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

by Marilyn Levinson

  With the exception of Evan, everyone from our last meeting was in attendance. I worried about him. Marge claimed he was baby sitting, then immediately went into raptures recounting some of Eloisa’s antics. Was this a ploy to avoid talking about her husband? Was Evan all right? Was he going to be arrested for grand larceny and spend time in prison? I knew Brian had spoken to him, but nothing else. I was totally in the dark regarding matters in my own backyard.

  I continued. “Given Josephine Tey’s love for the theatre, it’s not very surprising to find gender-crossing in one of her novels. After all, Shakespeare uses gender disguise in four of his comedies: ‘Two Gentleman from Verona,’ ‘The Merchant of Venice,’ ‘As You Like it,’ and ‘Twelfth Night.’”

  Ron let out a deep belly laugh. “Funny that, since in those days all the actors were men. Gender-crossing meant they were men pretending to be women pretending to be male. Confusing when you think about it.”

  He was our host, so I ignored the interruption and merely fine-tuned his observation. “All actors in Shakespeare’s time were male, but young boys played the female roles.”

  Ron winked at me as he put an arm around Viola’s shoulders. “I stand corrected.”

  “Women posed and dressed as men in our Revolutionary and Civil Wars,” Joy said. “They had to, if they wanted to fight.”

  Felicity, seated between Marge and Sadie, shivered. “How silly. Why would anyone choose to fight in a war?”

  Across the wooden table, Corinne glared at her younger sister. “Because they were patriotic, that’s why. And wanted to fight for something they believed in.”

  Oh-oh. Corinne wasn’t onboard with Felicity’s new life.

  “Don’t forget the female pirates,” Viola added. “I bet they were a ferocious bunch.”

  “Cross-gender impersonations go on today,” Marge pointed out. “Think of Robin Williams in ‘Mrs. Doubtfire’.”

  “Hey, what about Dustin Hoffman in ‘Tootsie?” Joy said. “Mike and I saw it recently on Netflix.”

  “That was one fantastic movie,” Carole, a Spanish teacher agreed. “Hoffman won an Oscar for that role.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Marge corrected her. “Sidney Pollack got the award for Best Director.”

  “Sorry, Marge,” Ron said with a grin. “Pollack was a candidate, but the only Oscar for ‘Tootsie’ went to Jessica Lange for Best Supporting Actress.”

  I cleared my throat. “To get back on track, we’ve many examples of cross-gender roles, both in the arts and in real life. And while we’ve instances of men in drag and dressing as women, let’s stick to the topic of women pretending to be men. Why do you think they do it?”

  Viola raised her hand. “That’s easy. Through the ages, men have always had the freedom to do as they please. Women were supposed to stay home and mind the babies.”

  “While men risk their lives out in the big, bad world,” Ron said, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. They must have some sex life, I thought.

  “Hah!” Viola poked him in the ribs with her elbow. “I’m out in the world same as you are.”

  “Nowadays, women are,” I said, “but think of Barbra Streisand in ‘Yentl’. She had to pretend to be a boy in order to study.”

  The comments flew thick with examples. Someone pointed out that Anne Perry had written two mysteries with heroines pretending to be male. Finally, I cleared my throat.

  “Getting back to our novel, To Love and Be Wise. If you’ll remember, the opening scene takes place at a party. It’s very much like the opening of a play, isn’t it? Inspector Alan Grant is at a literary sherry party where he encounters a strikingly beautiful young man named Leslie Searle who wants to be introduced to the author, Lavinia Fitch. Leslie claims he really wants to meet Lavinia’s nephew, Walter Whitmore, because they have a dead friend in common. To Leslie’s delight, Lavinia invites him to stay at Trimmings, her estate in the country.

  “And so Leslie Searle insinuates himself into the lives of the people at Trimmings. Who are they?”

  “Lavinia’s sister, Emma, Emma’s stepdaughter Liz who is Lavinia’s secretary, and Walter,” Marge said. “Liz and Walter are engaged.”

  “So they are,” I agreed. “Tell us about Walter.”

  Corinne fielded that one. “He’s kind of a prig with a weekly radio show. He takes Liz for granted.”

  I nodded. “And who is Marguerite Merriam?”

  Ron unfolded his legs. “An actress Walter had been involved with. She killed herself after they broke up. She was also—“

  I stopped him. “Let’s wait on that. Leslie Searle comes to stay at Trimmings, and causes quite a stir. He and Liz become fast friends, which makes Walter jealous, which is a brand new emotion for him.”

  I paced in front of the wall on which hung a beautiful Navajo blanket. “Does everyone like Leslie?”

  Felicity shook her head vehemently. “Emma can’t stand him. She’s afraid Leslie will ruin things between Liz and Walter.”

  “Leslie is a photographer,” I continued. “He and Walter agree to do a book together. This involves spending a few days away from Trimmings. Leslie and Walter quarrel in a pub one night, and Leslie is never seen again. There’s speculation: did Walter kill Leslie? Did Liz’s stepmother kill Leslie?”

  We went on to discuss the extraordinary turn of events, the cross-dressing aspect of the novel that Alan Grant uncovers, and why Marguerite Merriam is a vital element to the story.

  Everyone had opinions they wanted to share. Eventually the conversation turned to the novel’s themes as they related to the members’ own lives and values. Most of the women thought it would be fun to masquerade as a man. Ron and the other two male teachers didn’t think they’d have much fun dressing as a woman.

  “Too restricting,” Norman, a round, balding man in his forties claimed.

  “You’re so right,” Corinne agreed. “Men are born with a sense of entitlement. Even in the twenty-first century. Do we have a woman president?” She turned to Joy. “A female head of the FBI? In some countries, women aren’t allowed to drive a car, let alone run their own lives.”

  Marge spoke about a friend’s son who was married and liked to dress in his wife’s clothes. Why would someone do that? Viola wondered. This led to a lively discussion, which I had no desire to stop until I saw that Sadie’s eyes were closing. I hoped she wasn’t in pain.

  “Getting back to the novel, would you say it ends on a positive note?”

  “Absolutely!” Viola called out.

  “All’s well that end’s well,” Ron seconded.

  We broke for coffee and cake, then continued our discussion for another half hour. The wonderful thing about Tey’s plots and characters, I thought, as I devoured my third mini cannoli—Viola’s contribution—is that nothing’s as it seemed. Leslie Searle’s performance is very much like a magician’s: detracting people while setting the stage for the real action. But Alan Grant’s a magician of another sort. He realizes events and circumstances surrounding Leslie Searle don’t ring true, so he chips away at facts, unearths others until he unravels Lee Searle’s story.

  The meeting broke up shortly after. The new members thanked me and handed me my fee. Most everyone asked when we’d be meeting again.

  “I’m not sure,” I answered each time. “I’ll email you as soon as I’ve decided.” I didn’t know how much longer I’d be staying in Ryesdale. I had no doubt Al would let me continue to live in the house, but I was no longer his girlfriend and didn’t feel comfortable paying him such a ridiculously low rent. The truth was, except for Joy and Mike, nothing was keeping me here. I sighed. Maybe this was the universe’s way of telling me it was time to buy a home of my own.

  Or time to move in with Brian. Not that he’d asked me, but we were heading in that direction.

  “Good discussion,” Joy said as she drove us home. “It got me thinking.”

  “Thanks. Thinking about what?”

  “How hard it still is for women to be p
romoted to jobs designated as male positions.”

  “We’ve come a long way, baby. The president of my college is a woman.”

  “So? There should be plenty of women presidents of universities. At least fifty per cent.” She gave me the eye. “Are there?”

  “All right. I get your point.”

  “I was kind of an oddity in the Bureau, given the type of assignments I proved I could handle.” Joy mused. “Even female criminals are in the minority. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not wishing there were more of them, but not as many women commit crimes as men.”

  I laughed. “I’d say that’s a good thing, wouldn’t you?”

  “Sure. Less criminals all around. But are there any female mob bosses? No, right? It’s the twenty-first century. Somehow, it doesn’t seem right.”

  We rode the rest of the way in silence. Joy turned into my driveway and yanked up the emergency brake. “So, any thoughts?”

  “About what?” I asked.

  She glared at me. “The murders, what else? Have you forgotten?”

  “For the moment,” I admitted.

  “Well, I haven’t,” Joy said. “There’s a murderer out there, and he or she might be someone we know.”

  “I never got a chance to tell you about seeing Evan the other day,” I said, and proceeded to do so.

  Joy remained silent for minutes. “Stolen candlesticks,” she mused.

  “And someone in the gang photographed poor Evan stealing them. I told Brian. As far as I know, Evan’s not in jail.”

  Joy nodded. “Which means the cops plan to use him to take down the gang of thieves.”

  I grimaced. “The poor guy’s caught in the middle because he wanted to rescue his grandchild. But why did the gang pick on him?”

  “Could be to get back at him for not paying the additional ten thousand dollars.”

  “I’d like to find out. It so unfair.”

  Joy glared at me. “Unfair or not, you’re not planning on asking Evan.”

  “Of course not.”

  “And keep away from that warehouse. I hate to think of what those creeps would do if they found you snooping around.”

  “I’ve no intention of doing anything that dumb,” I said frostily. I opened the car door and bid her good night.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The warehouse had turned into a lightning rod for me. After classes on Thursday, I drove to the pet warehouse to buy Puss a box of treats, which the fat cat certainly didn’t need. Afterward, I circled around the parked cars, swinging as close to the other warehouse as I dared. The place looked deserted. The steel doors were closed, and since there were no windows facing the parking lot, I couldn’t see if there were lights on inside. I nosed the car around the side, careful to avoid the range of what I now knew was a surveillance camera. No vehicles were in sight. Ferocious barking broke out from inside the building. Startled, I stepped on the accelerator and stopped just in time to avoid crashing into the cement retaining wall. The barking grew more frenzied. Judging by the commotion, I figured at least three large dogs were inside guarding the stolen goods.

  I returned late the following afternoon, telling myself there had to be some activity eventually. Now it was dark enough so any light from inside would be visible through the small side window. The barking started up as soon as I approached, but I saw no light or sign of occupancy.

  Why was I drawn to the warehouse? Why was so I intent on catching sight of some of the other gang members? Because both murder victims, Tim and Len Lyons, had tie-ins with local criminals. Which meant they probably had tie-ins with this gang of thieves. Hell, how many more criminals were there in Ryesdale? I knew I was missing a link in the connection, but I had no idea who or what it might be.

  Though I expected another lecture on the dangers of snooping, I couldn’t resist stopping by Joy’s house to report my lack of findings. I found her feeding Brandon his dinner. My news brought a gleam to her eyes.

  “The cops know that’s where the gang’s storing their ill-gotten goods.” She grinned. “And you’ve confirmed something else.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They only bring in the dogs when they’ve plenty to protect. It means one night very soon the gang will load up a truck and sell the stuff to out-of-state fences.”

  I felt a surge of excitement. “Is that what the cops are waiting for to make their bust?”

  “They want to catch the entire gang in the act,” Joy said. “Now I’m going to check out all robberies and burglaries in the vicinity for the past three months. I should have done it already.”

  “What will that prove?” I asked.

  Instead of answering, she handed me Brandon’s dish and sat me down beside his high chair. “Get him to eat as much as you can while I gather some vital information.”

  I grinned at her. “You’re hacking into the police files.”

  Joy punched my arm. “Not hacking, Lexie. Checking up on a few facts. This will save us hours of poring through news articles.”

  Brandon gurgled and gave me a big smile, not the least bit upset that his mother had disappeared in the room beyond.

  “You’re a good boy,” I crooned, offering him a spoonful of sweet potatoes.

  He shook his head and clamped his little jaw shut. I decided to play a game I’d played with Jesse when he was a baby. I lifted the spoon higher than his head, to his left, then to his right as I sang a silly jingle. Brandon’s eyes followed the action. I zoomed the spoon toward my mouth and pretended to eat it. Then I zoomed it toward his mouth, and he opened it obediently.

  His plate was empty when Joy burst into the kitchen, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “I found the pattern!”

  “You did? Tell me.”

  She sat down and placed the printout on the table. “There’s been a robbery every two weeks in central Nassau County, as regular as clockwork. Not always the same day or the same time, but a pattern all the same.”

  I studied the sheet. Most of the robberies took place within a thirty mile radius of Ryesdale. “I’ve read about a few of these in the paper.”

  “Check out the last column,” Joy ordered.

  I laughed. “I can’t make out all those abbreviations.”

  Joy took the sheet of paper from me and started listing what was stolen.

  “They take a variety of items—jewelry, coin and stamp collections, crystal, figurines, paintings, pieces of sculpture, small antique pieces. Nothing large. Here it is! One pair of ornate sixteenth century silver candlesticks from Germany.”

  “That sounds like the pair I saw.”

  Joy thought a moment. ”I bet they made Evan go along with them one night and steal the candlesticks to incriminate himself.”

  I thought a bit. “Corinne helped the Billingses bring Eloisa to the U. S. Do you think she’s involved with this gang of thieves?”

  Joy shook her head. “I don’t see the connection, though anything’s possible.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Joy. Look at her background. Her father was a Mafia boss.”

  Joy gave me a pitying look. “Corinne’s female. Can you see a bunch of criminals like that goliath you described taking orders from a woman?”

  “Maybe she murdered Tim and Len Lyons,” I persisted.

  Joy threw me a scornful look. “Anything else you want to pin on her?”

  I shrugged.

  Joy patted my arm. “I know you don’t like Corinne, and you don’t like the way she treats her sister. But she’s the VP of a bank, for God’s sake.”

  “A bank that was robbed.”

  “A coincidence. Banks are robbed all the time.”

  Brandon started to whimper. Always the good mother, Joy lifted him from his highchair and started crooning to him.

  I stood to leave.

  “Do you want to check out the warehouse tonight?” Joy asked. “Maybe catch some action going down?”

  “I’d love to, though Brian told me to stay away.”

  Joy laughed.
“Since when has that stopped you?”

  I felt my face grow warm. “Never, I guess.”

  “You can tell him all about it tomorrow, after we check it out tonight.”

  We agreed I’d pick her up at ten o’clock, then I drove home and fed a hungry Puss his meal and a few of the treats I’d bought earlier in the week. I spent a few hours grading essays. When words began to dance before my eyes, I realized I was starving. Since I wasn’t in the mood to prepare dinner, I decided to grab a light dinner at the local diner.

  I drove into town, my mind ceaselessly churning. Did I really believe Corinne was Ryesdale’s Villainess of the Year? God knew I wasn’t fond of the woman. She was abrupt and hostile toward me every chance she got. I certainly didn’t approve of how she treated poor Felicity. In fact, she seemed utterly contemptuous of her sister, ever since Felicity had declared her intention to move out and live on her own. I shuddered, remembering the picture of poor Felicity’s Oscar, his neck twisted.

  Did Corinne do that?

  Or did Johnny Scarvino kill the poor creature and make it look like Corinne was the bad one?

  Was Corinne the criminal boss behind the gang robbing communities all around Ryesdale? I had no proof, only the sense that Corinne was a nasty piece of goods even though she’d helped the Billingses bring Eloisa to the U.S. And look how well that had gone for Evan? Somehow, he ended up owing the thieves big time. Why?

  Corinne was a woman, and a formidable one at that. She’d become VP of her bank, and from a comment Felicity let drop, was up for a promotion. She was making it in a man’s world without having to pretend to be a man, like Lee Searle felt she had to in To Love and Be Wise.

  Still, playing donna to a crew of gangsters was a far cry from succeeding in the financial world. This might be the twenty-first century, but it wasn’t likely that hoodlums like The Giant would consent to taking orders from a woman. And why would Corinne, who was making good money as an officer in a reputable bank, want to risk it all to make more money than she could possibly spend?