The Novel Art of Murder

by V. M. Burns

  Nana Jo looked up from typing on her iPad. “I think we need to agree to continue calling her Maria. It’ll be less confusing.” She looked around at each of us, and we nodded.

  I turned to Irma. “Irma, can you see what you can find out from Horace Evans about why he really gave Maria the lead in the Senior Follies?”

  Freddie nodded. “Good idea. Clearly Josephine was far more talented and deserved the lead role.”

  “Josephine has more talent in her baby finger than that shrieking hyena.” Irma coughed.

  “How long has Maria been at Shady Acres?”

  The seniors looked from one to the other.

  “Maybe two months,” Dorothy said.

  “That’s one of the things bothering me.” I looked around. “Remember the other night she said she moved to a new apartment and no one would be able to find her medicine.”

  “Everything is in turmoil.” Nana Jo mocked her accent and dramatic gestures.

  “Well, if she’d only been at Shady Acres for two months, why did she move again?” I looked around.

  Everyone shook their heads.

  “You’re right, Sam. That move was suspicious. Her new unit was bigger with better views than her other one. Ruby Mae wanted that unit.” Dorothy looked angry.

  “I sure did want that one. When Esther Gordon had her stroke and moved into a nursing home, Denise said my name was at the top of the wait list. Next thing I knew, she’d given it to Maria.”

  I looked at Ruby Mae. “Who’s Denise?”

  “Denise Bennett is the property manager. Want me to take that one? I’d like to find out what’s up with that,” Ruby Mae said with a firm conviction that left no doubt. Denise Bennett would have to answer for a number of things.

  “Great. Now, does anyone know where Maria lived before she came to Shady Acres?” I asked.

  Freddie put his glasses on again and looked through his notes. “Mark didn’t say, but I can find out for you.” He pulled out a pencil and took notes.

  “What do you want me to do?” Dorothy asked.

  “Someone said they saw Nana Jo leaving Maria’s room. I was hoping you could find out who and what else they saw.”

  Dorothy nodded. “Sure thing. If they saw Josephine, maybe they saw the killer too.”

  “Or maybe they are the killer and want to throw suspicion on someone else,” I said.

  “Good point,” Dorothy agreed. “I’ll be careful.”

  I looked around at our group. “Actually, I think all of you can casually talk to the other residents. Someone is bound to have seen or heard something.”

  They nodded.

  “What do you want me to do?” Nana Jo looked up from her typing.

  I had been dreading this moment. I looked down. “I would prefer if you stayed out of it.”

  Nana Jo frowned. “You have got to be kidding. I’m the one here with the most at stake. There’s no way in tarnation I’m going to sit back and do nothing while you all investigate and figure out who murdered that silly woman.”

  Freddie squeezed her hand. “She’s just trying to protect you.”

  “Well stop it. I’m a grown woman and I can darn well take care of myself.”

  Freddie was right. I wanted to protect my grandmother, but when I was in her position, I didn’t sit still either. So, I sighed. “Okay. I was afraid you’d say that. Actually, there are two things you can help with.”

  Nana Jo picked up her iPad. “Fire away.”

  “Are you still friends with the reference librarian from MISU?”

  Nana Jo shot a quick glance at Freddie and then nodded. Apparently, Freddie didn’t know about one of her old flames, Elliott Lawson.

  “I’d like to know more about Maria’s background. Does she have any children, siblings? How was she able to pass herself off as a descendant of Russian royalty?”

  Nana Jo nodded. “Got it.” She typed. “What’s the other thing?”

  “I want to know if Maria really did have a bad heart. If she did, who else knew about it?”

  Nana Jo looked skeptical. “She certainly complained about her heart and her delicate constitution enough.”

  “Did she have any friends?”

  Nana Jo and the girls looked at each other.

  “She talked to Magnus a lot,” Nana Jo added. “I don’t know if I’d call them friends, but she certainly spent more time with him than just about anyone else. I’ll talk to him.”

  Ruby Mae looked thoughtful. “Now that you mention it, I remember seeing her talk to the chef, Gaston.” With Ruby Mae’s southern accent, she pronounced the name like gas town. “He didn’t look happy about whatever she was saying either. I think I’ll have a word with him after I finish talking to Denise Bennett.”

  “Great.” I looked around the table. “Everyone has their assignments.”

  They all nodded. Judge Miller cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but I don’t believe I have an assignment.” He smiled sheepishly. “I’d like to help.”

  “Certainly.” I looked at Judge Miller. “Do you think you could get access to the autopsy and any forensic data the police come up with?”

  Judge Miller nodded. “Certainly.”

  “What will you do?” Nana Jo asked.

  “I’m going to have a word with Detective Pitt. I’ve got a proposition for him.”

  Chapter 9

  We enjoyed a delicious dinner and left the restaurant with our assignments and a plan to meet the next evening for dessert at the River Bend Chocolate Factory. I’d hoped to convince Nana Jo to stay with me, but she said she’d get more done if she were “closer to the action.” Freddie saw my concern and before he left, he whispered in my ear a promise to keep a close eye on her. I thanked him but knew he wouldn’t be able to be with her the entire time. My head knew she was tough and able to take care of herself, but my heart ached.

  I said goodbye to Frank, who apologized for not being able to spend more time with me. We made plans to have dinner Monday night.

  The wind was brisk, and I was thankful I didn’t have far to walk to get home. Inside, I let the poodles out to take care of business and then went upstairs. I washed off my makeup and put on a pair of sweats. I brewed a cup of tea and went to my bedroom. The poodles climbed in their beds and curled into balls. I noticed again how white their muzzles had gotten. In the corner of the room was a large basket full of stuffed toys in various stages of disrepair. I couldn’t remember the last time Oreo and I had played a good game of tug-of-war. Snickers had never been particularly fond of the game, preferring a rousing round of fetch instead. I’d been really busy with the bookstore and our excursions to the dog park had been rare lately. I did a little mental calculation and realized that at twelve and fourteen, they were old. I made a mental note to schedule an appointment with their vet for a checkup. I couldn’t imagine life without them and got weepy at the thought.

  I shook myself. “I’ve cried enough today.” I spoke the words aloud to clear the gloom out of my head and provide something audible and real to drag me out of the sad funk I felt closing in. Between my mom and my grandmother, the last thing I needed was anything else to stress about. I decided to lose myself in 1938 Great Britain.

  “I think this is my favorite room in Chartwell House.” Lady Elizabeth stared out of one of the seven round-headed windows that overlooked the sloping landscape. The dining room was simple. White walls, green curtains, glazed chintz, a large round seventeenth-century unstained oak table and rush matting created a room that was comfortable and elegantly simple.

  “It is a nice room.” Clementine Churchill looked around the room. “Winston got architect Phillip Tilden to renovate the house before we moved in. It was a wreck.” She looked out the window. “The house was constructed on the side of a steep hill, which created a lot of levels. I think I would have preferred to have the dining room up a level so the view looked over the grounds. Tilden and Winston wanted it on the same level as the garden.” Clementine frowned.

 
“The windows let in a lot of natural light.” Lady Elizabeth tilted her head toward one of the windows, which went from the floor to ceiling.

  Mrs. Churchill scowled. “It fades the floors awfully.”

  Lady Elizabeth was about to comment when Randolph Churchill entered the room accompanied by a woman who looked as though she’d stepped off an East London stage.

  Lady Elizabeth whispered, “Is that Randolph’s fi-ancée?”

  Mrs. Churchill frowned. “I don’t know that he’s actually engaged, but I suspect that’s why he’s brought her here. I only hope he doesn’t ruin things.”

  “She certainly looks . . . glamorous.” Lady Elizabeth kept her voice neutral, careful not to allow any hint of disapproval to ring through.

  Mrs. Churchill sniffed. “If by glamorous you mean common and tarted up, then yes, she is definitely glamorous.”

  Randolph grabbed a drink from a passing footman and tossed it back as though he was taking medication, placed the empty glass on the tray, and grabbed another within seconds. If his eyes were any indication, he’d already had several drinks before coming down to dinner. He looked up and apparently noticed the look of distaste on his mother’s face. He smiled, raised his glass in salute, and then downed that glass as quickly as the first.

  Mrs. Churchill huffed. “Obviously, my son is intent on embarrassing me.” She looked around for Winston, who was standing in a corner talking to Lord William, Leopold Amery, and Lord William Forbes-Stemphill. “I only hope he doesn’t upset Winston.”

  Lady Elizabeth focused her attention on Randolph’s escort. She was almost as tall as Randolph. Her hair was a glossy raven-black shade that nature could never produce. She wore a bright red, strapless mermaid gown that fit her body like a mummy wrap until the bottom, where it flared out into a cascade of ruffles. Her face was very white, with pencil-drawn brows and bright red lipstick. The hair, makeup, and dress were a bit much for dinner at a country house party, but what really took the outfit over the top was the bright red boa she had draped around her shoulders.

  Daphne and James stood nearby and the contrast was like night and day. Daphne looked elegant and beautiful in a gold lamé gown purchased from French designer Madeleine Vionnet. The gown had a shimmering gold lamé halter design with a black gossamer overlay with velvet appliqués in the shape of bows. Soft golden waves framed her face, while the rest of her hair was pulled into a chignon. She looked stunning and Lady Elizabeth smiled as she looked at her. Daphne was her niece, but she’d raised her since she was a baby and couldn’t help but look upon her and her sister, Penelope, as the children she never had.

  Lady Alistair was the last to join the group. She wore an elegant hunter-green velvet gown with matching gloves, shoes, and jewels. Her gown was trimmed in green fur around the neck and cuffs. Her hair and makeup were flawless and she looked stylish and elegant.

  James escorted Daphne to his mother’s side. He kissed his mother’s cheek and appeared to introduce Daphne to his mother.

  A slight pink flush crept into Daphne’s face, which looked apologetic and beautiful.

  From where Lady Elizabeth stood, Lady Alistair’s greeting seemed reserved and cool.

  Thompkins announced dinner and the party moved to sit at the round table.

  Lady Elizabeth noticed Lady Alistair took James by the arm and pulled him forward to escort her to the table. James glanced around at Daphne, who fell back a few paces. Apparently, all was not forgiven.

  The round dining table had several extensions which were all in place to accommodate the large party.

  Lady Elizabeth sat between Clementine Churchill and Daphne. Lady Alistair found two seats opposite Daphne. Randolph sat next to his father, which caused Mrs. Churchill to sigh when she noticed.

  Lady Elizabeth leaned toward her friend. “Weren’t there a couple of others here?”

  Mrs. Church nodded. “Guy Burgess and Anthony Blunt. Apparently, they’re old friends from Cambridge and begged off dinner tonight.” She stared down the table at her son, who had finished his champagne and was getting a refill. “I suspect Mr. Burgess was just demonstrating good manners since he hadn’t been invited. I wish my son had learned that lesson about showing up uninvited.”

  Winston was an intelligent man with a gift for oration. When he wanted to, he had the power to hold a room in the palm of his hand as he told tales of everything from ancient Rome to neighborhood tomcats. Tonight was not one of those nights. Winston sat quiet and sullen, answering questions when asked directly but not initiating conversation. His mood filled the room like a blanket.

  Randolph continued to drink, eventually giving up the pretense of eating and sat drinking a bottle of scotch he had one of the servers bring him. He seemed to be deliberately stoking the flames.

  Everyone felt the strain in the air and endeavored to eat as quickly and quietly as possible. A storm was brewing.

  Daphne looked as though she would like nothing better than to run upstairs and cry but was putting on a brave face. Then, Lady Elizabeth turned to Mrs. Churchill, whose face waffled between pity when she looked at her husband to disdain and contempt when she looked at her son. Lady Elizabeth hoped for both their sakes the meal would end without a scene, but alas that was not to be.

  As the dessert course was served and it appeared the end was in sight, the shoe fell.

  Randolph turned to his father. “Papa, you haven’t said one word about my lovely guest.” He picked up Jessica’s hand and kissed it. “Isn’t she lovely?”

  Winston stared at his son and then inclined his head the slightest bit.

  Jessica giggled and pulled her hand away. “Oh, Randolph, you’re such a card. You shouldn’t put your father on the spot like that.”

  “Oh, he’s accustomed to being ‘put on the spot,’ as you say. Isn’t that right, Papa?”

  Winston refused to rise to the bait but sat fuming like a teapot on a flame, ready to blow.

  “Randolph, that’s enough,” Mrs. Churchill practically spat the words, which fanned the flames.

  He leaned across the table to address Leopold Amery, upsetting the silverware and knocking over a glass of water in the process. “Mama doesn’t like it when anyone upsets the great man, but with the opening of Parliament and no positions of importance being offered, how great is he really?”

  That was the last straw. Winston stood up and banged his hand on the table, knocking over glasses. He grabbed a cigar out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth and then turned and stormed out of the room.

  Randolph laughed. “Was it something I said?”

  Chapter 10

  Monday morning, I got up, dressed, and performed the rest of my morning routine on automatic pilot. My brain was occupied with the plan I’d formulated the previous night. In the shower, while I dressed and ate breakfast, I rehearsed what I would say to Detective Pitt. Before leaving the restaurant the previous night, I had arranged for Nana Jo to cover at the bookstore so I could go to the police station this morning.

  Nana Jo arrived early and Snickers and Oreo heard her coming in long before I’d finished my coffee. I was thankful when they ran down to greet her, knowing she’d let them out before coming upstairs.

  When she did come up, she looked more like herself than she had in the past three days. Since learning she was passed over for the leading role in the Senior Follies, Nana Jo had aged before my eyes. I stared at her closely and noticed the dark circles under her eyes, which she had skillfully concealed with makeup. Apparently, I stared too long.

  “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” Nana Jo poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “Sorry. You okay?”

  She nodded. “I will be as soon as I drink this, but we do need to talk.” She sipped her coffee, put the mug on the counter, and turned to face me. “I know you’re concerned, but I’m fine.”

  I started to protest, but she held up a hand to stop me. “I may not be totally back to normal yet, but I’m on my way. I’ve had a lot of shocks
over the past three days, and I’ll admit, they threw me for a loop, but I’m making progress. I slept last night and that helped. I just need time.” She stared at me. “What I don’t need is a lot of people staring at me and treating me like a daft nitwit.”

  I laughed. “No one would ever take you for a nitwit, but I understand what you’re saying.”

  “Great. Now, what kind of proposition are you planning to make to Stinky Pitt?”

  I avoided going into details about my proposition last night because the idea popped into my head while we were sitting there and I needed to wrap my mind around it. However, after a night of writing and sleep, what started out as a glimmer of an idea had now formed into a full-blown plan.

  I outlined what I planned to Nana Jo. While I talked, her face changed from one of polite inquiry to surprise.

  “Well, hot damn! That takes guts. You definitely take after your Nana Jo. I wish your mother had inherited a fraction of that courage and backbone.”

  Nana Jo’s comments reminded me I hadn’t told her about Mom’s impending nuptials. My lips twitched.

  “What is it? I could use a good laugh.”

  “Well, you may need a stiff drink more than a laugh.” I joked but then told Nana Jo about my lunch with Mom and her upcoming betrothal.

  Surprise didn’t begin to come close to the emotions that crossed Nana Jo’s face. When she was finally able to speak, she asked the one question that had plagued me too. “Well, I’ll be jiggered. Who in tarnation is Harold?”

  * * *

  The North Harbor Police Department was in a large complex, which included the courthouse and jail, and sat on a strip of land between two of the drawbridges which allowed passage over the St. Thomas River between North and South Harbor. Prior to last month, I hadn’t been to the police station for anything other than paying parking tickets. When Dawson was arrested for murder, I spent more time at the police station than I ever wanted. I couldn’t help looking at the video cameras as I approached the metal detectors, which brought up horrible memories of Nana Jo and me on the ground when her iPad set off the metal detectors and the police thought it was a gun. Knowing my grandmother as I did, I was fortunate she hadn’t been carrying her peacemaker that day. Today’s visit was uneventful.