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

by Marilyn Levinson

  “Did she?”

  “And you’re going to discuss Miss Pym Disposes. That’s one of my all-time Tey favorites.”

  “Mine, too,” I agreed. “After Brat Farrar.”

  “A Daughter in Time is my number one.”

  I looked at him, surprised. “You are up on your Josephine Tey.”

  “I used to be. May I come to your meeting and bring a friend? We’ll be happy to pay, of course.”

  “Sure.” I gave him the information regarding our next meeting, including my fee.

  Ron flashed me a wide grin. “Viola and I look forward to next Wednesday night.” He patted my shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.

  Joy turned from her conversation with a neighbor to ask, “Was that the devil?”

  “Sure was.” He’s coming to our next book club meeting and bringing someone name Viola.”

  Joy pursed her lips. “Viola’s coming? That should be interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Viola’s Tim’s ex-wife. Their divorce was anything but friendly.”

  “Is she here?” I asked, looking around.

  “I doubt she’ll show up here, though I wouldn’t be surprised if she attends the funeral. To make sure Tim’s really put in the ground.”

  I shook my head. “That bad, was it?”

  “So I heard.” Joy lowered her voice. “They had her down at the precinct for hours, but there was no evidence so they couldn’t keep her.”

  “I never knew she existed till now,” I said, stung. “Brian never mentioned her to me.”

  Joy burst out laughing. “Don’t expect him to tell you one fraction of everything he finds out—especially since you knew Tim.”

  The next few days passed quietly. The police had no new leads regarding Tim’s murder, at least none that Brian shared with me. As Joy predicted, Viola showed up at his funeral on Tuesday wearing a long, black dress that flattered her slim figure. Her jet black hair hung halfway down her back, giving her a vampire look.

  “It’s a wig,” Joy whispered to me. “Viola’s hair is blonde and curly.”

  “How do you know her?” I whispered back.

  “She belongs to my gym. Teaches French in the high school.”

  “Ah,” I said as Ron slipped into the row to stand beside her. “I see they’re a couple.”

  “Have been for years—since Viola left Tim.”

  I tried to digest this new information and fit it in with everything else I knew. “But she didn’t come to Sadie and Tim’s Halloween party.”

  “If I remember correctly, Ron told me Viola had gone to visit her sister that weekend.”

  “So, she would have come to the party if she’d been in town?”

  “I doubt it. It wasn’t a friendly divorce. Ron came to the party because he and Sadie are good pals.”

  “And Viola and Sadie?” I asked.

  “They hate each other’s guts.”

  “Oh, no!” I moaned as the organ sounded, informing us the service had begun. What had I done, giving Ron the okay to bring Viola to our meeting tomorrow night? Would a cat fight break out—or something worse?

  That night I ran through Miss Pym Disposes and drew up a list of topics I wanted to discuss. It was a delightful novel, though I found the first half slow-going. I wondered if a mystery publisher would have bought it in the twenty-first century, given today’s readers’ need for instant suspense and a dead body by the end of Chapter Three.

  Wednesday afternoon, I picked up a gallon of chocolate chip ice cream and paper plates at the supermarket, and a fresh lemon merengue pie at my favorite bakery. I was filling candy dishes and setting out mugs when the phone rang.

  “Hi, Lexie. Al here.”

  “Hello!” I chirped as brightly as I could manage.

  “How have you been? It’s been almost a week since we spoke last.”

  “Has it been that long?” I asked.

  “I’ve been busy, tying up matters. I’ve just made reservations to fly home the first week in December.”

  “Oh.” I felt a fluttering in my stomach. That was a few weeks from now. “I thought you were staying on longer.”

  “I’m coming in for a fortnight, then I fly back to London. I’ll be here for Christmas. You can fly over and visit me.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Lexie, is everything all right?”

  “Yes. I’ve a mystery club meeting here tonight. There’s been another murder here in town.”

  “Oh, no! I’ve been too occupied to watch the news. I hope the victim wasn’t anyone you knew.”

  “Tim Draigon. He was in the book club.”

  “I remember him. A shady lawyer. Got disbarred a few years ago.”

  “Right.”

  “Remember, these murders have nothing to do with you!”

  “I know they don’t.”

  “I have to go. Stay safe and don’t go off sleuthing.”

  “Of course not.”

  I hung up, puzzled by Al’s attitude. When we first met, he was more than eager to help me find Sylvia’s killer. Maybe men turned protective when they started caring about someone in a romantic way. The thought gave me an attack of the guilts. I didn’t want Al to think of me in a romantic way any longer. Perhaps it was a good thing he was coming home. The sooner I let him know the score, the better.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “How many of you liked Miss Pym Disposes?” I asked by way of opening up our evening discussion.

  Four of the eight members sitting around my living room—Felicity, Marge, Viola, and Ron—raised their hands.

  “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to read the book,” Sadie mumbled. We sent her glances of sympathy, but she sat slumped in her chair and never noticed.

  “I put it down after twenty pages,” Evan said. “Too long-winded by far.”

  Joy mouthed that she hadn’t had time to finish the book. Corinne merely shrugged her shoulders.

  I laughed. “You’re not alone. Many of today’s readers find the book slow going. Lots of setting the scene, letting us see the senior girls’ routines, and the mystery doesn’t appear until the final third of the novel. But keep in mind Miss Pym Disposes was published in 1947. People were more disposed—if I may share that word with our author—to read slower-paced books. The story builds up gradually and grows tenser with each page.”

  “I loved the book,” Felicity enthused. “As I read, I felt I was a student at Leys College and knew all those girls.” She gulped and turned a bright red. “Sorry, Lexie. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  I grinned at her, delighted by her contribution. “No need to apologize. I love the book, too. Tey’s style of writing is both brilliant and original. By the time we’ve finished reading the novel, we realize why she went to such trouble to familiarize us with the students and faculty at the school.

  “To recap for those who didn’t read or finish reading the book: Miss Pym Disposes takes place in Leys Physical Training College, which is very much like the college that Josephine Tey attended. Lucy Pym, a mousy spinster, has written a book on psychology refuting the well-known schools of Freud and other greats. To her surprise, the book turned into a best seller. Lucy’s been invited by the college’s schoolmistress, Henrietta Hodge, a former schoolmate, to gave a lecture on psychology. Lucy becomes the pet of the senior class, and ends up staying for two weeks instead of heading home as planned. Never popular when she was a schoolgirl, Lucy is pleased by this attention. She’s impressed by the spirit and ability of the fourteen senior girls who rise at five-thirty to begin an exhausting day that includes gymnastics, dance, sports, physical therapy, and more.

  “Anyone want to comment on the various students?”

  We talked about the wealthy and beautiful Beau Nash, the talents of her friend Mary Innes, the unlikable Barbara Rouse, and the vivacious Teresa Desterro, The Nut Tart from Brazil.

  “The college finds employment for the seniors. Word gets out that a top school has requested a
Leys graduate to fill a position. Students and teachers alike assume the brilliant Innes will get the job. But Henrietta has decided this plum position will go to Rouse, a smarmy girl, whom Lucy believes has cheated her way to A Levels.

  “Rouse is injured when the beam she practices on every morning gives way, and eventually dies. Lucy finds a small shoe ornament near the gym, which she’s certain belongs to the murderer.”

  I looked around the room, pleased that I had everyone’s attention. “Comments, anyone?”

  We talked about the various suspects, the girl Miss Pym thinks murdered Rouse and how she’s proven wrong.

  Ron chuckled. “The murderer’s never punished for the crime.”

  We discussed the murderer’s character, then I brought the discussion back to Miss Pym. “What does the title, Miss Pym Disposes, mean?”

  To my surprise, Joy fielded the question. “I didn’t get a chance to read most of the book, but it comes from the saying ‘Man proposes, but God disposes.’”

  “Exactly!” I beamed at her.

  “How does that relate to the novel?” Joy asked.

  “Miss Pym withholds information from the authorities,” Marge said. “She thinks she’s protecting the murderer, only she’s gotten it all wrong.”

  Viola waved a hand. “She realizes her psychology theories are full of holes. No doubt, this is Josephine Tey’s way of telling us what she thinks of this less-than-exact science that was so popular in the forties.”

  “Well said,” I commented, thinking that Viola was a wonderful addition to the group. I read aloud from the end of the novel where Miss Pym vows to give up lecturing on psychology, and instead is considering writing a book about reading faces.

  Felicity raised a tentative hand. “I suppose it shows that Miss Pym never should have played God. When she did, she made a mistake.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it,” Ron said. “Miss Pym believes the girl who inadvertently killed Rouse didn’t mean for her to die. She says nothing to the authorities because she doesn’t want to ruin her life or upset her parents.”

  “Not a very good reason to withhold information about a crime,” Evan offered. “If someone kills someone, purposely or accidentally, they should be punished!”

  Marge shot her husband a look of disbelief. “I’m surprised at you, Evan Billings! There’s such a thing as accidental death. Should someone who accidentally kills someone be put in jail?”

  Evan shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Dead is dead.”

  I laughed. “That’s not how our legal system works.”

  “More drunk drivers and speeders who cause vehicular deaths are going to prison,” Viola said. “I agree with Evan—dead is dead.”

  “Those aren’t accidents!” Marge retorted. “They’re acts of reckless disregard for life.”

  “They are accidents, in a way,” Corinne said.

  Time to pull them back on track. “Why do you think Henrietta Hodge chose Barbara Rouse for the position, though her faculty thought Innes deserved it?”

  “Maybe she had a sexual thing for Rouse,” Viola suggested.

  “I don’t think that was it,” I said. “I got the impression Henrietta considered Rouse a hard worker who deserved the post.”

  “Maybe she felt sorry for Rouse,” Ron said. “Rouse had no family. No friends.”

  “Regardless, Henrietta was pig-headed,” Marge said. “Her staff opposed giving Rouse the appointment, and Henrietta pulled rank. She disregarded what Lucy Pym said about Rouse’s cheating on her exams.”

  “Henrietta was blind to what everyone else saw in Rouse,” I said. “She made her decision and set a plan into motion.”

  “But we can’t blame her for Rouse’s murder!” Felicity said.

  Sadie suddenly came alive. “Oh, yes we can!” she shouted, glaring at Viola. “People can be responsible for killing someone, even if they don’t pull the trigger!”

  Viola went pale. “What are you trying to say?”

  “You know exactly what I’m saying.”

  Viola clutched at her throat. “I had nothing to do with Tim’s murder.”

  “You threatened to have his car impounded if he didn’t repay his loan on time.”

  “Sadie, Viola, please! Now isn’t the time for this,” I protested, but neither of them so much as looked my way.

  “Your lover boy owed me money,” Viola spat out. “Lots of it. He would have had it, too, if he’d worked instead of gambling it away.”

  Sadie’s hands formed fists. I hoped they weren’t about to start flying. “Tim was out of his mind with worry! He was desperate to raise the money for you.”

  “And why not? He owed me that money.” Viola tossed her dark mane over her shoulder, seemingly unconcerned that Sadie might act on her fury. “He went to those gangsters he liked to think of as his friends.” She laughed. “But he must have pissed them off because not one of them loaned him one cent! It’s not my fault if one of them killed him.”

  Sadie let out a moan. I put my arm around her, but she shrugged it off and turned her anger on me. “Lexie, if you don’t throw that woman out, I’m leaving!”

  Viola walked over to face Sadie. Hand on hip, she declared, “I paid to come here, same as you.”

  “In which case, I won’t stay here another minute.”

  Sadie pushed past Viola and made a beeline for the spare bedroom, where I’d tossed everyone’s jackets. I chased after her.

  “Please, Sadie. Don’t leave like this.”

  She stopped shoving her arms into her parka to throw me a murderous scowl. “How could you ask that woman to join our group, with Tim barely laid in his grave?”

  “I had no idea...” I started to explain as Sadie made a beeline for the front door.

  Viola and Ron left on her heels, and the others wandered into the kitchen for coffee and dessert, which they carried back into the living room.

  “That was an unexpected flash of excitement,” Corrine said. “The ex-wife and the girlfriend battle it out.”

  “I had no idea Viola was ever married to Tim,” I said. “Ron asked if he could come to the meeting and said he was bringing a friend.”

  Joy grimaced. “Ron’s a trouble maker. He knows Sadie and Viola can’t stand each other.”

  “But Tim and Sadie only started dating a short while ago,” Marge said.

  “They couldn’t stand each other before Tim and Viola got divorced,” Joy explained. She lowered her voice. “Sadie was going out with Ron until Viola went after him. While she was married to Tim.”

  Evan laughed. “Ryesdale’s beginning to sound like Peyton Place.”

  “Why?” Corinne asked. “Ryesdale’s like any other place--people fall in love; they divorce.”

  “And some are murdered,” Joy murmured.

  Everyone turned to stare at her. Though I knew Joy’s comment was meant to provoke a discussion about the murders, I felt obliged to smooth things over.

  “There’s been talk that both Len Lyons and Tim had mob connections,” I said. “Maybe someone in organized crime killed them.”

  “How do you figure that?” Connie scoffed. “A loan shark wouldn’t kill Tim for trying to borrow money. And Len was the local burglar. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  Felicity let out a heart-wrenching groan. “That Viola woman said Tim went to gangsters to borrow money. I bet Johnny killed him!”

  “Felicity, sweetie.” Corinne reached out to take her sister’s hands in hers. “Why would you think such a thing?”

  “Because Johnny kills people,” Felicity whispered. “He killed Len.” Her eyes widened. “And he wants to see you dead.”

  “We’re safe now, remember?” Corinne said softly. “We have guards escorting us to work and back to the hotel.”

  Felicity jerked her hands free to cover her face. “We’ll never be safe. Never!”

  *****

  “Felicity Roberts thinks Johnny Scarvino killed her boyfriend and Tim Draigon,” I told Brian the foll
owing evening. We were sitting in a booth in my local diner, munching on cheeseburgers.

  “Really?” Brian grinned. “And you believe her?”

  I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, but Corinne’s tough and she’s terrified of the guy. She and Felicity are living in a hotel. The house is up for sale.”

  Brian frowned. “That’s too bad. We can take steps against intimidation, but only if they file a complaint.”

  “Which they won’t. Corinne said it only made things worse. Have you found out anything new about Johnny Scarvino.”

  “He’s a gangster. Lives in New Jersey.”

  “Thanks.” I let out a huff of exasperation. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “I can’t, Lexie.”

  I pursed my lips. “That isn’t very sporting of you. I report conversations. In return you withhold information.”

  He nodded. “It’s not fair, I admit, but I don’t want to have to step back from another case.”

  “I get it. I’ve no intention of jeopardizing your career.” In which case, Joy and I will check Johnny out.

  Brian pulled back in mock surprise. “That’s mighty kind of you, Lexie. Too kind, in fact. Which makes me think you’re up to something.”

  I grinned. “The ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy was created for couples like us.”

  He sent me a thoughtful glance. “I can’t stop that devious mind of yours from spinning and plotting, but I’m telling you—don’t antagonize the murderer by snooping around and asking questions. You’ve gotten one warning already.”

  “Do you think the same person killed Tim and Len Lyons?”

  Brian’s nostrils flared, and I knew I’d gone too far. “Maybe yes, maybe no. This conversation is over.”

  “All right,” I said, stung by his reaction.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, and covered my hand with his.

  We finished our food in silence. Brian downed the last of his coffee and asked for the check. The waitress dropped it on the table, and he pulled out his wallet. I slid along my seat, ready to stand, when Brian looked up.

  “Wait a minute, Lexie. I have to tell you something.”