A Cozy Little Murder: A Violet Carlyle Cozy Historical Mystery (The Violet Carlyle Mysteries Book 24)

by Beth Byers

Her gaze landed on Violet with a lack of surprise but understanding.

  It took Vi a moment to catch up, and then she gasped, “Oh!”

  “Oh?” Lila demanded.

  “What?” Kate asked when Rita and Vi stared at each other in silent agreement and then slowly turned to Miss Sinclair.

  “Is it possible that your father discovered your intentions to wed?” Vi asked. “He’s cruel, right. What if—”

  Miss Sinclair shook her head. “He doesn’t even know Bryce.”

  “I’m not talking about Bryce,” Vi said, leaning in to emphasize the importance. “Just the desire to wed.”

  Miss Sinclair paused, her eyes wide and worried.

  “He did, didn’t he?”

  “I—” Miss Sinclair licked her lips. “I had a piece of paper. With a vicar’s name, a date, and a time on it. It didn’t say anything about marriage.”

  “When is it for?” Smith asked. “Saturday?”

  “How did you know?” Miss Sinclair demanded. She was shaking her head as though to deny the picture that was forming.

  “Was your father crueler lately?” Rita asked gently.

  Miss Sinclair carefully set her fork down, and the pride was back in her gaze. She nodded once, but did not elaborate.

  “Bastard,” Lila muttered.

  “Mrs. Meyers insisted her grandson be located before Saturday,” Smith told them.

  “But, why—that doesn’t make sense. I wasn’t going to marry Jason. No one would have told Father that I was.”

  “It doesn’t have to make sense.” Rita rose and paced before stumbling and then landing next to Lila.

  Vi took Rita’s place in pacing. As she moved, she fiddled with her wedding ring. “It doesn’t matter what lie your father told Mrs. Meyers about the reason Jason needed to return before Saturday. It just matters that your father had arranged Jason’s return, and Jason turned up dead.”

  “You don’t have any evidence.” Miss Sinclair carefully set the cake aside, looking ill. “I am not someone who will lie to you about my father’s nature, but he is a reverend.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Smith told Miss Sinclair. “Think, girl. Your father is a reverend. He probably knows many other churchmen. So, he sees the name of a vicar or the like. He sees a time. What was it? 10:00 a.m. on Saturday? How many weddings happen on that day, at that time? Enough for your father to be suspicious. Maybe he questioned you about his plans for you and the tepid Toby.”

  Miss Sinclair’s mouth dropped open. “I…I…don’t know.”

  “Did he question you?” Rita crossed to make another G&T. Vi winced at the additional cocktail but said nothing.

  “He asked me if I intended to be stubborn about Jason or if I had realized that Tobias was the better choice.”

  “After that paper went missing?” Vi paused in her pacing to eye Miss Sinclair. Her skin had turned pale and she nodded once.

  “So, let’s assume that your father thinks that you were determined to marry Jason, that you had a date, and so he contacted Mrs. Meyers and demanded Jason’s return.”

  “But why did Jason return?” Kate asked, looking for holes in their theory. “And if we’re right, Mrs. Meyers must know who killed Jason, then. Only she hired Jack and Ham.”

  “Jason wouldn’t have had to have a reason,” Beatrice answered. “He used his grandmother for money. For him, it could be as simple as wanting more. He is incidental. Don’t you see? It’s all about the conclusion you let your father draw and the fact that your father really is too proud to let you marry some half-wit criminal.”

  Miss Sinclair’s eyes filled with tears. “This is my fault then.”

  “No,” Rita snapped. “This is the theory of whoever plunged that knife into someone’s little boy.”

  The entire room froze, though only Miss Sinclair was confused.

  “What about the grandmother?” Vi asked to break the tension in the room. “Surely she can guess as to who killed her grandson?”

  Miss Sinclair put her hand to her mouth, and she looked ready to sick up, but she had an answer for that. “Why are you still working on this case?”

  Vi frowned. “She demanded Jack find her grandson’s killer.”

  “She’s mean enough to tell my father that,” Miss Sinclair muttered. “She’s the kind of woman who twists the knife in the wound. If she knows, she’d want him to know he was being hunted. If she only suspects, she’d want to know who killed Jason just to torment them.”

  “Oh,” Lila breathed. “I don’t like that.”

  “She’s evil,” Miss Sinclair told them. “She’s cold and mean and I’d never have married either of her grandsons for that reason alone.”

  “Because you think it passed on to them?” Rita said.

  Miss Sinclair shook her head. “It’s simpler than that. I wouldn’t want her in my life or in the lives of any children I had. Mrs. Watkins has the right idea in keeping her children away from her mother.”

  “I don’t like her either then,” Lila said, pulling her feet closer and curling into the side of the chair to prop her head up on her hand as though it had become too heavy to carry.

  Smith cleared his throat. “I think we can find the truth easily enough.”

  “How?” Vi demanded.

  And then he explained.

  Chapter 17

  “How is Mrs. Meyers?” Reverend Sinclair demanded. “You saw her?”

  Miss Sinclair nodded, her eyes wide, her complexion too pale, but her father must have been used to her fear of him, because he didn’t seem to notice the way she trembled. “She’s quite upset.”

  The reverend snorted meanly. He rose, looming over Miss Sinclair, and Vi had to curl her hands into fists, pressing one into her mouth to hold back any noises. As she watched from the crack in the door where Miss Sinclair had secreted them, a frisson of worry flickered over her skin. She glanced at Smith, who had his pistol at the ready, and reminded herself that they’d promised Miss Sinclair that her father would not hurt her again. Now, however, she was doubting the sincerity of Smith’s promise.

  “She—” Miss Sinclair had to stop and gather her courage before she could finish the lie they had concocted. “She is focused on finding her grandson’s killer. She spoke the entire time about how justice would be served.”

  The dark laugh made Vi jump. There was just something so mean in it. Like a fire of cruelty that no one should have been able to convey with a laugh. Only he did. This man who preached on Sundays. Vi could well imagine that he rather enjoyed promising fire and brimstone. Suffering and eternal agony for the mistakes of humanity.

  “How does she imagine she can do that? Does she have ties to the criminal underworld where young Jason liked to sully his good name?”

  Miss Sinclair bit her bottom lip and then let a tear slip down her cheek. “Papa, Jason wasn’t so bad.”

  The outrage in the man’s expression was enough to quell even Vi. There was so much threat in it. “He was a snake.”

  “Papa, I’m worried.”

  “Why?” He looked disgusted. “When enough time has passed, we’ll announce your engagement to Tobias, people will forget about Jason, and things will be as they should be.”

  “But Papa, Mrs. Meyers hired renowned investigators.”

  “So?” Her father’s gaze narrowed, and Vi was sure he knew what his daughter was getting to with that statement.

  He reached out and wrapped his arm around his daughter’s arm. The harsh squeezing made Vi sick, and she begged Miss Sinclair to call to them. But she didn’t. Her eyes flashed with their own cold fury, and she said, “They’re the best investigators that Scotland Yard had to offer, and now they’re working on their own. They’ve solved case after case, and they’re like lions on the hunt.”

  “What do I care?”

  Miss Sinclair surprised them all with a laugh even though her father was so clearly hurting her. She didn’t try to escape that too harsh hand. She didn’t whimper or even acknowledge what he
was doing to her. Not even when he took hold of her other arm and shook her like a rag doll.

  Vi bit down on her fist to hold back her outrage.

  “What do I care, Hepzibah?” he asked, shaking Miss Sinclair again.

  “They’re going to find out that you told Mrs. Meyers that Jason had to be back before Saturday. Saturday only means something to you and me, doesn't it?”

  He shoved her back, and she stumbled but steadied herself. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  Her laugh was as mean as his had been before. “They’re going to find out that we wanted to be married. They’re going to find out how you swore I would never marry Jason. They’re going to realize how, when I went to the pictures with the other young people from the church, no one was here with you.”

  He backhanded her across the face, but she didn’t cry out even as her split lip began to bleed.

  “Be quiet,” he commanded in a cold, gritty voice that promised more pain to come. “I’ll teach you to talk to me that way.”

  “Father,” Miss Sinclair cried, “you’ve ruined us in murdering Jason. Those investigators will put the pieces together, the church will break down when they realize their reverend is a killer, and it’ll all be over. Tobias will never marry me now.”

  He slapped her again. “If you’d done as you were told, none of this would have happened. This is your fault. Always, it’s the women. There’s a reason original sin goes back to you foul creatures. Since the dawn of mankind, your sex has been leading good men into betraying our promises to God.”

  Her gaze darted to them, hidden at the door, and Vi looked to Smith. He shook his head once. It wasn’t enough. They needed a clear confession for a man like this. He’d said so before, but Vi hadn’t realized it would require so much of Miss Sinclair. When she’d been told what he wanted, however, she’d straightened in her seat and flatly warned them that they would witness things that no one wanted to see.

  It had been Miss Sinclair who’d made them promise to stay quiet and stay out of it, no matter what. Vi held back every reaction, but she couldn’t stop the tears for Miss Sinclair. Vi wouldn’t, couldn’t let Miss Sinclair’s bravery be for nothing when she sacrificed so much.

  “Father,” Miss Sinclair begged. “Stop, Papa, stop! I just don’t want anything to happen to you. What should I say?”

  Reverend Sinclair paused at that. “What do you mean?”

  “If they suspect you? How do I protect you? Are there clothes I should burn? With blood on them?”

  “Do I look like a fool, stupid child? Of course I already got rid of them.”

  “What about the gloves? The shoes?”

  “They’re long gone,” her father told her. “Don’t think you’re smarter than me, child.”

  “Of course, Father. Never. I—” She cried, sniffling. “Father—”

  “Are you repentant, my child?”

  She nodded frantically. “I’m sorry, Papa. I’m sorry.”

  Slowly her father stepped back and started to remove the belt at his waist. Vi’s scream was only prevented by Smith because she’d dropped her fist and he slapped his hand over her mouth, pulling her against him. He said nothing as Vi struggled, but their battle was utterly silent.

  As Reverend Sinclair gestured for his daughter to place her hands on the desk and lean forward, and to Vi’s horror, she obeyed, but as she did, she asked, “But Papa, what about Mrs. Meyers? She knows. I know she does. If she saw—”

  “I’ve taken care of her,” the Reverend said. “She won’t be able to speak before long and what remains of her fortune is slated for Tobias.” He started to pull back with his belt again, but he added, “I’m surprised at you, Hepzibah. I’d have thought you’d have been too weak to stand with your father.”

  She turned and faced him, ignoring the flush of fury that crossed his face for leaving the position to receive her beating.

  “I didn’t,” she told him. “You killed Jason, and you’ll suffer for it. You’ll be hanged, and you’ll be hanged knowing you failed. I got what I wanted, and you’ll face God with bloody hands.”

  He slapped her again, but she laughed that time. “You killed Jason.”

  “I’ll kill you, too.”

  “You killed him to prevent me from marrying him.”

  “And now you won’t. I took your love, and no one wants you. No one will believe the mad claims of an old maid over a man of God. I’ll put you into an asylum for hysterical women if you don’t do what I say. Remember that I’m the only one who loves you. Not even God could love such as you. No one wants you. Not even God.”

  “No one wanted you,” she shot back with triumph, with overt hatred. “Everyone hates you. Everyone who would have loved me, hates you. Except one.”

  “And he’s dead,” the reverend shouted. “He’s already in hell. I can send you there too. Honor your Father that your life may be long upon the land.”

  “Thou shalt not kill,” Miss Sinclair screamed back. He slapped her again, but she laughed again when he did, obviously beyond feeling the pain. “You’ve lost, Father. You’ve lost and you’ll be hanged, and I’ll be happy.” She glanced from him to Smith and Vi. “Now.”

  The reverend spun, grabbing his daughter, but she went boneless, so he lost his grip on her. She scrambled away, and before he could haul her back to use her for a shield, Smith shoved the end of his pistol against the reverend’s temple and growled. “I should very much like to pull this trigger, so I suggest you don’t tempt me beyond my ability to resist.”

  Vi gaped for a moment. The angel that Smith always seemed to be had disappeared and only a devil was left. His cold, beautiful eyes held the promise of destruction.

  Vi circled the desk and picked up the telephone, demanding the police be sent and then she rushed to Miss Sinclair. Miss Sinclair had turned onto her back and pushed herself against the wall. Her knees were pulled to her chest, and her face, swollen and red and bleeding, showed the price of the confession she’d acquired.

  “You won,” Vi told her.

  “Not yet.” Miss Sinclair slowly pushed herself up as Smith shoved her father into a chair and tied him to it with his own belt.

  He was shouting, but Miss Sinclair took a thick handkerchief from her father’s pocket and shoved it into his mouth. When she didn’t have to hear his diatribe anymore, she said, “I was never going to marry Jason. I was going to, am going to, marry Bryce Smith. He’s a good man. He loves me. He’s gentle and kind, and you’d have hated him, but you’ll never meet him now. While you’re in prison for what you’ve done, I’ll be married to the man I love.”

  The rage was enough to set the room on fire. The reverend rocked in the chair, he was trying so hard to break free and attack his daughter again.

  “Once I heal,” she finished, “I’ll never think of you again.”

  Vi didn’t believe that for a moment, so she added, “If he does cross your mind, remember the hellfire sermons that he preached and the certainty that he committed murder and will be experiencing the fate he threatened so many others with.”

  Miss Sinclair laughed and then the laughter turned to tears as constables, along with Jack and Ham, poured through the front door.

  “Vi!” Jack said, and then paused. He took in the sight of the bloodied and bruised Miss Sinclair. The question he was about to ask, ‘are you all right,’ faded. “She needs a doctor.”

  “I think she’d like to tell her story first,” Smith said. “But I could tell it for her.”

  The Scotland Yard men started to say no. They did hate Smith with his crooked ways and the lack of evidence for the crimes they were sure he’d committed. However, Miss Sinclair’s bruises were forming and her eyes were shining with brave tears and hard-fought pain, so they stepped back when Ham shot them a threatening glare.

  “Jack can give you our address,” Violet told them. “Miss Sinclair will be in bed, with cocoa and morphine, as soon as I can get a doctor to look after her.”

  Jack
reached out and placed a solitary finger on Vi. He was holding back the question because it was so insensitive to ensure Vi wasn’t hurt as well. “I’m fine, Jack,” she told him quietly.

  It was an out-and-out lie, and she wanted nothing more than to return home and drown herself in ginger wine until the immediacy of what she’d just seen had faded, but she wasn’t injured, so she tried to project that truth to the man she loved instead.

  Chapter 18

  “We messed up, Vi,” Smith said as he entered the parlor with Jack, Ham, and the detectives assigned to the murder case. None of them seemed very pleased, and the disgust on their faces was evident.

  Someone should really have checked to see if they were available, Vi thought, glancing at her friends. They’d decided upon pajamas and kimonos when they saw the expression on Vi’s face once she left Miss Sinclair’s side. She looked haunted, which meant they needed chocolate and cocktails. Only Victor and Denny wore their usual clothes. Even Kate had joined in on the pajamas and kimono.

  Vi lifted her glass to Smith, ignoring the detectives, as she replied. “I don’t know that I care. But I will swear on my mother’s grave that he was guilty and I heard him say it.”

  “Not that.” Smith crossed to the bar and poured himself a large teacup of whiskey since their crystal glasses had been sacrificed just that morning.

  It felt like a year ago, Vi thought. It felt as though she’d been put through a trial by fire since then. She shuddered and curled tighter into the chaise lounge. She was sitting in her living room with the rest of the ladies staying there, barring Miss Sinclair.

  “The old woman, Vi. The old woman.”

  Vi was fairly zozzled at that moment, so she was slow to ask. “The cuckoo clock woman?”

  “She’s dead,” Jack finished. He sat next to her and pulled her hand into his, unashamedly giving the back of it a quick kiss. “Smith recounted everything that you saw and heard. None of us realized what he meant about having taken care of Bertha Meyers, except the fool man laughed when he heard Smith explain that the reverend felt he’d silenced Mrs. Meyers.”