Murder Most Austen (27 page)

Izzy took a deep breath and then two more for good measure. “I’m sorry, Mama. You’re right. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m just scared that the police are going to renew their interest in you.”

“Well, you two have been together this morning, haven’t you?” I asked. “Once Inspector Middlefield learns that, she’ll have to look elsewhere for the killer.”

My question was met with an uneasy silence. Both Izzy and Cora exchanged anguished glances. “Well, no, actually, we weren’t,” began Izzy. “I went out this morning to get some shampoo and…”

“I was gone when she got back to the room. I’d gone out for a walk,” finished Cora.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding,” said Aunt Winnie, her expression incredulous.

Cora produced a ghost of a smile. “I’m afraid not. Looks like I’ve done it again, haven’t I? There’s been another murder, and once again I don’t have an alibi.”

CHAPTER 26

Have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a lucky guess? I pity you. I thought you cleverer; for, depend upon it, a lucky guess is never merely luck. There is always some talent in it.

—EMMA

M
Y HEAD ACHED;
throbbed, to be more precise. I was minutes away from a full-blown migraine. I was back in my room, where I had shut the curtains against the wholly inappropriately cheerful afternoon sun, in the hopes of taking a quick nap, but every time I closed my eyes, the gruesome image of Valerie’s swollen purple face swam up in front of me. I wanted desperately to talk to Peter, to hear his voice, and to have him reassure me that everything would be okay. I had left him a message about Valerie this morning, but since then my calls kept going straight to his voice mail, at which point a mechanical voice politely informed me that the mailbox was full.

Nursing a secret hope that he actually was on a plane coming to see me rather than stuck in a meeting, I rolled off my bed in frustration. “I’m going downstairs to see if I can get a cup of coffee or something. The caffeine might help,” I said to Aunt Winnie, who was sitting on her bed scribbling into a notebook.

Peering at me in concern, she swung her legs off her bed and stood, saying, “I’ll get it for you, honey. I know how bad your headaches are.”

I shook my head—gently. “No, I want to go. Maybe walking will help. Lying down certainly isn’t doing the trick.”

“Are you sure?” she asked doubtfully.

“Yes. You stay here and work on your list.” I indicated the notebook that was covered in her distinctive looping handwriting. Aunt Winnie was convinced that if she just wrote everything down about the murders, a solution would present itself. I was less optimistic. The only thing I ever gleaned after writing out the facts to a particular problem was that I have really lousy handwriting.

Aunt Winnie raised an eyebrow. “Don’t mock me. You never know, it might prove helpful.”

“I wish you luck with that,” I said, as I gingerly made for the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

When I got downstairs, I saw that the lobby was deserted, so I poked my head into the bar in the hopes that someone was there. I was in luck. Mary, the bartender from the other night, was behind the bar restocking and kindly agreed to make me a cup of coffee.

As I perched on one of the red leather barstools, Mary busied herself with the coffeemaker. “I heard that woman you were here with the other night was killed,” Mary said as she placed a white mug, a small pitcher of cream, and a tin of sugar in front of me.

“You heard right,” I said.

“That’s awful,” Mary said, as she poured steaming coffee into my mug. “First that Professor Baines was killed and then her. It’s not the kind of occurrence that generally happens in Bath. Was she a close friend of yours?”

I shook my head as I added a generous dollop of cream and several scoops of sugar. “No. I’d just met her,” I said. “She was attending the conference. She was actually the daughter-in-law of Professor Baines.”

Mary shook her head sympathetically and crossed her arms across her chest. “That poor family. It’s mind-boggling. Have the police arrested anyone yet? Was it her husband, do you think?”

I paused, my mug halfway to my mouth. “No, they haven’t arrested anyone. Why do you think it might be her husband?”

Mary flushed slightly and fiddled with the coffeemaker. “Oh, no reason, I guess. They just always say it’s usually the spouse in these kinds of cases.”

I put down my mug. “The other night, you said something about Valerie—the woman who died. You said something about her behavior and what might happen if the owners caught her. What did you mean?”

Mary wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Honestly, I don’t like to say. After all, the poor woman is dead,” she said.

I reached across the bar and gently touched her arm. “If you know something, please tell me. It might help the police find her killer.”

Mary didn’t answer right away, seeming to debate the matter a little more in her head. After a few moments, she came to a decision and said haltingly, “Well, I heard her several times on her phone.”

I nodded encouragingly. “And?”

Mary took a deep breath. “And, well, she seemed into phone sex.”

I blinked, sure that I’d misheard. Perhaps my headache was now affecting my hearing. “I’m sorry. Did you say ‘phone sex’?”

Mary nodded, embarrassed. “I did. She was really into it. I must have caught her at it at least five times. I don’t know who she was talking to, but it was pretty gross.”

“She was having phone sex with Ian?” I asked.

Mary shook her head. “No, it wasn’t with him. She seemed to always do it in a bathroom. Privacy, I guess. Anyway, I ran into her husband a few times immediately after and he wasn’t on the phone, so I don’t think it was him. That’s why I wondered if he might have killed her out of jealousy or something.”

Whether from my headache or this bizarre bombshell, my brain was processing information at the speed of dark. Valerie was having an affair? And engaging in phone sex? An involuntary shudder rippled through my body at the images that thought produced. Now, while I am not a prude, I have never seen the appeal of phone sex. With the unfortunate image of Valerie purring God knows what kind of kinky suggestions into the phone to some stranger, it pretty much cemented that opinion.

I stared at my cup of coffee, still somewhat dazed. Frankly, it was hard to believe. But why would Mary lie? She had no reason to. The memory of Valerie’s brief phone conversation I’d overheard in the bathroom last night suddenly took on a whole new meaning. My stomach gave a nauseous lurch, as the realization that Valerie’s breathy question as to “what she was going to do” was most likely of a sexual nature.

It also meant that my hope that Richard’s and Valerie’s killer was an unknown accomplice from New York was doomed.

Honestly, I didn’t know which realization was more upsetting.

*   *   *

I RETURNED TO
the hotel room in a fog. Still clutching my cup of coffee, I sank down into the wooden chair at the desk. Aunt Winnie regarded me with an expression of mild alarm. “Elizabeth? Are you okay? Do you need me to call a doctor?” she asked, tossing aside her notebook.

I shook my head. “No, I’m okay. I think. I just had a rather interesting conversation with the bartender downstairs.”

“And?” Aunt Winnie prompted.

“And, well, she overheard Valerie on the phone a few times,” I said, before taking a sip of coffee.

“By all means, go ahead and take your time,” Aunt Winnie groused.

I smiled. “Trust me, you should thank me. Remember the ‘you’ in this moment. You will never get back the innocence that you now enjoy.” I paused. “Apparently, Valerie was rather fond of explicit phone sex. And she wasn’t having it with Ian.”

Aunt Winnie’s face scrunched in disgust. “Are you serious?”

“According to Mary—she’s the bartender—she caught Valerie at it on a number of occasions.”

Aunt Winnie said, “Is she sure it was Valerie? Valerie Baines? The woman whose own child was probably created in a burst of friendliness that would most likely never be repeated?”

I nodded. “That’s the one.”

Aunt Winnie let out a low whistle. “I guess it’s true what they say about still waters running deep.”

“Or kinky.”

Aunt Winnie nodded in agreement. “Or kinky. I wonder if Ian knew.”

“I wondered about that, too,” I said. “Let me see that notebook of yours. I might have an idea.”

*   *   *

IZZY CALLED US
about an hour later to see if we wanted to meet her and Cora for lunch. “We’ve just finished talking with Inspector Middlefield,” Izzy said. “Charming woman. I hope she chokes on her suspicions.”

“I take it, then, that your mom is still a suspect?” I asked.

“That would be putting it mildly,” she answered morosely. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

I glanced at Aunt Winnie’s open notebook on the bed, which now contained several pages of my own scribbled notes. “I think I might have some ideas on that. Why don’t Aunt Winnie and I meet you and your mom at that café down the street from your hotel.”

“The Pig and Fiddle?”

“That’s the one. Let’s meet there in about half an hour, and we can discuss it.”

There was the briefest of pauses. “Can you tell me now?” she asked.

“I’d rather not get into it over the phone,” I said, wondering why that would make a difference. But for some reason, it did. “I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”

“We’ll be there,” answered Izzy.

When Aunt Winnie and I arrived at the pub, Izzy and Cora were waiting for us. The coveted outdoor heated garden area was full, so we got a table in the main room, a cheerful area jammed full of various sporting memorabilia and comfy leather sofas.

“What do you know?” Izzy asked as we sat down. “Have you figured out who did it? Have you figured out a way to get Mama off the hook?”

I held up a quelling hand. “Wait. I don’t know anything for sure, but I do have a couple of ideas.”

Izzy leaned forward, resting her elbows on the wooden table. “Well? What are they?”

I glanced at Aunt Winnie. I had already discussed my suspicions with her. She nodded her head for me to continue. “Now, please keep in mind,” I said, “that this is only an idea, and I really need you to promise not to repeat it.”

“Sure, of course,” answered Izzy.

I took a deep breath. “It’s about Ian,” I said.

“Ian!” Izzy and Cora repeated in astonishment.

“Shhh!” I ordered, nervously glancing around to see if anyone had overheard us. “Keep your voices down!”

“Sorry, but Ian? You must be crazy!” Izzy protested. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s a teddy bear!”

“That’s what the neighbor of every killer says, right after, ‘He was always so quiet and kept to himself,’” I retorted.

“You think Ian killed his father? For what? His money? I don’t believe it,” Izzy scoffed.

“People have killed for far less. And I’m not saying that Ian killed anybody. I’m just saying that I’ve discovered a few things that are odd.”

“Like what?” Izzy asked, her color suddenly pale.

“Well, as strange as this may sound, I think Valerie was having an affair,” I said.

Both Cora’s and Izzy’s eyes grew wide with astonishment at this. “Valerie? You’ve got to be joking!” said Cora.

I quickly told them what Mary had told me. Cora stared back at me, clearly horrified. Izzy’s expression was dubious.

“Are you sure? I really have a hard time believing Valerie was that … adventurous. I mean, Ian told me…” She paused.

“Ian told you what?” I asked.

“Nothing. It’s not important,” she said quickly. “In any case, I still don’t see how any of this implicates Ian.”

“I realize that. What does implicate him is the fact that he lied to the police.”

Izzy’s eyebrows pulled together. “When? When did he lie to the police?”

“He lied about being in Gail’s room the night of Richard’s murder. He told me that he’d seen the ambulance from her window, but Gail’s room doesn’t look out onto the street.”

Izzy suddenly reached across the table and grabbed my hands tightly. They were very cold and very strong. “Did you tell the police that?” she asked in a low voice.

I stared back at her in confusion. “Well, yes, I did. Why?”

Izzy cringed and closed her eyes. She gripped my hands even tighter. I winced and tried to pull them back. “Because I know where Ian was that night,” she said, her voice small.

“You do?” A sick suspicion suddenly settled in the pit of my stomach. “Where?”

Taking a deep breath, she said, “He was in his room. With me.”

CHAPTER 27

They were very accomplished and very ignorant … and the object of all was to captivate some man of much better fortune than their own.

—SANDITION

“W
HAT?” CRIED CORA
in the universal tone of motherly outrage. “You were
where
?”

Not to be outdone, Izzy raised her blond head in the universal pose of adolescent defiance. “You heard me, Mama. I’m not repeating it.”

“But Izzy, you don’t mean that you … that you…” Cora broke off, unable to complete the thought.

“Slept with him? Actually, I do mean that.”

“But what about Allen? Do I have to remind you that you are engaged?”

Izzy rolled her eyes. “Of course not, Mama. But you know that I’ve had feelings for Ian for a long time now.” From Cora’s dumbfounded expression, I gathered that Cora had no idea whatsoever of this tidbit. Izzy continued, unconcerned. “While I’m very fond of Allen, I know now that he isn’t The One. Ian is. And on this trip, well, we grew closer. I can’t go back to Allen now. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Fair!” Cora yelled. “How can you possibly pretend to be in a moral position to judge what’s fair?”

Several heads turned our way. “I think it might be a good idea to either leave or lower your voices,” I said, suddenly wondering what the hell I’d been thinking in suggesting that we have this meeting in a public place.

Cora glanced around and lowered her voice accordingly. “I can’t believe you, Izzy. I really can’t. To betray Allen like this is terrible! What kind of girl are you?”