by Beth Byers
“Georgette—” Charles started, but he met her gaze and seemed to see the outraged mother in her.
“We know that they didn’t all kill their friends,” Janey said. “Molly and I heard them arguing amongst themselves. Some of those fellows are very upset about their friends’ deaths. And who could figure out which of them killed their friends but each other?”
Georgette met Janey’s gaze and they nodded together.
“What are you saying?” Charles asked.
“What if we just bring them together,” Georgette suggested. “Lay out the facts and invite them to turn on each other.”
“They won’t,” Eddy said.
“I’d have turned on my chums,” Robert said. “In a moment if I thought that one of them killed another. It’s just…just…bad form.”
“Bad form?” Charles asked, unable to help his flash of humor.
“It’s dishonorable,” Janey added. “I thought honor was a big deal among friends.”
“It is,” Eddy said. “I didn’t go to one of those posh schools those boys went to, but I wouldn’t stand aside and let one of my friends get away with killing another of them.”
Charles sighed as Georgette said, “Let’s get them somewhere together.”
“Where?”
“Here,” Janey said. “Eddy can invite them.”
“They don’t like me,” Eddy said.
“Eddy and I will invite them,” Georgette said, “through Mrs. Bayles. A few comments about Charles looking for a new protégé and some more comments about how I had heard Guy was quite clever.”
Janey laughed and nodded. “She wants him to have a good position, and this house is as nice as theirs. Mrs. Bayles might think that Charles could help her son to a position that would be successful.
“I didn’t buy this home on my own,” Charles told Janey. “Georgette’s books are quite successful, you know.”
“They don’t know that,” Janey shot back.
Charles leaned back and said, “She’d just have to think maybe…”
Georgette smiled that soft smile of hers and not anyone outside their family would realize gentle Georgette was working on a plan to catch a killer, instead of whether they should have roast beef or chicken for Sunday dinner.
constable rogers
These boys weren’t nearly as clever as they imagined. He could just see that smirking Guy Bayles staring him down as Rogers insisted the boys’ rooms needed to be searched. If Mr. Bayles hadn’t ordered his son to stand down, Rogers suspected that Guy Bayles would have demanded an explanation Rogers wasn’t ready to give.
The idea that Justin Alanson might not have killed himself was slowly occurring to the young men, and they had started to eye each other askance. Rogers grinned as he dug through their rooms. The first thing he discovered for certain was that schoolboys were disgusting. One of them had a pile of dirty clothes in his room, but not one change of underwear. Rogers pulled on gloves before he’d reached that discovery, but it didn’t stop him from gagging.
The wallet was right where Janey had said, but Rogers made a few more discoveries along the way, including a stack of reports he was certain Guy Bayles’s parents hadn’t seen. The smug little prick wasn’t going to be so happy when Rogers returned them, not to the boy, but to his parents.
Rogers read the reports with interest and then tucked them away. When Rogers finished with the rooms, he took careful notes and then started down the stairs to explain to Mr. Bayles he was done. He found, however, Georgette Aaron squeezing Mrs. Bayles’s hand. Since neither woman saw him, he waited and heard Georgette offer to give Mrs. Bayles an opportunity for a quiet afternoon while the Aaron family fed the boys their afternoon tea.
The group of schoolboys looked on in horror as Mrs. Bayles accepted the invitation on their behalf.
“It’ll be good for the children to be distracted from their loss,” Georgette said, with a kindness that Constable Rogers was certain belied the fact Mrs. Aaron was up to something.
“And it’ll give me a chance to settle my poor nerves. My telephone has been ringing endlessly as mothers check on their sons. It’s time for them to go home, of course, but the constables insist they stay a little longer.”
“Well, then it’s time for us to share the burden,” Georgette added. “Charles and I are aware, of course, about young men given our Eddy. We must stand together, mustn’t we?”
“And your Charles is looking to hire someone who’s interested in publishing? I’m sure my Guy would be excellent. He’s quite bookish, you know. Top marks at school.”
Georgette nodded and leaned in. “Robert started there while he was still at university. Just on holidays, of course. No desire to get in the way of his education. But it worked out so well with Robert that Charles is ready to find another bookish young man and train them up.”
Constable Rogers’s mouth was hanging open, and he stared in shock as Mrs. Aaron lied through her teeth to get those boys over to her house. Whatever she was up to wasn’t going to be something she did on her own. This is what came of working women. They became more and more independent and never stopped to think they were dabbling in things best left alone.
Constable Rogers started to step forward, but he felt a small hand touch his own and then he closed his eyes in frustration as Janey tugged him down the hall. She pressed her finger over her lips just outside of Mr. Bayles’s office and then brought him into the kitchen.
“Molly said someone left the house the day Justin Alanson died just as she was arriving, right before 7:00 a.m.”
The housekeeper and cook started at Janey’s statement and then again when Janey said, “You were in the kitchen, then weren’t you?”
Mrs. Witham paused, frowning and said, “Yes. Yes I was, but I was hardly paying attention to those boys leaving.”
“Boys?” Constable Rogers asked.
“Well, I heard the boys talking while I was in the cellar and they helped themselves to two breakfast buns each, didn’t they?”
“You only heard two?” he demanded.
Mrs. Witham shrugged. “I don't know. I didn’t really care. Waited them out, so they couldn’t demand bacon or something for their pilfered breakfast.”
“Was one of them Guy?”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Witham snapped. She scowled as she added, “I don’t think so. But maybe.”
“Helpful,” Janey muttered.
“Keep yourself to yourself, little one.” Mrs. Witham shot Janey a dark look. “No airs for the likes of you. You’re just a pet orphan who should be a housemaid.”
Janey didn’t even seem upset, but Constable Rogers snapped, “Enough of that now.”
16
georgette dorothy aaron
If the boys could have killed Georgette with their sullen looks and accusing gazes, she’d have been struck dead before the second boy was let into the parlor. Georgette had little doubt that Guy Bayles attempted to connive his way out of the afternoon, but Mrs. Bayles practically had gold in her vision when they’d discussed a possible position for Guy Bayles. The most ridiculous part of it all was that Robert lived in Harper’s Hollow. His house was in the process of being fixed up, but its state was woeful. He didn’t have an auto of his own, and he was hardly an example of wealth. Mrs. Bayles saw what she wanted to see and that was all there was to it.
“How fun is this?” Georgette asked as she poured each of the boys a cup of tea. Charles and Robert were in the room with them along with Janey, who watched with an eager excitement. She’d gotten a sideways look from more than one of the students.
“Delightful,” Guy replied with clear sarcasm.
“Now,” Georgette replied easily and brightly, “tell me about yourselves.”
She asked them inane questions while they ate every scrap of food they provided. Georgette simply rang the bell and had Eunice bring out another tray of food. Even as they reached for more, they shot Georgette a harsh look.
“Thank you for tea,”
Guy said when they finished the second round. “But—”
Georgette cut him off. “Oh you can’t leave yet.”
Guy started to tell her that they had to leave, but Georgette leaned back and shook her head. The command in her gesture surprised even herself.
“I do have one important question for you boys.”
Guy lifted a sardonic brow and gestured for her to ask as though he was granting her permission.
“It is my understanding that honor is quite important for the British school boy.”
“Of course it is,” Guy snapped. “What kind of question is that?”
“She wants to know why you aren’t trying to find out which one of your friends murdered the other two.” Janey’s piping little girl’s voice had the group of boys spinning on her in shock. The exclamation that came after was enough that Georgette only had to lean back and watch.
Finally Guy snapped, “What are you talking about?”
“Come now,” Georgette said, “two of your friends are dead. Suspiciously.”
“White drowned,” the one named Hyrum Livingston said.
“The star swimmer?” Janey laughed.
“Perhaps it would be easier if we were to lay out the timeline,” Georgette said. “You all met each other at school.”
“We know that,” John Weil snapped. “What business of it is yours?”
“Whereupon you were a group of friends that your teachers described accurately as jackals.”
Guy leaned back in shock at the word, and it was clear he’d heard it time and again. They all had.
Then Hyrum Livingston said, “That’s what Mr. Miranda called us.”
“But you were, weren’t you?” Georgette asked. “You stuck together, didn’t you? Mr. Jasper White said you lorded it over the other boys.” That was pure lies, but the boy didn’t know that, and none of them objected.
“Maybe we weren’t always kind,” Beau Grantley admitted. “That doesn’t mean we killed White or Alanson. Alanson killed himself.”
“Alanson left the Bayles’s house around 7:00 a.m. on the morning he died. He wasn’t alone.”
No one said a word.
So Georgette continued, “Sometime in the next three hours whoever left with him killed him.”
“He killed himself,” Livingston said. “Maybe, if White did get murdered, it was Alanson and he couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Maybe.” Georgette’s tone made it clear she didn’t believe it. One of the boys gasped and then saw Constable Rogers in the room. “Don’t mind the good constable. Did you know that someone left Alanson a note to ‘Keep Quiet’?”
“So?” Bayles snapped.
“Quiet about what?” Georgette asked him.
But no one answered again.
“That same person left a note at your door saying that Alanson had decided to go home.”
“So he went home and then decided he couldn’t handle the guilt,” Guy shot back. “He killed himself instead.”
“There was no boat on the island,” Constable Rogers said matter-of-factly.
“Maybe he swam to the island. We all used to swim with White. We’re all good swimmers.”
“His clothes were dry,” Constable Rogers said.
Guy looked shocked. “They were?”
“His things were taken from your house, but they aren’t anywhere to be found.”
“What?” Guy breathed out low and he looked at the boys he’d known since he was a child. His face was unreadable. Was it the examination of a killer wondering if his friends suspected him? Or the examination of a friend trying to discover which of his friends killed the other two?
“Maybe he was robbed,” Hyrum suggested almost weakly.
“Then who left the note for me?” Guy demanded and then followed it with a snapped, “Idiot.”
“He didn’t leave your house with the intent of going home,” Constable Rogers added, “or he wouldn’t have left his wallet.”
Stark, horrified silence was the constable’s only answer as he slowly pulled out the wallet, unwinding the leather cord that held it closed.
“That’s Alanson’s,” John Weil said. “I’d know it anywhere.”
“It is,” Beau Grantley agreed. His gaze narrowed on it and then he looked up, at his other friends. “If Alanson was murdered, then White was murdered.”
“Why?” Livingston asked.
“Because,” Guy snapped, “it never made sense anyway. Teddy? Teddy drowning? No way.”
The silence was harsh again, but this time it was broken by ragged breathing.
“I don’t believe it,” John Weil said.
“How can you not?” Guy snapped.
“We’re brothers,” John shouted back.
“Cain killed Abel,” Beau Grantley said low and then he laughed, but he didn’t sound amused.
“We aren’t brothers,” Hyrum Livingston squeaked. “We’ve never been brothers.”
His friends stared at him and then Hyrum added, “Jackals was always the right term for us. Even White said so.”
It was Guy who surprised Georgette. He had been her favorite for the killer, but as he looked at her friends, there was anger in his gaze.
“Did one of you kill White and Alanson?”
“Maybe it was you,” John Weil said. “White always said you were the meanest of us.”
“He did,” Guy agreed, “and I am. But I didn’t kill White or Alanson.”
Janey crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at Georgette who tried to shoot her a quelling look.
“Where were you when Alanson left?” It was John Weil who asked the question, and he was eyeing Guy. It seemed that he wasn’t just Georgette’s favorite for the killer.
“I was in my room,” Guy answered. “You know we took my father’s brandy. I slept late, took aspirin, slept later and then found that note.”
“You said you found the note,” Hyrum Livingston squeaked.
“Why would I kill Alanson?” Guy snapped. “I didn’t benefit.”
“You owed him all that money,” Hyrum said. “You owed White too.”
“That was a game,” Grantley said. “It was a crowing prize. Alanson and White never expected actual money. None of us have any.”
“Maybe,” Livingston started.
“I didn’t kill them,” Guy snapped.
“You weren’t sad when Alanson died,” Livingston said. “You made fun of me for being sad.”
“I was angry,” Guy Bayles said. “Teddy White was my best mate and when he died, Justin and I talked about how hard it was. We…we couldn’t believe it. We talked again and again about it and then Alanson kills himself. I wanted him to come back, so I could kill him for leaving too.”
“Sure,” Hyrum said. “You were always jealous of White.”
“I was,” Guy Bayles said. “He didn’t even try to be best at everything. But he was my best mate. I didn’t kill him or Alanson.”
“You didn’t,” Beau Grantley said, nodding and his face was firm. He looked at the other three and said, “There’s no way more than one of us killed White and Alanson. And on the morning White died, Bayles and I were breaking into the headmaster’s office to steal our reports and replace them with the ones we’d written ourselves.”
Jaws dropped and Grantley shrugged. “How else was Mr. Higgins going to pay for my university if I didn’t send a copy of my report with a letter from the headmaster? I wrote it myself using his typewriter in his office.”
“That’s how you got that money for university?” Weil demanded. He paused and said, “I didn’t kill them.” Slowly the friends turned to the remaining Livingston. “You’ve always been a rat, Livingston.”
“You’ve lost a lot of weight since White died,” Guy Bayles said next, gaze narrowed on Livingston. “Been feeling guilty?”
“What? No!” The squeak was back and Hyrum glanced around the room looking for support. “No! I couldn’t lift Alanson to hang him. It couldn’t be me. It had to be on
e of you.”
“You’re strong,” John Weil replied, his gaze narrowing on Livingston. “Maybe the police dolts would buy that nonsense, but we know you. You got second place for the pull-up contest and the rope climbing race. Second place to White. You might be stringy these days, but you’ve still got all that muscle.”
“You hated being second,” Guy said to Livingston. “How many times did you point out White never even tried that hard. You worked and worked and worked and couldn’t get past White or Alanson.”
“And,” John Weil added, standing to cross to the smaller Livingston. “You got White’s scholarship for university. You said you’d figure out a way to get to university, but we all knew you were lying. There wasn’t any rich man to manipulate like Grantley had, and your family is as poor as White’s. There wasn’t anything else. You’d have ended up as a clerk while the rest of us had a chance.”
“I didn’t,” Hyrum said, but he was crying now, and even Georgette didn’t believe him. His eyes were darting about, looking for an escape, and his tone had turned into a pleading, squeaking whine. “I didn’t. You have to believe me.”
“But we don’t,” Guy Bayles added. “You were rooming with Alanson. Did you ask him where he was going when he left the other day? Did you follow him? Alanson always said you were dead weight. I agreed, but White stuck up for you.”
“You know I sleep like a rock,” Livingston replied. “I didn’t know he was leaving. Guys…guys…it wasn’t me. It wasn’t!”
“I knocked on the door for breakfast,” Weil added. “I knocked and you weren’t in there.”
“But,” Livingston cried. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
John Weil had been watching and he glanced at Guy who said, “You know, maybe it doesn’t. You know what is interesting, though? That box of sweets from your mother right before White died. Didn’t you eat some, Weil?”
“I did,” Weil said. “I was sick all night. What did you put in them?”
