by Tracy Kiely
“Oh, the festival didn’t ask Richard to come,” Byron clarified. “It was some literary society that focuses on hidden meanings in the classics. No, the festival organizers weren’t huge fans of some of Richard’s theories. I can’t imagine any of them encouraging him to give a talk that basically turns the image of their beloved idol upside down.”
“Oh. That makes more sense,” I said. “So is she going to do it? Is she going to present the paper?”
“I haven’t asked her yet. But I don’t know what she’ll want to do. She’s not as well versed on Austen as Richard was. And given what’s happened, I’m not sure if she should present it, but then again, I’m not thinking straight about any of this,” he replied. “I’m not sure what the right thing to do is. From an academic standpoint, it might make sense, but from a personal one … I just don’t know.”
Aunt Winnie thoughtfully dipped an onion ring into the dish of garlic mayo. “Have you spoken to Lindsay?” she asked before popping the morsel into her mouth. “What does she think should happen?”
“Oh, God,” Byron said suddenly, dropping his sandwich onto the plate. “Lindsay! I completely forgot about her. I haven’t seen her since last night. I don’t even know if she knows what’s happened.”
“Well, I think someone should tell her,” I said. “I got the impression that she was close to him.”
Byron gave a rueful laugh. “Yes. So did I.” He stared thoughtfully at his plate. “I wouldn’t even know what to say to her.”
“How about the basic facts?” offered Aunt Winnie, not unkindly. Seeing Byron’s dazed face, however, she changed her tone. “Why don’t Elizabeth and I come with you, Byron. Perhaps we can help.”
Byron raised grateful eyes to Aunt Winnie. “Would you? I’d appreciate that. Lindsay is a nice girl, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that she’s a bit…”
“Devoted?” I suggested.
Byron caught my meaning. “Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what she is. She isn’t going to take this well at all.”
CHAPTER 17
All the privilege I claim for my own sex … is that of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone.
—PERSUASION
AFTER WE FINISHED LUNCH, we headed to Lindsay’s hotel. Byron called her room from the lobby and asked permission to come up. I noticed, however, that he didn’t mention that we were with him.
Lindsay answered his knock almost immediately. Her eyes and nose were both red, her face was pale, and her hair stuck out in at least four different directions. She was wearing black sweatpants and a blue-and-white baseball jersey emblazoned with the Austen quote YOU DO NOT KNOW WHAT I SUFFER.
I had a feeling that the sentiment was truer than she realized.
Seeing Aunt Winnie and me standing behind Byron, her expression changed from mild curiosity to outright alarm. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice scratchy.
“I’m afraid I have some news,” Byron began. “May we come in?”
Lindsay hesitated a moment and then reluctantly nodded and stepped aside. “I’m not feeling very well,” she said as we shuffled awkwardly into her room. “I think I’ve got some kind of stomach bug.”
The room was small but, as they say, well-appointed. In one corner, there was a small maple writing desk and a coordinating delicate needlepoint chair; opposite that sat two twin beds, one of which was unused, its dark blue chenille bedspread still straight and flat. The desk held the remnants of a half-eaten meal: a few crackers, a bowl of soup, and a soda. The chair was piled high with papers. Lindsay pushed the pile onto the floor and offered it to Aunt Winnie. I perched on the unused bed, placing my purse on the floor in front of me. Byron sat next to me, while Lindsay sat on the bed opposite us.
“So what’s the news?” she asked. “Is there something wrong with the paper?”
“No, the paper’s fine. The reason I’m here is because of Richard. Professor Baines,” said Byron.
There was no mistaking the panic in Lindsay’s eyes, and I remembered their not-so-private fight last night. “What about Richard? What does he want? What did he say?” she asked, her voice a squeak.
Byron sighed and lowered his voice. “So you haven’t heard, then?”
“Heard what?” she demanded. “What did he say?”
“He didn’t say anything, Lindsay. I’m afraid that, well, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but he’s dead. Someone killed him last night at the ball.”
Her eyes wide with apparent shock, Lindsay leaned back as if to distance herself from the news. “He’s … he’s dead? No! That can’t be!”
Byron nodded. “I’m afraid it is.”
Lindsay’s breath came out in short quick pants. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe it! Oh, my God—no! What am I … oh, my God!” With a strangled gasp, she wrapped her arms around her waist and closed her eyes against a rush of tears.
No one spoke. Frankly, I didn’t know what to say. That she was genuinely upset was clear. But I don’t believe Miss Manners ever addressed the issue of consoling a student who so clearly adored her professor.
Her married professor.
Her dead, married professor.
Aunt Winnie stood and walked the short distance to where Lindsay sat. Putting her hand on Lindsay’s shoulder, she said, “I know, dear. It’s an awful thing to have happen.”
Lindsay gave a muted sniff and then nodded her head.
“Let me get you a glass of water,” I said, standing up and heading to the bathroom. As I grabbed a glass from the bathroom shelf, I noticed the small bottle. A quick glance confirmed my suspicion. After filling the glass with water, I emerged from the bathroom. Handing the glass to Lindsay, I said, “Drink a little.”
Lindsay did as she was told, and I resumed my seat on the bed next to Byron. After taking a few more sips, Lindsay raised her head and asked the question we all wanted answered. “Who killed him?” Looking at us with a dazed expression, she then went one further. “Was it Alex?”
Byron appeared surprised by this. “The police don’t know who it was. Why would you think it was Alex?” he asked, leaning forward.
Lindsay opened her mouth but then shook her head and closed it. “I don’t know. I guess, I just thought that maybe…” She paused. “I don’t know. Forget it.”
Byron shook his head. “No, go on. If you know something, you need to tell us. The police need all the information they can get to solve this. Right now they are looking at Cora Beadle—the one who was so adamant against Richard’s theory—but I’m not sure they’re right.”
But Lindsay refused to elaborate on her suspicion about Alex. “I don’t have any proof—I don’t know what I’m saying, really. I guess I just thought that lots of times it’s the spouse that is the murderer.”
“That’s true,” Byron said slowly, as if he were mentally revisiting this idea. After a minute he shook his head. “But in this case, I don’t think she could have done it.” He quickly explained the odd scene of the second Elizabeth who fought with Richard and then dragged him from the room. “Alex was getting sick in one of the bathrooms at the time,” he said. “I happened to run into her right before that and waited for her outside.” His brow creased in concentration. “I suppose she might have been lying, but I don’t see how. She went in the bathroom and didn’t come out for a good ten minutes.”
“Was there only one exit?” asked Aunt Winnie.
Byron nodded. “Yes. And no one else came in or out, so I don’t see how she could have gotten past me—twice—without my noticing.”
Lindsay nodded, but from her faraway expression, I doubted she had heard much of what he’d said. “Is … is his family still here?” she asked suddenly.
“Yes, they are,” Byron answered. “Why? Do you need to talk to them?”
Lindsay looked down at her lap. “No,” she said as she focused on picking at her cuticles. “I just wondered, that’s all.” A thought appeared to occur to her, and she suddenly sat up a bit straighter and
stared at Byron. “What’s going to happen to his paper?” she asked. “Is it still going to be presented?”
Byron shrugged. “Well, now that you mention it, the society did call me. They still want it to be presented at the meeting tomorrow night. They want either Alex or me to read it.”
Lindsay leaned forward, her eyes the most focused I’d seen them since we’d arrived. “That paper must be presented! It must!”
Her theatrical reaction reminded me of her obvious distress during last night’s ball and Richard’s subsequent accusation that she was being “melodramatic.” I chose my next words carefully. “I happened to see you talking to Richard last night. It seemed like you were trying to talk to him about something important. Did it have something to do with the paper?”
Lindsay’s face flushed, and her eyes shifted away from mine. “Oh. That. That was nothing.”
“It didn’t seem like nothing,” I replied. “In fact, you seemed pretty upset.”
Lindsay’s mouth twisted. “Did I? I don’t remember that.”
“What was your conversation about, then?”
Lindsay’s eyes slid away from mine. “If you must know,” she said, addressing the nightstand, “I was trying to warn him about that Cora woman. Frankly, she seemed like she was becoming unhinged. Richard didn’t take her seriously. Perhaps he should have.”
“After your conversation with Richard, you left. Where did you go?” I asked.
“I went to … I went back to my room. Here,” said Lindsay.
“Did you go back to the ball?” I pressed.
“No. I went to sleep.”
“Did you talk to Richard again?”
Lindsay’s face crumpled a bit at my question. “No,” she answered, her voice small. “I didn’t. The last time I saw him or spoke to him was at the ball.”
One of the piles of paper on the floor next to Aunt Winnie toppled over and she bent down to right the mess. “Oh, don’t bother with that,” said Lindsay, glancing in her direction. I took advantage of her distraction to nudge my purse under the bed a bit with my foot. Aunt Winnie saw the movement. Byron and Lindsay did not.
“It’s no problem,” answered Aunt Winnie, as she stacked the papers back up. “But you should get some rest, Lindsay,” she said, suddenly getting to her feet. “You aren’t feeling well, and no doubt we’ve upset you with this terrible news.”
Byron and I got up as well. Lindsay remained seated on the bed. She suddenly looked very small and vulnerable.
“Call me if you need anything,” Byron said as we moved toward the door. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
Lindsay nodded at the floor. She did not look at any of us.
CHAPTER 18
It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy admiration means more than it does.
—PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
“SO WHAT DO YOU THINK of Lindsay’s idea about Alex having had something to do with Richard’s death?” I asked Byron as we headed down the stairs to the hotel lobby.
Byron shook his head. “I don’t know. We aren’t what you might call friends. But I really do think she loved Richard. And she did seem sick when she went in that bathroom. I just don’t see how she could have gotten out without my noticing.”
I thought about that. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a look at the bathroom myself. After all, Byron hadn’t actually gone into it. Maybe there was another exit that he didn’t know about.
As we entered the lobby, I slapped my thigh in a show of aggravation. “Oh, crap! I left my purse up in Lindsay’s room. I’ve got to go back up.”
“Oh, sure…,” said Byron, as he turned back toward the stairs, but I cut him off.
“You don’t need to come with me,” I said to him. “You should go and get some rest. You’ve been through enough.”
Byron managed a ghost of a smile. “Not as much as some,” he said ruefully. “But I guess I better go and check in with Alex and see how she’s doing. I have no idea what she’s going to want to do about the paper. Frankly, I can’t see her caring one way or the other.”
“Lindsay seemed pretty adamant that it still be presented,” I said. “Wouldn’t Alex feel the same way?”
Byron shook his head. “Not necessarily. Alex loved Richard, and Richard loved Austen. Now that he’s gone, I doubt she’s really going to care.”
“But he thought it was an amazing find,” I said in some surprise. “I mean, I’ve got to be honest with you, I thought it was utter crap, but he clearly thought this was going to be the highlight of his career. Wouldn’t she want to see it presented if for no other reason than to give him his glory?”
Byron sighed. “She might. You just never know with Alex. Like I said, we’re not that close. I don’t pretend to understand how her mind works. Your guess is as good as mine.” Turning to Aunt Winnie, he said, “Thanks for coming with me to tell Lindsay. She’s a nice kid, and I know she was fond of Richard.”
“Not a problem,” replied Aunt Winnie. “I’m sure we’ll see you around later.”
Byron nodded and headed for the hotel exit. Once he was gone, Aunt Winnie turned back to me, hands on her hips. “So, I see you decided to go with the old accidentally-leaving-your-purse excuse, huh?”
“Okay, so it’s not the best excuse, I grant you, but it’s all I could come up with,” I said as I headed back to the stairs.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. You did it very nicely. But my question is, why do we need to talk to Lindsay again? Do you think she might have seen Alex?” Aunt Winnie asked as she followed me.
“I don’t know, actually. She might have seen something, but that’s not why I want to talk to her.”
“I see. And are you going to share this information with me, or are you going to go all Poirot on me?”
I let my mouth curl up into a smug smile. “Weren’t you the one who was touting my detective skills last night and trying to convince me to actually become one? Well, if I’m to do so, I need to act the part. And you know as well as I do that the really great detectives never tell their associates what they are thinking. Perhaps if you’d use your little gray cells, you wouldn’t need to ask.”
“I am not your associate. I am your great-aunt, and as such I am not above slapping you upside your smug little face,” she jokingly retorted. At least, I think she was joking.
I still didn’t elaborate, but I made sure to stay out of reach.
We made our way down the hall and to Lindsay’s room. I gave a quick rap on the door and stepped back. Within seconds, Lindsay opened the door, clearly surprised to see us again.
I affected my most innocent smile while Aunt Winnie tried to affect an expression that suggested that she knew what the hell was going on. I’m pretty sure we both failed. “I’m so sorry, Lindsay,” I said, “but I seem to have left my purse in your room.”
Lindsay stepped back from the door but kept her hand on the doorknob. “Oh, sure,” she said. “Come on in.”
I walked over to the bed and scooped up the purse from where I’d shoved it. “Got it,” I said, hoisting the strap over my shoulder.
Lindsay smiled politely. The door remained open and her hand stayed on the doorknob.
I looked back at her, my expression curious. In a matter-of-fact voice, I said, “So tell me, Lindsay. How far along are you?”
Lindsay’s face did not change. In fact, the only indication that she heard my question was that the door suddenly slammed shut.
* * *
HER EYES LOCKED ONTO MINE, and she said, “What the hell are you talking about?”
I took a deep breath. “Lindsay, I’m sorry, but I’ve been around my pregnant sister enough these past few months to know the signs of pregnancy. You don’t have the stomach flu. You have morning sickness.”
Lindsay shook her head back and forth in adamant denial. “No. No, you’re wrong. It is the flu. I’m not pregnant. I’m just … sick.”
“Then why is there a bottle of pre
natal vitamins in your bathroom?” I asked.
Aunt Winnie shot me a look of admiration. Lindsay did not. “You searched through my things?” she asked indignantly. “Who does that? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I didn’t search through your things,” I answered. “I happened to notice the bottle when I got you that glass of water.”
Lindsay glared at me. “I don’t have to talk to you. In fact, I’d like you to leave.”
I tried another tack. “Lindsay, it was pretty obvious how you felt about Richard. You aren’t the first girl to sleep with her professor. Did he know about the baby? Is that what your fight with him was about?”
Lindsay pulled her shoulders back and stuck her chin out. “This is none of your business.”
“Technically, you’re right. It’s not my business. But the police are focusing on Cora as a suspect, and I think they’re wrong. I’m trying to find out who really killed Richard. As you’re carrying his child, I would think that you’d be curious about that point as well.”
Lindsay regarded me in silence. “I’m not a slut,” she finally said, her voice defiant. “I cared for him.”
“I didn’t say you were,” I replied. “And I believe that you did care about him. Did he know about the baby?”
Lindsay didn’t answer right away. Her eyes dropped to the carpet. After a long moment, she turned and sat on the bed. Looking up at me, she said, “Yes. I told him at the ball. I … I didn’t fool myself into thinking he’d be ecstatic, but I thought he’d at least…” Her voice trailed off.
“You thought he’d at least react differently from how he did?” I suggested.
Lindsay gave a painful nod.
“What was his reaction?”
Lindsay closed her eyes. “He told me to get rid of it.”
“He was uniformly charming, wasn’t he?” Aunt Winnie said to no one in particular.
Lindsay’s eyes flew open, and she glared at Aunt Winnie. “He didn’t mean it! He was just taken aback, and focused on the paper. I’m sure that once he thought about it, he would have felt differently.”
