At the foot of the stairs, she saw Ivan speaking with Stephanie. “Detective Hershey, I thought you’d gone?”
He straightened and stepped away from her grandniece. “Yes, there was another call, unfortunately, but I hurried back the moment it was done.”
“Hmph.” Hurried, indeed, Araminta thought. Clearly, he’d come back to speak with Stephanie. And from the smile on that one’s face, she didn’t seem to mind. “Well, since you are here, I shall give this to you. I found this in Shirley’s room. It was hiding in the hem of the drapes. What do you make of it?”
With her finger and thumb once more draped by the hem of her blouse, Araminta fished the handwritten note from her pocket.
Hershey snapped on a glove and took it from her. His eyes narrowed as he read. “Clearly someone wanted your relative to be in the solarium.”
“Yes, precisely.” Araminta put her hands on her hips and sighed. “But why?”
“That does seem to be the question, doesn’t it?” Folding the paper, Hershey slipped it into an evidence bag. “All that remains is to find the answer.”
Chapter Seven
Dinner that night was a raucous affair, to say the least. As Trinity and Harold did their part to make sure everyone’s goblets remained filled along with their bellies, the conversation at every table focused on what had happened to Shirley.
The general consensus among the family seemed to be that Shirley must have gone too far. Everyone knew that she had a habit of using what she knew against people. In short, she was nosy, and her tongue was venomous. Plus, she had trouble keeping her mouth shut.
Those few who weren’t voicing various speculations about Shirley and her noisome habit of keeping tabs on all the family’s secrets were equally grumbling and commiserating with Daisy over what a shame it was to have all that wasted food just sitting there in the solarium. With the room sealed off by the police while they investigated Shirley Moorecliff’s murder, all the beautiful, catered dishes Daisy had ordered in for the affair would have to be discarded.
“Guess there will be a lot more mice in the walls after this fiasco than there already are. They’ll soon be teeming, with that much food to share between them,” Prudence Abernathy piped up. Her voice was overly loud, her expression full of judgement. Her fear of mice in the house must not have dulled her appetite, though, judging by the load of food balanced on the silver fork she had clutched in her left hand. Araminta knew she had raised her voice to ensure there was no way her hostess would not hear her.
Daisy gasped at her blatant accusation of household mismanagement, but somehow managed to hang on to her composure. Araminta silently applauded her delicate aplomb as Daisy calmly folded her napkin and laid it carefully over the purse in her lap before she spoke.
“Mice? At Moorecliff Manor? I think not, my dear. Surely, you are mistaken!”
Prudence—or Pru, as most of the family called her—used her fork to move her food from one side of her plate to the other. Her brow rose, and she tilted her head to the side, but she continued to play with her dinner as she smirked. “My ears hear what they hear, darling. Those nasty rodents woke me early this morning. There must be hundreds of them, because they were so loud, I couldn’t finish my sleep.”
Araminta leaned forward in her chair. “I suppose lack of sleep is to blame for your current mood? Eat your dinner, Pru. You sound cranky and more than a bit petulant. Much like a child, actually.”
Prudence dropped her fork and glared at Araminta. “There are mice in the walls, I tell you. If you are content to reside with those nasty, beady-eyed rodents, so be it. For myself, I’m out of this ancient pile of planks the moment this dastardly investigation is through.”
At the head of the table, Daisy had gone white, but this time, her pallor was not due to the recent murder. Rather, Araminta could see she was beside herself with indignation that someone had dared cast aspersions on her home-management skills. Araminta steeled herself for what was coming—from the look on Daisy’s face, there was about to be an explosion.
Beside her, Robert Blakely murmured, “Don’t worry that anyone will miss you.”
Araminta suppressed a chuckle and turned again to step in with Prudence. “There’s no reason for your impertinence, woman. Daisy keeps Moorecliff Manor in tip-top shape. With the help of Harold and Trinity and Yancy, of course. If there were mice, we would know. Of that, I can personally assure you.”
Beaten at her childish little game meant to besmirch Daisy, Prudence pushed back her chair and immediately left the room. The minute she was gone, a semblance of normal conversation resumed.
“You must feel crushed to have all your efforts with the memorial gone to waste,” Olive told Daisy. “Especially that beautiful cake! I never dreamed someone would have the skills to create such a detailed Moorecliff motorcar replica.”
Araminta frowned as she thought of all the food. They’d spent hours choosing what to serve and having the caterer make various items. Finger sandwiches in tiered trays. Deviled eggs in those cute little platters with egg-shaped indents. Desserts galore. So much food that she hadn’t even gotten a chance to preview the cakes. Maybe she could check out the motorcar cake before the police took it all away. She had to admit Daisy had cleverly stuck to the motorcar theme with whatever she could. Now all that food was contaminated and had to be tossed. Such a waste.
Soon, dinner drew to an end, and everyone began to wander away from the dining room in favor of a rest upstairs. Araminta chose to loiter with her cats in the parlor. After what Olive had told her earlier about Owen and his sister-in-law, she wanted to have a few words with Angie.
Not that it made sense to her that Angie might be Shirley’s murderer. The fact that she and Owen were having an affair, practically under her husband’s nose, didn’t mean Angie would want to kill anyone over it. Unless she felt threatened by exposure, of course. Had Shirley made such a threat to her?
Everyone in the family knew Angie had married not for love, but for money, and she certainly would not want to relinquish what access to it her marriage had given her. Araminta wasn’t positive that Shirley had blackmailed members of the family before, but she’d heard the rumors. And if Shirley had blackmailed them, it was unlikely anyone would admit to it.
Now, how to approach Angie? Araminta couldn’t come right out and accuse her of infidelity. Surely she would deny that, and it wouldn’t make her eager to talk to Araminta. A subtle approach would be best. If she and Owen were sneaking around in the halls at night, maybe one of the two had seen something?
Araminta stroked the kitties while she waited in the parlor. One way or the other, she meant to find out what she could to determine whether or not Shirley’s killer was Owen or Angie.
Chapter Eight
Angela “Angie” Moorecliff was a shrewd woman and a good actress. Though Araminta knew the rumor of her only marrying for money was true, Angie hid it well, especially from her husband. Only the keenest observers of human behavior would notice the subtle hints that she was more in love with the money than the man.
Angie’s love of material wealth showed in her choices and in her lifestyle. She wore the latest fashions from the day’s top designers. She wore the costliest perfumes, had only the best stylists in the country tend her hair, and spent more time jet-setting around the world on the yacht her husband’s money had paid for than she did lounging around their million-dollar home on the west coast. She was always in the company of men who she claimed to be “just friends.”
This evening, she was dressed, yet again, to the nines, from the dangling diamonds sparkling at her ears to the cream-chiffon polish gracing her toes. Araminta caught her on her way out of the dining room. She was walking at her husband’s side, but it was her brother-in-law, Owen, at whom she smiled.
“Angie, dear, how lovely to see you! We’ve hardly had a chance to chat since you arrived!” Araminta tugged at Angie’s arm to separate her from the herd.
Araminta noted the way Angi
e’s gaze became hooded for just a second before she turned to speak to her husband, but she’d added an unnecessary bit of volume to her tone. Araminta felt sure she’d wanted Owen, not her husband, to hear her. “Do go on ahead of me, darling. I will catch up later.”
She turned to Araminta with her faux smile. “Yes, dear, how can I help you?” Her gaze drifted down to Araminta’s outfit. “Some fashion advice, perhaps?”
Araminta smoothed her jacket. Sure, her clothing choices were a bit unconventional, but she liked them much better than Angela’s flashy style. “Not this time.”
Araminta steered her over to a small unoccupied sitting room so they could talk in private. She took a seat in a mahogany carved Victorian chair that had belonged to her grandfather and been recently reupholstered in rose brocade and gestured for Angie to take the matching chair next to her.
The chairs were out of the way and out of earshot of anyone in the main hall. They were also set in the corner and positioned so that Araminta could see anyone approaching—a perfect spot for a subtle interrogation.
“So, dear, how have you and David been getting on? And Karen and Douglass, are they doing well?” Araminta opened by asking about Angie’s children. People loved to talk about their kids, and it usually made them drop their guard. Angie was no exception.
“They’re doing great. Thanks for asking.” As Angie went on to gush about her children’s latest accomplishments, Araminta feigned intense interest, nodding and smiling, and saying things like “That’s wonderful!” at all the right times as she considered how best to get the information she needed from Angie.
The cats also seemed interested. As Angie talked, they circled her ankles. Angie didn’t seem to enjoy their attention, her lips pursed and hands shooing at them every so often. She probably didn’t want cat fur on her expensive outfit. The cats, of course, sensed this and proceeded to rub up against her as much as possible.
Finally, there was a break in her monologue, and Araminta was able to start her inquiry. “And how have you and David been sleeping here at the manor? I do hope it’s not too noisy.” Araminta leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I don’t believe that there are mice in the walls, but I do believe one of the staff saw you walking about. I hope nothing has kept you awake.”
Angie stiffened. “The staff saw me? No, they must be mistaken.”
So that was how she was going to play it? Denial? Araminta would have to play hardball. She didn’t have time to waste. “Are you sure? I do believe someone said they saw you in the hallway near Owen’s room. I was wondering what you would be doing there.”
“Who? Who said that?” Angie stuttered, her composure faltering.
“It’s not important. The thing is, there’s been a murder, and the police are questioning people. Now you wouldn’t want them to find out about your nightly excursions, would you?” Araminta leaned forward. “So tell me, were you with Owen around two a.m. this morning?”
Angie gasped. “You—oh, you think I killed Shirley? How dare you!” Her dander was definitely up. “You’re as bad as she was—a nosy old busybody! Why don’t you look to your own family, huh? Before you cast your malicious stones at me!”
Araminta’s brows drew together. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Angie’s eyes narrowed at Araminta. She confessed, “Yes, I was with Owen in his room this morning, but I wasn’t the only one wandering around Moorecliff Manor.”
Araminta’s focus sharpened. “You saw someone else?”
Angie nodded and crossed her arms over her chest, her expression smug now that she had something to bargain with. “Several people, in fact. Some who are very close to you.”
Araminta didn’t like the way this was going. “Like who?”
“Well for one, that sourpuss Prudence Abernathy was in the hallway, making one of her many trips to the bathroom.” Angie’s scowl deepened. “She’s the one that told on me, isn’t she?”
“I can’t really say.” Araminta, not wanting to put the finger on Olive, let Angie think what she wanted. “But I’m not particularly close to Prudence.”
“She’s not the only one. But she was acting a bit strange. I know she’s getting on in years and has to make many trips to the bathroom at night, but when I turned the corner, I saw her looking around the hallway as if she was confused. I jumped back of course, since I didn’t want to be noticed, but I swear she was coming out of the hall closet, not the bathroom.” Angie chuckled. “You might want to have the maid check the closet to be sure Prudence hasn’t gone senile and used the wrong room.”
Araminta made a face as she considered Pru as the killer. Had Shirley had something on her? Was that why she kept talking about the mice? Were the mice some sort of misdirection to hide the fact that she was the killer?
“Anyway, I’m not the killer, and I’m sure you will want to keep my nocturnal journeys to yourself after you hear who else I saw sneaking around.”
Apparently, Shirley wasn’t the only family member who was into blackmail—Angie was now using it to guarantee Araminta’s silence, which made her very nervous about the answer to her next question. “Who?”
Angie smirked. “I saw Stephanie sneaking in the back door by the kitchen. Why would she be doing that if she had nothing to hide? Like I said, maybe you should be keeping that eagle eye of yours on the members of your own family instead of mine.”
Stephanie was wandering the manor in the early hours of the morning? Araminta felt a bit of a chill. Steph hadn’t been down to the table for dinner this evening, either, and now Araminta was worried about why. Stephanie had developed a keen interest in gardening lately, and Araminta was sure something had been going on in the gardening shed.
“I will speak to her about that.”
Angie nodded and stood but then hesitated before taking her leave. “You will keep the details of this conversation to yourself, then? David has no idea about Owen…”
Araminta wondered how that could possibly be true, but David had never been known for his powers of observation. He’d always been rather oblivious, a geeky nerd with his head in the clouds and a brain focused on numbers. That was how he’d made millions in investments.
Angela tapped her foot nervously. She really was worried Araminta might tell him and her gravy train would dry up. But even though David didn’t notice, it didn’t mean that others were oblivious. Olive had noticed. Had Shirley? This was something Shirley would certainly take advantage of.
If Shirley knew and was blackmailing Angela, that would be a compelling motive for murder. And here Angela was, casting suspicion away from herself by claiming she’d seen Stephanie.
Araminta assured Angie of her silence with a nod. “I won’t say a word, but perhaps you could practice being a bit more circumspect? As you know, some in the family are more watchful of the habits of others, and with more malicious intent. They tend to focus on the gritty, dirty details.”
Angela let a breath out and managed to look humble. “Thank you.”
Araminta shooed her on her way. “Go on. Your secret is safe.”
Angie nodded and walked away toward the parlor door, halting only briefly when Araminta said, “Thank you for telling me about Stephanie.”
“Any time,” she murmured over her shoulder, her voice more cold than sincere.
Araminta remained in the chair, thinking about what she’d just learned. Sasha leapt into her lap and she stroked her silky fur for comfort. Angela was a liar, but Araminta didn’t think she’d lied about Stephanie. Araminta would have to confront her grandniece soon.
And what about Prudence? Had she really been in the closet, or was Angie wrong about where she’d seen her coming from? Had Pru just been confused about which door led to the bathroom, or was she up to something too?
Araminta glanced at her watch. Her gaze slid to the hallway, which led to the kitchen and the door Steph had apparently slipped in through after most of the family were in their rooms sleeping last night.
Ima
ges of the murder scene bubbled up. Shirley had definitely been stabbed, but had it been with one of the knives from that very kitchen? The police had yet to release those details.
As Araminta headed upstairs, a question nagged. Where was Stephanie now? The girl hadn’t come down for dinner, although such an occurrence would have been unheard of a few weeks ago, before Archie died. The Moorecliff family dined together, no matter how many members were in residence. So why was Stephanie bucking tradition at this particular time?
Chapter Nine
Araminta paced the sitting room that adjoined to her bedroom in her house shoes, robe, and gown. After her chat with Angie, she had gone upstairs to check if her grandniece was in her rooms, but she hadn’t been there. That had been around a quarter past nine.
The old clock on her mantel chimed midnight, and Araminta stepped close to peer out the window at the gardens below. At midnight, Stephanie still hadn’t returned to the manor. Stephanie was young and liked to stay out late with her friends, but Araminta would have thought that considering the recent death of her father and even-more-recent murder at the mansion, Stephanie would have stuck closer to home. Hopefully, there wasn’t a more sinister reason that Stephanie was not in her room. Not that Araminta thought Stephanie capable of murder, but Steph had become close with Yancy, and Yancy was a prime suspect. Was she hiding Yancy or abetting him somehow?
Luckily, only Angela had seen Stephanie, and Araminta doubted Angie would tell the police, because it might expose her secret affair. But the question of Stephanie’s whereabouts and reason for going began to plague Araminta to the point that even the cats had begun to fidget nervously beneath her regard.
Araminta paced her room, thoughts whirling. She barely noticed the cats trailing her, trotting behind her step for step, curling around her feet as they were wont to do, until Sasha raced over to the window and jumped up on the wide windowsill to stare out into the night.
Stabbed In The Solarium Page 3
