Murder at Lowry House (Hazel Martin Mysteries Book 1)

by Leighann Dobbs

  “Oh dear… I may have made a big mistake.”

  Stuffing Dickens’s harness into her trunk so he couldn’t get tangled up in it again, she grabbed the letter and ran from the room, hurrying toward the sitting room where she’d left Myrtle.

  Myrtle looked up, startled, when Hazel wrenched the door open and bolted into the room.

  “Whatever is the matter? Don’t tell me someone else has been—”

  “No,” Hazel said hurriedly. “At least not yet. But tell me, did you send this letter?”

  Myrtle frowned down at the lavender notepaper as Hazel placed the letter that had originally summoned her to Lowry House on the desk in front of her. Her face crumbled, and she looked up at Hazel, confusion in her eyes.

  “I don’t know. I honestly don’t remember writing any letter. I know I implied that I did earlier, but my memory has been so bad lately that when you asked about it… well, I just pretended that I did write it. It’s easier to do that, like with those dishes Edward insisted I buy. I don’t want anyone to think I’m losing it.”

  “But you don’t remember writing it, do you?” Hazel persisted. “In fact, that’s not even your writing or the same pen.”

  Myrtle squinted down at it. “I wouldn’t use the lavender paper, as that’s for the guest room. And it doesn’t look exactly like my writing. It’s close, but…”

  “It’s not.” Hazel glanced at Myrtle’s new pen. She knew the letter had been written with a dip pen that used a wide nib, and Myrtle never used them. “But the question is, do you know whose handwriting it is?”

  Myrtle shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t. It looks like an older person’s, though, as it’s all spidery.”

  But Hazel didn’t need verification. She knew whose writing it was. It was the killer’s writing, and she had a pretty good idea of what they were going to do next.

  “Where’s Wes?” Hazel asked.

  Myrtle looked startled at the serious tone in Hazel’s voice. “He went to the cottage with Gloria. They were going to—”

  But Hazel didn’t wait for her to finish. She took off at full speed toward the cottage, fear bubbling up in her chest as she ran into the woods. Would she be in time to stop another murder?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hazel flew through the woods, jumping over roots and dodging squirrels. She should have figured it out sooner. The cameo, Vera’s photographs, the buttercups, the Saint John’s wort. She’d thought Fran and Edward had lied, but…

  She burst into the clearing and raced toward the cottage without thinking. She didn’t consider that she was putting herself in danger. Her only thought was to get there before someone else died. And if she were wrong, then no harm done.

  Out of breath, she stood in front of the door, wondering whether to knock or just rip it open. If her suspicions were true, then she doubted the killer would open the door for her. She glanced in the window to her right. The house was a mess, photographs and clothing strewn everywhere. Vera’s jewelry box lay open on the sofa, jewelry spilling out over the cushions and onto the floor. Wes was seated in a chair at the kitchen table, his head lolling forward. A piece of notepaper was on the table in front of him. Gloria, her back to the door, was bending over the chair. Her right hand was in front of her, and her left was trying to push a blue fountain pen into Wes’s hand. It was a Parker dip pen, an older model with a wide nib, Hazel thought somewhere in the back of her brain, even though fountain pens were the last thing on her conscious mind.

  Hazel knew what she had to do. She ripped the door open and burst into the room.

  Gloria whirled to face her, her right hand slipping behind her back so as to stay hidden from Hazel. The pen slipped from Wes’s hand and clattered to the floor. “Hazel. What are you doing here?”

  “I should ask you what you’re doing here.” Hazel looked pointedly at Gloria. “Are you hiding something behind your back?”

  “What?” Gloria squinted at her as if she had no idea what she was talking about. She brought her hand out from behind her back, revealing a small handgun with a short metal barrel and a bone handle. Hazel knew not to let its small size fool her. It was lethal, especially at this close range. Gloria sighed. “I’m afraid the gun was here the whole time. Wes planned to use it to… to…”

  “Schlooook out.” Wes glanced up from under his lashes at Hazel, his eyes rolling in his head.

  “What’s wrong with Wes?” Hazel asked.

  “Oh, poor Wes. This has affected him so. I’m afraid he had too much to drink. That’s how he deals with stress. Thank God I got here just in time.” She held the gun up. “He was going to use this on himself.”

  “Really? Why would he do that?” Hazel inched her way into the room, a feeling of trepidation coming over her. Unlike the detective in her book, who never made a move without precise reason, Hazel had acted before she’d thought things through, and now she was facing Gloria unarmed. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do to get herself out of this now. Somehow she had to get the gun from Gloria.

  Gloria glanced at the notepaper then back up at Hazel. “As you can see, he was getting ready to write a note. A suicide note. He said he couldn’t take it. He was the one trying to kill Myrtle, but he killed Vera by mistake, and now he can’t live with himself.”

  “He doesn’t look like he’s in any condition to write a note,” Hazel pointed out as she made her way closer to Gloria. Maybe she could distract her with something and grab the gun. Obviously, Wes was going to be no help.

  Gloria faltered. “When I got here, he was. He was just getting ready to write it, but I stalled him and was able to get the gun. He must’ve taken some pills along with the booze, and I stalled him long enough for them to take effect. Now, if you’ll just go and get one of the constables, I suppose we’ll have to let Wes pay for his crime.”

  Hazel saw her chance. “Certainly. Why don’t you let me take the gun to them? I wouldn’t want Wes to overpower you and shoot himself… or you.”

  Hazel’s eyes flicked to a pile of photographs. Photographs! That was what Vera had on Gloria.

  Gloria followed her gaze, her eyes turning suspicious as she studied Hazel. Then her mouth set in a tight line. “I was afraid you might be too smart for your own good.”

  “What do you mean? Just hand over the gun, and I’ll get the police—”

  “Shut up!” Gloria glanced at the pile of photos again. “I can’t take that chance now.”

  Oops. Hazel should’ve thought things through more carefully before trying to take the gun.

  “I thought you would help me convince the police that Wes was behind this all along, but you were too smart for me. Unfortunately, for you.” Gloria glared at Hazel, apparently considering the best way to deal with her. “What gave me away?”

  “You made a few mistakes.” Hazel knew it was best to keep her talking while she tried to come up with plan B. Too bad she didn’t have much experience in that department. In her novels, the detective never needed a plan B because he never got himself into tricky situations like this. “For one, you used the lavender notepaper to summon me to Lowry House. It’s the same paper in my room.”

  Gloria blanched. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that. That was a mistake. I didn’t want to send the note on the Rose paper that I use, and Auntie would have wondered why I wanted a sheet of hers, so I grabbed from one from one of the rooms. I had no idea Mrs. Naughton would put you in there. But what tipped you off that it was me who used the notepaper?”

  “When Myrtle asked, you claimed that you were never in that room.”

  “Naturally. I didn’t want to be linked to the lavender paper.”

  “Right. That was smart. That’s what I would have one of my characters do, except you made one little mistake. Apparently, when you were in the room getting the paper, a sprig of buttercups must’ve fallen off your hat. Dickens found them later on, underneath the chair. So, you see, when you said you weren’t in the room, I became suspicious.”
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br />   “That’s it?” Gloria screwed her face up. “Those flowers could’ve come in from the hallway. That would never hold up in court.”

  “That wasn’t the only mistake you made.” Hazel kept one eye on Gloria while also trying to look around the room for a weapon. “You lied about being at Gull Landing to provide yourself an alibi for when Myrtle’s pills were switched.” Hazel bluffed—sort of. She felt pretty confident that Gibson’s inquiries would prove that Gloria hadn’t been at Gull Landing. Even though he hadn’t confirmed her suspicions yet, the startled look in Gloria’s eyes told her she’d been right.

  “That doesn’t prove I switched her pills. You still have nothing on me. And neither do the police. Which is why they’re going to believe that Wes is the killer, and when you confronted him, he had to kill you, too. I tried to wrestle the gun from him, and Wes was shot in the struggle. I was lucky to get out of here alive.” Gloria gestured for Hazel to get in front of Wes’s chair, and Hazel slowly shuffled in that direction. Gloria bent down as if to place the gun in Wes’s hand so as to point it at Hazel, to make it look like he shot her from the chair.

  “I don’t think they’re going to believe that once they realize your true motive.” Hazel sidled closer to the sofa. Why hadn’t she told Myrtle to send the police? She would never let the detective in her novels confront the killer alone without a weapon, and now she’d gone and done it herself.

  “Don’t be silly. I don’t have a motive to kill Auntie. I won’t inherit a thing from her.” Gloria struggled to get Wes’s limp hand around the gun.

  “Not Myrtle. You never intended to harm Myrtle. But you wanted it to look that way. That’s why you summoned me here. Because you knew I would look into it and find all the clues you’d cleverly placed for me.”

  Gloria hesitated. “So you figured it out. Too bad for you.”

  “I always thought the attempts on Myrtle seemed a little halfhearted. How clever of you to be there when she fell on the path, to make sure she didn’t get hurt, and to prove that you couldn’t possibly be the one trying to harm her. And I’m certain you made sure that only a few of her pills were switched so it wasn’t a lethal dose. Oh, and did you use the Saint John’s wort to make it seem like someone was poisoning her, or did you want her to be confused so she wouldn’t catch on to the fact that you were the one behind these attempts?”

  Gloria barked out an unpleasant laugh. “Nice try. But no one will believe that. Not that you’ll get a chance to tell them. It sounds like fiction. Like something a novelist would come up with. I doubt the police would agree with you.”

  “But they do,” Hazel said. “Detective Chief Inspector Gibson noticed right away there was something suspicious about the attempts on Myrtle. He checked with Gull Landing and the estate jeweler just this morning. So you see, it would be best if you just handed over the gun.”

  Gloria’s eyes narrowed.

  Hazel reached out for the gun, but Gloria only aimed it at her with more determination. “You’re bluffing.” Gloria gestured with the gun more harshly now, and Hazel scooted over a few inches, backing up closer to the sofa. From her position, she could see out the window. Was someone coming through the woods? If only she could stall Gloria for a few more minutes.

  “The police will be here any minute, and your sentence will be much worse with three murders instead of one.”

  Gloria snickered. “I’m not falling for that old line. Is that something that happens in your novels? You think you’re so smart. But look where it’s gotten you. Shot by Wes before he turned the gun on himself.”

  Hazel glanced out the window again. Hope flickered in her chest. Someone was coming through the woods! Gibson. He must have already checked Gull Landing and the estate jeweler and come to the same conclusions Hazel had.

  Click.

  Hazel’s eyes jerked back to the gun. Gloria’s thumb was on the hammer.

  “It won’t do you any good. The police know all about you,” Hazel ventured.

  Gloria frowned. The gun wavered. “They do not, and besides, there is no proof.”

  “Of course there is. It’s right there.” Hazel gestured to a pile of photographs, and Gloria’s eyes jerked to the photos, her brows slashing into a frown. Hazel took the opportunity of Gloria’s momentary distraction to step closer to the couch, groping along behind her for the heavy jewelry box she’d seen lying there. “You didn’t find the photograph, did you? The one Vera was blackmailing you with? That was why you set this all up, wasn’t it? So that you could kill Vera and make it look like she was mistaken for Myrtle. With all the fake attempts and having me to help convince the police, you figured they wouldn’t look too closely into Vera’s death.”

  “I looked all through these, and there is no photograph. I searched the house from top to bottom when Vera and Wes went to the doctor. And with no photograph, I have no motive, so the police would never buy your story. But Wes had motive to want Auntie dead, and he had means and opportunity, too. Wes has rat poison and the spade in his shed. I should know because I put them both there when I was weeding the garden for him. Wes missed with the arrow because of his hand and then threw the bow down in the path. Wes killed Vera. And now Wes is going to kill you.”

  Hazel saw Gibson burst into the clearing just as Gloria’s finger twitched on the trigger. Hazel only had a split second to react. She grabbed the jewelry box and hurled it toward Gloria.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The jewelry box hit Gloria square in the forehead, and she stumbled back just as she fired the revolver. The bullet shot past the side of Hazel’s head then slammed into the ceiling just as Gibson burst through the door.

  “Hazel, are you all right?” Gibson’s face was dark with concern for Hazel as he rushed to disarm Gloria.

  Hazel patted her coif and answered him calmly. “I’m fine.” But her attention wasn’t on Gibson—it was on the jewelry box. It had smashed to the floor and broken open, revealing a secret compartment on the bottom from which a photograph was hanging out.

  “What is going on?” Gibson had taken the gun and was wrestling a protesting Gloria into handcuffs. “I checked out the places in your note. Your suspicions were on the money. I figured the intended victim never was Myrtle but couldn’t figure the killer until I checked out Gull Landing and the jeweler’s. Then I realized it was Gloria all along… but why?”

  Hazel picked up the picture. “I should’ve figured it out earlier. Some things just didn’t add up. As you said, the attempts on Myrtle all seemed too easy.”

  Gibson slid his eyes toward Wes, who was slumped in the chair still. “And Wes never had anything to do with it.”

  “No, it was all Gloria. She killed Vera. But you were right, it wasn’t because she mistook her for Myrtle; it was because Vera was blackmailing her with this.” Hazel turned the picture to face Gibson. It was a picture of Gloria in a lavish bedroom, holding up a diamond necklace of three large stones in the center and baguettes radiating out from each stone like sunbeams.

  “That’s not true!” Gloria wriggled and struggled under Gibson’s grasp. “It was Wes all along. So what if Vera has a picture of me.”

  “It’s not just a picture of you, Gloria. It’s a picture of you with Mrs. Rothington’s stolen necklace. The one that your friends went to jail for.” Hazel turned the picture back to look at it. “And if I’m not mistaken, this picture was taken in Mrs. Rothington’s bedroom while you were stealing it.”

  Gloria struggled even harder. “I was coerced! It was Vera who wanted to steal it!”

  “Nice try. Even if it was her, you were an accessory,” Gibson said. “Too bad, because now instead of a small jail sentence for stealing Mrs. Rothington’s necklace, you’re going away for murder.”

  “The Rothington necklace? Is that what this was all about? I thought they caught those thieves.” Constable Lowell appeared in the doorway, and Gibson gestured for him to take custody of Gloria, who was still struggling and trying to come up with excuses.

>   “Apparently, not all of them. We can thank Hazel for finding the last one.” Gibson turned admiring eyes toward Hazel, and her cheeks flamed. “Just how did you figure that out, Hazel?”

  “It was nothing, really. I mean, I’m sure you would’ve figured it out if you’d been privy to the same information I was. You see, I knew that Gloria and Vera had been friends before and had run with a bad crowd. Before the party, someone had mentioned that the Rothingtons didn’t like Vera. After her death, Myrtle confided the reason—Vera used to hang with some of the boys who were arrested for stealing the necklace. But I didn’t put two and two together until my conversation with you, Chief Inspector Detective Gibson.” Hazel nodded at Gibson, and she noticed a sparkle in his eye.

  “Oh? And what conversation was that?”

  “The one about assumptions. I realized I had been making assumptions. I had assumed because Gloria knew about the attempts and had been helping to ensure no one else hurt Myrtle, that she could be ruled out as a suspect. I never checked her alibi for the day of the pill mix-up. And I also assumed that Vera would’ve been the one to sell the cameo, when I should’ve easily realized it was Gloria because Gloria lied about being in town that day. I did try to check out that lie, but when I went to town, I made another assumption. I saw a job-for-hire place and assumed Gloria was looking for a job and didn’t want anyone to know. Myrtle had told me she didn’t have much money.”

  Gibson nodded. “But that’s not why she was there. The jewelry store clerk told me that Gloria was the one who sold him the cameo.”

  “I realize that now. Vera’s cameo is right here.” Hazel picked up the cameo from the pile of jewelry. “Gloria had to sell hers to get the blackmail money for Vera. That’s how Vera was buying all her fancy jewelry.”

  “Gloriashhh cha Skiller,” Wes mumbled, his head lolling.

  Hazel was startled. She’d almost forgotten about Wes. He was drugged and needed help. She rushed to his side. “We know that, Wes. Everything is okay now.” She squatted down and peered up at his face. He was pale, his eyelids fluttering as if he were struggling to stay awake. “We should get the doctor for him.”