Murder at the Ladies Club

by Beth Byers

  Except Rita—who Violet was coming to like more and more—was in the room. Violet could feel the difference in the air caused by the presence of someone new. When adding in the recent events, Denny’s desire to dive into the suspects, and Jack’s tense worry, the entire evening felt disjointed. This wasn’t their normal way of spending an evening together. Tonight no one would turn on the wireless, no one would feel or succumb to the urge to dance, and when they went to bed, they’d all be chased into their dreams by dark thoughts.

  Violet turned to Rita. Their gazes met, Violet’s dark to the brilliant blue of Miss Russell. She’d bathed and washed her hair and put it into finger waves. The style suited Miss Russell immensely. She looked as if she’d stepped out of the moving pictures with her glorious good looks.

  “It seems like anyone as beautiful as you would have someone who obsessed of her,” Violet suggested.

  At her statement, Denny leaned forward, eyes alight with joy. He set his cocktail down with a click and took in a deep breath, holding it to contain what might well have been a squeal of excitement.

  “Why are you saying that?” Rita asked. The woman was sharp, Violet had to admit.

  “We found the shooter,” Hamilton Barnes said and then lit a cigarette. “He wasn’t trying to kill you. He was trying to scare you.”

  “Why?” Rita demanded.

  “That is the question of the hour, isn’t it? If murder isn’t the final goal, why are you being targeted?”

  “I don’t know,” Rita wailed. “I have no idea.”

  Violet believed her. She needed another cocktail, she thought, even though she wasn’t half finished with the one in her hand. She wanted her mind to go blurry and things to seem funny that weren’t all that amusing. Instead, Violet set her drink aside.

  “It has to be that I’m back, right?” Rita guessed. “That’s all that’s changed in my life. I have been traveling for years. My love affairs have ended easily enough. No one expected me to accept a marriage proposal. I’ve always made it clear that wasn’t what I wanted.”

  “Maybe they thought they could change your mind,” Victor suggested. “I would have tried to change Kate’s mind for the rest of her life if she’d said no to me.”

  “That’s why she said yes,” Rita told him. “You love her. The only man who tried to change my mind didn’t have the money to live the life he was living and he was chased by creditors. Even then, he didn’t do me the disservice of pretending to love me. He simply promised to entertain me for the rest of my days.”

  “Oh honey,” Lila said lazily, “he would have been cheating on you within a year.”

  “We were never exclusive to each other,” Rita said disgustedly. “He already had a lover he liked quite a bit more than me. She was as poor as he was.”

  Kate rubbed her swollen belly and glanced at Violet. The three women in the room, outside of Rita, had the luxury of being certain they were adored. The only way to rile Denny at all was to upset Lila. Victor wasn’t just in love, he was grateful to be loved, completely convinced that Kate was too good for him. He often said he’d stolen a wittier, more righteous man’s fated love and had to guard against her falling in love with someone else. As though it would be inevitable if he wasn’t careful. His devotion was something poets would write sonnets about if only they could measure the depth and width of his feelings.

  What if someone felt that way about Rita and was trying to drive her to him? It was an insane way to go about it, but nothing in all this made sense.

  “It’s been a rather long while since I was even half in a relationship,” Rita told the others, squashing Violet’s brief idea. “Before Africa certainly. It’s a blur of boredom in that realm for some time.”

  “Has anything else changed in your life?”

  Rita shook her head. “Since my mother died, I have traveled extensively. Father came back to England. Aunt Albright tried fervently to convince me to go home with her before and after India, but I refused. She came back when I wouldn’t return after India. I traveled with friends for a long time. Father and I would meet in funny little places for a few weeks before he’d go home to England and I’d go on another adventure.”

  “Where did you meet?” Violet took another small sip of her drink.

  “Crete once. A little village in Portugal. The south of Spain. Eventually, I traveled with a paid companion as though it were 1814 and I weren’t a modern woman. An experienced missionary’s wife who had been widowed. It made Father feel better. My mother wasn’t around to object, but I think she would have. She’d have told Father to find his inner-conqueror and go with me to where the wind blew us. She was the life of our lives. After her, Father and I were always a little dour together.”

  “How did you lose your mother?” Lila asked gently.

  “She grew sick and died. It was so fast. She faded like someone snuffed out her light. I always felt like we needed her too much. She didn’t have the energy to provide joy for all of us anymore.”

  Goodness, Violet thought, she couldn’t do this right now. She rose and paced while the others watched.

  “Don’t mind, Vi,” Denny told Rita almost kindly. “She can’t sit still when she’s thinking.”

  “What is she thinking about?” Rita asked in a low voice, as if she didn’t want to interrupt.

  “Either Jack—always the most likely answer,” Denny teased, “or as far as I can tell, random little shreds of clues that no one else even noticed. I think she paces and they churn up in her head. Then suddenly the pieces all fall together and we mortals look on in awe.”

  Violet glanced his way and saw him pick up the box of chocolates he’d arranged and hold one out to Rita. “The square ones have caramel and almonds, and, I think, the breath of angels, because they are divine.”

  Violet didn’t have clues. She had nothing. A poor girl who had come home from her travels to find her father married to another woman. A younger woman. Who—it seemed—he had actually loved. How strange it must have been to realize her father had married a woman so much younger than even herself. Would that be something to spur Rita to murder? Violet didn’t want to think so because she liked Rita. If, however, Rita had wanted to murder her stepmother and come out innocent, then setting herself up as the intended victim was a very clever way to do it.

  Violet paced her usual route while twisting the ring on her finger, her usual pacing habit. She walked behind the couches, over to the wall, turned right, and paced in front of the couches, between her friends and the hearth, before reaching the doorway and turning once again. Her brother would eventually have to replace the carpets because of her pacing.

  “Your stepmother was flashy,” Violet said randomly. “If you were to tell someone to murder the flashy blonde in the black dress and then stand the two of you together, she would be the flashy one. Were you with her the whole evening?”

  “Except when I was dancing,” Rita admitted.

  “So, if the waiter was told to switch drinks for the flashy blonde and she was indicated, it could have been her as the intended victim the whole time. Or, it could have been you and the person assumed that the waiter knew. Which really doesn’t make sense.”

  “It’s impossible to know,” Jack said. “I asked and asked again, and the waiter said that he was told the flashy blonde, and he assumed that Mrs. Russell was the intended person.”

  “If I were being crass and referring to Miss Russell,” Lila mused lazily, “I’d have referred to her being too-brown, but perhaps that is a woman thing? Do you notice her color first, Denny?”

  Denny considered, staring at Miss Russell until she blushed. She lifted a game brow and held out her hands as if to ask him to examine her. His head tilted and he admitted, “With her blonde hair and blue eyes, her tan is all the more noticeable. It’s quite attractive really. I would know exactly who you meant if you said the tanned blonde. I think that would be a more accurate term than flashy.”

  Violet had stopped her pacing to wat
ch them interact. “Jack?”

  “I agree. I’d use tanned and blonde before I’d use flashy with Miss Russell. She could be flashy, but given the differences in their figures, the daring dress on Miss Russell was rather shocking on Mrs. Russell. With her diamond necklace hovering near her chest and the low lights reflecting it, flashy is quite the right term for Mrs. Russell. Still, however, blonde in the black dress was quite accurate a description for both Miss Russell and Mrs. Russell.”

  “Perhaps,” Hamilton cut in, “the phrase would be accurate for both women. And perhaps, flashy would be the more accurate term for Mrs. Russell when comparing the two women. However,” Hamilton added, “flashy is also a term that can be quite derogatory.”

  “It is really,” Lila said. “I wouldn’t be thrilled if someone used that term on me or someone I loved.”

  “Exactly my point,” Hamilton agreed. “It suggests the feeling of the speaker towards the woman he intended. If you despised either Miss Russell or Mrs. Russell, the term would work for the speaker. We have no way of knowing who the person giving the initial description actually felt. Flashy is almost beside the point.”

  “What is the point,” Violet said rather suddenly, “is the feeling—like you said, Hamilton. Whoever the victim was intended to be, the feeling behind that poisoning was of pure and abiding hatred.”

  “It usually is with murder, isn’t it?” Rita said.

  The rest of them shook their heads.

  “Sometimes it’s love, as odd as that seems,” Denny said. “People are a bit twisted in the head, Rita.”

  “Or it’s greed,” Lila added. “It’s just the ease of the moment. They don’t really care about the victim at all. Just the money.”

  “But hemlock though,” Vi said, “that isn’t the easiest way to poison someone, right? You can get cyanide rather easily for rats. Hemlock is harder, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Hamilton agreed. “I see what you mean. You wouldn’t pursue it first when there are other easier ways to kill someone. Not unless you wanted them to suffer.”

  “You are too clever for your own good, Vi,” Jack told her.

  Chapter 16

  Violet stared at the chalkboard the next morning. She was by herself in the parlor since it was very early. She had, in fact, slipped out of the bed, leaving Jack still sleeping, dressed in the bath, and tiptoed from her room. He had been exhausted, but she had fallen asleep with him tracing her freckles again, and she wasn’t all that convinced that he’d slept until far after she had. That realization that they’d almost lost each other, yet again, had haunted him into the night while she’d slept secure in the feel of his arms. For her, she needed to feel his warmth. For him, he needed to see her breathing.

  Hargreaves had seen Violet coming down the stairs. “Lady Violet, I’m afraid we weren’t prepared for anyone to be up quite so early in the breakfast room. Would you like me to hurry the kitchens along?”

  She’d declined. “Would you bring me Turkish coffee in the parlor? Also, see if we have a second chalkboard.”

  And so Violet had come to stand in front of the chalkboard in the favored parlor where they spent their normal evenings. They hadn’t used it the night before, given that Denny had the chalkboard ready, and Jack had made it clear they weren’t sure of Miss Russell.

  Violet had understood why, but did Miss Russell realize she was a suspect? Instead of pursuing suspects, Violet erased the board and wrote: PEOPLE INVOLVED

  She then listed a series of names with space behind them. She was frowning as she wrote:

  MR. RUSSELL—Rita’s father.

  MRS. MELODY RUSSELL—poisoning victim.

  RITA RUSSELL—daughter, victim of shooting episode, possible intended victim of poisoning.

  MRS. RUSSELL, the first—Rita’s mother.

  MRS. JEAN ALBRIGHT — Rita’s aunt, the first Mrs. Russell’s sister, Mr. Russell’s sister-in law.

  Violet considered for several minutes about who else had been included in the case. It was so obscure. Hamilton, Jack, and the other policemen were working the case and turning up information that Violet would never have found, like the shooter. She could only focus on those she had met or that she knew of. Her head tilted as she considered and then she added:

  MAN WHO DELIVERED THE HEMLOCK—tall, thin, dark grey hair, wore a ring with a double infinity symbol.

  MAN WHO SHOT THE GUN—was hired to just scare, not hurt, Rita. How did he know where she would be? How did he know what she looked like?

  WAITER FROM THE CLUB —perhaps the poisoner was all a lie? Could the information he provided be trusted?

  MR. RUSSELL’S ELDER BROTHER — if Rita were to die, he would be a possible heir.

  MR. RUSSELL’S YOUNGER BROTHER — if Rita were to die, he would be a possible heir.

  WOMEN FROM THE LADIES CLUB —would they have known that Rita was going to that club that evening? Would they have any reason to want Rita dead? What about Melody Russell? She had shown herself to be willing to play a little dirty when she’d threatened Violet. Could she have done the same to someone from the club?

  Violet was pacing in front of the board when Hargreaves returned with two footmen and a second board. “I wasn’t sure you’d find another.”

  A kitchen maid entered the room next with a tray with the coffee cup, sweet rolls, and a bowl of fruit. Violet grinned at her favorite things and then thanked them as they left her again. She poured herself coffee as she stared at the second board, and then she started a timeline on the it.

  1— The first Mrs. Russell died.

  2— Mrs. Albright joins Rita in India traveling for ___.

  3— Mr. Russell returns home to England

  4— Rita travels the world, eventually going to Africa and then coming home

  4a—Sometime during Rita’s Africa (?) trip Mr. Russell meets and marries Melody Russell.

  Nothing they’d learned seemed to connect to the events she’d written down so far, but the events were the earliest that Violet knew. She stretched out her neck and sipped her coffee as she lifted the chalk once again. As she did, the door opened and Denny demanded, “How can you do this without me?”

  Violet glanced over her shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep for thinking of it. There’s a magic in writing things down. You see things that weren’t there before.”

  He frowned at her and then spoke over his shoulder into the hall, “Send in more coffee and tea, please, Hargreaves. I saw Jack shaving and prettying up.”

  Violet ignored Denny as she wrote:

  5—Rita Russell returns to England. (She’s enjoying her time here. How long has she been back?)

  “That does matter, doesn’t it?” Denny agreed. “Perhaps there were little disturbing things happening to Mrs. Russell before we were on the scene, and we had no idea. Shall I make a list of questions?”

  “That’s a good idea,” Violet told him and had Denny join her at the chalkboard. She glanced his way and grinned at him.

  His golden blonde hair was slicked back, and his blue eyes glinted with a rare interest. He was, she noticed, on a bit of a downturn in his weight. He went up and down in his size directly associated to whether his wife, Lila, was compelling him to exercise.

  “How much trouble am I in for that last box of chocolates?”

  Denny’s smirk told her that Lila hadn’t been pleased. The two of them were, without question, the biggest chocolate addicts among their friends.

  “Not as much as I would have been should I have brought them home,” Denny replied. “She’s always so sweet about it. Denny love,” he said in a high-pitched tone, “I need you to live a long life or at least last until I die first.”

  Violet laughed as Denny wrote out the questions: When did Rita return to England? and Did anything happen to Mrs. Russell before she returned?

  “You know what would be convenient,” Denny muttered, “one of those journals you women keep. It could say something like Dear Diary, so-and-so threatened me today and I fear
for my life. Then you or Jack could just trap them with your questions, and we could all go out dancing again without fearing for our lives.”

  Violet was laughing as Lila and Jack appeared in the doorway.

  “They look cozy, don’t they?” Lila asked Jack.

  “That’s not love, your husband hitting Violet,” Jack told Lila, “that’s her first cup of her Turkish coffee.”

  Violet lifted her cup to Jack and Lila, who both smirked back.

  “Oh I’m not jealous of these two,” Lila announced, “they’re the same as grubby siblings.”

  “Dear beloved,” Denny said, as he poured Lila a cup of tea and handed it to her, “I would never dare to step out on you. You would certainly slay me, and Violet loves you more than me, so she wouldn’t even catch you and make you pay.”

  “Too right, laddie,” Lila told him, but her eyes were smiling, and the two of them were as certain of the other as Violet and Jack were.

  “That is the question, isn’t it though?” Jack said, taking in the chalkboards as Hamilton entered the room. “What about Mrs. Russell? Just because her husband seems to have loved her doesn’t mean he didn’t find out she was straying. Being played the cuckold is a murder incentive for many a man.”

  “There isn’t any evidence yet,” Hamilton said, “of such a thing. It’s on the list of questions that the boys are looking into. I’ve got Petey working the case too. Mr. Russell is too wealthy and too well connected to not have as many boys as possible working this thing. We need it wrapped up and quick.”

  “Is Father harassing you?” Rita asked, as she also entered the parlor. She paused as she saw the two chalkboards. She froze as she read them. “Is this how you do it? You write it all out and discuss?”

  Lila shrugged and sipped her tea, entirely uncaring of the way Rita’s life being laid out might affect her. Denny nodded happily and told her, “It is rather fun, you’ll see.” His head tilted and he grinned engagingly at her. “Unless, of course, you killed Mrs. Russell.”

  “I?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Denny told Rita with that same charming, boyish grin. “You have to know you’re on the list of suspects.”