by Lane Stone
She laughed and brushed sand off the back of her yoga pants. “I’m fine. Meditating on the beach in the dark sounds like a better idea than it is.” Then she laughed again, this time loud and free. “I can’t believe this. I give my husband such a hard time about his technology addiction, now I had inattentional blindness because I was meditating!” She laughed some more.
“What is that? Does it mean you’re as good as blind since you’re not paying attention?” I asked.
She was nodding before I finished the sentence. “Exactly.” She pointed at the crime scene tape over her shoulder. “What’s that all about?”
“My boyfriend and I found a body there yesterday.” I had never used that word to describe John before, but I liked it. Even at our ages. I let it amble around my brain. Boyfriend. It felt right. I just hoped he knew it. “He’s the chief of police. We didn’t even have our phones with us at the time and so—”
“I’ve done a lot of research on attention restoration theory and propinquity,” she said.
Had she just changed the subject? I had no idea if that was an appropriate response to what I said or not. “You’ve really lost me now,” I said. “Sounds interesting. Let’s walk.”
“I can run,” she said.
“Even better.” I turned around so we could head back the way I had come.
We took off jogging at a slow pace and she said, “The propinquity effect says you’re more likely to form a friendship or become romantically involved with someone you’re around the most. It explains workplace romances and affairs with the nanny. And having social media at our fingertips twenty-four seven on our phones gives us a sense of familiarity and even intimacy. It’s not real, but it’s a reason people are addicted to their smartphones. We get a positive stroke every time someone likes our post about what we had for lunch.”
I thought about my friends, Lady Anthea, Barb and Red Moulinier, Jerry and Charlie, and Rick Ziegler and Dayle Thomas, not to mention all the Buckingham employees. “That can’t compare with real relationships, which take work and skills, which you don’t have to do and you don’t have to develop with social media,” I said. “What was the other one?”
“Attention Restoration Theory says your ability to focus can become fatigued in a modern urban setting, but can be restored in nature or even by entertainment, like a TV show.”
I didn’t want to be rude, but I couldn’t help but think that was just common sense. We were at the borderline between “interesting information” and “this is why I jog alone.” I checked my sports watch and saw we had been running about fifteen minutes. “I’m one of the co-owners of the Buckingham Pet Palace, and I’ve got to go open up.”
“I’d take your number if I had my phone with me, but I don’t,” she said. “I don’t pick it up until it’s light outside. I even leave it downstairs at night because the blue light interferes with my sleep rhythms.”
I had to get away before she started teaching me again. “Well, bye.” I waved and turned to go to the parking lot. She did the same and walked with me through the sand, still talking. Still. Talking.
“And I sleep very well, unlike my husband.” She stopped and pointed back to where I had unceremoniously run over her. “Uh, do you mind if I walk back this way?”
Did I mind? “Not at all.”
* * * *
I was back home by six o’clock and Lady Anthea and I stood in the kitchen eating breakfast. I had my usual oatmeal and orange juice and she crunched on toast and sipped hot tea.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked.
Usually I was a world-champion sleeper, but not last night. I had dreamed of big, mean hands, but I didn’t want to go into that. Instead I said, “I woke up thinking about how odd it is for, as you call him, the darling of the classical music world to know an ex-con.”
She nodded. “It’s even more surprising considering Georg Nielsen was from Denmark and lived in London most of the year.”
We stood and ate for a few minutes. Finally, she asked, “What time should Mason and I leave for the Baltimore Washington International airport to pick up Albert?”
“BWI is about two hours away. You should have time to spare if you leave Buckingham’s at eleven thirty. By the way, we need to tell Mason not to mention the murders.” I added another scoop of raisins to my oatmeal. “Do you really think we can keep this from your brother?”
“I do! All we need to do is prevent anyone from talking about them in front of him,” she said. “And it helps that he’s not staying here with us.”
My next-door neighbors were weekenders who rarely used their house. It was twice the size of my cottage and they had lent it to me for the duke to stay in for the week. I never let them pay for boarding or grooming their dogs and hadn’t expected anything in return, but we were even steven now. The Lewes and Rehoboth Beach hotels that would be up to his high standards cost hundreds of dollars a night. I would forever be in my neighbor’s debt for keeping me out of debt. The very thought of spending the week with Lady Anthea’s brother stressed me so much, if I was a dog I would have chewed the sofa. Having him next door rather than in my house had gone a long way toward reducing my anxiety level.
Then a thought struck me. “I have a better idea than leaving it to chance that he won’t hear about the murders. Maybe you and Shelby can take him on day trips. You can go to Cape May on the ferry one day. Then you can go to Smith Island another day and to Chincoteague.” I could list many more interesting spots. I almost asked if he was a history buff, then I remembered who we were talking about and sucked in a laugh.
Lady Anthea clapped her hands. “Brilliant! That’s what we’ll do! But can you spare Shelby?”
“I can have Mason and Joey come out front if I need them during check-in or checkout. You know, we might just pull this off! Maybe he’ll never learn our little secrets,” I said. I felt my mood lift thinking of him being away and occupied every day. “I’ll be ready in five.”
* * * *
We had a steady stream of pet parents bringing their dogs in for grooming, day camp, or boarding, and various combinations of the three. Lady Anthea had held agility and dog-trick classes on her last visit and several wanted to know when those would be repeated. She promised Buckingham’s would offer them again in a few months.
A little before eight o’clock we had a lull and I was replenishing the Twinings tea and Walkers Shortbread we kept on a table by the side wall.
Lady Anthea said, “Sue, we never discussed the second round of agility and dog-trick classes, but I would like to give them again.”
“Of course! I always assumed you would repeat them. They were completely filled. Did you have a month in mind?” I asked.
She shook her head. “We have a lake on the east side of the house and it needs to be dredged. I’ve delayed as long as I dare. And the portico that overlooks it needs repairs also.”
Shelby reached over and touched her arm. “I know this is none of my business, but have you given any more thought to using Frithsden for weddings or as a venue for meetings?”
“I think about it all the time,” she said. “Albert won’t hear of it.” She stopped and sighed. “I can’t blame all my stress on him, though. More than one dukedom has been turned down because of the extravagant costs that come with the lifestyle of a duke. He keeps going for the family.”
“But neither of you are married. I mean, your husband died so you’re not now,” I said.
“Perhaps I should have said for the future, rather than for the family.”
“So someone really turned down a dukedom?” Shelby said.
“Indeed,” she said. “Winston Churchill for one. Robert Gascoyne-Cecil and Prince Louis of Battenberg were offered dukedoms and declined them because they could not afford the expenses of playing that role. The rental income that Frithsden brings in meets our expenses, but nothing more.”<
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We took advantage of our last few minutes of downtime with an empty lobby to tell Shelby about our plan to keep the duke busy and on the road. We were discussing a schedule for the day trips when John came in.
“What are you three cooking up?”
I smiled and said, “I was about to tell Lady Anthea how beautiful Frithsden sounds.”
“Maybe you’d like to see it some time?” she asked.
“Sure. Who wouldn’t?” I turned to John. “And we were talking about what we could do so that Lady Anthea’s brother’s visit would be perfect. Any ideas?”
He shook his head and walked up to the counter.
“John, did you find out who that phone we found belonged to?” Shelby asked.
“The phone that was in the dog’s mouth belonged to—”
I interrupted him. “That dog has a name. She is Bernice,” I said. I didn’t expect him to know that a dog has forty-two teeth, while a human only has thirty-two, but surely he could call someone who had saved my life by her name.
“Whatever. It belonged to the second victim, Nick Knightley. His parole officer verified the phone number. There’s more, and after I tell you, you can say ‘I told you so.’ They found bruising and defensive wounds on the conductor. I admit it, that was no simple drowning.”
“So Georg Nielsen was murdered by Nick Knightley?” Lady Anthea asked.
John shrugged. “Don’t know yet, but it seems more likely that it was Sue’s attacker, who, of course, also killed Nick Knightley.”
“Oh!” Lady Anthea exclaimed. “I forgot to tell you but last night I googled Mr. Knightley, and his position at PSO was assistant librarian for the symphony.”
“He was the what?” I asked.
“The music library is a very important behind-the-scenes aspect of a major symphony orchestra. A lot has to happen before the actual concert,” Lady Anthea said. “Ordinarily the librarian supplies the conductor with the score and the musicians with their sheet music, but not in this case, since it’s a never-before-published composition. I suppose the Potomac Symphony Orchestra would be large enough to have a librarian as well as an assistant librarian.”
He nodded and said, “Well, Nick Knightley is looking less and less guilty of Nielsen’s murder. First, he wasn’t in prison for a violent crime. Not his style, according to his parole officer. He was a hacker, and he was doing time for internet fraud. Second, the time of Nielsen’s death has been narrowed down to between ten o’clock and two in the morning. It’s hard to be exact because of the salt water. He was with his parole officer in Bethesda, Maryland until after nine o’clock. If the death occurred in the earlier part of that time frame, he’s not our guy. He couldn’t have gotten here in time. I’m thinking the man who shot Knightley also killed Nielsen.”
“Had he been turned over?” I asked.
“No,” John said, reaching for my hand. “The bruising was on his chest, face and neck.”
We had found him on his back. I imagined him looking up at his killer and swallowed hard.
“Now do you see why I’m worried?” John said.
I nodded. “Had the body been moved at all after he was killed? Like moved up the beach?”
“No,” John said. “From how the blood pooled on the back side of his body, he appears to have been killed where we found him and in the same position.”
“Then he was killed during high tide, which was around ten thirty on Saturday night,” I said.
He smiled at me and waited for me to say more.
“You can’t drown where there’s no water,” I said. “Were they able to get DNA off the fabric I got out of Robber’s mouth?”
His phone rang and he said, “No, we haven’t,” as he answered it. I doubted he remembered the collie’s name either, but he knew which piece of evidence I was talking about. He spit out a laugh. “Bess Harper has a complaint to make? I have a complaint for her. Don’t let her leave. She doesn’t need to know why. Get the interview room ready for her to be questioned about the two murders.” He hung up and turned to leave, mad as hell about something. Whatever it was, I wasn’t going to worry about it. I would concentrate on our plan for me to see very little of the duke and the duke to hear nothing of the murders.
“Lady Anthea? Are you okay?” I had just noticed that she was frozen in place.
John stopped and turned around.
She thawed enough to shake her head. One inch left then one inch right. “Did you say Bess Harper?” she croaked.
John nodded. “Yeah, yesterday she complained about the crime scene tape interfering with her press conference. Today it’s something else. Interesting detail about her is that she called Nick Knightley at nine thirty Saturday night. The guy’s in Maryland. Gets a call. Comes to Lewes, Delaware, where he’s killed. And she thinks she’s going to complain to me?” He stopped and looked at Lady Anthea and then at me. “Do you know her?”
“No,” she answered. “I know who she is. She chairs the board of the Potomac Symphony Orchestra.”
Chapter 7
“Me? Are you sure?”
“Yes, Bess Harper described you, and I quote, as a character witness,” John, in Chief Turner mode, yelled over the phone. “Which, by the way, means less than nothing to me.”
Lady Anthea and I were cleaning the inside of the mini indoor cabanas. Dogs go into these for their afternoon naps. They’re also used for dogs waiting their turn to be groomed. It’s a job made only slightly less unpleasant if you tell yourself it’s zen, or something like that. I smiled every time I remembered Lady Anthea’s first visit, when she had pitched in to help. I never would have asked her to, but she’d wanted to show she was all in. Later I learned the reason for that.
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” I said, a little indignant.
“I didn’t mean because it’s you, I mean it’s not a get-out-of-jail-free card. How do you know her? And why didn’t you mention it while I was at the Pet Place?”
“Pet Palace. And I don’t know her or her character. She said she knows me?”
“She referred to you as the owner of Buckingham’s,” he said. “Said she met you this morning.”
“Maybe she meant Lady Anthea? I’ll give her the phone,” I said.
I heard him trying to object but she was pulling off her rubber gloves while I put mine back on. I shrugged and returned to work.
“As I told you this morning, I know who Bess Harper is, though I’ve never met her,” Lady Anthea said to head him off at the pass.
I was leaning into the crate and said over my shoulder, “Wait, she met me this morning?”
“He says yes,” Lady Anthea said.
“I talked to someone on the beach this morning while I was running,” I said.
“Did you hear that?” She had to pull the phone away from her ear because of the volume of his answer. “He wants to know what you were doing alone on the beach in the dark.”
“Obviously I wasn’t alone. I was with my new best friend, Bess Harper,” I said to the back of the crate. I removed my gloves again and took the phone from Anthea. “Would it help if I came to the station?”
“You mean to go to lunch with her?”
“Huh?”
“First, she said she had lunch plans with you, then she changed it to she was going to ask you to lunch. She doesn’t want to talk until she asks her husband whether or not she needs an attorney.” He hesitated, and I imagined us both rolling our eyes at that last bit. “Obviously, she’s stalling and I don’t think talking to her husband is the real reason. I’m giving her what she wants. I’ve suspended the interview and I hope I can find out what she’s waiting for.” He lowered his voice and said, “I would like your take on this. She denies calling Nick Knightley but I know she did. Obviously she didn’t kill him, since his killer was a man, but she might have the strength to have killed Geo
rg Nielsen. She knows more than she’s saying. Can you come down here?”
“Sure,” I said. I wasn’t wild about the idea. She claimed to want to have lunch with me, but she didn’t know my name?
“Good. I told her I thought you’d be stopping by the station and that she could ask you about lunch then,” he said, laughing for some reason.
“Why did you think I’d be coming there?”
His baritone laugh sounded like “Hoo, hoo.” Again, I didn’t get the joke. Then he said, “See you later.”
Suddenly a get-into-jail card presented itself to me. “Wait, what kind of car does she drive?”
Chapter 8
As unenthusiastic as I was to leave Buckingham’s to go to the police station, Lady Anthea was even less inclined. We didn’t know what time Cordy Galligan was dropping off her Pekingese and she wanted to be there to welcome both, hoping they wouldn’t show up while she was off meeting her brother’s flight. I still wasn’t clear on what a concertmaster was, but it certainly made you somebody. John had assured me Bess Harper did not own an electric-blue electric car, so she was not the driver who had picked up my attacker, and therefore had become a lot less interesting.
He strode through the lobby when I came in and hugged me. That wasn’t unusual since he doesn’t care what people think and neither do I, but I had been distant last night and I didn’t know how he felt about that. Now here I was standing with my arms hanging by my sides. I pulled away as soon as I could. I hoped he knew I couldn’t help it and that I would find my way back to him. I stalled with a question. “Were there any other calls on the phone that was in Bernice’s mouth?”
“Just a couple from his parole officer. It was a burner phone and he’d only had it for a few days. It took a while to get a decent fingerprint off the phone thanks to what’s its name.”
“Bernice.”
“Anyway, once we did it was just his own prints, so no help there.”
“I wish this Bess Harper person hadn’t brought me into this,” I said. “I’m kind of busy.”
