by V. M. Burns
James, Lord William, and Mrs. Churchill were already in the parlor when Daphne and Lady Elizabeth entered. Lady Elizabeth took a quick look around and then rang the buzzer she knew would summon Thompkins.
James was seated on the sofa and moved over to make room for Daphne, but she sat in one of the chairs near the window. A look of disappointment flashed across his face briefly but was quickly concealed.
Thompkins opened the door to the parlor, stepped in, and coughed discretely. “M’lady?”
Lady Elizabeth hurried to her seat on the sofa. “Thompkins, come in and close the door. We may not have much time.”
The butler obeyed and stood quietly near the fireplace.
“What’s this all about, Elizabeth?” Mrs. Churchill asked.
“We’ve got to get some things arranged before that young sergeant’s return.” She turned to James. “Did you ring Scotland Yard and arrange for Detective Inspector Covington to come out?”
James nodded.
She turned to Mrs. Churchill. “I hope that’s okay, Clemmie. We’ve worked with him before and I trust him.”
Mrs. Churchill looked dazed. “Yes, of course. Whatever you think best.”
James nodded. “I have a small job I need to tend to in London, so I’ll pick him up and bring him down.”
“Perfect.”
“Thompkins, we’re going to need your help on this one.”
“Of course, m’lady.”
“You know the servants better than any of us, except perhaps Clemmie.” She smiled at Mrs. Churchill. “No offense, dear, but you’ve not investigated a murder before and it might be faster and easier if Thompkins does it.”
Mrs. Churchill’s eyes got larger, but she nodded.
“Thompkins, find out if anyone heard or saw anything that might help figure out who killed that girl.”
He bowed. “Yes, m’lady.”
“James, I’ll need you to work on Randolph. He’ll be one of the top suspects, and I think you may be better suited to his . . . disposition than any of us.”
“Of course.”
“Find out how long he’s known her. Where did they meet? Any background information you can get will help.”
James nodded.
“Randolph isn’t the only person the police will suspect.” Daphne’s face was flushed as she picked at an invisible piece of lint on her tweed skirt.
Everyone reassured her, but she held up a hand. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. Randolph and I will be top suspects for the police.”
“You’re probably right, dear,” Lady Elizabeth spoke quietly but with confidence. “That’s another reason why we need to work quickly to find the real killer.”
Daphne appeared to take courage from Lady Elizabeth’s words and sat straighter and nodded.
“Now, Daphne, do you think you could talk to Mr. Blunt and Mr. Burgess? Find out what they were doing last night and early this morning?”
Daphne nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
“William, I’m going to need you to distract Winston and Leo. The last thing I need is Winston putting in his oar. He may be a brilliant man, but subtle he is not. I think Leo Amery may be useful in keeping Winston distracted but also find out if he had any contact with the girl. I know it’s a long shot, but he has a son who . . . well, hasn’t been a credit to him and there’s always a chance he might know something.”
“Certainly. Diversionary tactics and reconnaissance.” He filled his pipe. “Leave it to me.”
“Perfect.” Lady Elizabeth nodded. “I really wish Penny and Victor were coming, but I guess we’ll manage.”
“Aren’t they coming?” Daphne asked.
“Unfortunately not. That’s who I was talking to on the phone. Victor’s great-aunt Prudence arrived unannounced and they have to stay and entertain her. We’re going to have to double up on this one.” She looked around. “Now, who’s left? I shall tackle Lord Stemphill. I have a feeling there’s more to him than meets the eye.”
Mrs. Churchill looked expectantly at her friend. “I want to help. What can I do?”
Lady Elizabeth smiled. “I have three very important jobs for you. First, we’re going to need some time to work. Mr. Burgess works for the BBC and he’s going to smell a story. I need you to have Winston talk to him. Get him to promise not to go public with anything for a week. I doubt he’ll agree, but maybe he’ll give us the weekend.” She stared at her friend. “Do you think you can do that?”
Mrs. Churchill nodded. “I’m sure Winston will agree. The last thing he needs right now is more negative publicity.”
“Winston can be very persuasive when he wants to be.”
“What’s the second thing?”
Lady Elizabeth smiled. “I need you to distract Lady Alistair.” She looked shyly at James. “If I know Helen, she’ll be ready to pack her bags as soon as she learns about this. Obviously, she didn’t know the girl . . . Alistair, indeed?” Lady Elizabeth shook her head. “However, she may have seen or heard something. Do you think you can manage?”
Mrs. Churchill smiled. “I’ve managed ladies like Lady Alistair my entire life.”
“Wonderful.” Lady Elizabeth released a heavy sigh. “Good. I think that’s everyone. Now, we are going to need to come up with something to say to this sergeant. The poor man has never seen a dead body before and is clearly out of his depth—”
“You said there were three things you wanted me to work on. You only mentioned two of them. What’s the third?” Mrs. Churchill asked.
“The third thing may be the most important thing of all. We need to find out how the killer got in that room.”
Chapter 17
Friday at the bookstore felt like old times. I hadn’t realized how much I missed Nana Jo until she wasn’t there every day. We worked like a well-oiled machine and time passed quickly. We weren’t running around like headless chickens, but there was a steady flow of customers that kept us busy.
The biggest surprise for me came when Taylor, the MISU Goth student, returned.
“Back already? I hope it’s not to return the book?”
She smiled. “Oh, no. I loved the book so much I read it in one night. It isn’t exactly like the television series, but it was cool.”
“Wonderful. I’m glad you enjoyed it. What brings you back so soon?”
“I want more. I’m going to get the rest of the books in the series, plus anything else you recommend.”
I laughed. “As long as the reading for pleasure doesn’t interfere with your schoolwork.”
“Well, actually I’ve been thinking . . .” She shuffled her feet. “I’m a sophomore and I’ve been taking all kinds of classes, trying to figure out what I want to do. My dad wants me to take math and science. He says scientists always get jobs.”
“It’s good advice, but let me guess, your dad’s a scientist?”
She nodded. “Exactly. I’m good at it, especially computers and technology but . . .”
“But it’s not what you want to do with the rest of your life,” I finished.
Her eyes got large and she beamed. “Right.”
“What do you want to do?”
She glanced around. “What I really want . . .” She looked sheepish and shy. “Is to write.” She paused and then her face lit up. “I love reading. I read all the time. I write too, poetry, short stories, fantasy, and even mysteries. I’ve always loved writing. My mom said I wrote my first book when I was in second grade. She still has it.” Her words tumbled out rapidly. “I want to make people laugh and cry. And get scared and angry.” She scrunched her shoulders up to her ears. “I daydream about alternative universes where all sorts of weird creatures live and love and fly and use magic.” She stopped abruptly, almost giddy. Then she looked timidly at me. “Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”
I smiled. “Not at all. I know exactly how you feel.”
“You do?”
“I guess Jillian didn’t mention I’m an aspiring writer too,” I said softly.
Her
eyes flashed and her face lit up. “You are? That’s wonderful. What have you written. I can’t wait to read it.”
I held up my hands. “Whoa. Slow down.” I laughed. “I said aspiring. I’ve written a book. Actually, I’ve written two mysteries, but I’m not published yet.” I considered whether I should share more but decided she needed a bit of encouragement. “I did get an agent,” I whispered.
“OMG. That is so amazing.”
“It is amazing, and scary too.”
“Oh, I know what you mean. I mean, I think I do. It’s something you want so badly and then you move forward and you’re afraid to tell people and hear their comments, right?”
I nodded. “I never even told my family I wanted to write until recently.”
“How did they take it?”
“They were all supportive and encouraging,” I said tentatively. “But, I’m older and in a different place in my life than you. It sounds like you don’t think your dad will support you becoming a writer.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. He says he wants me to be happy, but I need to grow up and get a real job. Reading books and playing video games won’t put food on the table or pay the rent.”
“I’m sure he wants to make sure you’re able to support yourself. Life as a writer isn’t easy. Most new writers don’t make huge salaries.”
Her shoulders drooped.
“What does your mom think?”
“My mom wants me to get married and have babies.” She held up a hand. “In that order.” She chuckled. “I think she’d be fine with whatever. It’s my dad that’ll be the challenge.”
“Have you talked to your guidance counselor?”
“Not really. I’ve been too scared to tell anyone what I really want.” She looked up in surprise. “Except you. You’re the first person, outside of my best friend, I’ve told.”
“I feel honored.” I smiled. “I recommend you talk to your counselor. He or she might be able to recommend a program that will make both you and your dad happy.”
“Really? Is there fantasy writing for scientists?”
“I was thinking more about writing for video and role play games. I don’t know much about it, but it seems like they would need creative people to work with programmers to design all those fantasy worlds.”
Her eyes got big and she looked like she was going to hyperventilate. She spoke rapidly, “OMG. OMG. OMG.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak slowly. “Oh my god, that would be so freakin’ amazing. It would combine my two favorite things in the entire world.”
I held up a hand. “I don’t know for sure that it’s a real thing, but maybe your guidance counselor could help you find out.”
She hugged me. “You just made me super happy. I’m going to talk to my counselor as soon as I get back on campus.” She looked at her watch.
“Have you ever read the Dresden Files? They’re by Jim Butcher. Harry Dresden is a private detective who also happens to be a wizard.”
She looked like her eyes would pop out of her head. “OMG. That sounds perfect.” She nodded vigorously.
I helped her buy the next two books in the Sookie Stackhouse series and the first three Dresden Files books. Normally, I encouraged readers to a new series to start with the first one in case they didn’t like it. However, I felt confident Taylor would like the Dresden Files.
She hugged me before she left.
I stood in the middle of the store staring after her with a large smile.
“You seem very pleased with yourself,” Nana Jo said.
Her words snapped me back to the present. “It’s days like today that remind me why I wanted to open a bookstore.”
I told Nana Jo about Taylor and how excited she was to discover new books, especially when they combined worlds she loved like fantasy and mystery.
Nana Jo smiled and patted me on the back. “You’ve done well here.” She looked around.
I hugged her. “Thank you.”
She looked at me in surprise. “Why are you thanking me? You’re the one that had the guts to quit your job, buy a building, and start a bookstore. According to the news, no one reads books anymore. They’re all into electronic books and bookstores are all going the way of the dinosaurs.” She took my face in her hands. “That took courage and that was all you.”
“I couldn’t have done it without my family’s support, especially yours.” I hugged her. “I’ve missed working with you every day.”
“I’ve missed being here.” She looked serious. “I enjoy working. It keeps me young to have something useful to do.” She looked around. “I love books and I enjoy working with you every day.”
There was a lull in the bookstore and the few people who were there were so engrossed in their books they weren’t paying us any attention. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to stay with me or work here. I know you have a life and—”
“I know, and I don’t want to invade in your space. I came for a few days after that guy was killed in the backyard. You were still grieving for Leon and you’d just quit your job and were trying to get this place open and I wanted to help. I only intended to stay for a few days, but then the days turned into weeks and then months. Now you’re finally allowing yourself to date again and well . . . I don’t want to cramp your style.”
“Is that why you went back to your house?”
“Partly.” She nodded.
“You aren’t cramping my style. I really like you being here. I like working with you. I just didn’t want to make you feel obligated to be here.”
We stared at each other for several seconds and then laughed.
“What do you think we should do about this?” I asked.
“I have an idea. I need to talk it over with Freddie, but I think he’ll go for it.” She thought for a few minutes. “Let’s get a cup of tea.”
We went to the back of the store, got some tea, and sat down at one of the bistro tables. I waited for Nana Jo to start.
“Freddie’s been talking about moving out of Shady Acres. Rent is pretty outrageous and he spent most of his savings in medical costs before his wife died. He’s too proud to take anything from me.” She rolled her eyes. “But, I was thinking maybe he could move in.”
“Okay,” I said slowly.
“My house is paid for, thanks to your grandfather.” She smiled. “He may have been a tightwad, but he left me in good shape financially. Plus, I got in on the ground floor when Shady Acres was nothing but a big mound of dirt and dreams, so I got my place for a reasonable price. Villas now are running almost double what I paid.” She shook her head. “Freddie’ll want to pay rent, but we can work that out.” She sipped her tea. “What do you think?”
I forced a smile. “I think it’s great if you and Freddie want to move in together.”
She looked up. “Oh, hold on there. I was thinking I would spend most of my time here with you. I like Freddie. I like him a lot, but I can only take a couple of days with him. The man was in the military. He gets up at four thirty every day, even on Saturday. He’s like a drill sergeant when it comes to cleanliness. ‘A place for everything and everything in its place.’ ” She saluted. “The man even folds his dirty laundry. Can you believe that? I can only stand three or four days of it and then I’m ready to strangle him. I’m too old to learn to compromise. I made compromises when I married your grandfather.” She grinned. “He made them too, but we were young and pliable.” She shook her head. “Now I don’t want to compromise. I like my life. I like who I am and I like the way I live. I don’t want to change. I’m too old to change.”
“You’re not old.”
“Oh, yes I am and I’m good with that. I’m old, but I’m not decrepit, and I’m not dead. It’s not that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. You can, but the dog has to want to learn the tricks, and I don’t. I can tolerate about three or four days with Captain Clean and then I’m ready to throttle the man. So, I’m thinking I’d stay with you during the week and spe
nd the weekends with Freddie. What do you think?”
I hopped up and gave her a huge hug. “I think that’s a great idea. I’d love for you to move back.”
She patted my arm. “That’s good. I can continue to help here and continue tutoring Dawson and solving crimes.” She laughed and then looked sober. “Now, sit back down. I have something I want to say.”
I sat down and wondered what could be so serious. Instantly my mind went to disease, but I quickly pushed the thought away and focused.
“I need you to promise me you’ll be honest and tell me when you need your own space. You and Frank are . . . well, you’re dating now and I know you may not feel comfortable with me around all the time.”
I tried to interject, but she held up a hand and hurried on.
“Let me finish. I need you to promise you’ll tell me when you want to be alone. I’m a pretty sound sleeper, so as long as you aren’t swinging from the ceiling or anything . . . too adventurous. . . I’ll give you your own space—”
I spit my tea out and laughed so hard it started to come out of my nose. It took several attempts before I stopped laughing. “Frank and I are good friends.”
She started to speak, but I held up a hand.
“I can’t say things won’t progress to more, but for now, that’s where we are. However, I appreciate what you’re saying and I give you my word we will talk about privacy should the need arise.”
She patted my hand. “Well, that’s good. I’m glad we talked.”
The bell chimed, indicating someone had entered the store. We looked up and saw Detective Pitt.
“I sure hope Stinky Pitt hasn’t reneged on his word and come to throw me in the hoosegow just when we’ve figured out all of our housing dilemmas. We haven’t even started on world peace.”
Detective Pitt made his way to the back of the store and stood in front of our table.
Nana Jo rose from her seat. “Hey, Stinky Pitt. You here for Sam or me?”
He turned red but forced a smile. “I’m here to see Mrs. Washington, but I do wish you would remember not to call me that.” He looked around. “Especially in public.”
Nana Jo feigned surprise. “I’m sorry. It just slipped out before I thought.” She turned away from Detective Pitt and winked at me.