Creative Matchmaker (The Inscrutable Paris Beaufont Book 6)

by Sarah Noffke

  The other gentleman’s eyes flicked up, an edge of stress in them as he puffed on the cigar, getting it lit. He blew out a puff of smoke and nodded at the train conductor, seeming to dismiss him. Without another word, Peter strode back the way he’d come.

  “A nice man, he is,” the countess said.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Thomas sipped from one of the two glasses of whiskey in front of him.

  “Oh, you don’t like anyone, do you,” Jessabelle stated tersely.

  “What’s there to like?” Thomas puffed on his cigar and swirled the whiskey in his glass.

  “Really, you’re infuriating. I could strangle you,” the countess said, standing at once and marching out of the car, not having taken a single drink of her martini.

  Thomas laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. He looked about to take another drink when his eyes bulged, and the cigar fell from his hand. He then dropped the glass, making it clatter onto the table in front of him, and fell to the side, stiff as a board, toppling to the floor—dead.

  King Rudolf clapped as if this had all been a show. “Now it begins.”

  “What begins?” Paris asked, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at the dead man before them, lying on the carpet of the train charging along.

  “Our game,” King Rudolf stated victoriously. “There’s been a muuuurder! It’s our job to solve it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Solve it?” Paris ran her gaze over the man stretched out beside them. “That’s the game? To solve the murder? Does that mean that Thomas Cheetah isn’t really dead?”

  “Oh, he is, and it sounds like he deserved it and was loathed by many, which will make our jobs more difficult, by design,” Rudolf stated. “To get off this train, we have to figure out who done it and exactly how and why. Only then will the Mystery Train stop. and we’ll find Tiffer.”

  “What a strange game.” Paris wasn’t as repulsed by the sight of the dead body as she thought. “Is it always a murder mystery that has to be solved to find Tiffer?”

  Rudolf nodded, leaning down to inspect the body.

  Paris picked up a napkin from their table and used it to pick up the still smoking cigar, afraid that it was about to start a fire. She blotted out the ash on the carpet and put the cigar in a tray on Thomas and Jessabelle’s dining table. “So when you said that you couldn’t explain the game because it was complicated, you couldn’t simply say, there will be a murder, and we have to solve it?”

  Leaning his head to the side, the king of the fae studied Thomas. “If I told you that, you would have been on edge. Most don’t react well when they know someone is about to be murdered. I told you to pay attention, and I hope you did. They presented us with everything we need to solve this murder.”

  She studied the two glasses of whiskey on the table beside Jessabelle’s untouched martini. “So much happened at once. It seems that everyone hated Thomas. I’m no coroner. How do we know what the cause of death is?”

  “We don’t.” Rudolf stood. “There are forensic spells we can do, but they’ll take time to lead us to the cause of death. Even then, we have to know who did it and, more importantly, why.”

  “What if we don’t figure that out?” Paris watched the green scenery continue to streak by the train window outside.

  “Then we won’t get off the Mystery Train.” Rudolf rhythmically flicked his hands. Paris guessed he was performing the forensic spell to find information on the cause of death. “One time, I spent the better part of a year on this train. That was my first time trying to locate Tiffer and pretty much the reason I put a hit on her.”

  Paris nodded, gulping down the tension in her throat. “I can kind of understand why you wanted to kill her now.”

  He chuckled. “I was alone then and didn’t have your keen eyes to help. Oh, and I was sober, which we both know isn’t when I think best.”

  “I hope it doesn’t take us long to solve this murder.” Paris looked around the dining car for any clues. “The fairies at FGA and the college are suffering, and I need to save them.”

  “You will,” Rudolf stated with confidence as the train doors on either side of the car slid back. Having been alerted by the fae yelling, “There’s been a murder!” the others had come running. From one end, Peter Peterson and Ronald Whittaker entered, halting in shock at the sight of the dead man on the floor. On the other side of the car, Brittany Jenkins and Countess Jessabelle Fairweather entered, also stopping at once. The waitress covered her mouth as a scream ripped from her lips.

  Rudolf glanced at Paris. “While we wait for forensics to come back, the most important work of our detective case begins. It’s our job to question these suspects.” He looked back and forth between the two men and the two women on either side of the car—shock heavy on their faces. “One of these people here is our murderer, and it’s our job to find out who it is and why they wanted Thomas Cheetah dead.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “I didn’t kill him.” Countess Jessabelle Fairweather strode back and forth in the open train car, another long cigarette in a white holder in her shaking hand.

  Not wanting to disturb the corpse and also not wanting to stare at a dead man’s body, Paris and Rudolf had moved the interviews to a neighboring train car. This one was open with chairs against either side of the windows where the scenery hadn’t changed outside still.

  “That’s exactly what the murderer would say.” King Rudolf sat casually in one of the seats, his legs crossed as he watched the countess’ frantic movements.

  Paris sat beside him, taking in all the nonverbal cues from the first suspect they were questioning. They’d sequestered the others to the first car where they were sitting in silence when Paris and Rudolf had left them.

  “I’m not a murderer,” Countess Fairweather argued, offense heavy on her face as she continued to stomp back and forth, her black high heels leaving small impressions in the plush carpet as she walked.

  “That’s for us to decide.” Rudolf picked up his fresh glass of cognac.

  “How did you know the victim?” Paris asked.

  “We were friends,” Jessabelle answered at once, blowing out a plume of smoke.

  “Friends?” Rudolf argued, arching a discerning eyebrow at the woman. “When we saw you in the train car, you and Thomas Cheetah were arguing, were you not?”

  Halting, Jessabelle threw her hands up. “Well, yes, but…”

  “I believe the last thing you said to Thomas was, ‘I want to strangle you,” Paris remarked, remembering the scene vividly.

  “That’s right.” Rudolf nodded at her. “If that doesn’t sound like a threat of murder, I don’t know what does.”

  Countess Fairweather gawked at them, laughing. “Oh, come on. That’s an expression. I didn’t want Thomas dead. I wouldn’t dirty my hands on that man’s neck.”

  “So you’re not upset that he’s dead, then?” King Rudolf questioned. “Because if you’re friends, well, I’d be sad if one of my friends died.”

  “Of course I’m upset,” the countess argued. “I’m in shock, can’t you see? Thomas was always trying to get under my skin. He was an infuriating man, but I didn’t want him dead.”

  “What were you two arguing about right before he died?” Paris asked.

  “Oh, that was nothing.” The countess waved dismissively.

  “We’ll be the judge of that,” Rudolf stated with confidence.

  She sighed dramatically. “Thomas and I are both art collectors. I have an extensive collection, and I’m always on the hunt for a prized piece to add. Recently, Thomas and I were at an art auction, and he kept driving up the bid for a painting.”

  The countess’s lips pinched together, and heat flared on her face. “He didn’t want that piece. I know it. The painting was Rococo, and I know with certainty that Thomas didn’t like that style of art. He outbid me to make me crazy.”

  “Why would he do that?” Paris questioned.

  “That was what Thomas did,” s
he answered. “He wasn’t happy unless he was cheating someone or taking something that belonged to them. He was an awful man.”

  “Also not a way that I would describe a friend.” Rudolf took a drink.

  “Fine, we weren’t friends,” the countess admitted. “We competed for the best art. We ran in the same circles. We often found ourselves in the same places.”

  “So, as the old phrase goes, you kept your friends close and Thomas, your enemy closer,” King Rudolf observed.

  A disingenuous smile flicked to Jessabelle’s mouth. “You know all too well as a king that powerful people can’t afford not to keep an eye on their enemies. If I took my eye off Thomas, that’s when he’d swoop in and steal the best art pieces.”

  “It sounds like he had, outbidding you at the auction,” Paris suggested. “What were you trying to get Thomas to do when you were arguing?”

  “Give me the painting, of course,” she answered. “He didn’t want it. I was willing to trade one of my statues for it. I know how Thomas loves his Roman statues, all clogging up his family’s estate.”

  “If you wanted the painting so badly, why didn’t you outbid Thomas?” Rudolf asked.

  Hesitation flickered in the countess’ large brown eyes. “The Fairweathers have fallen on hard times. Our empire isn’t as wealthy as it once was and Thomas knew that.”

  “So you couldn’t afford to outbid him, then,” Rudolf guessed.

  Jessabelle shook her head, her black curls falling over the side of her face, covering up the shame. “That stubborn man knew it, and he didn’t want the painting. He didn’t want me to have it.”

  “So you killed him for revenge!” Rudolf exclaimed victoriously.

  She gasped, covering her mouth. “Of course I didn’t. I would never resort to such things. Who you need to be questioning is Ronald Whittaker.”

  “Why?” Paris noticed the glint of mischief rise in Jessabelle’s eyes.

  “He was Thomas’ business partner,” she answered. “If anyone could have benefited from his death, it would be Ronald.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “How did you know the victim?” Paris sat across the train car from Ronald Whittaker, the second suspect for them to question.

  Unlike the countess, Ronald seemed much more at ease, lounging back in a chair, his tan loafer resting on his knee. “That old chap and I’ve been business partners for the last year.”

  “Business partners?” Rudolf questioned, standing and striding back and forth in the train car much as Jessabelle had done. However, his demeanor was scrutinizing as he worked out the clues.

  “We’d started a company together,” Ronald answered. “A real estate venture. We both had a fifty percent stake in the investment, and it was doing quite well thanks to my genius decision making.”

  King Rudolf glanced at Paris with a calculating expression. She thought she knew what he was thinking right then. However, he could as easily be deciding that he wanted a peanut butter sandwich. It was hard to tell with the fae.

  “With Thomas dead, the company will now be one hundred percent yours?” Paris guessed.

  Ronald nodded. “Naturally. That was the agreement we had set up.”

  “So you benefit from Thomas’s death,” King Rudolf accused, pointing at Ronald, who didn’t appear flustered.

  “Oh, I bet that’s what Countess Fairweather said, didn’t she?” he asked, annoyance on his face. “You can’t believe a thing that woman says.” He laughed rudely. “Fairweather is the perfect name for her because when she wants something, she’ll be all nice to you. As soon as she gets what she wants, she’ll cut your throat and not think twice about it.”

  What Ronald was saying didn’t sound far off from the truth, Paris thought. Jessabelle had admitted to keeping her friends close and her enemies closer. It seemed that she was using Thomas.

  “What motive would the countess have for killing Thomas?” Paris asked. “They didn’t appear to like each other very much, but that seems to be common rivalry.”

  Another chuckle popped out of Ronald’s mouth. He still seemed inebriated from earlier. “People kill others for a lot less than a common rivalry, but that’s putting it mildly. The countess hated Thomas Cheetah. He was always outbidding her at art auctions, knowing that she couldn’t pay the high prices he could. I mean, despite some of his faulty decisions, our company was starting to rake in the dough. However, Thomas’ considerable family inheritance gave him a rather large spending budget for silly artwork.”

  Ronald shook his head. “I mean, really. Two seemingly reasonable people wasting their money on art. It’s absurd.”

  “Do you think the countess murdered Thomas out of anger and tired of being humiliated at auctions and losing to him?” Rudolf speculated.

  “No, chap, I don’t,” Ronald answered at once. “I think she murdered him for that frilly Rococo painting she was obsessed with.”

  “Yes, but Thomas won the bid at auction,” Paris countered.

  He narrowed his judgmental eyes at her. “Oh, have you never been to an art auction and don’t know how it works?”

  “Shockingly, I haven’t spent much time hobnobbing with snobs at art auctions,” Paris said dryly, not sure if she disliked Ronald or Jessabelle more.

  “Yes, you don’t seem the type.” Ronald ran his snooty gaze over Paris, obvious disapproval in his expression. “If you were familiar with how art auctions work, you’d know that if something happens to the top bidder before they finalize the paperwork, the prized artwork goes to the runner up.”

  “So Countess Fairweather will now get the painting,” Rudolf guessed, striding back and forth again, excitement in his voice.

  “Exactly, chap,” Ronald stated. “Thomas was poisoned. Who was sitting with him and had access to his drink?”

  “We’re not sure how he was murdered yet,” Paris stated.

  “You laid your drink down next to Thomas’.” Rudolf halted, narrowing his eyes at the man before him. “You could have switched the drinks. They were both whiskeys.”

  Ronald laughed as if this was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Thomas might make many questionable decisions, but he knew how to drink right. We both preferred whiskey as our drink of choice.”

  Paris tilted her head speculatively. “You didn’t much care for Thomas, did you?”

  “I think you’ll find that no one liked the man,” Ronald answered matter-of-factly. “Many referred to him as Thomas Cheater because he’d do whatever it took to win, profit or get the upper hand.”

  “Then why would you go into business with such a man?” Rudolf questioned.

  “Simple,” Ronald chirped. “Thomas was loaded. Our business required capital.”

  “And you didn’t have enough money to fund it on your own,” Paris guessed.

  “So you switched your drink with Thomas’, thereby poisoning him,” Rudolf speculated, combing his hand over his chin. “Now, with him out of the picture, the company is all yours.”

  “I’d had a drink from that whiskey before I entered the train car,” Ronald argued. “I had quite a bit to drink and left to take a nap.”

  “But you didn’t take a nap,” Paris observed. “Why is that?”

  “Because I ran into Peter Peterson and he was trying to sell me on a new business venture,” Ronald explained. “Now that’s a man with a good head on his shoulders. He’d make good business choices, basing the decision on reason rather than greed. Alas, I had to turn the chap down.”

  “Why is that?” Rudolf questioned.

  “Well, he doesn’t have the capital,” Ronald answered. “He has the ideas and the drive, but I’d be funding the whole thing. Poor guy works nonstop to make ends meet. When his parents passed, they didn’t leave him a single dime. I mean, they gave him that awful name Peter Peterson, then they died and gave all their fortune to their younger son.

  “According to Peter, his brother is a real ingrate, squandering the family fortune. Anyway, unfortunately,
I had to turn Peter down. A real shame too. I’d like to work with him. Not a single time I haven’t seen him smiling. He knows customer service, treating all of us with such kindness.”

  Paris nodded, having remembered seeing Peter Peterson present the Cuban cigar to Thomas, knowing he enjoyed such things.

  “You didn’t much like Thomas as your business partner, did you?” she asked, having picked up on several cues that suggested this.

  “Is it that obvious?” Ronald laughed. “He was always making illogical decisions. If he didn’t have deep pockets, I would have never gone into business with him. I planned to buy him out once things took off.”

  “Or kill him and take the company,” Rudolf accused, picking up his tumbler and taking a drink.

  Ronald gritted his teeth. “I didn’t kill Thomas.”

  “You did want the company all to yourself, didn’t you?” Rudolf questioned, and Paris quietly had to commend his style of questioning.

  “Of course. But murder? Come on now,” Ronald argued. “I know it appears I have a motive to kill him, but I wouldn’t risk something like that for money. You know who would, though? Someone motivated by love or rather a scorned heart.”

  “Someone was in love with Thomas?” Rudolf questioned.

  Paris’ eyes widened with a sudden realization. “Brittany Jenkins, the waitress. She and Thomas were together?”

  Ronald laugh. “She wished. No, he was using her, but the broad fell for his act. Now, if someone wanted to kill him, it would be the woman who he dumped.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Apparently too upset by seeing Thomas Cheetah’s dead body, Brittany Jenkins needed time to compose herself before being questioned. After consoling her with a hug, Peter Peterson agreed to interview next—joining Paris and Rudolf in their interrogation train car.

  “How long have you known the victim?” Rudolf asked the train conductor, having resumed his seat.