The Plot Is Murder

by V. M. Burns

  When she didn’t speak, Lady Elizabeth prompted her. “Do you remember anything else?”

  “Not about that night, but you asked about anything unusual.”

  “Yes. If there’s anything, I’d like to hear it.”

  Mrs. McDuffie hesitated a moment. “I don’t know that it ’as anything to do with the murder of that American.” She shifted in her seat. “But, one of the tablecloths came up missing right after the party.”

  Lady Elizabeth had hoped for more than missing linen. “Is that all?”

  Mrs. McDuffie stiffened. “If your ladyship is finished, I should be getting back to my work.”

  “Oh, no. I want to know about the tablecloth, please.” Lady Elizabeth feigned interest. A tablecloth might not be important, but she didn’t want to shut down communication with the housekeeper.

  “It was there before the party, but the next day we couldn’t find it. I thought the new ’ousemaid, Gladys, might have taken it. She’s an impertinent minx, that one.”

  “What could she possibly want with a tablecloth?”

  “It’s a fine linen tablecloth that is, ’andmade. Worth a pretty penny.”

  “Did she take it?”

  “I questioned ’er, and she denied knowing anything about it. If she took it, she would do, wouldn’t she? I put no stock in what she said. She got quite uppity, I tell you. Downright rude, she was.” Mrs. McDuffie scowled. “I would ’ave fired the little minx, but Thompkins stopped me. We’ve ’ad such a ’ard time finding ’elp.”

  Lady Elizabeth didn’t see how the tale of the housemaid and the missing tablecloth related to murder but listened as attentively as she could.

  “It’s a good thing I didn’t fire the girl because one of the footmen found the tablecloth just this morning. Wait.” Mrs. McDuffie hurried from the office. She returned with a neatly folded tablecloth. “ ’Ere it is.” She handed the freshly laundered linen to Lady Elizabeth.

  “How wonderful it was found.” Lady Elizabeth held the bundle in her lap and continued to fake interest. The housekeeper obviously thought the tablecloth was important. “Where was it?”

  “That’s just it. The footman found it stuffed in the bottom of that old chest in Lord William’s office.” She leaned close and whispered, “Stained with blood, it was.”

  Lady Elizabeth no longer had to feign interest. She unfolded the tablecloth and examined it. “It looks fine now.”

  Mrs. McDuffie preened. “Of course. It took several soaks in vinegar and then baking soda. My grandmother’s recipe for removing stains.”

  “Good work. Thank you so much.” Lady Elizabeth didn’t have the heart to tell the proud housekeeper she had destroyed evidence that might have helped the police catch the killer.

  Chapter 21

  Each day I discovered something new in the store. When I retired from teaching, I was full of doubt as to whether I could do this, especially without Leon. I’d learned I was a lot stronger than I’d ever thought I was. Watching my nephews, my grandmother, and Dawson, who was now practically one of the family, filled me with pride. These were my kin and they were all here to help make my and Leon’s dream a reality.

  We were all busy at our respective jobs when I heard a commotion in the café area of the store. I excused myself from the customer who couldn’t decide if she’d like a historical mystery or not and went to check it out.

  Dawson’s face was red and he looked like a frightened rabbit cornered by a pack of hungry dogs. A thin, greasy, scruffy-looking man in grease-splattered jeans and a greasy T-shirt, with greasy hair and greasy fingernails, grabbed him by the collar.

  “Let him go immediately.” I pushed myself in between Dawson and his attacker.

  “You stay out of this, lady.” The man shoved me.

  I stumbled backward. I would have fallen if it hadn’t been for Nana Jo coming up behind me. Before I knew what was happening, my nephews, Christopher and Zaq, appeared and presented an intimidating wall of protection between me and my attacker.

  “Touch my aunt again and it will be the last person you ever lay a hand on,” Christopher said with a soft, quiet certainty that sent a chill up my spine. My nephews were well over six feet each, and I’ve never known them to be violent. Both stared unblinkingly at this stranger.

  I knew with assurance if he tried anything, they would intervene.

  The stranger seemed to contemplate my nephews. Reason must have told him he didn’t stand a chance against all of us. He sneered. Hands in the air, he backed away. My nephews didn’t budge from their positions.

  He turned his eyes away from them and onto Dawson. “You think you can get away from me, boy. But I’ll be back when you don’t have your bodyguards.” He grinned and walked out of the store, stopping long enough to push a few books off a table onto the floor.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and heard applause coming from the people sitting at the bistro tables. In all of the confusion, I’d forgotten about the customers enjoying the complimentary tea and scones. The noise broke the spell. Christopher and Zaq turned to look at me.

  “You okay, Aunt Sammy?” Zaq asked.

  “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.” I hugged them both. “Thanks. Now, we better get back to work.”

  Nana Jo’s eyes held a question as they darted in Dawson’s direction.

  I shook my head.

  She gave me a hug and a squeeze and went back to the front of the store.

  Dawson refused to make eye contact and hurried out of the back.

  I followed him to the courtyard. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. I’m really sorry about that.”

  “Who was that man?”

  He waited so long before answering I was just about to repeat the question. I felt certain he knew the answer.

  “That was my dad.”

  “Your dad?” I should have known, but I don’t think I’d actually ever met Dawson’s family. They never showed up for parent-teacher conferences. When conferences were required, a neighbor attended.

  “Yeah. Great, isn’t he?”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Washington. I don’t know how he found me. I certainly didn’t expect him to come here, causing trouble for you.”

  “It’s okay. No harm done.” He looked in need of a hug so I gave him one. “Now, let’s get back to work.”

  The rest of the day was business as usual. The bookstore was doing quite nicely and seemed to be making a profit and filling a need. Each day I saw old and new friends who were sharing in my love for mysteries. The nights were full with hanging out with Nana Jo and the girls and tutoring Dawson. Helping him with his academic work provided the link that had been missing from teaching.

  That night I helped Dawson with a paper for English literature. We were comparing Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew and Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, two of my favorite books. In fact, Jane Austen was my favorite author.

  Nana Jo had a date with Freddie. She didn’t want to leave, but I insisted.

  “So, what exactly is a shrew? I Googled it and I doubt Shakespeare was comparing Katherina to a small, rat-like animal,” said Dawson.

  I laughed. “Well, he might have been, but a shrew is also a person with a really bad temper and foul attitude.”

  “Okay. I get it. So, who is the shrew in Pride and Prejudice? Mrs. Bennett? Lydia or the Bingley sisters?”

  “Good question. What do you think?”

  We didn’t get much further when we heard a noise downstairs. We both stopped and sat quietly, listening and waiting. Snickers slept near my feet, but Oreo was up and on alert. I held my finger to my lips and tiptoed to my bedroom and grabbed my bat and cell phone. Dawson, Oreo, and I crept downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs, Dawson placed a hand on my shoulder. I halted. He slid in front of me. I was touched by his desire to protect me, but I was the one with the bat. I offered it to him.

  He shook his head and whispered, “Stay beh
ind me.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, the broken glass from the back door lay on the floor. The red light on the security system blinked. The police would be here soon.

  Dawson walked quietly down the hall with me. I picked up the dogs and carried them a safe distance away from the broken glass and then put them down. Snickers and Oreo followed closely behind, growling softly like predators prepared to pounce.

  A huge crash came from my office. Dawson lunged into the room. I hurried behind, with Oreo and Snickers barking and charging ahead.

  Dawson ran headfirst at the intruder and tackled him like a linebacker sacking a quarterback. They both fell flat onto the floor and a tussle ensued.

  I stood by, bat in hand, ready to swing. My back to the door, I was shocked when the lights flipped on.

  Nana Jo stood in the doorway, gun in hand. She shoved me aside, walked up to the fray of bodies on the floor, and fired a shot into the exposed brick wall. “Freeze or my next shot will blow your brains out.”

  Both men froze and I saw the face of the intruder.

  It was Dawson’s father. From his bloodshot eyes and the smell of liquor, it was obvious he was drunk.

  Oreo snarled and lunged to get a piece of the action. Dawson grabbed him and backed away from his father.

  “Call the police.” Nana Jo never once lowered her gun or took her eyes off her target.

  “I don’t think I’ll have to. He broke in. They should be on their way.”

  Right on cue, sirens blared, and police cars pulled up alongside the shop.

  “You okay?” I looked at my grandmother.

  She didn’t even blink. “Yep.”

  I hurried to the back door and directed the police to the back room.

  Two police officers, weapons drawn, entered the back office. “Down. Down on the floor. Hands up.” They shouted. “Weapons down. Hands in the air. Everybody. Now.” Just inside the door, they stopped, bottlenecking the doorway.

  Nana Jo dropped her arm, placed her weapon on a nearby shelf, and held up both hands.

  I had to stand on tiptoe to see around them.

  “That’s my grandmother. She’s okay.”

  They accessed the situation. After what felt like an hour, they put away their weapons. The officers moved forward and unblocked my view.

  “Well, if it isn’t A-squared.” One of the officers handcuffed the man lying prostrate on the floor of my office. Dawson, still holding Oreo, stood and backed against the wall.

  “A-squared?” I asked.

  “Alex Alexander,” the officer who cuffed Dawson’s father said.

  His partner radioed the situation was under control and pulled out his notepad.

  “Ah . . . Alex Alexander, A-squared. I get it,” I said.

  A red-faced Dawson paced. He was still holding Oreo and looked at everything, except his father, prostrate on the ground with his hands handcuffed behind his back.

  “Okay if I take the dogs outside?” he asked.

  One of the officers nodded. “Okay, but don’t leave.”

  Dawson opened the glass door and stepped into the back courtyard without a backward glance.

  The police had questions and paperwork and then more questions. Eventually, they left with their prisoner.

  Dawson and the poodles were still outside. I felt sure he hadn’t wanted to see his father being driven away. Outside, I let him pace.

  “I’m really sorry.” He now held Snickers rather than Oreo, who was much better at cuddling.

  Oreo searched for a blade of grass he hadn’t previously watered.

  “For what? You’re not responsible for your father’s actions.”

  Dawson turned away.

  “You want to talk?”

  “He doesn’t care about me. All he cares about is money.”

  “Money? What money?”

  “Football. He wants me to try out for the NFL. Skip college and play pro ball before I get injured and ruin my chances. That’s why he got upset before, when I left.”

  “Dawson, I’m so sorry.” I walked over and gave him a hug. Snickers took the opportunity to plant a kiss on my nose. “What do you want to do?”

  He gently pulled away. “I love football and I want to play. I want to play pro ball one day too. But . . . this season taught me I need an education too. I know I won’t be able to play ball forever, and then what?”

  I was pleased and impressed he’d actually thought about life after football. “I don’t know. What do you want to do after football?”

  “I know this sounds crazy, but I really like baking.”

  “That doesn’t sound crazy to me.”

  “Whoever heard of a football player being a chef?”

  I chuckled. “It sounds like a reality television show. If you enjoy baking, then I think you should follow your dream. You’re an excellent baker.”

  We talked about what it would mean to be a chef. Mostly, we decided some research was in order.

  He looked exhausted, and I was pretty tired myself. “I think we’ve had enough excitement. Let’s call it a night. We can finish Shakespeare tomorrow. Why don’t you keep the dogs tonight? Snickers can be a big comfort.”

  Dawson nodded. He patted the side of his leg and Oreo followed him to his apartment.

  I found Nana duct-taping cardboard over the broken window.

  “Good thing you got that alarm system, although nothing seems to deter criminals faster than my peacemaker.”

  “What made you come back? I thought you had a date with Freddie tonight?”

  “I went but I couldn’t enjoy myself. I guess I just had a feeling.”

  I gave her a hug. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

  We finished sweeping up the broken glass and rearming the alarm system and went upstairs to bed. I was so tired I hoped I would fall asleep quickly, but I tossed and turned for hours until I gave up and fired up my computer.

  Lady Elizabeth watched as her niece hopped up from her seat and paced.

  “What do you mean? He can’t possibly believe Victor killed Charles Parker? He can’t be that daft.”

  She, Lord William, and Penelope were in the study having tea and discussing the information they’d uncovered, such as it was. Lady Elizabeth’s information about the bloody tablecloth received a lukewarm reception. Penelope wanted to call the police immediately as this new information would be sure to clear Victor. He knew where to find a towel. But, even she must have realized that it was a weak defense and wasn’t able to maintain a convincing pretense of enthusiasm.

  James sat quietly by the fire. It was only after some prompting by Lady Elizabeth that he had been convinced to relay his meeting at Scotland Yard and Detective Covington’s theories.

  Lady Elizabeth sipped her tea. “Well, I’m sure Victor isn’t the only one with military training.”

  James shrugged. “True, but how many of the guests had military training and a reason to kill Charles Parker?”

  Lord William refilled his pipe, careful not to drop too much onto the floor. “The military training eliminates the women from consideration. Not that anyone with an ounce of sense would have considered them suspects in the first place.”

  “I’m not so sure we can eliminate all of the women, dear, but it does seem rather unlikely.” Lady Elizabeth poured more tea.

  Lord William nearly choked. “What do you mean?” He wiped tobacco from his shirt. “No women in the military.”

  Lady Elizabeth smiled vaguely at her husband before saying, “True, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have gotten someone else to do it. Or that someone in the military couldn’t have shown her how.”

  Lord William stared wide-eyed at his wife.

  James stared also, but there was something else in his eyes, something that resembled respect. The corners of his mouth twitched and he quickly took a drink of his tea.

  “Well I’ll be . . .” was all Lord William managed to say, but he said it several times.

  “Yes, dear. Now
who else at the party, other than Victor, had military training?” Lady Elizabeth returned to the heart of the problem.

  “Just about all of the men there. We’ve all served in his majesty’s service in one capacity or another, including myself.” Lord William puffed out his chest with pride. “The Boer War, Mafeking—”

  “Yes, dear.” Lady Elizabeth cut off what promised to be a long-winded reliving of the glory days of war. “But you weren’t really at the party. I mean, you were in the house, but you weren’t downstairs with the guests.”

  Penelope smiled at her uncle. “Plus, we know you didn’t stab Charles Parker.”

  “Darned right I didn’t stab him. Horrible mess that would have made. If I’d wanted him dead, I would have shot him,” Lord William said.

  Lady Elizabeth froze, cup midair, and stared at her husband.

  He promptly apologized. “I’m sorry, dear. Guess I got carried away. Hardly appropriate conversation for a lady. Please forgive me.” He looked at his wife.

  Lady Elizabeth was quiet for quite some time.

  Finally, Penelope broke the silence. “What is it? You’ve remembered something.”

  Lady Elizabeth put down her coffee cup and pulled her needles and a mound of fluffy wool out of the bag at her feet. She found her place and knit a few stitches.

  “You’ve thought of something haven’t you?” Penelope rushed to sit next to her aunt.

  Lady Elizabeth kept her eyes on her knitting. “Well, something did occur to me. Something Mrs. McDuffie and Thompkins mentioned.” She stopped to count stitches.

  “When I went down to the servants’ hall, they were removing a carpet.”

  James looked at Penelope. She merely shook her head and waited.

  “The carpet was wet. No one knew how.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t see . . .” James stammered.

  Gathering steam, Lady Elizabeth continued, “Well, I didn’t see either at first. But then I remembered Mrs. McDuffie mentioned seeing a . . . uh . . . well, a naked man the night of the party.”

  “I don’t really see how that can have anything to do with this business. Probably had too much to drink and fell into the pond. Bad manners that. Nothing worse than a man who can’t hold his liquor,” Lord William said firmly.