Stabbed In The Solarium

by Leighann Dobbs

  Pru pursed her lips and didn’t look very happy about her answer. “No.”

  “See, there’s no mouse infestation here. Perhaps that was some other noise you heard or just one mouse who the cats have chased out.”

  Pru’s pursed lips tightened even further. “I doubt it. Once you get infested, you can’t easily get rid of them.”

  “Ms. Abernathy, there you are.” Harold came down the hall with a white package the size of a breadbox and handed it to Prudence.

  Araminta’s curiously was roused. What could Pru possibly be getting in a package? And why? But she didn’t have time to investigate. It was probably a new batch of grouch pills or maybe a book on how to complain more.

  Prudence’s attention was now focused on Harold and the box, so Araminta took the opportunity to sneak away and rushed outside to find Yancy.

  By the time she made her way out to the garden, she was near out of breath and the police were already there.

  Who had called them to notify the detective of Yancy’s arrival? Had it been Prudence? She was certainly up and lurking about. Who else was out at this time of the morning? Slowing her pace, Araminta scanned the grounds. A flash of sunlight caught her attention. She turned and squinted into the morning sun to find what had caused it.

  Olive was there, but Araminta hardly thought she would have called the inspector. Olive was far too busy preening into her folding compact hand mirror, which she held close to her face as she tucked stray pieces of gray hair back into her bun, her bejeweled right hand deftly pulling them back and tucking them inside.

  Araminta scoffed. Silly woman. One would think she believed she was forty years younger, the way she checked herself. Like a schoolgirl preparing to meet a suitor. A thought struck Araminta. Was Olive attracted to young Hershey? Or perhaps she’d expected Jacob Hershey to accompany his young nephew.

  Jacob was closer to Olive’s age. The thought of Olive with Jacob made Araminta feel strange, but she had no idea why. Perhaps a woman would soften his sour demeanor, and that would be a good thing as far as she was concerned.

  Rather than attract attention herself, Araminta chose stealth and made for the cover of shadow and shade, skirting the side of the house instead of treading across the main stretch of lawn to the wide patch of newly planted shrubbery and flowers. The specially chosen vegetation was lovely, positioned to surround a statue model of the most famous car ever built by Moorecliff Motors.

  Daisy had affectionately called the area the Archibald Moorecliff Family Commemorative Garden, but right now, there was no commemorating going on. Instead, Yancy was standing on the gravel path near the statue in the middle of it all, speaking in low tones with Detective Hershey. Araminta sidled closer to better hear what they were saying.

  “And you are the Moorecliff’s gardener, correct?”

  “Yes, sir. Name’s Yancy. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I just have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind,” Hershey said. “Ms. Moorecliff said you’d been given the day off when I was here yesterday. Can you tell me where you were?”

  Yancy nodded then shuffled his feet a bit. Araminta thought he might even be blushing. “I was on Day Street, sir.”

  Hershey nodded. “Day Street. Lovely area. Nice grounds too. Were you there all day? Or did you leave for a time? And might I ask what you were doing there?”

  Yancy shuffled his feet again. “I would rather not, sir. It’s kind of private, if you don’t mind.”

  “I gathered that when Ms. Moorecliff mentioned you’d asked for the day off but hadn’t said why. Perhaps you would like to explain now?”

  When Yancy said nothing, Hershey prompted him again. “Day Street. Where you were yesterday. It’s kind of important. What were you doing there? How long did you stay? Is there anyone who can vouch for your presence there?”

  Yancy’s expression clouded, and in that instant, it became painfully obvious to Araminta that Yancy didn’t know yet about Shirley’s murder.

  When the detective merely held his silence, Yancy gave in with a sigh. “I was helping to build a playground for underprivileged kids, but I don’t understand why that would be relevant to your presence here. Is there something going on I’m not aware of?”

  His head cocked to one side, Hershey peered up at him. “There has, actually. I’m afraid there has been a murder. Perhaps you are acquainted with the deceased? Her name is Ms. Shirley Moorecliff.”

  Yancy blanched. “S-Sh-Shirley? She’s dead?”

  Hershey nodded and showed him a glove. Araminta recognized it as a match to the bloodied one they’d found near Shirley’s body yesterday. “Is this your glove? You did say you work here in the garden, right?”

  “No, sir. I mean, yes, I work in the gardens, but that is not my glove, sir. That one belongs to Miss Stephanie. She loves the garden—something I think she has realized only recently. She’s been puttering around out here with me since she returned to the family after… after Master Archie’s death… and it seems to occupy all her time.”

  When the man seemed hesitant to accept what he’d said as the truth, Yancy placed the glove over his large right hand aligning the thumb and fingers, which were a good half inch larger than the glove. “See? This one would never work for me. It is far too small. As I said, it belongs to Miss Stephanie.”

  “This is not good,” Arun said as he watched Yancy illustrate the small size of the glove compared to his large hands.

  “I don’t think our dear Yancy realizes he has just put a bull’s-eye on Steph’s back,” Sasha replied.

  “Yes, but I don’t think Hershey will jump to arrest her. Those two are googly-eyed over each other.”

  Sasha hissed in disgust. “Humans are so strange. Still, he is bound to follow up because he’s quite diligent at his job.”

  Arun flicked his tail. “I agree. Now I regret leading them to the glove.”

  Sasha’s whiskers twitched as she mulled that over. “We couldn’t withhold evidence, and I’m sure they would have found it eventually. We know Stephanie didn’t kill Shirley, so we will simply find the evidence that proves who the killer is and lead the humans in that direction.”

  Arun thought that was a good idea. “Who do you think the killer is?”

  Sasha started toward the house, and he followed. “Well, we know Angie and Owen have something to hide.”

  “True, but there are many others that also have something to hide. This family is full of secrets.”

  “That’s why we should sniff around in the guest’s rooms. You never know what you might find. Like the note in Shirley’s drapes.”

  “Hopefully, everyone will be up and about by now and no humans will see us, though it doesn’t much matter if they do, because no one ever suspects our true mission.” Arun was always amazed by how the humans thought cats did nothing but laze around and play all day. Whenever they were seen in a room they weren’t supposed to be in, the humans never suspected they might actually be investigating. Of course, the cats used that to their advantage.

  They jumped in through the cat door in the kitchen and detoured to inspect their stainless-steel bowls in the butler’s pantry for any treats Mary might have put in. They were in luck—a small morsel of chicken rested in each bowl.

  After polishing off the chicken, they made their way to the guest rooms, but their hopes of not running into any of the guests were dashed when they got to the top of the second floor and saw Olive standing in the vestibule in the landing at the top of the grand stairs, with her back to them.

  “What is she doing?”

  “Not sure. Perhaps looking out the window? I saw her in the garden out there not long ago. Maybe she lost something out there and is trying to see it from above.”

  Arun lightened his step even further so as not to disturb her. The cats were light on their feet as it was, and since her back was to them, they could sneak by without notice.

  Just as they passed Olive, a door clicked open, and their at
tention was drawn down the hall to Prudence, who was backing carefully out of a room.

  Olive whirled around. Pru must have had good hearing—maybe too good, if she thought she heard mice in the house—and she spun around as well, gasping when she saw Olive.

  “Oh! Morning,” Pru said.

  Olive nodded. “Morning.”

  “I was just, umm… getting ready for breakfast.”

  Olive straightened her blouse. “Me too.”

  Pru’s eyes flicked from Olive to the window. “Right then. Shall we go together?”

  They both seemed reluctant and started down the stairs. When Olive made a move toward them, though, Pru fell into step beside her.

  “Odd behavior, not that it’s unusual for Moorecliffs to behave oddly,” Arun said as they watched the two ladies descend the stairs.

  “Indeed. But we have bigger fish to fry.” Sasha turned down the hall then lifted her nose in the air and sniffed, her whiskers twitching. “Do you smell that?”

  Arun sniffed. Sasha had a much better sense of smell, but he didn’t like to let on about that. There was no need for her to get a big head about being better at something than he was. “Yes, very odd. Where is that coming from?”

  Sasha was already homing in, making her way to a solid oak door. She pushed her nose to the sliver of a gap at the bottom.

  Arun did the same, the pungent smell assaulting his senses. “Is it cheddar?”

  Sasha took another good sniff. “No, I think maybe camembert.”

  Arun wasn’t so sure. He turned the scent over in his mind, matching it with previous scents. “I think it’s gouda.”

  “Well, any cheese is good, eh? But what is it doing in the closet?”

  Arun pawed at the door, but it didn’t budge. “Who knows? This door opens out, and we can’t pry it open. Remember, we tried that before when the Sanderson twins were here and hid tuna sandwiches they didn’t want to eat in their sweater pockets and then hung their sweaters in the hall closet?”

  Sasha’s whiskers twitched at the memory. “Yes! Trinity was quite upset when she made that discovery after they left.”

  “It was very smelly.”

  Sasha turned her attention back to the hallway. “Look, the door to Owen’s room is open. Shall we peek inside? I think I saw him downstairs, so we’ll have some time to explore.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Araminta ran into Daisy and Reggie in the kitchen. Reggie had made a ham-and-cheese sandwich but was having a hard time finding a knife to cut it with. One thing about her nephew—he liked to fend for himself and wasn’t some spoiled kid who demanded the staff do everything for him. He also liked his sandwiches cut on the diagonal.

  “Aunty Araminta, have you seen the serrated knives?” Reggie opened a drawer.

  Araminta glanced at the butcher block holder where Mary kept the carving knives. It was empty.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing, Master Reggie?” Mary rushed over to Reggie and pulled the plate away, inspecting the sandwich as if to see if it was as good as one of hers. “It’s my place to make the food. You need to stop being so independent.”

  Mary looked put out, as if hurt that Reggie hadn’t asked her.

  “I didn’t want to bother you, but if you want to help, you could cut it for me,” Reggie said.

  Mary took a butter knife out of a drawer. “Have to use this. The police took all the knives.” Mary lined the knife up against the sandwich, stooping until it was eye-level and then squinting one eyed shut as if cutting the sandwich with precision were of utmost importance. “They think one of the knives might be the murder weapon.”

  Daisy gasped. “One of our knives?”

  Of course, it made perfect sense. Where else would the killer get a knife? Plus, the kitchen was near the conservatory. Araminta’s stomach tightened as she remembered Angie’s revelation about Stephanie sneaking through the kitchen door the night of the murder.

  Mary cut the sandwich with a flourish and pushed it toward Reggie. “There now. I wish you people would let me do the job and stop lurking in the kitchen at all hours of the night.”

  “Lurking? Who has been lurking in the kitchen?” Araminta hoped Mary didn’t say it was Stephanie.

  “That horrid Prudence Abernathy,” Mary said, then her eyes got wide. She clapped her hand over her mouth and turned to Daisy. “Sorry, didn’t mean to overstep.”

  “No problem,” Daisy assured her. “She is horrid. What was she doing in here?”

  “She was rummaging around in the butler’s pantry. Said she needed a snack.”

  “Near the knives?” Araminta hoped.

  “Not when I saw her, but she could have been there before I ran into her.”

  “Probably looking for mice.” Reggie bit into his sandwich.

  Araminta watched him chew as her mind swirled. Was Prudence really looking for a snack? What reason would she have to kill Shirley?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the kitchen door swinging open. In stepped Stephanie. She stopped short, clearly surprised to see them all gathered there. Her gaze stopped at Reggie, and her face broke into a smile. “Reg! What are you doing here?”

  They hugged. “I really couldn’t stay away from Dad’s memorial. I’m sorry to disappoint everyone, but I snuck away from the retreat.”

  “That’s not a disappointment,” Daisy said. “We’re happy to see you.”

  “We are. It’s great having you here. Did you just get in?” Stephanie asked.

  “Something like that.”

  Apparently, Reggie didn’t want to get into the whole story about how he’d been hiding in the gardener’s shed. Araminta would keep his secret, and she was sure Daisy would too. They had bigger problems.

  “Steph, we missed you at dinner last night,” Araminta said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. She didn’t want Stephanie to think she was accusing her of anything, but she needed to find out where the girl had been. Hopefully, she hadn’t been in the solarium, killing Shirley.

  Stephanie looked guilty, her gaze flicking from Araminta to Daisy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone would miss me. There are so many Moorecliffs, and I’m afraid I was tired and Moorecliffed-out.”

  “Tired?” Araminta asked. “Is that why you’ve taken to sneaking in through the kitchen rather than enter the house like the rest of the family, through the front door?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it sneaking. I was out in the garden pruning the azaleas, and this is the closest door.”

  “Yes, just now, but what about the night before last?”

  Stephanie’s gaze narrowed, and she started to look guilty. “What about it?”

  “Someone said they saw you sneaking in through this very door in the wee hours of the morning.”

  Stephanie sighed. “I was at a party with friends and didn’t want to run into anyone in the front hall.”

  Daisy walked over and hugged her. “Steph, you know I don’t mind if you go off with your friends. But why sneak out? Why could you not just tell us?”

  Stephanie’s gaze was cast downward. “You know how people in this family talk. I’m sure some, like Aunt Shirley, would think it was disrespectful, and I just didn’t want to deal with her nastiness.”

  Araminta felt a bit relieved that Stephanie had mentioned Shirley so casually. She must not know about the murder. Not that Araminta had suspected her niece, but one never knew. Araminta noticed another thing too. The relationship between Daisy and Stephanie had always been very strained, but not for lack of trying on Daisy’s part. This time, though, Steph did not seem as stiff when Daisy hugged her, and she almost hugged her stepmother back.

  Araminta figured she’d better warn the girl. “Steph, Detective Hershey is here. He will want to question you soon.”

  “Me? But why?”

  “I guess you haven’t talked to anyone from the family lately.” Reggie polished off the last of the sandwich.

  Stephanie frowned. “I try not to. I’ve be
en in my room and then out in the garden. What’s going on?”

  “Shirley was murdered.” Might as well just blurt it out.

  Stephanie gasped. “Aunty Shirley? The one who knew everyone’s dirty business?”

  “That’s the one,” Daisy said.

  “Oh.” Stephanie looked shocked, but not terribly sad. She hadn’t been that close to Shirley, and Shirley hadn’t been exactly likeable. “Who did it?”

  “We don’t know. That’s why Hershey is investigating.”

  “Why would he want to talk to me, though? I don’t know anything about it.”

  “You’ve been helping Yancy in the garden, right?” Araminta asked.

  She nodded. “I find the effort therapeutic.”

  After a moment, Stephanie realized what Araminta was getting at. Her voice lowered to barely more than a whisper, she asked, “They think Yancy killed her? But why would he do such a thing? What proof do they have?”

  “There was a bloody glove, and it turns out Yancy and Shirley were having a fling.”

  “Well, that’s no reason to kill her, and besides, we all know Yancy wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Stephanie said.

  Daisy nodded. “I put my money on blackmail. Aunt Shirley was always trying to profit from what she knows, and maybe someone got sick of it.”

  “And there was a note to meet her in the solarium,” Araminta added.

  Stephanie frowned. “So it was premeditated.”

  Araminta raised a brow. Apparently, her young niece had been hanging around with Ivan Hershey enough to pick up on some of the police terminology. “Which indicates it wasn’t a crime of passion like it might have been if she and Yancy got into an argument.”

  Stephanie nodded. “Probably one of the relatives that was being blackmailed, then. I’ll seek out Hershey and vouch for Yancy.”

  “That would be good,” Araminta said. “But there’s something else you might want to be aware of before you do.”

  Steph had been on her way to the door, but then she turned to face Araminta. “What?”

  “The bloody glove was yours.”