Deadly Southern Charm

by Mary Burton

“And we’ll visit the church where Jane Austen’s father preached,” Grace said. “And Montacute House, where Sense and Sensibility was filmed. And the gardens of Stourhead, used in the movie Pride and Prejudice.”

  “That’s right,” Nora said, nodding. “And then we’ll finish up at Winchester Cathedral, where Jane is buried.”

  Shelby suddenly clutched her stomach. “I feel sick.” She jumped up and headed for the restroom.

  “What’s that all about?” Grace asked, watching her sprint down the hall.

  “Probably gulped her wine too fast,” Meredith said. “That can really mess with your tummy.”

  The rest of us finished our meals while Nora and Grace shared more details of their trip. When Meredith signaled to the waitress for the bill, Grace said, “Shelby’s been gone a long time. Maybe we should go check on her?”

  Nora stood up. “Good idea. Let’s make sure she’s all right.”

  As they walked away, the blare of the intercom cut through the chatter of the diners. “Ladies and gentlemen, good news. The storm has tapered off, and we will resume our regular flights shortly. Please proceed to your assigned gates.”

  “About time,” I said.

  Meredith began to gather her belongings. “Thanks for letting me vent, Robbie. I get incredibly frustrated every time I think of my ex-husband. Can I show you his picture?”

  “Sure.” She handed me a dog-eared photo of a handsome older man and a much younger woman, their faces close together, her lips drawn in a sexy pout. “Meredith, this woman looks a lot like Shelby.”

  “She does, doesn’t she?” She grinned. “My private investigator took that for me.”

  “Your private investigator?” I hesitated. “You knew she’d be on this flight?”

  “No. But I knew Shelby was meeting Carl in St. Lucia. I had hoped to get there first with a little surprise for him. Some of those exotic pharmaceuticals that he was gracious enough to leave behind.” Meredith picked up Shelby’s empty glass and shoved it in her purse.

  Just then we heard loud screaming from the direction of the restrooms. “Call 9-1-1,” someone shouted.

  “Meredith, what have you done?” I asked.

  The older woman grinned. “It was nice to meet you, Robbie. I hope you have a lovely time in England. And forget about Nate. He sounds like nothing but trouble.”

  “Meredith, you can’t get away with this. The police will catch up with you, even in St. Lucia.”

  Meredith stood up. “There’s been a change of plans. I don’t need to go to St. Lucia now.” She pushed her roller bag into the aisle. “I think I’ll head to Montenegro.”

  “Why Montenegro?”

  She smiled. “It’s a wonderful country. Delightful people. Beautiful beaches. And best of all… no extradition treaty with the U.S.”

  The screams had gotten louder. Security personnel rushed past me. I tried to flag them down, to point them toward Meredith, but they were too focused on responding to the tragedy to notice me.

  Pinned in by the other diners, I soon lost sight of her as she disappeared into the crowd.

  MOURNING GLORY, by Mollie Cox Bryan

  Guest Author

  Nobody does funerals like Southerners. But in Victoria Town, Virginia, mourning was an art form. Steeped in its celebrated Victorian roots, the town’s residents hung crape, wore black ribbons, and even donned Victorian mourning clothing when appropriate. Mourning Arts offered everything the modern Virginian in this quaint, historic village needed when a loved one passed.

  Viv Barton stood in front of Mourning Arts, wondering why the black-fringed shades were still drawn and the closed sign dangled in the window. Hadn’t Stu said 8:30? The door popped open and Stu, the manager, smiled. “Come on in!”

  She entered the store, following the lanky, slightly hunched, Stu, as her first-day-of-work fears turned to edginess. She sucked in air. How hard could this be?

  “You’re a gamer, so you’re familiar with computers. Think of the register as a computer, and you’ll have no problem,” Stu said. He led her through a lesson, then pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Viv couldn’t decide if he was authentic or affected. His thin dark eyebrows rose. “We’ll open in twenty minutes. Let’s spruce things up.”

  The shop was one of the few Viv frequented in Victoria Town, so she was acquainted with it. Most of the other shops brimmed with rose and pink, lace, feathers, ornate woodwork. Not her taste. Stu handed her a bottle of glass cleaner and paper towels. “You can start by cleaning the cases.”

  He couldn’t have given her a better job. Mourning jewelry was her passion. Today, she’d worn her favorite lover’s eye mourning pendant with its tiny red garnets on a black velvet choker, a piece she’d inherited from her grandmother. As she wiped the glass, she admired the exquisite pieces on display. Mourning jewelry was more than hair and fingernails fashioned into pendants, bracelets, and rings. She approached the glass case with the famous Queen Victoria mourning set, on loan from a London museum to Mourning Arts. As Stu had intended, the special display lured people to Victoria Town and to his store. He’d been on the radio and television so often promoting it that Viv’s Aunt Libby would roll her eyes at every occasion. She thought his self-promotion gauche.

  “Are you done over there?” Stu asked, as he straightened crape garments along the wall.

  Viv gave the counter one more swipe. “Yes.”

  He walked up to her and inspected her outfit. “I like that Victorian jacket with the black-and-white-striped corset. The blouse underneath, not so much. Next time, leave it at home.”

  Viv grimaced. She’d never wear the corset without a blouse during the day—at her job. What was wrong with him?

  At 10 o’clock, Stu whispered that it was teatime. “Can I bring you a cup and some chocolate scones?”

  “I don’t drink hot tea,” Viv said. She liked her tea sweet with plenty of ice. “But I’ll take a scone.” If she couldn’t have her tea iced, she’d make do with water in her black, custom-made bottle with a skull and crossbones on it.

  Stu carried in a tray and sat it on a tiny table behind the counter. Teatime was a ritual for him. He kept his sugar (or was it saccharin?) in a small, jewel-encrusted vial that he tapped with one bony finger until the clumps fell into his cup. He stirred in cream, brought his cup to his mouth, and sipped with obvious rapture. Viv turned away. Watching the pointy-chinned Stu slurp his tea gave her the creeps.

  Stu’s smile vanished as a man sporting a beard and a cane walked into the shop. He stood and started to scurry into the back room.

  “I see you, my man,” the stranger said, his voice booming. “You ripped me off. We need to talk.”

  “Ripped you off?” Stu turned to face him. His cheek twitched. “I paid you for your services.” Flustered, his eyes moved between Viv and some browsers in the shop. “Shall we go in my office?”

  “I don’t think so, Stu,” the man said. “I want a piece of the action, and I want it by midnight tonight.” The intruder turned and lumbered out of the store.

  “Who was that?” Viv asked, her heart thudding.

  Stu shrugged. “Just some guy I know. Turns out he’s crazy, but he makes the most beautiful jewelry.” Viv turned away in embarrassment, wiping non-existent dust off the counter.

  The rest of the morning passed without incident, with Stu popping in and out between the back of the shop and the front.

  “I’m going out for a veggie burger,” he said at noon. “Can I bring you one?” Stu said, his eyes shining.

  There was no place in Victoria Town proper that carried veggie burgers—not that Viv knew about anyway. “Sure. Who has veggie burgers?”

  He leaned in closer to her. “Who indeed?” he mocked with a mysterious tone of voice. He walked out the door with a slight sway. She couldn’t understand what her pharmacist friend Abby saw in the man. He resembled a pale ostrich. But Abby was nuts about him. In fact, she was thrilled that Viv had gotten a job working with him—so she co
uld watch over what Abby called his “flirtatious” nature.

  A few women trickled into the shop and bought some pieces of the cheaper mourning jewelry. A man picked up a jacket he’d ordered earlier. But most people came by to view the prized Queen Victoria collection.

  Then wouldn’t you know it, her Aunt Libby came in. “Just peeking in to see how you’re doing on your first day.”

  “You don’t need to check up on me,” Viv said. “I’m doing fine. Stu is so impressed, he left me in charge and went out for lunch.”

  Aunt Libby’s eyebrows shot up. “Lunch? It’s half past three.”

  Had time gone that quickly? “He must have gotten hung up.” Or maybe he drove to Richmond for those veggie burgers.

  But come 5 o’clock, Viv understood no veggie burger would be coming, and she closed the shop. Shaky and nervous, she told herself it was because she’d had no lunch.

  Viv made her way down the cobblestone street past Feathers & Ruffles, past Fans and Parasols, past Elizabeth’s Custom Corsets, and out of the cobbled town square to the paved street. She turned left and walked along the edge of the old cemetery bordered by an ornate black iron fence. Her Aunt Libby’s pink bed & breakfast stood on the other side of the graveyard in a row of other, smaller Victorian houses with gingerbread woodwork, painted in historically accurate colors.Viv walked in the door of the B & B and smelled her aunt’s spaghetti. Thank God. She was starving.

  Later that night, before she drifted off to sleep, she wondered what had happened to Stu. Why did he leave her at Mourning Arts alone on her first day? A loud knocking interrupted her sleep. Was it morning already? She blinked the clock into view: 3:37. What was going on?

  Viv untangled herself from the blankets. Aunt Libby was at her door, eyes ablaze.

  “There’s police officers downstairs. What have you gotten yourself into? Do I need to call a lawyer?”

  “Calm down, Aunt Libby. I’ve done nothing wrong. Let me get my robe.”

  Aunt Libby followed her into the room. “I’m glad we’ve only one guest tonight. I hope he sleeps through this.”

  Viv slipped on her robe and made her way downstairs where two officers waited.

  “Vivian Barton?” one officer asked as she came down the stairs.

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  “I’m Officer Willoughby and this is my partner Officer Thorncraft. We’re sorry to disturb you at this time of night. But it couldn’t be helped.”

  Aunt Libby and Viv sat down on the floral loveseat in the parlor; the officers sat on the blue velvet couch.

  “Do you work at Mourning Arts?”

  “She started yesterday,” Libby said.

  Viv elbowed her gently. She could answer her own questions.

  “Yes,” Viv said. Her brain hadn’t quite kicked into gear.

  “Do you know this man?” Officer Willoughby handed her a photo.

  “Stu Johnson,” Viv said. “The owner of the shop and my boss.”

  “We regret to inform you he’s dead.”

  Aunt Libby gasped and placed her hands over her mouth. Viv’s heart thudded against her chest. “What happened?” she asked, tears of shock pricking at her eyes. She reached for a tissue, embarrassed by her tears.

  “We’re not sure. We’re hoping you can tell us about yesterday at the shop. You were working, correct?”

  Viv nodded and blew her nose, composing herself. “He left to get us some veggie burgers for lunch and never came back. I wondered what happened to him.”

  “When you closed the shop, was anything out of place or missing?” Officer Willoughby asked.

  “No, nothing.”

  “Sometime between 5 and midnight, when we found Mr. Johnson, Queen Victoria’s jewelry disappeared from the shop.”

  “What?”

  “If what you’re saying is correct, the place was robbed after you left. Either that or you took the set,” Officer Willoughby said.

  Viv’s heart raced.

  “My niece is not a thief,” Libby said, before she could respond herself. “And she’s very bright. Would she steal a priceless item like that on her first day of work? Really!”

  “I’m sorry to offend. You understand it’s procedure. Just doing my job, Ms. Barton,” Willoughby said.

  “The jewels are gone?” Viv said. “We’ve got to find them. They belong to a museum in London. Stu jumped through hoops to bring them here. How did he die?”

  “We’re not sure. His body is with the medical examiner. It appears there was a struggle. Did you witness any arguments at the shop?” Willoughby asked.

  “Yes, in fact there was one minor incident.” Viv relayed what had happened with the jewelry maker.

  “Did you catch this man’s name?”

  “No, I’m sorry. But it should all be on the security tape.”

  The officers gave one another meaningful glances. “Tell us everything that happened from the minute you walked into the shop yesterday.”

  After the police left, Viv climbed back in bed. Twenty-four hours ago, she couldn’t sleep because she was so excited about her new job. Now, she was having a hard time sleeping because her boss was dead. And she was jobless.

  Her cell phone woke her early.

  “It’s Abby. Have you heard?” She was sobbing. “Stu is dead!”

  Viv struggled to find the right words. “The police told me in the middle of the night. It’s awful. I’m so sorry, Abby.”

  “Can you come over?”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Abby’s blue eyes were tiny slits in red puffiness. “We need to figure out what happened to him!” she cried when she saw Viv.

  “The police are working on that. They’re doing some tests to see what killed him.”

  Her wailing stopped for a moment and her chest heaved with a shuddering gasp. “He was kind of an oddball, but he was a good guy. I can’t think of any reason someone would hurt him—unless it was a woman he’d rejected!”

  “That’s crazy talk. He may have walked in on a thief stealing the jewels.”

  Abby paced back and forth in her small studio apartment. “That would only make sense if he was shot or stabbed, right? The police said that he wasn’t.”

  “Did he keel over and die? Maybe he had a heart attack. Please sit down, Abby. You’re making me a nervous wreck.”

  “I’ve been telling him for months he needed a better security system… Proper cameras…” she said sitting on the edge of the couch, rubbing her hands on her jeans.

  “Wait. He had cameras. I saw them.”

  “They’re always broken,” she said, her voice trailing off.

  “I can’t imagine a British museum would lend those jewels to a place that didn’t have top-quality security. Maybe he’d gotten those cameras fixed.”

  “Victoria Town is one of the safest towns in the state. Perhaps in the country. The town hasn’t had a major crime in years. Plus he played up the town name angle and the historical links. Good PR for both of them.”

  Viv didn’t buy that. No one lent Queen Victoria’s jewelry to an establishment with shoddy security. “Maybe he wasn’t killed. Maybe he discovered the jewels were gone and had a heart attack. I know he was relatively young, but young people do have heart attacks.”

  An odd expression passed over Abby’s face. “He was complaining of low energy.” Her tone hinted at more to the story. So Viv sat in the quiet, knowing that Abby, who liked to fill quiet spaces with babble, would say more. “Oh my God!” Abby’s hands went to her face. “We gave him a little concoction from the pharmacy! It wasn’t anything too strong, but could that be it? Did I help kill my boyfriend?” Her hands trembled.

  Viv ushered her to the couch. “Now, Abby, calm down. Just lie here a moment.” She concentrated on keeping her voice as comforting as could be. But what exactly had she given him? Surely Abby was being paranoid.

  Viv’s cell phone buzzed—Aunt Libby. She picked up. “The police want to speak with you again. You’
re the last person who saw Stu alive.”

  Viv’s brain kicked into gear. “Do they think I killed him?”

  Abby sat up, mouth agape, eyes wide.

  “I don’t know, dear.”

  The police considered her a suspect? It was so ridiculous that it would be laughable if the matter were not so serious. Her heart thudded against her rib cage.

  “Come home. They’re here waiting on you,” Aunt Libby said.

  “But I’m with Abby and she’s upset.”

  “Bring her along, then.”

  “You didn’t kill him,” Abby said as they walked along the edge of the cemetery fence. “So you have nothing to worry about.”

  “You didn’t kill him either.”

  “I hope not.”

  Aunt Libby greeted them with a pot of hot cocoa and cookies. They went into the parlor where the police officers waited.

  “We have a few more questions for you, Ms. Barton.”

  “Okay,” Viv said, blowing on her cocoa to steady her nerves.

  “Did you see anything odd yesterday in the shop?”

  “You asked me that before, and I told you no. The day progressed in what I thought was a normal way. I was trained on the register, cleaned display cases, and waited on a few customers. Oh! Then Stu brought tea and chocolate scones from the back.”

  “You didn’t mention that earlier.”

  “It was in the middle of the night. I was half asleep. I’m sorry.”

  Willoughby cleared his throat. “Did you drink the tea and eat the scone?”

  “I never touch hot tea. Hate the stuff. But I ate the scone.” Viv wondered where this was going.

  “How did he take his tea?”

  “With cream and sugar. He kept the sugar in a beautiful little vial.”

  The officers stood abruptly.

  “Thank you. We’ll be in touch. Please don’t leave the area.”

  “This is where I live,” Viv said. “Why would I leave?”

  They left without answering. The three women sat silently for a while in the lavender room, the scent of hot cocoa mingling with potpourri and sunlight streaming through the lace curtain creating patterns on the wood floor.

  “They must want to question you again,” Aunt Libby said. “I hope this all works out soon. I’m expecting a full house this week. What will the guests think?”