by Beth Byers
Jack started the auto and they left Smith and the Rees family. As they drove, Violet asked, “What did you and Father find out about Rees from his friend?”
“Are we doing this? Are we going to keep diving in?”
Violet looked at him and then back at the dark, rainy road. “Aren’t you curious?”
Jack shrugged and then admitted, “Yes, but I don’t like them, and nothing makes me feel more like a failure than not saving your aunt. This case has all the earmarks of that one, Violet.”
“Nothing makes me feel like a terrible niece and worthless human more than having failed to save Aunt Agatha as well, Jack. In the end, it was her choice not to leave. Why couldn’t I persuade her to go? Why couldn’t I, who loved her, get her to leave? To be safe? If she had left, we’d have had time to figure out who was trying to hurt her and stop Meredith.”
Jack squeezed Violet’s hand. “I could really use paneer tikka masala and naan and something so spicy my nose burns.”
“If it burns enough,” Violet agreed, “maybe it will distract us from failing Aunt Agatha.”
“And those Rees idiots.”
“And how all of our friends are moving so foolishly ahead of us.”
Jack snorted at her and kissed the back of her hand. “Having babies before we do makes it easier for us to learn from their mistakes and to steal the best nanny later.”
“I miss them,” Violet said with a sigh. “Even though Denny is lazy and sometimes mean and Kate is sick. Victor—”
Violet trailed off. She and her brother had been separated over a lifetime of being in different schools, but she still never felt right in her skin when he was too far away and not easy to speak to.
“And missing the babies,” Jack said to distract her from her brother. “I know.”
Chapter 8
Violet found Beatrice in her office. “I’m bored. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore.”
Beatrice looked up in alarm as Violet flopped onto the chair opposite. Her former maid turned secretary turned business manager almost certainly didn’t want to be a maid again and Violet could see the fear in her friend’s gaze.
“I’m not ready to become a businesswoman again, Beatrice,” Violet assured her friend. “You do wonderful in meetings and reading dry reports and sleuthing information about business investments that I can’t possibly stand to return to.”
Beatrice’s relief was palpable and her shoulders relaxed.
“You are, however, very smart. Wise even.”
Beatrice paused in horror, staring at Violet as if poor Beatrice were about to be asked to do something terrible. Quietly, she asked, “What does that mean?”
“It means that I could use some advice.”
Beatrice’s gaze widened further as Violet gestured to the maid in the doorway and had her bring in a tray. A small teapot, a small coffee pot, a plate of nibbles. Violet poured them both a cup as if they were just friends instead of employer and employee. For Violet’s part, she’d happily called Beatrice her friend. Beatrice, however, had been raised to see Violet as ‘better’ and the former maid was having trouble bypassing that early instruction.
“Violet,” Beatrice started. “I—”
Vi grinned when Beatrice didn’t stumble over her name and lifted her coffee cup in salute.
“I don’t have any idea what you should do,” Beatrice finished.
“Work for me,” Smith said from the doorway. “You have the poor-mes when you’re bored. I could use a ritzy woman like you to help me with my cases.”
“Why not Beatrice?” Violet asked immediately, taking in the pretty-as-an-angel private detective. A moment later she asked, “Do you have the run of my house?”
“Beatrice is too honest.” he said to the first question. To the second he just shot her a scathing look. Of course he had the run of her house, she thought.
Violet realized she didn’t mind all that much and laughed while Beatrice gasped. “Violet work for you? Are you mad? Do you want Jack to murder you slowly? Slowly and viciously?”
“Just an idea,” Smith said, eyeing Violet with something that said he’d help her get into trouble. “Consider it revoked.”
It was clear that he didn’t mean it would be revoked. His gaze turned to Beatrice and even though absolutely nothing changed about his expression or body, he still seemed to soften for just a smidgeon of a breath. His gaze was a mask once again when it returned to Violet. “You’re excellent at interfering in people’s lives and helping them along the way. Why don’t you…I don’t know…why don’t you find girls like your Ginny and change their lives like you did hers? She’s a scrapper. Now she’s a scrapper with money and a future.”
Beatrice immediately shook her head.
“Why not?” Smith demanded. “That was nearly as good of an idea as working for me.”
“Vi’s imagination is too specific for that. She’ll unfold a story for every girl she meets. The ones who don’t want to be helped? For Violet, she’d dream up the worst scenario. There are other ways to find a driving purpose that doesn’t include your happiness being linked to the poor decision-making skills of scrappers who aren’t as bright as Ginny.” Beatrice shot him a look that told him to be quiet as she added, “And working for you was the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
Smith’s shrug said he didn’t care one way or the other. He looked between the women and muttered something about being back later. Violet watched him go and then turned her gaze to Beatrice.
Beatrice flushed brilliantly. “I'm sorry. I promise he doesn’t interfere in my work. I’m afraid I’ve told him time and again to not come by while I’m working, but—” She shook her head helplessly. “I seem to be unsuccessful at convincing him to respect any sort of boundaries.”
The avalanche of excuses came to a stop when Violet reached out and took Beatrice’s hand. “I don’t care, Beatrice. I wouldn’t have you in charge of my finances if I didn’t trust you completely. Take a long lunch with Smith. Go for walks and have a break. Let him bring you flowers and, I don’t know, nuzzle your neck. I am not going to count your every minute working for me.”
Beatrice’s blush, which had been strong before, was fiery and Violet’s chuckle didn’t help in the least.
“I can see why you like him.” Violet sipped her coffee to enjoy Beatrice’s squirming.
“He’s too pretty for his own good. Or mine.”
Violet laughed low and wicked and then shoved the nibbles towards her friend, who looked on the edge of fainting. Perhaps she needed to occupy her hands and mouth with a scone. Beatrice seemed to agree as she split it and topped it with clotted cream and jam with trembling hands.
“He is too pretty for all of mankind,” Violet agreed. “When you first see him, you think heaven sent down one of her most beautiful angels and then you realize he’s in the devil’s pocket.”
“Yet somehow,” Beatrice muttered dryly, “he still convinces you to trust him. Despite knowing what he is. The whole time you’re scolding yourself all the while trusting him implicitly.”
“He does! You know that slew of private investigators that I hired when those fools at Scotland Yard thought that Jack killed Theodophilus? Smith is the only one that I’ve hired regularly. Why? The other fellows are much more principled. But when I need something done? I call Smith.”
Beatrice nodded. “I think half of his work comes from old men who think their young wives are cuckolding them. They assume he’ll use his pretty face to lead them into a trap.”
“Does he?” Violet asked, knowing he didn’t. Beatrice wouldn’t be interested in a man who spent his days in such a way.
“No,” Beatrice said. “No, he wouldn’t. He’s not like that.”
Violet nodded, making sure her friend saw that Vi was unsurprised by the answer. If Violet had her way, Beatrice would continue to be a regular part of Vi’s family. If Smith had his way, Beatrice would be his. He was the kind of man to want every aspect of the woman he l
oved. He’d want her heart, her imagination, her body, her home, but Violet didn’t think it was a bad thing in a man who gave all of that in return.
She rubbed her finger over her bottom lip, wondering if she was crediting Smith too much. Anxiety for Beatrice rose in Violet and then she realized, it wasn’t something she could control. Beatrice was careful and precise. It was why she’d been an excellent maid, and it was why she moved from position to position with Violet.
Careful, smart, precise. It was all that you could want for your friend. Violet hoped, in fact, that those good attributes didn’t keep Beatrice from throwing her heart to the wind and living fully.
Violet took a biscuit and broke it to pieces as Beatrice ran over updates on the business side of things. Vi was only half-listening, but she caught enough to feel sure that Beatrice’s thoughts were a good way to go. Vi popped one of the broken biscuit pieces in her mouth and then sipped her coffee again.
“We’ve been drawn into another murder,” Violet said when Beatrice finished. Her business manager paused, looking up with wide eyes that were filled with concern. “An old man that someone thinks was murdered by a member of his family.”
Beatrice’s gaze turned sad. “Like Mrs. Davies?”
Violet nodded. Yes, just like her aunt. Too much like her aunt.
“Oh Vi,” Beatrice said, and it was her turn to reach out and take Vi’s hands over the desk. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to relive what happened to your aunt or let it all be churned up again.”
Violet’s eyes welled. “I know. But I can’t help but want to. I can’t help but think that no one is really fighting for that old man, and Olly Rees seemed like a good old fellow.”
“Like your aunt,” Beatrice said gently.
Violet nodded.
Beatrice mouth firmed, and she moved the tray to the side, pulling out a large piece of paper. “Then I will help you. Who are the suspects?”
Violet blinked and then said, “Well, the people who were around him over the holidays.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“Certainly his family,” Violet stood and paced before Beatrice’s desk. “There was a sister named Mrs. Stevens. She’s a mouthy old thing.”
Beatrice scratched the name down. “Did she inherit anything?”
“Supposedly she got the use of Olly’s house while she lives, but she had that before.”
Beatrice made a note on the paper and added, “Unless something happened between the siblings that would have made her move out. Having a safe place to stay is worth rather a lot.”
Violet nodded. “Mrs. Stevens didn’t have children, but Olly did. I can’t remember their names, but there were two sons. Each of those had two children with a total of four grandchildren. More great-grandchildren, but they’re all in the nursery.”
Beatrice wrote question marks for the sons’ names.
“The grandchildren, however,” Violet said, “the two who belong to the older son are Harold and Charlotte. The two who belong to the youngest son are Joseph and Alexander. I believe only the last remains unshackled.”
“Did they inherit anything?” Beatrice asked.
Violet frowned. She really didn’t know. “We need to know the contents of the will.”
Beatrice paused in her notes as she watched Violet pacing.
“Smith could probably get that for you,” Beatrice said, sounding conflicted, “but he would certainly break the law to do so.”
Violet wasn't sure she cared since they weren’t going to do anything nefarious with the information. She did, however, wonder how she’d feel if she were the victim in the same way. She wouldn’t like it in the least. But a man was dead. Only she didn’t get to choose when to keep the law and not. Instead, she frowned deeply.
“We should probably ask Jack if he can get the information without breaking the law.”
Beatrice made a note on a sheet of paper.
“What do we know about the grandsons?”
“Harold is the older child from the older son, Oliver. I would guess that in the long-term he’ll inherit the most of what’s left.”
“So he’d be the one who benefits the most from Olly’s death?” Beatrice asked and then shook her head. “Unless his father is living and if that’s so, we don’t know how his father would leave the things he inherited.”
“It’s my understanding that there are just heirlooms and the house. A little money but not enough to materially change anyone’s lives.”
“That’s an assumption,” Beatrice pointed out, “based on what people think they know about each other. Either of these sons or their children could have lost their money or their position or be in debt and the rest of the family just doesn’t know about it yet.”
“Too true,” Violet said. “I know nothing about Gerald’s finances, and he’s my oldest brother. Since he doesn’t work, it’s based entirely off the estate and the generosity of my father. I only know anything about Tomas and Isolde because I helped Tomas get a handle on his inheritance.”
Violet nibbled her thumb as she paced. Joseph and Harold and their wives had been at that scavenger hunt. She didn’t know if they had actually participated, but Vi had heard enough rumors of the hunt that he and Jack had left to learn that many of the items on the list had required a level of income that would have been hard for the regular working stiff. They wouldn’t have attended, would they, if they couldn’t afford it?
“Harold is married and has one daughter. His wife, Phoebe, is at least part of the reason Jack and I were drawn into things. Phoebe, however, maintains that no one killed Olly Rees.”
“What if they didn’t?” Beatrice asked. “What if it was the paranoid fantasy of whoever left you that note?”
“Then we’ll just be wasting our time, I suppose.”
Chapter 9
When they were finished going over the list of family members they knew about, the list read as follows:
Murder of Olly Rees
SUSPECTS:
Mrs. Stevens — Olly’s sister. Was in attendance at the holidays and lives in Olly’s house. Confessed to learning more about Violet and brought up the death of Aunt Agatha.
Mr. X Rees— Olly’s oldest son. Believed to have been in attendance at the holidays. Primary inheritor? Doesn’t seem to have needed Olly’s house. Father of Harold and missionary sister.
Mr. X Rees— Olly’s other son. Believed to have been in attendance at the holidays. Did he inherit anything? Does he need money? Father of Joseph and other sibling.
Harold Rees— Olly’s grandson. Seems to have been a big fan of his grandfather and upset when it was suggested that Olly was murdered. Was he upset because Olly was murdered? Or was he upset because the secret was out? Did he benefit from his grandfather’s death?
Phoebe Rees— Olly’s granddaughter-in-law. Seems to have liked him fine. No obvious reason for her to kill her grandfather-in-law. She and Harold seem to be doing fine financially from the outside. Are they really? Called her husband a snake in the grass. Was that because she was drunk or does she know something that others don’t?
Joseph Rees— Olly’s grandson by the second son. Other than an heirloom surely he wouldn’t be the primary inheritor. Seemed quite upset by the idea that Olly may have been murdered.
Delilah Rees— Olly’s granddaughter-in-law. Why would she kill Olly?
Charlotte Rees — the Missionary Sister —Olly’s granddaughter. At home during the holidays when she often was out of the country. Did she benefit from her grandfather’s death? Was it enough to push a supposedly religious woman to such a terrible crime?
Alexander Rees — Joseph’s sibling. Single, childless. Seemed exhausted by the antics of Delilah and Phoebe.
Mr. Baldwin. Olly’s friend also friends with the earl. Believes Olly was killed as well. Is his saying so a ruse? A way to hide what he did? What possible reason could the man have for murdering his friend?
Who else was there?
; QUESTIONS —
What was in the will?
Is Phoebe right that there wasn’t enough money from Olly for anyone to murder him?
What are the finances like for the members of the Rees family? Is anyone in dire straits?
Maybe it isn’t about money. Maybe it was about a family secret?
Did Olly know something that would have ruined someone’s life? Is there a way to find out now that he’s dead?
Did a doctor look at Olly’s body after he died? If so, did they just assume he passed away? How was Olly found? Will the doctor talk to anyone? Perhaps Jack?
Violet and Beatrice looked over the large paper. Together they leaned back and lifted their cups, taking sanctuary in their hot drinks.
“This always makes me feel a little dirty,” Beatrice said. “Like I’m wading through the muck of someone else’s life.”
“You are,” Violet agreed. “We are. We did. We’re prying into the muck and writing it on our papers or chalkboards and dissecting their lives and it’s not a very a kind thing to do, really.”
Beatrice freshened their cups, hers of tea and Violet’s with coffee, and they both shuddered a little as they looked the list over.
“It never covers everything,” Violet said. “It doesn’t cover how Delilah is baby hungry and married for who knows how long. Months and months of realizing when the fateful day comes that yet again she isn’t with child. Or watching Phoebe grow with a baby that she’d just as soon not have.”
Beatrice winced. “That would be painful. Extraordinarily so, I would imagine.”
Violet nodded, thinking about all the women in her life pregnant or already with a child. “It doesn’t take into account the days Olly spent with his grandchildren and the love they have for him. Some of them, at least, would never consider hurting their grandfather. The very idea would be abhorrent to them.”
“These are all the surface level things we can see from the outside. When I see this, I don’t see a murder. I see a normal family. I guess it is necessary to delve a little deeper.”
