Murder at Longbourn (13 page)

Stepping out into the foyer, I saw that Lady Catherine had taken up her usual position on the green brocade chair, her blue eyes languidly surveying the room. In them, the pulsating lights from the Christmas tree were reflected. That effect, combined with her already peevish expression, made the ambience of the reading room seem downright cozy.

Lady Catherine heard the footfalls on the stairs before I did. Following her laserlike stare, I saw Peter coming down. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt and faded jeans. His thick brown hair was slightly damp where it curled around his neck. In short, he looked well rested and showered—two adjectives that most certainly did not describe me. Staring at me with some surprise, he
asked, “What are you doing up so early?” He pointed to my feet and added, “No bunny slippers this morning?”

“I got up early to help Aunt Winnie with the breakfast,” I replied curtly, putting extra emphasis on the word
help
and ignoring his second question altogether.

Peter coughed. “If you are insinuating that I am a lazy ingrate because I did not help with the breakfast, may I direct your attention to the driveway. The
freshly shoveled
driveway. Actually, a better description might be the
freshly shoveled, ridiculously long, heart-attack-inducing
driveway.”

As directed, I looked out the window to see a freshly shoveled driveway. And now that I noticed it, it was ridiculously long. Feeling petty and foolish, I turned back to apologize but Peter held up his hand to stop me. “And may I just add,” he continued, “that the reason I was surprised to see you up so early is that I know that you were up late with that detective. Aunt Winnie and I were hoping that you’d sleep in a bit. She mentioned that when you don’t get enough sleep, you have a tendency to get … cranky.” He paused to cock his eyebrow at me. “Seriously, though, how did your interview with the detective go?”

“Not very well,” I mumbled, remembering my various outbursts.

“I had a feeling,” Peter replied dryly. Turning to him for an explanation, he went on. “He was here this morning. He asked me a few questions about you. He said you were a spitfire.” Peter paused and folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t think he meant it as a compliment.”

“I can assure you he didn’t.” I was embarrassed that my temper had once again gotten the better of me. “He asked me not to leave town.”

“Well, don’t let that get you down,” said Peter. “He asked the same of me.”

The rest of what Detective Stewart said came back to me as well, especially his suspicions about Aunt Winnie. “Peter,” I said impulsively, “I think that the police suspect Aunt Winnie.”

His dark brows knitted together in concern. “Really? Why?”

“Because of some things Detective Stewart said to me last night. Apparently, someone told him that Gerald still wanted to buy the inn and that he was harassing her through the zoning board. And now Detective Stewart has it in his head that Gerald actually threatened Aunt Winnie. It looks bad for her—after all, she was the one who turned off the lights. And what if they find out about that time with her friend’s husband? If you didn’t know the whole story …” I began.

“… it could look pretty bad,” Peter finished. He thought for a moment. “So you think the police suspect Aunt Winnie of killing Gerald just so she can keep the inn?”

“Something like that. Do you think I should tell her?”

Confusion registered in Peter’s brown eyes. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you tell her?”

Last night, I could have listed at least eight reasons why I shouldn’t tell her the police’s suspicions. In the light of day, after a cup of hot coffee, I couldn’t think of a single one.

“You’re right,” I finally said. “I’ll tell her. There’s no reason not to.”

“She’s a smart woman, Elizabeth. I’m sure she can handle the likes of Detective Stewart.”

“I know. I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly.” I smiled at him. “Thanks, Peter. I’ve got to run and take a shower. See you later.”

“Right,” said Peter. “I’ll go see if Winnie needs any help.”

As I walked up the staircase, I was sure that Peter was right. There was nothing to worry about. Aunt Winnie was a smart, strong woman. More important, I assured myself, she was innocent. I turned back to Peter. He was staring out into space, his shoulders hunched and his expression a mass of worry. My good feeling went right out the window.

I
WAS SURPRISED to see all the guests file dutifully into the reading room for breakfast, until I realized that no one wanted to be left alone in a bedroom. With a murderer on the loose, there was something to be said for that old adage about safety in numbers.

Joan and Henry sat woodenly together on the yellow couch. They neither spoke nor ate. Joan’s eyes were red and swollen behind her glasses, and Henry’s round face appeared to have aged ten years overnight. My good-morning greeting received only a muttered response and they both had trouble making eye contact with me.

As they had last night, the actors huddled together, clearly more comfortable with one another than anyone else. Standing as one body by the fireplace, they whispered among themselves and warily eyed the rest of us. I couldn’t blame them, but it still made me feel rotten.

The only one entering the room who didn’t seem affected was Daniel. He looked gorgeous. Wearing a blue wool sweater and faded jeans, he strode into the room and issued a general greeting that managed to convey a respectful acknowledgment of last night’s tragedy as well as a sense of unity. Unlike my earlier greeting, which had been essentially ignored, his was appreciated by everyone. Joan even smiled at him.

After pouring himself a cup of coffee, Daniel crossed the room to where I was sitting on the window seat and squeezed in next to me. He was so close that I could smell his spicy aftershave.

“Hello,” he said quietly. “How are you getting on?”

“You mean aside from seeing a man murdered, apparently by someone who is a guest here, and being informed by the police that I am not allowed to leave town?”

Daniel smiled. “Right, aside from all that.”

“Oh, well, other than
that,
” I said with mock cheerfulness, “I’m doing just super, thanks. And yourself?”

He matched my tone. “Never better. Never better. In fact,” his whisper was conspiratorial, “I’m having such a brilliant time that I’ve decided to extend my visit by a few days.”

“Detective Stewart asked you to stay on, too, I take it.”

“In a word, yes. Apparently, the police have taken it into their heads that Lauren and I are more than friends.”

“Really?”

“I see from your expression that you already heard that,” he continued matter-of-factly. “And I have little doubt where that tidbit of misinformation came from.” He took a sip of coffee. When he spoke again, the teasing tone was gone. Anger now laced his words. “Miss Tanner would do well to take care. One day she may find herself on the receiving end of a slander suit—or worse.”

I agreed with him. Jackie wasn’t going to make many friends in town if she merrily continued to spread gossip about everyone. She’d managed to get Aunt Winnie unwanted scrutiny by the police and now she’d done the same for Daniel. I could well understand the anger behind his words.

Daniel stared at the snapping fire for several moments. Finally, he shifted his attention back to me, a suggestive smile on his lips.
“So, you are staying on as well,” he said. He glanced out the window at the trees bent and bowed under the weight of the snow. “Terrible snowstorm last night,” he continued, picking up the teasing tone again. “Better to stay in and keep warm.” His blue eyes locked on mine. “Any ideas on how we can stay warm? Indoors?”

“Roast marshmallows?” I was trying to appear calm and composed. I knew that his sexual banter wasn’t serious—the man flirted as naturally as he breathed—but I could feel my face flush and I knew that my cheeks must be bright red. My upper lip began to twitch, another of my attractive manifestations of nervousness.

Daniel shook his head. “Gave up sweets for the New Year. Any other ideas?”

I knew that one of two things was going to happen. I was either going to fling myself into his arms, yelling something idiotic like, “Shag me!” or I was going to have a hideous breakout of nerve-induced hives. Either way, I was seconds away from making a complete ass of myself.

For once the Fates smiled upon me and I was saved. Aunt Winnie entered the room and said loudly, “Everyone, if I could have your attention, please. Detective Stewart is here and he’s asked to speak with all of us for a moment.”

Detective Stewart appeared in the doorway. He’d been up as late as I had, if not later. Yet there was no sign of exhaustion on his face. I took this as yet another sign that the man was inhuman. He threw his head back and straightened his shoulders. His hands were shoved deep into his thick overcoat’s pockets. His entire stance was suggestive of a man ready for a battle. The tension level in the room instantly jumped several notches.

“Good morning,” he said in his raspy voice. Either the man smoked three packs of cigarettes a day or he had affected the voice
for purposes of intimidation. There was simply no way that the terrible sounds emitting from his throat could have been God-given. He deliberately surveyed the room, pausing when he got to me. Almost imperceptibly, he inclined his head and nodded before turning back to the others.

Henry unfolded his bulky frame from the couch and stood up. Raking a hand through his hair, he said in a voice shaking with indignation, “Look here. I want to know why my wife and I have to stay here. We’ve nothing to do with this … this … sordid business. Neither of us even knows anybody in this town. I have to leave. I have a very important meeting tomorrow with …”

“Mrs. Kristell Dubois,” Daniel and I both muttered under our breath.

“… Mrs. Kristell Dubois,” Henry intoned gravely. “If you do not know that good lady, let me tell you that she will be seriously displeased if I am not able to meet with her. She is an exceedingly busy woman and—”

Detective Stewart raised one of his large hands and like a puppet Henry fell silent. Jamming his hands into the pockets of his charcoal-gray slacks, Henry stared sullenly at the ground and jangled his coins. Detective Stewart’s face stretched to accommodate a thin smile. “I know that you all want to leave,” he said. “However, in the interests of the case, I have to ask that you be patient. Those of you who are from out of town will have to stay on here a few more days. But those of you who are local”—he nodded to the acting troupe—“can return to their homes, with the understanding that you are not to leave town.” A gasp of relief escaped from the actors, followed by a frustrated one from the rest of us.

Next to me, Daniel stood up, upsetting his coffee in the process. “I say!” he said, his handsome face pulled into a scowl. “That is simply
not fair. Why do I have to remain here?” Buoyed by Daniel’s outburst, Henry joined him in angry protest. I remained silent. Even if Detective Stewart had told me that I could go, I wouldn’t have. Not now. I was going to stay with Aunt Winnie until the murderer was caught and I knew she was safe. Henry and Daniel badgered Detective Stewart about their rights, previous commitments, and whatever else they could throw at him. Their pleas had no effect on him; in fact, if anything, they seemed only to gratify him. What had begun as a thin smile of amusement now bordered on a full-out grin.

While they continued to argue back and forth, I studied the actors. They were watching the proceedings with all the intensity of spectators at a Wimbledon finals. Across the room, Peter sat quietly, frowning at his cup of coffee. He had not argued with Detective Stewart’s decree either, and I suspected that he felt as I did. He would not leave until Aunt Winnie was out of danger.

Detective Stewart raised his voice. “Enough! You can file a complaint if you like, but right now I am in charge of this case, and my decision stands. I can make this easy or hard. It’s entirely up to you.”

Both Henry and Daniel fell silent. Detective Stewart contemplated them with undisguised scorn. The actors took advantage of the lull to make their escape, no doubt afraid Detective Stewart might change his mind. They rose as one body and sidled out the door, like some weird human crab.

Detective Stewart and Aunt Winnie followed them out into the foyer. Detective Stewart told the actors that he would be in touch with them. He ensured that he had accurate phone numbers and addresses, while Aunt Winnie apologized for the inconvenience. The rest of us sat silently, lost in our own thoughts. To be honest, I had
never really suspected any of the actors of the murder. But, with their exit, the range of possible suspects had been obviously and drastically narrowed. It made for a very uncomfortable atmosphere.

Perhaps because of this, Joan and Henry abruptly left the room. Daniel forgot his flirtation with me and departed as well. Only Peter and I remained.

“Well, at least they’ll have a nice, freshly shoveled driveway to peel out of when they leave.”