Murder the Tey Way: A Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mystery (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 2)

by Marilyn Levinson

  Joy arrived, her face flushed and frowning. “A slight emergency,” she whispered, shoving a tin of cookies at me.

  “Relax! What happened?’

  She pressed her lips together. “Nothing I won’t get to the bottom of ASAP.”

  “That explains it very clearly,” I tossed over my shoulder as I placed the cookies on a plate and checked on the coffee. When I joined the others in the living room, Evan was exclaiming,

  “We got hit last month in broad daylight while we were at the supermarket. The no-good SOB took off with all of Marge’s jewelry—her good pieces as well as her costume jewelry.”

  “How did he get in?” Sadie asked.

  “We don’t know,” Marge said. “None of the locks were forced.”

  Tim grimaced. “No sign of a forced entry when I was burgled in the spring, also in the middle of the day. He took my stamp collection, which was worth several thousand bucks. At least my gold coins remained secure in the safe.”

  “It sounds like the thief had access to your homes and knew what to go after,” Joy said.

  Tim stared at her. “What are you implying?”

  “I’m not implying anything,” Joy responded in a cold tone I’d never heard her use before. “I was wondering what strangers had been inside your homes.”

  “We don’t have a cleaning woman,” Marge said. “And Evan and I never leave workmen alone in the house.”

  Tim thought a bit. “I have. On occasion.”

  “I’ve heard of other burglaries in the neighborhood,” Marge said, her eyes wide with anxiety. “We moved to Ryesdale because it was voted one of the most peaceful towns in America.” She turned to her husband. “Maybe we should have stayed in Wisconsin, like my sister begged us to.”

  Evan patted her hand. “Don’t you worry, honey. It’s only a matter of time before they find the guy and throw him in jail.”

  Sadie and I exchanged glances. Finding the thief was one thing, keeping him behind bars was another.

  Five minutes later I opened the door to Corinne and a sad-looking Felicity. Corinne, slim and angular, her black hair cropped short, was still dressed in her banker’s suit and low-heeled pumps. She tossed out a general greeting as she entered the living room. Felicity sent me an apologetic look.

  “I decided to come, after all,” she said meekly.

  I patted her arm. “I’m glad.”

  The Roberts sisters headed for the two remaining dining room chairs. Tim offered to move so they could sit next to one another, but Corinne shook her head, her lips pressed in a tight seam. Was she angry at Felicity or simply in a bad mood? Probably the latter, I decided. Corinne wasn’t a warm and fuzzy person, but she was always solicitous toward her younger sister, whom she treated more like a daughter than a sibling.

  And what was bugging Joy? Hours earlier she’d been her usual bouncy self.

  I cleared my throat and began my spiel.

  “Josephine Tey is the pseudonym Elizabeth Mackintosh used when writing five of her mysteries. She was born in Inverness, Scotland, in 1896. She trained as a phys ed teacher, and taught for some years before returning home to care for her ailing widowed father. She was a private sort of person, and we know little about her personal life. Using the name Gordon Daviot, Mackintosh wrote several plays. Her biggest success was ‘Richard of Bordeaux,’ whose leading actor was none other than John Gielgud.”

  “How fascinating!” Marge exclaimed. “It seems famous people are always crossing paths with one another.”

  Sure they do, I thought cynically, but her husband and Tim nodded. The four young women wore blank expressions.

  I grinned at Joy. “You do know who John Gielgud is, don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. He played the butler in the old version of ‘Arthur.’”

  Tim laughed. “Gielgud was one of the most famous British actors of the last century, on screen and in the theatre.”

  Felicity glanced at her sister, sitting still as a statue, then looked down at her feet. Were those tears I saw in her eyes, or merely a reflection from the light? I wondered what Felicity had been planning to do tonight before Corinne badgered her to come to the meeting.

  “Lexie?” Evan touched my arm, and I nearly jumped out of my seat.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. I’d mull over my neighbors’ moods on my own time. After all, I was getting paid to facilitate these meetings. I cleared my throat.

  “With only a handful of mysteries to her credit, Josephine Tey has a fixed place among the more prolific Golden Age of Mystery authors. She was fascinated by psychology, and was of the opinion that facial characteristics reveal a person’s character. She also took great interest in history, and believed many so-called historical facts are no more than legends passed along from generation to generation.”

  “Like Oliver Stone movies,” Tim murmured.

  I grinned at him. “Exactly. Tey’s interest in facial expressions and historical accuracy play important roles in her novel, The Daughter of Time. From his hospital bed, Inspector Alan Grant gathers solid historical facts to prove that Richard the Third never murdered his young nephews as most people claim he did.”

  “I found it a most unusual type of mystery novel,” Marge commented.

  “I couldn’t put it down,” her husband said.

  Tim and Sadie nodded in agreement. But Joy and the Roberts sisters remained lost in their own thoughts. Gloomy ones, judging by their frowns.

  Suddenly, Joy bolted from her seat. She ran to the picture window and stared out into the night. “Did you see that?”

  “See what?” Evan asked.

  “The face in the window! Someone’s out there.”

  “How can you see anything?” Sadie asked. “It’s dark outside and we’ve lights on.”

  Joy didn’t bother to answer as she unlocked the door to the patio and bounded out into the night. The rest of us gathered at the window, but could see nothing. For a moment, no one spoke. Then the murmuring began.

  “She seemed edgy when she came in,” Sadie said kindly, in what was probably her Guidance Counselor voice. “No doubt the new baby’s exhausting her.”

  “I doubt it,” Marge said. “Brandon’s almost a year old now and sleeping through the night.”

  Corinne turned from the window to frown at us. “I can’t make anything out, but Joy must have. She was an agent, for God’s sake! She’s been trained to notice things we don’t.”

  “Oh, no!” Felicity exclaimed.

  We stared at her. She’d turned pale. Her shoulders heaved with emotion.

  “May-maybe it’s that thief who’s been breaking into houses,” she said. “Maybe he’s planning to rob you next, Lexie.”

  Corinne put her arm around Felicity and stroked her hair. In a gentle voice I’d never heard her use before, she said, “Don’t be frightened, sweetie. Joy was an FBI agent. She’ll protect us.”

  Minutes later Joy returned, gasping for breath. “I chased the guy across three lawns and lost him.”

  The doorbell rang, startling us all. I went to answer it.

  “Check the peephole first,” Tim advised.

  I did, then swung the door open to admit my sister.

  I was shocked by the lines in Gayle’s face that hadn’t been there the last time I saw her at some relative’s wedding. Her long brown hair hung limp and unkempt. I reminded myself she’d been driving the better part of two days.

  “Hello, Lexie.”

  She sank into my arms. I hugged her tight. She felt brittle. Fragile.

  “You must be starving, ”I told her.

  “I ate on the way.” She reached down to grab the duffle bag at her feet. “I’m thoroughly exhausted. Do you think I could just rest, maybe go to sleep?”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh!” Gayle exclaimed, sounding more anguished than surprised at the sight of seven people staring at her.

  “We were holding a meeting of our mystery book club,” I explained.

  She cupped her ha
nd to my ear and whispered, “You never told me all these people would be here.”

  I swallowed back my exasperation. Gayle was sweet-tempered, but under pressure she had a tendency to blame others for imagined faults.

  “I never had the chance to,” I pointed out as Joy approached, some of her good cheer back in place.

  “Hello, Gayle! I’m delighted to meet Lexie’s sister. I’m Joy Lincoln.”

  Gayle stared at the outstretched hand, then shook it. “Hi.” She managed to work up a half smile.

  The others took this as a signal to get into the act and introduce themselves. I worried their attention would agitate Gayle further, but their friendliness calmed her.

  “I’m sorry to have disturbed your meeting,” she said, then turned to me. “Can I go to sleep now?”

  “Of course.” I started for the bedrooms, when Marge said, “You didn’t disturb our meeting in the least. Joy caught someone spying on us. She chased him across several backyards.”

  “And lost him,” Joy added, shaking her head in disgust.

  Gayle bit her lip. “I almost hit him when he ran into the street—if it’s the same guy.”

  “Five-eleven? One hundred and eighty pounds?” Joy reeled off. “Wearing a black woolen hat?”

  Gayle nodded.

  “We should call the police,” Evan said.

  “Why bother?” Tim asked. “There’s nothing they can do. Or will do.”

  “They should have it on record that an intruder trespassed in Lexie’s backyard.”

  “Yes,” Marge agreed.

  “I’m going home!” Felicity sounded on the verge of tears.

  I glanced around the room. No one was in the proper state of mind to talk about books. I decided to call it a night.

  “I’m sorry for the way things turned out. You’re welcome to come back here Saturday morning. We’ll finish our discussion of The Daughter of Time and talk about Brat Farrar. Does that suit everyone?”

  The book club members all nodded.

  “Wonderful!” I exhaled a breath of relief. I wasn’t sure how I‘d have resolved matters if one of them couldn’t make it. “And meanwhile, I’ve plenty of refreshments. You’re welcome to stay and have coffee and cake.”

  Only the Billingses, Tim, and Sadie took up my offer. I saw the others out, and told Joy we’d talk tomorrow.

  “Good, because I need to run something by you.”

  “Okay.” I paused then said, “I wonder what that peeping Tom was after.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, giving me a peck on the cheek, “but something tells me we haven’t seen the last of that guy.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Lexie, wake up!”

  I burrowed under my quilt to escape from the maddening person in my dream.

  The maddening person shook my shoulder hard. “You have to get up!”

  I blinked my way into consciousness. In the dim light, I saw Gayle hovering over me, her eyes wide with fear.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s a man in your backyard!”

  I sighed as I slipped out of bed and into the early morning chill. Seven o’clock, my clock said. My alarm was set to go off in an hour since I didn’t have to be at the university till eleven, but I had to calm my sister before she had an all-out heart attack. I didn’t want a strange man in my backyard, especially with that peeper from last night. But neither was I especially worried. Ryesdale residents often gave themselves permission to cross their neighbors’ yards. Joy, who lived two houses from me in the opposite direction of the Roberts sisters, did it often enough when she stopped by for a visit. And I had faith in the alarm system Al had installed when I’d moved in.

  I peered out the window. “He’s gone.”

  Gayle pointed to the extreme left. “He’s lying face down on the lawn. Just beyond the patio.”

  “Oh!”

  She gripped my arm so tightly, I knew there’d be marks. “Do you think he’s dead?”

  Now I was worried. “I’ve no idea.”

  I raced into the kitchen, my sister behind me close as a shadow. I peered out the picture window. The man lay face down on the lawn. He hadn’t moved.

  I spun around to stare at Gayle. “How did you know he was out there?”

  She stared down at the floor. “I woke up hungry, so I made tea and toast. He was there when I looked outside the kitchen window.”

  “What time was this?”

  Gayle shrugged. “I’m not sure. Only minutes before I woke you up.”

  I opened the kitchen door and stepped into the cold, damp air. I crossed the cement patio to kneel beside him. My heart hammered so loud, I was sure Gayle, who had followed me outside, could hear it. I placed my fingers on his neck. No pulse. He was dead, all right, though I saw no head wound or bullet holes in his windbreaker jacket. Whoever had killed him had done it face-to-face.

  Peering closer, I saw blood had trickled from under the torso and onto the ground. A black cap lay a few feet away. I started to hyperventilate. This was the man Joy had chased last night! There was something familiar about him and his cap, but no name came to mind.

  Who had killed him?

  Why was he here?

  I rose unsteadily to my feet and stumbled backward into Gayle.

  “Is he dead?” she asked, helping me regain my footing.

  “Yes.”

  I stood there panting, too shaken to walk. Finally, I crossed the patio on rubbery legs. When I got to the door, I realized Gayle was still beside the body. I turned in time to see her reach out as if she meant to turn him over.

  “Don’t touch him!” I shouted.

  For a minute I thought she was going to ignore my order, then she followed me inside.

  I lifted the phone to dial 911. Gayle grabbed my hand. “Don’t call anyone!”

  “I have to call the police.” When she refused to relinquish her hold, I stepped back. Suddenly, I was afraid of my baby sister.

  Gayle’s face crumpled. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t kill that man. I don’t even know who he is.”

  “Then why don’t you want me to call the police?”

  “Call them after I’m gone,” she shouted over her shoulder as she ran to the front door.

  I chased after her. “Where are you going? A man was murdered. The cops will want to take your statement.”

  Gayle burst into tears. “I can’t talk to the police. I can’t!”

  She allowed me to lead her back into the kitchen, where I sat her down on a chair and brought her a glass of water. She gulped it down, then started crying harder. Something was terribly wrong, something to do with the dead man outside.

  “What’s going on? Why did you drive across the country as if the devil were chasing you?”

  Her sobbing grew louder. She gasped for breath, then started to cough.

  I wrapped my arms around her. “Sweetie, what is it? You’re here, safe inside my house.”

  “That man out there. He...he…” She was hiccupping so badly, she couldn’t finish her sentence.

  I swallowed the fear rising in my throat. “You recognized him?”

  “I don’t think so. But he followed me here. He must have!” She covered her face in her hands.

  “From Utah?”

  A banshee wail filled the room. “Of course! That’s where it began.”

  I handed her a fistful of tissues.

  “Gayle, you came here so I could help you, because it’s safe.”

  “But it isn’t safe. That man—”

  “That man, whoever he is, didn’t hurt you.”

  She whimpered, making small mewling sounds. “Shawn will send someone else. I know he will.”

  “Who’s Shawn?” I rubbed her back in small circles the way she liked when she was little. Her muscles felt as taut as the strings on a tennis racket.

  “Shawn Estes. He’s a cop.” Gayle raised her tear-stained face to me. “That’s why you can’t tell them I’m here. He’ll find out.
He’ll—”

  “Sshh. Everything will be all right,” I crooned, though I hadn’t the foggiest idea what she was talking about. What was important right now was calming her down so she could tell me what she was running from.

  “Do you know Shawn well?”

  She shook her head. “He was Chet’s friend.” She snorted. “Some friend he turned out to be!”

  I paused, then asked, “You want to tell me what happened?”

  Gayle inhaled deeply. Her body was still rigid, but she was beginning to relax.

  “When I started making jewelry, I often bought supplies in Chet’s store. He was always helpful and made useful suggestions. When we ran into each other at the local bar or the coffee shop, we’d chat. About nothing specific, but I always felt good after a talk with Chet.”

  She gave a little smile. “He finally asked me out. A month later, we were spending nights at each other’s place. We were falling in love, Lexie.”

  “Chet sounds like a really good guy,” I said.

  “He was. And now he’s dead.” Gayle’s eyes darted up at the clock. She shot to her feet. “I have to go.”

  “How did he die?” I asked softly.

  She sat down and sank into herself. “Shawn killed him.”

  “Oh.”

  “I heard them arguing.” She looked directly at me for the first time since she’d awakened me half an hour ago. “It was about six-thirty Monday night. I was outside Chet’s house, my arms full of groceries because I was going to make us a nice steak dinner. Chet said he wasn’t going to do something any longer, and Shawn said yes, he was, if he knew what was good for him. I think they were talking about their poker games, but I’m not sure. I think—” she hesitated, “there was something fishy about those games.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Gayle bit her lip. “The games were never regular, like every Friday night, and they held them in different places. Never the same place or in someone’s house. And Chet was different just before a game. Excitable. Like someone had given him a shot of something.”

  “Do you think they were scamming marks, and Chet wanted to stop?”