by Beth Byers
Death in the Mirror
A Poison Ink Mystery
Beth Byers
Contents
Summary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Sneak Peek of Bright Young Witches & the Restless Dead
Also By Beth Byers
Also By Amanda A. Allen
Summary
September 1937
Georgette Dorothy Aaron is expecting a bundle of joy, focusing on updating her house, writing books, and enjoying her family. What she's not doing is meddling. She's not sticking her nose in other people's business. She's not writing books about her neighbors. She's determined to turn over a new leaf and slide right back into the safety of being a wallflower.
Georgette, however, gets stuck on her book, sick of the smell of drying paint, and decides to take a ramble. When she stops to check herself in the mirror, she doesn't expect to see someone else in the reflection. Nor does she expect what happens next.
Chapter 1
If one were to glance at the village of Harper’s Hollow from on high, the first thing noticeable would be the curving quiet river rolling through the center of the town. It was, simply put, idyllic. Bicyclists rode along the paths next to the river. Others walked their dogs, or children ran escaping into the afternoon sunlight. If one walked long enough, the next showstopper was the brick and stone bridge that arched over the water with tunnels beneath to provide passage for the boats. To float beneath that bridge was pure romance.
The church was in a fabulous square, but it wasn’t one of the great cathedrals. It was respectable to say the least, however, and perhaps just short from comparison to one of the more notable places of worship by its age and the obvious care taken in its construction. Beyond, the square where the church stood, one could wander down the cobblestone streets and enjoy the sheer beauty of the village.
A hungry soul could stop in at the pub, where an excellent brew could be accompanied by quite fabulous fish and chips, or dive into a memorable bowl of chowder. If the visitor were of a more adventurous nature, they might well ramble through the hedges, the trees, or the fields of green. They weren’t going to find the gothic romance of the moors but could find a place for quite an excellent picnic in nearly every vista.
For Georgette Dorothy Aaron, however, the shine on the village had disappeared. She had, after all, found a body in the attic of her dream home and been embroiled in—yet another—murder investigation. She was starting to wonder if there was something about her that attracted the terrible events. Perhaps Harper’s Hollow wasn’t what it could have been, but she was practical enough that she did not regret her move. Georgette had, after all, written a book based off her neighbors that had resulted in not one, or even two, but several murders.
She had well and truly fled the neighbors and friends of her childhood and wanted nothing more than to disappear back into obscurity in her new village. She was not, however, the same creature as she had once been. It seemed that when one transitioned from old maid to married woman, from poor soul to better-off author, from childless to the guardian of three orphans, it was much more difficult to fade into the background.
The reality of Georgette’s new life was one that the goddess Atë enjoyed very much. Atë, goddess of mischief, had turned her impish and uncomfortable eye on poor Georgette, and Atë’s ruinous curiosity abounded. If Georgette was placed in a position where she had to speak in public, would she sound like another boring housewife? Or would that wicked sense of humor and honor reveal itself? The same mind that illustrated her neighbors’ lives and gave them the endings that seemed appropriate—what would it do in a village meeting?
Atë’s devilish gaze leapt from target to target as she debated wayward souls, dirty tricks, and transgressions. What if…Atë smiled and considered. She wanted to see shenanigans in the offing. Hijinks were acceptable.
What was not acceptable? A staid afternoon writing wholesome fiction about a sweet little town and the ethical inhabitants wouldn’t do at all. Neither would an afternoon of planning out the next stage of the nursery. A light debate about names for her coming child? No. An excess of tea? Absolutely not. Surely there was something. Atë didn’t need a catastrophe, but she’d happily accept a bit of sportive roguery.
GEORGETTE DOROTHY AARON
“Darling Georgie,” Charles said as he straightened his coat and shuffled through the contents of his briefcase. “Do you truly think that you’re feeling all right?”
“I’m quite all right, Charles.”
“You’re green, darling.”
“That is the paint in the nursery drying. It would leave anyone a bit headachy.” Especially when scents were so harsh since she’d realized she was expecting and it seemed every little smell paraded through her nose.
Charles had engaged in the habit of turning her to face him during the course of their courtship, and it was a comforting one now. He pressed a gentle finger under her chin, turned her face up to him, and left a gentle kiss on her forehead, followed by a more fervent one on her lips. She smiled against his mouth and felt his corresponding grin. His hand trailed down her back and slid around to feel their baby, which revealed itself with nothing more than a slight bulge of her waist.
“Are you sure you are quite all right, darling?” The worry in his voice was warming, Georgette had to admit. There was something about being in someone’s loving thoughts that made her a touch emotional. That could, of course, be the babe she was growing—she’d become a weeping willow in addition to smelling every possible scent, sicking up far too often, and generally being exhausted. Every aspect of her life was being affected by the child, and he or she wasn’t even here yet.
“Of course I am,” she said, fighting any sign of tears. It would leave dear Charles worried all day if he left her weeping. “All I need is tea, toast, and perhaps a bit of a ramble.”
“You’ll take the dogs?”
Georgette was quite kind, especially to those she loved, so she did not roll her eyes at him, huff, or sigh heavily. Instead she pushed up on her toes and kissed the bottom of his chin. “Certainly.”
“Perhaps Lucy?”
“Charles—” Georgette wasn’t a saint, so there was the hint of an edge to her voice. “I will be careful, I will walk until I feel better and not until I am exhausted, I will take the dogs, and I will be sure to tell Eunice where I am going. Perhaps I will even convince her to abandon her post and ramble alongside. Lucy will, of course, be invited.”
“Excellent idea,” Charles said with an unrepentant grin. “When does Marian arrive?”
They eyed each other with a careful, silent debate. They had been told a few too many times that they were “set in their ways” and “likely to butt heads” due to the years of solitary living. Perhaps they would have, if they weren’t more determined to prove their naysayers wrong. As though an eighteen-year-old couple were somehow likelier to find happiness simply because they hadn’t learned their own minds yet.
Georgette and Charles benefitted from the wisdom of age. After all, newlyweds or not, they were not bright young things. They’d grown alone, lived alone, made their way through life alone, and when they’d found each other, it was rather like finding someone you had loved and not remembered.
Georgette had longed for love. It was as if someone who should have been there was missing from her life, and s
he missed them. All the same, she had little faith that someone ever would even notice her, let alone love her. Charles, on the other hand, had opportunities for love but no one had seemed worth the trouble. Until Georgette that is. It was when she appeared in his life that he realized the hole in it that only one person could complete.
“Georgette darling,” he said carefully, wanting to leave her happy, “it’s only because I adore you and love you that I worry.”
“Charles darling,” she said with a rare wicked grin, “it’s only because I adore you and love you that I have yet to box your ears.”
His laughter sang out to her, and he took her face between his hands, leaving a gentle kiss on each eyebrow, the tip of her nose, and her lips before offering his arm to lead her down to the dining room.
Georgette’s stomach had little appreciation for anything but tea, and Charles cared more about her than he did about his usual breakfast of bacon and poached eggs. Their sideboard was a touch naked these days. Breakfast buns, fruit, and bread next to the toaster. Georgette ignored it all for the orange and cinnamon tea that she made with an excess of milk and sugar. It was possible to live on tea, wasn’t it? This baby had decided to help Georgette discover if it was true.
Charles made himself a stack of toast to counteract the lack of eggs and bacon, and they ate in silence while he read the newspaper. The quiet of the home after the weeks with children had become too stark, Georgette thought. Charles had decided a few weeks after they’d taken the three orphaned siblings in that if they were going to see them raised, they would raise them in the same manner as they would raise their own children.
Georgette fully endorsed the idea. She hadn’t wanted to broach it after having brought them home without even asking his opinion. Once the decision had been made, Eddie was sent to study with a tutor in the lake country. He’d finished school the year before at 16-years-old and was ready to go to the university. If he wanted to go to the university, he needed to prepare. At twelve, Janey had been sent to school where she could come home on the weekends, and at nearly-eighteen, Lucy remained with them. She was an inexplicably early riser who got up with the birds, ate with Eunice, and spent her days trying to decide what she wanted to do now that she was finished with school.
Georgette opened the window to her bedroom after Charles left and returned to bed. There was something so luxurious about going back to bed after eating, and Georgette felt as though her headache justified the choice.
She stayed in bed until the nausea passed and her headache was less intense. There was a dog on each side of her when she shifted, and Georgette rubbed her face with each of them before she hauled herself out of bed and down to the garden. Eunice had already left, Lucy was drawing in the front parlor, and Georgette thought that a few minutes alone walking and thinking about her book options was the better course of action.
It seemed when she first wrote The Chronicles of Harper’s Bend that the idea of writing a book was impossible. She had no imagination, she told herself, so she wrote about her neighbors, gradually transitioning to full fiction.
Her next, fully fictional novel, Josephine, had appeared in her mind as though it wanted to be told. The idea had presented itself, grew in the quiet moments, and abounded about Georgette’s head until she’d written it to free herself from the knocking at the door of her mind.
Now, however, she had finished another Harper’s Bend book but wasn’t sure where else to go. Josephine’s story had been told and the character had stepped out of Georgette’s mind as abruptly as she’d entered.
It was Lucy, Eddie, Janie, and the baby on Georgette’s mind as she walked. Education, nannies, wardrobes. Georgette fiddled with her wedding ring as she walked. She’d had success with her first attempts at writing. Could she do it again? Did she dare try something different? If she did, would she lose those readers who had already found and enjoyed her writing?
There was a part of her that wondered if she should focus on the art of writing, but Georgette knew that she’d started writing in the attempt to keep herself from becoming homeless or slowly starving and surely there was a way to combine writing with supporting their family?
Chapter 2
GEORGETTE DOROTHY AARON
The trio of dogs ranged ahead of Georgette as she made her way through the woods. The birds were singing, the wind was snapping through the branches, and the scent of fresh air was cleansing after the drying paint. It had rained early that morning and the clean fresh scent was so delightful that Georgette took repeated deep breaths, pausing to enjoy it.
Georgette considered her route and then veered towards the deeper wood. Once she ranged through the trees and down the path, the wood poured out into quite a lovely orchard with apples that were ripening. The owner of the orchard was happy enough to let those who wandered in pick a few. Katherine Lynd was a widow, a lover of tea and books, and one of Georgette’s favorite people in Harper’s Hollow. It was a bit of a ramble to reach her, but her conversation was well worth the lengthy walk.
Katherine wasn’t in the orchard, and the outer garden was empty, and there was no answer at the door. Georgette followed the long path away from the house and towards the road, planning to circle back to her own house, when the wind picked up. She was showered with rainwater from the tree boughs and she gasped. The top half of her dress was covered in a spatter of rain and a few fallen leaves, and she was instantly chilled despite the sun.
Georgette took a long breath in as she picked off the few leaves clinging to her before she pulled forward her leather bag and took out her handkerchief. She wiped her face then pulled out the sweater she’d brought only because she’d heard Charles’s worried voice in her head about the chilly weather. Another leaf dislodged from her hair as she pulled on the sweater.
Georgette walked forward and leaned against the stone fence that surrounded Katherine’s property before digging through her bag. The compact that Marian had insisted she carry was there. Feeling self-conscious, Georgette opened it to examine her hair and plucked out another leaf. She realized she could see a small area behind her when she angled the compact just so. A little and entirely unwanted part of her wondered how easy it would be to spy on someone in such a way.
She was debating the warmth of her sweater against returning home or carrying on more briskly when there was a loud crack. Georgette gasped and her dogs burst into barking. She placed her hand against her chest and breathed in deeply, trying to regain a measure of calm.
Susan’s head tilted at Georgette and she laughed at her dog, reaching down and scratching the dog’s ears while she licked Georgette’s hand frantically. Georgette opened her compact again, noted the sudden flush to her skin, but she was distracted by the burst of birds above the trees behind her.
One of the dogs whined and Georgette glanced down, not entirely sure which it was when Susan barked and darted towards the trees where the birds were circling. Georgette started to call her dog when she was struck by a chilling thought.
What if?
No, she thought. The dog running towards that part of the wood meant nothing. And the noise could have been anything, such as an automobile backfiring.
But still—Georgette scrunched her nose, knowing her imagination would run wild until she had verified that the dog’s mark was nothing more than a rabbit. Georgette sighed and followed Susan. The closer they got, the more the dogs vocalized their distress.
Georgette placed her hand on her chest as she scooped up Dorcas with one arm. The dog whined and wriggled as if trying to get closer to Georgette when she heard a low moan. It wasn’t one of her dogs, but Susan went wild in barking as Georgette rushed forward. She let go of Dorcas as she dropped to her knees by a prone woman, who moaned again as the dogs circled them.
“Katherine?”
Georgette took the woman by the shoulder and turned her slowly, surprised to see a woman with light brown hair, light blue eyes, and a round face. It wasn’t Katherine, who was older. The woman mo
aned again and Georgette looked towards Katherine’s house. Her friend didn’t have a phone.
“Stay!” Georgette said to her dogs and then ran towards her house. She wasn’t a runner and her lungs clenched, but she didn’t let herself stop. She considered her options and decided she would risk going for the Mustly’s house instead of her own. If Barnaby Mustly was home, he could help her with the woman while his wife summoned more help.
She held her side as she nearly collapsed against their door. She had run several kilometers when she normally wandered sedately, especially since she’d gotten with child.
Anna opened the door and Georgette stumbled towards the woman. “I’m sorry, Anna,” Georgette huffed. “There’s a hurt woman by Katherine’s.”
“A woman? Barnaby!”
Georgette held her chest again. “Oh my goodness, I need to exercise more.”
“A woman?”
Georgette nodded. “There was a sound. It was loud and then birds.”
“Birds?” Barnaby asked kindly.
“Birds and then Susan barked, and I thought if I don’t check, I’ll wonder and think about it, and at 2:00 a.m., I’ll end up dragging Charles to check, so I went to look.”
“Where is the woman, Georgette?” Barnaby asked patiently. Georgette realized that in her distress and exhaustion, she was babbling.
“By Katherine’s. I’ll show you.”
She rose weakly as Barnaby nodded. “The auto is out front. Anna darling, call the police station and for the doctor.”
