The Novel Art of Murder

by V. M. Burns

  They all nodded.

  “But Detective Pitt said he never married and didn’t have any children.” I looked around.

  “You think he was lying about why he was here?” Freddie asked.

  I shrugged. “It sure looks that way, but I can’t figure out why. Why not just say, I wanted to be closer to Lake Michigan? I like the town? Heck, he could have said he pulled the name out of a hat. No one would have cared.”

  Dorothy nodded. “Good point.”

  “Maybe Irma will know,” Ruby Mae added. “Looks like she and Magnus were pretty cozy.”

  Nana Jo shook her head. “Irma gets cozy with a lot of men.”

  “Maybe, but she looked upset,” I said. “I think Ruby Mae’s right.”

  “So, we’re all on the same page in thinking both people were murdered?” Dorothy asked.

  I looked around the table. Everyone nodded.

  “Then we need to find out all we can about Magnus and any connections between him and Maria.”

  “Did you notice those paintings in his room?” I looked at Nana Jo.

  She nodded.

  “I’m no art specialist, but they looked expensive.” I sipped my coffee. “Not too many people can afford expensive art.”

  “Dorothy, does your sister still own that art gallery?” Nana Jo asked.

  Dorothy nodded. “Yes, but how—”

  Nana Jo pulled out her cell phone. “I took some pictures of the art. I’m sending them to you now.” She made a few swipes. “In fact, I’m sending them to all of you. Never know who may need it.”

  We nodded.

  “Freddie, can you and the judge work on finding out as much as you can about Magnus von Braun?” I must have looked nervous.

  He smiled. “Don’t worry, Sam. I can be objective. I know how to keep my personal feelings about Nazis under control.”

  Nana Jo patted his hand.

  “Nana Jo, I need you to get your reference librarian working on that photo of von Braun with Hitler.”

  “Sure, but what am I looking for? That photo was taken a long time ago.”

  “True, but the feelings and emotions from World War II run deep.” I tried not to look at Freddie. “Maybe there’s someone here who saw the picture on his dresser and wanted revenge?”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’ll see what Elli . . . ah, my friend can come up with.”

  “Can we stop dancing around this and just call Elliot by his name?” Freddie looked at Nana Jo. “I’ve known Elliot Lawson for years. He’s a blooming idiot.” He sipped his coffee. “Glad your taste in suitors has improved.”

  Nana Jo swatted his arm playfully. “You’ve known all this time and never said anything?”

  Freddie grinned. “Maybe I was waiting on you to say something.”

  I looked at the two of them and smiled. They would be okay.

  I turned to Ruby Mae. “When you’re talking to Denise Bennett, see what she knows about Magnus von Braun.”

  Ruby Mae nodded. “I’m good friends with the lady who lives across the hall from Magnus. I’ll see what she can tell me.”

  I nodded. “I’m going to invite Detective Pitt to tea.”

  They looked at me as though they were waiting for the punch line in a joke.

  “I want to see his notes and get what information he has about the causes of death for Magnus and Maria.”

  “I’m pretty good friends with one of the security guards, Larry Barlow,” Freddie said. “Larry used to be a cop in New Buffalo. He owes me a favor. If I can get to him before Detective Pitt, I’m sure he’ll make a copy of the footage from the security cameras.”

  I nodded. “Great.”

  Freddie got up and walked out of the dining room to get to his friend before he gave away the security footage. He returned quickly. “He’ll have our copies in less than twenty minutes.”

  “Everyone has their assignments.” I looked around.

  They nodded, but there was a feeling of sadness and gloom over the crowd.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.” I tried to sound encouraging, but the glumness had started to reach toward me. “What’s wrong?”

  “I guess the reality of this mess has finally settled on us,” Nana Jo said. “I’ve been so busy thinking about myself and clearing my name, I hadn’t thought about what Maria’s murder and now Magnus’s murder really mean.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “This is a murder investigation. Two people we all knew are dead.” Ruby Mae shivered. “We may not have liked them, but we knew them.”

  “The main gates and the doors at Shady Acres are locked after nine. Whoever murdered Maria and Magnus had to be in the building before nine,” Freddie explained.

  “That makes the pool of murderers a lot smaller,” I said.

  Freddie looked grim and got very silent.

  Nana Jo squeezed his hand. “Unfortunately, it means the murderer is also someone we know.”

  The reality finally hit me. They were worried about not only the two people who were murdered, but the murderer. Whoever killed Maria and Magnus was part of their community. Shady Acres wasn’t just a sterile retirement community. It was their home, and the people who lived and worked there were family. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  We talked a bit longer, but I didn’t stay long. I still needed to shower and get ready to open the store. Before I left, I tracked down Detective Pitt and invited him to come by the store around four. I promised him tea and one of the cranberry orange scones Dawson whipped up yesterday. I could tell by the look on his face he wasn’t thrilled, but I knew the scone would entice him. I suspected, while Detective Pitt might need our help, he wasn’t thrilled about not being 100 percent in control. Next time, I’d make sure he felt like it was his idea.

  Nana Jo and I drove home and hurried to get ready for the first customers. As a new business owner, I had a lot to learn. Customer service, marketing, sales, advertising, and legal concerns were big components of running a business. I’d read tons of books and attended workshops galore. However, forecasting sales was still a challenge. I didn’t know how many customers to expect the week before or the day after a holiday. For some reason, I expected low volume before the holiday. I supposed I thought people would be getting ready to cook or travel home for the holidays. When I was a teacher, the week before Thanksgiving was spent wrapping things up and getting ready for break. The volume of customers in the store today was larger than I expected and Nana Jo and I were busy.

  Jillian arrived a little after noon. I barely had time to acknowledge her presence before another wave of customers arrived. When I pulled my head out of the shelves long enough to think, Jillian was running the cash register.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but you were helping a customer and Mrs. Thomas was busy taking care of the delivery truck, and there was a line,” Jillian explained as she deftly checked out customers.

  “Of course not. Thank you so much.”

  She smiled. “My pleasure.”

  We worked nonstop for the next two hours. Jillian read mysteries, but she wasn’t as knowledgeable as Nana Jo and I. However, she excelled at customer service and was a very hard worker.

  “You’re amazing. Thank you so much for helping out. I don’t know what we would have done without you,” I said.

  Jillian smiled. “I had fun. My first job was working at Robertson’s Department Store during the Christmas season.”

  Robertson’s was a family-owned department store.

  “Plus, I waitress during breaks.”

  “I intend to pay you for today.”

  She protested, but I was adamant.

  “Maybe we could come up with a trade.” She wiped the counter and avoided eye contact.

  “What kind of trade?”

  “Can we talk?” she asked softly.

  “Of course.”

  We made our way to the back of the store and sat down at a table in a corner. Once we were seated, Jillian looked at everythin
g except my face.

  I reached out and touched her hand. “Is anything wrong?”

  She took a deep breath. “Not wrong. Not exactly. It’s just, well . . . Emma and I and a few of the kids from school have started reading mysteries and we thought it would be nice if we could maybe meet and have a book club, like the Sleuthing Seniors.”

  The Sleuthing Seniors was the mystery book club Nana Jo and the girls started earlier this year.

  “Certainly. Just tell me what day and time you want to meet,” I said. “But, I don’t think that’s what you really wanted to talk about. Is it?”

  Jillian paused. “I saw you and Dawson last night and well, I was wondering if you knew what was wrong? I mean sometimes he can be such a . . . such a . . . guy. He keeps everything bottled inside and he won’t talk to me.” She paused. “Sometimes I’m not even sure he likes me. He won’t talk.”

  I thought quickly. What should I say? What could I say? The last thing I wanted was to get in the middle of their relationship. I cared about Dawson and I liked Jillian a lot too.

  “I think you and Dawson need to talk to each other. I don’t think it would be right for me to share things he’s told me.”

  She colored and shook her head. “Of course not. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.” She hurried to stand up.

  I grabbed her hand. “What I can say is this. Dawson’s been through a lot. He hasn’t grown up in the same nurturing environment as you. He’s had to hide his feelings from his dad to protect himself. You may have to prod and poke to get him to open up. Only you can determine if it’s worth the extra work or not. But, if you do, I think you may find a real gem inside.”

  She sighed. “I like him a lot.”

  “Then talk to him.”

  She nodded and then looked up and smiled. “Thank you. I will.”

  I hugged her.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Washington. I appreciate you letting our book club meet here and if you ever need help in the store, just let me know. I’d love to help out sometime.”

  I gave her another tight squeeze. I wasn’t sure when she’d have time to work in the store, but I appreciated the offer.

  Detective Pitt arrived just as we finished talking. Things were still pretty quiet in the store. He took Jillian’s seat, she went to the office Jillian went to get the treats I’d set aside, and I got mugs from behind the counter. “Tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee,” he said.

  Jillian returned from the office and brought a plate with two cranberry orange scones and placed them in front of us.

  I put an individual coffee pod into a single-cup brewing machine and smelled the deliciously strong aroma of Columbian coffee beans. The scent was wonderful and my stomach growled. My head knew if I drank coffee this late in the day, I’d be up all night. However, I allowed my stomach to overrule my head and made myself a cup too.

  I placed the mugs on the table and sat down. Detective Pitt had already devoured one of the scones and was starting in on the second one. Apparently, he was under the impression both were intended for him.

  “Hmmm. This is delicious.” He mumbled around a mouthful of ooey gooey deliciousness.

  “Thanks. Dawson’s been experimenting with a variety of scone recipes. These aren’t the traditional ones you’d get in the UK, but they’ve been very popular.” I sipped my coffee and tried not to feel too bitter about missing out on the last of the scones.

  “Whadaya want?” Detective Pitt wet his finger and used his saliva like glue to pick up the crumbs from the plate.

  “I would like to see your notes from Magnus von Braun’s murder investigation. I would also like to see the cause of death and forensic information.”

  He halted with his finger halfway to his mouth and stared. “Is that all? How about payroll records for the entire North Harbor police force or the government’s sealed reports from Area 51?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Look, we both know it’s highly unlikely these two cases aren’t linked.”

  Detective Pitt rolled his eyes. “You amateurs are always jumping to conclusions. I’ve got an old man with a mountain of crud wrong and a death sentence hanging over his head. IF he died from cyanide poisoning, there’s nothing that says he didn’t take it himself. Faced with all of his medical worries, many people would have done themselves in. Myself included.”

  My blood pressure rose as I got angry. I took several deep breaths to settle my nerves and stalled for time by taking a few sips of coffee. I plastered a smile on my face, which I hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt. “Detective Pitt, I know you don’t believe that. You’re just pulling my leg.”

  He frowned and stared blankly.

  “Besides, we have a deal.” I sipped my coffee. “I’m sure if you could get the credit for solving two murders and not just one, the chief will be even more impressed with you. Who knows, you might even be able to get a raise or a promotion. Or both.” I took another sip. Surely, he couldn’t be naïve enough to believe this nonsense.

  “You think so?” Detective Pitt sat straighter and taller in his chair.

  “Definitely.” Apparently, he did believe it.

  He pulled out his notepad and I used my cell phone to snap pictures. I could review them later.

  When I finished, Detective Pitt stood. “Maybe I’ll come by tomorrow for more of those scone things. Those were pretty good.” He raised one eyebrow and nodded knowingly.

  I took the look to mean he’d bring the reports I asked for tomorrow.

  The rest of the afternoon was uneventful. Dawson arrived right before closing. He and Jillian went to his apartment to study. Those two had a lot of talking to do.

  When I got a chance to relax, I went upstairs. I ate the leftover Chinese food Frank put in the fridge and reviewed Detective Pitt’s notes. Nothing stood out. Irma had a rendezvous planned with Magnus. They ate oysters and drank whiskey. Irma was afraid she’d be accused of murdering him and dumped the oyster shells and whiskey bottle in the hall trash. The crime lab was testing the shells and the bottle for cyanide. Detective Pitt didn’t believe they’d find it, based on the comments in his notes. He tracked Magnus’s movements, which included a visit to his oncologist and the pharmacy, lunch in the dining room, and plenty of rest. Detective Pitt questioned whether he was resting from his chemo treatment or resting to prepare for a night of carnal pleasure with Irma. A flash of Irma in her baby doll negligee passed my mind and I blinked rapidly and shook my head to get rid of the image. No one Detective Pitt interviewed saw anyone enter or leave Magnus’s apartment. If he’d been killed, Irma was the most likely suspect. I was thankful he wasn’t accusing Nana Jo of murder, but I’d grown quite fond of Irma and the girls and the alternative didn’t bring me peace either.

  I read and reread the notes, but no matter how many times I read them, I couldn’t find a solution that pointed to anyone other than Irma. Her behavior in getting rid of the oysters and the bottle of whiskey was suspicious. However, I could believe Irma to be a fool a lot easier than I could believe her to be a cold-blooded murderer.

  Lady Elizabeth, James, and Daphne were the only members of the household who came down to the dining room for breakfast. Mrs. Churchill always ate breakfast in her room, and Lady Alistair had requested a tray as well, according to Thompkins. The gentlemen, Winston, Lord William, William Forbes-Stemphill, and Leopold Amery, ate in the wee small hours of the morning and went shooting in the weald. Guy Burgess and Anthony Blunt cried off shooting and were, according to Thompkins, still in bed. The household staff refused to enter Randolph’s room before they were summoned, and Jessica hadn’t responded to the maid’s knock and her door was locked from the inside.

  Lady Elizabeth ate a light breakfast of dry toast and strong tea. She always enjoyed the quiet of the morning. James was enjoying a hearty traditional English breakfast of fried back bacon, sausage, poached eggs, grilled tomatoes, fried bread, bubble and squeak, and black pudding. She looked across at her niece and frowned at Daphne’s p
oor table manners. Elbows on the table, body slouched, with her head in her hands, Daphne’s eyes were red and she had dark circles underneath.

  Daphne sat slumped over a cup of strong tea.

  Lady Elizabeth’s frown turned to one of concern. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay, dear? You look as though you’re coming down with something.”

  Daphne shook her head and winced at the pain the effort caused.

  Fork midway to his mouth, James halted. He looked at Daphne. “She’s right. You really don’t look well.”

  Daphne slowly turned her head toward James. She glanced at the eggs on his plate and swallowed several times. After several seconds, she whispered, “I’ll be fine.”

  Thompkins entered the room and walked to Lady Elizabeth’s chair. “M’lady, Mrs. Churchill is requesting your assistance.”

  “Certainly.” Lady Elizabeth rose from her chair.

  Thompkins took two steps and then stopped and turned back. He coughed discretely. “Perhaps Your Grace should come too.”

  James rose. “Of course.”

  Thompkins led the way upstairs to one of the bedrooms. Outside of the door was a footman, a maid, and Mrs. Churchill.

  The maid stood at the back of the hall. She looked like a frightened and timid mouse. The footman was a young, fresh-faced youth, who looked as though he couldn’t have been more than sixteen. He was tall and lanky and his uniform had obviously once belonged to someone larger and shorter.

  “Elizabeth, thank goodness.” Mrs. Churchill turned to James. “I see you brought James. Good thinking.”

  “Actually, bringing James was Thompkins’s idea.” Lady Elizabeth looked around at each of those present. “I’m afraid I don’t really understand what’s going on.”

  Mrs. Churchill looked at Thompkins.

  He coughed. “I thought perhaps you might want to explain the situation.”

  Mrs. Churchill nodded. “Quite right. Ethel knocked on the door to deliver breakfast, but she hasn’t been able to get a response.” She glanced at the frightened maid, who flushed and nodded. “The door is locked from the inside and no amount of pounding has been able to wake the girl.”

  James and Lady Elizabeth exchanged glances. James moved to the door and pounded while twisting the knob.