by Shéa MacLeod
Chapter 16
Parties and Matchmaking
Friday had taken forever to arrive. The week had passed so slowly I’d wanted to pull my hair out.
Lucas had returned to Portland after putting in an offer on a waterfront condo. He was convinced the offer would be accepted and promised we’d celebrate as soon as it did. It was the last thing on my mind.
I left Astoria much earlier than necessary for my sister’s party. As I drove toward Portland, I went through my plan over and over. I had wanted to tell Bat what I’d found but realized that the picture alone wasn’t proof of anything. I needed a confession. So, I’d come up with this plan. I imagined how I would confront her. How she would admit everything. Then the police could arrest her, and all of this would be over.
But when I arrived at her door, no one was home. I rang the bell three times. Nothing. Frustrated, I gave up and drove to my mother’s house.
My mother lived in a brand-new house near Multnomah Village. It had been built to look like a Craftsman, but lacked the soul, in my opinion. It was painted mushroom brown with cream trim and was devoid of the details of a true Craftsman.
Inside, my mother had decked the place with balloons and streamers like a child’s birthday party. An enormous cake took up half the dining table and there were enough bottles of booze to start a speakeasy.
“Viola! You’re late!” My mother fluttered toward me in a cranberry cocktail dress covered in sequins. Her jewelry was chunky and gold and her heels were impossibly tall. I’d have broken an ankle.
“Sorry,” I muttered, taking the champagne flute she offered. “I had a thing.”
She sniffed. “What could possibly be more important than your sister’s party? Come. Meet everyone.” She sailed off before I could answer that solving a murder, in my book, pretty much trumped everything.
The introductions seemed endless and were a complete blur. Most were people who worked with Victoria or that my mother knew through her various groups and charities. I didn’t care. My mind was elsewhere.
“Where is Victoria?” I finally asked.
Mother waved vaguely. “Somewhere around. I’m sure she’s opening presents or something.”
She got presents? I tried not to let resentment flutter to the surface. Victoria had always been the one showered with attention. She got the big parties, the expensive gifts, the kudos, while my accomplishments and milestones were mostly ignored.
“The boys?” I wouldn’t mind spending a little time with my nephews. I didn’t get to see them nearly as much as I would have liked.
“I got a sitter for them. This isn’t a children’s party. Now come.” She grabbed my arm and hauled me into the dining room. “I want you to meet Sven.”
“Mother, I have a boyfriend.”
“Nonsense. You’re only saying that so I won’t set you up.” She shoved me in front of a large, blonde man with a pleasant expression and blue eyes that sat just a little too far apart on his face for him to be handsome. “Sven, this is Viola. You two have so much in common. Sven’s a chiropractor.” Her work done, she sashayed away.
I had no idea how him being a chiropractor gave us anything in common. “Hi, Sven,” I said, resigned. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yes.” I noticed he didn’t say it was nice to meet me. Nor did he offer his hand. Instead, he looked me up and down, his upper lip curled just the tiniest bit. I wanted desperately to slug him.
Instead I said, “Will you excuse me? I need to find my sister.” I didn’t wait for him to answer but left as quickly as possible. Really, Mother and I needed to have a talk.
I searched high and low, but Victoria was nowhere to be found. Finally, I made a pitstop in mother’s en suite master bathroom. And there was Victoria, perched on the edge of the garden tub looking miserable.
“What are you doing in here?” I asked, sitting beside her. “Why aren’t you out enjoying your party?”
She sighed. “I didn’t want this, Vi. This stupid party. I just wanted to have a nice girls’ night with a couple of my friends, but mother insisted. You know how she is.”
Did I ever. “Yeah. She just tried to hook me up with some loser named Sven.”
Her eyebrows went up. “The snobby chiropractor?”
“That’s the one.”
“But you have a boyfriend!”
“And so I told our mother, but—”
“She wouldn’t listen.” Victoria shook her head, dark ringlets dancing around her pixie face. “I’m sorry she dragged you all the way out here for this stupid party.”
“Hey, it’s a big achievement, right?” I wasn’t going to let on to Victoria that I hadn’t wanted to come. I knew it would hurt her feelings.
“Yeah, it is, I guess. It’ll mean not having to rely on child support and building a better life for me and the boys.”
“And that’s a good thing.” I patted her knee. “Tell you what. Let’s you and me go out for a drink. Just the two of us.”
“And skip out on mom’s party?” Her dark eyes grew wide.
I grinned. “Yep.”
Her smile matched mine. “Count me in.”
LATER THAT NIGHT, AFTER I dropped my sister off at our mom’s place where her party was still going strong, I drove back to my quarry’s house. The windows were dark, and her car was still gone. I pondered how long to wait. I had a long drive back to Astoria. Of course, I could stay the night at a hotel, but that wasn’t my first choice.
I decided to give it an hour and, if she didn’t return by then, I’d have to confront her another day. I wished I brought a snack or something, but it was too late for that. Instead, I scooted my seat back and settled in.
I didn’t have long to wait. Fifteen minutes later, a car drew up, and she got out. I was about to get out and confront her when a second car pulled up behind her, and a man got out. I stared in shock for the longest time as the two of them kissed passionately then walked inside.
I stared at the closed door, my mind racing. Now I knew who killed Tabitha and Bryon. I just had to prove it.
Problem was, all the members of the costuming group had returned to Portland. How was I going to get them back to Astoria?
I smiled to myself. Suddenly, I had a clever little idea. I picked up my phone and dialed Ella Cayse. She picked up on the third ring.
“Hi, Ella, this is Viola. Sorry to call so late. Listen, I’m going to write my first ever Regency romance, and I could really use your group’s help.”
Chapter 17
A Gathering of Suspects
It would have been really cool to gather everyone on the Lady Washington where it all began. Unfortunately for my sense of drama, the ship had left Astoria almost a week ago for its home port up north. Instead, I convinced Ella to have everyone meet in the great room in the carriage house of Camelia’s B & B’s, the same spot we’d played whist. Not nearly so exciting, but at least the owners had agreed and there was room for everyone.
It had been surprising how easily everyone had agreed to come. Something I’ve learned over the years is that the minute you tell people you’re writing a book, they’re more than happy to offer their expertise. Add in free food, and cooperation is pretty much guaranteed.
Currently, the costumers gathered around a small table where I’d set up brownies and chocolate chip cookies from Bakeology, one of our local bakeries. The scent of brewing coffee filled the air, and an electric tea kettle bubbled away next to the sink.
It was weird seeing the costumers in regular clothes. Like seeing the Statue of Liberty in her underwear. Especially for women, Regency garments give a very specific silhouette. Modern clothing provides a very different one and was, to my surprise, much less flattering in most cases.
Ella Cayse wore plain jeans and an olive-green sweater. Her long, dark hair was left hanging loose in a wild, frizzy nimbus, her horn-rimmed glasses perched at a slight angle on her nose. Her ample bosom was no less obvious, but somewhat more restrained. And while she didn’t
lose her smile or self-confidence, she somehow seemed… less comfortable.
She crossed her ankles and gave me a pointed look. “What’s this all about?”
Before I could answer, there was a knock at the door. “Excuse me,” I murmured. As I swung the door open, I winced.
“Hello, Viola.” Bat loomed over me looking stern. “Can I have a word with you.” It wasn’t a question.
I shot Bat a glare. “Fine.” I stepped outside, closing the door behind me. “Cheryl told you, didn’t she? The rat.”
“She did the smart thing. What you’re doing here is dangerous. Why in the world would you think—” He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. I don’t know why I bother. I’m going to let you go ahead because I’m curious, but I’m going to be here.” He held up his hand when I opened my mouth to argue. “It’s not a request.”
“Fine. Just… don’t interrupt.” I turned to go back in, then paused. “Did the lab test Tabitha’s blood?”
He nodded. “Foxglove. Just like you thought. It wasn’t what killed her. She drowned. But the foxglove was likely a contributing factor to her going overboard. It would have made her dizzy and disoriented.
I nodded. Just as I suspected.
Back inside, Bat slid unobtrusively into a corner while I took my place near the wood-burning stove, thankful there was no fire. It was warm enough today to avoid one. Cheryl gave me a thumbs-up from across the room, and I cleared my throat.
“I know who killed Tabitha Yates and Bryon LaMott.” Dramatic pause.
Expressions of boredom, mild interest, and confusion reigned. As did silence. Well, that didn’t go how I planned it.
I tried again. “There are fourteen people in this room, not including myself, Detective Battersea, and Cheryl Delaney. The only people who aren’t members of your group. And one of you fourteen murdered Tabitha and Bryon.”
This time there were a few gasps, a shocked cry from Mary, and a lot of chattering. Bat shifted, and everyone went still. Man, I wish I had that superpower.
“Every one of you had a reason to kill Tabitha Yates,” I said. There were a few murmured protests, but I held up my hand. “It’s totally understandable. She was a thoroughly unpleasant person.”
“You’re telling me,” Gwen murmured.
“Hey, that’s my wife you’re talking about,” Anthony Yates snarled, leaning forward as if he’d jump out of his chair. He was seated on a thoroughly uncomfortable wooden straight-backed chair and looked strangely diminished in baggy corduroy pants and sans his usual top hat. In fact, he looked rather pasty and lumpy and even less like the sort of man Tabitha Yates would have married. I noted that Mary sat next to him, and when he leaned forward, she placed a restraining hand on his knee. How very interesting.
“Yes,” I said, turning to Anthony. “Your wife. Which makes you the most likely suspect, as I’m sure you realize.”
“It’s complete bull,” he said, mulishly, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.
“I’m sure it hasn’t missed your notice that your wife was not a very nice person. To anyone, including you.” I held up a hand when he went to protest. “You might wish to ignore facts, but it’s true nonetheless. What’s more, as her husband, you no doubt inherit everything.”
“Tabitha didn’t work. I’m the one with the money,” he said.
“No doubt there’s a life insurance policy.”
He shrugged. “A couple hundred thousand. Not that much.”
“People have killed for less,” I said. “But you weren’t the only one with a motive. She was unkind to the Patels, downright rude to the Knightlys, a pain in the ass toward both Ella and Gwen, insulting to Lenore and Beth, and dismissive of Marie and Lin. The only person she was ever kind to was Jayne.”
I turned to Jayne who had draped herself over half the couch and bore her usual bored expression. She was probably the most interestingly dressed of the lot in a black mini skirt, purple-and-black-striped socks, purple Doc Martens, and a tight, black t-shirt with a lipstick print across her boobs. Her lips were purple to match her boots.
She gave me a smirk. “Go on.”
“The night of the port and whist party, Bryon was about to tell me something, but you stopped him. What did he know?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. I just didn’t want him blabbing to you.” She shot me an annoyed glare. “You’re so nosy.”
I ignored the jab. She’d been playing games. That much was clear. “You and Tabitha were friends a long time,” I said. “In fact, at one point, you were lovers.”
Everyone gasped except for Anthony. So he’d known.
“It was no secret,” Jayne flicked a bit of lint from her skirt. “Anthony bored her in bed. So sometimes we fooled around.”
“Not just sometimes. It was a regular thing. In fact, it’s the reason your previous boyfriend, Mike, left you.”
A languid shrug. “What of it?”
“Husbands and lovers are the usual culprits when murder is involved.”
“Whatever.”
I had never wanted to slap someone so much. She was annoying and downright rude. “Maybe Tabitha wanted to break it off, and you didn’t want that. Or maybe she was going to tell Bryon.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Bryon knew all about us. Just like Anthony did. Worm.” She sneered at Anthony like he was pond scum. “She only married him for his money. She thought he was an idiot. And boring. And if you think I killed her, you’re an even bigger idiot.”
“Perhaps you did, and perhaps you didn’t,” I said, turning back to the rest of the room. “Like I said, everyone here had a reason—some more than others—to want Tabitha dead. But I realized that it isn’t quite that easy. You see, whoever killed Tabitha also killed Bryon and attempted to kill me. Which narrows the field quite a lot.”
I took out my massive teal purse and pulled out a photo. It was one I’d printed and enlarged from the group’s social media page.
“Bryon was unpleasant and annoying, but he wasn’t truly part of the group. He was only here because of Jayne. Most of you didn’t know him and didn’t care. Sure, he’d been wildly inappropriate toward some of the members, but you all figured he’d be gone soon enough. Just like all the rest of Jayne’s boyfriends. The only person, other than Jayne herself, who would have had any reason whatsoever to off Bryon is the killer.”
“But why?” Katherine Patel asked. As elegant as she’d been in Regency wear, she was equally elegant in modern clothes. Her buff colored slacks and matching sweater, if a bit bland, suited her slim figure.
“Because Bryon knew who killed Tabitha.” I paused as gasps and shocked cries once again filled the room. When everyone settled down, I continued. “Cheryl and I talked to all of you. And the only person near Tabitha at the time she went overboard was Bryon. In fact,” I rounded on Lenore. “Lenore claimed that Bryon was close enough to kiss Tabitha.” I left out the part about her claiming they had kissed.
Lenore blushed furiously and ducked her head. “I didn’t lie about that,” she mumbled, clearly still embarrassed about having been caught out.
“I believe you. You’re not the only who saw them together. And yet, Bryon had no reason to kill Tabitha. He barely knew her. He didn’t care if she was a horrible person because he was a horrible person. In fact, he seemed to admire her. He told me that he liked her because she spoke her mind.”
Ella snorted. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
“But what about her affair with Jayne?” Cheryl spoke up.
“Bryon already knew all about it. And it’s not just Jayne’s word I’m taking. I spoke to her previous boyfriend, Mike, and not only did he tell me the reason they broke up, but the reason Jayne started dating Bryon. Because she could do whatever she wanted with Tabitha and Bryon didn’t care because he had his own liaisons on the side. So Bryon wouldn’t have any reason to murder Tabitha Yates. But he could have seen who did it. There was only one other person near enough to do
it.”
“Who?” came a chorus of voices.
“Her husband, Anthony Yates.” I turned to face him.
“I didn’t do it!” His doughy face had turned an ugly, mottled red. “The police let me go.”
“They let you go because your fingerprints weren’t on the bottle of poison. Very clever, by the way. Leaving the bottle where the police could find it. Only an idiot would leave incriminating evidence in such an obvious place. Everyone would believe you’d been framed.”
His eyes were angry little beads. “You’re insane.”
“What confused me,” I continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “was that, while Anthony murdered Tabitha, and he could have easily killed Bryon, there was no way he could have attempted to kill me. He was still behind bars when I got locked in and the fire was started.”
“See! I didn’t do it,” Anthony declared.
“That only proves you didn’t try to kill me,” I pointed out. “It doesn’t prove you innocent of the other two murders, which I know you committed. The only answer I could come up with is, you had help. Something that was confirmed to me Friday night.”
“What happened Friday night?” Bat asked.
“I drove into Portland for my sister’s party. Only I decided to take a detour through a certain neighborhood in Southwest Portland.” I gave Anthony a hard look. “I saw Anthony with his partner, and I knew the truth.”
“So who is it? Who locked you in and tried to burn down the place?” Ella asked.
I held up the photo I’d printed out. “This is the group photo from the ball. It was taken by Maurice Patel at the exact time I was locked in. See, everyone is here.” I tapped the image. “Almost. The fire starter is the only person besides Maurice and myself who is missing from the photo. Anthony’s partner.”
She squinted and leaned forward. “Who?”
Before I could open my mouth, Mary Rett jumped from her seat and bolted toward the front door.
“Well,” Kieren Knightly boomed, “I guess that answers that.”
