by V. M. Burns
“I thought so.”
“It’s just that when we were in Cloverton’s class the other night and listening to him drone on and on about his life, he mentioned that when he graduated from college he spent a couple of years in the military.”
“I’ll be happy to check around, but is there something specific that you want me to check into? I mean, a lot of people served in the military.” He gave me a hard stare. “What specifically about him is bothering you?”
“I don’t know. It’s just the way he looked when he was talking about it. It reminded me of the way you are when you talk about being in the military.”
He frowned. “I don’t really talk about it.”
“I know. It was the same with him. For a moment, he got that same look that you get sometimes. Then he forced a fake smile on his face and glossed over it.”
He stared at me for a long time. “Sam, depending on when he served, he may have seen a lot of horrible stuff—stuff that will make you wake up in the middle of the night with cold sweats years later. Nothing can prepare you for seeing . . .” He swallowed. “It might not have anything to do with his murder.”
“I know, but it reminded me . . . it reminded me of a Sherlock Holmes mystery I read.”
The corners of his lips twitched, but he did not roll his eyes, so I continued. “I know you’re going to say I’m being ridiculous, but . . .”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything. Tell me about the book.”
Before I got a chance, one of the servers came up to tell Frank that there was a problem downstairs.
“I’ve got an emergency in the kitchen. How about you tell me tonight. We’re still on for dinner, right?”
I nodded.
By the time I got back to the store, the twins had finished eating and were taking care of customers along with Dawson, Jillian, Emma, and Nana Jo.
“Shouldn’t they be studying?” I asked Nana Jo.
“I asked them the same thing. They’re either done studying or in desperate need of a break.”
“There really aren’t that many customers, and I’m sure you and I could handle it.”
“I told them the same thing. They don’t want to go.” She looked around. “I think they like spending time working in the bookshop. Plus, it’s a diversion from . . . other concerns.”
I frowned. “What concerns?”
“Christopher and Zaq have interviews tomorrow, and I think they’re both a bit nervous.”
I smacked myself. “Oh, and Jillian has the audition with the Bolshoi for their summer program tomorrow.”
She nodded. “Emma still hasn’t gotten a letter from her top two medical schools, and Dawson seems to be sweating bullets about his chemistry test.”
“I guess they need a diversion for a few hours.”
“I say we give them a couple of hours and then we send them packing.”
“Agreed.”
Nana Jo decided to use her time to talk to a research librarian she used to know quite well. I decided to spend mine writing.
“Cootchie-cootchie-coo.” Lady Daphne Browning made faces and smiled broadly into the face of the well-wrapped bundle she held in her arms.
“If you girls keep cooing and spewing out that drivel, that poor child won’t be able to speak two words of the King’s English when he’s old enough to talk,” Lord William Marsh said. His eyes danced, and despite his words, his tone was light.
“You just ignore your grumpy great-uncle. Everybody knows babies understand baby talk perfectly well, don’t you?” She sat on the sofa and rocked the baby in her arms.
Lord William turned to James Browning, the 15th Duke of Kingsfordshire. “Can you talk sense into your wife? She won’t listen to reason.”
James glanced at Daphne as she cradled the baby in her arms and made kissing noises He smiled and shook his head. “Afraid not. She was your niece long before she became my wife. If you weren’t able to talk sense into her, then I fear it’s much too late now.”
Daphne looked up. “How can anyone do anything but coo at this perfect little bundle of joy?” She rocked him. “I’m going to be the best aunt ever.”
As Lady Elizabeth Marsh sat nearby on the sofa she smiled at her niece and knitted. “I have no doubt you will, dear. Penelope and Victor are already grateful for the opportunity to take a nap.”
Daphne looked up. “When does the nurse arrive? I’m sure James and I could have delayed our trip a day or two and taken care of little Pippin.” She smiled. “I’m so glad they named him after Father. I think he would approve.”
“Penelope wanted to name him after all of the men she loved, but Victor felt that would be too much to saddle the young earl with,” Lady Elizabeth said. “So, they decided to go with the grandfathers.” She smiled at her husband.
Technically not a grandfather, Lord William had raised his nieces, Daphne and Penelope, from the time they were barely able to walk and their parents, Peregrine and Henrietta Marsh, had died in an automobile crash. Never having children of their own, Lord William and Lady Elizabeth poured all of their love and affection into their nieces. He sniffed and wiped his nose with a handkerchief. “Yes. Good deal, that. Lord Peregrine William Nevil Carlston will be a blessing to us all.”
Lady Elizabeth returned her attention to her knitting before answering. “The nurse, Miss Jane Martin, will be here tomorrow. She was here for the birth, but the poor girl’s brother passed not long after her father died. It was just too much for her poor mother to handle alone. I knew between you and me, plus Mrs. McDuffie, Gladys, and Millie from downstairs, we could care for the little one until she returned.”
“I’m surprised Mrs. McDuffie is allowing either of us to even hold him,” Daphne said.
Lady Clara came into the library. She wandered over to the window and stared out across the lawn.
Lady Elizabeth looked at her young cousin. Based on how she stalked the post office, Lady Elizabeth assumed the girl was having trouble of the heart and waiting for a letter. She was just about to ask when the door opened and the housekeeper entered.
“Beggin’ your pardon, your ladyship, but it’s time for Master Carlston’s next feeding.”
“Already?” Daphne whined. “I’ve barely had a moment with my nephew.”
Practically on cue, the previously sleeping and well-behaved lord opened his mouth and squealed. His face turned red, and he stiffened his little body as he mustered up enough energy for a massive squall.
The stout, freckle-faced housekeeper smiled and marched over to Lady Daphne and reached for the screaming baby.
“Oh, can’t I at least carry him up to Penelope?”
Mrs. McDuffie had loved both Penelope and Daphne from the moment they came to stay with their aunt and uncle, and she had rarely been able to deny Daphne anything. She smiled. “Of course you can. Come along.”
Daphne carefully stood up and followed the housekeeper out of the room.
Lord William reached in his pocket and pulled out his pipe, along with a leather pouch that normally carried his tobacco. He opened the bag, but it was empty. He stood up and shuffled out of the room, mumbling about tobacco, leaving Lady Elizabeth, Lady Clara, and Lord Browning alone.
Clara spun around. “James, isn’t the chief inspector at Scotland Yard a relative of yours?”
“Not exactly a relative. Chief Inspector Buddington is my godfather. Why do you ask? Don’t tell me young Covington has gotten fresh.”
Lady Clara smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “No, of course not. It’s nothing like that. It’s just . . . I don’t know what to do.” She folded her arms across her chest and heaved a sigh. “But it’s just not fair, and someone should do something.”
“What’s not fair, dear? Unless you want to tell James privately, in which case I can—” Lady Elizabeth stood.
“Oh, no. It’s nothing that you can’t hear, Aunt Elizabeth.” She motioned for her to stay.
Lady Elizabeth returned to her sea
t. “Then, why don’t you sit down and tell us what happened.”
Lady Clara hesitated a moment but made up her mind and hurried to the sofa and sat next to Lady Elizabeth. “It’s just that things have been so bizarre ever since Oliver Martin died.”
“Oliver Martin?” Lady Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, he’s that friend of Peter’s who died at the American Embassy when we were there for dinner a few weeks ago.”
James Browning leaned forward. “Maybe you should tell me about it.”
Lady Clara recounted the events, from her friend Kick’s request to the death of Oliver Martin in the foyer of the American Embassy. “The poor man had just told Marguerite that his family had heart trouble, and then he died. Unfortunately, Victor didn’t believe it was his heart. He thought it was murder and wanted to launch an investigation, but between the American ambassador, the German foreign minister, and Lady Astor, there was just too much red tape.”
“Wait, the German foreign minister, Joachim von Ribbentrop, was there?” James asked.
“Yes, the arrogant fool.” She looked up. “I’m sorry, but he was just so cocky, I just couldn’t stand him.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He smiled. “But maybe you could step back and tell me everyone who was there and what was said.”
Lady Clara thought back and gave him the full guest list and recapped most of the conversation that she remembered. “I’m sorry I don’t remember much more. Honestly, everyone was just so dull that I blocked out as much as possible.”
Lady Elizabeth stopped knitting and walked over to a desk. She rifled through a few letters until she found the one she wanted. She removed the letter from the envelope and glanced at it. “I thought it was too much of a coincidence. The nurse Penelope hired was the sister of the young man who died, Oliver Martin.”
James Browning exchanged a glance with Lady Elizabeth before returning his gaze to Lady Clara. “So, Oliver Martin appears to have a heart attack and dies, but Peter thinks he was murdered?” He stands up and paces in front of the fireplace. “Did anyone else come in during the party? Anyone outside of those invited?”
Lady Clara thought back and then shook her head. “No, only the servant who brought the champagne.”
“For Oliver Martin to have been murdered, the murderer would have had to be one of the guests.”
Lady Clara shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“But what’s the problem?” Browning asked. “What’s happened to Peter?”
“Well, first he was up for a promotion, but he didn’t get it. He scored higher than anyone on the exam.” She flushed slightly. “He has a friend that works in the department that administered the tests, and he told him.” She took a deep breath. “But he was passed over. They gave the promotion to someone else. Then he got reassigned.”
“Reassigned?” Lady Elizabeth asked. “Where?”
“Buckinghamshire. It was hard enough for us to go out when he was working in London, but now that he’s all the way in Buckinghamshire, we’ll never see each other, and it’s not like we have very much time. We—”
“What do you mean, dear? Why don’t you have time?”
“He signed up for military training. Peter’s sure there’ll be another war, and he’ll go and serve.” Lady Clara hung her head, and a tear dropped from her eye and landed on her hand.
James Browning passed her a handkerchief, and she wiped her face.
“And just when I finally got him to stop being silly about me having a title and him being a policeman and being seen with me in public. Now this.” She stamped her foot. “It just isn’t fair.”
James Browning looked as though he was lost in thought for several moments. Eventually, he asked, “Did they say why they transferred him to Buckinghamshire?”
“No, they didn’t. That’s what I was hoping you could help with. I thought maybe you could ask your godfather about it. Obviously, they think Peter’s done something wrong.” She narrowed her eyes and scowled. “I’ll bet it was Lady Astor. She didn’t like it when Peter stood up to her when she and the Marquess of Lothian kept talking about how we needed to appease Germany.” She huffed. “You’ll do it, won’t you?”
James Browning nodded. “I’ll ask, but I can’t guarantee he’ll give me answers.”
Her face lit up. “I’m sure he’ll tell you. Thank you.” She took a deep breath and then hurried to the door. “I’d better dash if I’m going to see the baby before they put him to bed.” She rushed from the room.
Lady Elizabeth picked up her knitting and returned to her seat. She sat quietly for several moments.
James Browning broke the silence. “What are you thinking?”
She frowned. “Probably much the same thing that you are. That Peter’s gotten himself mixed up in a murder involving a lot of very influential people.” She knitted. “He’s lucky if they just reassigned him to the countryside. Things could have been a lot worse.”
James Browning smiled. Lady Elizabeth’s instincts were sharp as a whip. They’d helped her solve several murders in the past. “Still, I wonder why they chose Buckinghamshire?”
Lady Elizabeth stared at her nephew. To most, the wealthy, athletic aristocrat was just part of the landed gentry. He owned a large estate in Kingsfordshire, drove an expensive car, and traveled abroad often. The idle rich. However, she knew differently. She was part of a small, select group of people who knew what he was and what he did. The concern she saw etched across his face was more than just the concerns for a friend’s career. No, there was something more worrying him. She prayed that Peter Covington, whom she’d grown quite fond of, would come out all right. Both for Clara’s sake and for his.
Chapter 10
Nana Jo hadn’t returned yet when I went downstairs to the bookstore. However, the store wasn’t crowded. It certainly wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle alone. Once the store was empty, I called everyone together.
“Listen, I appreciate all of the help. I really do. However, I know you all have studying to do, papers to write, interviews to prepare for.” I turned to Jillian. “And you need rest before your audition.” I saw the objection rising from her gut, but before it made it out of her mouth I held up a hand to stop it. “I completely understand the nerves, but you need to try some deep breathing, relaxation, yoga, or something that will help you relax.”
She took a deep breath and nodded.
“I truly appreciate each and every one of you, but your first priority is school, so it’s time to get busy.”
They grabbed their backpacks and headed out.
I stood for several moments and allowed the silence and serenity to seep into my soul.
“Don’t tell me you’ve taken to sleeping on your feet.”
I opened my eyes and stared at my grandmother. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.” She glanced around. “You sent everyone home?”
“They need to study.”
“It’s not very busy. I’m sure I can handle it if you have some sleuthing you want to do.”
“Not really. In fact, I was going to make the same offer to you. Don’t you have a date tonight?”
Nana Jo glanced at her watch. “Freddie is picking me up here at closing, and we’re going dancing.”
“I’ve got this. Why don’t you go upstairs and relax? I’m pretty sure I can handle things alone.” I spread my arms to indicate the empty store.
“All right, but I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
It had been quite some time since I’d worked the store alone, and I have to admit that I enjoyed the solitude. It was a way of reconnecting to the store, the customers, and the dream that sparked the store in the first place.
Between customers, I tidied the shelves, dusted, restocked, and set up a table display featuring culinary cozy mysteries by Nancy Coco, Leslie Budewitz, Ellen Byron, and Libby Klein. I stacked the books and placed a plate of Dawson’s cookies in front of the display, which I knew would attract traf
fic. When I finished, I stepped back to admire my handiwork.
“Are those real? I’m worn-out and starving.”
I turned around to see my sister staring at the cookies with a gleam in her eyes that reminded me of the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street. “They’re real, but they have raisins in them.” I knew my sister’s taste did not extend to cookies with raisins or chocolate chips.
“Darn!”
“I think there may be some sugar cookies left in the back.” I walked to the back of the store where we had a small café area. I had a few bistro tables and a bar where I kept the elaborate espresso machine my sister had bought when I opened the store but still couldn’t figure out how to work. Next to it was a single-cup brewer and an electric teakettle. Jenna complained that non-tea drinkers couldn’t taste when coffee had been brewed through the single-cup brewer, so I bought the electric teakettle, which surprisingly was getting quite a bit of use.
Jenna sat at the bistro table while I got two teacups and a plate of sugar cookies. When I sat down, I noticed that she’d eaten three cookies. She shoved the fourth cookie in her mouth and said, “Don’t judge. I’m starving.”
“I don’t judge where cookies are concerned.” I slid the plate with the remaining two cookies in front of her and took a sip of my tea. “What brings you here?”
“Sam, things aren’t looking good for Detective Pitt.”
“Why?”
“The ballistics confirmed that the bullets that the coroner removed from John Cloverton were fired from Detective Pitt’s gun.”
I don’t know how long I sat staring. When I was able to talk, I said, “How is that possible? Where did they find the gun?”
“That’s the bad part. It was the gun he kept in his nightstand beside his bed.”
“But . . . I just don’t believe he shot that man.”
She took a deep breath. “Frankly, I don’t either, but that doesn’t change the fact that he had animosity toward Cloverton. The D.A. is going to say he was jealous because Cloverton had taken his wife from him.”
“Did he?”
She nodded. “Apparently, John Cloverton and Mildred had an affair. She divorced Pitt to marry Cloverton.” She paused. “Then there’s the fact that he hit him in front of an entire restaurant filled with people. The D.A. is going to say he had a short fuse.”
