The Novel Art of Murder

by V. M. Burns

  I pulled into the first Starbucks I crossed.

  “Why are we stopping for coffee if we’re going to breakfast?” Mother asked.

  “Trust me. You aren’t going to want to see Jenna without caffeine.”

  When I pulled up in front of my sister’s North Harbor Victorian, my mother got in the back seat. For some reason, she never liked riding in the front when I was driving on the interstate. It made me feel like I was driving Miss Daisy when it was just the two of us.

  I honked the horn and Jenna came out bundled up like the abominable snowman. She got in and glared at me.

  I handed her a large hot tea and smiled.

  She held it close to her face and let the steam warm her hands and face before she took a sip. “Thanks.”

  “How was your trip?” I pulled onto the street.

  “Warm.” She took another sip of her tea.

  I suspected one-word responses were the best I would get for a while, so I stopped trying to make conversation and focused on the roads, which were wet and slick.

  There were basically two types of snow in southwestern Michigan on the shores of Lake Michigan. We had system snow and lake effect snow. Meteorologists can tell the difference between the two in technical terms. For most of us Michiganders, we notice system snow was heavier and wetter than lake effect snow. Lake effect snow was light and fluffy and blew in the wind and didn’t pack well for snowballs or snowmen. However, it was the pretty stuff that made for great pictures. System snow was what I was driving through, and I needed to keep my wits about me to keep from skidding. Thankfully, the snowplows had been through and plowed and salted the interstate, but passing semis still splashed the wet muck onto my windshield and heavy gusts shook my SUV and kept me gripping the steering wheel.

  The amazing thing about snow in southwestern Michigan was that thirty miles could make a world of difference. By the time I got to River Bend, there was barely any snow on the ground and the roads were dry. I released my grip on the steering wheel. I looked in the rearview mirror. My mom still had one hand on the grab assist handle and the other on the middle seat rest.

  Tippecanoe Place was a first-class restaurant and the name of the former home of the Studebaker family. The stone mansion was huge with more than 24,000 sq. ft. of space on four levels. Forty rooms, twenty fireplaces, and ornately carved woodwork made the mansion a showplace, almost one hundred fifty years after it was first constructed. The mansion was a museum, complete with furniture, pictures, and Studebaker family memorabilia.

  I pulled up to the driveway and let Mom and Jenna out at the door. Fortunately, I found a parking space close by, which didn’t involve a long trek through the parking lot since my boots were more for beauty than inclement weather and a few steps was all it took before my feet were cold and wet. Not all boots were created equal and these were definitely not intended for Michigan winters.

  Inside, I hung up my coat and prepared to wait with the others crowded into the lobby. The house was decorated for Christmas and looked festive. There was a small trio dressed in formalwear playing Christmas music near the grand staircase. Sundays were a big time for Tippecanoe Place, especially after JAMU home football weekends. There were stations set up around the main dining area offering omelets, Belgian waffles, and hand-carved ham and roasts.

  Harold must have made reservations because we were shown to our table immediately. The drawing room was a large rectangular space with an alcove. The alcove had a wall of windows, a large fireplace, and French doors that allowed the space to be closed off from the rest of the room. At the table, I was pleasantly surprised to see my nephews, Christopher and Zaq. I looked at my sister and raised an eyebrow. She merely shrugged and hugged her sons, whom she hadn’t seen for over a week. The twins were students at JAMU, so going across town to Tippecanoe Place wasn’t nearly the journey we’d endured driving from Michigan.

  “You must be Harold.” I held out a hand but was totally taken off guard when I was grabbed and pulled into a large bear hug.

  Harold was tall with white hair, a white mustache and beard, and a happy, jovial face that reminded me of Santa Claus.

  He hugged Jenna too, who wasn’t a hugger, but something about Harold’s friendly nature made her smile. “Where’s your husband, Tony?”

  “He couldn’t make it. He has to be in court tomorrow and has a ton of paperwork to do,” Jenna apologized.

  “I hope this is okay with all of you.” He held the chair for my mom to sit before sitting himself. “But, I thought it was about time we all got acquainted.”

  My mother giggled like a schoolgirl and looked at Harold as though she would melt.

  I glanced at my sister, who just stared.

  A waiter poured champagne for everyone. The champagne was included in the brunch, another great reason for having brunch at Tippecanoe Place. My nephews had just turned twenty-one and had to show their driver’s licenses before they were served. Once we were served, Harold announced we would all be enjoying the buffet on him, but first, he wanted to make a toast.

  He stood. “To Grace.” He stared at my mom. “The most wonderful woman who has finally agreed to make me the happiest man on the planet.”

  We raised our glasses and drank.

  The meal was delicious, and I found Harold to be open, friendly, and surprisingly likeable. He catered to my mom’s every whim. When she shivered, he had the waiter add another log to the fire and a throw was brought to cover her lap. When her beef was a little too rare, he had the waiter bring her another slice. When this new offering was cooked enough but too dry, he had yet another slice provided with au jus. When she praised the lemon tart, he purchased an entire pie for her to take home. No request was too small. When Mom choked on a piece of meat and Harold took her knife and fork and cut her meat into smaller pieces, I thought Jenna was going to puke. The twins snickered. I couldn’t help staring.

  Jenna stood. “I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

  I hopped up. “Me too.” I hurried after her. Just as the door closed to the restroom, we burst out laughing. I laughed so hard my sides hurt. There were two other women in the restroom with us, and when they saw how much we laughed, they laughed too. When we tried to explain why or stopped for a few seconds, we started right up again. We finally pulled ourselves together.

  “I can’t believe he cut her meat,” Jenna said and that started us off again.

  I wiped the tears from my eyes. “I don’t know where she found him, but he’s perfect for her.”

  Jenna nodded. She reached in her purse and pulled out some papers and handed them to me.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Well, I sent a message to one of the investigators in my office when you told me Mom was getting married. I asked him to find out what he could about this guy.”

  I read through the report. “I can’t believe you found out this much information while you were on a cruise. We didn’t even know his last name.”

  “Robertson. His name is Harold Robertson.”

  “Robertson? You mean as in the Robertsons like, in Robertson’s Department Store?”

  Jenna nodded. “Yep. Harold’s family owned Robertson’s Department Store.”

  Robertson’s was the premiere department store in the area when we were children. They had a huge store in downtown River Bend and smaller stores in North Harbor and Elkhart, Indiana.

  “You have got to be joking.” I read through more. “He’s a rocket scientist?”

  She nodded. “He didn’t follow in the family business. He went to school to be an Aerospace Engineer. He worked for NASA for forty years but decided to move back after he retired.”

  “Married for thirty years until his wife died two years ago.” I read more. “She died of cancer.”

  That sobered us both up. “He cared for her until she died.”

  “I like him,” I said.

  She nodded. “I like him too, but more importantly, I think he’ll make her happy.”

>   “I can’t believe Mom is getting married again.”

  Jenna got up and we prepared to leave. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing, since she apparently is enjoying the sex so much.”

  We all chatted for a bit but then decided to call it a day. Mom rode back with Harold, so it was just Jenna and me on the return trip. Thankfully, the sun was out and the roads were much less slippery than they were earlier. I filled Jenna in on what was going on with Nana Jo and the investigation. When I dropped her off at home, she was fully updated.

  The rest of the afternoon was uneventful. I cleaned, but the house wasn’t really messy so that didn’t take long. After a half hour of putzing around, I decided to write a bit before my date with Frank.

  James walked into the drawing room but stopped at the sight of Daphne staring out of the window. She stood with her back to the door, facing the weald. A beam of sunlight landed on her hair, casting a hazy halo-like glow over her golden hair. It was a sunny day, despite the brisk wind. James stared for several seconds and remained perfectly still. Tango snuck in beside him and brushed his leg, causing the floor to creak.

  Daphne turned at the sound and the spell was broken. “James, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I just got here.” He crossed the room and opened his arms to embrace her.

  Arms folded across her chest, she stepped out of reach. “There’s no easy way to do this, so I’m just going to say it.” She turned back to face him. “I can’t marry you.”

  He stood there and stared. “What?”

  “I can’t marry you. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “I’m very serious.”

  “This is about my mother, isn’t it?” He paused, but when she didn’t respond, he hurried on. “She’ll come around. This has been a crazy time, but once she gets to know you like I do, I know she’ll love you.”

  Daphne shook her head. “This isn’t about your mother.”

  He looked surprised. “Don’t say you don’t care. I don’t believe that.”

  “I do care. That’s why I can’t marry you.”

  “Can we talk about this?”

  She shook her head. “Talking won’t change anything.”

  James started to interrupt, but she stopped him.

  “Look, there’s no point talking about it. I’ve made up my mind. I won’t marry you. You deserve someone who will be a credit to you.” She stared. “I’m just not that person.” She released a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry.” She turned and walked out of the room.

  James stood glued to the spot for several minutes after she left. The door to the drawing room opened and Thompkins entered. “Telephone, Your Grace.”

  James nodded and walked out of the room.

  Daphne knocked on the bedroom of Lady Alistair.

  “Come in.”

  She took a deep breath and entered the room.

  Lady Alistair sat in a chair near the window. The lights were out and the curtains were drawn, which made the room very dark.

  “Lady Alistair.” Daphne walked forward.

  Lady Alistair stood and turned so her back was to Daphne.

  Daphne stopped and took a deep breath. “Lady Alistair, I am really very sorry for the way I’ve behaved the past few days. I have no excuses to offer. I could say this isn’t normal, but . . . then, I don’t think that really matters. I just want you to know, I care very deeply for James, which is why I told him I can’t marry him.”

  Lady Alistair turned to look at Daphne. She spoke softly. “You what?”

  “I don’t want to hurt him in any way. I have no explanation. He deserves someone who will be a credit to him. Someone who won’t embarrass him.” She looked down. “Someone who isn’t involved in scandal.” She took a deep breath. “I know Mrs. Churchill would like you to stay and I hope you will.” She paused. “That’s all I wanted to say. Thank you.” She turned to leave but stopped when she heard a sob. She turned to face Lady Alistair.

  Lady Alistair’s shoulders shook and tears streamed down her face.

  Daphne walked to the woman. She stood, unsure of what to do. However, another glance at the sobbing woman and she embraced her. For a moment, Lady Alistair stood stiffly but soon relaxed and lay her head on Daphne’s shoulder and sobbed. After several moments, the crying subsided and Daphne helped the woman into a seat. She opened the window and sat next to her.

  “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did that.” Lady Alistair dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  “Can I help you?” Daphne asked.

  Lady Alistair stared at Daphne. She reached in her pocket and pulled out a crumpled letter. She handed it to Daphne.

  Daphne unfolded the letter and read. She frowned as she read. When she finished reading, she looked at Lady Alistair’s face. “That’s blackmail. This would ruin James.”

  Lady Alistair nodded. “I know. I was such a fool, but it was a long time ago. Long before I met James’s father. I was . . . involved with a man, with a married man.” She sniffed. “I was young and foolish. It didn’t last long. My family managed to hush things up, and I thought that was the end of it. Then I met Alistair and got married. Now this.”

  Daphne picked up the letter and reread it. “He says unless you do what he wants, he’ll expose everything. Your past will be plastered all over the newspapers.”

  Lady Alistair choked. “I know. This is horrible.”

  “Who sent it?” She looked down. “It’s signed, A Friend.”

  Lady Alistair shook her head. “I have no idea. I thought it was that Jessica person, but now she’s dead.”

  “Well, if she’s dead, that would be an end to it.”

  “It can’t be her. I only received the note today.”

  Both ladies looked at each other.

  Daphne’s brow furrowed and she stared off into space, as though she was trying to remember something. Finally, she stood. “May I keep this?” She held up the letter.

  Lady Alistair looked up with fear in her eyes. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to put a stop to this. I’m not going to stand by while anyone hurts James.” Daphne stood straight, pushed her shoulders back, and set her chin.

  Lady Alistair nodded and Daphne turned and marched out of the room.

  Chapter 20

  “Still no idea how someone got in that room and killed Jessica. Plus, now I’ve got another plot twist. What was I thinking?” I looked at Snickers, who was using my foot as a pillow. She didn’t like when I moved and gave me a look that let me know I had better make sure all of my papers and shoes were out of her reach the next time I left the house.

  I looked at my watch. Frank would be by soon. We were going to dinner. I took a good look at myself and contemplated changing into something a little . . . less academic school teacher and more single woman who was open to dating. A quick look outside showed there was about a foot of snow on the ground. The streets looked wet and slushy. I looked at my closet and shivered at the idea of removing my tights for panty hose. I compromised by exchanging my turtleneck sweater for a V-neck that was fitted and showed off my waist and other endowments. And chose a pair of thigh-high black boots that I’d purchased years ago for a Halloween costume at the high school for a ’70’s celebration. The boots were cute, with high chunky heels that were back in fashion. Frank arrived early and, based on the look he gave me, I’d say my outfit met with his approval.

  We were supposed to eat at one of the local wineries, which had a great restaurant and wines to please both a wine-challenged newbie like me and a wine connoisseur like Frank. Unfortunately, the location involved traveling a lot of back country roads. These roads were beautiful the other three seasons of the year. However, in the winter, the narrow, winding roads were last on the list to be plowed. There were vast open fields on each side of the roads with nothing to block the winds and experienced tremendous snowdrifts, which made them virtually impassable by anything except a snowmob
ile or four-legged beasts. Getting stuck in a snowdrift was not my idea of a good time. Thankfully, Frank was willing to forego the winery for a new restaurant in downtown South Harbor.

  The worse part of downtown South Harbor had to be finding parking. Thankfully, The Lighthouse Bar and Grille offered valet parking. We pulled up to the front. During good weather valet parking wouldn’t be needed. However, on days like today, it was wonderful. The restaurant was in a two-story building on quaint State Street. In warmer weather, diners took advantage of rooftop dining, which provided views of Lake Michigan. There was a decent crowd and I wondered if we wouldn’t be better off grabbing a pizza and going back to my place. However, when Frank approached the hostess, she hurried away. Within minutes, a well-dressed man with a huge smile came up and hugged Frank as though he were a long-lost relative. The man spoke in another language, which sounded a lot like German. Surprisingly enough, Frank not only seemed to understand him but responded.

  When they finished their greeting, Frank introduced us. “Sam, I’d like you to meet Gunther Muller.” He turned to the man, “Gunther, this is Samantha Washington.”

  I reached out my hand to shake, but Gunther wasn’t having it. He pulled me toward him and gave me a hug and then kissed me on each cheek. “Any friend of Frank Patterson is a friend of mine.”

  Gunther said a few words to the hostess and then promptly escorted us to a table by a large fireplace. The lighting was low and candles at each table provided a romantic atmosphere. Even in the dim lighting, I could tell the restaurant was excellently furnished with heavyweight white tablecloths, silver that was hefty, and crystal stemware.

  Gunther and Frank spoke briefly before he hurried off.

  “I’m sure the people who reserved this table are going to be very upset.” I smiled. “You really know how to impress a girl.”

  Frank grinned. “If I’d known bringing the girl to a fancy restaurant was all it took to impress her, I’d have brought her long ago.”

  I was thankful for the dim lighting as heat rushed to my face. I took a sip of water to give myself a minute to recover. “This is very nice, but I didn’t know you spoke German.”