Murder Most Austen (22 page)

“Elizabeth?” said Aunt Winnie. “Are you listening to me?”

“Hmmm? Oh, sorry. I was just wondering why Richard was killed. I have cleverly narrowed the list down to three, maybe four reasons. Six at the very most.”

“Clever girl. Now tell me what you think about the paper. I honestly can’t see it suddenly becoming the darling of the academic community,” she said. “It’s laughable at best. At its worst, it’s the result of an addled brain prone to conspiracy theories and hidden messages.”

“Then in either case, it wouldn’t be a big moneymaker,” I observed.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Aunt Winnie said, with a firm shake of her head. “Far stupider things have made money in this world. I believe the Chia Pet is making a comeback.”

“I was always particular to the Chia Head,” I replied.

“See what I mean? Therefore, just because
we
think it’s a pile of gibberish doesn’t mean that someone else doesn’t see sunshine and flowers.”

“And cold hard cash,” I added.

Aunt Winnie nodded in agreement, her red curls bobbing as if to second the motion. “Exactly.”

Aunt Winnie’s cell phone rang just then, a note-for-note match to the one that Laura Linney’s character has in
Love Actually.
I wondered if that was a ringtone I could download.

“Hello? What? I can’t … oh, hello, Izzy. Yes. How are you?” Aunt Winnie said, as she held the phone up to her ear. “Yes. Really? But … oh, I see. Sure, that sounds fine. We’ll see you there.” Clicking off the phone, she stuffed it back into her pocket and said, “That was Izzy. She and Cora want to meet us for a drink at our hotel.”

I stopped in my tracks, somewhat amazed. “At
our
hotel? But why?” I asked. “Surely they must realize by now that Valerie and Ian, not to mention Gail, are staying at our hotel as well? Izzy’s coming the other night could be excused as an oversight, but to come again? What could they be thinking?”

“I wondered at that myself at first, but then Izzy explained that the bar in their hotel is crammed full from a local wedding’s after-party. She assumed that the memorial would still be going on and so there’d be little chance of seeing any of them at our hotel.”

“I’m pretty sure that there are plenty of bars or restaurants where there would be
no
chance of seeing them,” I said.

“Oh, I quite agree. Izzy had a reason for that as well. Apparently, many of the more convenient bars in the area are frequented by various festival attendees,” Aunt Winnie said.

“She’s certainly thought this one out, hasn’t she?”

“She certainly has. My guess is that Izzy is clearly banking on that little chance that she will indeed run into Ian, Valerie, Gail, or all three. The question I wonder about is which one does she want to see, and why?”

We continued our stroll back to the hotel in meditative silence. Despite Izzy’s fervent proclamations that we were kindred spirits, I really didn’t know her all that well. She was enjoyable to talk to, but that didn’t mean she was nice or trustworthy. After all, there were plenty of people in life who could be perfectly pleasant just before they stabbed you (or someone else) in the back. Dorothy Parker was one. So was Hemingway. Actually, I took that back. I rather had the impression that Hemingway was nasty to you either way.

I forced my thoughts back to Izzy. What was her reason for wanting to come to our hotel? She’d been paying an inordinate amount of attention to Ian since the festival began, but was that merely because she was genetically programmed to flirt with any man in a ten-foot radius, or was there more to it? Could she be flirting with Ian for another reason—perhaps to annoy Valerie? I considered this a more likely scenario. Granted, Ian was nice, but Izzy was engaged. I had known Izzy and Valerie for only a few days, but I could state with almost certainty that there was more than a healthy dislike between them. My mind trailed off momentarily as I attempted to discern the difference between a healthy dislike and an unhealthy one. When did dislike become unhealthy? When knives were employed?

Of course, there was another person Izzy could be interested in seeing, and that was Gail. But again, why? I wondered if any of Izzy’s odd behavior stemmed from Richard’s paper, or if it was completely unrelated. An ugly thought popped into my brain. Richard had been unfaithful in his marriage to Alex at least once. Izzy was a professional flirt. Could there have been something between them? Could that be the motive for Izzy’s interest in seeing the family? But again, even if Izzy had had an affair with Richard, why would she want to tell his family? It made no sense. Actually, none of the events over the last few days made sense. I said as much to Aunt Winnie.

“You’re wrong,” she replied, shaking her head. “It makes sense to someone. We just need to figure out who. Once we know that, we’ll be able to figure out the rest.”

“Oh, well, if that’s all we need to do, then it’ll be a snap.” I snapped my fingers to illustrate the sentiment, adding, “Thanks, I feel much better.”

Aunt Winnie regarded me with the charged silence that is usually a precursor to snark. Sure enough, within seconds, she asked with deceptive politeness, “Elizabeth, dear, do you know why donkeys don’t go to school?”

“No, but do tell,” I replied with equal politeness.

“Because nobody likes a smart-ass.”

I pretended to consider the answer. “So you prefer a dumb-ass? Really? I think I’m going to have to respectfully disagree with you on this one. Dumb-asses are annoying.”

“Elizabeth?”

“Yes, Aunt Winnie?”

“Shut up.”

I laughed. “Yes, Aunt Winnie.”

*   *   *

WE HAD JUST SETTLED
ourselves at a table at the hotel bar when Cora and Izzy arrived. Once again, Izzy looked stunning in a snug-fitting blue cashmere jersey dress and cream-colored suede boots. The stress of the last few days had left no mark on her face; if anything, she looked even more stunning than when I first met her. She practically glowed. By comparison, Cora looked far less polished. Her green wrap dress was not only wrinkled but did nothing for her sallow complexion. Her hair, which was of a triangular shape to begin with, now resembled something the ancient Egyptians might have built. Whether this was due to the humidity, neglect, or design wasn’t clear.

“So how was it?” Izzy asked us as she slid into a chair next to me. “Was it weird?”

“Weird isn’t the word,” I said after brief consideration. “Valerie sang the first verse of ‘My Way’ as a kind of tribute to Richard.”

Izzy’s mouth formed into a crimson O.

“She did not,” Cora said, her eyes wide.

“Oh, yes, she did,” I replied. “If it had been a fight, they would have stopped it.”

“What else happened?” Izzy asked. “Did they talk about his death at all?”

I shook my head. “Not really. Everything focused more on his past accomplishments. A lot of talk focused on his paper and whether or not it should still be presented. Valerie basically strong-armed Alex into agreeing to deliver it.”

Cora sighed. “I wish to God I never heard about that stupid paper. I wish to God that I hadn’t picked a fight with Richard. And I wish to God he wasn’t dead. I’m heartily ashamed of myself.”

Aunt Winnie leaned over and patted her hand. “I know, honey. But just because you fought with someone who was subsequently killed doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person. Richard Baines annoyed a lot of people in his short life. Had he lived, I’m sure he’d have gone on to annoy even more.”

“Aunt Winnie!” I exclaimed with some surprise.

She waved away my protestations with a flick of her wrist. “Oh, please, let’s not pretend. The man was a pompous ass, not to mention a philandering ass. I’m sure he was an ass in other ways, too, I just don’t know what they are right now. I’m not saying that he deserved to die,” she amended, seeing my appalled expression, “far from it. But I’m not going to suddenly sugarcoat his life.”

Izzy leaned forward. “What do you mean ‘philandering’?” she asked, her expression curious. “Do you mean his affair with Alex?”

Ignoring—or not seeing—my warning expression, Aunt Winnie continued, “I most certainly do not. I have found out additional information about Richard that I think you—and the police—need to know. There are other reasons—reasons other than that damn paper of his—that might be behind his death.”

“Such as?” Izzy asked.

I tried once more to stop Aunt Winnie with a pleading look, but to no avail. “I am referring to his affair with Lindsay—the soon-to-be mother of his child,” she said.

Izzy’s face was a portrait of shock. She slumped against the back of her chair, her breath coming out in a long, thin hiss. “His child?” she whispered, her eyes wide.

Cora’s reaction was no less dramatic. “What?” she cried out, her voice shrill and indignant, and immediately gaining the attention of the bar’s few other patrons. Seeing their startled reactions, she lowered her voice and said, “Are you serious? Lindsay is pregnant with Richard’s child? But how did you find this out?”

“She told us,” I said.

“Well, actually, she told Elizabeth after Elizabeth confronted her with it,” Aunt Winnie added proudly. “Elizabeth saw a bottle of prenatal vitamins in her bathroom and guessed the truth.”

Izzy continued to stare wordlessly at me. Cora shook her head in disgust. “That poor girl. Now what is she going to do? Is she going to tell the family?”

“I think she is,” I said. “I got the impression that she was banking on getting money from the estate so she could support the baby.”

“Poor Alex!” Cora said with real sympathy. “Say what you like about the woman, but to lose her husband like this and then have to find out that he was having an affair! It’s horrible.”

“I have to tell you, I think the one who is going to be the most upset is Valerie,” I said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she hasn’t calculated Richard’s net worth down to the last penny. Another heir set to queue up in line for their fair slice of the pie is the last thing Valerie will want to hear about.”

Izzy scoffed in agreement. “That’s for sure. I can only imagine the look on her face when she hears of it.” Izzy paused in apparent contemplation of the anticipated expression. “On the other hand, now that I think of it, it might be hard to discern the difference given her usual peevish expression.”

Cora frowned. “Izzy! That’s not nice!”

Izzy rolled her eyes in response. “No, Mama, it’s not. But then neither is Valerie.”

“Does anyone want a drink?” I offered quickly, seeing Cora’s expression darken with annoyance. “My treat.”

The diversion worked, and I made my way over to the bar. I had just placed the orders when I noticed Gail and Ian enter. Although they passed close by, they didn’t notice me. Gail was apparently in the middle of a conversation with Ian, as I heard her say, “But you couldn’t have been!”

Ian responded curtly, saying, “Mother, please. I told you to drop it. It doesn’t have anything to do with it.” Then spotting Izzy and Cora, he muttered, “Oh, dear God.”

Gail followed his gaze and added her own expression of dismay. “Christ, this is going to be awkward.” Pasting a polite smile on her face, Gail moved toward the table, Ian following slowly in her wake. I lingered at the bar until they arrived at the table before bringing the drinks over.

“Hello, Gail. Hello, Ian,” I said as I approached the table and dispensed the drinks. “The service tonight was lovely.”

Ian responded with a wan smile. “Thanks, Elizabeth. It was all Valerie’s doing, really.”

“Is she with you?” I asked, glancing around.

Ian nodded. “Yes, but I think she had to make a phone call,” he said vaguely, his eyes straying to Cora and Izzy.

Silence followed. It was terribly awkward, and I wondered again why Izzy had wanted to come. I glanced at her now. She sat with a properly mournful expression on her face that didn’t fool me for one minute. Cora quickly jumped up and moved around the table to give Gail a hug. “I’m so sorry about all of this, Gail,” she said, as she awkwardly wrapped her arms around Gail. “I hope you know that I didn’t have anything to do with any of it.”

While Gail gave Cora a reassuring pat on the back, I noticed that her face was still guarded. “Don’t worry, dear,” she nevertheless said. “I know that it will all be straightened out soon.”

Cora stepped back and, unfortunately, directly into me, spilling my glass of wine down the front of my dress.

“Oh, Elizabeth!” Cora cried in dismay. “I’m such a klutz! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay, Cora,” I said as I grabbed one of the cocktail napkins from the table and began dabbing at the large wet stain. The napkin immediately reverted to pulp and stuck to my dress in small white clumps. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” I said, “I’m just going to go to the ladies’ room.”

I made my way across the bar area into a small lavatory. As I pushed open the door, I heard a voice coming from one of the stalls. “That’s right,” it said. “That’s perfect. Now, do you know what I’m going to do?”

I paused in confusion. While I recognized the voice as Valerie’s, it was as if she was trying to disguise it. The result was a low-pitched, halting, breathy sound. It was not unlike listening to Marilyn Monroe—if she was having an asthma attack, that is.

Hearing me, Valerie suddenly whispered, “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you back.”

I grabbed a handful of paper towels and attempted to dry my dress, while Valerie remained in the stall. After a few minutes, it became clear that Valerie had no intention of exiting the stall while I was there; either that, or she was in the clutches of some sort of gastrointestinal distress. In either case, I had no desire to hang about—although perhaps more so, if it was for the latter reason—and so I returned to the table after securing a replacement drink at the bar. Not surprisingly, the conversation was on the apparent plan to present Richard’s paper.

“Honestly, I don’t see why it matters so much,” Gail was saying to Ian, as I slid into my chair. “Yes, I suppose that it will get a large turnout, although I imagine mostly from ghoulish souls who will want to see if there is to be more drama. But what’s the point? It’s not as if you can sell tickets to the reading.”