Murder Most Austen (16 page)

John pulled his mouth away from his glass of beer and stared at me in confusion. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “She’s just kidding.”

Izzy sat up straighter in her chair. “No, I’m not. Didn’t you say that you were a detective?”

“No, I’m an editor. Well, I used to be an editor before I quit.”

Izzy shook her head. “You know what I mean! Didn’t you tell me that you’d been involved in murder investigations before and had actually helped the police find the killer?”

“Well, yes,” I began, “but…”

“Are you serious?” John asked, his glass still hovering in front of his mouth, which was unfortunately still hanging open in apparent surprise. “You’re a detective? But … but … you’re a woman,” he ended feebly.

“I’m not a detective,” I said quickly, annoyed that I saw relief in his eyes as I did so. “Not officially, anyway,” I added, just to tweak his antiquated views. “But I have helped the police out a few times in the past.”

“Helped out, my ass,” Aunt Winnie exclaimed loyally. “You saved my life!” Turning to John, she said, “A few years back, a man was murdered in my inn. The police thought I did it. If it wasn’t for Elizabeth, I’d probably be in jail now. She figured out who the real killer was, risked her life to get proof, and…”

“Got my head bashed in,” I finished helpfully.

“Well, yes,” Aunt Winnie admitted, tipping her red head as if conceding a minor point, “there was that, too. But my point is, you found the real killer.” Turning back to John, she continued. “And then, last year, Elizabeth was at a wedding where a guest was murdered, and she figured out who the real killer was then, too.”

John turned and regarded me with a faintly horrified expression.

“And finally, just last month, Elizabeth helped the police solve a murder from eight years ago,” Aunt Winnie concluded proudly.

“I’m beginning to think I’m underpaid,” I joked.

John said nothing. He obviously disapproved of my involvement in police business, but as it might be just the thing for ending his interest in me, I didn’t let it bother me.

“I’d be happy to pay you anything you think is fair if you can help Mama,” said Izzy, jolting me out of my thoughts.

“What? No! I’m not a professional detective, Izzy. I’ve just been lucky, I guess. I’ve noticed things that turned out to be important. I’m sure the police will solve this on their own and without any involvement from me.”

“But what if they don’t?” Izzy cried, her eyes again filling with tears. “What if they charge Mama with Richard’s murder! What am I going to do then?” Her voice rose to a squeaky pitch, as the stress of her mother’s plight threatened to overpower her.

Aunt Winnie laid her hand on top of Izzy’s. “We won’t let that happen. I promise you. We will help you in any way we can.” Shooting me a level look, she added, “And if Elizabeth won’t investigate this, then I will.”

“But…,” I began.

“However,” continued Aunt Winnie, ignoring me completely, “it’s late, and you should get to bed. We will talk to the police again in the morning and see if we can sort all this out. But for now, I really think that you should head back to your hotel and get some rest. We’ll meet again first thing in the morning.” Turning to John, she added, “John, might I ask you to walk Izzy back to her hotel? I think she should have an escort tonight.”

John immediately stood up. “But of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Extending his hand, he said, “Come on, Izzy. Let me walk you back. And don’t worry about your mother. I’m sure it will all be straightened out very soon.”

Izzy sighed and took his hand. Pulling herself to her feet, she aimed a watery smile our way and said, “Thank you. I really appreciate your help. I’ll call you in the morning and let you know what our status is.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine, Izzy,” I said. “The police will get to the bottom of this.”

“And if they don’t, then we will,” Aunt Winnie added firmly.

*   *   *

“OKAY, WHAT THE HELL
was that all about?” I asked Aunt Winnie once Izzy and John had left the bar.

“What do you mean?” she asked as she signed the bar tab.

“I mean, why are you pimping out my services to Izzy like I’m some kind of detective for hire?”

Aunt Winnie regarded me, her expression solemn. “Cora may be a silly woman, but she is an old friend, and I will do anything I can to help her and Izzy.”

“Yes, but…”

“And if I can make them feel better by telling them that you are an old hand with murder investigations and have had some success with them, then I will tell them that.” She turned and walked toward the exit.

I trailed after her. “So all that was nothing more than a ploy to calm them down?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” she asked with a smug smile.

“Well, yes,” I admitted. “But what happens if the police really do focus in on Cora and then they actually expect
me
to find the real killer?”

Aunt Winnie scoffed. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’m sure the police will quickly realize that Cora is nothing more than a harmless, if rather excitable, woman, and then they will move on.”

“Well, I certainly hope so,” I said as we climbed the wide staircase to our room. “Because I’d hate them to think I could really do anything, should they need it.”

“I think you can rest safe tonight, my dear,” she answered with a laugh. “You won’t be needing to don your detective cap on this trip.”

Of course, in the lingo of the land, what utter bollocks
that
turned out to be.

CHAPTER 16

The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance.

—PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

“T
HEY’VE TAKEN MAMA IN AGAIN,”
Izzy cried into my ear over the phone the next morning.

“But why?” I asked, still wiping the sleep from my eyes. From the bed next to me, Aunt Winnie cast a curious eye at me from underneath her pillow. “Izzy,” I mouthed to her. She pushed back the comforter and swung her legs off the bed. Rising, she took the phone from me without a word and said, “Izzy? It’s Winnie. What happened?”

I listened as Aunt Winnie asked Izzy for details. From her end of the conversation, I gathered that Cora had been brought down to the station about fifteen minutes ago for more questioning. I glanced at the clock. It was barely seven thirty.

“It’s going to be okay, Izzy,” promised Aunt Winnie. “I’ll go to the station and see what I can find out. Don’t worry. It will be fine. I’ll call you when I know something.”

Hanging up the phone, she turned to me, her eyes worried. “I don’t like this, Elizabeth. The police should have figured out by now that Cora isn’t the type of woman to kill someone. The fact that they brought her in again tells me that we may have a problem on our hands.”

“What do you propose we do?” I asked, not really sure I wanted to hear the answer.

“Well, we’re going to go down to the station and convince the police that they’ve got the wrong woman,” she said as she yanked open her bureau drawer and pulled out a pair of cream-colored wool slacks and a navy blue sweater.

“And if that doesn’t work?” I asked with some trepidation.

“Then it might be time to see about digging out that detective cap, after all,” she answered before heading to the bathroom.

*   *   *

IT WAS PERHAPS
fitting that the sky that morning was heavy with dark clouds, each spitting hard cold rain. By the time we arrived at the police station, a large cement structure that could serve as a model for unimaginative government buildings everywhere, the rain had progressed from spitting to outright pouring. Looking down at my wet feet, I wished for the second time on this trip that I had worn thick boots like Anne Elliot rather than my flimsy ballet flats.

As we entered the station, we saw to our relief that Cora was just being released. Our joy, however, was short-lived when we took a good look at her. Her face was blotchy, and her eyes were puffy slits of red. From the palpable tension radiating from her body, it was clear that while she might have been cleared to leave the station, she hadn’t been cleared of suspicion. Standing next to her was Inspector Middlefield. She appeared tired as well, but in her case it was the look of someone who’d pulled an all-nighter studying but still didn’t feel confident on the subject matter. That gave me some hope.

“Cora!” cried Aunt Winnie. “Are you all right?”

Cora nodded wearily. “I’m fine. Just very tired. I think I could sleep for a week.”

Aunt Winnie turned on Inspector Middlefield. “You can’t honestly believe that this woman had anything to do with Professor Baines’s death. Yes, she found his theories vulgar—I think you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who didn’t—but she would never harm him.”

Inspector Middlefield sighed. “Ms. Reynolds, I’m sure Mrs. Beadle appreciates your loyalty, but the sad fact remains that she threatened Professor Baines on several occasions and cannot produce a valid alibi for a large portion of last night. I would be a sorry excuse for an inspector if I did not spend more than a little time investigating her story.”

“Perhaps,” countered Aunt Winnie, “but in the meantime, the real killer is still running about doing God knows what.”

Inspector Middlefield produced a tired semblance of a smile. “It is not a perfect science, I grant you. However, we usually manage to get the job done.” Turning to Cora, she said, “I will be in touch, Mrs. Beadle.”

“I understand,” Cora replied mournfully.

With a curt nod to us, Inspector Middlefield said, “Good day, ladies,” and walked into a back office.

“Are you okay?” Aunt Winnie asked as we walked outside. “Do you want me to get you a lawyer?”

Cora shook her head. “Not yet. I don’t want to appear guilty. I keep thinking that if I cooperate and answer their questions, they’ll realize that I had nothing to do with this.”

Aunt Winnie shook her head in disagreement. “Cora, while that sounds lovely, I really don’t think good manners are going to be the determining factor here. We need to
prove
to them that you had nothing to do with Richard’s murder.”

Cora turned to me, her eyes now bright with hope. “Oh, that’s right! I nearly forgot. Izzy told me that you were a detective of sorts. Do you really think that you can find the real killer? I’d be forever grateful for whatever you could do.”

I opened my mouth, but it was Aunt Winnie who answered. “Of course she will, Cora. Don’t give it another thought. We’ll get you back to the hotel, and then Elizabeth and I will see what we can find out.”

Cora enveloped me in a grateful hug before I could protest the absurdity of Aunt Winnie’s proposal. I felt like the worst kind of imposter as Cora said, “Oh, you sweet, sweet child! I can’t thank you enough! You know, I actually feel a little better knowing that you are out there trying to prove my innocence!”

Horrified, I stared at Aunt Winnie with agonized eyes, but she only winked at me.

It looked like supersleuth Elizabeth Parker was on another case.

God help us all.

*   *   *

AFTER WE GOT
Cora settled at her hotel, Aunt Winnie and I argued over which session to attend: “Dueling Mr. Darcy” or “Dressing Mr. Darcy.” It finally came down to a coin toss, which, naturally, she won. “And how exactly is that supposed to help us in our search for Richard’s killer?” I groused, annoyed both at my loss and the fact that she had convinced Cora and Izzy that I would be able to solve all their problems by finding a killer.

“Now don’t be grumpy. All I said was that we would
try.
And, don’t forget, I’m going to help you!”

“Sure you are. Right after you learn how to dress Mr. Darcy.”

“Well, of course!” she said with no trace of embarrassment. “There’s no way in hell I’m not going to that class. And who knows, we might learn something important.”

“Somehow, I don’t see how learning if Darcy dressed to the right or left is going to be of material consequence in this case.”

Aunt Winnie laughed. “Maybe not. But wouldn’t it be delightful if it did?”

*   *   *

“DRESSING MR. DARCY” WAS,
not surprisingly, packed. Woman of all ages—as well as a few men—crammed into the large conference room. I was beginning to despair of finding a seat, when Aunt Winnie spied two empty spots near the back. As we squeezed into the metal folding chairs, I was surprised to see Valerie and Gail in the row ahead of us. Well, I suppose it wasn’t too surprising that Gail would carry on with her itinerary as planned, I amended, but shouldn’t Valerie be playing the role of the grieving daughter-in-law? True, she was wearing a shapeless black dress made of some unidentifiable but definitely flammable material, which certainly suggested death inasmuch as most women wouldn’t want to be caught dead in it, but other than that, her mood seemed almost cheerful. However, compared with Gail, her mood seemed somber indeed. Not only was Gail wearing a bright pink blazer and matching skirt, but her face appeared years younger than it had yesterday, and she was practically grinning from ear to ear as she listened to the lecture. Furthermore, her face no longer held that faintly vacant expression I’d noticed earlier in the week. Today she appeared alert and focused. It was apparent that Richard’s untimely demise was just the tonic Gail needed to pull herself back together. I didn’t fault her, exactly; from the sound of it, Richard had treated her pretty shabbily, but it did seem somewhat heartless to be in such obvious good spirits the day after the father of your only child was murdered.

As we learned about the items one might find in a proper Regency gentleman’s closet—immaculate linen shirts with high collars, perfectly tied cravats, and exquisitely tailored dark coats—Valerie and Gail chatted softly about the magazine. Although they kept their voices low, it wasn’t hard to overhear their whispered chatter. Especially as I was practically leaning forward in my seat to make sure I caught every word.

“This is going to save us,” said Gail, with a sigh of contentment. “I’ve called the bank and transferred some of my own funds into the account until the money from the estate comes through. It should be enough to hold us. I know that Richard left the bulk of his money to Ian. I don’t know how long these things take, but I imagine that within six months or so it should all be settled.”