by V. M. Burns
Victor’s home, Bidwell Cottage, wasn’t the humble dwelling the name implied. The summer home to the Earl of Lochloren was a large estate used by the Scottish lord for hunting and shooting parties in centuries past. Considerably smaller than the castle, Bidwell Cottage had been the full-time residence of the family. Over time, the drafty Scottish castle fell into disrepair. Although still owned by Victor’s family, it was uninhabitable and derelict. Unlike the manicured gardens on most British estates, Bidwell Cottage’s gardens were untamed, natural woodlands full of rolling wildflowers and undulating hills. Lady Penelope wasn’t in a mood to admire gardens. She’d pleaded with Victor to tell the police everything he knew. He’d refused. Victor wouldn’t say or do anything to cast suspicion onto Daphne, even though his silence meant he might be arrested and hung for murder.
Victor stepped toward her. Even with her back to him, she sensed his presence, so close she felt his breath on the back of her neck. The heat from his body sent a tingle up her spine. She trembled. If she turned around, would she find anguish on his face? She didn’t turn. After an eternity, Victor stepped away. A chill crawled up her spine. Penelope shivered.
Victor removed his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. “Penelope, please. Surely you have to understand?”
In a flash, her anger returned. She spun to face him. “No. I don’t. I do not understand how you can toss your life away like that.” She snapped her fingers.
“A gentleman doesn’t abandon a lady in distress.” His shoulders slumped. “Besides, she’s your sister.” His voice was weary.
“Yes. She’s my sister and because she is, I know there’s no way she killed Charles Parker. Daphne is too shallow to be a murderer. She wouldn’t risk ruining her dress for the likes of him. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see she doesn’t need a knight in shining armor to come and save her? She’s innocent. What she needs is a good spanking.”
Victor searched Penelope’s eyes.
She looked into his eyes and saw the logic of her pleas hit home, but years of training in the chivalrous ways of a gentleman wouldn’t go down without a fight. Victor dropped his gaze and turned away.
“I gave my word. I—” Victor’s attention seemed to be captured by a movement in the azalea bushes bordering the garden. He gently moved Penelope aside and peered into the shrubs.
The azaleas shook and out stepped an Adonis of a man.
He was shorter and stockier than Victor, but his broad shoulders and overall build suggested his familiarity with rugby was more than a passing fancy. Clad in country tweeds, fair-haired and freckled, sporting a broad smile and a pipe, he was the picture of a country squire.
“James?” Victor asked.
The newcomer nodded, and the two men embraced.
“Sorry about that mate. I took the back way from the train station and found myself in the middle of a private conversation.” James had the decency to blush but not explain why he didn’t make his presence known sooner.
“You took the train?”
“No. I drove down but by the time I got to town, it was clear something decisive would need to be done to the innards of the car or I’d be left stranded. I left it with a chap near the train station and walked the rest of the way.”
Straight and proper, Victor bowed to Penelope. “Lady Penelope Marsh, may I present one of my oldest mates, His Grace James Fitzandrew Browning, the 15th Duke of Kingsfordshire.” He bowed stiffly to his friend. “Lady Penelope Marsh.”
Penelope performed a brief curtsy and extended her hand. “Your Grace.”
The duke clasped Penelope’s hand in both of his. “Please, call me James. I don’t go in for all that bobbing and curtsying. I was just plain James until my uncle decided to go and kick the bucket.” He held Penelope’s hand long enough to bring heat to her face and a furrow to Victor’s brow.
“What brings you to the countryside, your grace—I mean James?” Penelope gently extracted her hand from the duke’s grasp.
“Yes. What brings you out this way? The last I heard you were fighting in the African desert,” Victor said.
“Were you in the military together?” Penelope asked.
James took Penelope’s arm, and the three of them walked toward the house. “Victor and I go back a lot further than the military. We were mates at Winchester.”
The prestigious boarding school had, for centuries, educated Britain’s greatest captains of industry and peers of the realm.
Although the walk to the house was short, the men filled it with remember when we stories. Penelope made her excuses and left them to their reminisces, but not before extending an invitation to Victor and James for dinner.
In the Gothic inspired study, Victor poured drinks. Beverages in hand, the gentlemen seated themselves in the comfortable overstuffed chairs.
“Now, what really brings you out here?” Victor’s politeness softened his blunt question.
James took a long drink before responding. “I heard from one of my contacts at the home office that you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble. There’s a bloke at The Yard who wants to see your neck in a noose. I thought I’d better come down and see what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
Victor took a drink.
Almost a full minute passed before James broke the silence. “I take it from the conversation I overheard there’s a lady involved.”
Victor stared into his glass.
“Don’t be a bloody fool man. Can’t you see I’m trying to help?” James took a swig of his drink, placed his glass on the table, and stood. “Okay then, if that’s how you want it. How about a game of billiards before we have to change and head over to dinner with the lovely Lady Penelope Marsh.”
Dinner at Wickfield Lodge went well. Victor remained noticeably silent, but James was lively and engaging and kept the conversation flowing. He regaled the Marshes with humorous tales of his exploits in Egypt with the 7th Queen’s Own Hussars.
Good food, good wine, and good conversation provided the lift the group needed. After dinner, the party moved to the parlor for cards and drinks. Lady Elizabeth and Lord William retired for the evening, and the young crowd played games. Their laughter continued until the early morning.
The next day Penelope walked into town and ran into James on her way home. “Your Grace.”
“I thought we’d already agreed you would call me James and I shall call you the beautiful Penelope Marsh.”
Penelope smiled. “James, it flatters my vanity to think you’d be interested in me, but something tells me there’s more to you than meets the eye.”
“While I do find you enchanting, I suspect your heart lies elsewhere.” He looked pointedly at Penelope.
Warmth rose up her neck and into her cheeks. “If I’m that obvious, I shall have to adjust my mask.” She stopped walking. “I love my sister. She’s superficial and self-centered, but she’s also kind and gentle. I would never do anything to hurt her. If I thought she cared two figs for Victor . . .” She hung her head. “I’d make sure that nothing stood in her way.” A tear trailed down her cheek.
James handed her a handkerchief.
Penelope gathered herself, and they continued to walk.
“I meant no disrespect,” James said. “In fact, if the daggers my friend Victor shot my way last night are any indication, I suspect your feelings are reciprocated.”
Penelope searched James’s face, looking for the truth behind his words. What she found there filled her with joy. Half crying, half laughing, she dabbed at her eyes. Without speaking, she resumed walking.
“So, what are we going to do about this mess?” James said. “My friend is determined to marry a woman he doesn’t love, a woman whom I don’t believe loves him. For this, he is willing to risk his life.”
“Surely you can talk to him. Convince him to talk to the police.”
“Unfortunately, no. Victor is a chivalrous fool where women are concerned. He will do the gentlemanly thing. No, it will be up to us to sav
e him.”
“Perhaps you would like to come to tea this afternoon with my aunt and uncle,” Penelope said. “I’m sure Daphne will be in town shopping, but I think you’ll find the conversation very enlightening.”
As expected, Daphne went shopping and was unavailable for tea. Without her presence, Lady Elizabeth, Lord William, James, and Lady Penelope could speak openly. Lady Elizabeth poured the tea, and they brought James up to speed on what they’d learned so far.
With his leg propped on a footrest, Lord William reported on his excursion to London. “I stopped at the home office first thing this morning and had a word with my old friend, Freddy Montgomery. Freddy promised to send a cable to an American he knows in the secret service over there—said he’d send word as soon as he found anything out.”
Penelope leaned forward. “Is that all?” She’d hoped for more.
“Hold on to your horses. I’m not finished. I ran into Lord Exeter at my club. Nice man Peter Exeter. We had brandy, and he eventually owned up to the fact he was glad Charles Parker was out of the picture. Poor fellow suspected Honorah had gotten herself entangled with Parker on the Queen Mary. Seems the rascal got her gambling and who knows what else. Peter found out about the gambling when a chap had the nerve to approach him outside of the club. He had his solicitor discretely settle her debts.”
“How did he manage? I mean, I didn’t think the Viscount had very much money.”
Lord William frowned. He found talking about money distasteful. “I gather the poor fellow sold some property. Estate is dwindling. Sale was a rush job. He got quite a bit less than it’s worth, but he needed the money and was determined to not ask his American relations.”
“Despite what the Dowager Lady Exeter thinks about Americans, I have always heard Lady Honorah’s relations were very generous. I find it hard to believe they wouldn’t help their daughter out of a mess.” Lady Elizabeth was always sensible.
“I don’t doubt that they would, but a man has his pride. If a man can’t help his wife out of a bind, then, well . . .” Lord William sipped his tea.
Penelope rose and began her usual pacing. “So, Honorah Exeter had a gambling problem, and Lord Peter knew about it. And, both of them were at the party. Maybe Charles Parker approached Honorah at the party to get money from her? That would give her a motive. What if Lord Peter overheard him? Anger might have driven him into a murderous frenzy.”
Lady Elizabeth pulled her knitting from her basket. “It’s possible, although, for the life of me, I can’t imagine Lord Peter Exeter in a frenzy of any kind, let alone a murderous one. He’s a nice old man, but he’s not exactly the passionate type, is he? What do you think, Your Grace . . . ah, James?”
“I have to say I agree with Lady Elizabeth. Peter Exeter is a nice man but certainly isn’t known for his passions.”
“At least it means someone other than Victor had a reason for wanting Charles Parker gone,” Penelope said.
James went to the fireplace. “I have a friend who was able to share a little bit of information I think you might find interesting.”
Penelope halted. “Please, I could use interesting right now.”
James cleared his throat. “Apparently, when word of Parker’s death hit America, a policeman from Chicago reached out to Scotland Yard. It seems they’d been looking for Parker for quite some time.”
“Well, that’s odd. There was a police officer who followed him from America,” Penelope said.
“That’s just it. The Chicago police didn’t know anything about this police officer. My friend said Charles Parker is wanted by the Chicago Police.”
Penelope plopped onto the sofa.
Lord William sputtered.
Lady Elizabeth dropped several stitches, and her knitting fell from her hands to the floor.
Lord William broke into a coughing fit. “Wanted by the police?” he croaked between coughs.
“Yes. According to this chap.” James pulled a notebook from his breast pocket and flipped through the pages. “Fellow named Patrick O’Hara said Charles Parker was a, and I quote, Juice Lender.”
“What on earth is a Juice Lender?” Penelope asked.
“According to O’Hara, a Juice Lender loans money at abominably high rates of interest. If the borrower fails to repay the money, let’s just say they’re known to apply physical pressure.”
Penelope was truly shocked. From the look on Lady Elizabeth’s face, she was too.
“Why the devil, I can’t believe he was in this house and exposed to my nieces. Why, I . . .” Lord William’s face reddened.
“You weren’t to know, dear.” Lady Elizabeth collected her knitting from the floor.
“Of course not,” James said. “I assure you Charles Parker deceived a great many people. By falsifying his connections, he gained admittance to a good many homes in England. You were not to know. You are to be commended that he wasn’t able to directly damage anyone in your family.”
Lord William didn’t appear reassured.
“A criminal. Well, that must mean there were tons of people with a reason to kill Charles Parker,” Penelope said.
Lady Elizabeth unraveled a row of knitting. “Well, that’s true, darling, but it’s unlikely they were at the party.”
“Exactly, Lady Elizabeth,” James said, respect evident in his voice. “But, it does give us something to work with. O’Hara is trying to get permission to travel here to collect Parker’s body. I’ve offered to pay for his trip.”
“What about the other policeman or whoever he is, the cellist?” Lord William asked.
“No idea. No one seems to know anything about him.”
“What do you hope to accomplish by bringing another police officer here?” Penelope picked up her teacup and set it back down.
“O’Hara is familiar with Parker and many of his underworld connections. He might recognize someone or something to help to solve this murder.”
Penelope hoped so too, but was skeptical. “Surely we would have noticed someone unknown to us? The only people invited to the party were people familiar to us, friends.”
“Not everyone at the party was an invited guest, dear.” Lady Elizabeth didn’t look up from her knitting. “There were the waiters and the orchestra, plus some of our invited guests brought guests unfamiliar to us. If I remember correctly, that’s how we became acquainted with Mr. Parker in the first place.”
“Very true, Lady Elizabeth,” James said.
“James has a wonderful plan. And, I’m going to have that conversation with the servants. I meant to do it yesterday but got busy. They see and hear a lot more than anyone ever realizes. Isn’t that right, Thompkins?” Lady Elizabeth turned to face the butler.
Thompkins had silently entered the room and refilled the teapot while they talked. He bowed and, with a “Yes, m’lady,” left the room as quietly as he’d entered.
Chapter 15
The remainder of the week went by in a blur. The grand opening of Market Street Mysteries was a huge success. People filled the shop, and sales figures were promising. I was happy I’d hired my nephews, along with Dawson. Chris was amazing at setting up displays, customer service, overall organization, and marketing. He worked on a website and suggested I could build a lucrative online business with little to no overhead. He was studying business at the university and quite good at it. Zaq’s skills lay with all things technology. He was a genius when it came to figuring out the quirks to my POS system. I called him the POS Whisperer.
Dawson didn’t know much about mysteries, but he was incredibly strong and lugged boxes and boxes of books. Also a gifted cook, he mastered the complicated Espresso machine Jenna bought for the grand opening. At night, he baked cookies, brownies, and some delicious concoction he called Chess bars in my kitchen. We gave them away, along with the goodies we bought at the neighborhood bakery. Dawson’s treats were hands down the crowd favorite. I considered opening the bistro side of the business ahead of plan. It could be a big moneymaker, an
d Dawson genuinely enjoyed cooking.
Nana Jo provided recommendations for new mystery readers and excelled at it. She asked a few general questions. What’s your favorite television show? Who’s your favorite actor or favorite singer? Based on the responses, she steered readers toward British cozies or hard-boiled PI or True Crime books. Only time would tell if her system was successful, but I thought she was onto something. Jenna came by for a few hours and helped with decorations. Even my mom stopped by and took Oreo and Snickers outside so I could focus on customers.
We were so busy I didn’t have time to think about Clayton Parker. Once the thrill died down and the crowds became manageable, it was time to get back to sleuthing.
First things first, I owed Mrs. Parker an apology. Nana Jo and the boys had everything under control, so I wrapped up a cake Dawson and I had made the previous night. We’d made two, one for the store and one for a peace offering to Mrs. Parker. Cake in hand, I slipped out.
Clayton Parker’s house was a newer construction modern beach house, what Nana Jo called a South Harbor McMansion, on the beautiful Southwest Michigan shoreline.
Up through the early part of the twentieth century, Lake Michigan was used for shipping goods to auto manufacturers. When the auto manufacturers shut their local facilities and moved across the border, they left behind equipment and polluted beaches. Later, Chicago’s city dwellers, priced out of lakefront property in Illinois, came in search of less expensive vacation homes. They bought up the waterfront and campaigned with environmentalists for the city to clean up the beaches, which they did. The beachfront filled with a cacophony of structures. The Parkers’ large glass and steel structure was wedged between a bright yellow New England–style cottage and a pink stilted coastal beach home.
I pulled into the driveway and took in the beauty of the Lake Michigan coastline, or what I could see of it around the glass box, and mustered my courage. Finally, I grabbed my cake and got out of the car. Best to get horrible things over with quickly. I walked around a large black BMW and a bright red Bentley convertible. I’d never been close to a car that cost more than my house and couldn’t help gawking. A quick sniff confirmed the car still had the new car smell. Mrs. Parker had a new toy. The yard held a small and discrete sign with a telephone number and the words FOR SALE. I made a note to ask Chris Martinelli when the house went on the market. I suspected the listing was recent.
