by Lane Stone
Lady Anthea was patting her pearl necklace. She said, “Sue, I don’t know that I can do this. Wait, look who’s with Mr. Andrews. It’s the driving instructor.”
I would have to take her word for it since I was back to looking at the rows and rows of hands. “I have to stay.” I went to join the waiting man. All because he wore a flannel shirt. And he had hands.
I sat and reached out to shake his hand, and took a closer look at it. “I’m Sue Patrick. You look familiar,” I said. His hand, however, didn’t look similar to the one that held me down. Which was either good news, or bad.
“I’m Ty, and so do you.” His slow smile was intended to be sexy. “I saw you at Buckingham’s on Sunday, right?”
“I’m one of the co-owners,” I said.
Lady Anthea came and sat down in the empty chair to my right, and looked across the table at someone who looked like a teenager. Surely there was a lower age limit at these things. I was tempted to eavesdrop—because that was going to be good—but I resisted. “At the driving class?” I asked.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t much of a class,” he said with a lazy laugh. “Now I see that old man with the anger issues and his dog are here.” Though he wasn’t as old as Charles, he was in his midfifties. Why was old always five years older than one’s own age?
“You were with Roman Harper?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’s a neighbor. He called and wanted to go. The guy’s brilliant, has a photographic memory, so you can imagine how the instructor got on his nerves.”
The librarian rang a bell and Ty shifted up one chair for his date with Lady Anthea and someone else sat down. He scribbled something on the lined notepaper we’d each been given. “Sue—hot,” it read.
The young woman was standing between two tables dealing with an argument between daters on the far end of the middle row. She flapped her arms up and down in an attempt to get the men to lower their voices. When I saw one of the offenders was Charles Andrews, I mentally wished her lots of luck. He didn’t want to move to the next seat, and let it be known he would leave the premises rather than conform to such an unreasonable restriction on his liberty.
The driving instructor was in such a state of awe at the man, I thought she would melt. She looked at Charles. “My dating days are over,” she cooed. She wore a black silk turtleneck and a skirt that ended an inch below her knees, along with sensible pumps.
He leashed So-Long and put him on the floor, then he and the woman walked between the tables on their way out. She wrapped his right arm in both of hers.
Why was he walking through a group of people with a dog who had been agitated minutes earlier and without the use of both arms? How far would he go to impress her? When I saw the look So-Long gave Ty, I sprang from my chair and ran around the table. A study from about a decade ago reported that one in five Dachshunds had bitten or tried to bite a stranger, with some studies describing them as an aggressive breed. Personally, I like to think of each dog as an individual, and I had to admit this particular one was motivated. Sure, he’d learned crankiness at the feet of a master, and been an apprentice his whole life, but I’d never observed any unprovoked aggressiveness.
No!” I said when I got in front of him. The growl had already started. I snapped my fingers in front of his face. I didn’t want to repeat the verbal correction. He slowly took his eyes off Ty’s backside and looked at me. We had always gotten along at Buckingham’s and he didn’t know who would win our staring contest. But I knew. He looked down and I whispered, “Good dog.” I moved to the side and let him pass.
As Charles Andrews walked by he glanced at me and quirked the corner of his lip. He kept moving, leading his ladylove out. He had smiled at me. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was acknowledging that I had gotten him out of a jam. A normal person wouldn’t want his dog to bite anyone, out of concern for the victim. Charles Andrews wasn’t normal. He was, however, a retired attorney and therefore well aware of the personal liability he could have from an unprovoked dog attack away from home.
“I hate dogs,” Ty was saying to Lady Anthea.
“It appears the feeling is mutual,” she responded with a laugh.
I returned to my chair and looked across at my new date—John. “What happened to the guy who was sitting here?”
“He had someplace to go.”
Chapter 23
Lady Anthea and I had picked up tacos from Taco Reho, an upscale food truck in the Big Chill Surf Cantina’s parking lot, and now we were driving north on Route 1, headed back to my house to get Albert. We were going to Roosevelt Inlet to enjoy our delicacies. The sun would set around seven thirty and we intended to be there to see that it did.
“I’ll pick up Abby and check on Marin and then we can go,” I said.
“After a full day of bossing that Pekingese around, Abby should be knackered,” she said. “And Marin loved every minute of it.”
“Shelby said Marin did so much better today than yesterday. There didn’t seem to be nearly as much stress.”
We took a shortcut through the Arby’s parking lot to get to the Villages of Five Points. She looked around and asked, “What is this?”
“They sell roast beef sandwiches. That’s why it’s R-B’s.”
“We don’t have so many fast-food restaurants in England.” She had always been curious about the town and American culture and life in general. Her brother could not have cared less. When we crossed Savannah Road to enter the subdivision she spoke again. “We’re all set for the late rehearsal?” she asked.
“So far, so good. I haven’t heard from Cordy so I’m assuming the musicians agreed to the plan. I left a check for the room deposit. We need to be there a little before eight, and when we finish, the cleaning crew will lock up,” I said. “Will you be able to get away from your brother?”
“I told him we would be cleaning crates,” she said with a chuckle. “He didn’t offer to join us. Did you tell John about our plan?”
I nodded. “He’s not wild about it since the murderer could be someone in the orchestra. He doesn’t trust Bess Harper or Cordy Galligan.”
“So, as usual, he’s jumping to conclusions!”
“He doesn’t suspect them of murder—yet—but you have to admit every clue points to the Potomac Symphony Orchestra. And both women have lied to him. Cordy said she never met the first victim but we have a photo of them together the morning of the day he died. Bess Harper said she didn’t call the second victim, but her phone says otherwise. It’s like because they’re in the arts, no one wants to call bullshit.”
Lady Anthea pinched the bridge of her nose. “I do want him to find out who killed Georg Nielsen. He was a musical genius.”
I hit my steering wheel with my palms in frustration. “And because Nick Knightley was an ex-con, his murder isn’t as important?”
“I apologize. You’re right, of course. I’m frustrated and annoyed that we’re having to spend our time on late-night rehearsals because of my brother when we should be working to solve both murders.”
I turned onto West Batten. She was convinced that time spent with the PSO was time taken away from the investigation, and I was just as sure of the opposite. Albert would soon be with us so we had a good excuse to drop the subject.
* * * *
Albert had not been able to get comfortable or feel stable in the folding beach chair and kept reminding me of that. Abby had been sitting by my left foot, but stood and moved to my right side to get farther from him as he fidgeted.
“After a certain age, the height of these chairs is much more comfortable than sitting on the ground,” I said, trying to make light of his comment.
He went back to his second grievance: handheld food. Never mind that the Taco Reho chef had trained under Thomas Keller, among other luminaries. His third complaint pushed me over the edge. He wanted wine with his dinner—in a wine
glass. It seemed common sense would explain why we didn’t want glass, but it hadn’t. I told him that it was illegal to have alcohol on Lewes beach, and that meant from Roosevelt Inlet to the Lewes–Cape May Ferry. I’m not saying my friends would want anyone getting within sniffing distance of our water bottles or soda cans, but we drew the line at open glasses of vino. I had a long night ahead of me, so I hadn’t been tempted. Then he complained about the early dinner time, though I told him what time the sun would set. He didn’t think to suggest we eat afterward, rather than during, and for that I was grateful since I wanted some time at Buckingham’s before going back to the library.
“Albert!” Lady Anthea snapped. “What’s really bothering you? Are you worried about the concert?”
He looked down sheepishly. “Do you blame me? Did you see them today? And it got worse after you left!”
“Uh, well, if you would rather not be their guest conductor, I’m sure they would understand,” I said.
“They need me! And a gentleman always keeps his word!” His indignation caused the pitch of his voice to rise to a level that made me worry Abby might start to howl.
“What happened?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It was a disgrace. That symphony orchestra is a hotbed of rumors and backbiting.”
I thought about how lucky I was to enjoy my life and my work at Buckingham’s, which was more than I could say for the musicians in the symphony orchestra. “Rumors? About what?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but they were whispering to each other.”
I glanced over at Lady Anthea and she looked down at her lap. They were probably whispering about his ineptitude.
“You did volunteer,” Anthea reminded him.
“This is taking me away from my true passion,” he said with a pout.
“What is it this week?” she asked.
“Participatory art. Yayoi Kusama is a genius. After experiencing her Infinity Mirrors, I understand infinity,” he said.
“Speaking of infinity, looks like we’re about to have a beautiful sunset,” I said, looking around at the water and the sky.
Brother and sister looked out, and at least Lady Anthea appreciated the changing colors of the sky.
I tried again to make nice. “Albert, I am sorry you won’t be seeing Georg Nielsen conduct, but at least you’ll hear his composition. The bit I heard this morning was…” I couldn’t find the word to describe how it had affected me. “Very moving.”
“Hmm. I guess.”
“Who is your favorite composer?” I asked.
“Depends on my mood. Sometimes Rachmaninov. Sometimes Grieg.”
Lady Anthea was smiling at us, looking back and forth. “Isn’t Grieg sometimes just too-too?” she asked.
I had no idea what that meant, but Albert did. They went on talking about “Lyric Pieces,” which I learned were short works written by Grieg. They were in their world and that wasn’t my world. Unfortunately, mine included a double murder and an attempt on my life. They went on talking and I sat there half listening. The sun dropped below the horizon and I waited to see if they would notice. They didn’t. I stood and gathered the takeaway papers from our dinner. Lady Anthea and Albert took the hint and stood up and folded their chairs.
Suddenly I missed John. Even though I’d seen him at the library, we were again talking at cross-purposes. It seemed like he was never nearby and when he was, he made cryptic comments about the duke.
While we were loading the Jeep, my phone let me know I had a new text. Worse than I thought, Mason had written.
* * * *
When Lady Anthea and I dropped Albert off at my neighbor’s house and Abby off at home, it was after seven thirty, which meant we wouldn’t have time to go to Buckingham’s. I texted that news to Mason.
J and I will meet you at Taj Mahal. Our town’s new library on Adams Avenue was given this moniker because of its size and formal architectural design.
Around twenty people stood shivering in the portico. Most were dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt or sweater. I recognized the oboist, a couple of the violinists, and the quick-tempered woman who played the triangle. She was wearing a black sweatshirt with the words, HERE COMES TREBLE. I remembered how she’d acted during the earlier rehearsal and laughed at the accuracy of the sentiment. Cordy stood near the door and the bus driver hovered nearby. Library patrons were drifting out as closing time neared.
“We’re in the large conference room,” I told her. “It’s on the left.”
“I’ll direct you,” Lady Anthea offered, holding the door open.
“Don’t start until eight o’clock,” I reminded her.
As my business partner waited by the door, Cordy looked out at the assembled group. When she turned and went inside, they followed. They had been waiting for direction from her. As they filed past me, they didn’t look like lemmings, following without thought. They did it because of the special hold she had over them. Where did that power come from? Her talent?
The bus driver sidled in with the group. Margo brought up the rear. I was about to follow her. Since the library would be open a few more minutes, maybe I could check out a book or two. I had finished A Table Setting for A Slaying.
“Pssst.”
I looked around but there was no one there. With one or two killers on the loose I didn’t want to be standing outside in the dark, alone, so I turned to go in.
“Pssst.”
“Mason?” I whispered.
“Back here,” Joey answered. He and Mason were standing near the curb. Two women and a man exited the library, probably employees or volunteers, and my groomers turned their faces away likes spies in an old movie. When I went to join them, they moved away to stand near a streetlight in the parking lot. I followed, though this was getting a bit cloak-and-dagger, even for me.
Shelby was waiting there, with Bernice.
“What’s up?” I whispered.
“Is there anything we need to know about our jobs?” she asked.
I looked around at their faces. It was a serious question. “What are you talking about?”
“The duke thinks you want to marry him.”
Chapter 24
“Where would he get such an idea?” I answered my own question. “He has the brains of a dog biscuit, but why would you three think there was a chance in hell that would happen?” I sputtered.
“When I showed him around he acted like he was interviewing me and checking out the Pet Palace to see if it was good enough,” Mason said.
“He didn’t know about all the awards you’ve won?” I asked.
“Sue, he thinks you’re dying to marry him.” Shelby was speaking gently.
I repeated my first question. “Why does he think that?”
Joey spoke up. He’s shy and says little, but when he does, it’s on the money. “Dana and I—”
“Dana? Isn’t she back at school in New York?”
“We thought she needed to be brought in,” Mason said. “For her, let’s say, special talents.”
“Finding stuff on the internet?” I asked.
All three nodded. Bernice probably was too, but it was dark so I couldn’t tell.
Joey went on. “Dana and I think that because he’s a duke he assumes any woman would want to marry him.”
“Why would he want to marry me?” I asked. I thought about how he had ignored me since he arrived. Not one of them would meet my eye. “Don’t everyone speak at once. This is where you’re supposed to say, “Gosh, who wouldn’t want to marry a catch like you, Boss!”
Finally Shelby stepped up as the spokesperson. “We’ve learned more. Dana found where he told a British business group he was coming to the States to increase his financial holdings. You’ve created a profitable small business. His sister told him about it. He’s got to be aware of the money she brings in f
rom her share of the profits and from the classes she gave last year.”
“He said he would be increasing their share in Buckingham’s,” Mason said. “I don’t know if he meant by marrying you or by some other means.”
The musicians were warming up. Then they were quiet. I hadn’t heard the oboist’s magic A note, so they hadn’t tuned.
“I need to talk to Lady Anthea. And I need to get in there.”
“Wait,” Mason said.
I did wait, though I knew at eight o’clock the doors would be locked.
“I maaaay have painted a less-than-flattering picture of, well, you,” he said.
“Do I want to hear this?” I asked.
“High-maintenance, bad temper, abusive to employees, etcetera.”
“Good,” I said.
“Prison time,” Mason went on.
“I don’t want to hear any more. Whatever happened to just turning down a marriage proposal?”
“Dana says this way he won’t even propose and he’ll think twice before he tries anything funny to get a portion of the business.”
I looked back at the dark library. “See you in the morning.”
“Good night, Sue,” Mason said.
“It’s Duchess, and don’t you forget it.”
“LOL,” Mason said, giving my shoulder a squeeze.
They left for their cars, relieved their jobs were safe, and I walked back to the library. The door was locked and the inside was dark except for the room on the left side. I pressed my forehead to the glass, looking for someone to let me in. No such luck. I told myself to knock on the door while it was still possible that someone might hear me, but that’s not what I wanted to do. Then I heard the note for tuning. I sat down and leaned back against the door.
When I heard the first bars of the 1812 Overture I closed my eyes and imagined myself on my surfboard, being lifted and lowered by waves. There were starts and stops and I imagined Cordy giving instructions in her quiet way.
