Murder Most Austen

by Tracy Kiely

  “Well, yes,” I admitted. “But what happens if the police really do focus in on Cora and then they actually expect me to find the real killer?”

  Aunt Winnie scoffed. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’m sure the police will quickly realize that Cora is nothing more than a harmless, if rather excitable, woman, and then they will move on.”

  “Well, I certainly hope so,” I said as we climbed the wide staircase to our room. “Because I’d hate them to think I could really do anything, should they need it.”

  “I think you can rest safe tonight, my dear,” she answered with a laugh. “You won’t be needing to don your detective cap on this trip.”

  Of course, in the lingo of the land, what utter bollocks that turned out to be.

  CHAPTER 16

  The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance.

  —PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

  “THEY’VE TAKEN MAMA IN AGAIN,” Izzy cried into my ear over the phone the next morning.

  “But why?” I asked, still wiping the sleep from my eyes. From the bed next to me, Aunt Winnie cast a curious eye at me from underneath her pillow. “Izzy,” I mouthed to her. She pushed back the comforter and swung her legs off the bed. Rising, she took the phone from me without a word and said, “Izzy? It’s Winnie. What happened?”

  I listened as Aunt Winnie asked Izzy for details. From her end of the conversation, I gathered that Cora had been brought down to the station about fifteen minutes ago for more questioning. I glanced at the clock. It was barely seven thirty.

  “It’s going to be okay, Izzy,” promised Aunt Winnie. “I’ll go to the station and see what I can find out. Don’t worry. It will be fine. I’ll call you when I know something.”

  Hanging up the phone, she turned to me, her eyes worried. “I don’t like this, Elizabeth. The police should have figured out by now that Cora isn’t the type of woman to kill someone. The fact that they brought her in again tells me that we may have a problem on our hands.”

  “What do you propose we do?” I asked, not really sure I wanted to hear the answer.

  “Well, we’re going to go down to the station and convince the police that they’ve got the wrong woman,” she said as she yanked open her bureau drawer and pulled out a pair of cream-colored wool slacks and a navy blue sweater.

  “And if that doesn’t work?” I asked with some trepidation.

  “Then it might be time to see about digging out that detective cap, after all,” she answered before heading to the bathroom.

  * * *

  IT WAS PERHAPS fitting that the sky that morning was heavy with dark clouds, each spitting hard cold rain. By the time we arrived at the police station, a large cement structure that could serve as a model for unimaginative government buildings everywhere, the rain had progressed from spitting to outright pouring. Looking down at my wet feet, I wished for the second time on this trip that I had worn thick boots like Anne Elliot rather than my flimsy ballet flats.

  As we entered the station, we saw to our relief that Cora was just being released. Our joy, however, was short-lived when we took a good look at her. Her face was blotchy, and her eyes were puffy slits of red. From the palpable tension radiating from her body, it was clear that while she might have been cleared to leave the station, she hadn’t been cleared of suspicion. Standing next to her was Inspector Middlefield. She appeared tired as well, but in her case it was the look of someone who’d pulled an all-nighter studying but still didn’t feel confident on the subject matter. That gave me some hope.

  “Cora!” cried Aunt Winnie. “Are you all right?”

  Cora nodded wearily. “I’m fine. Just very tired. I think I could sleep for a week.”

  Aunt Winnie turned on Inspector Middlefield. “You can’t honestly believe that this woman had anything to do with Professor Baines’s death. Yes, she found his theories vulgar—I think you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who didn’t—but she would never harm him.”

  Inspector Middlefield sighed. “Ms. Reynolds, I’m sure Mrs. Beadle appreciates your loyalty, but the sad fact remains that she threatened Professor Baines on several occasions and cannot produce a valid alibi for a large portion of last night. I would be a sorry excuse for an inspector if I did not spend more than a little time investigating her story.”

  “Perhaps,” countered Aunt Winnie, “but in the meantime, the real killer is still running about doing God knows what.”

  Inspector Middlefield produced a tired semblance of a smile. “It is not a perfect science, I grant you. However, we usually manage to get the job done.” Turning to Cora, she said, “I will be in touch, Mrs. Beadle.”

  “I understand,” Cora replied mournfully.

  With a curt nod to us, Inspector Middlefield said, “Good day, ladies,” and walked into a back office.

  “Are you okay?” Aunt Winnie asked as we walked outside. “Do you want me to get you a lawyer?”

  Cora shook her head. “Not yet. I don’t want to appear guilty. I keep thinking that if I cooperate and answer their questions, they’ll realize that I had nothing to do with this.”

  Aunt Winnie shook her head in disagreement. “Cora, while that sounds lovely, I really don’t think good manners are going to be the determining factor here. We need to prove to them that you had nothing to do with Richard’s murder.”

  Cora turned to me, her eyes now bright with hope. “Oh, that’s right! I nearly forgot. Izzy told me that you were a detective of sorts. Do you really think that you can find the real killer? I’d be forever grateful for whatever you could do.”

  I opened my mouth, but it was Aunt Winnie who answered. “Of course she will, Cora. Don’t give it another thought. We’ll get you back to the hotel, and then Elizabeth and I will see what we can find out.”

  Cora enveloped me in a grateful hug before I could protest the absurdity of Aunt Winnie’s proposal. I felt like the worst kind of imposter as Cora said, “Oh, you sweet, sweet child! I can’t thank you enough! You know, I actually feel a little better knowing that you are out there trying to prove my innocence!”

  Horrified, I stared at Aunt Winnie with agonized eyes, but she only winked at me.

  It looked like supersleuth Elizabeth Parker was on another case.

  God help us all.

  * * *

  AFTER WE GOT Cora settled at her hotel, Aunt Winnie and I argued over which session to attend: “Dueling Mr. Darcy” or “Dressing Mr. Darcy.” It finally came down to a coin toss, which, naturally, she won. “And how exactly is that supposed to help us in our search for Richard’s killer?” I groused, annoyed both at my loss and the fact that she had convinced Cora and Izzy that I would be able to solve all their problems by finding a killer.

  “Now don’t be grumpy. All I said was that we would try. And, don’t forget, I’m going to help you!”

  “Sure you are. Right after you learn how to dress Mr. Darcy.”

  “Well, of course!” she said with no trace of embarrassment. “There’s no way in hell I’m not going to that class. And who knows, we might learn something important.”

  “Somehow, I don’t see how learning if Darcy dressed to the right or left is going to be of material consequence in this case.”

  Aunt Winnie laughed. “Maybe not. But wouldn’t it be delightful if it did?”

  * * *

  “DRESSING MR. DARCY” WAS, not surprisingly, packed. Woman of all ages—as well as a few men—crammed into the large conference room. I was beginning to despair of finding a seat, when Aunt Winnie spied two empty spots near the back. As we squeezed into the metal folding chairs, I was surprised to see Valerie and Gail in the row ahead of us. Well, I suppose it wasn’t too surprising that Gail would carry on with her itinerary as planned, I amended, but shouldn’t Valerie be playing the role of the grieving daughter-in-law? True, she was wearing a shapeless black dress made of some unidentifiable but definitel
y flammable material, which certainly suggested death inasmuch as most women wouldn’t want to be caught dead in it, but other than that, her mood seemed almost cheerful. However, compared with Gail, her mood seemed somber indeed. Not only was Gail wearing a bright pink blazer and matching skirt, but her face appeared years younger than it had yesterday, and she was practically grinning from ear to ear as she listened to the lecture. Furthermore, her face no longer held that faintly vacant expression I’d noticed earlier in the week. Today she appeared alert and focused. It was apparent that Richard’s untimely demise was just the tonic Gail needed to pull herself back together. I didn’t fault her, exactly; from the sound of it, Richard had treated her pretty shabbily, but it did seem somewhat heartless to be in such obvious good spirits the day after the father of your only child was murdered.

  As we learned about the items one might find in a proper Regency gentleman’s closet—immaculate linen shirts with high collars, perfectly tied cravats, and exquisitely tailored dark coats—Valerie and Gail chatted softly about the magazine. Although they kept their voices low, it wasn’t hard to overhear their whispered chatter. Especially as I was practically leaning forward in my seat to make sure I caught every word.

  “This is going to save us,” said Gail, with a sigh of contentment. “I’ve called the bank and transferred some of my own funds into the account until the money from the estate comes through. It should be enough to hold us. I know that Richard left the bulk of his money to Ian. I don’t know how long these things take, but I imagine that within six months or so it should all be settled.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Valerie replied. “I hate to sound crass, but it really couldn’t have come at a better time. I don’t know what we would have done if the magazine folded. Little Zee just started nursery school last month. It’s one of the best in the city.” She paused and then, apropos of nothing, added, “Private, of course.”

  “Have you spoken to Ian about this?” asked Gail, her brow creasing in the first suggestion of concern I’d seen so far. “Is he on board with it all?”

  Valerie waved away Gail’s worry with an indifferent wave of her bony hand. “I talked with him briefly. He’s focused on arranging for the funeral right now.”

  “Good. I’ll talk to him as well, just to be sure,” Gail said with a sigh. “Oh, Valerie, I can’t pretend not to be excited about what this all means! Now we can sink some real money into the magazine and work on expanding our reader base. We can finally put some of our plans into action. Not all, of course, but some.”

  Valerie’s thin, colorless lips pulled into a frown, and she said, “What do you mean, ‘real money’? Ian and I have our own finances to deal with, too, you know. It can’t all go to the magazine.”

  “What do you mean?” Gail asked, lowering her voice.

  “What do you mean, what do I mean? Do you know how much private school costs? Little Zee deserves the best, and I’m not going to send him to some public school and have him sit next to God knows what.”

  Gail’s expression cooled to a few degrees south of glacial as she stared at Valerie. Valerie, for once, seemed to notice someone else’s feelings besides her own and said, “This is silly. There’s no reason for us to argue. Especially as I think there might be more money available than we realize.”

  “What do you mean?” Gail asked, lowering her voice.

  A self-satisfied smile formed on Valerie’s face, and she leaned her head close to Gail’s. “Well, it might not be perhaps entirely legal, but I…”

  The woman to my left suddenly let out a loud “Shush!” and shot both Valerie and Gail a look of extreme annoyance. Valerie twisted in her seat, turning a baleful eye of her own toward the woman. It was a glare that would have stopped me in my tracks, but the woman to my left, a petite grandmotherly type with crimped coal-black hair and cold, sharklike eyes, was clearly made of stronger stuff.

  “Do you mind?” she whispered with icy politeness. “Some of us are trying to listen to the lecture. If it is urgent that you have your conversation right now, perhaps you should take it outside where you can hold it in private.” Her companion, a plump woman with an equally intense expression of irritation in her deep-set eyes, nodded her small gray head in vigorous agreement. I heard someone else nearby mutter, “Hear, hear!”

  You don’t mess with Janeites. Especially when Darcy is involved.

  From the manner in which Valerie’s small eyes rapidly narrowed further with contempt, it was evident that she did not care one iota about the women’s complaints or her own rudeness. In fact, she gave every indication that she was about to escalate the situation by returning a verbal lob of her own. However, no sooner had she opened her mouth than she caught sight of me and Aunt Winnie. An odd expression crossed her peevish face, and she abruptly closed her mouth and turned around stiffly in her chair. From that point on, neither she nor Gail spoke.

  While most of the attendees around us settled happily in their seats, eager to hear the rest of the lecture without further interruption, I was most exceedingly put out. For now I was left wondering just how much money was at stake and what Valerie had meant about there being more money than previously thought. What “not entirely legal” action was Valerie thinking of taking to gain more money, and perhaps even more important, did it have anything to do with Richard’s death?

  I snuck a glance at Aunt Winnie to see if she’d been following the conversation. From the exaggerated arch of her eyebrow as she met my eye, I gathered she had.

  * * *

  WHEN THE LECTURE ENDED, Valerie and Gail practically ran from the room, both studiously avoiding eye contact with me and Aunt Winnie.

  “Did you catch all of that?” I asked as we snaked our way through the crowd and out into the hallway.

  “Most of it, I think. Although I have to admit I did miss some parts. My hearing isn’t what it used to be. I gather, though, that neither of them is exactly crying into her hankie over Richard’s death.”

  “You could say that. In fact, you could say that Gail is doing better than ever. She actually looked alert and chipper today. I wonder if her need to self-medicate died with Richard.”

  “It would appear that many problems died with Richard Baines,” Aunt Winnie replied. “The man certainly doesn’t seem to be missed by his daughter-in-law or ex-wife. Although I suppose you can’t fault Gail for not donning the widow’s weeds. After all, he did leave her for another woman.”

  “Speaking of which, I wonder how Alex is dealing with all of this. I don’t suppose that either Ian or Valerie are going out of their way to check on her.”

  As the crowd around us thinned out as the attendees made their way to the next session, I was surprised to see Byron ambling toward us. Based on his rumpled blazer, uncombed hair, and unshaven face, I gathered that he was still reeling from the shock of Richard’s murder.

  “Hello, Elizabeth. Hello, Mrs. Reynolds. How are you?” he asked in a dull voice.

  “I think we should be asking that of you,” Aunt Winnie answered. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look terrible. Have you eaten?”

  Byron shook his head. “No. I’m not hungry.”

  “You need to eat. Come and have a bite with us,” said Aunt Winnie.

  “No, really,” he said with a polite smile, “I’m fine.”

  “The hell you are. You look like hell. Come with us. I insist.” Her firm tone left no room for argument.

  Byron managed a grateful smile. “Well, since you put it that way, I will. Thank you.”

  The morning’s dark rain clouds had finally cleared, revealing patches of soft blue sky, and so we decided to walk to a nearby café, the Cork. There we were quickly shown to a table on the restaurant’s spacious al fresco terrace. Decorated with oak sleepers, white Italian planters, and lavender plant beds, the area was an oasis in the midst of Bath. Which, come to think of it, was a kind of oasis in itself, so I guess it was an oasis within an oasis.

  Byron settled heavily into his
chair and ordered a cup of coffee and a minute steak sandwich. From his almost robotic tone, I wondered if he was even aware of his actions.

  “Is there any news?” I asked after I’d ordered a Diet Coke and a BLT.

  Byron shook his head. “No. The police are still conducting their investigation. I gather that they are still very interested in your friend Cora. For what it’s worth, I did tell that inspector that I really couldn’t see her killing Richard.”

  Aunt Winnie smiled. “Thank you, Byron. That was kind of you. Do you have any idea, though, who might have wanted him dead?”

  Byron ran a large hand through his already rumpled hair. “I don’t know. I mean, I only worked for the guy. I don’t really know what his personal relationships were like.”

  “Well, you said he seemed happy with Alex, right?” I asked.

  “True. He did. But other than that…” He shrugged.

  “Speaking of Alex,” said Aunt Winnie, “how is she? Does she need anything?”

  Byron raised stricken eyes to us. “Oh, God. I don’t know. I didn’t think to call her today,” he said haltingly. “I guess I assumed that Ian and Valerie would be with her.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “But now that I really think about it, I doubt either one of them would call her. They weren’t on the best of terms.”

  “Were you able to get in touch with Alex’s sister?” I asked, after taking a sip of my soda.

  “I left her a message. I don’t know if she’s called Alex back yet,” Byron replied. “I should check on her. I just don’t know what to say to her. I don’t know her very well; most of my time was spent with Richard.”

  Our food arrived just then, and for a moment conversation was halted while we ate. Then Aunt Winnie asked, “So what do you do now, Byron? Are you going to stay for the rest of the festival?”

  Byron finished chewing before he answered. “I don’t know. I received a call from the group that invited Richard to present his paper. They still want to hear it. They asked if Alex would be interested in presenting it.”

  “Really?” I asked in surprise. “I would have thought the festival organizers would have held off on that.”