Murder Most Austen

by Tracy Kiely

  Cora’s eyes grew wide, and she pulled back from Valerie. “Oh, please don’t say anything, Izzy. Don’t! Promise me you won’t say anything!”

  Izzy stared uncomprehendingly at Cora. “But why not? She scammed you! You can’t let this go—you aren’t actually thinking about letting this go, are you?”

  Cora violently shook her head, her expression suddenly fearful. “But I can’t prove anything. It would be her word against mine.” Her voice rose in consternation. “What if Gail believes Valerie? Do you realize how horrible I would look?”

  Izzy sighed. “Settle down, Mama. Settle down,” she said soothingly. “We’ll figure it out. Later. For now, why don’t we go back to our hotel? I think you need to go to bed.”

  Cora nodded in agreement before bowing her head. “I’m sorry, Izzy. I should have told you before.”

  A fond expression replaced Izzy’s exasperated one as she stared at the top of Cora’s lowered head. “It’s all right, Mama,” she said, softly. “It’s not your fault. We’ll set it right.”

  Taking Cora’s arm, Izzy steered her toward the exit. “Elizabeth, Winnie,” she said, “we’re going to head back to our hotel now. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Good night, Izzy. Good night, Cora,” I said.

  “We’ll talk to you in the morning,” added Aunt Winnie.

  With a backward glance, Izzy rolled her eyes expressively in my direction, and left.

  CHAPTER 22

  Money can only give happiness where there is nothing else to give it.

  —SENSE AND SENSIBILITY

  I TURNED TO AUNT WINNIE. “Do you believe that? Do you really think that Valerie stole the money and then tried to blame Cora? Why would she do that?”

  “Honestly, I have no idea,” said Aunt Winnie. “I mean, it’s obvious that Valerie likes money, but would she really steal it?” She picked up her glass of wine and took a sip. I did the same.

  “Well, I don’t see what can be done about that now,” I said. “I mean, Cora is right. There is no proof, and Valerie could just pretend that she was trying to help Cora pay back the debt in the least painful way.”

  “Yes. The least painful way, which, oddly enough, still netted Valerie a few thousand dollars and a free monthly column for the magazine,” Aunt Winnie pointed out.

  I took another sip and stared thoughtfully at the table. “I wonder if Gail has any idea.”

  Aunt Winnie considered the question. “I rather suspect she doesn’t, but I’m not sure if it’s connected to Richard’s death.”

  “It may not be, but then again, we may find out that it is.” I drained the rest of my glass. Placing it on the table, I pushed back my chair to stand up. As I did, the chair leg hit something. Looking down, I saw that it was Gail’s purse.

  “Gail left her purse,” I said, stating the obvious as I picked up the item in question. “I think I should return it.”

  Aunt Winnie raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “Of course you do.” With a sigh, she finished her drink and stood up as well. “It would appear that the Fates would like us to chat with Gail about Valerie, after all.”

  I grinned at her. “My thoughts exactly. And after all, who are we, as mere mortals, to argue with the Fates?”

  Aunt Winnie shook her head. “Who indeed?”

  * * *

  GAIL ANSWERED MY KNOCK almost immediately, leaving me wondering if she’d been expecting a visitor. The quick expression of confused disappointment that crossed her face at finding Aunt Winnie and me on the other side of her door only increased this suspicion.

  “Oh, hello,” Gail said, opening the door a bit wider. “Is something wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing at all,” I said, pasting a friendly smile on my face. “You forgot your purse.” I held up the bulky item in question.

  “Oh,” said Gail, “so I did. Thank you for returning it.”

  She took the purse from my outstretched hand and seemed about to say good night when Aunt Winnie said, “Forgive me for asking this, Gail, but were you aware that Cora is under the impression that she somehow lost three thousand dollars of the society’s money last year and has been working it off under Valerie’s terms?”

  From the manner in which Gail’s face and her still outstretched hand froze as she gaped at Aunt Winnie in bewilderment, I gathered she did not.

  “I see that you did not,” Aunt Winnie continued blithely. “I know that it’s late, but do you have a quick moment? I think you should be made aware of this.”

  Gail nodded dumbly at us. Then, finding her voice, she said, “I think I should, too. Won’t you come in?”

  Gail’s room was very similar to the one Aunt Winnie and I shared. It had the same high ceiling, comfortable furniture in muted colors, and a view of the courtyard out back. I sat down in the desk chair while Aunt Winnie settled into the wingback chair. Gail cinched her robe a bit more tightly around her waist and perched on the edge of her bed. “So what has Valerie done now?” she asked wearily.

  Aunt Winnie arched an eyebrow. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  Gail shook her head, a grim smile on her lips. “No, I’m not. I know my daughter-in-law very well, better sometimes than I think my son does. But what is this about Cora and missing money?”

  “According to Cora,” said Aunt Winnie, “she delivered a cashier’s check for some raffle event last year, but Valerie called her soon after to tell her that it wasn’t in the paperwork. Cora was upset, of course, and offered to pay what she could to replace the loss. Valerie agreed to not tell the society—or you—if Cora paid what she could and worked off the rest by not accepting payment for her monthly articles.”

  Gail closed her eyes as if she was in pain. “I see,” was all she said.

  “Cora doesn’t know that I’m here, of course,” continued Aunt Winnie. “In fact, she’d be horrified to find out that I was. But despite the fact that she’s prone to bouts of absentmindedness, she’s just not that careless. Cora is a good woman. She respects you and values your friendship. She’s horribly embarrassed and upset by all this.”

  Gail stared at her hands. “I’m sure she is.” Looking back up, she added, “I, of course, knew nothing about any of this. This past year I … haven’t quite been myself,” she said, glancing back down at her hands. “I’ve been trying to deal with some personal issues, and as a result Valerie took over most of the finances for the magazine. Although despite my … inattention, I’ve nevertheless suspected for some time now that…” Gail waved her hand as if to erase away the rest of the sentence. “All I can tell you,” she continued a moment later, “is that while Valerie handles most of the day-to-day finances, I still oversee everything. And I can tell you that I’ve been approving Cora’s usual fee for her articles.”

  “So,” I said, “Valerie could either be funneling that money to replace the supposedly lost money from last year, or…”

  “Or she could be funneling it into her own account,” finished Gail with a sigh. “I’ll have a chat with her in the morning. However, I think I already know what I’m going to learn. Please tell Cora that I will take care of this and that I’m very sorry.”

  Aunt Winnie nodded and stood up. I followed her lead. “Thank you for seeing us,” I said. “Cora’s had a rough time of it this week—as I’m sure you have, too,” I added hastily, mentally kicking myself for my thoughtless gaffe.

  But Gail only shook her head at my apology. “Please. It’s no secret that Richard and I ended on bad terms, and I’d be lying if I said that time had lessened those feelings. I hope you don’t think me terrible, but his death does not trouble me as much as what you’ve just told me.”

  Aunt Winnie nodded. “I’m not judging. I’m just here to help an old friend.”

  “I’ll see that it’s taken care of,” said Gail. “Thank you for telling me. And thank you for my purse.”

  We said our good nights and went back out into the hallway. As we started toward our own room, I asked, “Did you notice Gail’s
windows?”

  “I don’t believe I did,” replied Aunt Winnie. “But apparently you did. Tell me.”

  “They face the back courtyard,” I said.

  “And?”

  “I just thought it was odd, is all.”

  “Of course you did. Who wouldn’t?” came her assured reply.

  I said no more and we continued walking. After a few moments, she stopped, turned to me, and put her hands on her hips. “You’re actually going to drag this out, aren’t you?”

  I smiled. “Well, it is kind of fun.”

  “It won’t be when I smack you upside your smug little head,” she retorted. “Tell me.”

  “It’s just that Gail’s room looks out back…”

  “Yes, yes, we’ve established that,” Aunt Winnie prompted.

  “And when we returned from the ball, we ran into Ian in the lobby. He said he’d been in Gail’s room the entire time. But he also said that he’d seen the police cars and ambulance go by.”

  Aunt Winnie raised her eyebrows in admiration. “So he did. Nice catch, Elizabeth.”

  I dipped my head modestly. “Thank you. I thought so, too.”

  “So whose room was Ian in, I wonder?” Aunt Winnie asked as we resumed our walk to our room.

  “One thing at a time, my dear Watson. One thing at a time,” I responded, and then jumped out of her reach before she could hit me.

  I almost made it.

  * * *

  SLEEP PROVED ELUSIVE. I kept thinking about Ian’s lie. Did it have anything to do with the murder? Could Ian have drugged his mother and then slipped out and headed back to the ball to kill his father? Granted, while Ian did benefit from Richard’s death, he also struck me as a nonviolent, almost passive person. The fact that Valerie was still alive and well was perhaps the strongest testament to this fact. As much as I tried to puzzle out how it might have been Ian, I couldn’t. The figure who had rushed into the ballroom wearing the Elizabeth Bennet costume simply couldn’t have been Ian. He was too tall and broad in the shoulders for me to mistake him for a woman.

  But if he hadn’t gone back to the ball, where had he gone? And why was he lying about it?

  I was just starting to fall asleep when another thought occurred. If Ian wasn’t with Gail, then that meant that Gail was also alone and without an alibi. And she definitely would have fit into the costume that I’d seen. Could Gail have snuck back out to the ball? And if so, did Ian know about it? Or did he help her do it?

  CHAPTER 23

  [She] will never be easy till she has exposed herself in some public place.

  —PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

  AT BREAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING, Aunt Winnie and I sat in companionable silence as we ate our poached eggs and buttered toast and drank our tea. At the table next to us sat Gail and Ian, similarly occupied. As it should be in the morning, we’d exchanged brief pleasantries but no conversation of real substance.

  However, just because we weren’t engaged in conversation didn’t mean I wasn’t acutely focused on them and their conversation. We all have talents in this life, and the ability to eavesdrop unobserved is mine.

  Gail’s face was haggard, and she watched Ian with an expression that vacillated between pity and frustration. If Ian noticed his mother’s scrutiny, he didn’t let on and instead concentrated on his breakfast.

  After a moment, Gail said in an almost casual tone, “Where is Valerie this morning? I thought she was going to join us.”

  Ian raised his head, and I saw a fleeting expression of dread flash in his eyes. “Oh, she had an errand to run. She said she’d meet us later,” came his bland response. He then immediately took a sip of his coffee, almost as if he hoped to ward off further conversation. From the way Gail’s mouth tightened, I suspected that it was a futile hope.

  “Really?” said Gail, her tone dipping a few degrees with each syllable. “Well, that’s odd, because I specifically called her last night to tell her that I needed to speak with her—first thing this morning. I thought she understood that. She certainly told me she did.” By the time she finished speaking, even I was chilly.

  Ian gripped his coffee cup in his hands—probably for warmth—and glanced uneasily at Gail before averting his eyes to his plate of half-eaten eggs. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mom. She didn’t say anything to me about meeting you. She made a few calls this morning and then rushed out saying there was something she had to do.”

  Gail raised her eyebrows. “And you didn’t ask where she was going or what she was doing?”

  Ian delayed answering by taking another sip of coffee. “Oh, you know how Valerie is, Mom. When she gets a notion in her head, there’s no stopping her. Questions only annoy her.”

  “Notion? What notion did she get in her head?” Gail pressed.

  Ian raised the cup again, only to discover that his delaying tactic was now empty. With a mournful look, he put the cup down and glanced longingly at the coffee urn on the sideboard. “Ian,” Gail snapped, “what notion did Valerie get in her head?”

  Ian jumped slightly. “Mom, I told you. I don’t know. She said something about needing to have a little chat with someone and ran out.”

  Gail exhaled noisily through her nose. Ian leaped from his chair. “I’m going to get some more coffee. Would you like some?” he asked.

  When Gail shook her head, Ian immediately scurried over to the buffet and therefore missed Gail mutter “that little bitch” under her breath.

  I, however, did not.

  It’s one of the perks of being a practiced eavesdropper.

  * * *

  GAIL AND IAN left soon after, while Aunt Winnie and I lingered over our tea, quietly discussing what Ian’s lie could mean. Like me, Aunt Winnie had trouble seeing Ian as the murderer. “That man is a born doormat,” she said.

  “True,” I said. “But sometimes doormats snap.”

  Aunt Winnie took a sip of tea before answering. “Yes, but when they do, it’s usually in a sudden violent outburst. They don’t don a dress and storm into a Regency ballroom.”

  I sighed. “I guess you’re right. But what about Gail? She could have done it.”

  Aunt Winnie put down her cup and stared at me with a thoughtful expression. “Yes. I guess in theory she could have,” she said slowly. “But she seemed pretty blotto when Ian hustled her out of the ballroom that night. I suppose she might have been acting, but if she was, then she’s missed a successful career on the stage.”

  I nodded. “That’s kind of what I thought, too. But that still doesn’t answer where Ian was and why he lied about it.”

  “No, you’re right, it doesn’t.” Aunt Winnie glanced at her watch. “Oh, we’d better scoot. The morning sessions are about to begin.”

  We quickly finished our tea and headed over to the morning sessions. We looked for Izzy and Cora, but not seeing them, headed for “Regency Skin Care: Keeping Your Bloom.”

  Like “Dressing Mr. Darcy,” this session was packed. However, unlike that session, neither Gail nor Valerie was in attendance. In fact, no one we knew was there. At the time, I felt relieved not to have to deal with any additional drama; however, later it would prove to be a problem for those needing an alibi.

  For the next hour, Aunt Winnie and I happily sat back to learn about some of the more popular beauty lotions available to the fashionable lady of the era, such as Gowland’s Lotion and Milk of Roses. Gowland’s Lotion was not for everyday use but to combat sudden skin eruptions, such as pimples, sunburn, and “scrophula.” Unfortunately, it contained both lead and mercury, and therefore was by no means safe. However, one assumes that it was a risk that Sir Walter Elliot would think worth taking. Milk of Roses also promised to create “a complexion delicately fair and beautiful” by removing “redness, sunburn and freckles.” As it mainly contained rosewater and almond oil, products found in many of today’s healing lotions, it was a far safer choice.

  In case the lotions didn’t provide the sought-after effect, there were plenty of cosme
tics available to do the trick. There was a powder foundation (which, unfortunately, also contained lead), as well as rouge and lip salve (equivalent to today’s lip gloss). There was even a modern-day equivalent to mascara and eyeliner. The black paste was created by mixing soot with a little oil and was then applied to the eyebrows and eyelashes. However, because its application required a delicate, practiced technique and was, therefore, probably more noticeable, it was considered quite wanton. One assumes that Lydia Bennet would have become a frequent user.

  When the session ended, Aunt Winnie and I headed out into the main hallway to study the itinerary to decide on our next session. We were debating between “A Regency Wedding” and “From China to Chintz,” when Byron, clearly agitated, ran up to us.

  “Have you seen Ian or Valerie?” he asked, his breath coming in small pants.

  “No,” I said. “Why, what’s wrong?”

  Byron ran his hand through his hair and glanced around before answering. “It’s the paper,” he finally said, his voice almost frantic. “Richard’s paper. It’s gone! Someone stole it!”

  “Stole it!” I gasped. “But how?”

  Byron shook his head, perplexed. “They broke into my hotel room,” he said. “I got a call this morning from Valerie. She asked me to meet her at a nearby café. She said she had a proposal to talk to me about. When I got there, she wasn’t there, so I waited a bit. I tried to call her, but there was no answer. After a while, I went back to my room, only to find that someone had broken into it and taken the paper!”

  I stared at Byron in confusion. “But they can’t have gotten the only copy—I mean, wasn’t it on a computer?”

  “No, that’s just it. Richard hated computers. He had this stupid paranoia that his work could somehow be hacked. He would write everything out in longhand and then give it to me to be typed. He even insisted that it only be typed on this super-thick paper he special-ordered from London, because he believed that it would be harder for people to copy if they somehow got hold of it. He was especially paranoid about this paper. Once a change was made, I’d have to type up a new version and burn the old version. There was only one copy of the damn thing, and now it’s gone!”