a fine calligraphed piece of old vellum that explains the history of the house.”

  “Only place it could have been,” Mr. Beauchamp said. “The purloined letter, right? It’s always the last place you look.”

  It’s always the last place you look because once you find what you’re looking for, you stop looking! Angie thought to herself.

  Angie didn’t have the heart to mention that the painting might be a fake. “That’s unbelievable!” she said instead. “When are you going to claim the prize?”

  Come to think of it, would the prize still be offered if the lost Monet turned out to be a forgery? She hoped so, for their sake.

  But the Beauchamps both stared at her.

  “We don’t want the prize money,” Mr. Beauchamp said.

  “Why?”

  The Beauchamps looked at each other. This time it was Mr. Beauchamp who explained.

  “Angie, this whole treasure hunt – the whole thing with the RV, this was about re-connecting for Dot and I. After our talk last night, we finally did that. I guess we found what we were searching for on this wonderful little island. The painting seems… better left for someone who is still searching.” He said.

  “Wow,” said Angie. “Well, congratulations anyway. What condition was the painting in when you saw it?”

  “Fine condition. We left it there, just screwed the frame back onto the wall and touched up the paint a bit. Took five minutes at the hardware shop to match the paint chip, no questions asked.”

  “Well, congratulations, again” Angie said. “When do you leave the island?”

  “Well, we want to make sure Mr. Jerritt is all right. He was in pretty bad shape last night.”

  “When we found him, we both switched back into parent mode I guess. That was the first step in reconnecting. I suppose we want to make sure he’s alright before we leave. Just seems like the right thing to do,” said Mrs. Beauchamp.

  “He was unconscious,” Mr. Beauchamp said carefully. “We drove him toward the hospital, and then he started moaning things out loud, babbling about killers and murders and who was to blame. We couldn’t make sense of it really—that boy really whacked his head when he fell.”

  Angie nodded and wondered to herself if Mickey was in worse shape than he had let on.

  As the Beauchamps drove away, Angie stood there not knowing what to do with herself. The Beauchamps had reconciled, the painting had been found, but no prize money had been claimed.

  Before she had time to think, she spotted an old green Land Rover pulling up to her. Walter.

  He got out and went over to her.

  “Angie, what are you doing out here?” he asked

  “Well, I went to see Jasper at the Hospital and then I ran into the Beauchamps, and now I guess I’m out in the cold talking to you.”

  Walter walked over an embraced her.

  They stood in the parking lot and held each other. Then Angie checked her phone. No calls from Jo, but one from Detective Bailey.

  She called him back.

  “Hello, Ms. Prouty. Sounds like you’ve been busy. You haven’t happened to solve the mystery yet, have you?”

  It caught her by surprise.

  “Not…quite?” she said.

  He chuckled. “You’re spinning your wheels too. No shame in that. Did you still need something? Or was it about the Beauchamps and Mickey Jerritt?”

  “Something else,” she said. There was no clever way to say this that wouldn’t come out all wrong, so she just spat it out. “Detective, is there any way if you can find out whether Reed Edgerton called 911 on the evening or afternoon that he died? Or have you already checked that, and I’m barking up the wrong tree?”

  “We did check his phone records, Ms. Prouty. And there are no 911 calls listed to that number.”

  “Oh.” She blew out her cheeks. “Then I am spinning my wheels.”

  “How is that?”

  “I happened to be driving along Washington Street and realized that if I were going to go more or less straight from the Chamber of Commerce to the police station, it would be along that route.”

  “That’s true. And you think that if Reed knew he was being followed, he would have tried to call 911.”

  “Yes. Because if he didn’t have his phone, he wouldn’t have known which way to go, probably, and if he did have his phone, why didn’t he call 911? If he wasn’t being followed, why would he go to the police station? Why not the bookstore?”

  “No idea, Ms. Prouty.”

  “Sorry to bother you.”

  “No trouble.”

  She didn’t tell him about the painting. She hadn’t told anyone about the painting yet, not even Aunt Margery or Walter. She wasn’t sure what to do about it. Was it fair to give away the location of the painting? Should she let the mystery play out on its own or help someone who, as the Beauchamps put it, was ‘still searching for something?’ What if it it did turn out to be a fake?

  She didn’t need to make a decision at that exact moment.

  Walter said, “It sounds like you had the murderer almost worked out.”

  “Almost,” she said. “But the information didn’t go the way I wanted it to.”

  “Dead end?”

  “Not quite. I’m at the point where I have a suspicion but no proof one way or another.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  She sized him up.r />
  “Or do you think I’ve already done enough damage?” he joked, his face strained enough to show that he wasn’t really joking.

  “I think you have a lot on your mind. You’re worried about the treasure hunt and maybe you even blame yourself a little for Reed’s death. I’m confident that I’m right, but what if I’m wrong? This person…” She looked around the parking lot, chewing on her cheek again. “…is a local. If I’m wrong, then that person’s entire life might be tainted with even just the suspicion of murder.”

  “I don’t like that you’re involved,” he said. “I don’t want to limit you, or tie you down, or tell you what to do, but I don’t like it. It seems like this person must have murdered Reed to silence him. And here you are, stirring things up even more. It might seem like it would be easier just to silence you, too.”

  “I know,” she said. “But if I just sit on my hands and do nothing when I’m so close, I won’t be able to live with myself. Murderers need to come to justice, and puzzles shouldn’t go unsolved.”

  He shook his head. “I just worry about you, Angie.”

  She suddenly felt terrible for not telling him about the painting. But she still hadn’t made up her mind regarding that just yet. She needed a minute to sit down and think. To sort through what she wanted. What would be justice in this situation? How could it be carried out without hurting too many people?

  And now that she knew that Reed hadn’t called 911, what should she do next to prove that Tabitha had murdered him?

  “Ugh, it’s too cold to be standing around out here,” she said. “Let’s go into the bookstore at least.”

  “Why don’t I take you somewhere else?” he asked. “Give you time to calm down from everything hitting you at once, at least?”

  “You’re just as bad off as I am, if not worse,” she reminded him.

  “Good grief, stop trying to out-helpful me,” he said.

  She stuck out her tongue at him, grabbed his arm, and started leading him toward the bookstore.

  “I would have thought it would be closed,” Walter said.

  “Aunt Margery came in early to cover for me.”

  “That’s a first, isn’t it?”

  “Well, maybe not a first, but certainly in the low single digits.”

  They entered through the back door and took off their coats. Not only was Aunt Margery at the checkout desk, but Janet Hennery had come in early. They both waved at her.

  Janet approached them bearing cups of coffee. “What a morning! How was the hospital?”

  “Fine,” Angie said, fibbing a bit. She wasn’t in the mood to get into her unsettling conversation with Jasper just yet.”

  “Is it true that the Beauchamps murdered Reed and attacked Mickey, and that’s why they are in such a rush to get off the island?” asked a random treasure hunter from the crowd at the bookstore.

  The café went quiet. Everyone was looking in Angie’s direction, waiting to hear her response.

  Standing next to the counter, waiting to pay for a latte, was Tabitha Crispin.

  She looked extremely curious to see what Angie would say, too.

  Chapter 15

  Unwelcome

  Clearly, Angie was not going to get a minute to think about the situation before talking. The bookstore had fallen into an expectant hush.

  She couldn’t locate the person who asked the question among the crowd, but it didn’t matter. From the faces in front her, everyone had the same question. There was a lot to clear up.

  “The Beauchamps found Mickey, and he’s in the hospital. That part is true, but they didn’t attack him. He slipped and fell on the ice last night. He has a pretty bad concussion. His sister Jo’s on the way back from the mainland. Do not call her at this time. When she finds out more about how Mickey’s doing she’ll call me, and I’ll pass the information along to everyone here.”

  “What about the Beauchamps?” someone asked.

  “First of all, they definitely didn’t kill Reed. They are leaving the island because they are no longer participating in the treasure hunt. Turns out they don’t like traveling in an RV and hunting for treasure. They are good people, and that’s all the news I have for you right now. If you want more you’ll just have to wait like everyone else for the gossip to make its way around town.”

  A few people laughed. Angie took a sip of her coffee.

  “Any updates about the search for the painting? Supposedly the Beauchamps figured out where the painting was.”

  “Supposedly there’s a lot of gossip going around,” Angie said. “Please, I’m sorry. This morning is a bit of a mess. We’re doing the best we can. Please be patient and wait for some actual news. Thank you.”

  She turned on her heel and walked onto the sales floor, making her normal rounds. She hoped that people would get the hint. Most of them did, but some of them stopped to ask her the same questions she’d just answered, as if they thought she’d come up with a different answer, just for them.

  It was annoying. She tried to keep an even tone and a smile on her face.

  Then every hackle on the back of her neck went up.

  She turned around. Alayna Karner was walking up to her from behind, eyes slitted and narrow.

  “Hello, Ms. Karner,” Angie said.

  “You.”

  “Yes, me.”

  Alayna Karner started ranting at her as if they were in one of the daytime soaps Angie used watched with Aunt Margery when she was a kid. It was the classic “you’re trying to steal my man from me” speech, with a little “he wasn’t your man to begin with” thrown in for good measure.

  Angie sighed and said, “Ms. Karner, are you aware that Walter Snuock is standing right behind you this moment, listening to every ugly word you say?”

  Alayna turned around and saw Walter standing over her, a frown pinching his eyebrows together.

  “Alayna,” he said. “You have to leave me alone. We’re not dating. We’re not ever going to date. After the behavior you have shown me and my friend, I’m never going to speak to you again. I’ll have a restraining order put on you if I have to.”

  Angie couldn’t see Alayna’s face, but she could see Alayna lift her chin and straighten her back. “I’ll never give up on you.”

  Walter looked hopelessly over Alayna’s shoulder at Angie.

  Angie said, “You’ll need to leave my store, Ms. Karner. Right now.”

  “I don’t—”

  “This building is Mr. Snuock’s property, and I’m the current leaseholder,” Angie said. “I can call the police, and they will remove you from the premises. If necessary, I’ll have you charged with trespassing.”

  She had no idea whether that would fly, but it sounded pretty convincing. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed the police station, but didn’t hit the call button yet.

  “Are you going to leave, or will I have to have you removed?”

  Alayna opened her mouth to respond. Then Wyatt Gilmore and another man appeared on either side of Alayna Karner.

  Wyatt said, “You need to leave. You’re not welcome here.”

  “I don’t have to—”

  Wyatt took a step closer, and puffed out his chest. It was clear he would remove her if she didn’t leave of her own accord. Angie made a mental note that Wyatt was officially on the list of good people in this world.

  Alayna stamped her foot, and grunted. She stared down Wyatt for a moment before storming out of the bookstore.

  Aunt Margery locked the front door and stood there with her arms crossed.

  Outside, Alayna Karner stood and stared through the shop windows, straining to see inside…straining to see Walter. Angie pushed him behind a bookshelf and out of sight.

  Seeing this, the woman’s face turned ugly. She bent down and picked up a rock, then threw it at the big plate-glass window in front of the café area.

  Crack!

  For a second, Angie thought the glass would crack and shatter into a thousand pieces—but it was t
oo heavy for that. Instead, a chip of glass popped out of the sheet. That was it.

  Angie laughed—what a tempest in a teapot!

  But Aunt Margery had her phone out. “Hello? This is Margery Prouty at the Pastries & Page-Turners bookshop, and I’d like to report an incident of vandalism, by a Ms. Alayna Karner. K-a-r-n-e-r. Yes, she’s still in front of the bookstore.”

  Crack!

  Another stone hit a window. This time it was the smaller one in the front door—the one right in front of Aunt Margery’s face.

  Angie shouted “No!” and started running for the front of the store. Then came to a grinding halt. Walter had caught the back of her sweater one fist. A split second later, he had her by the arm.

  “Don’t give her the satisfaction,” he said. “She’s the one who ends up in jail, not you.”

  By then, Aunt Margery had stepped away from the door. This time, the glass did shatter, first crazing from the impact point out to the edges of the glass, then sloughing out of the doorframe with a sound like snow sliding off a roof. Shhhhhhussssss!

  “Yes, she’s just broken a window,” Aunt Margery said calmly into the phone.

  Through the broken window, they could hear sirens fast approaching. It was only a few blocks to the police office from the bookstore, after all.

  Wyatt Gilmore stood by the side of Aunt Margery. Alayna had picked up another rock from the street—a loose cobblestone this time. If that hit anyone, it could be deadly.

  She pulled an arm back and took aim.

  “Stop!” shouted a voice from the street. “Ms. Karner, you’re under arrest.”

  Alayna turned, threw the rock down the street toward the voice, and started running in the other direction. A second later, two uniformed police offers crossed in front of the plate-glass window, running after her.

  Walter said, “I am not defending her this time. I don’t care how much money her family throws at me. Good luck to whoever gets her after this.”

  Angie put a hand over her face. Her heart was racing. It could have been worse. It could have been so much worse., but she was still feeling shaken. She sucked in a deep breath, and Walter put an arm around her.