by Sonia Parin
The edge of Jack’s lip lifted. Sighing, he said, “Jill’s right. You have a right to know, but can you promise me you won’t use the information to confront any of the Hunter crowd?”
The obvious answer nearly tripped out of Eve. Of course, she’d do and say anything to get some details.
Just say yes, Eve.
“Eve!” Jill exclaimed. “Go on. Say yes.”
She tried to say yes again, but the word simply wouldn’t budge. Eve gave Jill an exasperated look and threw her hands up in the air. “What good is having exclusive information if you can’t use it?”
“That’s what I thought,” Jack murmured.
“Fine. I promise, but only if you promise to get them all out of here. Today.”
“For starters,” Jack said, “There was only one cigar missing from the box.”
“What?” Jill pointed a finger at Jack. “You’ve known that all along and didn’t say anything.”
Eve sat back. “Hang on. How can that be? Both J.M. Kernel and William Hunter were smoking.”
Jack leaned against the kitchen counter. “Yes. William always carries two cigars with him. He doesn’t like smoking alone and the author has always been his smoking buddy. His personal assistant, Elizabeth, keeps a stash of cigars for him.”
Eve played around with the information. This had to be common knowledge among the Hunter set.
Jack continued, “Stew Peters had quit smoking years ago.”
Eve groaned. “Don’t tell me he suddenly had the urge to take it up again.”
“According to William Hunter, Stew asked for a cigar. William and the author had already started puffing on their cigars, so William came into the house to fetch the box he’d remembered seeing.”
“That means the killer didn’t target Stew Peters deliberately.” Eve shot to her feet. “Or... either the author or William Hunter egged him on knowing he’d have to have a cigar from the box...”
Jill strode around the kitchen and stopped. “Jack, you’ve left something out. Are you ready to admit at least one of the cigars had some sort of poisonous substance?”
He nodded.
Jill put a hand up. “Wait. If it was only one cigar, then the killer really intended playing Russian roulette. He didn’t care which one smoked it. But if all the cigars were poisoned, then he wanted to kill more than one person. Or rather, he wanted to kill all the cigar smokers in the group.” Jill turned to face Eve.
“The killer is a woman,” they both said.
“You’re forgetting someone,” Jack said.
Eve clicked her fingers. “Miranda Leeds’ husband.”
Jill agreed. “He was the only man who didn’t go outside to smoke.”
Jack’s phone rang. Before he could take the call, Eve grabbed his hand. “Don’t you dare leave without telling us if all the cigars were poisoned or not.”
Jack nodded. “The entire box was contaminated.”
Jill growled. “He could have started with that. Instead, he watched us running around in circles.”
Eve smiled. “Knowledge is power and I think Jack has learned to add more value to it by wringing out as much enjoyment as he can.”
“At our expense.”
The entire box of cigars. Poisoned. Either the killer wanted to kill all the cigars smokers or they were sure only Stew Peters would have a cigar from the box.
Chapter Twelve
“William Hunter is leaving,” Jill announced.
Eve wiped her hands dry. “Please tell me he’s taking everyone with him.”
“Sorry,” Jill shrugged. “He’s going up to the house to check on the water damage. I heard him say he wanted to make sure there are enough rooms to accommodate his guests. And if there aren’t... You could impose a levy fee for duress.”
“The house is huge. How could he not have enough rooms?” It sounded like a likely story to Eve who hadn’t completely discounted the theory of William setting her up and using her inn as the ideal scene for his crime. What if he wanted to kill someone else? “The storm’s moved on. If he can’t accommodate them, they should all go home. Party’s over, people.”
“What if Jack told them they can’t leave the island?” Jill walked around the kitchen table straightening chairs. “I picked up a strange vibe from the others. There are a couple sitting out on the veranda. Miranda and her husband are in the library. They seem to like it there. You’d think they’d all be sitting together. I can’t shake off the feeling they’d rather steer clear of each other.”
“I told you there’s something going on. Julia Maeve knows something and what she knows is bad enough for her to steal a revolver and seek refuge in her car.”
“You might be right,” Jill said. “When Miranda Leeds came in to ask for a cup of tea last night, she more or less admitted they’d all had reasons to want Stew Peters dead.”
These people had known each other for a long time, Eve mused. What kept them together? Why had the author tolerated Stew Peters’ condescension? Could they be harboring secrets?
“You look puzzled,” Jill said.
“That’s because I am.”
“Heads up. Elsie and Eleanor are coming. I suppose they want breakfast.”
“Is it safe to come in?” Elsie asked. Seeing Jill’s red cheek, Elsie gasped.
Eve waved them both in. To her surprise, they sat at the table but didn’t say anything. Offering them a bright smile, Eve asked, “What would you ladies like for breakfast?”
Still looking at Jill’s cheek, Elsie said, “If it’s not too much trouble, tea and toast, please. We’re both partial to English marmalade.”
They both clasped their hands and sat perfectly upright.
“I trust you slept well,” Eve said.
They offered her a small nod.
Jill strode up to the table and set a bowl of sugar down, all the while giving them a lifted eyebrow look. “You’re not very chatty this morning.”
“We don’t want to cause any trouble,” Elsie said. “We only need some sustenance to get us going and then we’ll be on our way.”
“You came here on foot. Surely you’re not planning on walking back.” Jill looked over at Eve and winked. “Perhaps I could give you a lift back to town.”
“I... we wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Oh, but it would be a perfect opportunity to get our stories straight.” Jill gave the town chronicler a pointed look. “Have you thought about what you’ll write?”
“Yes,” Elsie said, “We’ve agreed to keep quiet about everything we saw here yesterday and early this morning.” Elsie leaned forward and looked at Eve. “We promise we won’t say anything.”
Jill set the cutlery down. “If you talk, we’ll know about it. We have ways of finding out.”
They both crossed their hearts and ate their breakfasts in silence. When they finished, Jill told them they could wait in the library and she would give them a lift back in a while.
“I think that went rather well,” Jill said.
Eve wagged a finger at her. “You should be ashamed of yourself. You’ve made an elderly woman afraid of you.”
Jill held up her hand. “She bit me. I’m going to bear this scar for the rest of my life.”
Eve looked out the window and gestured to Jill. “Julia Maeve and Liz Logan are on the beach talking.” The newspaper editor and William’s ex-wife were deep in conversation, and Eve would bet anything they were not discussing what they would wear to Stew Peters’ funeral.
“They’re arguing,” Jill said.
“How can you tell?”
“Julia’s hands are curled up into tight fists.”
Eve eased the window open and strained to hear them but the squawking seagulls made it impossible.
“I need to learn to read lips,” Jill mused. “That would be a handy skill to have. If I had to guess, I’d say Julia is telling Liz it’s no longer safe to be around William Hunter. I’m going to go out on a limb and also say she’s trying to
form an alliance with Liz. If they joined forces, they could go up against him.”
Eve tilted her head. “Because he’d holding something against them?”
Jill grinned. “A secret. With Stew Peters gone, William has lost his leverage and they now see their chance to break away.”
“I want to like your theory,” Eve said, “But that would expunge William of any wrong doing. If Stew Peters was the reason they all stuck together, William would not want him dead.”
Looking over her shoulder, Jill whispered, “Don’t worry, Eve. I’m sure we’ll be able to pin something on him. With Stew gone, William might be driven to do something desperate. Maybe he’s gone up to his house to set a plan into motion. That reminds me, Jack said the whole box of cigars was contaminated but he didn’t mention anything about the poison used.”
“Have you ever known Jack to willingly divulge information?” Eve stacked the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and glanced around the kitchen looking for any stray mugs. “We’re sleep deprived and not functioning at our best.”
“Looks like we arrived just in time,” Mira said as she strode into the kitchen.
“Mira!” Eve threw her arms around her.
“I’m so glad you made it through the night. I brought Jordan for breakfast. I’m afraid you’ve spoiled me, Eve. I’ve become so accustomed to you cooking for me, I can’t even find the coffee canister.”
“Breakfast coming right up,” Eve said.
“Any news?” Mira’s editor asked.
Eve tried to remember if Jordan Monroe had fallen under suspicion. Yes, he had, mostly because he’d had some handy information. “Jill will fill you in. I’m afraid I’m sleep deprived so anything I say will sound jumbled.” Eve set to work preparing a full breakfast. For the first time that morning she threw herself into the pleasure of cooking.
“Have you come up with any new theories?” Mira asked.
Jill pointed at the two women out on the beach. “They’re conspiring. We’re sure of it.” Jill then proceeded to tell them about Julia Maeve’s nocturnal blabbering and taking refuge in her car. “She must have known about Martha Payne always carrying a revolver. Or maybe, when she decided to go out to the car, she went to get her coat and that’s when she found it. Eve’s convinced she knows something significant but is too afraid to talk about it.”
Mira smiled. “You might be onto something. I have a gift for you.” Mira held up a magazine.
Wiping her hands dry, Eve took the magazine. “This is twenty years old.”
Mira nodded. “Last night I came across a few references online to articles about William Hunter and one of them stuck in my mind. The article predates the Internet so I doubt it’s online, but then I remembered the stacks of magazines I’d found at the bookstore. I had one box in the house, but the rest are still in storage.”
“The ones you said you’d go through on a rainy day when you had nothing better to do?” Eve asked.
“Yes. Those ones. Anyway, last night I tossed and turned so I decided to have a look. I found an article about William Hunter’s silver collection and another one about his house in Rhode Island. At first, I thought the article was about the life of the rich and famous because it went on and on about the house’s history. One of his ancestors built it during the Gilded Age. It’s near The Breakers.”
“That sounds familiar,” Eve said.
“It’s a massive house built by the Vanderbilt family in Newport, Rhode Island. Cornelius Vanderbilt commissioned it in 1893. I had a wander around it last year and found it inspiring for one of my books.”
“Fancy living in a seventy room Italian Renaissance style palazzo,” Jill said as she read from the Internet. Her mouth gaped open. “I’d settle for the stables. My goodness. Listen to this. The stables were 100 feet deep and 150 feet wide. The lady of the house would send a day-book every morning with a list of the carriages that would be used that day. When a carriage was requested, the horses were brought out, hitched and left the building from the north door. All the returning carriages entered through the south door. The twelve grooms and stable boys employed lived directly overhead and they had access to a large kitchen, dining room and living room.”
Mira patted her hand. “You have your own stables, Jill.”
Jill sat up and shifted in her chair. “Yes, I do, and I wouldn’t mind sharing it with a couple of horses.”
“Sorry, Jill. I’m going to have to nip that idea in the bud.” Seeing Jill’s disappointment, Eve shook her head. “At least for the time being.” She returned her attention to the magazine and pointed at a photo. “Is that the William Hunter group?”
“Yes, and this is the Hunter cottage.”
A cottage? The house looked massive.
“But this is what I wanted to show you,” Mira pointed to a group photo. “They’ve been getting together for years, going back to their youth. This photo was taken at William’s twenty-first birthday bash. It was a weeklong affair with a who’s who guest list.”
Eve shook her head. “This annoys me. Why come to my inn when they have such a splendid playground at their disposal?”
“He likes to travel around and rarely spends more than a couple of weeks in one place.”
The first thought that popped into Eve’s mind had her smiling, “What is he running away from?”
They all looked at her.
“That is a very good question,” Jill said. “It fits in with your theory.”
“You have a theory?” Mira asked.
“Yes. We’ve been playing around with the idea they all have something to hide. It’s something that keeps them glued together, whether they like it or not. What if...” Eve clicked her fingers. “Oh, what if something happened way back then and one of them witnessed it and used the information to control the group.”
“That person being Stew Peters?” Mira asked.
“Yes. He fits the profile of someone devious enough to use anything to wield power,” Eve said.
“A profile?” Mira asked.
Eve shrugged. “A character trait. Jill called him a proverbial detractor. We’ve decided he knew something and it gave him leverage over the others.”
Mira exchanged a look with her editor and tapped the magazine. “Perhaps you should look at this photo and compare it to this other one. Let’s see if you notice something different.”
“Picture games. I love those.” Jill strode up and looked over Eve’s shoulder.
“Yes, and since you’re the artist, you’ll be able to spot the difference in no time.” Eve’s gaze jumped from one image to the other. “It says here the photos were taken during that birthday week.”
They both moved closer to the window to take advantage of the natural light.
Eve guessed the photos had been taken a day apart. “Okay, they look happy in the first picture, and somewhat strained in the next one. They’re still smiling, but the smiles look forced.” Had something happened between the time the photos were taken? They were all attending a birthday celebration. She could see bottles of champagne on a table. Quite a few of them... “They look apprehensive.” She’d bet anything the moment the photographer put his camera down they all looked over their shoulders.
Jill pointed at one of the photos. “I think that’s Julia Maeve and she’s the only one looking away. Also, so far, she’s the only one who’s crumbled slightly at the edges.”
“Last night you said she looked as if she was observing everyone.”
Jill nodded. “Yes, taking note of everything. Then again, she’s a newspaper editor. It would be an ingrained trait.”
“Authors are observant too,” Eve said, “Yet J.M. Kernel seemed to be rising above everything. Aren’t authors supposed to be glum?”
Mira lifted her chin. “Am I ever glum?”
Eve laughed. “Not even when your mad innkeeper is giving you trouble.” Sighing, she gave it some more thought. “Okay. The author is the type to adapt to changing circumstances. He’s good at p
retending everything is okay.” Eve tapped the magazine. “Something happened all those years ago, and now... it’s come back to haunt them.”
“I know what you did last summer.” When Mira looked puzzled, Jill explained, “It’s a film about these friends who are stalked by a killer a year after they covered up a car accident they were all involved in.”
Eve grabbed Jill by the shoulders. “Yes!” she exclaimed, “For some reason, my mind was only skimming the surface and thinking someone might have had an affair or walked in on someone and seen something they shouldn’t have. They are all guarding a dark secret. I didn’t even meet Stew Peters, but from what I’ve heard, I would not have given him the time of day. Someone did something dreadful, he witnessed it and he was the type to use the information to his advantage.”
“Or,” Jill grinned. “William witnessed something and he then confided in Stew Peters.” Jill strode around the kitchen. “Think about it. He’s not likable. We know he doesn’t have any family. A person like that is bound to end up alone, cast adrift. Ostracized. He won’t change his character. In fact, he thrives on being a detractor and he’s found a way to remain true to himself and get away with it.”
“Yes,” Eve exclaimed and pumped her fist in the air.
Mira and her editor exchanged raised eyebrow looks.
“You were right, Mira. They are good,” Jordan Monroe said.
“Yes, I only wish they would now pass the information onto the authorities and let them take care of it.” Mira sighed. “Knowing Eve, she’ll promise to do just that and be side-tracked along the way, meaning, she’ll end up having a gun pointed at her.” Mira wagged a finger at her. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the fresh coat of paint on my wall, Eve.”
Eve gave her aunt a sheepish look. Months before, Eve had been shot at. Luckily Mira had been on one of her cruises. Since Eve had promised to stay out of trouble, she’d scrambled to get the bullet hole in the wall covered over before Mira returned. Of course, she’d underestimated her aunt who clearly didn’t miss anything.