A Perfect Case of Murder

by B. T. Lord

  “Yes,” he replied tersely.

  “I’d arranged a small party in her honor at the Ritz. It was a lovely time. It’s simply shameful that one of those people up where she chose to live killed my mother.”

  “Why do you say that?” Cammie asked.

  She turned a cool, disdainful eye to Cammie. “I don’t expect you to understand, Ms. Fennelworth…”

  “That’s Ms. Farnsworth,” Doc quickly corrected her.

  Lily didn’t blink an eye. “Do excuse me. Ms. Farnsworth,” she replied. “My mother had no business moving up to the middle of nowhere. However, she would not be dissuaded. She refused to comprehend how she could become an object of much envy. From what I understand, people up there are not, je ne sais quoi, well off.”

  “You mean poor?” Cammie responded, mentally rolling her eyes at the woman’s ridiculously pretentious manner.

  “Yes.” She took a sip of her tea. “The police said her home had been ransacked. It proves whoever killed her was looking for money or something of value they could sell.”

  “The killing itself was brutal. It spoke of someone who was enraged at Mrs. Carsgrove.”

  A slight smile graced Lily’s lips. “Well, Mother could be a bit…difficult.”

  “In what way?”

  “She always believed she knew what was best for everyone. I’m sure that didn’t change when she moved to …” She waved her hand in the air. “Whatever it was she moved to.”

  “Did you know about the lawsuit she was involved in?”

  “I did not, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Mother was not above using the legal system to get her way.”

  “Yes, the lawsuit on Cape Cod. Mr. Westerfield mentioned that yesterday.”

  “I’m all for the environment. But not when it impinges on a person’s right to enjoy nature.” She sighed. “But Mother could never understand that.”

  Before Cammie could respond, Doc broke in. “I see you’ve recovered nicely from your accident.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Accident?” Cammie asked.

  “It was a silly mishap,” Lily responded. “Charles and I were in St. Moritz’s for the holidays. I was having my skis waxed, and the fool applied the wrong wax. I practically flew down the ski trail. I only managed to stop by throwing myself over onto my side. I suffered minor bruises and a twisted ankle. It absolutely ruined my winter. I had no choice but to cancel my yearly shopping trip to Fortnum & Mason. That’s in London, you know,” she added, looking pointedly at Cammie.

  “You’re lucky you didn’t hit a tree,” Doc said. Cammie glanced at him from beneath her lashes, knowing very well he would have loved it if she’d hit a tree.

  “I’d like to offer my condolences on the death of your husband,” Cammie replied, ignoring her insult.

  Lily’s expression changed to one of deep sadness. She took a hitched breath that, as an experienced investigator, Cammie knew was fake. In fact, she was prepared to swear on a Bible that Lily’s sorrowful demeanor was faked.

  “Poor Charles. He was always pushing the envelope. I was afraid something was eventually going to happen to him. It’s just so dreadful.” She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at non-existent tears. Cammie suppressed the urge to clap at the wonderful performance.

  “I hoped we could talk about Helen’s service,” Doc replied, ignoring what he considered an overly melodramatic piece of bad acting.

  Lily glanced up at him through her lashes. “I appreciate your need to bring a friend, but I would have preferred to conduct this privately.” She looked to Cammie. “No offense intended.”

  The way Lily said the word ‘friend’, it sounded more like she was accusing Doc of bringing a call girl with him. Seeing the look on his face, Cammie shifted her weight on the sofa, ready to throw herself at him if he decided to launch himself across the table at Lily. Instead, he snarled, “For Chrissakes Lily, quit the melodrama. We’re here to discuss the burial of a dead relative, not to plan the robbery of the crown jewels of England.”

  With the two cousins glaring at each other, Cammie tried her best to diffuse the situation. She stood up. “I can certainly leave the room…”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Doc snapped. “Lily, let’s just get this over with. It’s painful enough as it is without any more added theatrics.” Lily glowered at him, but said nothing. “Following family tradition, I expect we’ll be having the service at King’s Chapel, followed by the burial in the Westerfield family plot at Mt. Auburn Cemetery. I’ve asked Bitsy to come up with any additional things she’d think Helen would have wanted. I’ve spoken to the coroner and it appears they’ll be releasing her body by the end of the week. I’ve made arrangements to have her flown down here to Carlton’s. They’re expecting us to come by and pick out a casket.” Cammie watched as Lily expertly brought her emotions under control. She took a sip of her tea, then offered Doc an impervious look.

  “You’ve been quite busy, haven’t you?” she asked. Before Doc could reply, she added, “All your hard work has been quite unnecessary however. I’ve decided to have her cremated.”

  Doc’s eyes widened. “Have you lost your senses? That isn’t how things are done in our family.”

  “That may not be the way the family does things. But she’s my mother and that’s my decision.” She stared at Doc, almost daring him to contradict her.

  Doc’s eyes narrowed in barely restrained anger. “Where do you propose to bury her ashes?”

  “I haven’t decided whether they should be strewn on the beach at Cape Cod or up in Maine. She equally loved both places.” Lily pointedly looked at her watch. “I really must fly. I have a pressing engagement.” She glanced at Doc. “I’ll be sure to let you know my final decision within the next few days.” She stood up and started to sweep out of the room when she stopped and turned back to face Cammie. “Uncle Eliot told me about your conversation with him. I advise you that if you are even slightly entertaining the idea that one of us killed Mother, you will be hearing from our lawyers.”

  “Why do you think I’d be looking at you?” Cammie asked calmly.

  “It would be a feather in your cap, wouldn’t it? Better us than an odious little farmer who no one has or ever will have heard of.”

  With a turn that would have put a ballerina to shame, she exited the room. Doc put his coffee down and turned to Cammie. “Pleasant, isn’t she?”

  She guffawed.

  It wasn’t until they were safely in the Navigator that they discussed what had just occurred.

  “I knew that would be a waste of time,” Doc replied as they started down the long driveway.

  “Actually, it wasn’t.”

  He glanced at Cammie in surprise. “You enjoyed being treated like a peasant?”

  Cammie shrugged. “She’s not the first person I’ve met who needs to feel superior in order to feel good about herself.” Doc cocked an eyebrow but she continued. “She’s very good at keeping her mask in place. That is, until you two got into it over little ol’ me.”

  “It was either that or reach across the damned tea set and throttle her,” Doc grumbled.

  “Is she really the jetsetter she tries to come across as?”

  “Yes. For as long as I’ve known her, Lily can’t settle down in one place before she’s itching to go on to someplace else.”

  “Why do you think she’s like that?”

  “I think she’s terrified of being bored.”

  “What was Charles like?”

  “I actually liked Charles, believe it or not. Though I did question his taste in wives. He had a very dry sense of humor and was very good at what he did.”

  “What exactly did he do?”

  “He was a very high priced attorney who looked after the wellbeing of the rich and famous. He had a special talent, which is what made him so successful and wealthy, of helping to hide the scandals and foibles of the well to do.”

  “Would you characterize their marriage as a happy one?”


  “He understood her. But he loved her and turned a blind eye when Lily became a bit overwrought. Their marriage probably lasted as long as it did because they spent a great deal of time apart. When he wasn’t consumed with his career, he was, as I explained last night, an adrenalin junkie par excellence. Since his work allowed them to maintain their grand lifestyle, Lily didn’t quibble over their long absences away from each other.”

  “Sounds like Lily wasn’t the only terrified of being bored,” she mused. “It’s interesting how she sidestepped my question about her relationship with her mother. ‘She was my mother’ tells me more than if she’d said, ‘I loved my mother’.”

  Doc chuckled. “You’re right on that score. Theirs was a contentious relationship. Helen could be as rigid as her daughter, although Lily has turned it into an art form. She was closer to her father, who indulged her every whim.”

  “A daddy’s girl, then?”

  “Very much so. She learned early on how to wrap a man around her little finger. It was Helen who tried to put the brakes on her. She felt Lily was too spoiled. I suspect that was one of the reasons Lily liked to travel. She cannot stand to be criticized and Helen was always criticizing her, demanding she stop being such a princess.”

  Cammie laughed. “No wonder you got along so well with Helen.”

  “Lily was devastated when her father died. I imagine that’s why she involved herself so quickly with Charles. He was fifteen years older than she was.”

  “So it was a daddy fixation?”

  “In a way. He indulged her the way Freddy did. Charles was an ardent pilot who owned his own plane. He would fly her at the drop of a hat for a romantic dinner in the Caymans or Bar Harbor.”

  “What did you mean last night when you said she is, in some respects, exactly like her mother?”

  “They both suffered from this need to be perfect. Or at least to appear that way to the outside world. Helen finally got tired of it and moved up north. Lily however is still in its throes. You saw the way she dressed, her make-up, nail polish, her home. Even in the way she served the coffee.”

  “That’s exhausting,” Cammie replied. She looked over to Doc. “And potentially lethal.”

  “How?” he asked as he sped up to pass a slower moving vehicle.

  “As you said, Lily’s lifestyle is important to her. Would she kill at the risk of losing it all?”

  “Now what makes you ask a question like that?”

  Just as Cammie was about to answer, Doc honked the horn and swerved to avoid someone who tried to cut him off. She grabbed onto the dashboard, deciding that would save her quicker than taking the time to make the sign of the cross.

  “Did you notice her answer when I asked whether she knew anything about her mother’s lawsuit against Henry Harding?”

  “She said she knew nothing about it.”

  “Yet a few moments later, she referred to Henry as ‘that odious little farmer who no one has or ever will have heard of’.” She turned in her seat and looked at Doc. “I never told her who the other party in the lawsuit was. So why did she lie?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Are you accusing Lily of killing her mother?” Doc asked.

  “I don’t know yet. But it’s awfully suspicious that she felt the need to lie about what is basically an inoffensive lawsuit. At least to her.” She paused as she glanced out the window at a passing bicyclist, praying he’d be smart enough to keep out of Doc’s way. “Do you know who her attorney was for this lawsuit against Harding?”

  “No. But I can easily find out.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” She paused. “So do you think the birthday party at the Ritz was really the last time Lily saw her mother?”

  “As you saw for yourself, we don’t exactly plan our social calendars together.” He frowned at her. “I know being suspicious is part of your nature, but don’t you think you’re overdoing it here? First you accuse Lily of murdering her own mother, then you’re suspicious because she neglected to tell us she knew about the lawsuit with Harding.”

  Although her gut told her something was off about the whole thing, she didn’t want to argue with Doc about it. “Yeah, you’re probably right. You know me. I see shadows around every corner.” She waited a few moments, then asked, “You didn’t exactly sound enthralled over the idea of Helen being cremated.”

  “Of course I’m not. No one in our family has ever been cremated. We’ve always had the funeral at King’s Chapel and the burial at the family crypt. I can only imagine the scandal that’s going to cause.”

  “At least you can stay out of the middle of that mess. It’s between Lily and your family.”

  “You’re right. It is.” He glanced at her. “If that visit didn’t exhaust you, I’d like to pay a visit to Horatio’s daughter. Her name is Abigail, but we all call her Abby. She was very close to Helen. In fact, some of those abstract paintings you saw in Helen’s cabin and Horatio’s apartment were painted by her. I suppose I should ask if she wants me to return Helen’s to her.”

  “Hopefully Abby didn’t take after her grandfather or Lily.”

  Doc smiled. “She got the best of us. She’s very sweet and caring. A little high strung perhaps, but that’s to be expected when you consider her mother was a woman you would categorize as very high maintenance. Both she and my father were appalled when Abby left Harvard Law School to become an artist. Of course Helen, Horatio and I supported her ambitions.”

  Cammie shook her head. “That’s silly. There were lots of socialites who became artists. Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney comes to mind. Didn’t she found the Whitney Museum of Art in New York?” Doc’s eyes widened. “I’m not the intellectual midget you think I am,” she huffed when he glanced at her in surprise.

  “Apparently not. Anyway, she lives in a loft apartment near the Seaport District.”

  Cammie mentally prepared herself for the half hour ride. Doc didn’t disappoint. He swerved in and out of traffic and made it to Abby’s apartment building in twenty minutes.

  The Seaport District was the newest neighborhood in a city known for its insular neighborhoods. At one time, this part of the city was all warehouses and wide empty lots, but for the past several years, it had become a center of business, upscale apartments and restaurants at the tip of Southie – the traditional Irish section of Boston.

  Doc parked the car in a small parking lot around the corner from Abby’s apartment on A Street. The area still looked like it was inhabited by old warehouses, but once they entered the building where Abby lived, the décor took on a more refined look. She buzzed them in and they took the elevator to the top floor where, much like Bitsy’s, the elevator opened up to a large, brick walled, open loft apartment. From the windows, there was a view of Boston Harbor and its collection of small islands on the horizon.

  In one corner of the spacious room, Abby was standing in front of a large easel. She wore a smock covered with bright splashes of paint over a pair of black capris. There was a resemblance to Doc in her coloring and petite height. Her long light brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she smiled when she saw Doc.

  “Uncle Samuel!” she cried out as she put the paint brush down, removed the smock and literally raced across the room to throw her arms around his neck.

  “Abby!” he said as he took her hands and held her away from him. “You look exceptionally well.”

  “I am! Guess what? I’ve got two art shows this year. Isn’t that awesome? I’ll show you what I’m going to exhibit.”

  “Let me introduce to Cammie Farnsworth,” he said as she began to lead him away.

  “Hi, Cammie!”

  “Hello, Abby.”

  She dragged her uncle to the canvas. “I’m just about done. What do you think?”

  Cammie came up beside Doc and looked at the canvas. It was a watercolor of a tree overlooking the ocean. It was a moody painting, with the skies done in dark grays, greens and blues. The ocean behind the painting was choppy and angry, also
done in muted, brooding colors. The tree, however, was illuminated in yellows and golds. To Cammie’s surprise, it spoke to her, reflecting her recent experiences. Even during the darkest days, there was always hope that a sliver of light would cut through the murkiness and show a better way. It brought tears to her eyes that she quickly blinked away.

  “You’ve changed your style,” Doc said.

  “Yeah, I decided to try something different.”

  “I love it,” Cammie announced.

  Abby’s eyes brightened. “You really do?”

  “Definitely.”

  “I agree. It’s very atmospheric, while at the same time, it completely draws you in,” Doc added.

  “Oh thank you! That’s exactly what I was trying to capture.” She turned to Cammie. “So you’re the famous sheriff of Twin Ponds. Uncle Samuel is always talking about you.”

  “Is he now?” Cammie asked, turning an arched eye at the embarrassed Doc.

  “Yes. He says the town would be lost without you.”

  “Why don’t we sit down?” Doc interjected quickly as Cammie inwardly laughed at his discomfort. Uncle and niece sat down side by side on the comfortable red couch while Cammie sat across from them on a canvas chair.

  “We just came from Lily’s,” Doc explained.

  “I pity you,” Abby laughed.

  He chuckled. “I was hoping we could have a mature discussion about Helen’s funeral service. But I suppose hoping for that is like hoping for world peace.”

  As perky as Abby had been two seconds before, at the mention of Helen’s name, she suddenly burst into tears. “It was so horrible. Why would anyone want to kill Helen? She was such a wonderful person!”

  Unlike Lily’s lackluster performance, Abby’s grief and sorrow was real. And poignant. She took a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Every time I think of what happened to her, I just completely lose it.” Doc draped his arm around her shoulders as she struggled to get herself under control. “Can I get you anything? A coke? I’ve got some salad fixings,” she sniffed into her tissue.