Murder Most Austen

by Tracy Kiely

  Turning to Aunt Winnie and me, Sergeant McDunna asked each of us a few more questions before finally indicating that we, too, were free to return to our hotel. Like Byron and Alex, we were instructed to turn over our passports.

  Just as we were gathering our things to return to the hotel, Izzy appeared, out of breath. Her face was flushed and her turban was askew. “Izzy!” I cried when I saw her. “Where on earth have you been?”

  “Why?” Izzy stammered, her voice a shade high. “What’s wrong?”

  “Someone killed Richard Baines!” I answered.

  Izzy’s eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open. “Killed him? But who? How?”

  “He was found stabbed in the alcove behind the ballroom,” I answered. “Actually, I was the one who found him.”

  “Dear God,” Izzy said, gripping my hand. “How ghastly! Who did it?”

  Aunt Winnie and I cast uneasy glances at each other. “Um, well, they don’t know for sure—” I began, but Aunt Winnie cut me off.

  Never one to mince words, she blurted out, “The police think your mother is involved. It’s ridiculous, of course, but they’ve taken her to the station for further questioning.”

  The flush in Izzy’s face drained away. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Holy shit! You’re kidding, right? No, I can see from your faces that you’re not. But that’s absurd! It’s impossible! She would never do such a thing.”

  “I know that, of course,” agreed Aunt Winnie, “but unfortunately the police seem to have other ideas.”

  Izzy shook her head as if she could will the situation away. “But why Mama? It doesn’t make sense…” She stopped and considered. After a pause, she said, “No, actually it makes a lot of sense. She’s gone on about precious little other than how much she despises Richard and his work since we got here. Of course, they suspect her. If I didn’t know her myself, I would probably suspect her.” She let out a sigh, her graceful shoulders slumping. “Stupid, stupid woman. She just couldn’t let it go,” she muttered as she rubbed her face tiredly. Raising questioning eyes to ours, she then asked, “But why did they home in on her so fast? It couldn’t be just because she disliked him. There must be more to it than that.”

  Aunt Winnie succinctly explained about Cora’s drunken outburst, subsequent disappearance, and the loss of her wig.

  Izzy’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Righting her posture, Izzy looked at us with steely determination. “I see,” she said. “Well, I suppose I’d better get down to the station and see about getting her a lawyer or barrister or whatever they’re called here.” With an amused glance down at her costume, she added, “But perhaps I should slip back to the hotel and change before I do so. I have a feeling they’ll take me more seriously if I’m not dressed like a BBC groupie.”

  “We’ll walk with you,” I offered.

  She shot me a grateful smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  We’d just left the ballroom and were heading for the doors when Valerie ran up to us, her usually deathly white pallor now a blotchy red. Whether the change was from excitement or horror, I couldn’t tell. Next to me, I sensed Izzy tense up, no doubt dreading Valerie’s reaction to the news that Cora was a suspect. “Dear God!” Valerie said. “I’ve just heard the news about Richard. Is it true?”

  Aunt Winnie nodded. “I’m afraid so. We found him, actually.”

  Valerie stared at us in disbelief. “But why? Why would anyone want to kill him? And where are Ian and Gail? Do they know? I’ve been looking for them everywhere.”

  Oops. “Oh, Valerie,” I said apologetically, “in all the commotion, I completely forgot to tell you. Gail … wasn’t feeling too well, so Ian took her back to her room. I’m so sorry. He did ask me to tell you.”

  Valerie’s small mouth twisted in annoyance. “I see,” she said with a sniff. After shooting me an icy stare, she turned her attention to Izzy. “I heard they took someone into custody. Do you know who it is?”

  Izzy cleared her throat uncomfortably and produced a wan smile. “Um, well, that’s a bit of an awkward point. They’ve taken my mother in for questioning.”

  “Cora!” Valerie exclaimed. “Oh, dear God!”

  “If you are heading for the hotel, we are going back as well,” Aunt Winnie said kindly. “Why don’t you walk with us? You’ve had a terrible shock, I think it’s best that you have people around you.”

  Valerie didn’t answer immediately. She seemed lost in thought. “Huh?” she finally answered, when Aunt Winnie repeated her offer. “Oh, sure. Whatever,” Valerie said, her manner distracted.

  The four of us walked back through the dark streets of Bath in relative silence as both Valerie and Izzy seemed too preoccupied to respond to Aunt Winnie’s few attempts at conversation. When we were a few streets from our hotel, Izzy stopped. “I’ll see you all later,” she said. “I’m going to my hotel to change and then see what I can do about Mama. I’ll call you once I know something.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Please remember to call me, no matter the time. And let us know if we can do anything to help.”

  Izzy nodded. “Thanks. I’ll do that.” She turned and quickly walked down the street and soon was swallowed up by the darkness.

  Valerie, Aunt Winnie, and I resumed our journey in silence. Valerie seemed especially preoccupied, and I forced myself to push away the uncharitable thought that she was mentally spending Ian’s inheritance.

  At the hotel, we stepped into the brightly lit lobby, an act that caused us all to suddenly blink like startled owls. When my eyes adjusted, the first thing I saw was Ian. From the distressed expression on his face, I assumed that he’d already learned about Richard’s death, but his greeting to Valerie made me think otherwise. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Valerie exhaled impatiently. “I might ask the same of you.”

  Ian flushed but didn’t answer her question. Instead, he said, “I don’t understand. The ball isn’t over already, is it?”

  “No, the ball isn’t over,” Valerie replied. “You don’t know why I’m here?”

  Ian shook his head, his expression anxious. “No. Why?” His eyes widened. “Earlier, I saw some police cars with their sirens on race by—what’s happened?”

  Valerie stepped forward, her face softening as her anger at him evaporated. “I’m afraid that I’ve some terrible news for you. It’s about your father.”

  Ian’s brows drew together. “What about him?”

  Valerie took a deep breath. “He’s … well, he’s dead. Killed.”

  Ian’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “What? But no, that’s impossible!” His eyes sought out mine and Aunt Winnie’s for verification. I gave a weak nod. Ian turned back to Valerie. “How?” he asked.

  Valerie grabbed his hand. “He was stabbed.”

  Ian closed his eyes as if to ward off Valerie’s words. “Who did it?” he finally asked, his voice thick with emotion.

  “The police think that terrible woman, Cora, did it,” came Valerie’s reply.

  “Cora!” Ian exclaimed, opening his eyes in surprise. Some of the tension left his face. “Cora? But why would she kill him?”

  “Who knows?” Valerie responded indifferently, waving her hand as if to brush away the question. “It doesn’t really matter. Anyone can see that she’s unhinged, always going on about Richard’s theories being perverted. She probably killed him to prevent him from presenting his paper.”

  Ian glanced at us, as if asking for our opinion. Aunt Winnie dipped her head in silent acknowledgment. “Unfortunately, the police do seem to have their suspicions about Cora’s involvement,” she said. “She did drink too much tonight, and she got into a fight with your father. The fact that she ran around telling everyone who would listen how much she disagreed with his theories doesn’t help her, either. But for what it’s worth, I’ve known Cora for a very long time. She can be a bit excitable at times, but she’s not a killer.”

  Ian nodded but said nothing.

  “Where’
s Gail?” asked Valerie.

  “She’s in her room, sleeping. She got…” Ian broke off and glanced at me and Aunt Winnie. I knew that he was about to say “loaded,” and I tried to keep my face neutral. However, Ian still shot me a funny look before pressing on with his modification of events. “She felt unwell, so I brought her back to the inn so she could lie down,” he said quickly.

  Valerie gave him a knowing look that was tinged with more than a little exasperation. “Is she sleeping?” she asked.

  “Um, yeah. She’s sleeping,” Ian answered.

  “Well, we’d better wake her and tell her the news,” said Valerie. “I imagine that the police are going to want to talk to her as well. It might not be a bad idea to get some coffee in her, too. That is, if this place even has any coffee.”

  “I’ll go see what I can find,” Ian volunteered and disappeared down a corridor.

  Valerie let out a huff of irritation. “Which leaves me, I guess, with waking Gail. Perfect,” she groused as she headed for the staircase. “I swear to God, I have to do everything around here.”

  Aunt Winnie called after her, “Valerie, please let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

  Valerie turned back to us, her expression baleful, and started to say something, but she was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. Looking down at the display, she grimaced and answered it. “Look, I can’t talk now,” she hissed into the receiver. “We’ll have to do this later.” Turning away from us, and resuming her ascent up the stairs, she continued to speak in a low, annoyed tone before abruptly hanging up on the caller.

  Aunt Winnie watched her go, a faint smile on her face. “Our Valerie is all politeness, is she not?” she asked me as we headed for our own room.

  I gave an inelegant snort. “I’d as soon call John Ragget a wit.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Which of all my important nothings shall I tell you first?

  —LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN

  BACK IN OUR ROOM, Aunt Winnie and I changed out of our Regency costumes and into our modern-day clothes. While I missed the flattering cut of my high-waisted gown, I was nevertheless happy to no longer have to compete with Aunt Winnie’s dampened-down cleavage. It was bad enough to be small chested; it was frankly demoralizing to be put to shame by a woman in her seventies.

  While Aunt Winnie finished changing, I ducked out into the hall to call Peter. I dreaded his reaction when I told him that—just as he predicted—Richard had been killed and that I was once again in the midst of a murder investigation.

  “Hey there,” I said with a forced tone of casualness when he answered.

  There was the briefest of pauses, and then he said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong? Nothing. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with me, that is. But, um … there was an incident earlier.”

  “Incident?”

  “Yes. An incident. That guy I was telling you about—the professor with the crazy ideas? Well, he died.”

  “He died?”

  “Well, he was stabbed.”

  Peter swore. “Elizabeth! First of all that’s not an ‘incident.’ That’s a murder! Goddamn it! I can’t believe this! Come home now! Promise me that you will get on the next plane out of there and come home!”

  “Peter, calm down. I’m fine. Really. There’s no need for me to come home.”

  “Do it anyway.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  I took a deep breath. “Well, I’m sort of the one who found the body.”

  There was a very long pause, and I heard Peter mutter something. I didn’t ask him to clarify as I think I got the general gist of it. “Peter, I promise you I’m fine. But the police took Aunt Winnie’s and my passports. They want us to stay around while they sort this all out.”

  “I’m coming over, then.”

  “Really? Can you?” My mood lightened considerably at that prospect.

  He sighed. “No. Not really. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll move a few things around and get over as soon as I can.”

  “I do love you,” I said, smiling.

  “And I love you, too, which is why I want you to stay as far away from this investigation as you can. Stay safe.”

  I giggled. “You sound like Daniel Day-Lewis in The Last of the Mohicans. ‘Stay alive. I will find you!’”

  Silence met my imitation.

  “Elizabeth, I’m serious,” he said finally. “A man has been killed!”

  “I know, Peter. I’m sorry. I guess it’s easier to joke than think about what happened. It was pretty awful.” I closed my eyes and saw Richard’s lifeless body on the floor. I pushed away the gruesome image and focused instead on the happier one of Peter joining me in Bath. “I really hope you can get over here,” I said.

  “Don’t worry. I will.”

  We hung up after a few more minutes of talking, and when the little click that signaled our connection was broken sounded, I was suddenly filled with unease. Peter was right. A man had been killed. And I very much doubted that Cora had anything to do with it. Which meant that whoever had killed Richard was still out and about, enjoying the sites of Bath.

  * * *

  ONCE AUNT WINNIE had finished changing, we decided to get a drink at the lobby bar, a cozy room with wood paneling and thick green carpet. When we arrived, I saw that John, Valerie, and Ian were already in attendance. The three of them huddled somberly together at a low wooden table in the corner. Ian stared blankly at the flickering votive candle on the tabletop, seemingly ignoring both John’s incessant chattering and Valerie’s sour expression. I didn’t blame him. They were the last people I’d want to spend time with, too. If hell has a bar, people like John and Valerie will always be there.

  I furtively tugged on Aunt Winnie’s blouse and nodded in their direction. She caught my meaning, and we began to quietly back out of the bar. Unfortunately, Ian happened to glance up just as we neared the door. His face practically lit up. I didn’t for one minute flatter myself that Ian found our company so entertaining. Rather, he was merely glad for companions in his little corner of hell.

  “Elizabeth! Winifred!” he called out. “Please come join us.” Valerie looked our way as well, but unlike Ian she did not issue a similar invitation. In fact, for once I sensed that she and I were in perfect agreement in that she and I both wanted me to leave.

  John stood up and flamboyantly waved his arms to catch our attention. As they were the only people in the small bar, it was an unnecessary move at best.

  “We just came down to get a quick drink, Ian,” I said when we were at their table. “We wouldn’t dream of imposing on you right now. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Ian stood up and said, “Thank you, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t join us. After all, you know what they say, ‘Misery loves company.’”

  He pulled out a chair for Aunt Winnie, while John did the same for me. I noticed that even though Ian appeared in control of his emotions, his eyes were still faintly red from recent crying. In contrast, Valerie’s eyes were quite dry, making the little napkin she used to randomly dab invisible tears wholly superfluous.

  Aunt Winnie and I reluctantly sank into the worn leather chairs. “Have you talked to the police yet?” I asked after John took our drink orders and ambled over to the bar to fill them.

  “Yes,” said Ian. “They’re going to send someone over to interview us shortly.”

  “How is your mother doing?” Aunt Winnie asked Ian. “How did she take the news? Is there anything we can do for you?”

  Ian stared at his pint of beer as he answered. “Thank you, but I don’t know what can be done, really. Mom wasn’t feeling well earlier this evening, so I gave her a sleeping pill and sat with her,” he said, not meeting our eyes. “She’s sleeping now. I tried to tell her about … what happened, but I don’t think she understood me, let alone heard me.”

  My mind was having trouble grasping why Ian would give Gail a sleeping pill when it was obvious th
at she was already looped on some kind of prescription drug. Ian’s next words clarified my confusion. “When the police got in touch with me, I told them that they would have to wait until tomorrow to interview her. She’s in no state to talk to anyone tonight.”

  John returned from the bar and placed a glass of white wine in front of me and a scotch and soda in front of Aunt Winnie. “Damned terrible business,” he said as he resumed his seat. “I understand the police are interviewing Cora. Do they really think she had anything to do with it?”

  Valerie gave an incredulous snort. “I can’t think of anyone more likely. I mean, the woman practically threatened him every chance she got. Surely you noticed that, John?”

  John acknowledged Valerie’s statement with a reluctant nod. “I grant you that she may seem the obvious choice, but I’ve known Cora a long time. She’s passionate, yes, but I never considered her to be violent.”

  Valerie looked away, unconvinced. “Well, the police seem to think otherwise,” she said.

  My cell phone rang then, and I glanced down at the display. It was Izzy. I excused myself from the table to take the call. However, given the small size of the bar, I suspected that every word I said would be clearly overheard.

  “Izzy?” I said. “What’s going on? How’s your mother?”

  “She’s a complete and utter mess,” Izzy said with a sigh. “I’ve never seen her so out of it. She must have really put away the wine tonight. She has a terrible headache—no big surprise there—and she can barely remember anything.”

  “What are the police saying?”

  “They’re releasing her for tonight, thank God, but of course we’re not allowed to go anywhere anytime soon. I’m taking her back to the hotel now. Where are you?”

  “I’m at the hotel in the bar—” I began, but before I could finish, she cut me off.

  “That sounds perfect,” she said. “I definitely could use a drink and a friend to talk to. Let me get Mama to bed, and I’ll be right over.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “I’ll see you in a few,” Izzy said before hanging up.

  I stared at the phone in my hand, annoyed that Izzy had disconnected before I could tell her that Ian and Valerie were with us. I called her back, but she didn’t pick up. Aware that everyone was waiting for me at the table and no doubt listening to every word I said anyway, I gave a mental shrug and let it go. I suspected that Izzy would be able to hold her own against Ian and Valerie just fine.