by Vicki Delany
I cleared the dishes off the table, poured myself a fresh cup of tea, and settled down to check the Twitter feed of the WLPD. It told me the chief was due to give a press conference at ten this morning. I briefly considered going but decided not to. If my name was mentioned as a “person of interest,” I didn’t want to be anywhere near a pack of ravenous reporters.
Someone had killed Elizabeth Dumont. It was beyond possibility that her death was unconnected to that of Kathy Lamb. Who, I thought, might have wanted to kill both women?
Dan Lamb was the most obvious suspect. Certainly for the killing of Elizabeth, who had earlier that day told him she was divorcing him. Elizabeth was wealthy, very wealthy, and according to Ryan, Dan was not. Did he want to get rid of her before she could divorce him and write him out of her will?
Possible.
Elizabeth would have let him into her house and greeted him in her pajamas. He likely had his own key.
He would, however, have known about the security bar on the French doors.
For that reason alone, I moved Dan down my list of suspects until I could find out more about his whereabouts last night.
Dan, as far as I knew, had no reason to kill Kathy. They were divorced, and it had been expensive and acrimonious, but that was over. He would gain nothing monetary by her death. I’d seen for myself his grief at her death, but that proved nothing; many a killer had come to deeply regret what they’d done.
I thought back to my visit to the yacht club, to Jayne’s friend Jack telling her Elizabeth was unpopular with most of the members. There’s a mighty big difference between unpopular and hated enough to be killed.
Other than Dan, current husband and ex-husband, what did Elizabeth and Kathy have in common?
I’d thought nothing until I saw Robyn Kirkpatrick arriving at the Cape Cod Yacht Club in enough of a hurry to indicate she was late for a meeting. Prior to that, I’d not seen any connection between Scarlet House and Elizabeth. Elizabeth was clearly not a supporter of the museum: she’d come to the auction under some sort of duress, probably to keep an eye on Dan in the presence of his ex-wife. Might Robyn be the link between the two dead women?
Robyn was in her fifties, but she looked like a woman who visited the gym regularly. She could have easily run across Elizabeth’s lawn to disappear into the night.
I reminded myself that Robyn had not been in Mrs. Hudson’s for the auction, and thus would not have had the opportunity to grab the teacup chain off the wall.
On the other hand, Sharon Musgrave, also heavily involved with the museum, also no friend of Kathy’s, had been at the auction tea. Sharon had not killed Elizabeth. She was shorter and stockier than the person I’d seen last night, and I doubted she’d have been able to run at that pace.
It was possible, I had to admit, that the person who’d run from me was not the same one who’d killed Elizabeth: he or she might have come into Elizabeth’s home—as I had—and found her dead. Hearing me arrive, and not wanting to get involved, they’d left through the French doors. If that was the case, it would severely complicate things, so until I learned more I’d act on the assumption that the person I’d chased last night was the one responsible for the death of Elizabeth.
Might Robyn and Sharon have been working together? Had one of the women killed Kathy and one killed Elizabeth? I knew of no reason Elizabeth would be a threat to their positions at the museum.
Which didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Only that I hadn’t found it.
I opened the web page for Scarlet House. Repairs were progressing on the house, I was told, but in the meantime, summer programming would continue in the barn. I wondered where they were getting the money for the renovations. Surely they wouldn’t try to have the auction again? Some would think that in extremely poor taste.
I needed to go back to the museum to find out what was going on. The web page told me the board of the museum was meeting this very evening. I just might drop in.
* * *
“Vindicated!” Maureen Macgregor burst through the doors of the Emporium the moment I flipped the sign to open, almost knocking me senseless.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Without you doing a thing, which means I’m not in your debt, so there. I’ve always said, you aren’t as smart as everyone says you are.”
So not smart was I, I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. “What happened?” I asked.
“The police came around to my apartment last night. And what do you suppose they found there?”
“Maureen, I have no idea.”
“They found me! At home.”
I finally began to get it. Maureen was not a suspect in the death of Elizabeth; therefore the police were dismissing her as a suspect in the death of Kathy. Because, like me, they believed the two cases were linked.
“I’m glad for you.”
“Not that I was pleased to see them at midnight, hammering on my door, waking up the neighbors.”
Two women arrived; they edged around Maureen to get into the Emporium. “Welcome,” I said. “Let me know if you need any help.” I backed into the shop, hoping she’d get the hint and leave. No such luck, Maureen didn’t get hints. She followed me.
“They were satisfied with my alibi.” She didn’t bother to lower her voice. “Do you want to know why?”
“No. If the police were okay with it, that’s good enough for me.”
“Because my apartment was full of company. My sister and her family are visiting the Cape for a week. I told her I don’t have room for her, that lazy husband of hers, and those three bratty children, but did she listen to me? Of course not. She never listens to me. ‘Hotels are so expensive,’ she whined. ‘You won’t even know we’re there.’ I have to put up with comings and goings at all hours, meals for six, picnic lunches, smelly beach towels, sand tracked across my clean carpets. At least they left that ghastly dog at home.” Moriarty purred his approval. He lay on the center table, draped across a display of puzzles, playing cards, and games, his chin propped on the box containing The Sherlock Holmes Puzzle Case.
“I was at the store until closing at nine last night, and I went straight home. My sister remembered what time I came in because they had just started watching some stupid sports program on TV. Bags of chips everywhere, dishes piled in the sink, children sleeping on the couch. My sister and her husband told the police I didn’t go out again. Meaning, I was not sneaking around to Elizabeth Dumont’s house to murder her in her bed.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “Have a nice day.”
“I suppose I should thank you for trying to help me,” she muttered. “Not that you did anything.”
She left.
“You’re welcome,” I called after her. “Any time.”
Moriarty returned to his bed under the table for a nap.
“Do you have this in blue?” the customer asked, holding up a Sherlock teacup.
“No,” I said. “I mean, sorry, but no, we don’t.”
Now that Maureen had been cleared of police suspicion, I had no reason to continue to be involved in the case. But I am a curious sort, and the fates of Kathy and Elizabeth had aroused my curiosity. On the other hand, I had my relationship with Ryan Ashburton to consider. If we still had a relationship, that is. I’d ruined the police dog’s attempt to track the killer, and Ryan had stormed out of Elizabeth’s kitchen, beyond furious. His career was important to him, as it should be, and he was good at it. I dreaded what the police chief might have had to say about my activities last night. Ryan might be forced to choose between his job and me.
Regardless of how he chose, things would never be the same between us again.
As well as not having a retail business to interfere in the pursuit of his cases, or customers to interrupt his thinking, Sherlock Holmes hadn’t been trying to have a love life either.
Ashleigh arrived for work ten minutes early. Today she was all ruffles and ribbons and bows sewn onto a plain black tunic. A pink
and white feathered fascinator was attached to her head with a band.
“What are you supposed to be?” I asked, grateful that she wasn’t imitating me again today.
“I’ve been reading that book you loaned me—A Conspiracy in Belgravia. The dress on the cover is so gorgeous—I’d love to have something like that. But I don’t, and even if I could get one, I wouldn’t want to bother with bustles and corsets—that must be so hot and uncomfortable—so I made a modern version. Like it?”
“It’s certainly interesting.”
“Are you the unnamed hero of West London?” she asked as ribbons fluttered.
“The what?”
“I caught a bit of the police chief’s statement while I was having breakfast. Apparently, some woman was killed last night, and a brave and civic-minded citizen interrupted the crime in progress and attempted to apprehend the killer.”
“Why would you think that was me? Did he say my name?”
The feathers on the fascinator bobbed. “No, but a killing in West London. You. They go together.”
I thought about that for a moment.
“The chief thanked this unnamed person for their efforts, but he reminded us that although West London is a low-crime town and a safe place to bring your family for their summer vacation—I was surprised he didn’t start singing an advertising ditty—citizens are advised not to interfere in police matters.”
Could there have been another killing in West London last night? I hadn’t heard of anything, but I hadn’t had the radio on or checked the local news.
“Speaking of the cops …” Ashleigh said as the bells over the door tinkled to admit Ryan Ashburton.
He looked at me. I looked at him.
“Time to get to work,” Ashleigh said. “Do you want to leave those on the counter while you continue shopping?”
The customer handed her two Sherlock mugs, a Benedict Cumberbatch wall calendar, and a stuffed teddy bear with a deerstalker hat on his head and pipe in his mouth.
“Do you have time for lunch?” Ryan asked me.
“Yes.”
“Why don’t I get sandwiches from next door, and we can go down to the harbor and find a park bench?”
“I’d like that.”
He was soon back, balancing a bulging paper bag and two takeout cups. We walked side by side, not talking, down Baker Street. I’m usually pretty good at picking up on nonverbal clues, but I didn’t know what to think here. After last night, I’d have expected Ryan to, at best, never speak to me again. I snuck a peek at him as we walked. He didn’t look angry.
It was another beautiful Cape Cod day, and Harbor Road was packed with tourists. Sailboats zipped across the calm waters of the ocean, and further out a huge white and blue, multistoried cruise ship crossed the horizon. The benches along the boardwalk were all taken, so we went to the West London Lighthouse and sat on the cool grass in the shade of the sturdy old building. The lighthouse was open for visitors, and people walked up the path to the entrance or around the building to study the strong, straight white walls. No one paid us any attention.
My heart pounded in my chest, and not from the limited amount of exercise on the walk here. Was Ryan planning to dump me? Unlikely he’d do so over a picnic lunch, but then again, he wasn’t the sort to break up by text.
Was he going to order me to stay out of the police investigation? I don’t take well to orders, but I’d decided I’d do what I had to do to keep our relationship going.
How long my resolve would last was another matter altogether, and Ryan knew me well enough to know that also.
“Sorry, I didn’t think to bring a blanket,” he said.
“This is fine.” I ran my fingers through the soft grass.
He reached into the bag, pulled out two wrapped sandwiches, and handed me one. I said, “Thanks,” and bent my head to open the package.
“I love you.” He reached out and touched my hand.
I looked into his expressive blue eyes. The circles under those eyes were as dark as Estrada’s had been, meaning he also hadn’t slept last night.
“I love you too. Very much. I hope you know that,” I said. “Although I have to ask what brought this on. I thought you were mad at me.”
“I was.” He took his hand away and opened his sandwich. “I bought one roast beef and one ham. Which do you want?”
“This will do.” I hadn’t checked to see which one I had.
“You messed up the K-9 unit mighty bad last night, but that was a long shot anyway. Chances were the killer simply got into a car and drove away.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Although the dog didn’t know that. He was highly pleased with his night’s work, and his trainer praised him to the skies.”
“Glad someone was happy with me.”
“More than someone. The chief was. I decided to take my direction from my chief and let what happened last night go. This time anyway.”
“Why? I mean what did I do to make your chief happy?”
“If you and Jayne hadn’t decided to pay a call, Elizabeth might not have been found for days. She told her husband not to come home. She cancelled all her meetings and lunch dates at the yacht club for the rest of the week and the dentist appointment she had for tomorrow afternoon. She has a full-time maid, but the woman doesn’t live in, and she’d taken a week’s vacation, starting yesterday. The gardener comes two times a week, but he says he often doesn’t see Ms. Dumont, and he never goes into the house. In the chief’s words, it was a good thing you arrived and discovered the body while the evidence was still fresh.”
“Wow,” I said. “I can’t imagine Louise was pleased at hearing me praised.”
“As I’ve told you before, Gemma, Louise is a good detective. She agreed with the chief.”
I bit into my sandwich. I’d been given the ham. I’d have preferred roast beef. Nevertheless, I chewed happily.
“Although,” Ryan said, “in light of what I said about loving you, I’d rather you didn’t chase a suspected killer ever again. I assume you’ve been thinking about what happened last night. Can you think of anything identifiable about the person you scared off?”
“More about who it couldn’t have been than who it could,” I said. “It was dark, they wore loose dark clothes, and they were quite a distance ahead of me. We didn’t run far, so they didn’t have to be a serious runner. Not that I am either. They ran fast and easily, so it had to be someone young or an older person in moderately good shape. Definitely not Sharon Musgrave, who’s too short and stocky and was short of breath when she walked across the barn.”
Robyn Kirkpatrick looked like a woman who regularly visited the gym. Dan Lamb would have been capable of a run like that if he had the fear of discovery pushing him. And then there were the Lamb children, both in their thirties. Crystal regularly played tennis. Brad had a skinny, wiry frame. I doubted he was any sort of athlete, but he’d be able to run a quarter mile without crumbling to the ground, gasping for breath.
“What did you learn last night after we left?” I asked. “Any leads?”
“Nothing definite. The statue on the floor—I assume you unnoticed that?”
I gave him a look.
“Right. It was the murder weapon, and the base of it had been wiped down. As was an ornament we found on the patio, surrounded by shards of glass. We’re acting on the assumption that Ms. Dumont knew her killer and admitted him or her to the house. That person was either not offered anything to eat or drink, or refused.”
“Reasonable, considering Elizabeth was ready for bed and not in a position to be entertaining visitors. She was a heavy smoker, and ashtrays and cigarettes butts were everywhere. Were all the cigarettes in the house the same brand?”
“They were. The same as the partially used pack we found in her purse and the unopened ones in the kitchen cupboard. I’ve sent the ends found in the living room for analysis, to see if we can find traces that aren’t hers, but I’m not hopeful.”
“Meaning o
ur killer doesn’t smoke or didn’t have time to indulge. What about Dan Lamb?”
“Does he smoke? No. Must have been tough living with a partner who went through more than a pack a day. And Elizabeth didn’t have any rules like no smoking in the car or the house. She wasn’t always respectful of other people’s boundaries either, people have told us.”
“Worth knowing, but I meant, is he under suspicion?”
“The first suspect, as you know, is always the husband. Mr. Lamb is in the unfortunate position of being current or ex-husband to two recently murdered women. I interviewed him last night. His alibi is his son, Bradley. They say they left the funeral home together around seven thirty.”
I nodded. “I saw them there, and the visitation was about to end.”
“As Elizabeth had told Dan he wasn’t to come home, and his daughter, Crystal, didn’t want him in Kathy’s apartment, where she and her brother are staying, he and Brad went to the West London Hotel, where they checked in at five to eight. They took only one room, and both Dan and Brad were in the room when we arrived.”
“You called ahead to say you were coming?”
“Unfortunately, I had to. I didn’t know where to find him. I arrived about ten minutes after calling, but yes, if he wasn’t far away, I gave him a chance to get back to his room and set up an alibi. He told me he hadn’t gone out again after checking in. Brad confirmed that story. The hotel desk clerk didn’t see either of them again, but that means nothing.”
I knew the West London Hotel; it had several exits.
“A son isn’t a reliable alibi,” Ryan said, “but I believed Dan. I hadn’t told him on the phone why we were coming around. I led him to believe it was further questions about Kathy, and he appeared totally shocked by the news of Elizabeth’s death. His legs gave way, and he collapsed onto the bed.”
“What was Brad’s reaction?”
“Surprise, but not shock. In fact, he laughed, and Dan told him to have some respect. Brad replied that didn’t respect the woman in life, so he saw no reason to do so in death. He also made a crack about Dan now being a rich man.”
“That would fit my impression of Brad. He and his sister were firmly on Kathy’s side in the divorce. The daughter openly hates Dan, and the son’s only marginally better, although Kathy was Brad’s stepmother, not his biological mother,”
