And what was that bit about Fran seeing Gloria in town when she was supposed to be on vacation? Why would Fran not speak to her cousin if she saw her, especially to convey the news that Myrtle was ill? What kind of trouble had Gloria been in, and was she still in it?
But if Gloria was the one trying to kill Myrtle, wouldn’t she be trying to convince everyone the incidents were truly accidents? She was doing the opposite. Earlier in the library, she had acted more convinced than Myrtle herself that someone was trying to harm her.
“Meropp.” Dickens stretched his long body.
“I know,” Hazel said. “One can’t go by what they see on the surface. One has to dig deeper. And I do get the sneaking suspicion that Gloria is hiding something. Myrtle mentioned that Gloria doesn’t have a lot of money, and the two of them are close. Perhaps Myrtle is leaving her something in the will, and Gloria doesn’t want to wait for her to die in order to get it.”
Dickens hopped down from the desk and trotted over to the bed then pawed down the corner of the silky covers under which Hazel had tucked her light cotton nightgown.
“That’s right, I should change… Wait… change. What if Myrtle was about to change her will? That would be a reason to kill her now instead of waiting for her to die naturally.”
Dickens didn’t react to Hazel’s brilliant deduction. He simply curled into a ball on her pillow and buried his face in his tail.
“If that were the case,” Hazel continued, “any one of the relatives might want to stop her. Maybe she was going to include Gloria? Then Wes and Edward wouldn’t get as much money.”
Thoughts of Wes and Vera surfaced. They were already benefiting from Myrtle’s generosity by living in the cottage.
Hazel’s eyes flicked to the window, where a dim yellow light shone in the distance at the edge of the property. Was that the cottage? She vaguely remembered a stone caretaker’s cottage somewhere along the edge of the property.
Near enough for someone to sneak into the house and tamper with Myrtle’s medicines then sneak back out without anyone knowing. Also close enough to dig out the path in the middle of the night and sneak back into the cottage unseen. And, obviously, they must need money, or else they wouldn’t be living in the cottage, though judging by Vera’s appearance, she had plenty to spend on clothes and jewelry, not to mention nail polish and makeup.
Hadn’t Myrtle mentioned something about indigestion? Myrtle had put it off, thinking it wasn’t unusual for someone of her age to have indigestion, but Gloria had thought it had a more sinister meaning. Could someone be slowly poisoning Myrtle? If so, they would need frequent access to her food.
Hazel’s gaze flicked from the window to her research notebook. Ironically, poison was the very thing she was writing about, and she had the research fresh in her memory. There were plenty of poisons, especially natural ones, that would mimic indigestion. Maybe someone was peppering Myrtle’s food with something that would build up in her system and eventually prove fatal.
And what about Edward? He coveted the fine antiques in the house. Maybe Edward felt that he should be getting some of them now and was harboring a long-time resentment against his mother. Maybe he was jealous that Wes got to live in the cottage for free while his own daughter, Fran, had to fend for herself in town.
Hopefully, Hazel would be able to narrow things down further tomorrow. She knew from her books that figuring out the motive was a good path to finding the killer—or, in this case, attempted killer.
Unless Myrtle was blackmailing someone or knew a terrible secret, or someone was so angry they wanted the satisfaction of killing her, the motive was most likely money. Tomorrow, Hazel would find out the specifics of Myrtle’s will, if she planned to make any changes, and if anyone would be afraid of anything she knew.
She could also inquire delicately about Gloria’s trouble. The wording Fran had used alluded to her having straightened out, which made Hazel think perhaps it had something to do with drugs. She certainly hoped not. Gloria seemed like such a nice girl, and she doted on Myrtle, and obviously Myrtle cared for her. But if Gloria was mixed up with drugs, she might need money badly. Badly enough to kill Myrtle?
At the same time, she could find out the story about Wes. Did he work? How long had he had a drinking problem, and what exactly was his financial situation? From Charles’s long career at Scotland Yard, she knew that drinking often went along with drugs and gambling. Had Wes gotten involved with something like that? If so, he might need money badly, too.
Hazel hated the idea of having to dig into Myrtle’s family’s personal secrets, but Myrtle had asked her to help, and there was no other way. Once she had those answers, it would hopefully shed some light on who might be behind all of this. Because right now, from where she was sitting, it could be just about anyone.
Hazel flipped open her notebook. Myrtle had inadvertently given her an idea for the book. She’d noticed that Myrtle had been trying to cover up some of her forgetfulness. Even though it was only natural for someone of her age, and since Myrtle was so vibrant and full of life, Hazel could see why she would work hard to cover up those sporadic memory lapses… maybe even fooling herself into thinking she wasn’t having them. She knew Myrtle really was having memory problems, but the thought occurred to her that she could use it in the opposite way in her novel and cause the killer to cover up by only pretending to have memory problems.
Uncapping her pen, she bent over the book, excitement welling up inside her. She’d always had Charles to bounce ideas off for her plots and to help her fill in the details. She’d been blocked on coming up with the first big twist in her novel, worried she wouldn’t be able to do it without Charles. But now she had it. She’d come up with it on her own, and some of the details of the murder—at least the one in her novel—were finally coming together.
Chapter Seven
The next morning at breakfast, Hazel found herself considering everyone at the table with renewed suspicion. The fancy china from the previous night’s dinner had been washed and was now on display in an oak china cabinet. Next to the cabinet, the breakfast was set out buffet-style atop a long server. White bone-china plates with a thin silver rim were stacked next to the stainless steel chafing dishes.
Vera sat at the table with half a piece of toast and a strawberry on her plate. The seat next to her was empty, as if announcing Wes’s absence. Across the table from her, Gloria had a plate loaded with bacon, eggs, and beans.
Myrtle was in great spirits, drinking tea and picking at a fruit plate. Fran stuck to toast, dabbing a tiny teaspoon of marmalade on top and topping it off with tea and lemon wedges. Hazel thought the lemon wedges were a perfect reflection of her sour demeanor.
Hazel put a small pile of scrambled eggs on her plate, added a thin slice of bread, and joined them at the table.
“The staff is setting up the games on the lawn today, and more guests will arrive after noon for tea and lawn games.” Myrtle’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement. She didn’t seem the least bit worried that someone might be trying to kill her. Had she forgotten already? Hazel knew Myrtle was having memory issues, but this morning, she appeared to be sharp as a tack.
“I just hope someone doesn’t walk away with the expensive stuff. You know what happened to the Rothingtons.” Edward reached for the gleaming silver teapot in the middle of the table, lifting it up and then ducking his head to look at the bottom. “Oh, Mother, this is a Birmingham set. Honestly, you should put this away. It’s quite valuable and should not be for daily use.”
Myrtle waved her hand in the air. “Pffft... What good are these nice things if we can’t use them?”
“These are fine antiques. They should be preserved for future generations.”
Hazel’s eyes narrowed. By “future generations,” did Edward mean himself? Myrtle was incredibly wealthy, but what was Edward’s financial status? He was a fairly well-known antiques dealer, but did he have money of his own? Just because Myrtle had money didn’t mean she ga
ve it out to her children. Many people didn’t… at least not while they were alive. And Edward would be in a perfect position to know the exact value of everything he would eventually inherit.
“What happened to the Rothingtons?” Hazel asked.
Myrtle waved her hand. “Oh, that was so long ago. Really, it was nothing. A little robbery at one of their parties.”
“I’m sure Vera would remember.” Edward shot Vera a pointed look.
Hazel’s brows rose. Was Edward accusing Vera of stealing from the Rothingtons? He didn’t seem to be overly fond of his nephew’s wife, but then it wasn’t like he and Wes seemed that close either.
She studied Vera out of the corner of her eye, but the woman seemed nonplussed by the accusation. She sat calmly, nibbling on her strawberry. Today, her hair appeared even brighter red, and she had on even more lipstick, but what really caught Hazel’s eye was the large red rectangular pendant that sparkled like it had been electrified at her throat. It must’ve been synthetic, as Hazel doubted Vera could afford a ruby of that size. Odd that she wouldn’t wear the family cameo jewelry. Then again, maybe she felt it was too old-fashioned for her modern look.
Myrtle pushed her plate away and dabbed her lips with her ivory linen napkin. “Well, that was delicious, but I’m ready for my morning constitutional.” She turned to Hazel with a knowing look. “Would you care to join me?”
“I’d be delighted.” Hazel bid farewell to everyone else, and the two women strolled out onto the lawn, with Myrtle pointing out various plantings as they made their way through the garden beside the house and on to the brick path.
The sun warmed Hazel’s shoulders, and the smell of freshly mown grass tickled her nose. She could hear people running about the grounds, most likely setting things up for the afternoon’s events. Chickadees twittered in the perfectly manicured trees, and squirrels scampered through the shrubbery, which had been pruned in twisty conical shapes.
“It must be quite a chore to keep up the garden like this.” Hazel’s garden at Hastings Manor was not nearly as grand as this one, and her gardener was kept quite busy with it.
“Oh, it is. We employ several full-time gardeners. My parents always prided themselves on their large gardens, and I can’t imagine it any other way,” Myrtle said.
“Interesting that you, and not your sister, inherited the house,” Hazel said. “Was that a problem between you two?”
“Oh, not at all,” Myrtle said. “Enid didn’t want the house or anything. She wanted money.” Myrtle’s face turned sad, and she slowed her step. “You see, Enid had a gambling problem. I tried to help her, but she refused the help. So it ended up being a good thing I inherited the house, as she would’ve lost it. She lost everything she had in the end.”
“Oh, that’s so sad… but what about her daughter? That would be Gloria’s mother, right?”
Myrtle nodded. “Yes. Her name was Rose. I helped them as much as I could, but Rose was very proud. She didn’t want to take help. And Gloria is just like her.”
“So you don’t give Gloria money?”
“Not now.”
“But you did?”
“Well, not money outright.” Myrtle lowered her voice and leaned toward Hazel. “Gloria hasn’t had it easy. With the way Enid lost the money, and Rose, well, she somewhat followed in her mother’s footsteps. Gloria didn’t have much of a chance. Anyway, Gloria fell in with the wrong crowd, and she had a problem with drugs. I helped her get rehabilitated.”
“Oh, but she seems so… put together,” Hazel said. So that was the trouble Fran had referred to.
“She is now. She’s been clean for ages. I’m sure you can tell I’m quite fond of the girl. Everyone in the family is. Why, she even introduced Vera and Wes years ago.”
Hazel frowned. “Gloria and Vera are friends?” Hazel hadn’t noticed them acting like old friends, and she considered herself somewhat of an observer of human nature… it was a trait that made her books more realistic.
“Yes. Back when she was… well, years ago.”
If Gloria knew Vera from years ago, did Vera also have a drug problem? And if so, did she need money for it? It was obvious Wes had a problem with drinking, and while Hazel had been under the impression the drinking problem had started when Sarah died, maybe it had more to do with his wife’s influence than his mother’s death.
“I can see you’re very fond of Gloria.”
“I’m proud of what she’s overcome,” Myrtle added. “She’s very strong. I worry sometimes about what will happen to her after I’m gone. She still has a little money in a trust that her grandmother managed to leave behind. Thankfully, she didn’t spend that on the drugs. And she’s frugal. Doesn’t spend it on expensive clothing and jewelry. But if the money ran out, I suppose she’d need to acquire a position to get by. You know, a secretarial job or the like.”
“You’re not going to leave her any money?” Hazel asked then, at Myrtle’s strange look, added, “I need to ask about your will to figure out who might be trying to harm you.”
“Oh, right. You think someone wants to kill me for my money?”
“Well, that could be one reason. It happens quite often.”
Myrtle chuckled. “I’m sure it does. But if that’s the case, then it’s not Gloria. I considered including her, but I guess I’m rather old-fashioned, and it didn’t seem fair to Wes and Edward. I always intended for everything to be split equally between my children, Sarah and Edward. But now that Sarah has passed, Wes would get her share.
“If I included something for Gloria, I’m sure Fran’s nose would be out of joint since Gloria really isn’t technically one of my own family. In the end, I decided it was best to keep things to my immediate children or their issue, so Gloria’s not in my will at all.”
“Really? And are the terms of your will common knowledge?”
“Oh yes, everyone knows that all I have will be split equally between Edward and Wes.” Myrtle stepped over a gnarled root that had heaved up the bricks and then glanced back at it. “I’ll have to tell Dooley to tend to that.”
“And you weren’t talking about changing your will at all? How old is your current will?”
Myrtle shook her head. “No changes. The last change was shortly after Sarah died, so it’s about ten years old now.”
That narrowed things down. Gloria didn’t appear to still have a drug problem, but Hazel had noticed her clothing was well worn. She clearly didn’t have a lot. It seemed like Gloria would benefit more from Myrtle being alive. Myrtle helped her out now, and after she was dead, all her money would be in the hands of Wes and Edward. Hazel doubted either of them would help Gloria like Myrtle did. No wonder Gloria was so concerned about the accidents.
“Tell me about Wes and Vera. I know you let them live in the cottage. Don’t they have any means of support?”
Myrtle sighed. “Poor Wes. He was always such a sensitive boy. Hasn’t been the same since his mother died. Never knew his father, you know, so Sarah was all he had. It was awfully tragic the way she was killed in that car accident…”
Myrtle’s voice drifted off, and Hazel felt a pang of guilt for churning up old, painful memories. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose a child, but the pain of losing someone who was close never went away, as Hazel knew very well herself. Unfortunately, it was necessary to ask these questions to get to the bottom of things.
“Is that when his drinking started?” Hazel asked.
“Yes. Wes isn’t terribly strong. He’s always needed something… some kind of crutch to carry him through. After Sarah died, I was terribly worried about his mental health. But things got a little better when he met Vera. He was a promising pianist, but Sarah’s death seemed to have bled all the creativity out of him. Naturally, I offered him the cottage while he recovers.”
“And how long has he been there?”
“Oh, about seven years now.”
Hazel doubted that Wes was going to make a recovery after seven years, but s
he didn’t want to say so. What would be the point? But now she had to wonder if Wes was the one trying to kill Myrtle. He would get even more money after Myrtle died, and not have to scrape away in an old cottage. And if Wes didn’t care about money, then Vera certainly did. By the looks of things, she liked to be kept in the latest fashions… and that cost money.
“Well, at least Edward has done well for himself,” Hazel prompted. Maybe she could knock him off the list of suspects, too.
“He does all right. He has a little country house. Not anything grand like this.” Myrtle gestured back toward the house.
“Does he ever come to you for money?” Hazel asked.
Myrtle pressed her lips together. “No. Sometimes he does ask about an item around the house, but I assume that’s purely because he loves antiques.”
Or loves what he can sell them for. Hazel decided to keep that thought to herself.
“And Fran? What does she do?”
“She’s a nurse’s aide. Studying to be a nurse.”
“And she’s not in your will at all?”
“No. But I suppose she might benefit through Edward. He would inherit half the items in the house and might give some to her.”
“I noticed Fran seems to be quite enamored with the family cameo she wears.”
“She is. I have to say she is a strange girl, even if she is my granddaughter. To be honest, I connect more with Gloria.” Myrtle looked down at her ring. “Gloria, Vera, and Fran all have cameo brooches. I have several other cameo pieces. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets. They are divided amongst Wes and Edward in my will, so I imagine Edward would give his to Fran.” Myrtle jerked her head up to look at Hazel. “But surely you don’t think she’d kill me over cameos?”
Hazel put a reassuring hand on Myrtle’s arm. “It’s unlikely. We don’t even know if someone actually is trying to kill you.”
Murder at Lowry House (Hazel Martin Mysteries Book 1) Page 4
