Reserved for Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

“He was Paul Peters’s protégé, so, yes.” Ellen examined the figurine a moment more before placing it back on the shelf. “We couldn’t exactly use Isabella to charm any information out of Leo. For one thing, he thought she was an ‘old lady,’ despite the fact that she was still quite lovely and vibrant. But the main thing was that Leo knew of Paul’s romantic involvement with Isabella. Leo was a smart guy and ambitious. He wasn’t about to flirt with his mentor’s lover.”

  “So, what? You stepped in to charm the info out of him instead?”

  Ellen’s peal of laughter reverberated throughout the parlor. “Heavens, no. I couldn’t have pulled that off, not back then. I was quite the mousy little thing in my twenties. Besides, I never had any direct interactions with Paul Peters or any of his associates. I met with Isabella infrequently, and then only when we could be alone.”

  “You stayed behind the curtain.” I rolled my eyes when I realized the appropriateness of my words.

  “Not an iron one, but that’s correct. I had to maintain my anonymity, or my other activities—the ones related to my location scout work—would’ve been compromised.” Ellen leaned back against the wooden cabinet situated under the shelves. “To be perfectly frank, working with Isabella was a very small part of my duties. There wasn’t that much to do by the time I was assigned as her handler. She’d already established a long-term relationship with Peters at that point, and was well integrated into her role. She had no trouble keeping tabs on him, or feeding him disinformation when necessary.”

  “But then this new guy showed up on the scene …” I mulled over Ellen’s words, considering how a young protégé might’ve changed the situation.

  “Exactly. We needed to monitor him as well. The fear back then was that he’d befriend or romance someone important to U.S. security.” Ellen tucked a lock of fuchsia-streaked white hair behind her ear. “I think that was Peters’s plan for Leo. He wanted Leo to make connections at Isabella’s parties, primarily because her guests included people of significance in military or other government circles.”

  “I read about that when I researched her last year. She hosted lots of wealthy, high-society types too.”

  “The perfect hunting grounds for those seeking to uncover our secrets or influence policy,” Ellen said. “It was the same with Paul Peters, which was why Isabella was assigned to watch him. But one thing different about Leo was that he was actually British, unlike Paul. He wasn’t a sleeper agent; he was an actual British subject.”

  “Like the Cambridge Five?” I asked, remembering stories I’d read about the group of English spies operating from World War II into the Cold War era.

  “Yes, although Leo was obviously recruited much later. He was only twenty-one in 1969, when Paul Peters first brought him into Isabella’s orbit. And I think it was money, not ideology, that motivated him.” Ellen strolled back to her armchair and sat down. “Anyway, Isabella was very suspicious of Leo. She felt he could end up being much more dangerous than his mentor. So she conferred with me. We came up with a plan to collect more information on his activities, at least while he was in Beaufort and attending Isabella’s parties.”

  “Okay, but why would anyone dig into this old operation now? Isn’t it ancient history at this point?”

  “That’s what I thought, until Gavin was sent here by my former bosses. When he asked certain questions …” Ellen drew her legs in close to the skirt of her chair. “The truth is, the problem isn’t Leo, it’s the person who helped Isabella and me track his movements and collect information on him.”

  “You recruited someone else?”

  “In a way.” Ellen leaned forward to grip her bent knees. “We didn’t exactly recruit this individual, though. I guess it would be more accurate to say that we made use of them.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re saying the person didn’t realize they were involved in espionage?”

  “They didn’t. Not then, not now. And I want to keep it that way.”

  “That’s what you’re afraid of? That this person will discover how you, and my great-aunt, once used them?”

  Ellen slumped back in her chair. “I know it sounds self-serving, but it would be devastating. Not simply because of the deception that Isabella, under my watch, employed in the past, but also because it could change the way someone viewed a very important part of their life.” Ellen lowered her lashes to shadow her eyes. “I honestly think the truth would break their heart.”

  I stood and paced from one end of the room to the other. “You must care about this person,” I said, pausing in front of Ellen’s chair. “Which means it’s someone you still know. Someone who lives here in Beaufort.”

  “Good deductive reasoning, as usual.” Ellen’s smile was brittle as thin ice.

  Someone who knew Isabella back in the sixties … I covered my gasp before dropping my hands and staring into Ellen’s calm face. “One of the Sandburg sisters.”

  “Bingo.” Ellen stood to face me.

  “I doubt it was Bernadette, since she served as a military nurse during the Vietnam War. She was probably overseas in 1969.”

  “Another hit. To be honest, it suited our purposes that Bernie wasn’t around to keep watch.”

  “And I doubt even Isabella could’ve fooled Bernadette for long. It had to be Ophelia.”

  “Yes, lovely Ophelia Sandburg, who was twenty-four, but rather sheltered. She’d attended college, majoring in home economics, and taught part-time at the local high school. But she still lived with her parents and, from what Isabella told me, hoped to meet a nice man who’d marry her and take her away from Beaufort.”

  “It seems she met a not-so-nice man.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Assuming you and Isabella used her to gather information about Leo Evans.”

  Ellen balanced her elbow on the arm of her chair and rested her chin on her hand. “We didn’t initially plan to use Ophelia in that way. She just happened to attend one of Isabella’s parties, where she met Leo. It was only after it became obvious that there was a mutual attraction between them that Isabella came up with the idea to encourage the relationship for operational purposes.”

  “She didn’t think it dangerous to place Ophelia in that position?”

  “She knew it was. I knew it too. I’m not proud of that, but at the time we thought the benefits outweighed the risks. Isabella was deeply concerned about the damage Leo might do to our country and I”—Ellen sat back and stared at me, her expression blank as unlined paper—“was ambitious.”

  I backed away, dropping down into the suede armchair. “What did you do? Pump Ophelia for information on her supposed boyfriend?”

  “I didn’t, and Isabella was a bit subtler than that. She simply befriended Ophelia, who she’d known only casually before.” Ellen smiled grimly. “Trust me, if Isabella wanted to become your friend, it would happen. Ophelia was no match for her, and Bernadette wasn’t around to question Isabella’s sudden interest in her sister. Soon enough, Ophelia was eager to tell Isabella all her secrets and dreams, including her crush on a certain young Englishman.”

  “And I imagine Isabella encouraged him to visit when Ophelia would be around.”

  “Indeed.” Ellen’s gusty sigh sent Shandy, who’d appeared at the entrance to the parlor, scurrying back into the hall.

  Or maybe he just senses the tension in the room, I thought, loosening my white-knuckled grip on the plush arms of my chair. “With Isabella playing the role of Ophelia’s confidant, I suppose she was able to gather a great deal of information on Leo Evans? Clever.” I shook out my tensed fingers. “Horrid, but clever.”

  “We thought so at the time, at least for a while. The problem was, Isabella was looking at the situation from her point of view. She just saw a harmless flirtation. I don’t suppose she could even imagine Ophelia falling deeply in love in such a short time.” Ellen lifted her hands. “Neither could I, to be honest. We believed it was a summer fling that would fade with the autumn leaves.”

  “But yo
u were wrong about that.” I didn’t frame this as a question.

  “Very much so, I’m afraid. And not just on Ophelia’s part. I believe Leo Evans truly loved her too. He even asked Ophelia to marry him and move to England. But of course, it couldn’t last.” Ellen clutched her upper arms, as if she’d felt a sudden chill. “When Paul Peters and others above him found out, they bundled Leo off without so much as a goodbye. They saw Ophelia, with her sister in the armed forces and family connections to other military personnel, as the danger.”

  “Why? Wasn’t his whole mission to gather information by charming or conning U.S. citizens?”

  “True, but his feelings for Ophelia made him vulnerable to being turned. Even Paul Peters didn’t go so far as to propose marriage to Isabella. Honestly, I think Paul hid his deeper feelings for Isabella from his superiors, which Leo failed to do.” Ellen shrugged. “I suppose his handlers were afraid Leo could become a double agent or some such thing. Anyway, they forced him to return to England, which is where I suppose he stayed. I didn’t keep up with him after he left Beaufort—not in my job description and none of my business, or so I was told. Even though I tried to find out more later, I couldn’t. Leo seemed to have disappeared.”

  “But what about Ophelia? Paul Peters was around, still linked with Isabella, after that. Didn’t he have to explain what had happened?” I stared down at the fingers I’d intertwined in my lap as I considered this tangled web of deception.

  Ellen sighed. “Oh, he offered an explanation all right. He told Isabella and Ophelia that Leo had received news of a dire family emergency and had rushed back to England, planning to contact them when he arrived. Tragically, Paul claimed, the small plane Leo had chartered to carry him from London to his family home had crashed in a storm.”

  I jerked my head up. “He told Ophelia that Leo died?”

  “Isabella knew this was a lie, but she didn’t dare contradict Paul. She couldn’t tell Ophelia the truth, no matter how devastated the poor girl was.”

  “It would have blown her cover.”

  “Right.” Ellen met my gaze with a weary smile. “She couldn’t risk it. Not for a young woman she’d only befriended to use as a pawn in a spy game.”

  I sat back in my chair, processing this information and reassessing my opinion of my great-aunt. Yes, she’d been caught between a rock and a hard place, but … “Who made the final decision about keeping Ophelia in the dark? Isabella or your bosses?”

  “Neither,” Ellen said. “I did.”

  There it was—the real reason my neighbor was so determined to prevent Gavin Howard from unearthing all of my great-aunt’s secrets. They’re her secrets too.

  “And now you’re worried that Ophelia will find out what really happened. That perhaps Gavin was sent here to confirm the truth and tell her, and the world. Some sort of agency clearing of the air, for whatever reason.” I stood and marched over to Ellen’s chair. “And you’re terrified that Ophelia Sandburg will discover that she’s mourned her first and perhaps only lover for no reason, and also realize just how horribly her dear friend Isabella used and betrayed her.”

  Ellen looked up at me, her calm expression belied by the pain in her blue eyes. “You see, you were wrong, Charlotte. You are definitely more than just my Watson.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Although I was so shaken by this confession that I had to shove my hands into my pockets to hide their trembling, I managed to promise Ellen that I would help her keep an eye on Gavin, particularly around Ophelia, before I fled her house.

  After a night of restless sleep, I wandered into the kitchen bleary-eyed on Wednesday morning to help Alicia serve breakfast to our remaining guests. All three came down and actually sat at a table in the dining room, so Alicia whipped up some omelets to order, with me serving as her sous chef.

  Thinking about the plan I’d made with Ellen, I reminded my guests about the tea party on Friday afternoon as well as the cocktail party Friday evening.

  “I’m certainly willing to attend,” Amanda said. “I have to stay in town anyway, so why not?”

  Harper dabbed at her lips with her napkin before responding. “I’ll be there. And Molly told me she’d come if you went ahead with those events.”

  “Good.” I offered them my brightest hostess smile. “Sorry not to include you in the tea party, Tony, but this was just for Amanda and her fans. Of course you’re invited to the farewell cocktail party on Friday night.”

  “No problem.” Tony’s fork clattered as he dropped it onto his plate. “I’ll take the cocktails over the tea any day. Besides, I have business matters to deal with.”

  “Of course you do,” Amanda said, under her breath.

  I collected their plates and utensils before I left the dining room. After helping Alicia clean up, I told her that I planned to walk over to the police station. “There’s some information I think I should share in person.”

  Alicia jerked her head to the right, directing my gaze to the side counter, where Tony loitered, coffee mug in hand.

  “Just want to grab another cup,” he said, as he fiddled with the spout on the percolator. “Hope that’s okay. Didn’t want to bother you with fetching it for me.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, shooting a questioning glance at Alicia, who’d made a zipper motion in front of her lips.

  “He’s still one of the suspects, isn’t he?” she asked after Tony left the room. “I just thought maybe it was best if he didn’t know all your plans for the day.”

  “Oh, right.” I eyed her speculatively. “Smart thinking.”

  “I have my moments,” Alicia said, as she grabbed a roll of paper towels and some disinfecting cleaner. “Anyway, we’re all done here once I wipe down these counters, so if you want to run along …”

  “Trying to get rid of me?” I asked, but flashed her a smile.

  “Nope. I just remember you talking about needing to do some work in the garden and I expect you’d better do that early. Unless you want to pass out from a heat stroke or something.”

  “Ah, right. I should get out there before it gets too hot.” I lingered for a moment, watching Alicia’s vigorous cleaning of the counters. “Thanks for reminding me. And … thanks for all your hard work this week. I know it hasn’t been the easiest time for anyone.”

  Alicia looked up from the countertop with a little twist of her lips that almost looked like a smile. “It’s my job.”

  “But you go above and beyond,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve always been good about telling you how much I appreciate that.”

  Eyeing me speculatively, Alicia balled a damp paper towel in her fist. “I haven’t always given you credit for handling things well, either. Let’s say we’re even and move on from there.”

  “Sounds like a great idea.” I lifted my hand in a little salute before leaving the kitchen. I was happy that Alicia and I were slowly developing a less contentious relationship. Perhaps in time we can even become friends, I thought, as I headed to my office to complete some reservation and invoice paperwork, before doing a little weeding in the garden.

  A few hours later, I walked to the police station, where I met with Detective Johnson to share the latest information on my guests. I mentioned the ghostwriting issue, although I did add the request that this not be made public knowledge unless it was absolutely necessary, and Lisette’s treatment of Tony during their breakup.

  “It does mean that both Amanda Nobel and Tony Lott could have reasons to want Lisette Bradford out of the way,” I said, “but if it ends up having no bearing on the case, I don’t want to expose the ghostwriting information to Amanda’s fans. I mean, both Amanda and Tony, as well as the publisher, want to keep it a secret, which isn’t illegal. Not to everyone’s taste, maybe, but …”

  “Not against the law,” Detective Johnson replied. “And not uncommon, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Apparently not. Anyway, that’s the latest information I have,” I said, my thoughts circling around Ellen
’s concerns for Ophelia Sandburg. But that wasn’t something I could share with the police.

  Detective Johnson thanked me for stopping by. “By the way, I’m going to increase patrols in your area,” she said, as she followed me to the door. “I don’t think any of your guests, whether guilty of killing Lisette Bradford or not, would harm you or Ms. Simpson, but just in case …”

  I paused on the concrete steps to shake her hand. “Thanks. It will be good to know that officers are nearby, if anything were to happen.”

  Popping on my sunglasses, I walked off at a brisk pace, following Pollock Street toward the waterfront for a block before turning right on Ann Street. Admiring the older homes that lined the street, I reached the corner of Ann and Craven before I heard footsteps close behind me. I spun around, almost bumping into Tony Lott.

  “Charlotte, what luck,” he said, as he pulled his straw fedora down low on his forehead. “I’ve been hoping for a chance to talk to you privately.”

  “Is that why you followed me today?” I asked, recalling his presence in the kitchen when I’d discussed my plans with Alicia.

  Tony pulled a silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his white cotton shirt and wiped his glistening brow. “Followed you? Really, I think you’re imagining things, which isn’t surprising, considering the heat.” He flapped the handkerchief in the direction of the black iron-work fence that enclosed an area next to a church. “Why don’t we step inside the cemetery. I bet it’s a lot cooler under the trees. We can chat while we walk.”

  I pointed to the tall pole that held a historical marker. “It’s called the Old Burying Ground. We can go inside, but just be aware that it’s very old, so the paths are rough in places. Tree roots and rocks and that sort of thing. You have to pay attention to where you’re walking, so too much chatting might not be the best idea.”

  “Don’t worry; I won’t allow you to stumble,” Tony said, holding out his arm with his elbow bent, as if offering to escort me.

  “I can manage,” I strode ahead of him, passing through the open iron gate to step into the cemetery. “There are brochures there, in the holder, if you want more information on the graves.”