by Sara Rosett
“Yes, it really is sad,” I said, a little too loudly.
Everyone looked toward me. I cleared my throat. “I know it’s a personal loss for all of you, but there are her readers, too. They’ll be devastated to hear the news.” I turned to Louise. “No more books from their favorite author. And the book club will never get to read that last book she was working on. Or any of the others she had planned, those she told the book club about.” Louise opened her mouth, but I kicked her lightly in the shin. “You know, the ones on the flash drive that she always kept with her.
Under her bright bangs, Louise’s forehead wrinkled. “I don’t think that’s what matters right now—” she began.
I cut her off. “Not to you or Bridgette, of course. You’ll miss Harriet herself. And that’s what’s important, but later…her readers will want to know what happened in the series.” I said to Bridgette, “Later, when you go through her things, you’ll have to look for a flash drive with her last story and her novel outlines. She told the book club all about it, didn’t she, Louise? How she didn’t like online backups…that she preferred to keep it with her.”
“Yes, she mentioned that,” Louise said slowly.
“Maybe the flash drive is here.” I glanced toward the desk.
Bridgette shook her head. “No, the police didn’t find anything like that. I saw the list of items they took.”
“Anyway, something to think about,” I said. “We really should go. We’ve stayed long enough. Thank you for talking to us, Bridgette.”
I hurried Louise along the hall and had us across the brick pavers before Bridgette or Carrie could catch us. Louise opened the passenger door. “What was all that about? Her readers are the last thing we need to be thinking about now.”
“No, I think that’s really the main thing.” I slid into the car seat and motioned for her to do the same. Once she was inside the car and wedged up against Alex’s print, I said, “Or, her books, to be specific. Of all of her estate, her literary works are the most valuable. And what happens to artists’ work when they die? Often, the demand goes up. Limited supply, you know. Imagine if in a year or so, the last of Harriet’s books came out? The demand would be high. But if she had outlines for future books…well, a ghostwriter could complete them.”
“And that would mean more income on top of what is already coming in from her books now,” Louise said. “But she never said anything about outlines of future books.”
“Yes, I made that up.” I started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Just a little added incentive. I hope it wasn’t too over-the-top, but I guess we’ll find out.”
“It’s been four hours,” Louise said.
Only Louise’s head showed above the framed print, which we’d managed to angle into the car between the seats with most of it on her side of the car so that I could operate the gearshift. “I know, but it’s only been fully dark for about an hour. If I were going to dig up a body, I’d wait until it was dark.”
“Thank goodness the days are short this time of year,” Louise said. It was only five, but it felt much later.
After we left Bridgette and Carrie, we cruised Harriet’s neighborhood until we found a good vantage point at the end of the road, a block north of Harriet’s street. Alex’s red MG Midget was cute, but definitely too memorable to park on Harriet’s street. The street we decided on was at a slightly higher elevation, and we could see into the back gardens of both homes as well as enough of the street in front of her house, so that if either Bridgette or Carrie left, we’d be able to see them.
“I need the loo,” Louise said, a couple of hours later.
“I know. Me, too.” Earlier in the day we’d taken turns walking down the residential street to the nearby row of shops for food and bathroom breaks, but now it was fully dark and after ten. I doubted anything adjacent to the quiet residential area would be open. The lights had gone out on Harriet’s side of the building around nine-thirty, but Carrie’s windows were still bright.
“Sorry again about the print,” I said. “Now I wish I’d bought Alex that wallet. I think he’ll like the print, but it’s not really that personal, is it? Maybe I should get him something else as well.”
Louise turned toward me with an exasperated sigh. “Alex is crazy about you. It doesn’t matter what you get him. You said so yourself, possessions don’t matter to him. If you just kiss him under the mistletoe, he’d be happy with that.”
“So you’re saying I’m blowing this present thing way out of proportion?” I sighed. “You’re probably right. I have a tendency to do that—”
“Did you see that?” Louise asked.
“No.”
“I thought—yes, there it is again. Someone is moving around in Harriet’s back garden.”
“Okay. Here we go.” I handed the keys to Louise and checked the settings on my camera one more time so that they let in as much light as possible. “Your phone is on, right?” I asked.
“And fully charged. Don’t worry, luv. I’ll call that snotty inspector the moment it looks as if she’s trying to move…Harriet.”
“Okay, here goes.” I drew in a deep breath and slipped out of the car. After hours of sitting in one position, my legs felt stiff. The cold didn’t help, but I managed to move to the front of the car and get in position without making any noise. I settled the camera on the hood of the car so I’d have a steady shot, then zoomed in on Harriet’s garden. A little ambient light from several streetlights filtered into the yard, but it was still very dark. The snow had tapered off and a couple of little piles in the corners of the garden helped reflect a bit more light. The person wasn’t facing me, and wore a hooded coat or sweatshirt, so I couldn’t see the person’s face.
Faintly, I heard the sound of a shovel slicing through earth. It sent a chill through me. It had worked. Someone had taken the bait. With the camera sounds muted, I took several photos, but I was afraid I didn’t have anything distinctive.
I removed the camera from the car’s hood and crept back to the car door. Louise had lowered the window a few inches. I whispered, “I can’t see who it is. You call that inspector. I’ll try to get closer.”
Louise’s reply was barely audible. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’m not going down there, just to the edge of the little embankment over to the right that drops off above the garden. That should give me an angle that will let me get the person’s face.” Louise made a protesting noise, but I slipped away from the car and moved as noiselessly as possible.
Homes were under construction here, and the little cul-de-sac would be filled with homes later, but for now, most were cleared lots. I carefully picked my way through the dirt, pausing every few beats to listen. The sound of the shovel shearing through the earth continued.
I got close to the edge, where the land dropped a few feet down to the back garden below. I squatted down and peered through the viewfinder. This angle was better, and a patch of snow reflected on the figure. I snapped a few pictures, then my heart thumped faster as a swath of pale hair fell out of the hood.
The figure made an impatient movement, pushing the hair away and the hood fell partially back. I held the camera steady, snapping off silent shots as Carrie looked up from the little mound of dirt, and surveyed the rise of land above her. I bit my lip and forced myself to hold the camera perfectly still in front of my face. After a second, the shoveling resumed, and I let out a shaky breath.
I slowly crept backward. It felt like it took forever to cross the empty lots. As I stepped from the dirt to the asphalt of the road, I realized that the steady, rhythmic sound of the shovel moving through dirt had stopped. I hesitated. Should I go back? No, I had enough on film, and the police should be on their way.
I was almost back to the car when a shadow seemed to move at the edge of my vision. I turned toward it and couldn’t help letting out a shriek. Even in the dim light, I could see her. Carrie stood there, chest heaving, a spray of dirt on her face, and
the shovel gripped like a baseball bat.
I held up a hand. “Wait, Carrie. Let’s, um…”
She didn’t hesitate. She tensed her arms as if getting ready to swing at a ball, but she was aiming for my head.
I fumbled for my camera, managing to click on the flash and aim it at her, snapping a series of blinding shots as a shadow shifted beside Carrie. Something big and dark came down on her upper back, thrusting her forward. She lurched and fell, hitting her head hard on the asphalt as pieces of broken wood and shards of glass rained down around her.
“Oh, Kate. I’m so sorry about the print,” Louise said. “It was the only thing I had.”
“No, that’s okay.” I reached for the bumper of the MG and lowered myself onto it. “Small trade-off for not being hit in the face with a shovel.”
Chapter 9
“AND YOU GOT IT ALL on film,” Gina said. “Louise rescuing you.”
“Yes, she certainly stopped Carrie in her tracks.” Gina was propped up against a pile of pillows on the hospital bed. She still looked pale and fragile, but her eyes were lively and alert.
Louise said, “The flash distracted Carrie while I got out of the car. If you hadn’t done that,” Louise broke off and cleared her throat. “She would have come after me with the shovel, too. And the print was no match for the shovel, even if the print was framed.” Louise grimaced. “I still feel bad about that.”
“Don’t worry about it. The frame protected the print pretty well. It’s just a little crumpled on one side. And sort of folded. But it will be fine, I’m sure.”
“So what happened with Carrie? Did she wake up?” Gina asked.
“Not at that moment, thank goodness,” I said.
“She’d hit her head pretty hard on the way down.” Louise lowered her head and gave Gina a look. “Like someone else I know.”
Gina gingerly touched her head. “Yes, I don’t recommend it.”
“Anyway, she was coming around when the police arrived,” Louise continued. “But we explained what she’d been doing. They didn’t seem convinced at first, even with Kate’s photos to back us up, but after one look in Harriet’s garden, they took Carrie away in the back of a police car.”
“She’ll face murder charges,” I said, and Gina’s animated face saddened.
“I hate it that I was right about Harriet. I didn’t want to be, but deep down, I knew it. I knew she was dead.” She shivered. “I can’t believe Carrie buried Harriet in the garden. She was there, the whole time, and no one missed her.”
“You did,” Louise said. “You must have rattled Carrie with your questions. The mistletoe had to be her, didn’t it? She poisoned you?”
Gina nodded. “Yes, the inspector came this morning. His manner was very different from last time. He was quite willing to answer all my questions. I have a lot of questions, you know.” She smiled faintly. “They found traces of mistletoe on her Regency pelisse. The mistletoe was there at the market, a decoration. She must have crushed some berries and managed to slip them into my tea before the server brought it to us. They found the girl who delivered the drinks, and she remembered a woman who looked like Carrie bumping into her, but she couldn’t remember exactly when it happened, or who she was serving at the time.” Gina’s gaze dropped to her hands. “I don’t understand it, at all, but I suppose since Carrie had killed Harriet, she probably didn’t have a second thought about dropping those berries into my tea.” She smoothed the edge of the blanket over her lap. “The inspector said they believe she drugged Harriet and then suffocated her.”
“Oh, that’s awful,” Louise said.
“They’re doing tests and won’t know for certain until the results are back, but the inspector said that Harriet didn’t have any visible wounds, except for some bruising on her face around her nose and mouth.” Gina shook her head. “Why would Carrie do that? What drives someone to be so cruel?”
“Greed,” I said. “You said it yourself when you told me about Carrie. You said nothing was ever enough. She must have realized that Harriet was making a good income with her books. A look at Harriet’s Facebook account would have told her about the upcoming trip. Carrie saw it as an opportunity to get rid of Harriet.”
“They had traded keys,” Gina said. “I know that.”
“Right,” I said, “so she hired an actress to play the part of Harriet to extend the fiction that Harriet was still alive. My friend Alex found out all about that. He also found out from the police in the Canary Islands that Carrie was removing cash from Harriet’s accounts, just as you thought.”
Gina nodded, her face sad. “I wish I had been wrong.”
“She had Harriet’s purse and all her bank cards,” I continued. “Bridgette said Harriet had a list with all her passwords in her desk. She’d gotten into Harriet’s computer and redirected the funds. I think the only reason she stayed so long was to create an alibi for herself and keep an eye on Harriet’s garden to make sure the body wasn’t discovered. If the body was found, the process to shift all of Harriet’s accounts to the beneficiaries would begin, cutting off Carrie’s cash flow,” I said.
“So as long as Harriet was on holiday, Carrie was safe,” Gina said.
“The police in the Canary Islands have already found several emails between Carrie and the impostor she hired,” I said. “I suppose Carrie planned to have the woman playing the part of Harriet mention her intention of touring some of the other Canary Islands. If ‘Harriet’ sent word back that she had extended her vacation again, then it would be easy for the fake Harriet to drop out of sight and make it much more difficult to track her down.”
“And Carrie could go on collecting the earnings from Harriet’s royalties,” Gina said.
“Which is why Kate’s mention of the flash drive with outlines of future books was so brilliant,” Louise said. “Of course Carrie would want something like that.”
“I wish that part of the story were true,” Gina said. “I’d love to read another of Harriet’s books.”
“Well, it was partly true,” Louise said. “Bridgette called me this morning. She’d looked through Harriet’s computer before the police arrived this morning.” Louise handed Gina a stack of papers. “She found a file labeled Valentine Novella. She sent it to me, and I printed it out for you.”
Gina grinned. “Oh, Harriet did keep her promise. We will get one more Harriet Hayden story. I’m so glad. And, this sister, Bridgette, the police made her sound quite the shady character, but it seems she’s trying to do the right thing.”
I exchanged a look with Louise as I said, “She’s had a rough time, but I think she’d already determined to change her ways before all of this.”
Louise nodded. “She leaves tomorrow for rehab.”
We chatted a bit more, but Gina’s gaze kept straying to the printed pages, so when the nurse arrived, Louise and I said goodbye. Gina was already halfway through the first page before we were out the door, despite the nurse taking her vitals.
Outside the hospital, Louise said, “I still have Christmas shopping to do. Fancy another trip to the market?” The snow had begun to flutter down again but with more intensity than yesterday’s snow. It was quickly coating everything in sight.
“No, my shopping is finished. I think I need to do some baking, then curl up with a good book.”
Louise said, “If I don’t see you before Christmas, thank you,” and she gave me a quick, fiercely tight hug. “It goes without saying, doesn’t it, that everything will always be on the house for you at the pub?”
“There’s no need for that—”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “There is. It’s not much, but it’s what I can do, and I don’t want to hear any argument from you. It’s Christmas, and it’s not polite to refuse gifts.”
I swallowed my arguments. “You’re right. Thank you,” I said sincerely.
“Right. Well. That’s sorted then. Happy Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Louise,” I said, and handed her an envelop
e.
“What’s this?” Her tone was suspicious as she pulled back the flap and extracted a card. “A spa day?”
“A little something—that you must accept,” I said quickly, sensing that she was about to try to refuse it. “It’s a gift. Must be polite and all. I think you’ll love it. Massage included.”
“A massage does sound heavenly,” she said with a slow smile.
We said goodbye, and I managed to get back to my cottage in Nether Woodsmoor, only frightening myself a few times as the car drifted on the slick roads, seeming to have a mind of its own. I put the car in park with a sense of relief, returned Slink’s energetic greeting, then whipped up a batch of sugar cookies.
I managed to get a fire going in the fireplace. Then I settled into the couch near the blaze, a plate of cookies balanced on the arm of the couch, and Miss Bingley Suspects propped up on my knee.
The doorbell rang, and Slink went from horizontally sprawled on her cushion to vertical in milliseconds. I opened the door to see Alex standing there, snow rapidly building up on his hair. “Merry Christmas.”
“What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to arrive until the day after tomorrow.”
Alex reached down to rub Slink’s ears as she danced around us. “I wanted to give you this in person.” He handed me a small wrapped package.
I could tell from the feel of it that it was a book.
“And I was worried about you,” he continued. “Missing authors, impostors, poisoned tea. You know, not the typical Christmas.”
“It all worked out…the whole thing. I called you yesterday, but I had to leave you a voicemail.”
“That’s because I was flying back. So, can I come in?”
“Yes, of course.” I stepped back. “Sorry, I’m just so surprised to see you, but really glad, too”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” I put my arms around his neck. “Let me show you.”
Eventually, we decided we should close the door. I was still holding the package, and as I shut the door, Alex brushed the snow from his hair as he said, “Go on, open it.”
