by CeeCee James
“I don’t know. Maybe because she spent so much time with Mr. Thornberry. Mark had always been close with him, and then she accused Mark of snooping through Mr. Thornberry’s stuff. As soon as Barbara left, Mark convinced Miss Janice to hire his girlfriend.”
“The nutritionist was his girlfriend? Did I know that?” I turned toward Mary who shrugged in response.
“That’s right,” Lucy answered.
“Did she ever give you any nutritional advice?” I asked.
“Maybe in the beginning.” Lucy sighed, her eyes softening. “Of course, soon after Mr. Thornberry started to decline. It’s no wonder she couldn’t keep up with his business. Toward the end he liked to play games with everyone.”
“Games?”
“I remember that.” Mary nudged me.
“Yes. You know.” Lucy looked at Mary. “Remember how he hid things, rearranged things? Georgia couldn’t keep up with his antics. None of us could, really. He’d hide important bills, game pieces. His books. She would be in there late at night searching through his stuff to help him sort things out.”
“That was during their tea time.” Mary mused.
“Yes. That’s right. He had a certain tea to help him sleep. She gave it to him more and more often when he became agitated.”
“She left when he died?” I asked.
“Right after the will was read. Before the memorial even. We were all shocked.” Lucy shook her head.
“It was quite the town gossip, I’ll tell you.” Mary raised her brows. “Especially since that morning Mark and her got into a raging fight. Everyone in the house heard it.”
Lucy nodded. “She made the gardener drive her into town.”
“You mean Stephen?”
“Yeah. It was a horrible day.” Lucy sighed.
“Any idea what they were fighting about?"
“I think she’d become a victim of his nasty gossip. That’s one of the things I remember him yelling, that he would tell the whole world. Now, why do you want that opened?” Lucy stared expectantly at the dirty box.
My fingers clenched the container. “We found it outside.”
“Outside? You weren’t outside. I just watched you two come through that closet.”
Mary and I glanced at each other. But we didn’t have time to explain because at that very moment Butler yelled, “Young man! At least clean your shoes off if you insist on marching in here like that.”
The young man made his presence known by hollering, “Where is she? I need to talk to her now.”
“Is that Stephen?” Mary asked at the exact moment I ran for the door to peek through, trying my best not to be spotted.
Apparently I was wrong. “You!” Stephen growled as he made eye contact, his voice reverberating down the hollow hall.
I recoiled back into the room, bumping into Mary right behind me. She shut the door, and we waited, neither of us knowing quite what to do.
His fist pounded on the door, with Butler still squawking about dirty boot prints. Angrily, Stephen pushed into the study. His fuming gaze swept over the other women and locked onto mine. “Everyone but Laura Lee, out,” he yelled.
Mary started to ask me if I would be okay, but Stephen began shoving them through the doorway.
“You be nice to her!” Mary threatened. “I’m getting Marguerite!”
“You get who you like,” Stephen hollered back and slammed the door. It vibrated from the blow. Slowly, he turned to look at me.
I straightened my spine to stare him right in the eye. “What’s your problem? Why are you being so rude?”
“Rude? This isn’t about rude. Tell me where is she?” he demanded.
“Where is who?”
He raked his fingers through his hair impatiently and it bristled on end when he’d finished. “Quit playing games. You know who. Where’s my sister, Sophia?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
My jaw dropped at what I was hearing.
“Please, answer me! Where is she?” Stephen still looked frightening, but as I watched, the anger drained from his face and left behind the paleness of real fear.
“What do you mean, your sister?” I asked softly.
He dipped his chin in a combination of frustration and overpowering emotion. “I mean she’s missing, and it happened right after you came looking for her.”
“Looking for her? You told me it was rabbits.” I crossed my arms, getting a little irritated.
“You knew that wasn’t true. You saw her.”
The door burst open, and Mary tumbled into the room. She glared around breathlessly. “What’s that you’re saying? There’s a child who lives here?”
He glared at her. “I told you to get out.”
“Get out yourself!” she answered indignantly, stomping her foot. “All this time you’ve been getting me all spookafied by telling me we have a ghost!” Her fingers waggled in the air. “Threatening me I better not speak of it!”
His eyebrows lowered, and his eyes softened. Dare I say I saw guilt? “We were hiding her.”
“Who’s we?” she demanded.
“Marguerite. Cook. Myself.”
Mary gasped. “They were in on it as well?”
“It was them who perpetuated the ghostly rumors.”
“Oh, I’m so angry! What’s wrong with you guys? Do you have any idea how terrified I’ve been to clean some of these rooms? I swear I’ve lost about five years off my life every time that darn cat runs out from under the bed.”
“Cat?” His eyebrows raised.
At that moment Lucy came around the corner, dragging Marguerite with her. “He’s right there! He’s a maniac!” she yelled and pointed.
“What on earth is going on?” Marguerite asked. Her pudgy cheeks were flushed and her bun askew.
“I want to know the same,” Mary demanded. “You’ve been telling stories! I thought we were friends?”
“What? And why do you have Barbara’s box?” Marguerite’s gaze locked onto the muddy container that I had all but forgotten about.
“Uh,” I stammered as all eyes turned toward me.
Marguerite’s gaze darted between the group. “Best we have a meeting, then,” she said, herding Lucy into the room like a mother hen and shutting the door. I oddly noted it no longer squeaked after Stephen slammed it.
“So, Stephen here just informed us there is a child on the premises,” Mary announced.
Lucy gasped, and Marguerite sent a stunned gaze toward the gardener.
“Right, then,” the housekeeper managed to sputter. “And why is it you are now sharing this news?”
Stephen rubbed his neck. His tone settled like a steaming pot removed from the burner. “Because Sophia hasn’t come home. Not since this woman stalked her through the woods.”
Somehow I was in the hot seat. “I didn’t stalk her. I stumbled onto her by the creek, and she ran away. So, of course I followed. She’s been spying on me for days. How was I supposed to know she was some secret child?”
Marguerite sighed. “Well, that’s water under the bridge, now. You can’t find her, Stephen?”
The young man’s eyes grew red. His gaze dropped to the floor, and he shook his head.
“Now, now. We’ll track her down, love. Don’t you worry.” Marguerite scuttled over and patted his shoulder.
“I want to know why this little girl has been hidden? Is this Barbara’s daughter? Why wouldn’t she take the child with her when she left?” Mary continued indignantly.
“Take her?” Marguerite snapped. “If you will remember, Miss Janice threatened Barbara with the full extent of the law. The poor woman left practically penniless. And Sophia had a home here in her family’s house. Her brother could protect and provide for her. Sophia had everything she ever wanted.”
“But why didn’t he tell Miss Janice?” Mary demanded.
“At this point, Miss Janice was already insanely jealous. Mark had been planting all these ideas in her head, and she was positively convinced Barbara ha
d cheated with her husband. She never would have believed that Sophia wasn’t her husband’s child.”
“So, who’s the father?” I asked.
“I think that is a story for another day,” Marguerite responded primly. “For now, we need to find the little girl.”
“There are too many secrets around here.” Lucy snapped. “We are in this one for all and all for one. That means quit keeping secrets from us.”
Marguerite studied her as if surprised by the show of backbone. She fluffed back a stray hair and patted it into her bun. “Fine. The father is our neighbor, Mr. Eland. Who was also Mr. Thornberry’s friend, as well as a lawyer. Which was another reason Barbara couldn’t tell. Even if Miss Janice would believe her, she’d think this was an underhanded way to get her husband’s money.”
“I’m not sure I like Miss Janice anymore,” I admitted.
Marguerite narrowed her eyes and clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Tut. It’s easy for outsiders to judge, but until you’ve worn your heart on your sleeve and been betrayed by love, you never can know. Now right at this moment we need to help Stephen find his sister.” Marguerite’s words were final.
The five of us dispersed to search the grounds. When everyone dispersed outside, I ran upstairs with the box. I tucked it into the cat cupboard, way in the rear where I felt the cold air draft in. Then I returned to help the others.
We spread out and searched the property. Interesting that it had just been that morning I’d pondered how nobody walked these fields, and now here we all were, beating the bushes and calling Sophia’s name.
Luckily, it turned out to be a quick process. While we walked along the creek and searched the forest, Marguerite drove to Mrs. Fitzwater’s house. There she found the girl watching a movie, safe in the retired woman’s care.
Mrs. Fitzwater scolded Marguerite by insisting she’d been one of Barbara’s best friends and it should be common knowledge she would always look after the child. Apparently Sophia had made a habit of visiting Mrs. Fitzwater for some time now.
Stephen reunited with his sister, and we stood in the driveway and watched the little family head to their home.
“Well, now,” Marguerite announced. “I need a spot of tea after all this.” She was sweaty and rumpled like the rest of us. “Let’s go back inside and settle down for a bit with a bite to eat. Spread the word. Tonight, we have book club.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The energy in the book club room could best be described as nervous excitement. Not the tummy-tingling, wait for the rollercoaster type. The cold kind you feel anticipating the dentist. Everyone knew we’d been gathered for a special reason, a specific reason, and rumors had been flying about all day on what it could be.
Marguerite sat at the front of the room, eating a pastry and staring morosely at the books, while Cook bustled about tipping wine into glasses and encouraging everyone to “drink up.” Of course, this only fanned the flames that an enormous secret was about to be unveiled.
When Marguerite called things to order, she hardly had a chance to speak before the room exploded into a firework display of interruptions.
“Is Miss Janice firing us? I heard she ran out of money.”
“Is the house being condemned because of the plumbing?”
“Does this have to do with the ghost?”
“Did you find out who killed Mark?”
Marguerite’s gaze bobbed between the women. “Oh, heavens,” she said, then tipped her glass and gulped it down. The action shocked everyone into silence. No one had ever seen her do that before.
“Excuse me,” said Lucy. “I have some more information about Mark.”
Marguerite sighed, realizing other things needed to take place before she dropped her bomb. “And what is that?”
“My cousin, Mario, called me.” Lucy’s expression held the look of importance. “They say he had a high dose of poison in his blood.”
“Was it from the cup!” I jumped to my feet.
“It’s being tested. But remember the bruise on his neck? Turns out it was a puncture, and they are looking into some type of an injection.”
I sat down confused. “No one was with him in the car.”
“He did get that text to meet someone,” Mary noted.
“Yes, but he left here alone and crashed around the corner,” Janet said.
“The poor man was never the same after Mr. Thornberry died,” Cook sighed.
“They were good friends, yes?” I asked. “Until Barbara came between the middle of them. Did they get close again when Georgia was hired?”
Cook spotted a crumb on her chest. She brushed it off. “Mr. Thornberry never trusted him again after Barbara said she caught Mark snooping through his things. It seemed to feed the poor man’s paranoia that they were after his crown. Poor Georgia had her hands full with trying to keep him mellow.”
“That’s right. You mentioned something about her serving him a calming tea every night.” I nodded.
“It’s true, he was so much worse in the months, even weeks before his death.” Mary frowned.
“You said he began playing games toward the end. Well, what if he wasn’t playing games? What if instead he was trying to preserve evidence and protect his fortune?” I suggested.
Lucy’s mouth dropped.
“What if I told you Mr. Thornberry hid two of the teacups? I think he suspected something was wrong with the tea.”
“You think she poisoned him?” Marguerite latched her sharp gaze on me. “But we could never prove she gave it to him. And why?”
“I think she thought she could drug him up enough to get him to confess where he’d left the crown. She searched for it every night. Mark no longer had the access to Mr. Thornberry after what Barbara said. And, instead, she accidentally killed him. Mark was furious. That wasn’t part of the plan.”
Cook nodded. “I never trusted her. I noticed she immediately worked her stuff to endear herself to Mr. Thornberry. Getting into all of his business, searching through all of his records and notebooks.”
Marguerite shook her head. “Like I said, even if it’s in the cups, it’s still circumstantial evidence. Not any substantial proof.”
“Except I found an envelope stashed in a cupboard in my room. It was filled with sachets of leaves. It took me a while to realize what they were. They smell horrid.”
“He hid the cups? I’ve been looking for them for ages.” Cook responded, stuck in her own world.
“And she’s come back. The morning that Mark was killed, Butler stood by the utility closet, shaking. He told me then he’d seen a ghost. I believe who he saw was none other than Georgia,” I said.
There were so many gasps they sounded like echoes.
I made my next point. “I think she was the person who sent Mark that cryptic text about setting up a meeting for some payday. And I think Barbara knew she was back as well.”
“That’s all very well, but what motive would she have to kill Mark?” Marguerite asked.
“I think a big clue is the fight the two of them got into the morning of the funeral. I think Mark felt guilty over Mr. Thornberry’s death, and he threatened to turn on her. He obviously held onto a teacup of his own. Is it possible that’s the reason she left so abruptly in the first place? Didn’t Mark yell he was going to tell everyone?”
“Yes, and she answered him that he couldn’t do anything right.”
“My poor tea set,” Cook grumbled.
Marguerite turned to me with her lips pursed. She gave a resigned sigh. “You know where those teacups are right now?”
I nodded.
“Very well. Lucy, call your cousin. See if he can come up. Apparently, we have some news to share.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Thus dismissed, I hurried from the book club room only to have to creep stealthily through the hallway. Heaven only knew how Miss Janice would react when roused from her warm bed with the revelation that the police were here. I knew I didn’t want to
be the one to wake her.
I slunk down the cold stairs—taking a brief pause to pat the giant chess piece once again—before continuing to the bottom floor. My first stop was the kitchen where I snagged two dish towels, and then I tiptoed to the study. The light from the hallway sconces barely ate up the darkness as I approached the door. Carefully, I opened it.
Black velvet wrapped the room tighter than a magician’s bag. I started to shut it behind me when I heard a terrifying sound from the direction of the desk. The one thing you never want to hear in a dark, empty room. A breath.
My hand gripped the doorknob tighter. Had someone already snuck in here ahead of me to remove the teacups?
Then, by the dim light trickling in from the hallway, I saw two golden eyes. Eyes like the lion guarding the library door.
They blinked at me, and my own eyes adjusted enough to see the great marmalade cat sitting on the abandoned desk blotter.
“Hank!” I gasped.
He made a soft noise, less than a meow. Something to greet me. I hurried over to the desk, my heart thumping.
I swear he watched me, amused. “You sneaky little thing. Always a step ahead of me, aren’t you?” I stroked his cheek, and he gave an affectionate rub to my hand before breaking into a bored yawn.
I carefully wrapped the first teacup, with Hank giving the package an interested sniff. The desk drawer stuck for a moment while I tried to retrieve the second, but I joggled it open. I wrapped that cup as well and kissed Hank goodbye. At the door, I glanced back just in time to see Hank sashay over to his cupboard, tail curled like a question mark. I watched him disappear inside, and with a smile, I shut the door.
Back in the book club room, the group of women were arguing. Marguerite remained in front, although now collapsed in the chair, her eyes closed, a single foot twirling the chair from side to side.
It was Cook who now attempted to reign in the women. “Girls! For the sake of bacon and French bread, can you remember we are in this together? That doesn’t mean speaking all at the same time! You’re about to wear us out.”