Murder Most Austen

by Tracy Kiely

  Once finished with her musical tribute, Valerie dipped her head to the nonexistent applause and said, “Professor Baines devoted his career not only to studying Jane Austen and her novels but also to sharing his amazing discoveries and revelations with the literary establishment. He unveiled aspects of Austen’s work that no one ever detected before.” There was a quiet murmuring among many of the attendees when this was said. I wondered if they were murmurings of agreement or derision. Valerie continued on. “As many of you know, Professor Baines was planning on presenting a groundbreaking paper this week, one that would forever change the way both Jane Austen and her body of work would be viewed.” Alex stiffened in her chair, her eyes narrowed with dark suspicion. “Even though Professor Baines has cruelly been denied the opportunity to present this paper himself, I would like to ask everyone here to take a moment to demonstrate our support of his work and support for this piece of work in particular.” Valerie paused and seemed to look directly at Alex. “Professor Baines was taken away too soon. But I hope you’ll support me in seeing that his excellent work is neither lost nor forgotten.”

  With that, Valerie raised her hands and began to clap. After an awkward pause, the rest of the room followed along. It was like watching lemmings clap, if lemmings had hands, that is.

  “Alex?” Valerie called out into the microphone. “Would you like to come up here and say a few words?”

  There was a rippling sound of heads turning our way, as the crowd tried to see both Alex and her response. They were just in time to miss it, Alex having replaced the furious scowl that covered her face with a more composed expression. Her eyes, however, still glittered with anger. Slowly getting to her feet, Alex said, “Thank you all for coming…”

  “They can’t hear you back there, Alex, dear,” Valerie purred into the microphone. “You’d better come up here to talk.”

  There was a brief pause, during which I was sure that Alex was debating either leaving the room or cramming the microphone down Valerie’s throat. She did neither. Instead, she pasted a brittle smile onto her face and quickly strode up to the microphone. Taking it from Valerie, she turned to the small crowd before her. “As you know, this has been a very horrible couple of days for me and Richard’s family. I want you to know that I appreciate your sympathy and support in coming out tonight to honor Richard’s memory. Thank you very much.”

  Turning the microphone back over to Valerie, Alex made to leave. Valerie stopped her short with her next announcement. “Thank you, Alex,” she said, “but before you go, I wondered if you could tell us when Professor Baines’s paper will be delivered. I know that many of us here tonight, myself included, want to make sure that his work is heard.”

  Alex froze and regarded Valerie with an expression that left no room for doubt as to her feelings of disgust and contempt. Walking slowly back to the microphone, Alex seemed to come to a decision. Squaring her shoulders, she faced the room, a determined gaze in her eyes. “But of course,” she said. “I can think of no reason that Richard’s paper should not be delivered as planned. He would have wanted it no other way.”

  “Well, I expect he’d have preferred not to be dead when it was delivered,” Aunt Winnie muttered to me under her breath, while I smothered a wholly inappropriate smile. I quickly glanced at Byron to make sure he hadn’t heard and was relieved to see that his attention was focused on Alex. I also noticed that he did not appear happy at her announcement, despite the general round of applause that greeted it.

  I nudged him gently. “You don’t agree with her, do you?”

  Byron pulled his attention away from Alex and regarded me, his mouth pinched in concern. Finally, he shook his head. “No, I don’t. I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I have to be honest. If Richard was killed because of his paper, I don’t want to use it as bait. After all, I was second only to Richard in putting it together, and speaking from a purely selfish standpoint, I’d rather not be used as bait, either.”

  I looked back to where Valerie and Alex stood just in time to see Alex turn on her heel and head for the doors. After a moment’s hesitation, Lindsay called out after her. If Alex heard, she didn’t let on and continued out of the room. Lindsay bit her lip and paused, as if debating whether she should follow. Dear God, I thought. She wasn’t really going to spring the news of her pregnancy on Alex now, was she?

  Apparently not, I was relieved to note, as she turned back and headed into the room. I was, however, surprised to see that instead of rejoining Valerie, she was now walking our way, her stride determined.

  “Byron,” Lindsay said, once she drew near, “can I talk to you?” From the way she gnawed at her lower lip, I saw that something was bothering her. Either that or she had mistaken her mouth for an hors d’oeuvre.

  “Is something wrong?” Byron asked, apparently coming to a similar conclusion.

  “I don’t know. It might be. It depends,” Lindsay said, with a nervousness that was hard to miss.

  “Is it about the paper?” Byron asked, lowering his voice.

  Lindsay glanced uneasily in my direction, while I attempted to exude a harmless, yet trustworthy persona. Apparently, it’s a trait I need to work on, as Lindsay said, “Umm … yeah, it is. But I don’t want to talk about it here. Can I talk to you later? In private?” she added with another sideways glance my way.

  “Sure,” said Byron, his expression perplexed. “When do you want to talk?”

  “Can I come to your room after this is over?”

  “Sure, that sounds fine. I’ll be there.”

  “There you are, Lindsay,” a shrill voice sang out. “We’d wondered where you got to.” Lindsay gave a startled jump, and pressed a steadying hand against her stomach, before turning around to face the owner of the voice—Valerie. Next to her stood John and Gail, the latter’s head tilted and studying Lindsay as if she were preparing to sketch her portrait. “Is everything all right?” Valerie asked Lindsay. “You ran off in such a hurry, I thought you might not be feeling well.”

  “Oh, no, I’m fine,” Lindsay replied, her voice a squeak. “I just was talking to Byron.”

  “Yes, so I see. How are you, Byron?” Valerie asked, her eyes now sliding in his direction. “I imagine you are pleased that Alex decided to go ahead with the paper’s presentation.”

  “I am,” Byron replied. “But I only hope that its presentation doesn’t detract from the focus to find Professor Baines’s killer.”

  Valerie glanced at Lindsay a moment. “I’m sure it won’t,” she said.

  Gail, her head still slightly tilted to one side as she gazed at Lindsay, said nothing.

  CHAPTER 20

  Let me only have the company of the people I love, let me only be where I like and with whom I like, and the devil take the rest, say I.

  —NORTHANGER ABBEY

  “I THOUGHT VALERIE SANG VERY ILL tonight,” observed Aunt Winnie sometime later as we were making our way back to our hotel.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Poor Valerie. But she is determined to do it.”

  Having politely extricated ourselves from having to endure another ride in John’s Little Car of Horrors, we strolled along the streets of Bath, in no particular hurry. The night was lovely, with just enough warmth left in the air to prevent us from feeling as if we were imitating the ideal of the “hearty Englishman.” More important, it allowed us to talk without fear of being overheard.

  “So tell me,” said Aunt Winnie as we turned down a street lined with crisp white buildings and perfectly aligned trees. “What did you think of the memorial?”

  “Oh, I expect you know what I think. In fact, I expect your thoughts on the matter are remarkably similar,” I said.

  “That depends,” she answered. “Do your thoughts contain the words vulgar, hysterical, and painful?”

  “Throw in absurd, and I believe that we have a match.”

  Aunt Winnie laughed loudly. A woman who was walking a small white poodle across the street looked up in surpris
e. Giving the leash a quick tug, she hurried along. “Then we need to discuss it no more,” Aunt Winnie said lightly. Dropping her voice to a more serious tone, she added, “Except I don’t know what to make about Richard’s paper. Do you think it was the reason behind his death?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered, shoving my hands into my coat’s pockets. “It certainly seemed to be a lightning rod of sorts for lots of people.”

  “That’s for sure. However, I feel as if I’m missing something. Granted, the paper was sure to make a sensation—the ridiculous generally does. But would it really have skyrocketed Richard to literary stardom?”

  I considered the question. It was one that I’d pondered myself as well. I knew little about the world of literary analysis and even littler about the world of Richard Baines. Many people seemed to be of the opinion that this paper was valuable, but whether that value was monetary or intellectual depended on who you talked to. I wondered how Richard himself saw it. Granted, he had been a very wealthy man, but that wealth came from his father, not from his career as an English professor. Was the goal of this paper to be able to legitimately add to that wealth, or was he solely interested in boosting his reputation as a Jane Austen (ahem) expert? And did it even matter what his goal had been? He might have been killed either for the potential money associated with the paper or to prevent its release. Then again, the man might have been killed merely for being a pompous, two-timing jackass. I sighed. When you stopped to think about it, there were several reasons someone might want to kill Richard Baines. It was very vexing, I thought, although, I suppose, more so for him than me.

  “Elizabeth?” said Aunt Winnie. “Are you listening to me?”

  “Hmmm? Oh, sorry. I was just wondering why Richard was killed. I have cleverly narrowed the list down to three, maybe four reasons. Six at the very most.”

  “Clever girl. Now tell me what you think about the paper. I honestly can’t see it suddenly becoming the darling of the academic community,” she said. “It’s laughable at best. At its worst, it’s the result of an addled brain prone to conspiracy theories and hidden messages.”

  “Then in either case, it wouldn’t be a big moneymaker,” I observed.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Aunt Winnie said, with a firm shake of her head. “Far stupider things have made money in this world. I believe the Chia Pet is making a comeback.”

  “I was always particular to the Chia Head,” I replied.

  “See what I mean? Therefore, just because we think it’s a pile of gibberish doesn’t mean that someone else doesn’t see sunshine and flowers.”

  “And cold hard cash,” I added.

  Aunt Winnie nodded in agreement, her red curls bobbing as if to second the motion. “Exactly.”

  Aunt Winnie’s cell phone rang just then, a note-for-note match to the one that Laura Linney’s character has in Love Actually. I wondered if that was a ringtone I could download.

  “Hello? What? I can’t … oh, hello, Izzy. Yes. How are you?” Aunt Winnie said, as she held the phone up to her ear. “Yes. Really? But … oh, I see. Sure, that sounds fine. We’ll see you there.” Clicking off the phone, she stuffed it back into her pocket and said, “That was Izzy. She and Cora want to meet us for a drink at our hotel.”

  I stopped in my tracks, somewhat amazed. “At our hotel? But why?” I asked. “Surely they must realize by now that Valerie and Ian, not to mention Gail, are staying at our hotel as well? Izzy’s coming the other night could be excused as an oversight, but to come again? What could they be thinking?”

  “I wondered at that myself at first, but then Izzy explained that the bar in their hotel is crammed full from a local wedding’s after-party. She assumed that the memorial would still be going on and so there’d be little chance of seeing any of them at our hotel.”

  “I’m pretty sure that there are plenty of bars or restaurants where there would be no chance of seeing them,” I said.

  “Oh, I quite agree. Izzy had a reason for that as well. Apparently, many of the more convenient bars in the area are frequented by various festival attendees,” Aunt Winnie said.

  “She’s certainly thought this one out, hasn’t she?”

  “She certainly has. My guess is that Izzy is clearly banking on that little chance that she will indeed run into Ian, Valerie, Gail, or all three. The question I wonder about is which one does she want to see, and why?”

  We continued our stroll back to the hotel in meditative silence. Despite Izzy’s fervent proclamations that we were kindred spirits, I really didn’t know her all that well. She was enjoyable to talk to, but that didn’t mean she was nice or trustworthy. After all, there were plenty of people in life who could be perfectly pleasant just before they stabbed you (or someone else) in the back. Dorothy Parker was one. So was Hemingway. Actually, I took that back. I rather had the impression that Hemingway was nasty to you either way.

  I forced my thoughts back to Izzy. What was her reason for wanting to come to our hotel? She’d been paying an inordinate amount of attention to Ian since the festival began, but was that merely because she was genetically programmed to flirt with any man in a ten-foot radius, or was there more to it? Could she be flirting with Ian for another reason—perhaps to annoy Valerie? I considered this a more likely scenario. Granted, Ian was nice, but Izzy was engaged. I had known Izzy and Valerie for only a few days, but I could state with almost certainty that there was more than a healthy dislike between them. My mind trailed off momentarily as I attempted to discern the difference between a healthy dislike and an unhealthy one. When did dislike become unhealthy? When knives were employed?

  Of course, there was another person Izzy could be interested in seeing, and that was Gail. But again, why? I wondered if any of Izzy’s odd behavior stemmed from Richard’s paper, or if it was completely unrelated. An ugly thought popped into my brain. Richard had been unfaithful in his marriage to Alex at least once. Izzy was a professional flirt. Could there have been something between them? Could that be the motive for Izzy’s interest in seeing the family? But again, even if Izzy had had an affair with Richard, why would she want to tell his family? It made no sense. Actually, none of the events over the last few days made sense. I said as much to Aunt Winnie.

  “You’re wrong,” she replied, shaking her head. “It makes sense to someone. We just need to figure out who. Once we know that, we’ll be able to figure out the rest.”

  “Oh, well, if that’s all we need to do, then it’ll be a snap.” I snapped my fingers to illustrate the sentiment, adding, “Thanks, I feel much better.”

  Aunt Winnie regarded me with the charged silence that is usually a precursor to snark. Sure enough, within seconds, she asked with deceptive politeness, “Elizabeth, dear, do you know why donkeys don’t go to school?”

  “No, but do tell,” I replied with equal politeness.

  “Because nobody likes a smart-ass.”

  I pretended to consider the answer. “So you prefer a dumb-ass? Really? I think I’m going to have to respectfully disagree with you on this one. Dumb-asses are annoying.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, Aunt Winnie?”

  “Shut up.”

  I laughed. “Yes, Aunt Winnie.”

  * * *

  WE HAD JUST SETTLED ourselves at a table at the hotel bar when Cora and Izzy arrived. Once again, Izzy looked stunning in a snug-fitting blue cashmere jersey dress and cream-colored suede boots. The stress of the last few days had left no mark on her face; if anything, she looked even more stunning than when I first met her. She practically glowed. By comparison, Cora looked far less polished. Her green wrap dress was not only wrinkled but did nothing for her sallow complexion. Her hair, which was of a triangular shape to begin with, now resembled something the ancient Egyptians might have built. Whether this was due to the humidity, neglect, or design wasn’t clear.

  “So how was it?” Izzy asked us as she slid into a chair next to me. “Was it weird?”

  “W
eird isn’t the word,” I said after brief consideration. “Valerie sang the first verse of ‘My Way’ as a kind of tribute to Richard.”

  Izzy’s mouth formed into a crimson O.

  “She did not,” Cora said, her eyes wide.

  “Oh, yes, she did,” I replied. “If it had been a fight, they would have stopped it.”

  “What else happened?” Izzy asked. “Did they talk about his death at all?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. Everything focused more on his past accomplishments. A lot of talk focused on his paper and whether or not it should still be presented. Valerie basically strong-armed Alex into agreeing to deliver it.”

  Cora sighed. “I wish to God I never heard about that stupid paper. I wish to God that I hadn’t picked a fight with Richard. And I wish to God he wasn’t dead. I’m heartily ashamed of myself.”

  Aunt Winnie leaned over and patted her hand. “I know, honey. But just because you fought with someone who was subsequently killed doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person. Richard Baines annoyed a lot of people in his short life. Had he lived, I’m sure he’d have gone on to annoy even more.”

  “Aunt Winnie!” I exclaimed with some surprise.

  She waved away my protestations with a flick of her wrist. “Oh, please, let’s not pretend. The man was a pompous ass, not to mention a philandering ass. I’m sure he was an ass in other ways, too, I just don’t know what they are right now. I’m not saying that he deserved to die,” she amended, seeing my appalled expression, “far from it. But I’m not going to suddenly sugarcoat his life.”

  Izzy leaned forward. “What do you mean ‘philandering’?” she asked, her expression curious. “Do you mean his affair with Alex?”