Murder Most Austen (25 page)

“Have you seen Ian or Valerie?” he asked, his breath coming in small pants.

“No,” I said. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Byron ran his hand through his hair and glanced around before answering. “It’s the paper,” he finally said, his voice almost frantic. “Richard’s paper. It’s gone! Someone stole it!”

“Stole it!” I gasped. “But how?”

Byron shook his head, perplexed. “They broke into my hotel room,” he said. “I got a call this morning from Valerie. She asked me to meet her at a nearby café. She said she had a proposal to talk to me about. When I got there, she wasn’t there, so I waited a bit. I tried to call her, but there was no answer. After a while, I went back to my room, only to find that someone had broken into it and taken the paper!”

I stared at Byron in confusion. “But they can’t have gotten the only copy—I mean, wasn’t it on a computer?”

“No, that’s just it. Richard hated computers. He had this stupid paranoia that his work could somehow be hacked. He would write everything out in longhand and then give it to me to be typed. He even insisted that it only be typed on this super-thick paper he special-ordered from London, because he believed that it would be harder for people to copy if they somehow got hold of it. He was especially paranoid about this paper. Once a change was made, I’d have to type up a new version and burn the old version. There was only one copy of the damn thing, and now it’s gone!”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Aunt Winnie. “Who in the name of God doesn’t use a computer these days? It doesn’t make any sense!”

Byron’s agitation only increased. “Yes, I know. Trust me, I tried to tell him that myself on several occasions. But the fact remains that he didn’t listen to me. He only kept one version of the paper, and now it’s gone!”

Around us, some of the other festival attendees stared at Byron in concern. He lowered his voice and said, “I just need to locate Ian or Valerie and find out what is going on.”

“Do you think that Valerie called you to get you out of your room?” asked Aunt Winnie.

Byron nodded but then paused, as if to reconsider the question. “I did, actually. But now that I think of it, it could have been anyone. I mean, I don’t know Valerie all that well and the voice sounded a bit thick. She—whoever called—said she had a cold, so I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Could it have been Alex?” I asked.

Byron shook his head. “No. As it happened, Alex was with me when I received the call. She had stopped by to give me a list of phone numbers she wanted me to call back home—associates of Richard’s. She wanted me to tell them what had happened.”

“Did you tell her that you were meeting Valerie?” I asked.

Byron shifted his feet awkwardly and looked down before answering. “No, I didn’t. With Richard dead, I’m out of a job. I wondered if the proposal Valerie wanted to discuss with me was a job opportunity with the magazine. However, it didn’t seem very tactful to tell Alex that I wanted to work for Gail, so I said nothing.”

I glanced at Aunt Winnie. Her brows were pulled together in puzzlement. “I think you should call Inspector Middlefield,” I said. “This might be important.”

“Well, of course it’s important,” snapped Byron. “The damn paper is missing! Do you have any idea how much that thing is worth?” He paused and added in a calmer voice, “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I’m just on edge. I get what you’re saying. You think this might have something to do with Richard’s death, don’t you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It might. In any case, I think you should call the police.”

Byron sighed. “This whole thing is just completely crazy. I don’t get it. But you’re right, I should let Inspector Middlefield know what’s going on. In the meantime, if you see Ian or Valerie, can you tell them that I need to talk to them?”

“Sure,” I said. “But do you want me to mention the paper?”

Byron had just turned to go. Hearing my question, he now turned back to face me. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “But maybe, to be on the safe side, it might be best not to mention it if you see them. Let me talk to Inspector Middlefield first.”

I nodded. “Okay. Good luck.”

Giving me a half wave, Byron quickly headed down the lengthy corridor. His long strides covered the distance in no time, and soon he was out of view. I turned to Aunt Winnie, once again wishing that I possessed the ability to raise one eyebrow. If there ever was an appropriate time to do so, it was now.

“Can you believe this?” I asked. “Someone actually stole that ridiculous paper!”

“There’s so much about all this that I can’t believe already,” said Aunt Winnie, “I don’t see why one more thing should matter. I wonder if Valerie did have something to do with it.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” I said. “When it comes to matters of money, she seems quite adept at turning a blind eye to pesky little details like morality.”

Aunt Winnie nodded her agreement as she scanned the morning’s itinerary. “Well, what do you want to do? Do you want to search for Valerie and Ian, or do you want to attend ‘A Regency Wedding’? It starts in ten minutes.”

I glanced around at the other attendees, happily moving along the corridor on their way to the next session. A few men and women dressed in Regency garb glided by. From the men’s blue dress coats with gilt buttons, white waistcoats, and dark gray breeches, and the women’s delicate white gowns and white lacy caps, I deduced that they were part of the Regency wedding presentation. The Janeite in me won out over the Nancy Drew. I wanted to attend the session. I didn’t want to deal with stolen papers and dead bodies—at least for a little while. I said as much to Aunt Winnie and she nodded her approval. “Good,” she said, stuffing the itinerary back into her purse, “because that’s where I was going. I’d have hated for you to miss it.”

“You’re all heart,” I said good-naturedly. “Now, where are we going?”

“I think it’s up here on the right,” she answered.

We ambled along the corridor and then turned the corner to find a closed door. “Is this the room?” I asked, looking around.

“I think so.” Aunt Winnie pushed open the door. We entered the meeting room which, although set up for a lecture, was now empty, save for one attendee sitting in the front row.

Aunt Winnie pulled out her itinerary again and studied it. “Room 5A. Isn’t this 5A?”

I glanced at the plaque over the door. “According to the sign this is the Green Room.”

“Well, that’s not helpful.” Calling to the woman up front, Aunt Winnie said, “Excuse me? Do you know if this is room 5A? We’re looking for the session on Regency weddings? Are you here for that as well?”

The woman didn’t answer. In fact, she didn’t move. Based on her slumped posture, I guessed she was napping.

“I think she’s asleep,” I whispered to Aunt Winnie. “Let’s go find 5A. This can’t be it.”

But Aunt Winnie peered suspiciously at the woman and slowly moved toward her. I followed, suddenly uneasy. The woman, who was wearing a black shawl and matching hat, did not stir. When she was within inches, Aunt Winnie reached out and gently touched her shoulder. The light movement tipped the woman over, and she fell in an ungainly heap onto the floor.

Horrified, I found myself looking down at Valerie’s bloated, purplish face.

No one would think she was one of the living dead ever again.

CHAPTER 24

Only think of Mrs. Holder’s being dead! Poor woman, she has done the only thing in the world she could possibly do to make one cease to abuse her.

—LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN

O
NCE AGAIN I WAS SITTING
in front of Inspector Middlefield and reflecting that the reality of an English murder investigation is far different from its fictional counterpart. Frankly, the fact that I’d even
had
this thought made me stop for a moment and question my sanity. Maybe my friends were right; maybe I did watch too much
Masterpiece Theatre.

I was sitting at a table in one of the smaller conference rooms. Inspector Middlefield sat across from me. From the various placards that sat on the white cotton tablecloth, I gathered that the room had initially been set up for a session on social customs in Regency England. I was seated next to one that read: “High Tea vs. Low Tea.” Inspector Middlefield sat next to “Card Games: Whist, Commerce, and Loo.”

“So, it seems you found another body, Ms. Parker,” Inspector Middlefield said to me. She didn’t sound particularly sympathetic.

“I did,” I answered.

Inspector Middlefield leaned back in her chair and regarded me with an expression I couldn’t quite interpret. However, that’s not to say that I didn’t get the general gist of it. The piercing stare and grim face were something of a tell.

“That’s two bodies you’ve managed to stumble across since you arrived here. Not the usual sights for the typical tourist who comes to Bath,” she observed. “And yet you don’t seem particularly upset.”

Sadly, there was some truth to what she said. I hadn’t screamed, burst into tears, or fainted at finding Valerie’s body. Instead, with almost robotic calm, I grabbed a hotel employee and told him to call the police. Could the fact that—unfortunately—this wasn’t the first dead body I’d seen have something to do with my relative calm? Was I becoming jaded to murder? If that was the case—and I dearly hoped it wasn’t—I nevertheless wasn’t going to share this with Inspector Middlefield. I suspected that if I did, it would result in an expression on her face that would be far easier to interpret.

I closed my eyes. The gruesome image of Valerie’s purple face immediately swam before my eyes, and I felt the bile rise in my throat. My eyes flew back open, happy to be once again staring at Inspector Middlefield’s dour face. No, I concluded, I was not immune to the horror of it all. Instead, it was as if a part of my brain had shut down. The result was that I felt as if I was watching the latest chapter of this deadly drama happen to someone else. I made a mental note to Google signs of shock once my interview with the inspector was over.

“I think I might be in shock,” I said now. “I’m kind of numb.”

Inspector Middlefield’s glacial stare thawed a fraction upon hearing this. Not a lot, mind you. The polar bears were still safe. But it was a start. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said. Turning to one of her sergeants, she added, “Lewis, would you go and get a cup of tea for Ms. Parker?

Sergeant Lewis, a reed-thin man with a shock of bushy red hair, nodded and quickly left the room. “So why were you and your aunt in the room where the body was discovered?” Inspector Middlefield asked.

“We were looking for the session on Regency weddings,” I said. “Aunt Winnie thought this was the room. We saw Valerie sitting…” I swallowed and took a deep breath. “We didn’t know it was her. We thought it was another conference attendee. It was only when we walked over to her to ask if she knew where the wedding session was that we realized it was Valerie.” I closed my eyes, but Valerie’s face appeared, grotesque and swollen. Once again, I yanked my eyes back open. The detachment that my brain had created seemed to be breaking down.

Sergeant Lewis returned with the cup of tea, which I accepted with a grateful smile. Handing me a plate with a few creamers and several sugar packets stacked on it, he said, “I didn’t know how you took it, so I brought you extra.”

I thanked him and began adding cream and, taking Inspector Middlefield’s advice, more sugar than usual. As I gave the tea a quick stir, I had the sensation that an important memory was on the edge of my subconscious trying to push its way into the light. I frowned at the cup of tea, trying to coax the memory out, but it slid back into darkness and was gone.

“When was the last time that you saw Mrs. Baines?” Inspector Middlefield asked me after I took a sip of the sweet tea.

“Last night at the bar in our hotel.”

“Who else was there?” she asked, as she jotted this information down in her notebook.

“Well, Aunt Winnie and I were in the bar. Cora and Izzy joined us. A few minutes later, Gail, Valerie, and Ian came into the bar.”

Inspector Middlefield glanced up from her notebook, her gaze laserlike. “An interesting group,” she said. “Not one that I’d imagine would socialize together given the current track of the investigation.”

I acknowledged her statement with a small nod. “It wasn’t intentional. Izzy and Cora were joining us for a drink. We didn’t think Gail and Ian and Valerie would be there. We thought they’d still be at the memorial service that Valerie had set up.”

Inspector Middlefield nodded. “Ah, yes. I heard about that. I would be curious to hear your thoughts on that as well later. But first let’s finish with this. Did the Baines family join you?”

“Yes, they did.”

“What did you all talk about?”

I took a sip of the tea. “Valerie brought up Richard’s paper. At the memorial, she sort of bullied Alex into agreeing to allow it to be presented. She told us that she’d apparently made arrangements, and they were going to charge twenty pounds a person for admission.”

Inspector Middlefield arched an eyebrow at this. “Really?” she said. “What was the reaction to that?”

“I think Ian already knew about it. Gail, however, didn’t. She was upset at first; I think that she was angry at the thought of Alex benefiting financially from the paper. But then Valerie explained that the proceeds would be split between Alex and Ian.”

“And did that seem to appease Gail?” Inspector Middlefield asked.

I thought back to the conversation. “Yes. I think it did.”

Inspector Middlefield tapped her pen against her notebook. “But now, of course, this paper has been stolen. The only copy, I understand.”

“That’s what I was told.”

Inspector Middlefield stared at her notebook, her expression thoughtful. I got the impression that she was debating whether to tell me something. Her next words confirmed this. “I’m debating whether I should tell you something,” she said.

See?

“What would you say if I told you that a scrap of that missing paper was found in the dead woman’s hands?” She watched my reaction closely.

I’m sure my surprise was quite evident. “In Valerie’s hands?” I repeated. “Are you sure?”