The Novel Art of Murder

by V. M. Burns

  “Where they’ve always been, on the hook in the larder.” He stumbled across the floor and flopped down into a chair. “Gawd, I feel bloody awful.”

  “Randolph. Watch your language. There are ladies present,” Winston said.

  Randolph stumbled to his feet and bent over in a bow. When he stood up, he swayed and lurched. He nearly tumbled over, but James hurried to catch him.

  James tried to steady him but had trouble balancing Randolph and his satchel and was clumsy.

  Between the sudden movements and the beatings with the satchel, Randolph didn’t look well. The color drained from his face and he clasped his mouth.

  James turned Randolph toward the door and Thompkins hurried to help. Each man took one arm and dragged Randolph from the room. Just as they got to the door, it swung open and Lady Alistair stood in the middle of the doorway, blocking the way.

  Randolph pitched forward and vomited, just missing Lady Alistair.

  No one wanted to remain in the drawing room afterward and filed out of the room. When Lord Stemphill stood up, Daphne approached him. She was still carrying the copy of Burke’s Peerage, which had become her constant companion.

  “Do you have a minute? I’d like to have a word.”

  Lord Stemphill smiled. “Of course, Lady Daphne.”

  She turned to Lady Alistair. “Would you stay too, please?”

  Lady Alistair nodded, went to a chair by the window, and sat very stiff and still.

  When the last person left, Lord Stemphill walked to the window where Daphne stood. “What can I do for you?”

  Daphne turned and faced him. “You can stop bothering Lady Alistair. I know you were the one trying to blackmail her, so you can just forget it. I won’t permit you or anyone else to hurt James.”

  Lady Alistair gasped. “Lord Stemphill?”

  Daphne nodded.

  Lord Stemphill stood with a look of shocked disbelief for several seconds and then laughed heartily. “Oh my, Lady Daphne, I do believe you’ve gotten me confused with someone else. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Daphne folded her arms. “Don’t bother lying. I know it was you.” She held out the letter. “When Lady Alistair told me about the blackmail letter, it reminded me of what you did before when you needed money. You betrayed your country and then blackmailed the person who was helping you. Leopards don’t change their spots. If you tried blackmail once, you’d try it again. So, I had the handwriting verified by an expert.”

  Lord Stemphill’s face changed from one of shocked innocence to casual acceptance with a slight glimmer of respect in his eyes. “Alright, suppose it was me. How do you intend to stop me? Tell your precious James about his mother’s dirty little secret?”

  Lady Alistair sat still, her hand to her throat.

  Daphne stared. “No. You’re going to go away and keep any information you have to yourself.”

  Lord Stemphill laughed. “I don’t think I will. I think I’ll go upstairs and tell Mr. Guy Burgess of the BBC an interesting tale.”

  The color drained from Lady Alistair’s face, but she remained quiet.

  Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “No. You won’t. You’re going to pack up your bags and you’re going to go away tonight, and you’re never to bother James or Lady Alistair again.”

  “Or what? You’ll tell the police? Sue me for libel or is it slander? I get those two mixed up.”

  “Today, I made a trip to Somerset House.”

  Lord Stemphill raised an eyebrow. Some of his bravado decreased, but he continued his nonchalant attitude. “Really?”

  “Yes. I checked the public records of births and marriages. I also looked up the details of your baronetcy. You inherited from your uncle, the eighteenth Lord Stemphill.” She held up the copy of Burke’s Peerage.

  Lady Alistair’s eyes grew wide as she stared from Lady Daphne to Lord Stemphill.

  Lord Stemphill’s smile froze and his forehead creased with a frown. He shrugged. “You didn’t need to go all the way to Somerset House for that. It’s public knowledge.” His hand shook slightly as he lit a ciga rette.

  “Something about the dates of your baronetcy bothered me.” Daphne continued, “Based on the documents I reviewed, you couldn’t possibly be the legitimate heir to the baronetcy. The dates just don’t mesh. Your cousin, Fergus, is the rightful heir to Craigevar Castle and the true nineteenth Lord Stemphill.”

  “Fergus is a fool.” Lord Stemphill frowned and spat the words out with venom. “He’s locked up in an asylum, where he spends his days drooling in a corner.”

  Daphne shrugged. “Maybe he is, but that doesn’t change the facts. Besides, he wouldn’t be the first mentally ill peer.” She walked to within inches of Lord Stemphill. “The important point is you aren’t entitled to the peerage, the inheritance, or anything.”

  He snorted. “Inheritance? A title with no money is hardly an inheritance.”

  “The title allows you entrée into homes you wouldn’t have otherwise.” She waved her arms to indicate Chartwell House. “It also provides the connections to the royal family, the same connections which prevented you from hanging for treason when you betrayed your country and leaked secrets to the Japanese in the ’20’s.”

  Stemphill’s eyes narrowed. “You’re very well informed.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  He stared at Daphne as though sizing her up. “That sounds very messy. I can’t imagine a lady like yourself would sully herself with such matters.”

  Daphne inched closer to Stemphill and stared in his eyes. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect the people I love.”

  Lady Alistair stared at Daphne and shivered.

  The two adversaries stood toe-to-toe for several seconds. Then Lord Stemphill cocked his head to the side and made a sweeping bow. “I concede.” He turned and walked toward the door. Just as he grabbed the doorknob, he turned to Daphne. “You are an amazing woman, Lady Daphne Marsh. Lord Browning is a lucky man, a very lucky man, but you haven’t seen the last of me.” He opened the door and walked out.

  Chapter 22

  When I finished, I picked up the list I’d made earlier and read through it several times. Like tumblers in a lock, the pieces clicked together. “When you eliminate the impossible, what remains, no matter how improbable must be the truth.”

  I put on clothes and hurried to Nana Jo’s room. “We’ve got to get to Shady Acres. I know who did it and I know how the murders were done.”

  Nana Jo was groggy, but she nodded. “Give me two minutes to get dressed.”

  I hurried to put my clothes on and glanced at the clock. It wasn’t five yet. I grabbed my cell phone and keys and hurried down to the garage. I explained my theory to Nana Jo on the drive to Shady Acres. She listened quietly but pulled out her phone and starting typing.

  I pulled up to the front and hopped out of the car. When we got to the lobby, Irma, Ruby Mae, and Dorothy were already waiting. Freddie arrived moments later.

  The security guard, Larry Barlow, looked confused by five half-dressed women in the lobby demanding to see the property manager, Denise Bennett.

  “Miss Bennett isn’t up yet. She’ll have my guts for garters if I wake her up now.”

  “That’s nothing compared to what I’ll do to you if you don’t take us to her room right this minute,” Nana Jo said.

  “You better do it, Larry,” Freddie said.

  He nodded and pushed the buzzer that allowed us to get behind the desk so we could get to the property manager’s apartment.

  “I’ve tried to reach Detective Pitt several times, but I haven’t been able to get him. Maybe you could see if your son knows how we can reach him,” I said.

  Freddie nodded and pulled out his phone.

  I knocked on Denise Bennett’s apartment door. A light shined from under the door and I knew she was awake.

  “Come in.”

  I reached for the handle, but Freddie stepped forward. He waited a moment and then turned the knob and
pushed the door open.

  There was a loud bang and a flash and Freddie was on the floor.

  Nana Jo’s face drained of color as she saw Freddie lying on the floor. Then she looked as though she could rip apart telephone books and barged forward.

  There was another blast. Nana Jo stopped.

  “That was a warning. The next one will be aimed at your heart,” Denise Bennett said in a cold, calculating voice. “Now get in here.”

  We walked into the room.

  “Slowly, and close the door.”

  We bent down and helped Freddie move to the sofa.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  We held up our hands.

  Two large suitcases were on the floor, along with a flat container.

  “Is that where you’ve got the paintings?” I asked more to have something to say.

  “What’s it to you?” She grabbed the container and clutched it to her chest. “These are mine. I recognized the paintings the first time I saw them. They didn’t belong to that Nazi. He stole them.” She laughed. “I just stole them from him.”

  “No, you didn’t just steal them. You killed him, you dirty b—”

  “Irma!”

  Old habits died hard, but curtailing Irma’s habit to swear was only part of the reason we stopped her. Provoking a crazy woman with a gun who’d already killed two people and just shot another was a major factor.

  She laughed. “Of course I killed him. I did him a favor. He was dying anyway.”

  “How did you get Horace to put the cyanide in his pill bottle?” I asked.

  Denise laughed again. “Horace? That fool didn’t do anything. I put the cyanide in the bottle.”

  “We saw him taking a bottle of pills up to Magnus’s room the day he died.”

  I must have looked skeptical because she moved closer so she could sneer in my face. “I put the cyanide in the bottle right after he arrived.” She smiled smugly. “One pill, that was all it took. He would take the cyanide sooner or later. He’d die eventually. I just needed to be ready.”

  “Maria knew who you were, didn’t she, Dorothy?” I took a chance by using her real name.

  “How’d you find out my real name?” She stared. When I didn’t respond, she shrugged. “No matter. You won’t live long enough to tell anyone.” She grabbed a purse and her passport from the table. “I’m tired of people threatening me. First, it was my husband, Antonio. Always threatening. ‘You tell anything and I’ll kill you,’” she said with a thick accent like Robert De Niro in The Godfather. “Well, I showed him. I turned him in and went into the witness protection program. They promised me a new name and a new identity.” She shook her head. “Then Maria showed up with her threats. Give her a bigger apartment or she’d tell Antonio where I was.” She paced.

  “So, you used your master key to get into her room and killed her. Then you locked the door with your key so when the police arrived, they would think the door was locked.”

  She laughed. “That was my best plan yet. We’re not supposed to have master keys, but when she demanded the larger apartment, I had an extra key made for myself.”

  She walked over to us and stared. “Now, here you all are. Threatening to tell the police about me.”

  I expected Nana Jo to try and whip out her pistol or Dorothy to drop into an aikido stance and flip Denise Bennett like a bag of potatoes. Instead, Nana Jo simply started to hum. I wasn’t the only one who looked confused.

  Denise Bennett frowned. “What’re you doing, old lady?”

  Nana Jo ignored her and continued to hum the tune from the Senior Follies’ final number.

  Ruby Mae, Irma, and Dorothy all locked arms.

  “Stop it.” Denise Bennett raised an arm and pointed the gun directly at Nana Jo.

  Nana Jo stared her down. “One, two, now!”

  In perfect unison, Nana Jo and the girls all lifted their legs and performed a Rockettes kick, dislodging the gun from Denise Bennett’s hand.

  I pounced on the gun and Dorothy kicked off her shoes and crouched into a low aikido stance. But before she could flip Denise Bennett, Nana Jo hauled back and punched her with a sharp right cross.

  Denise Bennett dropped to the ground like a bag of sand.

  “Quick! Get something to tie her up with,” Ruby Mae ordered.

  Irma rumbled through the drawers in the kitchen. Just as she came back with a roll of twine, Detective Pitt bust through the door.

  “Glad you could make it,” Nana Jo said.

  Detective Pitt handcuffed Denise as she lay on the floor. She was conscious but still groggy. We waited for an ambulance, although Freddie swore it was only a flesh wound. Nana Jo was giving the orders and he was ordered to lay still and be quiet.

  I explained to Detective Pitt what happened.

  “You mean she killed two people over some paintings?”

  I opened the container and gently pulled out the artwork. “These are not just any paintings. These are rare works of art missing since World War II.” I held up the paintings and put them on the dining room table.

  Dorothy came over to the table. “My sister said they’re worth billions.”

  Detective Pitt whistled. “Billions with a B billions?”

  We nodded.

  He gently took the paintings, holding them by the corners as though they were contaminated.

  “Perhaps you should wait until an expert can be found who knows how to properly handle them,” I said

  He nodded.

  Freddie really did have a flesh wound, which the doctors were able to patch up quickly. Nana Jo, on the other hand, broke two bones in her hand when she punched Denise. She left with a cast.

  I was thankful Dawson, Jillian, and the twins were willing and able to swing by the store and open up. By the time I made it home, the place was buzzing with activity.

  My adrenaline levels were drained and I went upstairs and crashed for several hours until Snickers woke me with a lick on the nose.

  I got up and took a nice, long shower. Once I was dressed and ate, I pulled out my laptop.

  Lady Elizabeth tried not to stare at the damp stain on the dining room carpet, which was all that remained of the unfortunate incident with Randolph.

  “Lady Alistair must think we’re savages. I don’t think anything can coax her to stay now,” Mrs. Churchill said. “She’s taking dinner in her room.”

  “I’m not sure there’s a reason for her to stay now.” Lady Elizabeth stared at her niece. She looked around. “Did Lord Stemphill give a reason for his sudden departure?”

  Mrs. Churchill shook her head. “No, he just said something came up.” Mrs. Churchill sighed. “I can’t say I’m sorry. I never cared for the man. I only invited him because his mother was such a dear, sweet woman.”

  Detective Inspector Covington looked uncomfortable in one of Randolph’s suits and pulled at the collar.

  “Who are the additional guests Winston mentioned?” Lady Elizabeth asked.

  “American missionaries of some kind, is all I know. He sprung their visit on me at the last minute. Thankfully, Mrs. Landemare is a genius at making a meal stretch.” She looked around. “Even though, he wasn’t sure they’d make it in time for dinner.” She looked at her watch. “It’s very late and I think we need to eat or everything will be ruined.” She made a slight move with her head to Thompkins.

  “Dinner is served,” he announced.

  As the guests went to their seats, a loud crash came from the hall and the door was flung open. A young man stood in the doorway with a gun pointed at the group.

  Mrs. Churchill gasped. “John?”

  Leopold Amery’s face turned beet red. He rushed to his feet, knocking over his chair in his haste.

  The sudden movement startled John, who fired a shot, which shattered a glass, spilling wine on the tablecloth. “Hello, Father. Don’t get any bright ideas that I won’t shoot you. You don’t have a son anymore, remember?” He leered.

  He was yo
ung with dark hair and a lean, angular face. His eyes were wild and his glance went from one side of the room to the other, constantly making note of movements. “Sit,” he ordered.

  Detective Inspector Covington slowly prepared to sit.

  “Not you, Copper. I think I want to see you.” He used his gun to point. “Over there. Move and keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Detective Inspector Covington raised his hands so they were visible and moved so he stood in front of the window, open and exposed. “Now, there’s no need to get excited. You haven’t done anything serious yet.”

  John laughed. “Serious? You don’t call murder serious?”

  “Murder?” Leopold Amery asked. “It was you? You killed that girl?”

  John’s laugh sounded hysterical. “Got greedy. We had a plan. Get invited to the house. Then she was supposed to let me in so I could get those paintings.” He waved his gun toward James.

  Daphne’s face grew pale. “Paintings?” Daphne whispered.

  “Come on, Your Grace,” he said with a snide smirk on his face. “Hand them over.”

  James hesitated and John pointed the gun in Daphne’s direction. James reached down and got the satchel, which hadn’t left his side since he arrived. He picked it up.

  John laughed. “Good. Now, slide it over here.”

  James slid the bag across the floor.

  John picked it up and opened it. He started to look inside.

  “Why are you doing this?” Winston asked.

  John looked up. “There’s a new order coming, a new Reich. Hitler’s taking over Europe one country at a time. He’s raised up an army that’ll march its way across the channel and topple Britain’s aristocracy with its dukes and lords.” He snarled at Lord William and James. “You’ll be replaced with enterprising young men who’re loyal to the führer. Men with the vision and the gumption to do what it takes to succeed.”

  “That’s treason.” Leopold Amery looked as though he would have a stroke. “My own son, a traitor and a murderer. You’re a disgrace.”

  John’s face turned red and his eyes narrowed. His hand shook with anger. “You shut up.”