by V. M. Burns
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He grinned and reached across and took my hand. “But, I’d like to change that.”
We sat there for several seconds until a waiter came by and brought a bottle of wine. Frank raised an eyebrow but was told Gunther had insisted. The waiter uncorked the bottle and offered Frank the cork to sniff. He then poured a small amount in a glass and offered that. Frank twirled the wine in his glass, sniffed it, and then sipped it. He nodded his approval. Only then was the wine poured into our glasses.
I took a sip. I’d never been a big wine drinker. I tried to hide the pucker that came to my face, but I knew I’d failed when Frank laughed.
“It’s a bit dry, but it’s actually a very good wine. Gunther’s family owned a winery in Switzerland and this is part of his private stock,” he explained.
“I’m sure it’s very nice.”
“We’re going to have to work on your palate.”
I looked at the menu. There weren’t a lot of choices and many of them appeared to be in another language, probably German. Most restaurants served chicken. It was always a safe bet. I never took German in school and was contemplating pulling out my cell phone and asking Siri for the German word for chicken when the waiter returned.
Frank reached across and pulled my menu down. “Do you trust me?” He held my gaze.
I raised an eyebrow but put down the menu and nodded.
Frank ordered and, although he spoke English, I had no idea what he’d ordered.
The waiter bowed, clicked his heels, and left.
“This should be interesting,” I said.
He smiled. “Food should always be interesting, if nothing else.” He sipped his wine. “Although, I think you’ll like it. Gunther’s a world-class chef. I was surprised when I found out he was here.”
“Have you known each other long?”
He sipped his wine. “Twenty years.” He got the faraway look in his eyes he always got when he thought about his life before North Harbor.
I waited, but I knew he wouldn’t, or couldn’t say more. So, I changed the subject. “I met Harold today.”
The waiter brought our first course. It was a soup. I had no idea what it was, but it tasted good and I ate every drop while I told him about our brunch with Harold. There were three more courses, all delicious. Again, I decided to throw caution to the wind and simply eat and enjoy them without asking questions. Frank knew there were only a few foods I absolutely detested, like tomatoes, beets, and Brussels sprouts. If any of the dishes I ate contained them, they were completely camouflaged.
The final course was a dessert that was so light and fluffy I might have closed my eyes and moaned when I tasted it. Frank laughed and I opened my eyes.
“Now, that is the perfect response,” he said.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?”
He shook his head. “Not at all.” He stared while I scraped every last morsel from the dish. Then he slid his across to me.
Pride should have stopped me from eating it, but where this chocolate delight was concerned, I had no pride. I ate his dessert too. “I’m going to regret that tomorrow, but tonight it was delicious.”
“No regrets. I love to watch people enjoy food. I think that’s why I wanted to own my own restaurant.”
“That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. I’m so glad it snowed.”
He looked surprised.
“If it hadn’t snowed, we wouldn’t be eating here. We would have gone to the winery. Thanks to the snow, I got to try something new.”
He raised his glass. “To the snow.” He took a sip and looked around. “I have some information for you.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small notepad. “My friend finally got back to me about Maria and Denise Bennett.” He looked around again and then leaned closer. “I think he found the connection you were looking for. After her husband died, Maria Romanov moved to upstate New York for a few years. Apparently, her husband had family there. She got a job as a matron at a minimum security prison.”
I stared. “The same one Horace Evans was in?”
He nodded. “Not just Horace, but Gaston Renoir as well.”
“I thought Gaston was tried in France?”
Frank shook his head. “Nope. New York City.”
“Well, I’ll be. I assumed everything happened in France. So that’s how Maria knew about Gaston and Horace to blackmail them.”
“That’s not all.” Frank looked serious. “Apparently, Denise Bennett has a connection to that prison too.”
“No way. Was she in prison too?” I was starting to agree with Nana Jo that Shady Acres employed an excess of ex-cons.
He shook his head. “Denise Bennett isn’t her real name.”
I stared and waited for an explanation.
“Denise Bennett was born Dorothy Smith. She married Antonio Borrelli.”
I whistled. “The Antonio Borrelli, the mobster?”
He nodded. “The Feds have been trying to convict him for everything from drug trafficking to organized crime. They’ve never been able to get anything to stick. Whenever they thought they had a case against him, the person either went missing or died. Finally, six years ago they got him on tax evasion. Dorothy helped put him away and entered the witness protection program.”
“So where does Maria come into it?”
“Antonio Borrelli was at the same prison. I guess there must have been a lot of media coverage around the time. Anyway, Maria must have recognized her.”
“Wow.” I sat there flabbergasted and stared. “Wow.”
“No one is supposed to know this,” he stressed.
I nodded. “Denise Bennett is living her new life in sleepy little North Harbor, Michigan, far away from her mob boss husband and along comes Maria Romanov, threatening to expose her.” I frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Maria was blackmailing Gaston, Horace, and, most likely, Denise Bennett. They all had reasons to want her dead, but not all of them had a reason to want Magnus von Braun dead.”
“Good point. So, who did it?”
I shook my head. “No idea. I feel like if I can figure out how it was done, I might be able to figure out whodunit.”
We talked about the suspects and their motives. When the waiter came at last, we were no closer to figuring out who killed either Maria or Magnus.
When Frank asked for the check, he was informed that Gunther refused to accept his money. He was, the waiter explained, indebted to Frank. I could tell Frank was uncomfortable about the debt Gunther felt he owed him but eventually he graciously accepted and left a large tip for the waiter and we left.
Frank drove me home and we sat in the car and talked for a while, which was a really pleasant experience since Frank drove one of the nicest, most luxurious German SUVs I’d ever seen, a Porsche Cayenne. I wasn’t an automobile enthusiast, but even I knew Porsches were special. I didn’t know they made SUVs, so the first time he picked me up, I asked what kind of car it was. It was tacky to ask what something cost, but I admit to googling this baby. Fully loaded, with all the bells and whistles, and he had them all, this car cost more than twice what my husband and I paid for our first home. However, when you rode in it, you felt like you were floating on air. Sitting in heated leather seats that engulfed you like a warm blanket while the moon and stars shined down through the panoramic moonroof was a treat. We steamed up the windows for a while, but it was late and we both had work tomorrow.
Frank got out and opened the door for me and walked me to my door. We kissed good-night, and he left. I stood inside and watched him drive away, with a smile on my face.
Snickers and Oreo brought me back down to earth with their demands to be let out. So, I obliged. It was still cold, so they didn’t dally and we were upstairs quickly.
Frank’s information about Denise Bennett and Maria Romanov tied up some of the loose ends still floating around in my head. Maria knew Gaston and Horace from the
prison in upstate New York. She would know all about Horace’s past. If she was blackmailing him, he could have killed her. He had a good motive. Denise Bennett might have even been in on it. She had access to files on all of the employees. Horace had a motive for killing Magnus too. Plus, he was seen talking to Denise Bennett when Magnus’s medicine was delivered and he took the medicine to Magnus. That meant he had the means and the opportunity. The only thing that still had me puzzled was how Horace got into Maria’s room—a locked room. No matter how hard I thought, I couldn’t come up with anything. I pulled out my laptop and prayed inspiration would come from writing. Tomorrow was Monday. That meant I only had a few more days to figure this out.
Lady Elizabeth entered the bedroom where Jessica Carlisle was murdered. She looked around the room and shook her head at the condition Scotland Yard left the room. She walked around the perimeter and examined books on the bookshelf and the fireplace.
James entered. “What’s wrong?”
Lady Elizabeth stood in the center of the room and shook her head. “I don’t know. Something seems off somehow, but I can’t place my finger on it.” She looked up at James. “Is something wrong?”
He paused. “Daphne’s thrown me over. She refuses to marry me.”
Lady Elizabeth walked forward. “I’m so sorry. I knew something was up earlier when she wanted to talk to your mother, but I had no idea.”
James paced. “I have no intention of taking this lying down, but . . . I have to go to London on business. I’ll be back later.” He paused. “Do you think . . . you don’t think she’ll leave?”
She thought for a few minutes. “No. I don’t think she’ll leave. At least not until this murder is solved.”
He laughed. “Can you do me a favor and not solve this one? At least not until I get back.” He looked pleadingly at Lady Elizabeth.
“The way things are going, I don’t think that will be a problem.”
James nodded and then turned. As he got to the door, he seemed startled when Daphne entered.
She was clutching Burke’s Peerage to her chest. “I’m glad I caught you before you left. I was hoping you would give me a lift,” she said.
James raised an eyebrow. “Of course. I’ll be happy to take you anywhere you need to go. I have something I have to do, but after that—”
“That won’t be necessary. I just need a lift to London. I can take a cab after that and catch the train back.”
James opened his mouth to speak, but one look in her normally warm blue eyes, which were cold and distant, and the determined set of her shoulders must have told him it would be best to remain silent. He nodded. “May I ask where you’d like to go?”
Daphne paused for a second before responding. “Somerset House.”
James started. Obviously, that wasn’t the response he’d expected. However, he recovered quickly. “I’m going to Thames House, just across the river. It’s less than ten minutes away.”
“Thank you. I’ll get my jacket.” Daphne turned and left.
James looked at Lady Elizabeth and then turned to leave.
“James, wait.” Lady Elizabeth hurried to catch him. She pulled a small envelope from her pocket and handed it to him. “I wonder if you could have this analyzed.”
He looked at the envelope. “What is it?”
“I suspect it’s some type of drug. I found it in Jessica’s handbag.”
His eyes narrowed and he raised an eyebrow. “You removed evidence?”
“Only a small amount. I hope it’s enough to test.” She looked at James. “I suspect it’s whatever Jessica slipped into Daphne’s tea that made her act so . . . out of character.”
James stared at Lady Elizabeth. After a moment, he nodded, placed the envelope into his pocket, turned, and left.
Lady Elizabeth watched him go and stood quietly for several moments. She eventually shook herself and returned to her examination of the room. She muttered silently to herself as she examined every crack, crevice, and cranny. She looked behind pictures, lifted statues and vases, and knocked on various wall panels. “Something just seems off about this room.” She twirled around and tried to place her finger on the problem. She noticed there were two sconces on either side of the large four-poster bed and they were not aligned with the sconces on the opposite wall. The room’s symmetry was off. “Is it just the symmetry that’s bothering me?” she muttered aloud. She paced off the length of the room, then did the same thing for the depth. “That’s odd. It’s almost as though . . .” She looked at the bookcase that flanked either side of the fireplace. She whispered, “As Sherlock Holmes would say, ‘when you’ve eliminated the impossible, what remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’” She scanned the bookshelf and then pulled all of the books off the shelves and onto the floor. She cleared two shelves before she noticed a small lever behind one of the books. She examined the lever and then pulled it forward. The bookshelf squeaked and then slid back, exposing a dark corridor. She looked inside the corridor and started to take a step forward but stopped. “Alexander Pope was right, ‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.’ I’m not an angel or a fool.” She turned and walked out of the room.
Lady Elizabeth, Mrs. Churchill, and Thompkins returned, along with Detective Inspector Covington and Sergeant Turnbull. The opening in the bookshelf was still ajar.
“I had no idea that was there.” Mrs. Churchill stared at the opening.
“I think you should wait here,” Detective Inspector Covington said to the ladies. “Sergeant Turnbull and I will go in and see how far the tunnel goes. Thompkins, you stay with the women.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Lady Elizabeth rose to her full height. “There’s no way you’re leaving us behind while you go exploring. I found the tunnel and I’m not missing out on seeing where it leads.”
“I’m coming too.” Mrs. Churchill didn’t look enthusiastic, but she looked determined. “Besides, it’s my house.”
Lady Elizabeth gave her friend’s arm a supportive squeeze and then turned to the butler. “Thompkins, we’re going to need more torches.”
“Yes, m’lady.” He left.
“I really think you ladies should remain here. There’s no telling what’s in this tunnel.” He stared at both ladies, but Lady Elizabeth merely shook her head. “There could be rats or snakes.”
Mrs. Churchill shivered. “Good point.”
Detective Inspector Covington released a sigh.
Thompkins returned with the torches. Lady Elizabeth held out her hands and he handed over the torches.
Mrs. Churchill turned to the butler. “Detective Inspector Covington just pointed out there might be creatures inside the passage.” She reached down and picked up a fireplace poker. “Could you bring a couple more pokers and Rufus?”
Detective Inspector Covington shook his head in frustration.
Thompkins hurried from the room and quickly returned with the poodle, Rufus. Tango followed of his own free will.
Lady Elizabeth looked around. “Are we all ready?”
Everyone nodded.
She turned to the detective. “Lead the way.”
The detective shook his head but moved forward and led the way inside the tunnel. He was followed by Lady Elizabeth, Rufus, Mrs. Churchill, Thompkins, Tango, and Sergeant Turnbull, who brought up the rear.
The passage was dark and there were spiderwebs and the click-clack of scurrying creatures along the way. The tunnel sloped downward and turned twice. The unusual party walked for a few minutes and eventually came to a wall.
“Looks like we’re at the end of the road.” Detective Inspector Covington waved his torch around the dark stone passage.
“It can’t be,” Lady Elizabeth said. “Why would anyone build a tunnel that ends at a brick wall?”
“Maybe it was closed off,” Mrs. Churchill said. “I never got a chance to ask Winston, but the architect did quite a lot of work on the house before we moved in. I suppose they could have discovered it
and simply closed it off.”
Lady Elizabeth continued to shine her torch around the wall. She stopped at an area of the wall that was about three feet from the ground. One of the bricks protruded out farther than the others. “Shine your torch this way, Detective.”
Detective Inspector Covington obliged.
She pushed the brick and heard a click. There was a gust of wind and a portion of the wall slid open.
“Well, I’ll be.” Detective Inspector Covington examined the opening. “Sergeant, give me a hand.”
Detective Inspector Covington moved forward and he and the detective pushed the wall. A narrow opening about two feet wide and five feet tall swung back as if on hinges. “Please wait here.” The detective and Tango the cat moved forward through the opening. The sergeant followed. Rufus stayed behind in an attitude of alert.
A cold breeze blew in from the opening. After a few minutes the detective returned. “We’re outside. I’d say we’re in the woods across from the north side of the house near the garden wall. There’s a brass ring here that operates the door from the outside.”
“I never knew this passage was here.” Mrs. Churchill looked a bit dazed. “This means someone else could have come into the house. Someone else could have murdered that girl.”
Detective Inspector Covington looked skeptically at Mrs. Churchill. “Who would know this passage existed? It would have to be someone very familiar with the house.”
Mrs. Churchill turned pale.
Lady Elizabeth squeezed her friend’s hand. “This house has been here a lot longer than the Churchills. People from the village might know about it. Or, as Clementine said, it could have been discovered during the renovations.” She turned to Mrs. Churchill. “Didn’t you say Leopold Amery was involved with the renovations?”
Mrs. Churchill nodded. “Yes. Leo and his son spent a lot of time helping out. I think Philip Tilden, the architect, hired several lads from the village to help with some of the heavy lifting.”
“John Amery was here during the renovations?” Lady Elizabeth asked.
