Creative Matchmaker (The Inscrutable Paris Beaufont Book 6)

by Sarah Noffke

  “Well, it wasn’t me,” Countess Jessabelle Fairweather said in a shrill voice. “I hated Thomas. I’ll be the first to admit it, but I wasn’t about to go to jail to take him down. He probably hoped I would. Then he’d get the last laugh.”

  “You did give him the bottle of whiskey though, as a faux gift.” Paris narrowed her eyes at the woman.

  “I was trying to endear him to me so he’d give me the painting,” Jessabelle stated.

  “An open bottle of whiskey,” King Rudolf added, throwing a scrutinizing gaze at the countess.

  “It wasn’t open,” she nearly exclaimed, pointing at Brittany. “Ask her. She’ll tell you it was sealed.”

  “It was. I opened it myself.” Brittany nodded furiously.

  “It appeared to be unopened,” King Rudolf corrected. “When my partner and I investigated the bar, we discovered that someone broke the seal on that bottle long ago.”

  “I didn’t poison Thomas!” the countess exclaimed.

  “No, you did what you thought was worse,” Paris remarked. “You knew that Thomas was a snob when it came to fine whiskey, but he really couldn’t tell the difference. So you brought him the bottle of twenty-year-old whiskey, making him think that you were giving him something of great value.

  “However, you filled that old bottle with bad whiskey and worked hard to reseal the bottle or at least make it look resealed. A waitress who hardly ever opened an old bottle of whiskey such as that on a train wouldn’t know the difference because Brittany thought that if a wax seal covered the cap, then it had to be unopened.”

  “I smelled the whiskey you gave Thomas,” Rudolf continued. “What you had in the bottle was the cheap stuff. If you couldn’t beat Thomas at his own game, you were going to give him bad whiskey, hopefully a headache the next day, and humiliate him by telling everyone he drank bad liquor and couldn’t tell the difference.”

  “Maybe that’s all true.” The countess thrust her nose up haughtily. “But I didn’t kill Thomas.”

  “It’s all true,” Paris said with confidence. “And no, you didn’t.”

  “Are you certain?” Ronald Whittaker asked. “My money was definitely on the greedy countess.”

  “Speaking of greed,” King Rudolf said in a booming voice. “You, Ronald, had boarded the train with the intent of getting Thomas drunk, hoping to convince him to sell his shares of the company to you.”

  “I did not,” Ronald argued. “I told you that I was waiting until the company was doing better.”

  “A smart businessman such as yourself would know that Thomas would never sell once the company was doing well,” Paris stated. “No, the best time to sell would be when things looked bleak, and it would be most advantageous to Thomas to get out. So you decided that you’d get him drunk by leaving behind your glass of whiskey, knowing that he couldn’t leave a good drink to go to waste.”

  “Well, that hardly proves anything,” Ronald retorted, then sipped his drink and shook his head.

  “You’re right,” Rudolf stated. “Which was why we searched your room for the financials you said you’d be reviewing with Thomas over dinner.”

  “How dare you,” Ronald seethed in an offended tone.

  “We dared,” Rudolf snapped. “What we found was quite interesting. The financials appeared to be doctored, telling a tale of a company not doing so well. A smart businessman such as Thomas Cheetah, under the influence of whiskey, would have taken one look at those and decided to bail out of the company.”

  “Well, the company wasn’t doing very well,” Ronald stated.

  Paris held up a finger, pausing him. “You told us that despite Thomas’ bad decision-making, the company was. Your story isn't adding up, Mr. Whittaker.”

  “I did want the company,” Ronald boomed. “Thomas was going to run it into the ground. What did he care if it did well? He had his family money. So what, that I was willing to lie and cheat to get my share of the company? I deserved it. But I didn’t kill him.”

  “You did lie and cheat,” Rudolf said victoriously. “But you’re correct. You’re not the murderer.”

  Paris and Rudolf both turned their scrutinizing gaze on the waitress and train conductor in the corner. They had both gone silent and white, not making a single noise.

  “I didn’t want him to die,” Brittany wailed, nearly breaking into tears again.

  “No, you didn’t,” Paris consoled. “You loved Thomas very much. You wanted him to marry you, but when he refused, you lost it, storming off and making quite the emotional scene.”

  “I was upset,” Brittany explained. “How else was I supposed to react? He’d broken my heart.”

  “So you killed him,” Ronald accused.

  “Of course not!” Tears streamed down Brittany’s face.

  “No, it wasn’t Thomas you wanted dead,” King Rudolf stated. “You told yourself that he’d love you. That if he could see you for who you are, that you’d be enough. You thought someone else was the problem—flaunting her fancy ways in front of Thomas.”

  “No, no, no!” Brittany said in a rush, shaking her head frantically.

  “What?” Peter stepped forward, looking between the detectives and the waitress. “What is going on?”

  “Brittany didn’t try to kill Thomas,” Paris explained. “She did love him. Because of that, she believed the reason he’d broken things off with her was because of Countess Jessabelle Fairweather.” She pointed in the other woman’s direction, making her eyes pop open with alarm.

  The countess pressed her hand to her chest. “Me? And Thomas? Oh, how absurd. I couldn’t stand that man.”

  “No, you couldn’t,” Paris continued. “But what Brittany witnessed as your disdain for each other, she interpreted as lust.”

  Jessabelle laughed loudly, a ring of smoke popping out of her mouth. “That’s so irrational.”

  “It might be, but it still was enough for murder,” King Rudolf stated.

  “I didn’t murder Thomas!” Brittany yelled.

  “No, you didn’t,” King Rudolf continued, looking the waitress over. “But you did try to murder the countess, didn’t you?”

  Brittany’s bottom lip quivered. Her hands knit together. She looked close to bursting. Then she nodded. “Yes, yes I did.”

  “What?” Countess Jessabelle Fairweather nearly yelled. “You witch!”

  “I thought you were the reason Thomas dumped me.” Fresh tears rolled down Brittany’s cheeks.

  “He dumped you because you’re a poor waitress and he was a bitter old man,” the countess fired.

  “You won’t speak to her that way!” Peter cut in.

  King Rudolf stepped between the feud, holding up a hand to pause them. “Now, thankfully for the countess, she was so consumed with making Thomas look like an idiot by drinking bad whiskey that she didn’t take a single sip of her martini. If she had, it would also be her murder that we were solving because Brittany poisoned it.”

  “You tried to murder me!” the countess yelled, looking close to jumping across the train car and strangling Brittany Jenkins.

  However, Paris also stepped forward, serving as a barrier to the brewing fight. “She didn’t, and that’s not the murder we're solving. Only one man died today, and we know exactly who did it, how, and why.”

  In unison, Paris and King Rudolf turned to face Peter Peterson, disappointed expressions of conviction on their faces.

  Chapter Forty

  “Me?” Peter Peterson pressed a hand to his chest. “I rather liked Thomas. I think I was the only one who liked him for who he was.”

  “That’s because you were the only one who knew who he really was, but even then, you couldn’t let go of past grievances.” King Rudolf started to pace, his hands still behind his back. “You see, Thomas was your best customer and treated you very well, giving you lots of business.”

  “Then why would I want to kill him?” Peter argued, throwing his hands up.

  “Because as Thomas did all things to mi
nimize people, the best way to humiliate you would be to make you depend on him for business,” Paris continued. “So he created the private train station outside his house, making it appear that he was going to be the Mystery Train’s bread and butter. However, he conducted most of his business in London according to the financial records we found in Ronald’s room, which was close to his estate.”

  “There was no reason for Thomas to take the Mystery Train on a regular basis,” King Rudolf added.

  “He took it for meetings,” Peter stated.

  “He took it so he could flaunt his business and wealth in your face,” Paris boldly corrected. “He did it so you had to pass his estate every single day and see exactly what you didn’t have.”

  “What is she talking about?” Ronald Whittaker scratched under his beard.

  “Peter Peterson is the older of two sons,” King Rudolf began.

  “I know that,” Ronald cut in. “Peter told me that his younger brother was insufferable and that their parents gave him the family fortune. That’s why he asked if I’d go into business with him.” Ronald gave the train conductor an apologetic look. “I’m sorry old chap. It’s not for me.”

  “Peter did make that proposal right before Thomas’ murder because he knew that he was going to need a new job,” Paris continued. “Because he knew that his very best customer was about to die.”

  “You knew!” Brittany spun to face Peter.

  He lowered his chin, his eyes searching the carpet as if that’s where he could find answers to this mystery. “No, I didn’t know. I wanted a better opportunity. A new life. A way to take care of myself.”

  “You knew that Thomas was about to be murdered,” King Rudolf countered. “Because you're the one who gave him the poisoned cigar.”

  Gasps echoed all around the train car.

  “It was the cigar?” the countess asked in shock.

  Paris nodded. “Forensics showed poison in three places at the murder scene.” She held up a finger. “The first was the martini glass, which we all know that Brittany put the poison into the countess’s drink.”

  Jessabelle glared at the waitress, looking ready to murder her.

  “There were also remnants of poison on Thomas’ mouth,” Paris continued. “They were a direct match to the cigar which he’d been smoking moments prior and received as a gift from you, Peter Peterson.”

  “Why would I want to murder my best customer?” Peter yelled, his voice irate and his face flushed red.

  “Because he wasn’t only your best customer,” King Rudolf said triumphantly. “Thomas Cheetah was many things to you, but the least important was a client. He was the guy who’d stolen the girl you were in love with.”

  Brittany gasped, covering her mouth, looking between Rudolf and Peter.

  “He was your estranged brother,” Paris went on, earning more shocked sounds from those in the train car.

  “And he was the man your parents gave their entire fortune to, having always favored him,” King Rudolf concluded.

  “Thomas Cheetah, also known as Thomas Peterson, was the brother who didn’t win gracefully,” Paris explained to the captive audience of wide-eyed people in the train car. “He stole his parent’s favor, convinced them to give him their fortune, and flaunted it in Peter’s face every single day.”

  “Peter knew that showing his animosity was what his younger brother wanted,” King Rudolf stated. “So he refused and served with a smile. But soon, he couldn’t take it anymore. Thomas had everything that Peter wanted. So the older brother decided that he’d steal Thomas’ business partner, create a rift with Brittany to break them up, pin the murder on the countess who had every motive and means to kill Thomas, then committed the crime. Unfortunately, Peter Peterson, all the evidence pointed to you.”

  Paris gave the train conductor a long look full of shame and remorse. “You, Peter Peterson, are the one who murdered Thomas Cheetah.”

  As she finished her conclusion, the brakes of the Mystery Train screeched, and for the first time since they boarded, it came to a grinding halt, bringing them to their destination.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The scenery outside of the train hadn’t changed much. It was still green for as far as Paris could see, but the forest had disappeared, replaced by rolling green hills. She stepped outside and welcomed the fresh air after being on the stuffy train. She drew in a breath, her eyes adjusting to the light.

  “What will happen to Peter Peterson?” she asked Rudolf, who had snagged another bottle of Hennessey from the bar on the train and was wasting no time in cracking it open.

  He took a drink. “He’ll continue to ride the Mystery Train, playing a different part when the next visitor boards.”

  “Are they actors?” Paris was thoroughly confused and also impressed by the magic of the Mystery Train.

  King Rudolf shrugged. “They’re Tiffer’s guards because she’s a weird and wonderful woman.”

  “The train delivered us to her location, right? Where is this fairy?” Paris asked.

  The pair strode alongside the train, which puffed steam toward the blue sky. It idled beside a small station as though waiting to pick up more passengers. However, a moment later, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared in Scotland. With it gone, it revealed the view on the other side.

  “Whoa,” Paris murmured, looking at one of the most beautiful sights she’d had the pleasure of seeing in a long time. There were more sloping green hills, but the scene that stole her breath was the majestic castle on the other side of a glistening lake.

  “That’s where we'll find Tiffer.” Rudolf pointed at the castle that rose in the distance. It looked like a fairytale backdrop with an arched bridge in front and the many turrets rising high above it.

  “She lives in a castle.” Paris was still in awe of the scenery, expecting a Pegasus to glide through the air in front of them or something else fantastical to appear, adding to the sight before them.

  “Yeah, and she better be home too, or I’m going to put another hit on her.” Rudolf took another drink.

  “After seeing all the poisoned stuff on the Mystery Train, you’re not concerned about drinking that?” Paris asked.

  He shook his head. “Most worry about being murdered if I’m not drinking.”

  “Well, don’t put a hit on Tiffer or murder her until I get an invitation for my dad.”

  “Here’s a thought,” Rudolf began as they made their way toward the castle, taking an idyllic winding path through the hills. “How about I put a hit on your father. Then he won’t need an invitation to FGA because he’ll be dead.”

  Paris rolled her eyes. “I was just reunited with my dad. I really want him to stay alive. Without the invitation, he can’t hunt down the demons. So no.”

  Rudolf shrugged. “It was worth a try. I’d offer to take care of your demon problem, but I can’t be around those smelly monsters.”

  “Because of their odor,” Paris guessed, having heard that demons had the worst smell.

  “That,” Rudolf answered. “But also because they make the worst appearance decisions. I mean, really, horns and facial piercings and red skin. I mean, they make one bad decision after another.”

  Paris shook her head, disbelieving that she was having this conversation and realizing that she shouldn’t be so surprised. This was King Rudolf Sweetwater. She had fun being a detective alongside him on the Mystery Train.

  He might be an airhead and a drunk, but he was also a good friend and pretty brilliant when he wanted to be.

  “Did you bring gold to pay the troll so we can cross the bridge to the castle?” King Rudolf asked.

  Paris paused. “What? Now we need gold? To cross the bridge? Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  He sighed. “I assumed you knew there would be a troll to pay. This is Wales, after all.”

  “I didn’t know we were going to Wales. I didn’t know that’s where we are. Or that there would be a troll.” Paris suddenly wanted to punch the f
ae. So quickly things shifted.

  He nodded. “Fine, but in the future, when you take a mystery train from Scotland to find a nutty fairy, go ahead and assume there will be a troll to pay. I’ll cover you this time, but you’ll owe me a pound of gold.”

  Paris nodded. “Put it on my tab.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Paris didn’t see any signs of a troll when they crossed the bridge. King Rudolf said that was because he’d tossed the gold he was carrying into the lake preemptively.

  “If you can avoid a conversation with a troll, always do,” he warned. “They aren’t the smartest creatures and will leave you with a headache and wondering if they stole your brain cells as well as your money.”

  Paris wondered if the fae knew that he had a similar effect on people. She also wondered if there was a troll or if King Rudolf had simply sunk a bag of gold in a lake.

  “Do you always travel with a bunch of gold?” Paris asked as they neared the entrance to the majestic castle.

  “Of course,” he answered. “It’s a necessity for a journey such as this. I expect that you didn’t bring binoculars, a slingshot, an umbrella, or a harp since you didn’t think to bring gold either.”

  “You did?” Paris questioned, looking the fae over. He was wearing one of his usual silk tunics with a long embroidered jacket over it—all of the colors bright and the patterns intricate.

  “Naturally,” King Rudolf stated as they approached a large drawbridge that was up. A wide moat divided them from the castle.

  Paris paused, looking around. “How are we supposed to get across? You already paid the troll.”

  “That was so we could use his bridge,” King Rudolf explained, indicating behind them to the bridge they’d crossed. “To get the drawbridge down, which is also the entrance to the castle, we have to do something else.”

  “Seriously, we solved a murder,” Paris stated. “What else does this fairy want from us?”

  Rudolf gave her a consoling look. “Again, you see now why I tried to kill Tiffer, right?”