Prize and Prejudice: A Cozy Mystery Novel (Angie Prouty Nantucket Mysteries Book 2)

by Miranda Sweet

  “Thank you,” Walter said again. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  “You’re welcome,” she announced. “Although I’m going to be keeping a somewhat paranoid eye on you for the rest of the night, you know that, right? I just don’t want you to think that I’m fuming with jealousy or anything.”

  “I won’t think that,” he promised, and opened the back door.

  “Do you need any more time?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Are you sure you want to be seen with me? If she sees us together, she might start following you around, too.”

  “She already knows where I work,” Angie said. “And I’m sure that she saw us leaving together. Mickey can be distracting, but he’s not that distracting.”

  “Were…” He paused. “Were the two of you together? You and Mickey?”

  “Back in high school,” she said. “But not since then. He’s too much like a brother to me.”

  “Oh,” Walter said, his shoulders relaxing. “Then let’s go back in and face the music, shall we?”

  “Does that mean I get a dance?”

  “Of course.”

  The highlight of the evening was supposed to be the announcement of the winners of a silent auction that had been running all evening. The bids had been unsealed and the results viewed with some satisfaction by the NHA. Angie’s main concern had been making sure that Walter hadn’t auctioned himself off as a volunteer for anything. She had gone to the chairperson of the NHA, Beatrice Solly, and mentioned her concerns. The woman’s eyes had widened, and she’d gone into another room to view the results again.

  “Walter hasn’t volunteered himself for anything like that,” she confirmed, “and Miss Karner doesn’t have any of the winning bids regardless.”

  Angie thanked her and returned to the party. Walter was currently under guard by Mickey. The two of them had been talking with their heads close together, and now they both looked at her.

  Walter wore a nervous smile that quickly became more confident. Mickey had a concerned expression.

  She walked up to the two of them. “Gossiping about me, I see.”

  Walter said, “Maybe.”

  Mickey said, “You okay?”

  “I wish…” She turned around but didn’t spot Alayna Karner anywhere. “I wish that woman hadn’t come here tonight. I wish she hadn’t come to the island at all. I feel tense all of a sudden, and I barely said boo to her. What about you? Did Walter give you the head’s up that she might try to stalk you?”

  “He did,” Mickey said. “No worries. By the time we were done dancing, I had stepped on her feet about a dozen times, and I was a complete asshole to her. If she comes after me, it’s going to be to improve the gene pool. I didn’t make the world’s best impression.”

  Angie chuckled.

  “What about you? She was watching the two of you like a hawk. Once you got outside, she tried to get away from me and follow you.”

  “I’m going to take it seriously,” Angie said “I’ll make sure that someone always walks me out to the car, and that I’m never alone in public, and that my phone is always charged. Maybe I’ll even carry mace.”

  “Okay. If you need any help, let me know.” Mickey gave her one of his informal salutes. “Have fun, you crazy kids.” He strode back into the party, reaching over a woman’s head to snag a handful of canapes from a tray.

  Walter took Angie’s hand and squeezed it. “I think I’ll be happiest if we go back to what we were doing before. Talking to people. Making sure they’re having a good time.”

  “You got it,” she said.

  They headed back into the crowd. It was getting late, and most of the kids in the crowd had disappeared, thinning the ranks somewhat. The people who were left were mostly of the “formal evening wear” variety.

  In their more casual clothing, Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp stood out in in the crowd. Angie supposed they hadn’t packed for black tie occasions before setting out in their RV. She steered Walter toward the couple, noting as she did so that Alayna Karner was still nowhere to be seen. Good.

  Introducing Walter to the Beauchamps might not be the wisest move, but she couldn’t resist. The two of them were always saying something completely ridiculous or shocking, and Angie had just endured a series of bland conversations with possible investors. Being shocked would be a nice change of pace.

  The Beauchamps were peregrinating the room, looking at the exhibits and arguing with each other. One of the NHA members—Angie could tell because of the tag—was walking with them, joining the argument with apparent interest, and even passion.

  “Hello!” Angie said. “I’m so glad to see the two of you here tonight. How is everything going?”

  Mr. Beauchamp said, “We’re arguing about the history of the railroad. This worthy member of the Nantucket Historical Association, Mr. Hurcum, has been explaining to us how the railroad was dismantled in 1917, but we know for a fact that a few sections of it remained in 1918.”

  “They were not in use,” Mr. Hurcum said.

  “That doesn’t contradict my argument,” Mr. Beauchamp said. “But I’m sure that Miss Prouty isn’t interested in the fine details of the latter days of the railroad, are you, my dear?”

  “I’m afraid my focus has been somewhat different,” she said.

  “Mrs. Beauchamp saw your little drama earlier,” Mr. Beauchamp said. Mrs. Beauchamp immediately turned red in the face. “And we are glad to hear that it resulted in that Karner woman being ejected from the party.”

  Angie turned toward Mr. Hurcum. “Was she? I didn’t know.”

  “She left,” Mr. Hurcum said, “Of her own accord.”

  “And good thing, too,” Mr. Beauchamp said. “Otherwise my little Dottie might have had a more serious argument with her.”

  “Charles!” Mrs. Beauchamp said.

  “Well? Everyone knows that she’s been following us around as we search for clues. I won’t have it, and I know, given your temper, my dear, that you can’t be having it either.”

  Mrs. Beauchamp said, “If you will excuse me,” and left the group in a beeline for the ladies’ room. Walter gave Angie a look, and she followed the older woman into the toilet.

  Mrs. Beauchamp had torn several paper towels out of the holder and was wiping her face with them. She was clearly weeping.

  “I’m sorry,” Angie said, not precisely truthfully. “I didn’t mean to stir up trouble.”

  “That man,” Mrs. Beauchamp said. “He thinks it’s all in good fun to humiliate me so.”

  “Sometimes men don’t think,” Angie agreed.

  “All that talk about me poisoning someone, and my temper,” she said. “When we were around people that we had known for decades, it was all fine and dandy. They knew it was Charles who had the hot temper, and that…that death was a terrible mistake on the part of the young lady.”

  Angie said something soothing, not entirely believing her, but accepting that Mrs. Beauchamp had had no part in the matter.

  “But now that we’re on the road all the time in the RV, it’s a different matter. He won’t be the least bit personable. He teases me constantly and tells me that it’s my fault if I’m not happy, when I was the one who was perfectly content at home in the first place.”

  Mrs. Beauchamp was getting more upset rather than less. Angie said, “Do you need a place to stay for a day or two? Aunt Margery and I will put you up if you need to. I guarantee that Aunt Margery will defend you like a hellcat if he tries to butt in and stop you from having a day off.”

  “A day off!” Mrs. Beauchamp said. “That’s what it is. Ever since the man retired, I simply haven’t had a moment to myself. But no,” she took a deep breath, then let it go and turned toward the mirror, wetting the paper towels and dabbing at her face. “No. I’ll be all right. But I think I’ve had enough for the night, and I, at least, shall be going. Thank you for listening to me moan and groan about what is a perfectly ordinary situation—two grown adults who can’t figure out
how to get along with each other now that they’re not occupied with work. That man needs a hobby, and traveling around the country in an RV isn’t it. Something like joining a historical society, where he can argue all day long with someone who isn’t me, would be ideal.”

  With an almost audible snap, Mrs. Beauchamp put herself together and strode out of the women’s toilet, straight for her husband.

  “Charles,” she announced, “it’s time to go.”

  “But I’ve—”

  “Goodnight, Charles.”

  She pivoted and turned for the front door without looking behind her. One of the high school students who was working the coat check area had already pulled out her coat and had it ready for her.

  Charles Beauchamp looked startled. He held out a hand toward Mr. Hurcum, who shook it. “I enjoyed our talk,” he told the man. “Please do send me an email.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Mr. Snuock, a pleasure to meet you. I hope that your treasure hunt goes to everyone’s satisfaction. Miss Prouty, lovely as always. I hope to see you for coffee of a morning.”

  “I’ll be there if you are,” she said, and refrained from advising him to stop teasing his wife so much. He already seemed to have learned his lesson. A few moments later, he had followed his wife into the night.

  “What was that all about?” Walter asked.

  “She was upset at being teased so much. There isn’t a time that the two of them come into the bookstore and Mr. Beauchamp isn’t poking at her feelings.”

  “Hmph,” Mr. Hurcum said. “He’s just bored. We old goats need something to chew on, and if it’s not someone at work, it’s our wives. I told him he should join the historical society. If not here, then whenever they end up. He says that he’s tired of driving all over the place in the RV, but he’s afraid to tell the wife for fear that he’ll never hear the end of it. I told him he’s a fool if he can’t see that she’d do nothing of the sort…after the first year or two, anyway, and he’d deserve it if she did. Hope they get things sorted out, a couple of young people like that.”

  With that, Mr. Hurcum dove back into the party.

  Mr. Hurcum was at least eighty, so the Beauchamps were at least fifteen years the younger. But Angie still had to pinch herself to restrain an audible chuckle.

  Walter said, “Mr. Beauchamp did say something interesting just after you left. About the railroad.”

  “Oh?”

  “That the railroad terminus in Sconset is still standing. It’s now a private cottage.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, both of them did. They were talking about Tom Nevers Field, which they said was never an airport. Did you ever watch Wings? The old TV show?”

  “No?”

  “Apparently there was a fictional airplane field named Tom Nevers Field.”

  “But that’s a park.”

  “That’s right. Sorry, they were having one of those ongoing arguments where nobody else can get a word in edgewise and everything gets confused.”

  “Knowing them, I’m not surprised.” But the thought was in her mind now. “Jo and Mickey and I ran into them at Sheldon’s the other night. They were about to tell me a clue about the location of the painting, but they were interrupted by the sight of…well, I’m sorry to bring her name up, but Alayna Karner.”

  “What?”

  “They said she’d been following them around all over the island.” Angie frowned. Now that she knew more about Ms. Karner’s past, it sounded even creepier. She grabbed Walter’s arm. “Do you think we should warn them about her?”

  “They’re already on the lookout,” Walter said. “And, if Alayna’s not careful, she could end up poisoned.” He laughed. “Of course Mr. Beauchamp had to start telling me all about that story about his wife, which turned out to be nothing at all. It’s just the way he tells it that sounds so suspicious.”

  Angie rubbed the back of her neck. She was starting to run out of energy. Not that it was very late. She was just tired of being around all these people. It was the drama that was wearing her out, honestly.

  “I don’t see Jasper Parris anywhere,” she said. “I wonder if he’s still in the hospital.”

  As if by magic, Tabitha Crispin popped out of the crowd. She looked to be at least somewhat in her element. Nearby were Carol Brightwell, Marlee Ingersoll, and several people that Angie vaguely recognized, mostly in their early twenties.

  “That poor man,” Walter said. “He’s been through the ringer.”

  “I know it.”

  “I feel the worst about him. Somehow, all the stress from having to deal with the treasure hunt ended up on his shoulders—and broke them.”

  “He’ll be all right,” Angie said. “I talked to him at the hospital the other day, and…”

  Something occurred to her, and she drifted into silence.

  “What is it?”

  “Where’s the rest of Reed’s luggage?” she asked.

  “I thought you found it.”

  “I found his briefcase, but it didn’t have socks, underwear, or a toothbrush in it.”

  “It might be at the ferry station. Or his hotel.”

  She made a face. “I’m worrying over nothing, aren’t I?”

  “Possibly,” he said, neither agreeing or disagreeing, but watching to see what she would do.

  “Will you be all right for a moment? I need to step outside and call Detective Bailey to check on something.”

  “Be my guest,” he said. “I’ll still be here when you get back. If it weren’t almost time to announce the auction results, I’d go with you. But I’m expected to present.”

  “Be careful,” she told him. “Alayna could still be hanging around the place.”

  “I will.”

  Angie stepped out of the back door and the chill hit her immediately. So did the quiet. It was one of those dark, heavy winter evenings that feel like they’ll turn to snow at any moment. In fact as she took her phone out of her tiny black purse, a snowflake did drift down in front of her—but only one.

  “Hello. Detective Bailey speaking.”

  “Detective Bailey, this is Angie Prouty.”

  “Why hello, Miss Prouty. What can I do for you? I thank you for your email last night at o’dark thirty, although I have to admit that I didn’t bother to read it until after the sun was up. You didn’t read that whole book, did you?”

  “Er,” she said.

  “You’re quite the reader, all right. But that’s not why you called, I’m sure.”

  “Reed’s other luggage,” she said. “With his toiletries and socks and whatnot. Has it turned up anywhere?”

  “No, Ms. Prouty, it has not. We were able to find out where Mr. Edgerton was registered to stay for the evening.” He named one of the local B&Bs within walking distance of the bookstore, but a bit out of the way of the beach where the briefcase had been found. “They hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him. He did not arrive at all that evening. Incidentally, do you happen to know what kind of luggage it would be? Matching the briefcase, maybe?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve only ever seen him during the day in Boston. I’ve seen the briefcase a dozen times, but nothing else.”

  “Was there anything that he was in the habit of wearing, other than his watch?”

  “I think he had a pair of reading glasses? And several ties that I might recognize if I saw them. He liked gray suits like the one he was wearing. And he didn’t wear rings or any jewelry that I know of.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Prouty. I’ll call the managers at the ferry stations in a minute.”

  She bit her lips. “Detective?”

  “Yes?”

  As long as she was on the phone, she might as well say something. She told him about Alayna Karner and the confrontation she had had with Walter that night, as well as what both Walter and the Beauchamps had told her.

  “I’ll keep an eye out for her,” he promised.

  Another snowflake fell in front of her. Angie was shiv
ering like a madwoman. She went back inside.

  The announcements had begun, although they hadn’t reached the auction items yet. Beatrice Solly of the NHA was covering the preliminary announcements, most of which were both aggressively local and completely charming, like the one about the outdoor ice skating pond opening up—with hot cocoa being served every Saturday at the NHA booth—or the Santa and Mrs. Claus visit to the Whaling Museum next Thursday.

  But finally it was time for the auction winners to be announced.

  “First, the gift basket from Harbor Antiques,” Walter said, a spotlight shining very brightly in his face at the podium that had been set up at the front of the room. He looked at the basket, all wrapped up in cellophane, then read the tag. “Containing a Nantucket salt basket of sterling silver with a cobalt blue glass lining, three vintage silk scarves, and a piece of authenticated Nantucket scrimshaw by Fredrick Myrink. The top bid, which I believe?” He glanced at Beatrice Solly, who leaned over in his ear and whispered to him. “Which we won’t publicly announce in the interest of maintaining the general peace, was won by Gerald McGeury.”

  “Hah!” came a voice from the back of the crowd. “That’ll show you, Tom Beel!”

  Amused laugher echoed around the hall. Gerald McGeury came forward to collect his item.

  “You’ll need to pay the ladies of the NHA,” Walter cautioned him. “Otherwise, I can’t promise that you’ll get out of here alive.”

  The audience chuckled. The auction announcements continued on. Angie zoned out, laughing at Walter’s jokes without really listening to them. Her mind was a million miles away.

  Reed had died at eleven p.m. on that tiny beach along the harbor. What had he been doing all that time? It was on her mind again, now that she knew he hadn’t checked in at his B&B, especially when it was within walking distance. Why hadn’t he come to the bookstore? Why hadn’t he texted her?

  It was wrong. Something about this whole situation was wrong. There were too many possible suspects. If Reed had visited someone else on the island that he knew but hadn’t introduced to Angie, as Jasper had suggested, then there were approximately ten thousand suspects. If only she had access to all the information Detective Bailey had. Would investigators from the mainland come over to help? She thought they might. It would be sooner rather than later—they might be here already, in fact. That might explain why Detective Bailey had seemed so distracted out on the beach.