A Scandal in Scarlet

by Vicki Delany

  “Pardon me,” my archnemesis said.

  “Quite all right,” I replied.

  Louise continued on her way.

  I stood in the entrance, looking around the building, getting my bearings. A substantial number of people bustled about, most of them dressed in some version of sailing clothes. Ages ranged from primary school to almost a century. The opposite wall was all glass, giving a fabulous view over the harbor, row upon row of straight tall masts pointing into the blue sky, to the ocean dotted with boats of all types and sizes. I am not a sailor. My parents didn’t sail—they didn’t so much as row. I didn’t even have toy boats to play with in the bathtub. When I was growing up, my father’s uncle Arthur was mostly away at sea, and on the rare occasion he visited us, he would take my sister and me to the British Museum or the National Gallery, not to the seaside. Since we’ve been living together in West London, I’ve been out with him several times on his boat, The Irregular, but after a few attempts to teach me to steer the craft or raise a sail, he decided I’m better suited in the galley making rum punches or on the computer planning our land excursions.

  I walked up to the reception desk. The handsome young man, all freckles and blond hair, gave me a smile so brilliant I was glad I hadn’t removed my sunglasses. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”

  “I hope so. I … I’m new to town, and I’m thinking of joining a sailing club.” I smiled shyly at him. “My late husband was a marvelous sailor, and I’d like to take it up again.”

  Out came a stack of brochures. I tucked them into my bag.

  “Our membership director is Mrs. Burnside. She’s in her office at the moment, and she’d be delighted to answer any questions you might have.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Let me show you to her office.”

  “I’d rather have a look around first, if you don’t mind. I was at the West London club yesterday, and they were so friendly. Gave me free run of the place. Oh, it looks like you’re having a party on the deck. How lovely.” I wandered off. He picked up his phone and punched buttons.

  A sign at the entrance informed me that the outdoor bar and restaurant was closed this afternoon for a club meeting. I went outside. White pillars, dark wood floor, blue and white wicker furniture, giant iron tubs of red geraniums and trailing vines. A glass railing marked the edge of the veranda, and beyond was a patch of perfect grass, some flower beds, and a dock that appeared to be the valet dock for motor boats. Young men and women in the club’s colors helped passengers disembark, and then took the boats to a slip.

  All terribly posh.

  On the veranda itself, about twenty-five people mingled and sipped drinks. White-and-black-clad waiters carried silver trays with flutes of sparkling wine. A long table had been set up at the front, with seats for three and pads of paper and pens and water glasses laid out. Rows of chairs had been arranged to face the table, ready for the meeting to begin.

  Quite a few people smiled politely, although vacantly, at me. I recognized some Emporium shoppers and some who regularly frequented Mrs. Hudson’s. A few of these people had been at the visitation for Kathy Lamb yesterday, but none had been at the museum auction.

  Except for one. I spotted my quarry helping herself to a glass of wine off a young waiter’s tray. Elizabeth Dumont. There was no sign of her husband, Dan Lamb.

  Once she had her drink in hand, Elizabeth went to stand at the railing, looking out to sea. I joined her.

  “What a marvelous view,” I said.

  She didn’t look at me. “It is.”

  I held out my hand. “I’m Gail McIntosh. I’m new to the Cape and thinking of joining this club.”

  She glanced at my hand through her thick glasses and took it a fraction of a second before enough time passed to be rude. Her grip was firm. I thought of three-day-old fish and let my own fingers flop.

  “Are you a member here?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s fine.”

  In this fashionable, well-heeled crowd, Elizabeth stood out for her lack of style. Her gray hair was cropped short, her eyebrows were bushy, and she wore no makeup. She dressed as though she didn’t much care what anyone thought, in well-worn Bermuda shorts and a pink T-shirt with a flower pattern. Her shoes were Birkenstocks, and her only jewelry consisted of small gold studs in her ears and a thin wedding band on her left hand. Instead of Chanel Number Five or Elizabeth Taylor’s Diamonds, she smelled of stale tobacco. She stared over my shoulder. I laughed lightly. “Have you been a member long?”

  “A few years.”

  Two women began fussing at the long table, placing a binder and a water glass at each place. The meeting was about to begin. I was getting nowhere, and getting there fast.

  A woman dressed in a summer business suit crossed the veranda rapidly, heels tapping on the wooden decking, heading my way.

  “There you are!” she said to me. “I’m sorry to have left you on your own. I’m Theresa, the membership director here.”

  We shook hands. A waiter passed and I pointedly stared at him.

  Theresa got the hint. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”

  “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Elizabeth said. “Our meeting’s about to begin.”

  “Meeting?” I blinked in embarrassment. “Oh dear. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. What’s your meeting about?”

  “Club business.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  “I’m Elizabeth Dumont.”

  “Elizabeth is one of our die-hard members.” Theresa handed me a glass full of dancing bubbles. I touched my lips to the rim, but didn’t drink. “I don’t know what we’d do without her.”

  “An exaggeration.” Elizabeth attempted to sound modest, but her chin lifted at the praise. “You’d manage perfectly fine.”

  “Elizabeth has recently married,” Theresa said. “Isn’t that nice? Her husband is new at our club, and we’re absolutely delighted. Perhaps you’d enjoy talking to Mr. Lamb and some of our other new members to find out all about joining our little yachting family.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if you can take your seats please,” a woman said in a voice designed to carry.

  “Why don’t I show you around the club, Mrs.…?” Theresa put her hand lightly on my arm.

  “McIntosh.”

  “We have full banqueting facilities and a justifiably famous restaurant as well as …” Her voice droned on, outlining the excellence and exclusivity of the Cape Cod Yacht Club.

  Short of tearing my arm away, dropping into a seat, crossing my arms over my chest, and not budging, I couldn’t refuse to go with her. Disguise or not, I didn’t see a way to demand of Elizabeth, “Did you kill your husband’s previous wife?”

  This had been a wasted trip. Elizabeth herself seemed calm and in control, a woman comfortable in her environment and confident of her place in it. Then again, if she’d had the nerve to murder her rival a few feet away from a room full of people, she wasn’t the nervous sort.

  She hadn’t mingled much with her fellow club members, but I got the feeling that was her choice, not theirs. She wasn’t ostracized here. People had greeted her, and Theresa had praised her.

  Maybe that was the most I would learn today.

  “Nice meeting you, Elizabeth,” I said.

  “I’m sure you’ll like it here if you decide to join.” She turned to walk away.

  I slapped my forehead. “Lamb. I heard that name just this morning. One of my friends was telling me about it. That woman who died on the weekend—terrible tragedy. The papers say the police are treating it as a suspicious death.” I pretended not to hear Theresa’s sharp intake of breath. “Lamb isn’t a common name, is it? Was she your sister-in-law maybe?”

  The look of bored politeness on Elizabeth’s face changed in an instant. Pure rage flared in the depths of her eyes, and a vein pulsed in h
er neck. “How dare you!”

  I lifted my hand to my throat and took a step backward. “Oh dear, did I say something out of turn? My husband always said my mouth was my worst enemy. I’m only trying to make conversation.”

  “What sort of a boat do you own, Mrs. McIntosh?” Theresa said.

  “Were you related to the dead woman?” I asked Elizabeth.

  “We have mooring for any size of boat or yacht.” Theresa’s voice rose in panic.

  “I knew her,” Elizabeth said.

  “You must be in mourning then. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  “Plus winter storage for those who don’t go south for the season.”

  Elizabeth stared at me. “Kathy Lamb was a thoroughly nasty, jealous, bitter woman. No loss to anyone. Least of all to me.”

  I laughed in embarrassment.

  “And a wide range of social activities for all ages,” said an increasingly desperate Theresa.

  “Her death worked out to your advantage then,” I said.

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you, anyway?”

  “Do you have grandchildren, Mrs. McIntosh?” Theresa grasped desperately at conversation of last resort.

  “Why yes, I do,” I said. “I have seven. Four boys and three girls. Will you look at the time? I have an appointment soon. Why don’t I take your card and come back another day.” I allowed Theresa to lead me away. Other than forcing her to break down and confess, which wasn’t going to happen, I’d learn nothing more from Elizabeth today.

  Behind me, Elizabeth’s phone rang. She pulled it out and snapped, “Dan, where the heck are you?”

  I stopped walking abruptly and leaned against the railing. I looked out to sea and took a deep admiring breath. The air was full of the scent of the ocean mingled with flowers, freshly cut grass, good perfume, and a slight trace of bacon grease wafting from the kitchen. “This view is magnificent,” I said to Theresa. “Much better than the one at the West London club.”

  I had no idea if it was or not, as I’ve never been to the West London Yacht Club, but my words had the desired effect. Teresa stopped trying to hurry me away. “We’re very proud of it.”

  “Not again!” I overheard Elizabeth say. “You went yesterday. I told you not to go, but you insisted. Wasn’t once enough?”

  Fortunately, Theresa had the common sense to realize that I wanted to admire the view in peace. She stopped talking and let me enjoy the beauty of my surroundings.

  “This meeting is important to me,” Elizabeth yelled into the phone. “I told you that.”

  I was only party to half of this conversation, but that was enough. I couldn’t hear his words, but the whiny, pleading tone of Dan’s voice came across. Elizabeth was getting angrier and angrier. “I want—no, I expect your support. You don’t have to make an appearance again. You weren’t married to the horrid woman any more. Let her children handle the visitation.”

  She paused. Dan said something I didn’t catch.

  “Don’t give me that. I’m surprised anyone even bothered to show up. Morbidly curious, no doubt.”

  There was a long pause. Elizabeth breathed. “I expect you to be at the club in fifteen minutes, Daniel. No excuses.” In the old days, she would have slammed the receiver down so hard it bounced; today she shoved the phone into her jacket pocket with an angry grunt. She marched across the veranda. “Let’s get this meeting started. Now!”

  I headed for the doors. “Your grandchildren will enjoy our extensive range of children’s programming,” Theresa said. “Both on the water and on land.”

  “How nice,” I said. “Thank you so much for your time. I’ll be in touch.”

  She whipped out her phone. “Why don’t I take your contact information, Mrs. McIntosh? I can send you further information electronically.”

  I waved my hand in the air. The large stone in the ring on my left hand wasn’t a real diamond, but it was a good imitation. “I’ll call you. Oh, I see someone I know. Thank you for your time.”

  I left Theresa with her mouth open, clutching her phone. I hadn’t been lying this time: I had seen someone I knew. About the last person I would have expected to find here.

  A man and a woman stood by the club’s notice board chatting. He was dressed in Ralph Lauren, his hair windblown, his cheeks pink, looking as though he’d just come back from a sail. Her long blond hair was tied into a casual ponytail, and she wore jeans with a plain T-shirt and trainers, as though she’d just finished work,

  Which she had.

  “Good afternoon,” I said.

  They both smiled politely, although vacantly at me. “Good afternoon.”

  “This is a lovely club,” I said. “I’m new to town and thinking of joining.”

  The man’s smile broadened. He was in his early thirties and handsome in that clean-cut American way: short dark hair, strong jaw, good teeth. “You’d be most welcome. We’re a great bunch.” He held out his hand. “I’m Jack Templeton and this is my friend, Jayne Wilson.”

  I accepted his handshake and nodded at Jayne. She narrowed her eyes and studied me closely.

  “If you’re new here, you must try Jayne’s place,” Jack said. “It’s called Mrs. Hudson’s Tearoom. It does a fabulous traditional afternoon tea.”

  “Perhaps I will,” I said.

  “It’s on Baker Street,” he said, “next door to a pretentious bookstore called Sherlock Holmes.”

  “Pretentious, is it?”

  “Totally. Run by some nutty English woman.”

  Jayne leapt to my defense. Sort of. “Gemma might seem different from most people sometimes, but she’s anything but nutty. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. Don’t tell her I said that.”

  “My lips are sealed.” He turned the full wattage of his smile onto Jayne. “I have to be going. Great seeing you, Jayne. I’ll call you later, and we can arrange that dinner.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” she said.

  He gave her a wink and me a polite smile, and went into the bar.

  “I hope you’re not thinking of going on a date with him,” I said in my normal voice.

  Jayne sucked in a breath. “Gemma?”

  “Let’s get out of here.” I headed for the doors. Jayne followed at a rapid clip.

  “What the heck are doing in that get-up?” she asked.

  “ ‘Pretentious,’ indeed. Never mind ‘nutty.’ I’ll accept your compliment, though. Did you come in your car?”

  “I walked. I left Fiona and Jocelyn to lock up the tearoom. Are you going to tell me …?”

  “I have the Miata. I’ll meet you at the corner of Harbor Road and Smith Street in five minutes.”

  “Can’t I come with you now?”

  “I don’t want people to see us leaving together. I might need to come back at a later date. They’ve done a nice job with the gardens here, haven’t they?” I wandered over to examine the roses.

  Roses examined, along with the condition of the rest of the garden, I headed for my car. I was driving cautiously and sedately out of the Cape Cod Yacht Club when a black Lexus tore past me on the other side of the driveway, missing my side mirror by inches. I pulled to the verge, stopped the car, and watched in my rearview mirror as the Lexus squeezed into a spot close to the doors. The driver leapt out, and her door struck the car next to her. She paid it no mind, but grabbed her purse and ran up the steps into the club.

  Robyn Kirkpatrick, former board chair of Scarlet House, in a heck of a hurry.

  Perhaps because she was late for a meeting? If she was a member here, she’d be acquainted with Elizabeth Dumont.

  Jayne was waiting for me as arranged. I stopped at the curb, and she hopped in. “Spill,” she said. “I didn’t recognize you at first. Where the heck did you get all that stuff?”

  I pulled off the wig and gave my head a good rub. “That thing is hot.”

  “Gemma! Talk.”

  “A few items I’ve collected over the years,” I said, “thinking they might com
e in handy someday.”

  “Is that diamond real?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to tell me why you thought it necessary to age yourself twenty years to visit the Cape Cod Yacht Club?”

  “I wanted to check out Elizabeth Dumont in her own environment. I thought it better to do so in disguise.”

  Jayne fell against her seat with a sigh. “You never fail to amaze me.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “What were you doing there?”

  “I wanted to help you with the investigation. I dated Jack Templeton for a while in high school.”

  “Is that so?”

  “He moved to Boston, made a lot of money in an internet start-up, and is now back in West London. I’d heard he belonged to the club, and thought I might be able to find something out about Dan Lamb and Elizabeth Dumont, so I gave Jack a call. I was planning to talk on the phone, but he said he was at the club and suggested I pop down and meet. It was nice seeing him again.” She smiled to herself. “We’ve lost touch over the years.”

  I harrumphed. “You’re not planning to have dinner with him, I hope.”

  “Why, yes, I am. Turns out he got divorced not long ago. He’s been thinking about looking me up and was pleased when I called.”

  “You aren’t afraid of being known as Jack and Jayne?”

  “I, for one, am not so childish.”

  I harrumphed again. “I don’t suppose you learned anything apart from the news that your childhood crush is once again single?”

  I pulled into the alley behind the Emporium and the tearoom, and switched the engine off. I turned to face Jayne, and she grinned at me.

  “I think I did. Learn something, I mean. Elizabeth and Dan aren’t getting on too well. Rumor is he regrets marrying her, but she controls the purse strings, and he’ll be cut off without a cent if he leaves her. Elizabeth was absolutely furious when Dan tried to maintain a friendship with Kathy, and now that Kathy’s dead, she still doesn’t seem to be able to get over it. She ordered Dan to have nothing to do with planning Kathy’s funeral. Can you believe it? Kathy was the mother of one of his children and as good as the mother to the other. No one at the yacht club can stand Elizabeth, but she’s one of their richest members and puts a lot of money into the club, plus she runs most of the committees, so everyone pretends they love her to bits. As for Dan himself, they all feel sorry for him.”