But if Vera or Wes had been the shooter, how could they have had enough time to run back here and get into an argument? Hazel had given chase immediately. Unless the argument had started when that person rushed in after shooting the arrow. Hazel supposed that could be the case. She hadn’t heard enough to know how long the argument had been going on for.
Or maybe Vera and Wes had planned this together, and the argument was an act. An alibi in case someone came rushing here after the arrow was shot.
Hazel hurried back toward the rose garden, the bow weighing heavy in her hand. If she’d had any doubts that someone was trying to kill Myrtle before, she hadn’t any now. It was extremely unlikely that the arrow was a shot gone astray. So, therefore, it seemed they did indeed have a killer in their midst.
Myrtle was still seated on the bench. Fran had joined her. The arrow still stuck out from the side of the arbor.
“Did you find them?” Myrtle asked.
“No.” Hazel held up the bow and arrow.
“What’s going on here?” Fran pointed to the arrow. “Did someone shoot at you?”
Myrtle slid a glance at Hazel, and she shook her head slightly. It wouldn’t do to have Fran thinking they knew someone was trying to harm Myrtle.
Myrtle patted Fran’s arm. “Oh, don’t be silly. It was probably just a stray arrow. Someone testing the equipment.”
“But the targets are way over there…” Fran gestured toward the far side of the estate then swiveled her head to look at Myrtle and then back to Hazel. “You don’t think someone shot it here on purpose, do you?”
“Of course not.” Hazel tugged at the arrow, but it was embedded in the wood. She planted her feet for leverage and tried again. “This thing is in there good.”
“Let me.” Fran stood and pulled the arrow out easily. The rose it had pierced fell to the ground in a flurry of petals.
“I must have loosened it for you,” Hazel said.
“They can get stuck in good. I’m pretty strong, though, from my nursing studies. Takes a lot of strength to do nursing. A lot of people don’t realize that. I like to keep in shape by helping around in the gardens. I even made a little kitchen garden for Wes. He loves fresh vegetables, and I planted all kinds of herbs and easy vegetables like tomatoes and cucumbers. Not that Vera cooks much.” Fran’s mouth turned down in disapproval at the mention of Vera not cooking. She handed the arrow to Hazel. “Are you sure you’re okay, Gram? That landed pretty close. What happened?”
“Hazel and I were just sitting here, and thwap. It sailed by and lodged there, nearly an inch from my head.” She patted her hair. “Nearly ruined my coif.”
Fran turned to look at Hazel. “Gram hasn’t been feeling good lately, and she seems to be a little… confused. You know there was an incident with the medicine and… well, one could hardly blame her at her age. I have plenty of patients who mixed up their pills.”
“I know. It can be scary to have such a close call. But all is well.” Hazel gave Myrtle a look over Fran’s head. She didn’t want anyone to know their suspicions. From Hazel’s vast experience, she knew it was better to let the potential killer think they were going to get away with murder. They would be easier to catch when they thought no one was on to them. The fewer people who knew she suspected someone was trying to kill Myrtle, the better.
Myrtle laughed. “Yes, of course. Just a silly accident.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Fran stood up. “Well, I’m glad it came to no harm. I would hate to think of someone shooting at the two of you. Well, now, I’m going in to freshen up before people start to arrive.”
Hazel watched Fran. Once she was out of earshot, Myrtle said, “That was a close call. But I don’t understand one thing.”
“What’s that?” Hazel asked.
“Why would someone risk shooting at me when you were sitting right beside me? Surely they would’ve known that you’d give chase.”
Good question. Hazel stepped back from the bench. The way it was situated, one could only see the bench head-on from across the pond, where there was a densely wooded area far from the house. No one had been over there that Hazel had noticed. The bench was obscured from most other angles by the lush rosebushes and junipers growing in the garden. The arbor canopy over the bench itself was full of blooms and dense with leaves, so that only one corner of the bench was visible from the house. The corner Myrtle had sat on. The side Hazel had sat on would’ve been obscured by the roses. And that was exactly the direction from which the arrow had been shot.
“Did you say that you sit on this bench every day?” Hazel asked.
“Yes. It’s part of my morning walk. I walk the garden path and then end up sitting here alone. I like the time to reflect on things. Everyone knows that.”
“Exactly. Everyone knows that go for your morning walk and everyone knew I accompanied you. But they also know that you like to sit here alone. No one knew that I also accompanied you to the garden. The only person who knew that was was Gloria.”
“And the archery targets being set up offer a perfect opportunity for this to look like an accident.” Myrtle completed Hazel’s grim thought.
“When I leaped from the bench in pursuit, I must’ve surprised them. They might have thought they had all the time in the world to stage it as an accident. Or perhaps their initial plan was to shoot the arrow off, thinking to frame someone else.” Hazel glanced at the bow. Did the fact that it was found on the path to Wes and Vera’s cottage lead to one of them being the shooter, or was it dropped there on purpose?
Wes’s judgement was impaired by alcohol, but if he was the shooter, wouldn’t he have just taken the bow back to the cottage and hidden it? Unless he knew Vera was home and didn’t want her to see him with it. It was clear from their argument that the lack of finances was affecting their marriage. Maybe Wes had become desperate to get his hands on Myrtle’s money right away.
But she didn’t want to voice that suspicion to Myrtle. She needed physical proof before she named anyone, and she knew from Charles’s cases and her own mystery novels that oftentimes things were not as they seemed.
“I do hope we don’t need to call in the police,” Myrtle said nervously. “I’d rather handle this within the family. Find out whoever is doing this and put a stop to it… hopefully before they’re successful.”
“There’s nothing really to call them in for. No crime has been committed, and unfortunately, they won’t act solely on our suspicions. We really have no proof to offer them.”
“If only you’d been able to catch the person.” Myrtle looked wistfully toward the edge of the garden. “Funny, though. It’s so quiet and peaceful here, you’d think we would’ve seen or heard whoever shot the arrow.”
“Yes. They must’ve been very stealthy.”
“And after you gave chase, I bolted up and looked around, but I didn’t see a soul. In fact, we haven’t seen anyone else out here before or after.”
“That’s not entirely correct. We have seen one person.” Hazel glanced back toward the house. “Fran.”
Chapter Ten
Hazel admired Myrtle’s demeanor as they walked back to the house. She was exceedingly jovial for someone who had just missed being skewered with an arrow. They agreed not to say anything about the incident to anyone except Gloria. She’d tried to downplay it to Fran but wasn’t sure how much the girl would say about it. Unless the shooter was Fran, Hazel wasn’t even sure if the shooter knew the arrow had missed the mark. Better to keep quiet and watch their behavior to see if anyone’s expression or actions gave them away. That was, after all, her area of expertise.
But Hazel was disappointed to discover that everyone was in their rooms, resting up. Just as well. Hazel could use the opportunity to get some writing in. She wasn’t about to leave Myrtle alone, though, so she brought her to Gloria’s room and told her about the arrow incident. Gloria was upset, but Hazel cautioned her to tell no one. She left Myrtle in Gloria’s capable and protective hands.
&n
bsp; The fresh air must’ve been good for her, because she came up with a few more ideas for her book. She slipped into the kitchen and begged a morsel of fish to bring up to Dickens, who would undoubtedly be angry at being left alone for so long.
Alone in her room, Hazel gave Dickens the treat then sat at the desk and opened her notebook. She hadn’t thought to bring her Remington portable typewriter because she usually spent the beginning of a novel jotting down notes in her notebook and scribbling a rough first draft. It wasn’t until her ideas were all fleshed out that she set about typing out the story. She was making such good progress now, perhaps she should send for it. Best not to get ahead of myself, she thought as she selected the red Esterbrook pen and got down to the business of writing. If she kept going at this pace, she would be listening to the comforting clickety-clack of the typewriter keys in no time.
“Meow.” Dickens had jumped up onto the windowsill while Hazel had been absorbed in her writing. He rubbed his face against the wood frame then turned his pale eyes on Hazel, wrinkling his forehead slightly as he let out a pathetically soft meow.
“Yes, I know you want to go outside. Maybe later we could go in the garden,” Hazel said. “Right now, I’m trying to finish my notes for this suspect.”
“Mereep.” Dickens swatted her hand with his paw, causing her to blob ink on her perfectly formed sentence.
“Dickens, really! Must you?”
Dickens blinked innocently at her and twitched his velvety ears then rubbed his face against the windowpane.
“It is rather stuffy in here. I guess I could open the window and let some air in.”
Hazel pushed the window up. A floral-scented breeze wafted in. And voices. Women’s voices. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but…
She pushed her head out the window, craning to the right and left. Through the leaves of the oak tree next to her window, she could see Vera and Gloria standing by the garage. They were a study in opposites. Vera wore a sleek, sophisticated navy-blue dress that reached just below her knees. Gloria wore a brown-and-green summery frock with a lace edging and a cute cloche hat with a bouquet of yellow buttercups on the side. Were they arguing? Apparently, Wes wasn’t the only one Vera argued with.
Snatches of harshly whispered words floated up.
“… leave … alone.”
“Wouldn’t want to find out…”
“…. worry, you’ll get what you deserve.”
Then Gloria got into a black roadster, slammed the door, and drove off. Vera turned on her heel, and Hazel noticed she had the box camera in her hand. She stopped in front of a birch tree and leaned forward to inspect a leaf then held the camera at waist height, pointed it toward the leaf, and turned the switch to snap the photo. Maybe Vera was a budding photographer, or maybe she just wanted to get out of the house. Wes had mentioned something about her excursions, but she had also mentioned something about him wandering around the property. Hazel wondered if they had been referring to recent events. Maybe one of them had snuck out that morning and that was what had started the argument in the first place. And if one of them had snuck out… had it been to shoot the arrow?
But a bow lying in a path was not enough proof to move either of them up on the suspect list. Fran must have also been close by, because Hazel was only gone a few minutes, and Fran had been sitting with Myrtle when she returned. And where was Edward this morning?
Near as she could tell, almost all of Myrtle’s relatives had means, motive, and opportunity to do her in. But, as with her books, Hazel knew that in real investigations, one needed physical proof. She didn’t have anything solid that could tie any of the family members to the incidents against Myrtle. She probably wouldn’t be able to find a physical item that linked any of Myrtle’s relatives with any of the attempts. More than likely, she’d have to figure out which one of them could have been in place when each attempt was made. Or at least eliminate one of them by proving they couldn’t have been there.
Whichever method she used to find out who was doing this, Hazel had a feeling she had better do it fast. This morning’s incident had proven without a doubt that someone was trying to kill Myrtle, and she was afraid that next time, they might not miss.
Chapter Eleven
Hazel spent the next few hours absorbed in her work. She was so engrossed that when she surfaced from her writing, she was surprised that it was well past three o’clock. Myrtle’s afternoon guests would be arriving for tea at any minute! She changed into an ankle-length lavender tea dress and rushed downstairs.
Guests were mingling in the sitting room and dining room, where the staff was setting out delicate china cups and saucers. The dining table itself had been laid with a white linen tablecloth and several three-tiered serving dishes loaded with finger sandwiches, scones, and other goodies. Gloria hovered at Myrtle’s elbow as Myrtle introduced Hazel to the Corsairs, the Browns, and the Masters. Hazel already knew a few of the other couples there. But she wasn’t interested in any of the new guests. She was interested in Myrtle’s family. None of them were acting any stranger than usual, and no one seemed surprised that Myrtle was alive. But, of course, they’d already had time to cover their surprise before Hazel came down.
She didn’t notice anyone avoiding any of the dishes, but she doubted the killer would have the gumption to poison any of the food at the tea… especially with so many guests milling about. Still, Hazel took note that Vera avoided the salmon pâté, and Wes, who for once seemed relatively sober, favored the scones over the sandwiches.
Thoughts of poison made Hazel wonder just exactly what poison someone would be feeding Myrtle. Gloria had mentioned natural poisons, but something niggled at Hazel’s mind. Hadn’t Vera mentioned something about needing a cat to take care of the rats in the cottage? And where there were rats, there could be rat poison. Hazel made a mental note to try to visit the cottage to look around.
During tea, Myrtle seemed unfazed by the morning’s attempt at her life. Perhaps she’d already forgotten, or maybe her breeding was such that she played the gracious hostess no matter what was really going on in the back of her mind.
After tea was over, Myrtle leapt up from the table, clapping her hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Everyone! We have lawn games set up outside, and there are still plenty of hours of sunshine left!”
Chairs scraped on the floor as everyone stood, some people grabbing one last cookie or scone on their way out through the French doors, which stood open to reveal the stone patio and sweeping lawn below.
Gloria caught up with Hazel. Looping her arm through Hazel’s, she leaned in and whispered, “Have you made any progress?”
Hazel shook her head. “But now is a good opportunity to see who can shoot an arrow.”
“Of course! Someone with mediocre skills probably shot that arrow this morning. A novice wouldn’t have come as close, and a good shooter wouldn’t have missed,” Gloria said. “I knew you would think of ways to figure this out. Most of the family is over there. Let’s go see what they can do.”
They headed toward the area, skirting a rousing game of croquet, which Myrtle appeared to be winning. Down at the archery field, Mel and Sarah Brown were apparently having a good-natured competition with Edward and Vera while Wes looked on.
“Don’t you shoot?” Hazel asked Wes.
Wes held up his bandaged hand. “Not today.” He seemed relatively sober today, no slurring of the words, and his eyes, though red rimmed, were not glassy and unfocused like they had been the day before. The gears in her brain started turning as she looked at his hand. If he couldn’t shoot the arrow now, he certainly wouldn’t have been able to shoot it at Myrtle this morning. But was his hand really as damaged as he was implying, or was this a clever cover-up?
“When did you hurt your hand?” Hazel said casually.
Wes squinted as if trying to recall. “Oh, about three weeks ago. I was on a fishing trip with the boys and fell on the pier.”
“And it’s n
ot healed yet?” Hazel probably should’ve kept the question to herself, judging by the narrowing of Wes’s eyes, but she couldn’t stop it from popping out. Surely a simple fall wouldn’t have injured him so much that it would take more than three weeks for his hand to heal?
Wes shrugged. “I guess I’m a slow healer.”
“Bulls-eye!” Vera’s excited voice interrupted their conversation, and they turned to see an arrow quivering right smack in the red center of the target. Vera, dressed in a sky-blue mid-calf sheath, practically jumped up and down. She glanced back at Wes for approval, and he smiled and nodded. Had a look of affection actually passed between them? Perhaps they had made up after this morning’s argument.
“Bravo!” Edward’s accolades earned Vera a scathing look from Fran, who had come to stand beside Hazel. Was Fran jealous of her father praising someone else?
“That was a lucky shot,” Fran said.
Vera held the bow and arrow out for her. “Would you like to try to best me?”
Fran’s lips pressed together, her eyes narrowed. “I would, but it appears you’re in the middle of the challenge here.”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Brown said. “We were just shooting for fun. Go ahead.”
Fran’s eyes dropped to the bow. “Sorry, I can’t. They’re waving to me over there at the badminton net. We have a small tournament going.”
Edward smiled patiently at his daughter. “It’s okay, Fran. We know you have other things that you excel at that Vera doesn’t do well.”
Fran shrugged and headed toward the badminton area.
“Poor kid can’t shoot for beans.” Edward gestured toward the target where his brown-feathered arrows pierced the outer ring. One had missed the target entirely and stuck straight out of the ground. “Gets her lack of skill from me, I suppose.”
Murder at Lowry House (Hazel Martin Mysteries Book 1) Page 6