A Scandal in Scarlet

by Vicki Delany

  “Meaning it might have been anyone?”

  “Yes. Except for the subsequent murder of Elizabeth Dumont. Once one has killed, and apparently gotten away with it, it becomes a great deal easier to kill a second time. The death of Kathy might not have been intended, but the murder of Elizabeth was. And it was done by the same person.” I broke into a run as we reached Harbor Road. Jayne ran along beside me.

  “Do you know who this person is?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Are you going to at least tell me where we’re going?”

  “Not far.”

  “Why are we going there? Wherever ‘there’ is.”

  “Now that I know what questions to ask, I intend to ask them.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Ryan to call you back?”

  “I’m only going to ask a few subtle questions, Jayne. You don’t have to come.”

  “ ‘Subtle’ is not your middle name. Someone has to keep you out of trouble. Might as well be me.”

  We ran past the stores lining the boardwalk, the harbor, and the fish pier, bobbing and weaving through crowds of holidaymakers. The shops and restaurants ended, and the houses began. Past my street, Blue Water Place, to the grounds of Scarlet House. Robyn Kirkpatrick and Sharon Musgrave were standing outside the house with a group of men in muddy construction boots and hard hats. Robyn held an iPad, and Sharon looked over her shoulder while one of the men pointed to the screen.

  I kept going.

  I darted across the street at the entrance to the Cape Cod Yacht Club to the accompaniment of honking horns. “Close one,” Jayne said when she’d caught up to me.

  It was shortly after four o’clock, and the sea was dotted with white sails. Many of them were heading toward the harbor ahead of the line of heavy dark clouds building on the horizon. We climbed the steps and went into the club building. People, in what passes for nautical attire among the well-heeled set, milled about, greeting friends and exchanging air kisses. The bar looked to be busy, and waiters were laying starched white cloths on tables in one of the conference rooms.

  I spoke to Jayne. “You might want to take your apron off.”

  “Oh. Forgot I was wearing it.” She untied the sash, slipped it off, and rolled it into a ball. “What am I going to do with it?”

  I took it out of her hands and stuffed it into the base of a potted plant. I then went up to the reception desk and spoke to the young woman behind it. “Hi. I’m looking for Dan Lamb. He took his boat out earlier; do you know if he’s come back yet?”

  If he hadn’t, I’d wait.

  “I saw Mr. Lamb not more than a few minutes ago, going out to the veranda,” she said helpfully. “The rain’s about to hit, but much of the outdoor seating area is covered if you’d like to join him.”

  “Thank you.”

  I headed for the French doors leading outside. The veranda doubled as an open-air bar and restaurant, and it was almost full. I spotted Dan Lamb and his two children at a small table next to the railing. They sat stiffly in their chairs, Dan and Brad reasonably close together; but Crystal’s chair was so far away, she was halfway to the next table. People seated nearby whispered across their wine glasses and beer bottles and threw the Lambs surreptitious glances.

  “What’s the plan of attack?” Jayne whispered.

  “Attack, of course,” I replied. I marched across the deck, Jayne scurrying along behind. I stopped at the Lamb table. Three sets of identical eyes looked up at me.

  “Good afternoon,” I said.

  “Oh, Gemma,” Crystal said. “Hello. I didn’t know you were a member here.”

  “Just visiting. May we join you? Such a nice day.” Without waiting for an answer, I dropped into the vacant chair.

  “May I?” Jayne said to the people at the next table. Tendrils of her fair hair had come loose as we ran through town, and they moved in the strong wind coming off the sea.

  “Help yourself,” they said, and she pulled a chair up beside me. She gave Dan Lamb an awkward smile.

  The veranda of the yacht club rests only a few yards from the closest dock. A wood and glass railing, a patch of perfectly maintained lawn, a line of flower beds, and then the dock itself. A motorboat pulled up, and a young man dressed in a T-shirt and shorts in the club’s colors ran over and grabbed the rope thrown to him. He looped it loosely around a pillar while the three passengers cautiously disembarked.

  A fishing charter slipped into the space behind it. It had three big engines attached to the back, with a line of fishing poles mounted on the roof. Four men in their late forties, tall and trim, with short gray hair and light tans disembarked. They had no fish with them, so I assumed they’d not had a good day. But it didn’t seem to matter as they thanked the young man for his help, shook his hand—while passing on the tip—slapped each other on the backs, and headed for the bar. The young man secured the craft and then cracked open a beer and put his feet up.

  I smiled at the Lamb family. “Lovely day, isn’t it. You’ve been out on your boat, I hear. Did you enjoy it, Brad?”

  “Uh, yeah. It’s a really great boat, a thirty-footer, a heck of a lot better than the one Dad had to sell after the divorce.” He added quickly, “It was nice to spend some time with my dad too.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dan said, “but I’m enjoying some private time with my family. If you brought the book, you can leave it with me.” He held out his hand. “I won’t keep you.”

  “Book? Oh, that book. Sorry, forgot it. Crystal came into my shop yesterday evening.”

  “So I did,” she said. “And I bought a book.”

  “Two books.”

  “Two books,” she said. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

  “Did you pay a call on your family after?” I asked.

  She exchanged glances with her father and brother. “What are you getting at? And perhaps more to the point, why is it any of your business?”

  “Funny how these things work. I’d decided it was none of my business. The murders of Kathy Lamb and Elizabeth Dumont, that is. I was getting nowhere and realized it was time to leave it up to the police.”

  “Probably a good idea,” Dan said. “What changed your mind?”

  “I had a late-night visitor yesterday at my store. Someone who accessed the premises by breaking down the back door rather than politely ringing the bell, so I assume that person meant me no good.”

  I studied their faces. Dan looked surprised, but not much caring. Crystal appeared genuinely shocked. Bradley’s eyes narrowed, and he sat closer to the edge of his chair. He drummed the fingers of his left hand on the table in a rapid rhythm. With his right hand, he lifted his beer bottle and took a long, deep slug.

  “How’d you get that cut on your hand?” I asked.

  He paled and looked at his right hand. “Don’t know,” he mumbled.

  “It looks like a cat scratch to me. A bad one. Deep enough to draw blood. Recent too. My shop cat’s got a foul temper, and he attacked the intruder. The police will be able to get DNA traces off his claws.”

  I hadn’t been sure. Every conclusion I’d come to was nothing but speculation and, although I’d never admit it, guesses. But now, looking at Brad’s face, watching the movement of his fingers, seeing the scratch on his hand (so similar to the ones Moriarty regularly gave me), I knew I was right.

  “Crystal told you I’d been informally investigating your mother’s murder, didn’t she, Bradley?”

  He shrugged, trying to look casual, but the twitching movements gave him away. “We talked about lot of things.” He rubbed at his hand. “This cut, yeah, now I remember. I scratched my hand on a loose nail somewhere. I’m not submitting to any DNA test, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I know my rights. Where’s that waiter? I need another beer.”

  “I went around to Elizabeth’s house—Dad’s house, I mean, after talking to you,” Crystal said. “I though
t it was time we had a family chat. My mom’s dead, and nothing can bring her back, but we can try to honor her memory by being a family again. She’d want that. I gave Dad one of the books I’d bought, as a way of starting to clear the air between us. I might have mentioned to Dad and Brad what you told me. What of it?”

  “You’re a heavy smoker, Brad,” I said. Signs informed me that smoking was not allowed on the veranda or anywhere in the club, but the heavy scent clung to Brad’s clothes even after a day on the water.

  “So are a lot of people,” he said.

  “Elizabeth, for one.”

  “I wanted her to quit,” Dan said. “I told her she was taking years off her life, but Elizabeth didn’t like to be told what to do.”

  “The scent of tobacco was so strong in her house, it was impossible for me to tell that another smoker had recently been there.”

  “When were you in her house?” Crystal asked.

  I didn’t answer her, as Brad had pushed his chair back and started to rise. “I’m outta here,” he said.

  “Sit down, Bradley,” Dan said. “We’re going to listen to what this woman has to say.”

  Brad hesitated, and then he dropped back down.

  “Did your stepmother tell you what sort of things she got for the auction?” I asked Brad. “Or were you just trying your luck?”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re going on about,” he said.

  “The charity auction at Mrs. Hudson’s Tearoom. The day your stepmother died. You went into the back room before the auction started. There’s no point in denying it. It took awhile, but I managed to find someone who saw you in the alley.”

  “I wanted to say hi to Kathy.” Brad looked everywhere but at the people seated at his table. “She was busy, so I left.”

  “You didn’t tell me that,” Dan said.

  “Gee, Dad, you were kinda busy with your new wife.”

  “There were some valuable items in that room,” I said. “Small portable things that could be fenced. Jewelry, rare books.”

  “I don’t like what you’re implying,” Dan said.

  “Implying?” I said. “I’m not implying anything. I’m saying that chronically short-of-funds Brad found out where some small expensive items could be had for the taking and came to the tearoom intending to steal something. Instead, Kathy arrived unexpectedly and found him there. Did she realize right away what you were up to, Brad?”

  “You’re dreaming, lady.”

  “The police found your fingerprints on one of the little teacups on the chain.”

  “They couldn’t have. I wore—”

  “Gloves?” I said. I let silence fall over the table. A range of emotions flew across Brad’s face. Anger, defiance. Then, finally, sadness.

  “I didn’t mean it,” he said, his voice very low. “Yeah, I came in. Figured I’d try my chances, like, and nab one of those pieces of jewelry before anyone saw me. I had a quick look in the front window, and everyone was getting ready for the fancy tea.” He lifted his chin. “Bunch of rich people playing at being generous. If they wanted to give something away, they might as well give it to me, right? I needed it more than that stupid museum.”

  “Oh, Brad,” Crystal said. Dan had slumped forward, his face in his hands.

  “Kathy came in. She was already flaming mad about something, and she started in on me. Called me a loser, a liar. She threatened to call the cops. I told her to calm down. She just got madder. She was always on my case, always comparing me to her precious daughter. Nothing I did was ever good enough for her.”

  “That’s not true. Mom—” Crystal began. Dan put his hand on her arm.

  “She started waving that stupid piece of rope around and those small teacups were making a racket. I grabbed her hands, to get her to be quiet, to stop the noise, to put a stop to her constant nagging. Somehow … I don’t know, I got hold of it and … then she was on the floor. Not moving. So I ran outta there.”

  Dan groaned.

  “You aren’t going to tell anyone, are you, Dad, Crystal? You don’t want me to go to jail. It was an accident. No one will believe what this woman says. I’ll deny it.”

  “Deny it if you want,” I said. “I do believe you didn’t intend to kill Kathy. It was sad, it was tragic, but not your intent, and you’ll have to live with that. Elizabeth, however, was a different story, wasn’t she?”

  Dan lifted his head. “What about Elizabeth?” he said slowly. All the color had drained from his face.

  “When Detective Ashburton phoned you after the discovery of Elizabeth’s body, Dan, he didn’t know where you were staying, so he couldn’t pop in unannounced, as he would have preferred to. He wouldn’t have told you on the phone why he wanted to talk to you. But Brad already knew, didn’t he? Thus he needed to set up an alibi.”

  Dan looked at his son. “You said the cops were determined to pin Kathy’s death on me. That it would be easier if we said we’d been together that night, in case they said they saw someone burying evidence or something. Maybe they were planning to frame me, to get the case over with, you said. So that’s what I told them, when they asked, that you were with me all evening. I was in such shock when they said Elizabeth was dead, I didn’t realize the obvious. In providing me with an alibi, you ensured that I gave you one.”

  “Bradley,” Crystal said, “is this true?”

  “Of course not. This woman’s off her rocker.”

  A man walked onto the deck. His hair was mussed, his face ruddy with exercise, his boat shoes wet. Jack Templeton. He glanced around the room, spotted Jayne, and his face broke into a huge smile. He headed our way.

  Not a good time for company.

  Deep in my pocket, my phone sounded the tune I’d set for Ryan’s calls. I didn’t answer, but said to Jayne without looking at her, “Would you try that number I couldn’t get earlier. Thanks.”

  “You needed money,” Crystal said to her brother. “You came to me last week, begging for a loan. Another loan. Another chance to get your failure of a band back together, and this time you were sure to hit the big time. Finally, I said no. I’ve given you plenty over the years, and I’m finished with your promises and your wild schemes. And so your greed killed my mother. But that wasn’t enough, was it? You went after Elizabeth too. Did you ask her for money and get mad when she laughed in your face?”

  “You’re not listening to her, are you?” Brad grabbed his beer and sucked at the empty bottle. “She’s crazy.”

  “We’re at the Cape Cod Yacht Club,” Jayne said quietly into her phone. “I think you’d better get down here.”

  Dan stood up. Crystal started to cry.

  “Hi, Jayne,” Jack said. “This is a surprise. What brings you here?”

  “Uh,” she said.

  “The police are on their way,” I said. “Why don’t we all wait here?”

  “Police?” Concern crossed Jack’s handsome face. “Is there a problem?”

  “No problem,” I said. “But Jayne needs a drink. Why don’t you get the waiter?”

  Everything I’d said to Brad about physical evidence was a lie. I had nothing but my observations of his mannerisms and guesses as to his character, but he was jumpy and inclined to take action without thinking things over first. I was counting on that. It worked better than I expected.

  He leapt to his feet, knocking his chair over. With a yell of rage, he threw the bottle of beer at my head. Fortunately, I read his movements in time and ducked. It hit the floor behind me and shattered. Dan shouted, Crystal screamed, Jayne jumped up, and heads at nearby tables began to turn.

  “Hey!” Jack lifted his hands, and Brad punched him full in the face. Jack went down hard.

  Brad vaulted over the railing separating the veranda from the grass and took off toward the dock. With slightly less agility, I clambered over the barrier and jumped. A stab of pain in my hip reminded me that I’d suffered a minor injury last night, but I was able to ignore it, and I ran after him. I heard a soft grunt as Jayne hit t
he ground behind me.

  Two boats were parked at the dock. One of them was the fishing boat. The man with the beer had finished his drink, untied his boat, and was perched on the gunwales, preparing to shove off. Before he knew what was happening, Brad had vaulted into the craft and was on him. The guy went over the side with a yell and a splash. He must have left the keys in the ignition, as a moment later the boat started with a roar and pulled away from the dock, going much too fast and barely missing the bow of a smaller boat heading in.

  A party had finished disembarking from a Sea Ray Sundancer, a sports cruiser, brilliant white with black trim, diving platform at the back, comfortable seats, and plenty of room below for relaxing, cooking, sleeping. The valet got in, ready to take it to mooring. I scrambled on board. “Follow that boat.”

  “What the heck?”

  “West London Police!” I shouted. I then continued in a lower voice, “They’re on their way. We have to follow him.”

  “You got it, ma’am,” he said.

  I hadn’t stated that I was with the police. I’d merely made a statement of fact. If he chose to interpret my words that way in the heat of the moment, who was I to argue?

  I didn’t want Jayne to come, but she was stranded half on and half off the boat. If we pulled away, she’d end up in the water. I grabbed her arm and pulled her aboard. “Tell Ryan what’s happening. Tell him we’re in pursuit and to get a police launch out there to intercept.”

  We leapt over the wake left by Brad’s boat and roared through the rows of docks to the mouth of the harbor. I glanced back to see people on shore waving their arms and jumping up and down, yelling. I toppled over as we made a sharp turn. “Sorry,” I called to the frightened group in the sailboat we’d almost collided with. A paunchy, red-faced man in a too-small swimming costume shook his fist in reply.

  “Your people had better be quick,” my captain said.

  “Why?”

  “That’s a Fountain Bluewater; they’re built for speed. It’s a faster boat than ours for one thing, but mainly because this one’s almost out of gas. I was taking it to fill it up.”

  Brad roared out of the harbor. We were close behind, but the distance between us was widening.