by V. M. Burns
When Mildred finished her tea, she turned to Nana Jo. “Thank you. That was delicious, and I have to say, I feel better already, but you mustn’t wait on me. You’re guests. I should be the one serving you.” She rose to stand.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Nana Jo said. “You’re still suffering from shock. There’ll be no waiting on us today.”
“But there’s no way I can possibly eat an entire cake by myself—” Her voice caught, but she recovered. “Please, it’s much more enjoyable to eat when someone else is eating too.”
I hopped up. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll just go cut slices for Nana Jo and myself, and we’ll all sit here and eat cake together.” I walked back into the kitchen. I rummaged around until I found two more plates and cut hefty slices of cake for both of us. Then I grabbed two forks and went back into the living room. I handed one plate and fork to Nana Jo and then took mine and moved back to the concrete slab that was masquerading as a settee. This time I was careful to sit lightly.
I took a large bite of the cake and allowed it to dissolve on my tongue. “Hmmm. It’s delicious; really you should try it.”
Mildred took a small bite. Her eyes grew big, and she stared. “That was wonderful.”
I mumbled around my second or third forkful of cake, “See, I told you.”
In record time, those slices of cake were done and we were left licking our forks in a comfortable sugar haze.
“Thank you,” Mildred said. “That really was the best cake I’ve ever had.”
I put down my fork. “I’ll be sure to tell Frank you enjoyed it.”
“Is there anything that you need?” Nana Jo asked. “Anything we can help you with?”
She hung her head. “No. The police haven’t released his body yet, so I can’t make funeral arrangements, but the university is having a memorial service for him later today.” She turned to us. “Will you two be able to attend?”
“We’re planning to come,” I said.
Nana Jo grabbed her hand. “Mrs. Cloverton, I’m sure you know the police believe that your ex-husband, Detective Pitt, is responsible for your husband’s death.”
Mildred Cloverton looked down. “Yes, I know.”
“Well, I taught Detective Pitt when he was in second grade, and over the past couple of years our paths have crossed many times, and I want to tell you that I don’t believe he had anything to do with your husband’s murder.”
“You don’t?” Mildred stared. After a few moments, she sighed. “I’m so relieved. I thought I was the only one.”
“You don’t think he did it either?” I asked.
“Not at first, but he did hit John at the restaurant. He’s always been . . . self-conscious about . . . well, you know.” She looked away. “Plus, it was his gun, but . . . I just don’t know.”
“Well, we’re going to find out who really killed your husband if it’s the last thing we do,” I said.
Chapter 15
“Well, what did you think?” Nana Jo asked when we were alone in the car.
“She definitely seems to be dazed or in shock. Although I’m sure I was much the same way after Leon died, and he wasn’t murdered.”
“She seemed a bit . . . odd to me. I can’t really put my finger on it, but there was something not right. Did you notice how she kept tearing her napkin?”
“Nerves?”
“Maybe. I’m sure she must be under a great deal of strain, but there’s something she’s not telling us.”
“Understandable; she barely knows us.”
“True. Well, anyway. We’ve done our Christian duty, and I’m sure once we find out who really killed her husband, that should give her some form of peace.”
I wondered. If someone had murdered Leon, I’m not sure I’d be at peace. I’d want revenge. I’d want to see them suffer a painful end, but then maybe Mildred Cloverton was more Christlike than me.
Back at the bookshop, Jillian and Dawson had joined the crew, and given the jovial mood, I guessed things had gone well for both of them.
Dawson was all smiles. “I passed. I can’t believe it.”
Nana Jo and I took turns hugging him and congratulating him.
Jillian had the biggest smile. “He didn’t just pass. He aced it.”
We complimented him until he blushed with embarrassment. He turned to Jillian. “Tell them about your audition.”
I gazed into her face, and you didn’t need to be a mind reader to see that she was pleased.
“The audition was amazing. I was so nervous up until time to dance. Then I just felt a flood of peace wash over me. It was amazing. The music started, and I felt so calm.” She turned to me. “Regardless of what decision they make, I have no regrets.”
I hugged her. “That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”
“This calls for a celebration,” Nana Jo said. She sent Zaq down to Frank’s to buy another lemon cake and a bottle of champagne.
I rushed upstairs and got glasses, plates, and silverware and brought them down. Thankfully, there weren’t many people in the store, and we were able to toast to the promise of new opportunities and success.
Nana Jo and I took over the reins of the bookshop and kicked the young folks out to celebrate in their own way. When the last customer left, we cleaned up and prepared for the next day. We still had an hour before the memorial was scheduled to start for John Cloverton, so I took the opportunity to get a bit more writing done.
“Peter!” was all the warning Detective Inspector Covington got before Lady Clara hurled herself into his arms.
Stunned, he pushed her away so he could stare into her eyes. “Clara? What are you doing here?”
She poked out her lip. “That’s a fine welcome, and I come all the way—”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. When he came up for air, he looked around. He noticed James, and a slight flush rose up his neck. He pushed Lady Clara an arm’s length away. “James . . . ah, Lord Browning.” He extended his hand to shake.
“You had it right the first time.” The duke smiled. “Please call me James. After all, you’re practically family.”
The color deepened, and Peter looked confused. “I’m happy to see you both, but . . . what are you doing here?”
“We’re about to grab lunch. Would you care to join us?” James caught the eye of the owner, who hurried over and bowed.
“What can I do for Your Grace?”
“Do you have a private area where my friends and I can have a few pints and a bite to eat?”
The red-faced publican directed the group to an alcove set off from the rest of the pub. James ordered pints for the three of them, and their host hurried to get their drinks, promising to take care of them personally.
Clara nestled next to Peter and seemed reluctant to let him out of her sight.
Once the drinks were served, James raised his tankard. “To old friends.”
“Old friends.”
They drank.
“Are you two going to tell me what you’re doing here?” Covington said.
“Daphne and I are staying at Chequers.”
Covington frowned. “Isn’t that the prime minister’s retreat?”
James nodded. “It is, but the duties of the empire won’t allow him to get away, so he asked if Daphne and I would come and help nurse a sick friend.”
Covington turned to Clara. “Are you nursing this friend also?”
“No. I’m going to be working at Bletchley Park, tending to ailing government workers.”
“Bletchley Park! Are you out of your mind?”
“No, I’ll be working there, not installed as a patient.”
“But you can’t work there. I won’t allow it. It’s . . . not safe.”
Lady Clara unwrapped her arm from the detective’s. “You won’t allow it? I don’t recall asking for your permission.”
Peter Covington turned from Clara to his friend. “James, please talk to her. I’ve only been here a few days, but ther
e are some strange things going on at that place.” He leaned across the table. “Very strange things are happening, and none of the locals seem to have the slightest idea what’s going on.”
James’s face looked serious, although if Peter Covington hadn’t been so intent on convincing his friend of his point, he might have noticed the duke’s eyes held a playful light. “Whatever do you mean?”
The detective glanced around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. “Well, they’ve hired a lot of young people, men and women. The women all appear to be mostly members of the aristocracy. They rent rooms with local families and travel to Bletchley Park during the day.”
“There doesn’t seem to be anything sinister in that. Even debutantes need to eat these days. Long gone are the days when well-bred women spent their days embroidering cushions, learning French, and waiting to be introduced to a wealthy suitor so they could marry well.”
Peter Covington ignored the remark. “The men are all educated college students who go around speaking Greek and Latin.”
“I’m glad some of the dead languages are being spoken again, but I can’t see how any of this poses a danger for Clara.”
Lady Clara was seething. “Thank you!”
The detective looked from Lady Clara to James. Something in the duke’s manner made him pause. “You know, don’t you?”
“My good man. I have no idea what you’re referring to. However, I can assure you that Bletchley Park is perfectly safe.” He glanced at Clara. “Rest assured. I would never deliberately place Clara in harm’s way.” He took a sip. “In fact, I may be making more trips here myself.”
Peter Covington stared at his friend and leaned back. “Does whatever is happening at Bletchley Park have anything to do with why I was reassigned, why I keep running into the blokes from the American Embassy, and all the bizarre things that seem to be happening?”
James glanced around and saw the proprietor hoovering nearby. “I couldn’t possibly say. Why don’t you join us for dinner at Chequers tonight? I’m sure Daphne, Lady Elizabeth, and Lord William will love to see you. We can talk more then, and maybe you can tell me more about the bizarre things.” He smiled. “Now, I’m starving. Shall we eat?”
Nana Jo and I drove to Shady Acres and picked up Irma, Dorothy, and Ruby Mae and headed to MISU. The memorial service was held in a small chapel in the center of campus. It was quaint and picturesque and looked as though it would be a beautiful spot for a wedding. The white-steepled building had stained-glass windows, wooden pews, and a carved wooden altar. The vaulted ceiling and simple design gave the chapel a spiritual feel. I found myself imaging the ends of the pews decorated with English roses, Asiatic lilies, and lilacs.
“What a cute chapel,” I whispered, even though the ceremony hadn’t started.
“This was one of the first buildings built on campus,” Emma said. “The monks who started the school built it over two hundred and fifty years ago. The trustees wanted to modernize the building, you know, add electricity and heat, but the student body protested.”
Nana Jo fanned herself. “Air conditioning would be nice. It must be hotter than the devil in the summer.”
“Not all of the windows are stained glass,” Emma said, and I noticed that every other window was raised.
“I feel a breeze,” I said.
“That’s one of the benefits of being located on Lake Michigan. And history isn’t the only reason we opposed modernizing the chapel. This is the only original building left. All of the others were modernized, and all of them caught fire and burned to the ground.”
Nana Jo pointed to the candles that lined the area. “Well, candles in a two-hundred-fifty-year-old building can’t be good either.”
“You’re right,” Jillian said, “which is why the building isn’t used often. Just occasional weddings and short memorial services like this.”
We found seats that provided great views.
Mildred was escorted in by a priest and a woman I recognized as the university’s president from the solicitation mailers I received. All of the students from our social media class came.
I glanced around. “I’m surprised Chastity didn’t—”
Nana Jo poked me in the ribs and inclined her head toward the door.
Red-faced and tear-streaked, Chastity Drummond stumbled into the chapel. She plopped on the first available seat and sobbed quietly.
Nana Jo rose and walked to the back of the chapel. She sat next to Chastity, put her arm around her, and held her.
The priest started the service with a brief prayer. The service was traditional, with hymns, a Scripture reading, some words from the president, and a few reminiscences from other faculty members. In the end, Mildred stood and thanked everyone for coming.
“Is it just me or was that a bit . . . cold?” Emma whispered.
“Not just you.”
Jillian glanced at her watch. “That entire service didn’t last thirty minutes.”
We rose and walked toward the front of the building to give condolences to the grieving widow.
Mildred’s expression was stoic as she shook hands. While waiting for my turn in line, I couldn’t help but notice that only half her attention seemed engaged with the fellow mourners sharing their condolences. Her gaze kept drifting to the back pew, where Chastity Drummond continued to sob.
The line progressed, and I once again expressed my condolences for Mildred’s loss.
Mildred looked as though she didn’t remember who I was. I was just about to remind her that we had shared a cake just a few hours ago when I saw the lightbulb go on in her head.
“Forgive me, Samantha. I’m just so overwhelmed. Moments like this . . . well, it makes everything real.”
My mind flashed back to Leon’s funeral. There was so much to do. I felt like I was running on autopilot. Nonstop parades of people from my work, his work, church, family, and friends came to express their sympathy. They wanted to let me know they were there to help when all I wanted was to be left alone so I could fall apart in the peace and comfort of my own home. On impulse, I reached out and hugged Mildred. At first, she stood there stiff and immovable, but eventually, I felt her relax.
When I released her, she pulled back and stared at me. “Thank you. Can I talk to you . . . when this is over?”
“Of course.” I glanced back and remembered the line of people still waiting for their turn. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
Emma, Jillian, and I walked to the back pew. Nana Jo and Chastity were nowhere to be seen. Ruby Mae was seated on a nearby pew having a conversation with two students who looked like relatives. Irma was standing close to a small, thin man dressed in tweed with a bow tie. We filed outside and saw Nana Jo and Chastity standing under a nearby tree. Just as we headed toward them, Adam Harmon approached.
“Get away from me!” Chastity screamed.
“Come on, Chaz. I just want to talk.”
“No. You stay away.”
Adam extended his arm. Chastity screamed and lunged at him. She swung her arms like windmills, scratching his face and pummeling his chest with her fists.
He tried to protect himself, but he eventually reached out and grabbed her wrists.
We hurried to help. Emma and Jillian pulled Chastity away, while Nana Jo and Dorothy moved in between them.
“Chastity, come on,” Adam Harmon said. “I just wanna talk. ”
Nana Jo pointed her finger in his chest. “Young man, listen to me.” She narrowed her eyes and used her stern teacher voice. “It’s clear that Chastity doesn’t want to talk to you right now. I strongly encourage you to give her some space.”
Adam Harmon looked for a brief moment as though he didn’t intend to heed Nana Jo’s warning. However, she and Dorothy not only were both taller than him but also each probably weighed a hundred pounds more. Despite his athletic build, my money was on the two martial arts experts.
Dorothy glared. “Son, I’d highly recommend you think about whether you want
to get knocked on your butt by two old women in front of all of your friends.”
Adam Harmon glanced around and noticed the crowd that Chastity’s outburst had attracted. He turned and walked away.
Emma and Jillian had taken Chastity to a stone bench in the formal rose garden, which was situated at the end of a gravel path lined with miniature privet hedges and classic rosebushes.
Chastity slumped against Jillian, her energy spent. “I don’t know why he won’t leave me alone. He doesn’t understand. No one understands. John was the only one who . . .”
“You loved him, didn’t you?” Nana Jo asked.
She looked up. “John was wonderful. He treated me like a queen . . . like I was special.” She gulped. ‘We were going to be married.”
“Liar!”
We were all so focused on Chastity, we hadn’t noticed that Mildred Cloverton had arrived. “You little liar. You were nothing to him. Nothing!”
“That’s not true,” Chastity whimpered.
“You were just one more of his dalliances in a long string of silly young girls who thought they could come between us, but you’re wrong. None of you meant anything to him.”
Chastity mustered up her courage. “That’s not true. John loved me. We were going to be married. He was going to divorce you and—”
Mildred laughed. “Divorce me? Is that what he told you? He couldn’t divorce me and marry you even if he wanted to. John was Catholic. Didn’t you know?”
Chastity’s lip quivered, and she looked about ready to faint. “But . . . he was . . .”
Mildred laughed. Her laugh echoed with a ring of madness that sent a shiver down my spine.
“That’s enough of that,” Nana Jo said. She turned to Emma and Jillian. “Take Chastity back to her dorm.”
They nodded and helped the trembling girl to move, half dragging her across campus.
We turned back to Mildred, who collapsed onto the ground and sobbed.
Dorothy and Nana Jo helped her onto the bench.
I handed her a handkerchief, and when her sobs slowed I said, “You knew that your husband was having an affair with Chastity?”
“Of course I knew. Wives always know.” She sniffed. “Not that it mattered. John didn’t try to hide the little tarts. Every month or so there would be a new one. Each one younger, thinner, prettier than the one before.” She took several deep breaths. “Black, white, Asian, Hispanic . . . it didn’t matter to him. John was addicted to women.” She looked at me. “But it wasn’t serious. None of them meant anything to him. They were just . . . like a drug to an addict.” She waved her hand. “She was no different than any of the others. In fact, he was already starting to tire of her constant requests for more. That’s one surefire way to get John to lose interest. Ask for more . . . ask for commitment.”
