A Tourist's Guide to Murder

by V. M. Burns

  I glanced around the room and saw Debra Holt sprawled on the sofa with a fur stole falling off her lap and her fiancé wrapped around her arm.

  Hannah Schneider sat in a chair near Clive.

  In addition to the tour participants, Detective Inspector Nelson and Detective Sergeant Templeton stood near the door.

  Clive gave the detectives a glance but then hurried on. “I’m sure you’ve all heard the devastating news that one of our guests, Mrs. Prudence Habersham, has died.”

  Everyone muttered sympathetic comments.

  Clive’s voice dropped to a funeral home volume. “Sincerest sympathies to her family. Please keep the family in your thoughts and prayers, and especially her daughter, Lavender, who has taken the loss exceptionally hard.”

  D. I. Nelson snorted and then sucked his teeth.

  “Yes, well, I’m sure many of you have questions about our tour, as we were scheduled to leave for the Cotswolds today. Obviously, we’ll need to postpone our trip to allow the poli . . . ah, officials time to look into Mrs. Habersham’s death.”

  “Wait, we paid our money to see the Cotswolds, Devon, and Torquay,” Tiffany said. “Are you saying we aren’t going?”

  “No, not at all. You’ll get to see all the places on the tour that you were promised in the brochure.” Clive smiled. “In fact, I’ve spent the better part of the day talking to hotels and making the arrangements. I think I’ve managed to get everything rearranged. However, we won’t be able to stay overnight in Devon, as the rooms at the pub are booked, so we’ll make it a day-trip instead and keep our rooms here.”

  Hannah Schneider raised a tentative hand. “We’ve had two suspicious deaths since we started this tour. Are you sure this tour is safe?”

  Clive shook off his tiredness and smiled broadly. “I assure all of you that you are safe. Major Peabody’s death was . . . it has nothing to do with this unfortunate incident with Mrs. Habersham.”

  D. I. Nelson stepped forward. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  Everyone turned to stare at the detective, and he walked to the center of the room. “I’m D. I. Nelson with the Yard.” He stood with a cocky assurance. “I think in light of recent events, we’ll need to look more closely into the death of Major Peabody. It seems to me undue haste was taken in an effort to cover up a death that may have been murder and connected to this Habersham murder.”

  The blood drained from Clive’s face. He sputtered and stammered.

  Debra Holt burst into laughter.

  Nelson glanced from Clive Green to Debra Holt, unsure which one he should focus on first.

  I didn’t have a lot of affection for Debra Holt, and even though I didn’t know Clive Green, I didn’t think he deserved to be tormented. So, I stood up. “Clive, I think it’s time you tell the truth about Major Peabody. Don’t you?”

  Clive glanced around the room and took out a handkerchief and wiped his neck. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  Nelson squinted at me. “All right, Little Miss American Busybody, what do you know about Major Peabody’s murder?”

  “I know Major Peabody wasn’t murdered.”

  Everyone gasped.

  “What do you mean?” Nana Jo asked. “How do you know he wasn’t murdered?”

  “Major Peabody wasn’t murdered because he’s still alive.” I turned to Clive Green. “Isn’t that right, Clive?”

  Clive Green nodded vigorously.

  I turned to the other tour guests. “Don’t you get it? This is a tour created specifically for lovers of murder mysteries, which promised a mysteriously good time with lots of surprises.” I looked around. “Didn’t anyone think it was just a little too convenient that a mysterious death occurred and that Clive refused to let Dr. Blankenship examine the body?”

  Tiffany snorted. “Even I thought that was odd. Everyone is always looking for free medical advice or service as soon as they find out there’s a doctor in their midst.” She gave Irma a pointed glance, but if she intended to shame her, she was disappointed. It would take more than a vague comment and a targeted glance to shame Irma Starczewski.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t really connect the dots until Ruby Mae mentioned Clive’s name.” I glanced at my friend.

  She looked at me. “Green?”

  “Clive Green.” I looked around. “Get it?”

  Everyone still looked puzzled, so I continued, “It took me a bit to get it too. Then, I remembered what Debra Holt said when she met her uncle. She loved his ‘games,’ and she said the same thing to Clive when she got on the bus, remember?” I glanced at Debra, who merely waved her hand as though dismissing me. “Then, there’s Professor Albus Lavington.” I turned to look over at the professor in the corner.

  “Albus, as in Dumbledor?” Tiffany asked.

  “Albus also means white.” I glanced at the professor, who nodded. Then I turned to Clive. “There were just too many colorful names. Clive Green, Lavender Habersham, Sebastian Rothchild-Black.” I glanced at the handsome Sebastian, who flashed a dazzling white smile. “Although, I suspect Debra had you add Black to the end of your name in the hopes that her uncle would accept you for his nephew . . . in-law.”

  Sebastian grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

  I turned to the German businessman. “You were much more challenging because I truly believed that you didn’t understand English, and I wondered how you could have been roped into this charade. That is until I put your name into the translation app on my phone. Oberst Senf in German is . . .” I walked over to Dorothy and held my cell phone up so she could read it.

  “Colonel Mustard,” she said slowly. “Colonel Mustard? Like in the Clue game?” She stood up with both hands on her hips. “You mean to tell me you speak and understand English, and you’ve had me googling and using hand gestures and . . . ooooh, I should have flipped you harder at the airport.” She rolled up her sleeves as though she planned to do that exact thing, but I stopped her.

  The German stood, held up both hands, and spoke in broken but very clear English. “I’m sorry. Please don’t flip me again. I can explain.”

  “Please, let me explain,” Clive Green said. “It’s part of the tour. We got the idea a few years ago. Everyone on the tour is always a fan of mysteries. Peabody thought it would be a good thing if we staged a murder mystery of our own to add to the excitement.”

  There was a rumble of discord.

  “We meant no harm. We’ve found that mystery fans tend to be very . . . suspicious.” He smiled. “We stage a murder and leave a few clues.”

  Nana Jo frowned. “The glass that disappeared from the table.”

  He nodded.

  “That’s why you wouldn’t let Vincent examine him,” Tiffany added.

  “I couldn’t let a real doctor examine him. He’d know immediately that Horace wasn’t dead.”

  I glanced down at Ruby Mae, who was sitting and knitting. “There was even Ruby Mae . . . your Miss Scarlet.”

  He nodded. “Yes. It was amazing to find so many people with names that matched the board game. Usually, we send out a letter to various members of the tour and ask them to play along. However, this group . . . well, we only had to enlist help from a couple of people.”

  Nana Jo frowned. “Was Lavender Habersham one of the enlistees?”

  He nodded. “She loved murder mysteries. Her mother had her own reasons for wanting to come on this tour.”

  “So, that’s what Lavender meant when she said it was all her fault.” Nana Jo glared at D. I. Nelson. “She wasn’t confessing to poisoning her mother. She blamed herself for suggesting the tour to her mom in the first place.”

  Nelson turned to Clive. “Let me get this straight. Are you saying that Major Peabody isn’t dead?”

  Clive nodded. “He’s been hiding out in one of the hotel rooms.”

  I sat down, and Nana Jo looked across at me. “Well done, Sam.”

  I smiled. “I might not have put it together if it hadn’t been for Ruby Mae.” I patted her on th
e shoulder.

  She chuckled. “Oh, you go on, now.”

  “Well, if Horace Peabody is still alive, then go get him. I’d like to have a few words with him.”

  Clive started to leave, but Sebastian hopped up. “I’ll go.”

  Sebastian hurried from the room.

  “You mean to tell me this was all just one big game of Clue?” Hannah Schneider said. “How clever. I never put it together, Mr. Green in the ballroom with the wrench or the lead pipe.”

  Dorothy was still upset, as she moved a few seats farther away from the German businessman.

  I wasn’t sure if I was sympathetic toward the German or not, but I had some questions. “So, what’s your real name?”

  He glanced at Dorothy. “Oscar Hoffman. I own a small shop in Leipzig.”

  Dorothy scoffed.

  We spent several more moments talking about the clues Clive and Major Peabody had set for us while we waited for Sebastian’s return. The door opened, and we all turned to confront Major Peabody; however, the mood changed when we realized it was only Dr. Blankenship.

  “Oh, it’s just you,” Dorothy muttered, fully prepared to give Major Peabody a piece of her mind.

  Confusion passed across the doctor’s face at his frosty reception.

  “Don’t take it personally,” Nana Jo said. “We were expecting Major Peabody.”

  “Major Peabody?”

  “It’s a long story,” Tiffany said. She pointed to the chair next to her. “Come sit down, and I’ll explain the whole thing to you.”

  Dr. Blankenship hurried to take his seat, and she filled him in. When she finished, the doctor stared at the door as anxiously as the rest of us. After what felt like a rather long time, the door opened and Sebastian stumbled in.

  “All right, let’s get this over with,” D. I. Nelson growled. “I’ve had about as much of this as I can take. Where’s Peabody?”

  Sebastian paused and then glanced around the room. “He’s . . . dead.”

  Chapter 15

  “Dead?” I said. “What do you mean?”

  Clive stared at Sebastian. “That’s impossible. He can’t be dead.”

  Detective Sergeant Templeton hurried toward the door. “Show me.” She grabbed Sebastian by the arm and dragged him out.

  “Don’t anybody move,” D. I. Nelson said. He took several steps and then stopped. He pointed to Dr. Blankenship. “Nobody except you.” He beckoned for the doctor to accompany him.

  “Look, I’ve helped you out multiple times today, but I’m on vacation, and I—”

  “Oh, never mind,” Tiffany said. “Just go.”

  Dr. Blankenship looked tired. Torn between his duty as a doctor and his wife, he was in a no-win situation. Eventually, he hoisted himself up and followed the detective.

  D. I. Nelson led the way. When he got within a few feet of me, he stopped to sneer. “Amateurs.” Then, he hurried to the back of the room, followed closely by Dr. Blankenship. At the doorway, the detective leaned out into the lobby. “Constable, stand by this door, and if anyone tries to leave . . . you have my permission to use your taser.”

  The two men left, and the constable closed the door behind him and stood there blocking the way.

  I flopped down onto my seat. “I don’t understand. He can’t be dead.”

  However, after waiting in the electrically charged ballroom for over a half hour, Detective Sergeant Templeton returned. She whispered something to the constable and then announced, “Major Peabody is dead. We’re going to need to get statements from all of you. Please, be patient and we will be with you shortly.” She turned and whispered something else to the constable and then left.

  Debra Holt had been anxiously pacing the floor ever since her fiancé had returned to deliver the news that her uncle was dead. The speed of her pacing increased as we waited. The only time she stopped was to glare at Clive Green. Eventually, she stopped, spun around, and pointed. “This is all your fault. You did this. I know you did. You knew my uncle intended to sell the tour company, and you were determined to stop him.”

  I hadn’t thought Clive’s pale face could have gotten any more ashen, but I was wrong. “I would never—”

  Debra laughed. “You’re a former policeman. You certainly know enough about crime to have killed Uncle Horace.” She flung the words like daggers. “Face it. You never really cared about him. You knew he was allergic to bees, but you just had to have your bloody swarms. You had to have your honey, and you argued with him.” She turned to Nana Jo and me. “You heard him.”

  I struggled to maintain eye contact and felt myself getting warm under her laser-focused gaze.

  “Clive Green wasn’t the only one who argued with Major Peabody,” Nana Jo said.

  Debra halted. “Uncle Horace and I argued all the time. That was nothing.” She waved her hand. “We’re family.” She scowled at Clive. “They should have handcuffed you.”

  “I’ve got handcuffs,” Irma said. She reached into her purse and pulled out a pair. “I always keep a set in case of emergency.” She twirled the cuffs and winked at Lavington.

  “Put those away, you dingbat,” Nana Jo said.

  Debra Holt flopped down into a chair. “Uncle Horace would have come around eventually. He always did.” She put her head in her hands and sobbed.

  No one seemed to know what to do. Eventually, Tiffany walked over to Debra, slid a handkerchief into her hands, and gave her shoulder an awkward pat. Eventually, Debra’s sobs subsided, and Tiffany returned to her seat.

  I felt something move under the table and very nearly leapt out of my seat. I leaned down to take a look.

  Nana Jo smacked my arm. “Be still.”

  “But . . . I felt something.” I leaned down again and got another smack from Nana Jo.

  “Stop. You’re drawing attention to the . . . luggage.” She lifted a flap that went down one side of the small bag she had brought down earlier, and I saw a pair of bright eyes and a muzzle. I glanced at Nana Jo.

  “That’s a d—”

  “I know. Now, keep quiet. I’ll explain later.”

  I glanced at my grandmother and tried not to keep glancing down at the bag, but it was a struggle.

  It took several hours for the detectives to get through all our statements. I was afraid Clive Green would have a stroke. He looked dazed and pale and about thirty years older than when he had first entered the room.

  Debra Holt was distraught. She kept mumbling, “It was the bees. It was Clive Green. I know it was.” She was so agitated, she eventually had to lie down.

  Her distress seemed genuine. I guess she really cared for Major Peabody. I knew from experience that families weren’t perfect. They argued and behaved badly, but when the rubber hit the road, blood was thicker than water. I pushed my dislike of the woman aside.

  Despite the serious nature of the events, I couldn’t help being intrigued by the opportunity to see real detectives in action. I took a few notes and hoped that the basics hadn’t changed much since 1939. I was one of the last to give my statement, and what I had to say was brief. I hadn’t seen or talked to Major Peabody since the first night. The last time I’d actually seen him was when he faked his death. I didn’t know much about the major, and I was still perplexed by what happened. Eventually, the constable gave up. I guess there’s only so many times you can hear I don’t know or I have no idea. I asked a few questions in the hope of gleaning a little information, but one thing British detectives shared with their counterparts in the United States was a repulsion for “amateur sleuths” meddling in their investigations. There must be a class that all policemen take, regardless of country, on how to avoid answering questions asked by potential suspects.

  When I walked out of the ballroom, I found Nana Jo, Hannah Schneider, and the girls waiting in the lobby for me.

  “I need a drink,” Nana Jo said. “There’s a pub down the street, and we’re going.” She no longer had Lavender Habersham’s luggage with her.

  Outside
, I hurried to catch up to my grandmother. “Wait. Where’s the dog?”

  “One of Ruby Mae’s new friends on staff is feeding her and agreed to watch her until we get back.”

  “But, how? I mean, why?”

  Nana Jo shook her head. “Sam, I’ve had a long day, and I need food and a drink. If you care about me at all, you’ll hold your questions until I get at least one of those things.”

  I smiled as I followed my grandmother down the street and into a pub called the Down Under.

  The pub looked and smelled like every other bar I’ve ever been to. There were quite a few people, but we lucked out and managed to find a booth in a corner just big enough for the six of us. We slid in while Dorothy went to the bar and placed our orders. When the barmaid set our drinks on the table, Nana Jo decided to save time by immediately ordering two more and whatever snacks she could find.

  The woman barely looked up from her notepad. She must have heard stranger requests. Her only question was, “Will this be separate or together?”

  Hannah grabbed a dish of nuts from a nearby table, and when the barmaid returned with Nana Jo’s next drink, she ordered fish and chips for us all and another round of drinks.

  Once Nana Jo had two drinks in her system, she seemed a lot steadier. “We’ve been going since early this morning when Prudence Habersham was found murdered. Then, I was playing wet nurse to Lavender, only to find out that someone has now murdered Major Peabody, who we thought was already dead.”

  I glanced at my grandmother. “Wow. I guess all of that did happen today. It seems like it’s been a lot longer.”

  “Now, I’ve got to hide that daft woman’s dog.” Nana Jo tossed some nuts in her mouth.

  “How did you end up with her dog?” I asked.

  Nana Jo swallowed her nuts. “Remember when they were about to wheel Lavender away and she whispered something to me?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s when she told me she was worried about her dog. They couldn’t leave the dog at home and snuck her on the tour.”