Murder Most Austen

by Tracy Kiely

  I settled back in my chair and reached for my glass of wine. “How’s Izzy?” Aunt Winnie asked.

  “She’s okay, I guess,” I said. “The police have released Cora for now. Izzy is taking her back to their hotel and putting her to bed, and then she’s coming over here.”

  Ian’s eyes widened at this, and some of the color drained from his face. Next to him, Valerie stiffened. “Here? She’s coming here? But why?” she asked angrily.

  “I think she wants to be with friends,” I answered. “She hung up before I could tell her that you were here. I’m sorry.”

  “I can’t believe this!” Valerie glared at me as if I were somehow to blame. “Of all the nerve! How dare she come here! We are in mourning!”

  I bit my tongue, afraid that I might point out that most people don’t mourn the recent murder of a family member in a hotel bar.

  “For what it’s worth, the police did release Cora. I don’t imagine they would do that if they really thought she had something to do with your father-in-law’s death,” I said.

  Valerie rolled her eyes. The effect, set against her already deadly pallor, was unnerving. “The police have released guilty people before,” she replied as if speaking to an exceptionally slow child. “Besides, who else would want to hurt Richard? The very idea is absurd.”

  No one spoke. Everyone seemed suddenly thirsty for their drinks. I averted my eyes from Valerie’s. I’d only just met Richard Baines, and I could think of at least three people who might have had reason to kill him. Two were sitting across from me and the third was supposedly sleeping off an illness upstairs.

  The uncomfortable silence was broken by the arrival of Izzy. She had changed out of her Regency apparel and into faded skinny jeans and an oversized tangerine V-necked sweater. Thigh-high chocolate suede boots completed the look. It was the kind of outfit you would see in a catalog and want to buy but wouldn’t because you knew you’d never be able to pull it off. Except Izzy pulled it off.

  She spotted me and headed over, her long strides quickly covering the distance. When she was halfway to our table, her eyes registered Ian and Valerie, and her step faltered. It was only for a second and she quickly regained her composure, but I saw an uneasy expression creep into her normally confident eyes.

  “Hello, Elizabeth. Hello, Ms. Reynolds,” she said once at the table and then quickly turned to Ian. “Ian, I’m so sorry about your father. Please know that you have my every sympathy. I can’t imagine what you must be going through. I … I hope you know that my mother—or I—didn’t have anything to do with any of this. She can be something of a hothead at times, but she’s not a murderer.”

  I wondered why Izzy felt the need to include herself in the denial, but then I spotted Valerie’s peevish expression and understood. Ian glanced up at her, his manner both wary and embarrassed. He briefly met her eye, nodded, and then looked away. “I understand, Izzy,” he said softly, his gaze fixed on the candle again. “It’s a horrible situation, all around.”

  Even though Ian had averted his eyes from Izzy’s, her gaze never left his face. “I hope I’m still welcome to join you?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically small.

  Ian glanced at Valerie before looking back to Izzy and nodding his consent. As for Valerie, she pressed her mouth into a hard, thin line and blew an angry snort out her nose. Izzy smiled timidly at Ian, ignored Valerie altogether, and pulled a chair up to the table.

  “What would you like to drink?” I asked her.

  “Anything with alcohol in it,” Izzy responded. “What are you drinking?” Seeing the glass before me, she asked, “Is that Chardonnay?” At my nod, she said, “Good. I’ll have a large one of those.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, pushing my chair away and standing up. “Can I refresh anyone else’s drink while I’m up?”

  Everyone demurred except Valerie. Pushing her still full glass of red wine across the table toward me, she said, “Could you take this back for me? I ordered a Zinfandel, which this is obviously not. I mean, look at it. It’s red!”

  “Sure,” I said. “It’s probably a red Zinfandel,” I added as I picked up the offending glass of wine.

  From Valerie’s subsequent expression of disdain, you would have thought that I’d just sung my response. In pig Latin. “Zinfandels are pink,” was all she said.

  Aunt Winnie glanced at me, her eyes twinkling with laughter. I looked away, afraid of my own reaction. “I’ll see what I can find,” I promised.

  I placed the order with the bartender, a young woman with long sandy-colored hair that was pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She wore a small white name tag that read MARY.

  “Can I return this?” I asked, pushing the glass of wine across the wooden bar. “I think the lady was hoping for a pink Zinfandel.”

  Mary glanced over my shoulder at the table. A second later, her eyes narrowed with distaste. “Sure, you can return it,” she said, “but we don’t have any pink Zinfandel.”

  “Okay. What is your sweetest wine, then?” I asked.

  She considered her stock a moment before replying. “I suppose that would be the Muscat. But I warn you, it’s really sweet. It’s almost a dessert wine.”

  “Perfect. We’ll take a glass of that and a glass of Chardonnay.”

  When they were poured, Mary glanced at the table once again. “Look,” she said, dropping her voice low, “just a heads-up, but you might want to tell your friend to tone it down a bit. This is a nice place, and the owners aren’t going to tolerate her behavior if they catch her.”

  “Catch her?” I repeated in confusion. “Catch her doing what?”

  Mary appeared to rethink her warning, because she ducked her head and said nothing. I was about to ask her what she meant again, when I heard Valerie’s voice behind me. “Is there a problem?” she asked, shooting Mary a disdainful look. Mary busied herself by wiping down the already pristine counter.

  “No,” I said quickly, “no problem at all.” I handed Valerie her wine and took Izzy’s glass back to the table. Izzy thanked me and took a grateful mouthful. Valerie sniffed suspiciously at her glass before taking a tentative sip. Happily, she seemed to like it, as she took a slightly larger sip before setting the glass on the table. She, of course, said nothing to me, which was fine; I would have been all astonishment had she actually thanked me.

  “So, how is your mother?” John asked now, scooting his chair closer to Izzy’s.

  Izzy regarded him a moment, her expression unreadable. “She’s sleeping now. Thank you.”

  John rested his forearms on his knees and shook his head. “Damned odd business. I still don’t understand how it all happened.” Turning his head in my direction, he asked, “You were there when they found him, Elizabeth, and spent some time with the police. Did they say anything?”

  Three sets of eyes lasered in on me. The fourth set, Aunt Winnie’s, was focused on her glass of scotch, which she was drawing near her mouth to take a sip.

  “I don’t know that I know anything you don’t,” I said slowly. “I saw Professor Baines dancing with Alex, and then I saw her run out of the room. A minute later, she came back. Or so I thought,” I amended. “Someone who was also dressed in an Elizabeth costume came back. Whoever that was ran up to Professor Baines, began to argue with him, and then pulled him out of the room. I didn’t think anything of it until a few minutes later when Alex and Byron showed up, asking where Professor Baines was.” I paused and took a sip of my wine.

  John’s brow crinkled into thin horizontal lines as he tried to process this. “So Alex wasn’t with Richard?” he asked.

  “Apparently not. She said that while she and Professor Baines were dancing, she suddenly felt ill and ran for the bathroom. On her way there, she bumped into Byron, and, seeing how sick she was, he waited for her to come out. When she did, the two of them went in search of Professor Baines so he could take Alex back to their room.”

  Valerie pulled her wineglass away from her mouth. “Alex was
sick?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I answered. “She said it came on really suddenly. I gather she got quite sick in the bathroom. Frankly, I wonder if someone didn’t slip her something. It’s a bit convenient for her to get sick just as the killer lures Professor Baines out of the ballroom.”

  Valerie glanced uneasily at Ian but said nothing else.

  “Anyway,” I said, resuming my tale, “we went to look for him and…” I paused, not wanting to repeat the ugly details of the scene to Ian. “And then we…,” I began again.

  “Found him,” supplied Aunt Winnie. I shot her a grateful look.

  John shook his head. “Bollocks. How awful. But why do the police think Cora had anything to do with it? Could have been anyone, really.”

  Izzy bestowed a small appreciative smile on John. “Thank you, John. I appreciate your kindness, but the sad fact is that Mama made no secret about her opposition to Richard’s theories, and she was especially adamant that we somehow connive to prevent him from presenting his latest paper. Then, as far as I can piece together, she drank far too much at the ball, picked a fight with him in front of everyone, and then wandered off and promptly passed out in a remote area of the building where no one saw her.” Izzy rubbed a hand over her face. “She really couldn’t have done more to incriminate herself had she tried,” she muttered.

  “Didn’t I hear something about a wig?” Valerie asked, her voice artificially innocent.

  “Oh, yes. Thank you, Valerie,” Izzy replied with a brittle smile. “Yes, there was a wig found next to … to Richard’s body. It was the same kind of wig that went with the Elizabeth costume that both Mama and Alex wore this evening. Except Alex wasn’t wearing one, and Mama seems to have lost hers.” She sighed and drained her glass. “So you see, she’s done a rather bang-up job of putting herself in the position of number-one suspect. Frankly, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  Aunt Winnie leaned forward and took Izzy’s hand. Holding it tightly, she said, “We will get to the bottom of this, Izzy. I promise you. Cora is an old friend of mine, and I am not without connections. I promise you that she will have every means of support I can provide. You both will.”

  Izzy’s eyes welled up until they resembled shimmering sapphires. She even cried pretty. “Thank you, Ms. Reynolds,” she said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Elizabeth. I don’t really have anyone else I can turn to.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “What about your fiancé? I’m sure he’ll help.”

  Inexplicably, Izzy’s smile dimmed a little; however, she only said, “That’s true.”

  Valerie set her now empty wineglass on the table with a decided thud. Her face having resumed its peevish countenance, she rose from her chair and said, “Well, I hate to break up this support party for dear Izzy, but Ian and I have funeral arrangements to attend to. Ian?”

  Ian yanked his attention away from Izzy and focused on Valerie. Seeing her expression, which was rapidly morphing from peevish to thunderous, he jumped to his feet as well. “Of course,” he said. “We should be going.”

  “Please let us know if we can do anything,” said Aunt Winnie. Ian opened his mouth to respond, but Valerie cut him off.

  “Oh, we wouldn’t want to bother you, seeing how you’re going to be spending so much time trying to help Cora. I imagine that will be a full-time job.” She gave a huff, then turned and marched out of the bar. Ian managed a weak smile our way before he trailed after her.

  Aunt Winnie watched their exit with a bemused expression. Turning back to us, she said, “You know, I do believe that Valerie belongs to that numerous class of females, whose society can raise no other emotion than surprise at there being any men in the world who could like them well enough to marry them.”

  Izzy, her eyes still on the door they just exited, said nothing.

  CHAPTER 15

  I do not pretend to set people right, but I do see that they are often wrong.

  —MANSFIELD PARK

  “SO, DO YOU THINK THE POLICE really believe your mother killed Richard?” asked John a moment later.

  Izzy didn’t answer right away. She was still staring at the empty doorway. I nudged her, and she turned to John. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I asked if you think the police are going to peg this on your mother,” he said.

  Izzy shrugged. “I have no idea. I know she didn’t kill him, of course, but I’m not sure the police would agree. I mean, the case against her does look pretty bad. On paper, at least. I only hope that they will see reason and realize that she simply isn’t capable of hurting someone, let alone killing him.” Aiming a small smile my way, she added, “Perhaps I will have to engage your talents, Elizabeth, and ask you to investigate the matter for me.”

  John pulled his mouth away from his glass of beer and stared at me in confusion. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. “She’s just kidding.”

  Izzy sat up straighter in her chair. “No, I’m not. Didn’t you say that you were a detective?”

  “No, I’m an editor. Well, I used to be an editor before I quit.”

  Izzy shook her head. “You know what I mean! Didn’t you tell me that you’d been involved in murder investigations before and had actually helped the police find the killer?”

  “Well, yes,” I began, “but…”

  “Are you serious?” John asked, his glass still hovering in front of his mouth, which was unfortunately still hanging open in apparent surprise. “You’re a detective? But … but … you’re a woman,” he ended feebly.

  “I’m not a detective,” I said quickly, annoyed that I saw relief in his eyes as I did so. “Not officially, anyway,” I added, just to tweak his antiquated views. “But I have helped the police out a few times in the past.”

  “Helped out, my ass,” Aunt Winnie exclaimed loyally. “You saved my life!” Turning to John, she said, “A few years back, a man was murdered in my inn. The police thought I did it. If it wasn’t for Elizabeth, I’d probably be in jail now. She figured out who the real killer was, risked her life to get proof, and…”

  “Got my head bashed in,” I finished helpfully.

  “Well, yes,” Aunt Winnie admitted, tipping her red head as if conceding a minor point, “there was that, too. But my point is, you found the real killer.” Turning back to John, she continued. “And then, last year, Elizabeth was at a wedding where a guest was murdered, and she figured out who the real killer was then, too.”

  John turned and regarded me with a faintly horrified expression.

  “And finally, just last month, Elizabeth helped the police solve a murder from eight years ago,” Aunt Winnie concluded proudly.

  “I’m beginning to think I’m underpaid,” I joked.

  John said nothing. He obviously disapproved of my involvement in police business, but as it might be just the thing for ending his interest in me, I didn’t let it bother me.

  “I’d be happy to pay you anything you think is fair if you can help Mama,” said Izzy, jolting me out of my thoughts.

  “What? No! I’m not a professional detective, Izzy. I’ve just been lucky, I guess. I’ve noticed things that turned out to be important. I’m sure the police will solve this on their own and without any involvement from me.”

  “But what if they don’t?” Izzy cried, her eyes again filling with tears. “What if they charge Mama with Richard’s murder! What am I going to do then?” Her voice rose to a squeaky pitch, as the stress of her mother’s plight threatened to overpower her.

  Aunt Winnie laid her hand on top of Izzy’s. “We won’t let that happen. I promise you. We will help you in any way we can.” Shooting me a level look, she added, “And if Elizabeth won’t investigate this, then I will.”

  “But…,” I began.

  “However,” continued Aunt Winnie, ignoring me completely, “it’s late, and you should get to bed. We will talk to the police again in the morning and see if we c
an sort all this out. But for now, I really think that you should head back to your hotel and get some rest. We’ll meet again first thing in the morning.” Turning to John, she added, “John, might I ask you to walk Izzy back to her hotel? I think she should have an escort tonight.”

  John immediately stood up. “But of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Extending his hand, he said, “Come on, Izzy. Let me walk you back. And don’t worry about your mother. I’m sure it will all be straightened out very soon.”

  Izzy sighed and took his hand. Pulling herself to her feet, she aimed a watery smile our way and said, “Thank you. I really appreciate your help. I’ll call you in the morning and let you know what our status is.”

  “I’m sure everything will be fine, Izzy,” I said. “The police will get to the bottom of this.”

  “And if they don’t, then we will,” Aunt Winnie added firmly.

  * * *

  “OKAY, WHAT THE HELL was that all about?” I asked Aunt Winnie once Izzy and John had left the bar.

  “What do you mean?” she asked as she signed the bar tab.

  “I mean, why are you pimping out my services to Izzy like I’m some kind of detective for hire?”

  Aunt Winnie regarded me, her expression solemn. “Cora may be a silly woman, but she is an old friend, and I will do anything I can to help her and Izzy.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “And if I can make them feel better by telling them that you are an old hand with murder investigations and have had some success with them, then I will tell them that.” She turned and walked toward the exit.

  I trailed after her. “So all that was nothing more than a ploy to calm them down?”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” she asked with a smug smile.