Killer Words

by V. M. Burns

  Lady Elizabeth, Lord William, and Lady Clara sat in the wood-paneled arched drawing room in front of a large stone fireplace.

  Lady Daphne walked over to the wall and rang a bell. “I’m so glad you could all come.”

  James Browning passed Lord William a leather pouch.

  Lord William pulled out his pipe. “Thank you. I meant to replenish the supply before I left, but . . . well, we got your request and took off at once.”

  James puffed on his pipe and returned to his seat. “It was all very sudden.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about Chequers Court, but I’ve never been here before,” Lady Elizabeth said, looking around the room. “I don’t usually run in the same circles as the prime minister.”

  James smiled. “Usually, neither do I, but when Mr. Chamberlain asked if we could stop in and look after a sick friend, well . . . we just couldn’t say no.”

  Thompkins, the prim and proper butler who served the Marsh family, entered. He rolled a tea cart to Lady Daphne, gave a stiff bow, and turned to leave.

  “Aunt Elizabeth, would you mind?” Lady Daphne asked.

  Lady Elizabeth placed her knitting aside. “Not at all, dear.”

  Thompkins rolled the cart in front of Lady Elizabeth, bowed, and left.

  “I can’t tell you how grateful we are that you were able to spare Thompkins,” Lady Daphne said. “The prime minister usually brings his staff with him, and since he’s not here . . . we were in dire straits. We called an agency and arranged for a cook, maids, and the other staff, but a good butler is invaluable.”

  Lady Clara hopped up and paced. “It’s very isolated out here, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is,” James said. “I hope you won’t find it too dull, but Sir Hugh Sinclair bought a mansion and fifty-eight acres of land. He’s opening a . . . sort of hospital, and I thought perhaps Clara might want to work there.” He glanced at his young cousin.

  “I’m not particularly skilled, but I guess it’s time I started earning my living. What kind of place is it?”

  “It’s an asylum of sorts for overworked government officials.”

  “An asylum?” Lord William said. “Do you think that will be appropriate? Will she be safe working there?”

  “Oh, perfectly safe,” James said. “It’s more a place for rest and relaxation . . . a rest home of sorts. There are lots of young women from all over the country. Sir Andrew Franklin-Burns’s daughter, Winifred, is there along with Lord Augustus Hampton’s daughter, Eugenie.” James rattled off the names of several other daughters of the aristocracy.

  “Sounds like all the debutantes in England are working at this asylum,” Lady Elizabeth said. “Rather curious that so many young women from society are all here tending to the infirm in a remote corner of the British countryside.”

  “In these trying times, the young ladies of the aristocracy want to do their part to aid the government,” James said.

  Lady Clara shrugged. “Well, I don’t suppose it matters much what I do.”

  “Great. I can take you down first thing tomorrow. I’m sure they’ll be glad to have you. Maybe we can stop by the local pub, the Shoulder of Mutton, to grab a bite. It’s quite popular with a number of the locals here in Buckinghamshire.”

  “Buckinghamshire?” Lady Clara’s face lit up. “Is that where we are?”

  Lady Daphne laughed. “Didn’t you know? You silly goose.”

  Lady Clara rushed and threw her arms around James and then Lady Daphne, and then she gave James another squeeze. “You are the most amazing . . . Buckinghamshire. How wonderful.”

  “When I heard of the opening, I thought of you immediately,” James said. “I knew you were well suited for it.”

  Lady Clara could barely contain her excitement. After a few moments, she turned back to the duke. “What was the name of that pub?”

  “Sam, pay attention.” Nana Jo reinforced her request with a sharp elbow.

  “Ouch.” I glanced up and saw that Jenna and Detective Pitt had just arrived and taken a seat at the front, facing the judge.

  The court clerk and judge went through the same process I’d witnessed multiple times already. “Have I only been here an hour? It feels longer.”

  “I’ve been here all day, so you’ll get no sympathy from me.”

  The district attorney was young and handsome.

  Nana Jo nudged me. “That suit must have cost a small fortune.”

  “He’s very handsome.”

  “And he knows it too. I don’t care for a man with highlights in his hair. Or mousse. I’ll bet he wears expensive cologne too.”

  “You just don’t like him because he wants to prosecute one of your former students.”

  “Wrong.” She shook her head. “I don’t like him because he looks like a model who wants to prosecute one of my former students and he is going up against my granddaughter. Now be quiet so I can hear.”

  The district attorney painted a picture of Detective Pitt that made him look about one step away from Jack the Ripper, and he finished the character assassination by asking the judge to deny bond.

  “Why, that dirty little weasel,” Nana Jo said.

  Next, it was Jenna’s turn. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my sister in her natural habitat.

  “Your honor, Detective Bradley Pitt has born and raised right here in North Harbor, Michigan.” She then talked about his many years of service on the police force and as a member of the North Harbor Madrigals.

  “Stinky Pitt can sing?” I asked.

  Nana shrugged. “I guess so.”

  My imagination refused to even try to picture Detective Pitt as a singer, but . . . it must be true.

  “Detective Pitt isn’t a flight risk. In fact, my client is looking forward to an opportunity to lay his case before a jury of his peers, who we know will find him innocent. I would ask your honor to waive bond for someone who has dedicated his life to serving this community.”

  I glanced at Nana Jo, and her eyes reflected the same pride that I felt. She turned to the man who sat on the other side of her, and said, “That’s my granddaughter.”

  Nana Jo and I may have been impressed, but the judge took a path down the middle. She didn’t waive the bond, nor did she deny. She set bond at one million dollars, banged her gavel, and then called for the next case.

  Nana Jo and I quietly left the courtroom. Once we were free of the quiet, I turned to her. “One million dollars is a lot of money.”

  We found a bench outside and waited. Eventually, Jenna appeared from around the corner.

  Nana Jo hugged her. “I was so proud of you. You were amazing. ”

  “I’m rather surprised things went as well as they did.”

  “You call that well?” I asked. “Does Detective Pitt have a million dollars lying around?”

  “He doesn’t need a million. He only has to put up ten percent.”

  “Okay, I’ll play. Does Detective Pitt have a hundred grand lying around?”

  “He can put up his house as collateral. It’s called a surety.”

  A tall man with a long beard, his hair pulled back in a ponytail, and wearing all leather approached. “Mrs. Rutherford?”

  “Excuse me, here’s my bail bondsman now.” She escorted the Hell’s Angel down the hall.

  “It looks like Jenna has things well in hand, and I’m starving,” Nana Jo said. She looked at her watch. “Let’s go meet the girls so we can update them.”

  We headed out to the car, and I sent my sister a text letting her know our plans.

  Nana Jo was uncharacteristically quiet for the entire ride from the courthouse to the bookshop. When I pulled into the garage, she was so lost in thought, I had to shake her.

  “You’re a million miles away,” I said.

  “I’ve been thinking about something. After what happened at The Avenue on Sunday, why do you suppose they chose Stinky Pitt to arrest Cloverton?”

  I thought for a moment, but nothing came to mind. “I don’t know.”


  “I mean, there was obviously bad blood between the two men. Why not send some other detective to arrest him?”

  “Maybe he volunteered? Maybe there was no one else?”

  “Seems fishy to me. I mean, if I were the chief of police, I would have wanted to avoid any more negative publicity. I’d have sent anyone else other than Bradley Pitt, unless . . .”

  “Unless you wanted to implicate him further.”

  “Exactly.”

  We sat for several minutes. No matter which way we turned it in our minds, we still came up with the same thing: Bradley Pitt was deliberately sent to arrest John Cloverton to set him up to take the fall.

  “If that’s true, then you realize what that means, right?” Nana Jo said.

  “It means that John Cloverton’s murder was premeditated. Someone wanted him dead.”

  “They not only wanted him dead, but they wanted Pitt blamed for it.”

  Chapter 13

  Things at the bookshop were running smoothly. So, Nana Jo and I headed down to Frank’s to meet the girls.

  We went upstairs. Everyone took their same seats. We ordered drinks and waited until Jenna arrived.

  Fifteen minutes later, she rushed upstairs. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Everyone stood up and applauded.

  She looked confused. “What’s that for?”

  “Josephine told us what a wonderful job you did in court today,” Dorothy said.

  Jenna blushed. “Just doing my job.”

  When the applause died down, Nana Jo pulled out her iPad. “Let’s get started. If there are no objections, I think Jenna should go first. She has some additional information that everyone needs to hear.”

  Jenna filled everyone in on the reports from ballistics and the coroner, and she finished by letting us know that Detective Pitt was going home to rest but that she would be in touch with him tomorrow. He wanted to help with the investigation.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” I asked.

  “Absolutely not, but clients always want to help with their defense. I suspect he’s going to need a handler. He’s going to need someone who can keep an eye on him and keep him out of trouble.” She glanced at Nana Jo. “I was hoping you could enlist Freddie for that.”

  Nana Jo nodded. “He’ll do it.” She made a note. “Now, who’s next?”

  Ruby Mae raised her hand. “I had a good long talk with my cousin Abigail last night. She’s Chief Davis’s secretary, and she gave me an earful.” Ruby Mae pulled out her knitting as she talked. “Apparently, Chief of Police Zachary Davis has been in a fit ever since those newspaper articles first started hitting the papers. According to Abigail, he’s been more stressed out than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

  “There usually isn’t smoke without fire,” Nana Jo said.

  “That’s what I think too. Abigail knows the chief has taken a lot of business trips over the past few years.” She used air quotes around “business.” “He’s also had her coding some of his expenses in different categories than what she thinks they should be.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  She finished the row she was knitting before continuing. “He’ll go out to lunch at a pricey restaurant, and when the bill comes in, instead of coding it for something logical like Employee Meal, he’ll tell her to code it for Department Function.” She looked down her nose and raised an eyebrow. “Abigail says that’s suspicious because if she coded it as Employee Meal, then she has to list all of the employees present, and there’s a per diem amount allotted for each employee. If she codes it as Department Function, then she doesn’t have to list names and—”

  “And there’s no per diem amount.”

  “Exactly.”

  Irma said, “Why, that dirty, cheating son of a b—”

  “Irma!”

  Irma broke into a coughing fit. “Sorry, but that burns my butt to think of our tax dollars being wasted.”

  “Wouldn’t he still need to provide a receipt?” I asked.

  “I’m betting he uses the credit card total instead of the itemized receipt that lists specifically what was ordered,” Frank said. “You know, when you use a credit card, the first receipt will list each item ordered. You give the server your credit card, and what’s brought back is a receipt to be signed and a brief summary with the final total, but none of the item-izations.”

  I thought back to the last time I’d used a credit card to pay for a meal and realized he was right.

  Ruby Mae continued knitting. “Abigail says that’s just the tip of the iceberg. He has a small petty fund account that isn’t really monitored. He can spend about five thousand dollars per month for things like paying informants. Every month, he has her transfer five thousand dollars into that fund, and every month the fund is drained.” She completed a complicated stitch before continuing. “Now, the police do use money from that fund, but she said the previous chief of police never exhausted all of the money every month. In fact, she said it was rare if he ever used all of that money. He might use five to ten thousand dollars per year, but not Chief Davis. He’s using all five thousand dollars each and every month.”

  “Does he have to keep records?” Harold asked. “Receipts? Anything? Surely, he has some form of record keeping or accountability?”

  Ruby Mae shook her head. “Not this chief.” She leaned forward. “Abigail also said that he’s been sweating bullets, afraid that John Cloverton would demand an audit of the books. Now that Cloverton’s dead, he’s back to business as usual.”

  We took a few minutes and mulled over the information Ruby Mae had gathered. When the outrage died down, Nana Jo glanced around for volunteers.

  Harold raised a hand. “Grace and I did get to the golf club yesterday. I didn’t get a chance to talk to the mayor, but I’m going to try again this afternoon. He has a standing tee time at three.” He glanced at his watch. “I have it on good authority that his fourth won’t be able to make it.” He smiled. “They’ll add me in his place.”

  “That’s great. Maybe you can find out if he knows anything helpful.” Nana Jo was about to move on when Harold coughed to get her attention.

  “I wasn’t able to talk to the mayor, but Grace fared much better.” Harold gave Mom a loving glance. “You should tell them what you found out.”

  “Well, I’m not nearly as clever as Harold, but it did occur to me that if Mayor Carpenter was involved in something underhanded, Mrs. Carpenter might know something about it.”

  “His wife?” I asked.

  “Oh, no. Not his wife. Sharon Carpenter is an arrogant, harsh woman. She’s hard-hearted, tightfisted, and downright cruel. Do you know that she didn’t even give her maid a Christmas present? Well, I can tell you that didn’t go over well, and Leslie gave her notice immediately. They can’t keep servants, and I can’t say that I blame any of those poor women.”

  “If you didn’t talk to his wife, then who—”

  “I talked to Charmaine Carpenter . . . the mayor’s mother. Charmaine told me that Sharon is a downright shrew. She bullies poor Nelson within an inch of his life. She forced the poor man into running for mayor. He really didn’t want to hold public office, but when Adele Forrester’s husband ran for state representative, Nelson had to run for a higher office. Adele really did put on airs, but Nelson isn’t cut out for being a politician.”

  “Who’s Adele?” I asked.

  Mother sighed. “Really, dear, weren’t you paying attention? I told you she’s married to Robert Forrester. Anyway, Charmaine said she noticed that some of the antiques had started to disappear. Nothing big, just small items.” Mom reached into her purse and fished around until she found a small slip of paper. She pulled it out and started to read. “‘A small silver lighter that belonged to Nelson’s great-grandfather, a glass dish from Tiffany’s, a cameo and pearl brooch, a silver tea service, and a pair of emerald earrings.’ ” She folded the paper and looked up.

  No one commented. Eventually, Frank said,
“Your friend Charmaine believes these items are somehow tied to the murder?”

  Mom nodded. “Charmaine believes they may be the motive for the murder.”

  Jenna waved her hands. “Wait. I’m confused. How does a silver tea service and a pair of emerald earrings tie into the murder? Is she saying John Cloverton stole them?”

  “Of course not.”

  Harold patted Mom’s hand. “I think you forgot to mention the gambling, dear.”

  “You sure as heck forgot something,” Nana Jo said. “Now perhaps you should start over again.”

  Mom took a deep breath. “About a year ago, Charmaine noticed that a few small items that had been in their family for years had disappeared. When she asked Sharon about it, she practically snapped her head off. When more things started disappearing, Charmaine wanted to call the police, but Sharon wouldn’t have it. She accused one of the servants and fired the girl. ”

  “Leslie?” I asked.

  “No, couldn’t be Leslie,” Jenna said. “She quit when she didn’t get a Christmas present, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

  “I believe the girl’s name was Marla,” Mom said.

  Nana Jo and I exchanged glances.

  “Marla?” Nana Jo said. “Young, skinny girl with lots of attitude? Likes to flirt?”

  Mom shrugged. “I honestly couldn’t say. I’ve never seen her, but Charmaine did say she was a terrible flirt, which is why she didn’t object when Sharon fired her. Charmaine didn’t believe the girl was a thief, but the flirting had gotten to be a problem.” Mom shook her head. “Now, where was I? Yes, so these things disappeared, but even after Marla was gone, things went missing. One day, Charmaine was out having tea and she saw her daughter-in-law meeting with another woman. She seemed upset, which is the only reason that Charmaine thought she should listen to the conversation.” Mom gave us an innocent look. “Just in case Sharon needed assistance.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Nana Jo said. “We get it.”