The Marlowe Murders

by Laura Giebfried

  “Someone who wasn't in her right mind! She was depressed! She couldn't think clearly!”

  “Kneller said she was happy –”

  “Really? Well, that surprises me, since all I ever heard from him was how miserable and unhappy I made her!”

  His voice broke as he said it, though he quickly covered it by coughing into his shoulder. I surveyed him with a shaky gaze, trying to see through his facade, but he was either too good a liar or he truly was telling the truth. All I knew was that I couldn't afford to make the mistake of believing it was the latter.

  “And did you?” I asked. “Make her miserable and unhappy?”

  Lennox stared at me for so long that I didn't think he was going to answer. His chest rose and fell with each breath he took, and though there was clear anger etched into his face, there was something else there, too, that I couldn't place.

  “I was very … displeased … when Mary said she wanted to live here,” he said after a moment. “We left our home. I left my practice. We went from starting our lives together to mollycoddling her mother, all because Mary was made to feel guilty for having a life of her own. And yes, I didn't always take it well – being stuck here, not working, not even being able to leave without asking Silvia for permission to have Kneller ferry me to the mainland – and that put strain on us. I was too hard on her: I realize that now. We were both desperate to escape, only she couldn't bear the thought of abandoning her mother again – so she abandoned everything, and she took our son with her.”

  He took a long, deep breath, pausing as he searched my face for an emotion that I couldn't give.

  “I was with Sylvia when Mary jumped,” he said. “It was her seventieth birthday. The whole family was here at the time, and Sylvia was having a fit because she insisted – once again – that nobody loved her. Mary was putting Oliver to sleep so I went to calm her down. And if I hadn't – if I had just stayed with Mary instead – then –”

  His voice cracked again and he turned away.

  “If it was Mrs. Marlowe's fault that you weren't there with your wife when she died, as you say, then why'd you come back to visit her so much?” I asked.

  “It wasn't Sylvia's fault: she was a sick woman. And she loved Mary; I never doubted that. So for all of our differences and resentments for one another, both feeling like the other was stealing her away, when she died we only had complete understanding for the other's grief. The last few years when Sylvia stopped leaving the house, she would still let me take her out to the cemetery to see Mary's grave. I would carry her there because she couldn't put her feet out the door. And no, it wasn't to butter her up so that she'd put me in her will.”

  I rubbed my hands over my forehead, fighting to stay awake and file away each word into my head, but I wasn't even sure it mattered anymore. I had no way of knowing if he was being honest or not, and I didn't trust myself enough to know if I should trust him.

  “Say something, Alexandra. Please.”

  I only shook my head. My hand was throbbing with pain from the ripped flesh and my thoughts were whirring, and I felt sick.

  “Please,” he repeated.

  “Just – just give me a minute to think.”

  I shut my eyes as my memories pushed themselves to the forefront of my mind, wild and out of control. They replayed when John had called me into his office at the university to tell me that I had been dismissed from my program, smiling widely at me as he told me that my professors were kicking me out before gallantly offering me a chance to fix my mistake, before the scene changed and I was opening the door to let Lennox into the Foyer on the night of Mrs. Marlowe's wake. The two memories smashed against one another, splintering and breaking to form a horrid picture in my mind. I must have taken the wrong dosage of medication, I thought, or perhaps I was losing my mind. Or –

  The sound of wood creaking cut into the air, but I only squeezed my eyes tighter, trying to concentrate on where my thoughts were pulling me. Maybe the memories were supposed to go together. Maybe I was missing something that I ought to have caught days ago – but what? John had called me into his office. Lennox had shown up at the house. John had told me I was being kicked out. Lennox had said he was here for the wake. John had offered me the job to work for his mother …

  “Alexandra,” Lennox said, but I ignored him.

  John hadn't called me to his office because my professors had dismissed me, I realized: he had told my professors to dismiss me. It had been no coincidence that I had been asked to leave the day after his mother had died, just as it was no coincidence that the previous maid had been conveniently fired, leaving a spot available for me. He had done it all solely so that he could lure me to the Marlowe house in timing with Lennox, so that he could put us in the adjoining rooms upstairs, so that he could haunt the other man with my image and torture him with my presence. All that time I had been trying to figure out why he had brought me to the island, but it had never been about me at all – it had been about Lennox. The only reason John had singled me out was because of the resemblance I bore to Mary. It had just been another of his sick jokes, only someone had killed him before he could deliver the punch line.

  And had that someone been Lennox? There was still nothing to suggest that it wasn't. He had more than enough motive, after all, between the fact that he might have been Mrs. Marlowe's next heir and how angry he would have been at John if he had realized upon seeing me what kind of trick had been played on him. And yet even with that knowledge, something was pulling me in the other direction. Something in his voice, something in his face, and – more importantly – something within me.

  “Alexandra.”

  “Alright, I believe you,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose in an attempt to lessen the pounding in my head. I had no desire to explain it all to him now: not when I could so easily fall into the sleep I so desperately needed. “Let's just leave it at that.”

  “I really don't think we can.”

  His voice had gone low and tense. As my ears perked up at the sound of it, I dropped my hand from my face and opened my eyes.

  He had gone very rigid – his hands slightly raised and his breathing shallow – though for a moment I didn't realize why. Then, as I blinked through the semi-darkness to clear my blurred vision, I saw that we weren't alone. Marjorie was standing behind him, a bandage awkwardly plastered to her nose and dried blood clinging to her nostrils from when I had punched her, and her face a mask of livid excitement.

  The gun that normally hung over the mantel in the Parlor was clutched in her hands, and she was pointing it directly at the back of Lennox's head.

  Chapter 16

  Every bit of drowsiness abandoned me. It was as though the muzzle of the gun was pressed up against me, too, and if my chest rose and fell too much Marjorie's finger might slip on the trigger and –

  “Do you recognize this?”

  Bernadette's voice came from the doorway. She squeezed her way into the room, flanked by Amalia and Edie. In her hand was the sheath from my nightstand.

  “Mrs. Tilly found it in here,” she went on. “She wondered why you'd have it … until we realized what it was. No need to ask where the letter opener is, of course.”

  My mouth went dry. I parted my lips to speak, but no explanation came out.

  “I … I …”

  “Get up, Alexa,” Marjorie said.

  I slowly got to my feet. Marjorie prodded Lennox's back with the gun, pushing him closer to me.

  “Come on now – both of you. We're going to get to the bottom of this …”

  They pushed us over to the nursery door.

  “Inside,” Marjorie said. “Go.”

  We awkwardly maneuvered through the door, knocking shoulders as we went. Marjorie indicated for us to take a seat on the cot. My legs shook as I lowered myself down. The four women glowered from above us. Marjorie's eyes were narrowed; Edie's were wide. Amalia looked as though she would like nothing more than to be the one holding the weapon.


  “Now,” Bernadette said, her midsection swelling as she took a deep breath in, “let's discuss what's going on here.”

  Lennox shifted out of the corner of my eye. My back was so rigid that I didn't think I could have moved if I tried.

  “I'm not sure what you mean,” he said carefully.

  Marjorie's face turned to a sneer.

  “Don't play that game, Lennox,” she said. “We know what's going on now. Mrs. Tilly found Alexandra's pills. I suppose she poisoned him and you did the rest?”

  “No –”

  “And which one of you stole my lighter?”

  “What?”

  “No one cares about your damn lighter, Marjorie,” Amalia snapped. “My husband's death is a bit more important!”

  “It's solid gold!” Marjorie returned. “I think the police will be interested to know that they're thieves as well as murderers!”

  “I can't see why they'd be interested in the least,” Bernadette said with a roll of her eyes, then she turned her attention back to Lennox. “Now, you really think you can continue to deny what you've done? Even after what you just did to Cassie?”

  “Cassandra?” Lennox said. “I didn't do anything to her –”

  “You nearly killed her!” Marjorie said.

  Lennox let out a sound like a scoff; he covered it by clearing his throat. Edie sucked in a breath. Her pale form began to shake and she crossed her arms over her chest, sending a frightened glance around the room.

  “I believe,” Lennox said, “that your sister might be embellishing the truth –”

  “Is she now?” Bernadette said. “And what would you call it?”

  “Cassandra was very upset,” he replied. “There was a slight scuffle –”

  “Lies and more lies,” Marjorie said. “Not that we expected anything different.”

  “I'm not sure what your sister told you, but –”

  “She didn't have to say much!” Marjorie said. “We saw her!”

  “Can't we do this somewhere else?” Edie said, throwing another glance around the nursery. “I can't stand this room –”

  “She just came to get us – though she could barely walk,” Bernadette said, ignoring her sister's plea. “She said you attacked her. So, what exactly were you doing in her room?”

  “I wasn't in her room,” Lennox said. “And I certainly didn't attack her. She –”

  “We saw her!” Marjorie repeated. “We saw what you did to her!”

  “What are you talking about? I barely touched her –”

  “Just like you barely touched Mary before she fell out the window?” Marjorie scowled. “I admit, Lennox, I've been buying your story that she jumped for all these years, but now –”

  “Cassandra was upset – she was out of her mind: all I did was try to control her –”

  “That's not all you did!”

  “She's done something to her face – take off her veil and you'll see for yourself –”

  “We did see her face!” Marjorie insisted. “We all saw – at least what's left of it!”

  Lennox leaned back. I didn't need to see his face to understand his apprehension.

  “What're you talking about?” he said, and his voice had gone low as though he dared not hear the answer.

  “You beat her within an inch of her life! I barely recognized her, her face is so sliced up and swollen!”

  “No,” Lennox said, and there was a note of panic in his voice. “No, that's not –”

  “She said you went crazy and started shouting about wanting Mother's money, then got violent – again. Birdie could barely get the glass out of her face from you smashing it against the window!”

  “This is – this is ridiculous. That never –”

  His voice broke off and he didn't finish the sentence, though I doubted it would have made a difference if he had. I kept my eyes ahead of me rather than glancing toward him, having realized what he, apparently, had failed to: it didn't matter what we said to the Marlowes now. They had made up their minds about accusing us, and there was nothing we could say to alter it.

  “She must have done it to herself,” Lennox tried again. “You don't understand: she changed her face – she's trying to be your mother.”

  Amalia let out a laugh. It rang out coldly in the room.

  “And why would she do that?” she said. “We've already got an impersonator here: Mary's perfect doppelganger, showing up just in time to greet you at the door –”

  “Your husband hired her!” Lennox said.

  “And he's dead now, isn't he?” Amalia seethed. “A lucky coincidence for you: we'll never know how she really got here. You planned it out perfectly, didn't you? Always have an alibi to cover you, just like you did with Mary –”

  Lennox made a movement as though he was going to stand, but Marjorie swirled the gun over to point directly at his face. He halted midway through rising and then sat back down.

  “I was with Sylvia when Mary jumped,” he said, forcing a quieter tone. “Or are you really going to dispute what your own mother said at the trial?”

  “She was senile and blind: she had no idea what time you were or weren't there,” Marjorie said.

  “I was standing right next to her when Edie came in and – and said that Mary had – had –”

  “No one knows how long she'd been laying there when Edie found her,” Marjorie said, cutting into his shaking voice. Edie turned away with her hands pressed over her mouth. “You probably pushed her then ran to find Mother before anyone knew what had happened!”

  As Lennox's hands formed into fists, I looked at each of the Marlowe women. Nothing in their faces suggested that they didn't truly believe we had worked together to kill John. For a moment I wavered, thinking that perhaps I had been wrong to believe Lennox after all, but there was no denying the certainty in his own voice, either. But someone had to have done it, and if not someone in that room, then whom?

  “This is a witch-hunt,” Lennox breathed. “You don't care what the truth is: you just want someone to blame.”

  “This is exactly what it looks like, Lennox,” Bernadette said. “Everything has fallen into place. I'm only sorry we didn't see it in time to protect Rachel and Cassie.”

  “Don't be ridiculous,” Lennox said angrily. “Rachel killed herself – and it was because of all of you.”

  BANG!

  The deafening sound filled the room and disappeared before I could react more than to jump, and it was only in the moments after when I held my ringing ears that I realized the gun had gone off. Smoke poured from the barrel as everyone stayed frozen in place. Marjorie's face was livid; her sisters' were shocked. As Lennox let out a strangled sound, I turned to look at him, realizing what had happened –

  “Jesus!” he said, his hand clasped over his shoulder.

  “Marjorie!” Edie gasped. “You weren't supposed to shoot him!”

  “I don't see why not,” Marjorie replied. “Get it over with now, I say –”

  “We have to wait for the police!” Bernadette said sharply. “How are we going to explain what happened if he's dead?”

  “He threatened us!” Marjorie said. “He attacked Cassie and he'll be after us next!”

  “You can't just shoot a man who's sitting down,” Bernadette said. “If he was standing, maybe –”

  “It only grazed him,” Marjorie said, aiming the barrel at Lennox's chest. “But not this time –!”

  “No!” Edie said, her hands still over her mouth and her fingernails digging into her skin. She was white and shaking, looking like a porcelain pot that was about to shatter into a million pieces. “I can't – this room is – I can't watch someone else die in here –”

  “Then leave!” Marjorie shouted..

  “We should all leave,” Bernadette said. “We'll lock them in and wait for the police to come.”

  “That could be days! Who knows what they'll do in that time!”

  “Starve and defecate on the floor, I imagine,” Bernadet
te replied, “seeing as they won't be able to leave the room.”

  “They might find a way out! They could – could pick the lock in the middle of the night and murder us in our beds!”

  “Well, at least we'll never know,” Bernadette replied. “As long as I'm in a deep sleep I won't have any idea it's coming …”

  “But if we hand him over to the police, he'll just slither out of the trial like last time!” Amalia raged. “You want him to get off scot-free?”

  “That won't happen: there's enough evidence against him.”

  “Of course it might happen!” Amalia said. “It happened before and it'll happen again, and I'm not letting the man who ruined my life get away!”

  “The justice system will take care of him –”

  “And who will take care of me? Who will pay for John's death? Who will pay for me losing out on my inheritance?”

  “It's not our fault,” Bernadette said. “You might have known he would die –”

  “Of course I didn't know! And now I'll probably only get his flimsy life insurance while the rest of you get the island –”

  “I've had enough,” Marjorie cut in. “I'm not waiting any longer. Birdie, if you want no part in it, then go have a brandy. Otherwise, you can all stay and watch!”

  “No –!” Edie squealed, dashing to the door and fleeing through it. She disappeared through my room without so much as a glance back.

  “You should at least do it outside –” Bernadette tried, but Marjorie was having none of it. Her face had stretched widely with a smile. Blood still clung to her teeth.

  “Oh, no – this is the perfect place, isn't it, Lennox? Right in the room where your precious Mary and Oliver died. And how appropriate to have little Alexandra here … it'll be like watching Mary die all over again –”

  “I really don't think –” Bernadette started again, but Marjorie cut her off.

  “Either stay or go, Birdie – but shut up!”

  Bernadette tottered in place, her belly swelling as she took a deep breath in. She looked over at me and Lennox., but I didn't meet her gaze. My eyes were fixed on the open door behind them, though my mind flashed with images of the boarded up window, and my hand had closed over the letter opener in my skirt pocket.