A Scandal in Scarlet

by Vicki Delany

  I stared at her.

  “What did you learn?” Jayne asked.

  “Less than you did, it would seem,” I admitted at last. “And I didn’t even get a dinner date out of it.”

  “I don’t like to say, Gemma,” Jayne said, “but have you put on weight lately?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I went upstairs to my office to lick my wounds. Not only had Jayne learned more than I had, but she hadn’t needed to bother with the pretext of pretending to be something she wasn’t. She’d simply asked.

  I had to consider that maybe I was going about this detecting the wrong way. Too clever by half, Ryan Ashburton had once called me.

  I washed the aging makeup off my face and struggled out of the clothes and extra padding (have I gained weight, indeed!). When Sherlock Holmes was facing a difficult case, he settled into his comfortable armchair by the fire, steepled his fingers, lit his pipe, and instructed Doctor Watson to leave him alone.

  I, on the other hand, had a business to run.

  I went downstairs and told Ashleigh she could take her dinner break. While customers browsed, I surveyed the shop, taking mental inventory of what had been bought while I’d been out and what I needed to reorder.

  Unlike me, the Great Detective didn’t live in the age of constant interruptions. I’ve found that I don’t need quiet, solitude, and three pipes to think things over. I can do that while my mind is going through mechanical tasks.

  Elizabeth Dumont was now firmly at the top of my suspect list. She clearly had motive—jealousy of her husband’s previous wife; opportunity—she was at the tea; and means—along with everyone else at the auction, she could have grabbed the teacup chain on her way to the back room.

  To top it off, Elizabeth had been a suspect in the death of her first husband.

  I thought of her anger on the phone when Dan told her he wanted to go to the funeral home again today, rather than come to Elizabeth’s meeting.

  The Black Widow.

  Might Dan be next?

  “Excuse me,” a woman said, “but I’m wondering if you can recommend a good book.”

  “Something suitable for your beach vacation?”

  She laughed. “How’d you know I’m on vacation?”

  I didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that one out. Pink shorts, flip-flops, sunburned nose, and a trace of chocolate ice cream on her pink T-shirt. “I hope you’re having a good time in West London.”

  “Fabulous. I love it here. When I was a child, we came to Cape Cod every year, but I haven’t been back since. I’m so glad we decided to come again. I was told this was a great place to look for historical mysteries. They’re my favorite.”

  “Then you are indeed in the right place,” I said. “Do you like the gritty stuff: dark alleys, tough men and desperate women, and dangerous killers? Or ladies in silk gowns and gentlemen hailing hansom cabs?”

  “Dark and gritty,” she said with a laugh. I walked with her to the pastiche shelf and pulled out Dust and Shadows by Lyndsay Faye. “Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson on the grim streets of Whitechapel in pursuit of Jack the Ripper.”

  She accepted the book with a shiver of delight. “When my husband and I were in London a few years ago, we went on a Jack the Ripper walking tour. It was so interesting.”

  “Do you have a DVD player?”

  “There’s one in the common room at our B and B.”

  “You might enjoy the BBC TV program Ripper Street. It’s excellent and faithful to the times. Not for the faint of heart, though.”

  “Show me to it,” she said with another laugh. I handed her the DVD package, and she exclaimed over the picture of the characters in their costumes.

  “Matthew Macfadyen—be still my beating heart,” I said.

  Eventually, she left with a huge smile and a bag full of books and DVDs, leaving the shop momentarily empty of customers. Thinking of handsome men, I pulled out my phone and called Ryan. He answered on the first ring.

  “Do you have fingerprint analysis on the teacup decoration back from the lab yet?” I asked.

  “I’m well, thank you, Gemma,” he said. “And yourself?”

  “Oh, sorry. I forgot the pleasantries. How are you?”

  “The better for knowing that you’ll never change. The answer is yes, but nothing conclusive. Plenty of partial and smudged prints. Other than the deceased, yours was the only set we could identify positively.”

  I let that one go. “Kathy’s prints were on it?”

  “She would have struggled to get it away from her throat.”

  I paused for a moment, imagining the scene. I hadn’t expected the fingerprints to be conclusive, as the decoration had been hanging in a room packed with people, never mind the chain of ownership, but it never hurt to ask. “Is your investigation focusing on anyone in particular?”

  “The only reason I can answer that question, Gemma, is because the answer is no. Not everyone loved Kathy Lamb, but she didn’t go around deliberately making enemies.”

  “I can think of one person who hated her.”

  “Go on.”

  “Elizabeth Dumont. Dan’s new wife. People at the yacht club say Elizabeth was furious at Dan for wanting to maintain a cordial relationship with his ex-wife.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I … I mean Jayne, simply asked a friend of hers. It’s not a secret.”

  “And it isn’t a secret to us either, Gemma. Louise spoke to several of the club members, and they told her much the same.”

  Once again, I thought of all the time and trouble I’d spent trying to ferret out information that turned out to be freely available. I should have pulled a stool up to the yacht club bar and said to the person next to me, “Whatcha havin’?”

  “Have you considered that Dan Lamb might be in some danger?” I asked.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Elizabeth’s angry at Dan because he’s mourning Kathy. How angry, I have to ask. We can’t forget what happened to the first Mr. Elizabeth.”

  “I’m not forgetting, but I don’t see it, Gemma. Kathy’s funeral will be over in a few days. She’ll be out of the picture for good. The only reason Elizabeth was ever suspected of killing her first husband was for his money. Her situation now is, to put it mildly, comfortable. Dan Lamb’s, on the other hand—and this is highly confidential—is not. The man’s completely broke. The divorce cleaned him out. Sorry, but I gotta run. Louise is making get-off-the-phone gestures. Are you going to be home tonight?”

  “I am.”

  “I might drop in if nothing comes up. Would that be okay?”

  “It would be more than okay,” I said.

  He hung up without words of affection, which meant Louise Estrada was standing next to him, glowering and tapping her foot.

  I went to the front window and stood there, watching the activity on Baker Street. Traffic was heavy as cars drove through town and pedestrians browsed the shops. A group of women came out of Beach Fine Arts. Maureen appeared in the doorway, watching them turn into the accessories store next door. Judging by the look on her face, they had not bought anything in her shop. She caught me looking, and her face turned even darker. She tossed her head and went back inside.

  Here I was, trying to help her, and all Maureen could give me was an ugly look. Oh well, I hadn’t decided to get involved because I liked her or had any expectations that we’d soon become best of chums.

  I hadn’t learned anything this afternoon that wasn’t common knowledge, but I had discovered one potentially important piece of information. Either Robyn Kirkpatrick was a member of the Cape Cod Yacht Club, or she had some business there. She’d been in a hurry, which indicted she was late for an appointment or for a meeting. The only meeting going on at the club this afternoon was the one I’d crashed.

  She almost certainly knew Elizabeth Dumont. Were two separate strands of Kathy’s life coming together: the museum, and Dan and Elizabeth?

  And what o
f Elizabeth? I’d heard the anger in her voice when Dan told her he wanted, once again, to be with Kathy. I’d seen the rage on her face. I’d heard her give him an order.

  Had Dan decided to keep peace in his marriage and go to the yacht club instead?

  Easy enough to find out. I waited impatiently until Ashleigh got back from dinner.

  “I’m going out again,” I said as she put her purse under the counter.

  “Take all the time you need,” she said. I studied her, searching for a hint of sarcasm. She gave me a sweet smile.

  The parking lot at the funeral home was almost empty. It was after seven o’clock, and the visitation would soon be over. I hurried in, saying to the young man who opened the door for me, “I hope I’m not too late. I just got off work. Mrs. Lamb?”

  “Not at all, madam,” he said somberly. “The family will be receiving visitors for a few more minutes.”

  I went down the hall and into the room. A handful of people milled about while an attendant cleared plates and glasses off the refreshment table. Kathy’s daughter, Crystal, today wearing a different designer suit, greeted me as I entered, and I expressed my condolences. Brad, Dan’s son, stood next to a window, his phone out, his thumbs moving. Dan Lamb had taken a chair close to the casket, and there he sat, shoulders hunched, head bowed, alone.

  “Is your father okay?” I asked Crystal. “I don’t want to bother him.”

  She slowly turned her head to look at him. Her dark eyes were like chips of coal. “Bother him? He should be bothered.” She switched her somber but welcoming smile back on for an elderly couple on their way out. “Thank you so much for coming, Mr. and Mrs. Frankenheimer. Please give Joanne my best when you’re next talking to her.”

  The last of the visitors were leaving now, but no one approached Dan Lamb to say goodbye. He sat by himself, a picture of lonely misery.

  All of a sudden, out of nowhere, I felt bad. This wasn’t any of my business, to intrude on this family in their time of grief. Let the police handle it, and let Maureen get herself out of trouble.

  I turned to leave, but my way was blocked by Crystal’s well-draped back. She wasn’t attempting to prevent me from leaving, but someone from entering.

  Elizabeth Dumont.

  “I don’t think you’re wanted here,” Crystal said.

  “I don’t much care what you think,” Elizabeth replied. “I need to speak to my husband.”

  “Not in the presence of my mother, you aren’t.” Crystal raised her voice. “Father, your fancy lady is here. You can talk to her in the alley next to the trash cans.”

  Dan didn’t move. I doubt he even heard her. Brad looked over. He put away his phone, and a smile crossed his lips. The smile was not at all friendly. I stepped away and positioned myself behind a chair, with my back to the wall, the better to see and hear without being observed.

  “Get out of my way, Crystal,” Elizabeth said.

  “Or what?” Crystal put her hands on her hips.

  “Or I’ll walk right through you.”

  Crystal braced herself. I prepared to intervene should they come to blows. Then Crystal’s shoulders deflated ever so slightly, and she moved a fraction of an inch to one side.

  Elizabeth pushed past her. She marched across the room, with firm determined steps, to stand in front of Dan Lamb. Every muscle of her body emanated fury. He looked up and blinked. “Elizabeth. Thanks for coming, honey. I’ll be ready to go in a few minutes.”

  “Too late, Dan,” she said.

  “I’m sorry I missed your meeting, honey. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “No, you will not,” she said. “You’ve humiliated me for the last time.”

  “Sorry,” he said again. He pushed himself to his feet.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, we were due to have drinks at the club with John and Ellen Ireland.” Elizabeth made no attempt to lower her voice. The few remaining visitors openly stared. I openly stared. “That meeting was important to me. My reputation at the club depends on getting the Irelands to sponsor the proposed children’s regatta weekend. I tried telling them you’d taken ill, but that blathering idiot Ellen said she’d heard you were despondent—she used that very word—over the death of Kathy and you refused to leave her side. People are gossiping about me, Dan. Laughing at me behind my back. I don’t like that.”

  “Sorry,” Dan said again. “I’m ready to leave now.”

  She lifted one hand and slapped him hard across the face. His eyes opened wide, but he didn’t move. Brad sucked in a breath, and Crystal might have actually laughed. An attendant stepped hesitantly forward.

  “Don’t bother coming home tonight,” Elizabeth said. “Or any other night. We’re finished.”

  She turned and headed for the door. “Nice of you to drop by,” Brad called. Crystal gave Elizabeth a grin. “Good one,” she said.

  “Now, that was entertaining,” Crystal said to the room once Elizabeth had left. “I’m outta here. Coming, Brad?”

  “I’ll help Dad,” Brad said.

  “Suit yourself. Sounds like he needs to find himself a hotel room.”

  “How about I bring him around to Kathy’s for the night?”

  “You do that, brother dear, and I’ll have to shoot him. And then you for being such an idiot.” Crystal picked up her Prada bag, tucked it under her arm, and walked out.

  “It’s time for us to lock up, sir,” the attendant said to Dan.

  I edged away from the wall and around the chair. Brad noticed me for the first time. He glared at me. “You hanging around for any particular reason?”

  “I’m here to express my condolences.”

  “Noted,” he said. “Now get out.”

  I did so.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After leaving the funeral home, I went back to work, locked up at closing time, and headed home. Ryan hadn’t said if he’d want dinner when he came over, but I wanted to have something ready in case he did. Great-Uncle Arthur’s a great cook and he ensures that our freezer is always packed full of homemade frozen meals. I took out two servings of lasagna to thaw and was washing lettuce in the sink when headlights filled our driveway.

  Violet and I met Ryan at the door. He looked tired, I thought, as he gave me a deep kiss and Violet a hearty pat. He then helped me make the salad, and we sat down to eat at the kitchen table.

  “Elizabeth Dumont has threatened to divorce Dan,” I said around a mouthful of lasagna.

  Ryan shook his head. “Gemma, do you know everything that goes on in West London?”

  “Only the important things,” I said modestly. I filled him in on the scene I’d witnessed earlier, without saying anything about Crystal or Brad. Their open hostility to Elizabeth would have had nothing to do with the death of Kathy.

  “The woman has a temper that is terrible to behold,” I said.

  “Which, I’ll admit, is interesting,” he said. “But I have nothing at all to tie Elizabeth to the killing of Kathy. Speculation, even on your part, doesn’t do me any good. Not with no physical evidence to back it up. If Elizabeth has a temper, as you say, and she doesn’t worry about acting out in public, it doesn’t seem as though she’d have killed her rival in such a quiet, private way.”

  I took a bite of salad. “I’ll agree that she’d have been more likely to bash Kathy over the head with a serving tray.”

  “My mom’s asking me when I’m going to bring you around to their place for dinner.”

  I almost choked on a lettuce leaf. “Your mother wants to feed me? When she saw me at the theater the other week, she spat on the floor. Figuratively speaking, of course.”

  “She’s my mom,” Ryan said simply. “She wants me to be happy. You make me happy.”

  I smiled at him.

  “I have to get going soon,” he said when his plate was scraped clean. “Early start tomorrow.” The population of West London grew exponentially in the summer, but the resources of the police department did not. They had other cases on the go as w
ell as the Lamb murder. “How about a short walk first?”

  “I’d like that,” I said. Violet barked her agreement, and we both laughed.

  “Maybe get an ice cream down at the harbor.” Ryan stood up. “Just this once, can we pretend we’re on a date? Like a real date. No talk of ‘murder most foul.’ ”

  “I can do that,” I said.

  I put Violet on her leash and a light sweater on me, and we left the house. Ryan took my free hand, and we walked down the hill together. It was a beautiful clear night. A big moon shone overhead, and the lights of the boardwalk and the harbor sparkled in the distance. A couple of doors down, my neighbors sat on their front porch, and they called out greetings as we passed.

  Not many people were around at this time of night. A group of teenagers jostled in the line at the ice cream stand, and Ryan and I waited our turn before placing our orders. Ryan asked for a triple-scoop triple-chocolate surprise, and I had a small French vanilla. The clerk passed me a dog treat for Violet.

  Licking our cones and simply enjoying each other’s company, we walked toward the West London Lighthouse, throwing its guiding light out to sea. When our treats were finished, we turned and headed back to Blue Water Place.

  We chatted about nothing in particular, and I filled him in on Uncle Arthur’s news.

  “Sounds like he’s having a great time,” Ryan said. “I’ve only been to Europe once. The summer before I joined the police, I went with some buddies to Paris. I loved it. The museums, the history. The cafés and restaurants.”

  “You’d love London,” I said, “and I’d love to show it to you.”

  “Maybe we can go there together someday. I’d like that.” Then, out of the blue, he said, “Do you know that I love you?”

  “Do you?” I asked.

  “Totally and completely. But you’re not an easy woman to love, Gemma Doyle.”

  I stopped walking. I stared out to sea as a lump formed in my throat. “I don’t try to be difficult, Ryan.”