“I was wondering about that myself. We’d have to do that carefully so they don’t just dismiss us out of hand. The police don’t often like regular citizens butting in,” Hazel said.
“But don’t you have friends? Connections with the police? You’re well respected, and I heard they’ve even called you in on cases a few times. Surely whatever you say would carry a lot of weight.”
Pride swelled in Hazel’s chest. Charles had always listened to her theories and ideas about the various murder cases that he had discussed with her. And she had helped him solve a few. Even after he died, Scotland Yard had consulted with her here and there, but she didn’t know if that was just out of respect for Charles’s memory or if they actually valued her thoughts. Besides, the only one who seemed to want her advice was Detective Chief Inspector Gibson, and he wasn’t on this case. Constable Lowell, a midforties, slightly balding, and rather serious man whom Hazel had never met before, was heading it up.
Hazel was startled to realize that she actually wished Gibson were around. He would listen to her. Oh, it wouldn’t be like it had been with Charles. Nothing could ever be like that. But with Gibson’s approval, she would certainly have a lot more leverage to contribute to the case. Though, admittedly, Hazel was stumped. Her main suspect had been Vera, but clearly, she must have been wrong about that. Unless…
“You don’t suppose someone was really trying to kill Vera all this time, do you?” Hazel asked.
Gloria’s brows shot up. “Vera? I know her personality was abrasive, but I don’t think anyone would kill her. Besides, who would gain from it?”
“Good point. She didn’t have any money.” Hazel sipped her tea then looked at Gloria out of the corner of her eye. “But I did hear her and Wes argue. It could’ve been a crime of passion. And Fran seemed pretty angry with her earlier.” Hazel didn’t mention the conversation she’d overheard between Fran and Vera earlier, but she couldn’t help but recall Fran’s parting words “…I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do.”
Gloria shook her head. “Vera and Wes did bicker and argue, but they were devoted to each other. Wes would never hurt her… though he does get in his moods. But he’s never been violent before, just depressed. It had to be someone who mistook her for Auntie. The way she was in that chair when I came into the room, I thought it was Auntie myself. The gloves. The hair.”
Hazel nodded. She’d thought the same thing. In her novels, she always suspected the spouse first, but she’d seen the true affection between Wes and Vera despite their differences, and Wes had appeared totally devastated. The gunshot had come through the back of the chair, meaning the killer never even saw the victim’s face. Which made her wonder, had Wes been a little too devastated? The kind of devastation that combines grief and guilt. What if he had tried to kill Myrtle and had killed Vera by mistake? But wouldn’t he have known it was Vera in the library? By his own account, he’d just situated her there… unless he was lying.
“It sure would be good to know what the police are thinking. Poor Auntie, I worry about her terribly,” Gloria said.
“Well, this unfortunate incident might help flush out the killer sooner. Whoever killed Vera is the same person making the attempts on Myrtle. Once the police arrest them, Myrtle will be safe,” Hazel said.
“If we tell them about all the things that have happened, and you compare clues with them, it might help speed things up,” Gloria said hopefully.
“Maybe I can find a good opportunity to mention the other incidents. We should go and see if we can find out anything that’s going on.” Hazel pushed up from her chair and turned just as a figure appeared in the door.
“Mrs. Martin. Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
“Detective Chief Inspector Gibson. How lovely to see you.” Hazel tried to hide her surprise—and delight—from the tall man who stood in the doorway. His dark brow was furrowed in mock suspicion, but the twinkle in his brown eyes was welcoming. Was he happy to see her here? Hazel’s heart gave a little twitch, and she wondered what it meant. Probably just excitement in knowing that if Gibson was on the case, she’d be able to insinuate herself into it.
Gibson’s eyes dropped to Hazel’s dress, and she felt her cheeks heat. He cleared his throat. “You look… good. I didn’t realize you were friends with the Pembrokes.”
Hazel nodded. “Yes. Old friends. You don’t think I just randomly show up at murders all the time, do you?”
“You do show up at a lot of them,” he said.
“And just what, exactly, are you doing here? Isn’t Constable Lowell in charge?”
“I happened to be in the area, and they wanted to put someone with a higher rank on the case. Well-known prominent citizens like the Pembrokes command our utmost attention,” Gibson said. “Speaking of which, perhaps we could have a little chat. I would like to get your ideas. I know you were one of the first on the scene, and your powers of observation are unparalleled.”
Hazel blushed at the compliment. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that her staff seemed intent on fixing her up with Gibson. He was rather charming, and his strong jaw, broad shoulders, and kind eyes did have a strange effect on her that was not altogether unpleasant. Not that she was looking for that sort of thing. It was too soon.
“I was just leaving. You can talk in here.” Gloria shot Hazel a knowing look and left the room.
“Tea?” Hazel asked as she sat back down, eager to fill Gibson in on all her suspicions.
Chapter Eighteen
Gibson listened attentively while Hazel described what she’d seen when she entered the library and found Vera. Unfortunately, she couldn’t shed much light on the subject, because she hadn’t seen much. She mentioned how, at first, she’d thought the victim was Myrtle, and then hesitantly told him about the attempts on Myrtle’s life to date.
Gibson scribbled it all down in a small notebook, as if he truly did find her observations important. Hazel noticed with approval that he used a simple black Parker fountain pen. Reliable and practical. She was glad Gibson had shown up, as she doubted Constable Lowell would have given her suspicions the same attention.
“So you think Mrs. Pembroke—Vera Pembroke—was murdered by mistake?” Gibson asked.
Hazel nodded. “I believe she was mistaken for Myrtle. Their hair is the same color, and she had Myrtle’s gloves on the table beside her. Unless Vera was the target and all the incidents I mentioned that happened to Myrtle were just coincidence.”
Gibson pressed his lips together. “There seems to be a logical explanation for all of them. Or maybe someone was targeting Vera all along and Myrtle was on the receiving end by mistake.”
Hazel’s eyes narrowed. “That could be… No. Myrtle’s pills were tampered with, and that would have nothing to do with Vera. Vera didn’t walk the path, and Vera never sat in the rose garden. And I don’t think they are coincidences, because when you add them all together, it seems a little too convenient for them all to happen in such a short period of time. I still say the intended victim was Myrtle.”
“Okay, then who do you suspect is behind them?”
Hazel hesitated. She’d been leaning toward Vera as her main suspect. Now she had to rethink all of her clues. She didn’t want to go giving information to Gibson when she didn’t have it all sorted out in her head yet. “As near as I can tell, Myrtle has no enemies, so I assume greed is the motivation.”
“Yes, it usually is for the money, isn’t it?” Gibson said. “At least that’s how it is in your novels.”
Hazel blushed. “You’ve read my novels?”
“Every one of them.” Gibson’s kind brown eyes held hers for a few seconds.
Hazel looked away. “It’s often the spouse, too. But Myrtle’s is dead.”
Gibson nodded and scribbled in the notebook again. “I suppose you already know who would inherit from her.”
“Wes and Edward.”
“And which one of them do you think could be the killer?”
&nbs
p; “Well, to be honest, I’m not really sure. Edward does seem to covet the fine antiques Myrtle owns, and he would inherit a lot of them plus money, but Wes seems to need the money more than Edward.” And then there was Fran and the cameos. No, that was reaching. It was more likely to be Wes or Edward.
“And you can tie both of them to these incidents?”
“I haven’t found any exact proof that ties to either of them.” Hazel thought about the rat poison and the spade in the toolshed of Wes’s cottage. Anyone would be able to get into that shed, though. “But I haven’t found any alibis that rule them out from doing any of the things either.” Had she? Wes’s broken hand would certainly have inhibited him from shooting the arrow, but could he still shoot? Was that why the arrow had missed? What about digging the walkway… had he broken his hand before or after Myrtle had fallen? The more she thought of it, the less likely Wes seemed to be the culprit. Maybe Hazel should’ve been looking at Edward a little harder.
“I’ll keep all these things in mind—”
Constable Lowell appeared in the doorway. “We’ve got the names and addresses of all the guests. Sullivan has started interviewing the family.” His eyes fell on Hazel. “And I hear Mrs. Martin is staying at the house. But it looks like you have taken care of interviewing her.”
“Very good, Constable Lowell,” Gibson said. “What about the woman who found the victim? Mrs. Thompson. Were you able to talk to her?”
“One of the guests is a doctor, and he looked her over. She’s calmed down. Sent home with the rest. Says she went in to admire the books. She’s quite a bibliophile. But we didn’t learn anything from her. She didn’t see anyone leaving the room.”
“Has the murder weapon turned up?”
“Not exactly, but the coroner is here and had a look at the body. The bullet was a forty-four caliber. The gun was likely a small handgun, and apparently, the husband owns an old Webley British Bulldog revolver.”
Gibson’s brows shot up. His eyes flicked to Hazel. “The husband. He’s often the one we should suspect first, eh?”
“Yes,” Lowell said before Hazel could answer. “He lives in a cottage out back. He gave us a key and permission to search it. Said the gun is in a closet in the bedroom.”
Hazel didn’t want to be left out of the search. “I know exactly where the cottage is. Let me show you. You’ll never find your way there at night on your own.” She bolted up from the table and rushed out of the room before they could tell her she wasn’t invited.
“Ma’am, I don’t know if you should go in here. This could be a crime scene.” Constable Lowell had practically raced at the front of the beam of Gibson’s flashlight and arrived at the cottage a few seconds before them to open the door. He stood in the doorway, barring Hazel’s way.
“Nonsense.” Hazel glanced toward Gibson. “The crime happened in the main house. That’s where the crime scene is.”
“All the same, I think we can take it from here. Surely we can find the bedroom closet in this little cottage.” Constable Lowell looked at Gibson for confirmation.
“Mrs. Martin can come in. I’m sure she won’t touch anything.” Gibson gave Hazel a pointed look, and she nodded. Lowell sighed and moved out of the way, and Hazel went into the cottage.
As she had seen through the window when she’d come with Gloria, the cottage was sparsely decorated. The main living area was one large room: a kitchen on one end and living room on the other. A small hallway led to the bedroom in the back. There was an old Edwardian-style sofa and chair in the living room. A small pine kitchen table with two mismatched chairs was tucked in against one wall. The walls were white, accentuated with dark wood beams. A big stone fireplace dominated the living room end of the room. It was cozy and charming. Hazel thought it would make a great writer’s retreat but didn’t dare let her imagination dawdle on that. She had precious few seconds to look around for clues before the police would usher her out.
She followed them to the bedroom in the back. Her head swiveled back and forth to try to notice anything out of place. If Wes were the killer, would he have left something out that would be a clue? Would she even recognize it as such? Thankfully, Hazel was blessed with a good memory. If she kept her eyes open and took in as much as she could, maybe her subconscious would sift through the images and come up with something that was a true clue.
The bedroom was not as neat as the rest of the cottage. Colorful dresses lay thrown on the bed. Hazel felt a twinge of sadness, realizing Vera must have tried on several outfits for the party—the last party she would ever attend.
There were also photographs strewn on top of the dresser. A paper package of them lay on the windowsill. Vera’s photographs that she’d taken with the box camera. Hazel picked up a stack and flipped through them quickly. They were actually quite good, all nature shots of trees and flowers. Even a frog. Guilt bloomed in Hazel’s gut. She’d suspected Vera of trying to kill Myrtle, and she’d been wrong. The photographs were evidence that Vera was just a woman trying to enjoy life, not unlike Hazel herself. The fact wasn’t lost on Hazel that if she had done a better job of figuring out who the killer was, Vera would be alive today.
The police went straight for the closet, but Hazel went straight for the old mahogany mirrored vanity, the top of which was littered with jewelry. She could see most of it was costume, the long, sparkly necklaces that Vera favored. But a fancy sterling silver jewelry box sat in the middle. Hazel glanced over her shoulder quickly to make sure that Lowell, Gibson, and the other constable who had joined them were occupied in the closet, then flipped open the top of the jewelry box.
Jewelry that could only be the real thing blinked up at her from inside the box. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires. A string of pearls snaked around glittery rings and earrings. There was lots of gold. A cameo brooch and earrings. A platinum ring with a giant pink stone. It was all in a messy pile. How much of it was in there, and what was at the bottom of the pile? She reached her index finger in to stir the bottom contents to the top. Her finger hit bottom quickly—
“Did you find a clue?” Hazel jumped. Gibson was standing right at her shoulder. When had he come over? But instead of being mad that she was touching things, his eyes danced with amusement.
Hazel turned and smiled at him. “I’m not sure if it’s exactly a clue, but it looks like Vera had some expensive jewelry. Did you find the gun?”
She glanced over his shoulder to see that they’d taken everything out of the closet. More clothes had been piled on the bed. Shoes lay out on the floor. A hatbox with its top off sat on top of the clothes.
“No gun,” Gibson said.
Hazel’s brows drew together. “That’s odd. Why would Wes say he had a gun in here? He does drink a bit, though, so maybe he was mistaken.”
“Or maybe he used it to kill his wife,” Constable Lowell said. “Because if that gun was used in the murder at the house just a few hours ago, I don’t think anyone would have had time to run back here and put it back.”
Chapter Nineteen
When Hazel returned to the house with the police, everyone was still up, anxiously awaiting the outcome of their search. Myrtle stressed the fact that the absence of the gun didn’t mean a thing. She couldn’t believe that Wes was the killer. She even pointed out that the house had been full of almost sixty guests. Any one of them could have shot Vera.
Hazel didn’t have the heart to tell her that would be too much of a coincidence. Who else at the party would have wanted Vera dead? Everyone was exhausted, and retired shortly after the police left. Even Dickens seemed to sense something was going on, and he curled up next to Hazel on the bed and purred her to sleep. Surprisingly, she fell asleep quickly. Her last thoughts were of the gun. If Wes was the killer, why would he have sent them to the cottage to find it, knowing it wasn’t there? Had he done that to get them out of the house to buy himself some time to hide it?
One thing was certain. The gun that killed Vera was likely still inside Lowry House.
> The next morning, a bleary-eyed crew sat around the breakfast table.
“I can’t believe Vera is gone.” Myrtle wrung her hands, obviously distraught.
Gloria patted her shoulder. “Now, now, Auntie, it’s very sad, but things could be worse.”
Fran snorted. “I don’t think Vera would agree.”
“And to think those awful policemen suspect Wes!” Myrtle shook her head and then turned imploring eyes on Hazel. “Hazel, I do hope you’ll stay on. I need your help in figuring this out. I don’t trust the police.”
Though Hazel supposed most normal people would want to rush home rather than stay in a house where a murder had just occurred, with her, it was the opposite. She was driven to solve them. Not only that, but she’d already failed Myrtle once. If she’d been successful in discovering who had been attempting to harm Myrtle to begin with, Vera would not have been murdered. She could hardly leave now.
Hazel patted Myrtle’s hand. “Of course I’ll stay. Don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“And how is Wes holding up?” Gloria asked Myrtle. “I hope this doesn’t push him off the deep end.”
Myrtle straightened in her chair. “What do you mean? Wes is a sensitive boy, but he’s not going to go off any deep end.”
“He does get rather mopey,” Edward said. Hazel studied him as he slathered butter on a scone. Where everyone else was red eyed and haggard looking, as if they hadn’t had enough sleep, Edward seemed relatively unaffected by the recent events. But if he were the killer, wouldn’t he be upset that he had killed Vera instead of Myrtle?
“I just don’t understand how this happened.” Myrtle sipped her green health elixir then let out a ladylike burp, covered her mouth, and shrugged. Hazel wondered if Myrtle was really this clueless. Didn’t she realize the bullet had been meant for her? Hazel didn’t want to clue her in at the breakfast table in front of everyone. One of them could be the killer. And just what was the killer going to do now? Would they make another attempt on Myrtle, or back off for a while until things settled down?
Murder at Lowry House (Hazel Martin Mysteries Book 1) Page 10