Vera certainly had a motive. Wes would stand to inherit a lot of money upon Myrtle’s passing. Vera liked fancy outfits and expensive jewelry. Gloria had said she thought Vera had a little money and that a little bit of money could go a long way, but Hazel doubted it would go as far as Vera wanted it to.
Chapter Thirteen
Hazel did not make much progress on her book that night. Her mind was too full of suspects in Myrtle’s potential murder to think about the suspects in her book. She woke up the next morning, eager to get to Bergamot Square. And not only to find a new dress for the evening’s festivities. She had a sneaking suspicion answers to some of her questions might be found there as well.
Breakfast was a casual affair, with food set out on the sideboard. Since Edward and Gloria were staying at Lowry House for the festivities, they were already in the dining room, picking at the food. Wes and Vera wandered in through the open French doors. Why bother with making food in the cottage when you could come and eat it at the manor house?
Vera’s eyes scanned the table. “Is our dear Fran sick this morning?”
“No,” Edward pushed eggs onto his toast. “She ate earlier. Already out and about.”
Vera sighed. “I could never be an early bird.”
She and Wes proceeded to fill their plates and take their places at the table.
“How are you this morning, Myrtle?” Hazel asked.
“Dandy.” Myrtle’s plate included a light breakfast of fruit and scrambled eggs. Her tall gals was filled with the green juice of her health elixir. She was chipper as ever, and Hazel was glad to see the previous day’s arrow incident hadn’t dampened her spirits.
When they were done eating, Myrtle pushed her plate away and turned to Hazel. “I spoke to Giles early this morning and he’ll have the car ready for you in the garage any time you want to leave.”
“Wonderful.” Hazel patted her lips with the linen napkin and stood. “I’ll see you all later tonight, then.”
Vera pushed away from the table. Grabbing her camera from the sideboard, she strolled out beside Hazel. “Are you going into town for your dress?” she asked as they walked out of the dining room.
“Yes, as I don’t really have anything suitable. I wouldn’t want to look out of place,” Hazel replied.
“I doubt you’d be the only one out of place.” Vera’s eyes drifted over Hazel’s shoulder, and she turned to see Fran in her usual dowdy dress, standing in the front doorway, as if just coming in from outside. Hazel wondered what Fran would wear to the party that evening. Did she wear fancy gowns? No matter what she had for clothing, Hazel figured she’d be decked out in the family cameos, or at least the ones that she owned.
“Some of us are more… restrained in our choice of attire.” Fran looked Vera up and down with disdain.
“I’m sure you’ll both look—”
“Meeeeowww!”
A blur of brown-and-cream fur streaked down the stairs.
“Dickens!” Hazel lunged after the cat, who appeared to be making a beeline for the kitchen.
“Meroooo!”
Dickens dodged left, avoiding Hazel, who smashed against an Edwardian table, setting a crystal vase rocking. She managed to catch it just before it plunged to the floor. Vera lunged after the cat, practically falling to the floor as she grabbed for him with one hand, the camera in the other. She scooped up the cat, cradling him to her chest. “I’ve got him.”
She held Dickens like a baby, stroking his silky fur. “Such a beautiful cat. I didn’t realize he had the run of the house.”
Hazel took Dickens from her arms. “He’s not supposed to.”
“You’d better make sure you keep him in your room. It’s not safe for the cat out here with rat poison around the place,” Fran said.
Vera stared at Fran. “Rat poison? Where did you see rat poison?”
Fran’s eyes flashed. “I didn’t see it. You said you have rats at your place, so I figured there must be poison.”
Vera made a face. “Of course I wouldn’t have poison. Animals could get into it and die. I love nature and animals.” She held up her camera. “In fact, I’m going out to take pictures of the birds right now.” She nodded at Hazel then said, “Have a nice day in town.” She then turned and strode off toward the front door.
“Yes, do have a good time in town,” Fran said. “Madam Germain will find you the perfect outfit. That’s where Vera goes. But don’t dally. You’ll want to be well rested for the festivities tonight.”
Hazel clutched Dickens even closer as he wriggled to get away, and started upstairs, admonishing Dickens as she walked to her room. “You know you’re not supposed to be out of the room. How are you getting out anyway? I do hope there isn’t some secret passage… those are always so convenient in my books. Cliché. Of course, if there were one, the murderer would surely use it.”
Hazel scanned the panels in the hallway as she passed. But she knew there wasn’t a secret passage, as she’d been to Lowry House many times over the years and even inspected her own room. This wasn’t the first time Dickens had escaped from a room, and no secret passage was necessary. Dickens, like most cats, was sneaky and clever. He knew how to bide his time. To wait for the housemaid to come in to make the bed or clean, then creep over to the door as she opened it and slither out without her even noticing. He’d done it before, and Hazel had no doubt that was exactly how he was getting out this time. Her suspicions were confirmed when she entered her room to see fresh flowers in the vase. She deposited Dickens on the bed with a stern warning and headed out to the driveway.
Bergamot Square was a bustle of activity. There were hardly any horse-drawn buggies anymore, as they had been replaced with motorcars and now the double-decker buses in what seemed like the span of a few years. It was a relatively small square, not nearly as large or busy as Regent Street or Trafalgar Square, and Hazel would have been able to find Madame Germain’s dress shop easily even if Giles didn’t know exactly where it was. They chatted amicably on the ride out. Hazel knew Giles, as he was married to Duffy’s sister’s second cousin’s cousin, and all the downstairs people seemed to stick together no matter how loose the relations. Hazel was never one to treat the household staff like second-class citizens, so she treated him as an equal, and when they pulled up in front of the shop, she gave him instructions to go off and enjoy himself then pick her up in two hours.
Inside the shop was the complete opposite of the street. Where it had been busy and loud outside, it was quiet and sedate inside. Round sofas in pink velvet dotted the store. Crystal chandeliers reflected prisms of light on the ivory-colored walls. Racks of dresses in a rainbow of silk and taffeta lined the walls. On the far wall were several curtained dressing rooms. An elegant-looking woman that Hazel guessed to be in her midsixties came from the back. She practically oozed confidence and refinement.
“Are you looking for a dress?” she asked.
“Indeed I am. Though I’m not sure if any of the new fashions are suitable.”
The woman stood back, looked her up and down, and clucked and nodded. “I believe I have something that will be just perfect.”
Madame Germain had been correct. Hazel was astounded at how the bright-red dress complimented her coloring and gave her a sophisticated air. Not tawdry, as she would have thought the color might be. She looked classy and elegant, and Madame assured her the scarlet red was one of this season’s most popular colors. She even persuaded her to spring for the matching red elbow-length gloves.
It only took twenty minutes to decide on the dress, so with her purchases in her pink-and-white-striped bag, Hazel figured now was a good time to try to answer one of the questions that had been taking up space in the back of her mind. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out why Gloria had lied about coming to Bergamot Square the day before. Maybe if she poked around, she would find the answer. Edward had mentioned a certain street—Abbott Mews—and Hazel found it three blocks down.
Abbott Mews was not a
s nice or populated as the main street. It was more like an alleyway, with shops much less well kept. Hazel didn’t see much down there that would attract Gloria. In fact, it was rather seedy. Was Gloria consorting with her old crowd again? It didn’t seem like she was, from what Hazel had seen at Myrtle’s. But why had she lied?
Hazel strolled down the street for one block, but when the crowd thinned to mostly shabbily dressed men and the motor traffic disappeared altogether, she turned and made her way back. It wasn’t until the second to the last shop that she noticed the sign in the storefront. Help wanted. Standing back and peering up at the sign, she saw it was a secretarial place. The kind of place that hired out to others. Had Gloria been here looking for a job and was embarrassed for her relatives to find out? Judging by Fran’s snobby attitude about Vera acquiring used jewelry, Hazel wouldn’t blame Gloria if she wanted to keep her job search to herself. Myrtle had mentioned that Gloria had a little bit of family money, and if she’d gone through it all, she probably didn’t need Vera, Wes, Edward, and Fran making her feel bad about it.
Satisfied that she’d found her answer, Hazel hurried back to the main street. A black-and-gold oval sign hanging from a grand brick building a few stores down caught her eye. Squires Antiques. Wasn’t that the antiques store Edward had suggested she visit? She strolled to the store, pausing to look at the antiques in the display window. Colorful glass, oil paintings, silver tea services, delicate figurines, and other trinkets. Hazel had plenty of antiques of her own at Hastings Manor. Five generations of her ancestors had lived there, and not a one of them had ever thrown a thing out. The place was practically bursting with William and Mary this and Louis XIV that.
A jewelry display caught her eye. Perhaps she should get a necklace to go with her new gown. The current style was long strings of beads that fell below the waist. Jet beads would look lovely with the red dress. She squinted to see the price. The beads were quite expensive, and though Hazel had plenty of money, she couldn’t see the sense in spending it on costume jewelry. Something niggled her thoughts. Not everyone paid top dollar for new jewelry. Vera bought her jewelry at the estate jewelers where you could get pre-owned jewelry at a fraction of the cost.
Hadn’t Fran said the store was near here?
Hazel turned away from the antiques store window to look at the signs for the other stores. No estate jeweler. But that type of store might not be on the main street. She peered down the side street, her eyes zeroing in on a royal- blue sign. Haskell Estate Jewelers.
She wasn’t sure if she even wanted a necklace. She really wasn’t the jewelry-wearing type, but the idea that she might be able to find out more about Vera and her finances had taken hold. Hazel had no idea what one paid for used jewelry. Perhaps Vera didn’t need very much money to keep herself in the jewels and fashions she was so fond of. Hazel knew there were thrift stores where one could buy used dresses as well.
Hazel opened the door tentatively, the bell sounding as she stepped in. A gray-haired woman who had been talking to the clerk—a bespectacled man in a dark suit—glanced at her quickly. Hazel looked the other way. Maybe the customers of this store didn’t want to be seen. She busied herself with looking into the nearest jewelry case as the woman and clerk went back to inspecting the ruby-and-emerald necklace that dripped from the clerk’s hand.
The room was dotted with waist-high black-velvet-lined cases. One could look down inside to see a variety of sparkling jewelry. The prices were quite reasonable. The cases held all types of jewelry, from genuine gemstones to ostentatious paste replicas, but there was one piece that made Hazel take a sharp breath.
A cameo with deeply carved cherubs and angels ringed by rubies.
Had Vera traded in the cameo to pay for the modern jewelry she favored?
“Can I help you?” Hazel jerked her attention from the cameo to the clerk, who was now standing on the other side of the display case. The other customer must have left while Hazel was busy staring at the cameo, and he was now focusing his full attention on her.
Hazel tapped her index finger lightly on the glass of the case above the cameo. “I was wondering who—”
“Oh dear, I hope there isn’t going to be any trouble.” The man wrung his hands together in angst.
“Trouble?”
“You’re not with the other person who was in earlier?”
“Other person?”
“Someone was in here asking about the cameo. And if you are planning on asking the same questions, I’m going to tell you the same thing. We do not divulge our clientele. In this business, discretion is paramount.”
Someone else had been asking about the cameo? Was that why Gloria had come here and lied about it? Did the cameo have something to do with the argument Hazel had witnessed between Vera and Gloria? Now Hazel wanted answers. But she knew from the clerk’s agitated manner that she couldn’t just come out and ask him point-blank. She would have to employ one of the techniques she often had her detective use in her books. She had to pretend like she knew more than the clerk did.
“Yes, of course. I hope they didn’t cause too much of a problem,” Hazel said.
“Well, I should say she did. Yelling and carrying on like that. Why, she scared two of our regular customers right out of the shop.” The man’s voice was shaky.
“I’m sorry she would act that way.” Hazel leaned over the display case and lowered her voice, as if telling him a confidence. “We have to be very careful with her.”
“Is she not well?” The man tapped his head.
Hazel nodded grimly. “Yes. Unfortunately, she goes off the deep end about family heirlooms. Has a right thing for cameos, she does.”
“Yes. That’s her. She spouted off horrible things. Demanded to know who had consigned the cameo. Said it belonged to her. She made violent threats against the consigner. Of course, I didn’t let on who it was.”
“Of course not. It’s too bad, because normally, she’s such a lovely girl, and those green eyes and copper hair. So angelic. Hard for people to believe she could be so violent.”
The man pulled a face. “Green eyes and copper hair? I don’t think we’re talking about the same woman. The one who came in here was not angelic in the least. And she had dark hair and dark eyes. A right sour little thing she was.”
Fran? Of course, Fran was the one who had mentioned that Vera bought used jewelry. Had she followed Vera here and seen her selling the cameo, or just happened to find out later? And why cause such a ruckus? Fran didn’t seem like the type to cause a commotion, but maybe she was a little unstable.
“Oh right, of course. How silly of me. Yes, she would be the one looking for these cameos. They are family heirlooms, but I’m sure a member of the family legitimately sold them to you.” Hazel looked at the clerk out of the corner of her eye.
The man straightened. “But of course. We insist on provenance for valuable items.”
“Of course,” Hazel said. “Unfortunately, young people these days don’t appreciate old heirlooms and would rather have the money.”
“Yes, indeed. This one was spitting mad about it, too. Ran out ranting about revenge and all kinds of nasty things.” The clerk shuddered.
Hazel left the store with her mind whirling. Fran had been here and was spitting mad about the cameo. Of course she would be, as she coveted the family jewelry and would be livid to discover that Vera had sold the cameo to buy modern jewelry.
But Hazel wasn’t worried about Fran’s anger toward Vera. A darker thought had crossed her mind. If Vera was selling off the family jewelry, she would eventually run out of items to sell. Maybe she already had and was now in need of a new influx of money. Money she could only get if Wes inherited it from Myrtle.
Chapter Fourteen
When Hazel got back to Lowry House, everyone was in their rooms, resting up… including Dickens. Hazel was glad to see the cat hadn’t wandered out again. She took her dress out of the bag and hung in the closet then stood back to survey it. Her stomach
fluttered with nerves at the thought of wearing it amidst a large party later that night. She hadn’t attended many parties since Charles’s death and felt awkward about attending alone, especially in a dress of such noticeable color.
Now was a perfect time to work on her novel. She ran her fingers lovingly over the row of pens, selecting the red Esterbrook. She opened her notebook and settled in to write, but the words wouldn’t come. She leaned back in her chair, nibbling on the end of the pen. Dickens sat on the bed, watching her intently, his tail swishing back and forth.
“I know. I know.” Hazel sighed and leaned over the notebook again. “I need to get back to work. Hemlock may not be the way to go for the poison. Though we could hide it easily in the carrot jelly. But who eats carrot jelly? I wonder if there isn’t something better I could use that would be found in a home garden.”
Home garden. Wes and Vera had a garden. Fran had planted it for them—for Wes, actually, since she didn’t seem overly fond of Vera. Hazel closed her eyes, trying to remember what grew in it. Basil, tomatoes, cucumbers. None of those were poisonous. But there had been some other weedy herbs at the back of the garden. She made a note in the margin of her notebook to figure out which herbs would cause indigestion and confusion. She knew some herbs could be fatal, especially in elderly people like Myrtle whose system couldn’t handle as much as a younger person’s. But why would Fran want to kill Myrtle? That didn’t make very much sense. Fran inherited nothing directly. Myrtle had verified that everything would be split between Wes and Edward. But Edward might share some of his inheritance with Fran right away. She already had the cameo from her mother; maybe she hoped he would give her the rest of the cameos he might inherit. And maybe Fran wanted to make sure he inherited those before Vera got her hands on them and sold off more of them.
Murder at Lowry House (Hazel Martin Mysteries Book 1) Page 8
