Murder Most Austen

by Tracy Kiely

  “I noticed that, too. Honestly, Elizabeth, I don’t know what to think. Neither Richard nor Valerie was very nice, but I don’t even think I know why they were killed. Was Valerie killed because of the paper or because of her affair? And are they somehow connected?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know. But speaking of which, I’d better call Inspector Middlefield and tell her about Valerie. I promised to tell her if I learned anything new.”

  I dialed the number and soon was speaking to Inspector Middlefield. She did not sound pleased to hear from me, but a promise is a promise. I quickly told her what Mary had relayed to me. There was brief silence, and then I heard the faintest of curses. “You really do seem to have a knack for finding things out, don’t you?” she said.

  “I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”

  “We know about the calls, as well—we just learned about them. However, there’s one little detail that you are missing.”

  “Really? What?”

  Inspector Middlefield hesitated. Then she told me.

  I felt a bit like Mr. Bennet when he learned about Lydia’s elopement—I could not speak for a full ten minutes.

  CHAPTER 29

  Facts are such horrid things!

  —LADY SUSAN

  AFTER HANGING UP with Inspector Middlefield, I looked at Aunt Winnie. “Well? What did she say?” she asked. “What’s the big news?”

  “It appears that Valerie wasn’t having an affair after all. She had taken a job as a phone sex operator.”

  Aunt Winnie regarded me pop-eyed. “Bullshit,” she said.

  The absurdity of the situation hit me, and I began to giggle. “Well, this is a wretched beginning indeed. I am sure nobody else will believe me, if you do not. Yet, indeed, I am in earnest. I speak nothing but the truth.”

  “You’re serious, then? Valerie was a phone sex operator? Valerie? I can’t believe it!” Then she began to laugh. Hard. So did I. Soon we were both gasping for air, with tears streaming down our faces.

  “We’re going to hell,” I said a few minutes later. “You realize that, don’t you? The poor woman is dead.”

  “I know, I know,” said Aunt Winnie, wiping the tears from her face. “It’s not funny. Well, it is, but we shouldn’t laugh.”

  “I wonder if Ian knew,” I said.

  “Who knows? It’s not exactly something that I can see myself asking the poor man.”

  I lay back down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. “I keep thinking that I’m missing something in all of this. It’s like someone threw a bunch of sand up into the air, and I’m having trouble seeing things clearly.”

  Aunt Winnie picked up her notebook and flipped it open to a new page. “Tell me about it,” she said as she added this new bit of information to the rest.

  I closed my eyes, listening to the scratches of her pen as it moved across the paper, as I tried to sort out what I knew about both Richard and Valerie. It seemed clear that in addition to being a delusional pseudo-academic who saw conspiracy theories at every turn, he was a two-timing bastard who’d made a secondary career at seducing naïve young women. His paper on Jane Austen was sure to annoy, even anger, certain Janeites, but would it have made a difference in how Austen and her works were viewed? Would it really be worth money? I wondered if it was Richard Baines the man rather than Richard Baines the scholar who had been murdered. But again, if it was the latter, why? Was it his money, or was it something more?

  As for Valerie, I was equally confused. She hadn’t been a particularly nice woman—she’d struck me as someone more concerned with money and status than people. The fact that she’d taken a job as a sex operator proved that. Had she stolen the paper and tried to sell it only to be killed for her greed? And if so, who was she trying to sell it to? Surely no one in the Baines family would want to buy the paper. Not any of the family that I’d met, I amended. A thread of a thought flashed. I was missing something, but the thought refused to form and instead faded back into the inky blackness of my subconscious.

  At least I assumed it was inky blackness back there. I’ve never actually seen it.

  * * *

  AFTER AN HOUR or so—I think I dozed off—my headache was starting to recede, and I felt like taking a walk. As Aunt Winnie was just falling asleep herself, I told her that I was going to head over to the Guildhall.

  “Why are you going there?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I might get another cup of coffee and walk around. I just thought it might help me sort everything out.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, you stay here. I doubt I’ll find anything. I just want to look around, that’s all.”

  Aunt Winnie yawned. “Okay. Well, be careful.”

  “You know me,” I responded lightly.

  Aunt Winnie pried open a sleepy eye. “Are you trying to scare me?” she asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said with a laugh. “Have a nice nap. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Hey, if you think of it, will you bring me back a coffee?” she asked. “The usual. Oh, and some toothpaste. I’m almost out.”

  “Sure thing,” I said. I had just opened the door when I paused, wondering why I felt like whatever I was missing was important. I frowned, trying to think what it was but failed.

  Downstairs, I was dismayed to find John in the lobby, lounging in one of the chairs by the front desk. Judging from his sprawled position and the book in his hand, I suspected that he was lying in wait for someone. Instinct told me that someone was me. His head was down, focused on the book, so I tried to slide toward the side exit without being seen, but of course he looked up at the last minute. “Elizabeth!” he cried with false surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

  “Really, John?” I asked, annoyed. “You’re surprised to find me in my hotel?”

  “Of course not,” he said. “I just thought that you’d be out with the police. Helping.”

  I let out a heavy sigh of frustration. “For the last time. I am not working with the police. I am here as a tourist, that’s it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a walk.”

  John’s face fell at my abrupt response, and I felt a pang of guilt at my rude behavior. “A walk?” he said. “Where are you off to? I could use a bit of exercise myself. I’ll join you.” True to his words, he stood up and dropped the book on the chair.

  My pang of guilt evaporated so quickly I was surprised there wasn’t an accompanying sucking sound.

  “I didn’t have any place in mind,” I lied. “I just wanted to take a walk. By myself,” I added for good measure.

  John was having none of it. He regarded me in utter astonishment. “By yourself?” he sputtered. “Are you barking mad? When there’s a killer running around Bath? Absolutely not! I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

  I sighed in resignation. I could argue with him, I thought, but what did it really matter if he tagged along? I would walk to the Guildhall, and then, once there, ditch him under some pretense.

  “Fine,” I huffed with very little grace, “you can come along.”

  John smiled at me. He had very big teeth.

  * * *

  THE SUN WAS just starting its descent when John and I walked outside. The temperature had dipped since I’d been out earlier, and I pulled my wool cardigan a little tighter to ward against the chill. John kept up a steady stream of conversation—mainly about how most of Richard’s theories had originated with him. I gave an occasional murmur, but I wasn’t really listening. I had heard most of it before.

  We hadn’t gone more than a few blocks when I spotted Byron coming out of a café, a take-away coffee in his hand. “Hi, Byron,” I called out to him. He turned around startled, but then smiled when he saw me.

  “Hello, Elizabeth. Hello, John,” he called, crossing the street to where we stood. “How are you doing?” he asked me. “I heard about Valerie. It’s horrible.”

  “I know,” I said. “I do
n’t understand any of it.” I pointed at his coffee. “Did you get that inside?” I asked.

  Byron glanced down at the cup. “Oh, yes. It’s not bad. Why, did you want me to get you a cup?”

  Giving him a brief smile, I said, “No, thank you, Byron, but your namesake would be proud. I’ll be just a minute.”

  I ducked inside the café, leaving John and Byron standing outside. John did not look pleased. I did not care.

  Minutes later, I rejoined them with a cup of coffee in tow. Taking a sip, I asked Byron, “Have you talked to the family yet?”

  Byron nodded. “A little. Ian is devastated, of course. Alex is in shock. I’m trying to help, but frankly, I don’t know what to do.”

  “Well, we don’t want to detain you,” said John curtly. “Elizabeth and I are taking a walk. I’m sure we’ll see you later.”

  Byron glanced at John in some surprise and then back at me. I’m sure he saw my annoyance. “A walk?” he said thoughtfully. “That sounds nice. Do you mind if I join you?”

  “No, not at all,” I said, just as John said, “Well, actually…”

  Byron, thankfully, ignored John and fell into step with us. “Where are we heading?” he asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said casually. “I thought I’d just head downtown, nowhere in particular.”

  We walked in silence—an oddity given John’s propensity to fill every void with stories of his superiority. Soon we came upon the Guildhall. I gave what I hoped was a little cry of surprise. “Oh, isn’t this where they were holding the sword-fighting session, ‘Dueling Mr. Darcy’?”

  Byron nodded. “Yes. Of course, with Valerie’s death, the organizers have suspended all the sessions.”

  I nodded. “Well, I think I’ll go in and take a look anyway. They might still have all the props on display.” Turning back to both of them, I said, “Thanks for walking with me. I’m sure I’ll see you later.”

  “See you, Elizabeth,” Byron said, giving me a half wave and then heading down the street. Unfortunately, John stayed put and eyed me suspiciously.

  “Are you sure you’re not investigating?” he asked, finally breaking his silence.

  “No, John. I’m not. Don’t be silly,” I said firmly. “I just want to take a look inside at the display. See you later.”

  Without giving him a chance to say anything further, I turned on my heel and headed into the Guildhall. I was sorry that I’d been rude, but I’d had it with John and his particular brand of obtuseness.

  I pushed open the heavy doors. The large hall was now empty, but it was indeed still set up for fencing demonstrations. The left side of the room was covered with all sorts of swords and protective gear. I gave them a passing glance and then headed to the back hallway where we’d found Richard’s body. I don’t know exactly why I was drawn there, but I felt there was something I was missing and that it had to do with the hallway. Besides, wasn’t there some wise old adage about “going back to the beginning”? Well, this was the beginning. I was here. Let the games begin.

  I stood in the narrow hallway staring down at the floor where Richard’s body had lain. Oddly enough, no previously unseen clue jumped out at me, waving its little clue arms, shouting, “Over here, Elizabeth! Look at meeee!”

  Which was, frankly, kind of annoying.

  I walked up and down the hall, opening various doors that led to other rooms. I did this twice. I took the back stairs to the upper level, but the door from the stairwell was locked. I slowly made my way back down the stairs and sat down. Opening my purse, I pulled out my phone and tried Peter again. Once again, it went to voice mail, and once again the mechanical voice told me that it was full. It was probably just as well. My frustration at not being able to reach him was so pronounced that had I been able to leave a message it probably would have been riddled with rather unladylike language.

  I tossed my phone back into my purse and stared at my cup of coffee in frustration. The thing that made my frustration all the worse was that I didn’t know what I was looking for; I just had a feeling that it was here. After several minutes, I resigned myself to the fact that going back to the beginning wasn’t getting me anywhere—a fact, which shouldn’t have surprised me, as that was advice from The Princess Bride. With a sigh of resignation, I took a sip of the coffee, remembering that I’d promised to get one for Aunt Winnie as well.

  That’s when the thing I felt like I’d missed earlier came knocking again. Thankfully, this time my brain was home.

  Bit by bit, the pieces came together. Like one of those stupid sudoku puzzles that drive me nuts but that I can’t seem to stay away from, each fact led to another until, finally, the pattern was complete.

  But seeing the pattern and proving it were two different things. I quickly pulled out my camera and began to scroll through all the pictures I’d taken until I came to the ones of the Regency Ball. There was one of Izzy dancing with Ian. There was one of Cora talking to a group of women. Finally, I got to the one I was looking for, the one of Richard and Alex dancing what would prove to be their last dance. I stared at the picture for a minute, trying to see if the item I suspected wasn’t there really wasn’t there. I enlarged the photo and double-checked.

  A faint thrill went through me as I realized what I was—or rather, wasn’t—seeing.

  It was Richard dancing, his hand raised high to hold Alex’s. But there was no pinkie ring on his hand. When we’d found Richard’s body, he was wearing the ring, but here—a mere few minutes before his death—he wasn’t.

  Above me, the air vent kicked on, sending a blast of warm air my way. I stared at it for a second and wondered. I saw that the screws supporting the metal cover were in but not secured. Standing up on my toes, I reached my hand up and slid my fingers under the cover. I was able to push it open just enough to squeeze my arm inside. My fingers groped blindly only for a second before hitting pay dirt. My heart pounding, I grabbed the wadded-up bundle of cloth and yanked it out.

  I already knew what it was, but I shook it open anyway.

  It was a duplicate Mr. Darcy costume, complete with Colin Firth face mask.

  The pieces of the puzzle were all together. I understood everything now. Take that, sudoku.

  CHAPTER 30

  What is right to be done cannot be done too soon.

  —EMMA

  I BUNDLED THE COSTUME back up and ran out of the hallway and into the main room. However, the room was no longer empty. John now stood there.

  “John! What are you doing here?” I yelped in surprise, pulling the costume close to my chest.

  “I wanted to see if you were okay,” he said. “It’s not safe around here anymore.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m fine. Really. I was just going to head back to the hotel,” I said.

  “What are you holding?” he asked conversationally, taking a step toward me. “Is that a costume?”

  I paused, unsure what to do. However, before I could respond, another figure suddenly appeared behind John. In a quick movement, he smashed something down on John’s head. In horror, I watched as John collapsed to the marble floor without a sound, his body sprawled out like a limp rag doll.

  “He’s right, you know. It’s not safe around here,” said Byron, looking down with satisfaction at the metal handle of the fencing saber in his hand. “For once, that babbling idiot said something that was actually correct. He told me outside that you were investigating the murders. I had to make sure that you didn’t succeed.”

  My heart slammed against my chest, and I forced myself to remember to breathe. “What do you think you’re doing?” I said, taking a step backward.

  “I’m tying up loose ends.”

  I inched toward the side wall, my eyes fixed on the saber. “It was you in the costume dancing with Alex when she pretended to get sick, wasn’t it? You were in it together. This was never about Richard’s paper, was it? It was about you two.”

  Byron pushed at John’s inert form on the floor with his foot. Satisfied that
John was unconscious, he stepped over him and moved toward me. With shaking fingers, I used the costume as a cover as I reached into my purse and groped for my phone. Blindly, I dialed Aunt Winnie’s phone and hoped to God that she could hear me.

  “You and Alex killed Richard, didn’t you?” I nodded at the bundle in my arms. “You got a duplicate costume, and then what? Did you wait for him to come out into the hallway for a cigarette?” I asked, in a voice I realized was squeaky. I tried to lower it to a more normal tone. “You killed Richard and then returned to the ball, pretending to be him. Then Alex pretended to get sick and ran to the bathroom. But she didn’t go to the bathroom, did she? She ran back into the room, wearing a mask and wig this time, and pulled you out into the hall.”

  I knew I was babbling, but I couldn’t seem to stop. Byron kept coming toward me; I kept moving back toward the wall where the sabers were hanging. Surely some of those had to be real; after all, Byron’s certainly looked real. “Once in the hall, you got out of your costume and stuffed it into the vent,” I said. “You took the knife that you killed Richard with and put it in the wig where it would be found by the police. Then you and Alex reappeared and pretended to look for Richard.”

  “What do you want? Applause?” Byron sneered. “I get it. You figured it all out. I killed Richard, hid his body under a pile of table linens, and then took his place. I even smeared a bit of food on my shoe to make it look like Alex had really thrown up.”

  “Weren’t you taking a huge risk that you might get caught?” I asked as I retreated farther. “I mean, what if someone tried to talk to you when you were dressed as Richard?”

  Byron shrugged. “It was a risk, but then Richard could be a rude son of a bitch at times. No one would be too surprised if he waved away a conversation.”

  I remembered how Cora had said that she’d tried to talk to Richard at the ball but he only laughed at her. Byron was right; when we’d heard that, no one assumed anything other than Richard was being an ass.

  Byron continued. “Unfortunately, your prize for figuring this all out is that you have to die, too. Alex and I didn’t go through all this trouble so we could get Richard’s money and be together just so we’d have to stop now. Sorry and all that. You seem nice enough. But those are the breaks, I guess.”