by Beth Byers
Kate shifted and they could all see the anger in her face. She explained, “To keep that trim figure for his abuse.”
“Probably untraceable poisons. No death.” Ham cursed. “We really can’t catch them, can we?”
“I don’t think so,” Jack answered. “It seems they were rather more careful in the murder plans than their wedding plans.”
“They probably learned to be precise after such a mistake.” Lila yawned and then said, “I think that means we can order coffee again, and I need it.”
“Hear, hear,” Victor said. “My head is pounding. I fear we’ve become quite dependent.”
Jack and Ham sighed and Violet echoed it. She didn’t want to be the woman who let murderers go. Perhaps they should tell the police in Norway their suspicions, but she decided to leave it to Jack and Ham. Instead, she followed her twin to the dining room for coffee and drank it in silence.
“I’d murder for you,” Victor told her. “That’s my problem. I would have preferred that those sisters just leave their husbands, but I can see why they didn’t.”
Violet didn’t answer. Her head was pounding and her heart was grey and her frustration was with more than just that moment; it was with a world that made it hard for Margaret Hanson to leave the husband who left her bruised and almost broken. That left the women dependent on a father who wouldn’t help them, on husbands who didn’t care about them, but no. She frowned. Those sisters might not have been able to carry on with their current lifestyle without their spouses, but there were options.
Violet sighed, “They’re going to get what they want in the end.”
Her brother met her gaze and he finally shrugged. “We can’t cure all the world’s ills, and this is a lesser one in the grand scheme of things.”
“I just worry that murder is seeming to be a reasonable choice,” Violet admitted. “We have encountered too many to have innocent hearts or minds anymore. It’s like Margaret and Ruth—one of the reasons they turned to poison was because it had been something they had seen before. It had been an out for another in their lives. It had become an option, horrible as it was.”
“We’re not killers, Vi. We don’t have to be. We have each other.”
Violet leaned back and closed her eyes, sipping her coffee slowly. The day passed slowly and she ended it by spending much of it near the sea, thinking about how the waves were all connected. Jack sat down next to her and said, “Ham and I tried for a confession.”
“You failed?”
He nodded.
“What are you going to do?”
“Ham is doing it now.”
“What?”
“He’s writing a report that lists every person involved, their possible motives, and suggests how it might have been done. He’s going to give it to the captain and excuse ourselves.”
Violet nodded. “Are we bad people?”
His answer was slow, and she was afraid he was going to say they were. Instead what he said was, “I think there’s a reason we just have to trust some things will balance out in the end. We trust that God will judge, Vi. I think we need that because it is complicated. Murder is wrong. I won’t pretend otherwise, but so is what Hanson and Nielsen are doing to those women. One wrong doesn’t justify another wrong, but there comes a point where we need a higher judge.”
“And if there is no God?” Vi asked.
“Then we’ll be dead and it won’t matter.”
They stared at each other and Vi said, “I should like to believe that there is a God. That there will be a judgement, justice, and mercy in the end. I should like to believe that our choices matter.”
Jack took her hand, kissing the back of it, and said, “I should like to believe that there is the possibility for our love to last beyond our short years here. I will be the best man in this life for that day, Vi. The rest I’m handing over to whatever comes next.”
They didn’t speak for a long time after that and when the ship landed, Vi saw the captain and a local detective mocking Jack and Ham’s report. They might be quite respected investigators in England, but it seemed that Norway was not England. The twin sisters left the ship, entered a hotel, and would soon be returning to England.
Their negotiation had ended and they would have an allowance to survive in England without their husbands, who would have the continued support of the twins’ father as long as he agreed, but it seemed that as long as their lives weren’t sullied with divorce, no one believed he would object.
Margaret Hanson was expected to make a full recovery, physically at least. Ruth Nielsen would have issues from the damage caused by the hemlock, but they would both live. Alive, free, and forced to carry with them what they had done.
Violet watched the twins sit, side-by-side, and hoped there would be happiness someday for them. They were in the lobby of the same hotel and Violet was grateful to be checking out. They would go out for breakfast and then onto wherever it was that Ham had planned.
With her brother, Violet asked, “Did we do the right thing?”
“We did what we could,” he told her. “Our failure to get a confession doesn’t put their crime on us.”
“Maybe we didn’t try hard enough,” Violet suggested, as Jack directed a porter to gather their trunks and bring them to the front of the hotel. They were being carted to some place farther north.
“We did what we could.”
“Did we?”
Vi wondered if she had handled things better if they could have trapped the twins into a confession. She wondered if she hadn’t tried hard enough because she might have done the same as they had done if she were in their situation. If she hadn’t thought like the would-be killers and instead thought like the hand of justice, would she have been able to get a confession? She asked her brother just that.
“What we do matters,” Victor told her. “Who we love matters as well as how fiercely we love. You were thinking with empathy and love, and I think that matters more than trying to be the blind axe of justice.”
“I would rather be what you just described,” she told him. “I would rather be empathetic and full of love.”
She hooked her arm through her twin’s and laid her head against his shoulder. How lucky she was that it was he who was her twin rather than one of those two. She laid her head against his shoulder and asked him, “Are you happy?”
He nodded.
“Are you really?”
“Vi,” Victor told her easily. “I have the right twin, the right wife, the right friends, a righteous amount of money, and perfect daughters. I am blessed to an excess. So are you.”
Her gaze moved around the hotel lobby. Lila, Denny and baby Lily all snuggled together on a sofa near the window. The two nannies sat happily talking as they looked out at the street. Rita and Ham stood with Jack as he arranged the next leg of their trip. Kate had a twin in each arm and let an elderly couple coo and cluck at the babies.
“So I am,” Vi agreed and felt the dawning light of happiness. They had done what they could with what they were given. It was all they could do and it was enough.
The End
Hullo friends! I am so grateful you dove in and read the latest Vi and friends mystery. If you wouldn’t mind, I would be so grateful for a review.
The sequel to this book is available for preorder.
August 1926
Jack and Ham are pulled into their first solo case when a priceless treasure is stolen from Ham’s home and a body is left behind. As the case progresses, Vi and Rita dive in, and somehow it becomes a competition.
Order your copy here.
A new series is also now available for preorder at a special price.
October 1925
Severine DuNoir was twelve when she discovered the bodies of her parents, and the day after the funeral, she was sent to a convent in another country. By the time she resolves to go home, her sole focus is to reveal what happened to her parents.
Coming home, however, unveils a far more sinister
plot than she could have expected. It’s clear from her first night that something is afoot. The motives are many and the target is clear: Severine herself.
Order your copy here.
You may also be interested in my new historical series, Bright Young Witches. If you are, keep on flipping for a sneak peek.
April 1922
When the Ku Klux Klan appears at the door of the Wode sisters, they decide it’s time to visit the ancestral home in England.
With squabbling between the sisters, it takes them too long to realize that their new friend is being haunted. Now they’ll have to set aside their fight, discover just why their friend is being haunted, and what they’re going to do about it. Will they rid their friend of the ghost and out themselves as witches? Or will they look away?
Join the Wodes as they rise up and embrace just who and what they are in this newest historical mystery adventure.
Order Your Copy Here or keep on scrolling for the first chapter.
Sneak Peek of Bright Young Witches & the Restless Dead
APRIL 1922. WASHINGTON D.C. USA
ARIADNE EUDORA WISTERIA WODE
“Give me some of the good stuff,” the man said, nudging a waiting girl aside. He was wearing a pinstriped evening suit with his hair pomaded back. Given the large ring on his pinky and the gold on his watch chain, Ariadne assumed he was quite wealthy or quite powerful or both. The large cigar hanging from his mouth suggested both.
Ariadne had been just behind him when he went shoving people about and she caught the girl he’d sent stumbling off her bar stool. The height of the girl’s heels didn’t help, but the man hadn’t even noticed he’d knocked the woman down. The girl shot him a nasty, unnoticed look and then turned to Ariadne with a glance that said, Can you believe this dirty bloke?
“We’re out,” the barman said. “Want a Coke?”
The shelves behind him were nearly empty of bottles, unlike the bar itself, which was full. Ariadne sighed. The speakeasy never ordered enough, always ran low, and then the boss took it out on her. He needed either more suppliers, to quit under-ordering, or to open a little less often. Some of the fellows in the bar were reeling drunk and could have been cut off before they’d reached that state. Sloppy drunks put everyone at risk of getting pinched.
“Give me what the management is drinking,” the man growled. “I know you got the good stuff, and I don’t want any of this second-rate swill that’ll leave me blind or dead.”
“Our delivery of the good stuff is late,” the barman said flatly. Whoever this shove-y man was, the barman was unimpressed. “No one’s drinking much until that comes along. Not even the boss man.”
Ariadne met the barman’s gaze, and he jerked his head to the back. There was a triggerman guarding the door, and the man didn’t move when Ariadne approached. His dark eyes fixed on hers, and there was threat in his stony expression.
Here we go again, Ariadne thought, ignoring his look and sliding past him without a flicker of a lash. Posturing was such a gent’s move. She had too much to do for this nonsense. When she felt someone watching her, she glanced back and caught the gaze of a bloke with dark, sharp eyes and slicked back hair, with a hefty drink in front of him. He was, she thought, almost certainly a copper. Hopefully he was dirty. Otherwise, they’d all be hauled away with time in the slammer. The goons anyway. The shadows liked Ariadne.
Either way, she wished she was a little less memorable in the drop-waisted, shimmery dress that showed off far more of her chest than she’d prefer. She dressed with the intent to blend in with the other dames. Better to be seen as an easy moll than what she was—a lady-legger. Or, more accurately, a booze-making witch.
“It’s about time,” Blind Bobby growled as Ariadne appeared. “Do you have it? I don’t pay full price for late goods. You’re costing me a pile of lettuce, girl.”
“They had checkpoints on the way in. I had to think quick and step even more quickly. You’re lucky I’m here at all, and you’ll be paying me the full amount or I’ll take a walk down to the next juice joint. Easy peasy.” She snapped her fingers. It was always better not to be too challenging, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself.
Blind Bobby put his gun on the table and leaned back. “Maybe I’ll just take the booze and pay you nothing, little girl.”
“Did you find someone else who makes gin that won’t blind you and can age wine and whisky with magic—because I don’t think you have found anyone like me.”
“I’ll pay you eighty percent.” He sniffed and growled, “From here on.”
His dark, beady eyes fixed on her, and he leaned in, strong jaw gritted. He intended to scare her, but Ariadne was only irritated. She felt as though every time she interacted with this grunting beast, he thought he could just tower over her face and she’d crumple. Ariadne laughed, a trilling thing that didn’t sound amused but conveyed her message.
Blind Billy nudged his gun once again, and Ariadne scowled at him, dropping all pretense of amusement. She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted a challenging brow instead. “Do you really want to put a bean shooter up against magic?”
“Do you really want to put you and your little sister against my boys? There’s even smaller witch brats in that town of yours. What’s it called? Nighton? Bring her in.” The last was said to one of the apes standing about grasping their guns trying to look intimidating.
There was a sound at the tunnel door and several men poured through with Ariadne’s sister, Echo. She struggled in the grasp of…Ariadne’s head cocked and gaze narrowed.
Lindsey Noel. She scowled at him. He was the shining son of Nighton and the fellow intent on finding his way into Ariadne’s sister Circe’s knickers.
“Well, if it isn’t Lindsey Noel. Are you joining in on threatening my sisters? All of my sisters?”
Lindsey blushed, but his voice was mean. “I know where you live.” His fingers dug into Echo’s bicep.
“And I know where you live.” Ariadne glanced at Echo, who seemed fine despite the white circles under Lindsey’s pressing fingers. “Why’d you let them take you?”
“I wanted to see what Lindsey was up to. Sooner or later, Circe will see he’s milquetoast playing at being a leading man. She believes that front he puts up, but the mannered handsome puppy will fade into what he really is—another arrogant rube with a rich daddy. It’ll go easier if it’s me telling her what he did, and after all—he put his hands on me.”
Easier, Ariadne translated, than if Ari were the one who told Circe her lover put them all at risk with his playing at being a bad boy.
The idiot Lindsey let go of Echo, but it was too late. The smirk she shot him was enough to have him wondering, would he lose Circe over this? The unfortunate answer was that Ariadne could only wish.
The other men glanced at each other, smirking, when Blind Billy grunted, “No one cares about your hick problems.” He gestured and the goons lining the wall leveled their guns at Ariadne.
She sighed. “Until I get paid, you won’t be able to open the bottles at the delivery point. Try as you might.”
Blind Bobby laughed meanly and Ariadne yawned. He shoved the table back, grabbing his gun as he did, and shoved it into Ariadne’s face, pressing it hard against her forehead.
“Careful,” she said quietly, “guns do malfunction so easily.”
“Open the whiskey, Petey,” Blind Billy ordered.
Ariadne rolled her eyes and telepathically told her sister, Draw your magic. Ariadne opened her mind and senses to her own magic. She’d originally approached Blind Billy once prohibition went into effect because the church basement where the speakeasy was housed was a place of power. Her magic, always strong, thrummed through her with a vengeance here. Echo’s must be a tsunami of power given the dead that even Ariadne could sense.
The ghosts are restless, Echo sent.
Of course they are, it’s a desecrated church. How did Noel know about us?
Echo’s mental snort seemed to ricoch
et about Ariadne’s head and they both knew the answer: Circe. Soft, trusting, blind-with-love Circe. Lindsey Noel wasn’t surprised in the least by their magic. Their sister hated keeping what they were from her ‘sweet’ Lindsey. She must have talked, and he’d gathered a full confession, given his presence.
Foolish girl.
The grunting of his man trying to open the bottle caught her attention. The goon was yanking at the stopper in the whiskey bottle, desperate to open it. He finally brought out a large knife, but it bounded off of the glass as though it were stone instead of a little bit of cork and glass. Finally he looked up at Blind Billy and shook his head.
Blind Billy pulled the gun back enough just to shove it back against her head again. “That’s gonna leave a bruise.” His laugh was ugly and he glanced at his men until they were snorting with unbelievable laughter as well.
“Balm of Gilead is an easy enough potion to make for someone like me,” Ariadne told him, drawing her magic so deeply that her bobbed hair was slowly starting to rise around her face. “The bruise will be gone in minutes. I carry it in my handbag.”
“What about the hole my bullet leaves?” He cocked his gun and then, to her horror, swung his arm wide, aiming at Echo. “Will it cure that?”
“Fool,” Ariadne said, finished with this nonsense. She dropped to her knees, covering her head when the gun misfired, and magic rushed into Ariadne as the place of power energized her and she sent the rest of the guns into either misfiring or not firing at all.
With Echo there, ghosts were caught in the energy in the church and within the sisters. The ghosts went mad, merging into a tornado of shadows that sent Blind Billy’s goons into shrieking like little girls. Point of fact, Ariadne thought as she started to crawl away from Blind Billy, her little sisters wouldn’t have whined like these boys.