Murder at Longbourn (16 page)

Aunt Winnie laughed. “Don’t be such a worrywart! You need to live a little.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” I muttered, closing my eyes tightly as she sped up for the yellow light.

Health experts recommend elevating your pulse rate to achieve cardio fitness. By the time we skidded to a stop in the inn’s driveway,
mine was so elevated I was sure I didn’t have to bother with any additional exercise for the day. Maybe even for the entire week.

My legs were shaky from continually slamming on an imaginary brake and I walked unsteadily to the front door. Stumbling into the foyer, I met Peter emerging from the back office.

“Hello,” he said. “How was your visit?”

“Elizabeth made a new friend,” said Aunt Winnie. “His name is Denny.”

“You know,” I said pleasantly, “I’m not above striking defenseless old women.”

“Really?” Aunt Winnie countered with a wink. “Let me know if you find one.”

Peter, who had been listening to us with an increasingly puzzled expression, now interrupted. “Right,” he said. “Can I interest either of you in a cocktail? The Andersons have gone into town for dinner and Daniel is dining with Mrs. Ramsey. We are, for the first time this weekend, alone. I vote we put our heads together and see what we can come up with about Gerald’s murder. The sooner the murderer is found, the better for all of us.”

“Agreed,” said Aunt Winnie. “Would you mind, though, if I invite Randy? I haven’t had much chance to see him lately, and I trust him.”

“Not at all,” said Peter. “I’ll get started on the drinks.”

“Thanks. I’ll just be a moment,” said Aunt Winnie, as she went into the office. “Oh, Peter, make mine a gin and tonic. Strong.”

“And for you?” Peter said to me.

“The same, please. I’ll go see if I can rummage up some cheese and crackers.”

In the kitchen I cut up cheese and salami. Placing them on a tray, I added some crackers and a small bowl of olives. I was returning
with the tray when Aunt Winnie came out of the office. “Randy is on his way,” she said. “I invited him to stay for dinner, too.”

“You really like him, don’t you?” I said.

“I think that I do. He’s a very nice man.” With a smile, she quoted, “ ‘He is also handsome, which a man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can.’ ”

I laughed and quoted back, “ ‘Well, I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person.’ ”

In the reading room, I settled into my chair, taking in the calming atmosphere of the room. For the first time today, I felt relaxed—almost at home. I smiled, thinking how my attachment to Longbourn seemed to increase daily. I thought about my apartment back in Virginia with its temperamental heating/cooling system and utter absence of architectural style. Now that Bridget was engaged, I would have to start thinking about getting a new roommate next year. Idly, I wondered about moving to the Cape instead. Maybe I could find a job here and help Aunt Winnie with the inn.

Peter entered with the drinks and I took mine gratefully. After everyone had settled into their chairs, Peter asked, “So, did you learn anything interesting at the Ramseys’? I’m assuming that’s why the two of you went there. Although I admit that showing up laden with baskets of homemade food was a nice touch.”

“Don’t look at me,” I said, raising my hands. “I was just following orders.”

Aunt Winnie gave Peter a level look over the rim of her crystal glass. “Aren’t you a little young to be so cynical?”

“I’m not cynical. I just know you. You’re not going to deny it, are you?”

“Of course not. But I’m still reserving the right to call you cynical.”

“Duly noted,” Peter said with a wave of his hand. “Did you learn anything?”

“Well, no one was suddenly overcome with remorse and confessed, if that’s what you mean,” I said. Outside the sun had long ago set and long shadows now spread into the room. I got up and started a fire in the fireplace.

“Don’t be such a smart-ass,” said Aunt Winnie. “We learned about Jamie.”

“Who’s Jamie?” Peter asked, as he helped himself to a cracker and a piece of cheese from the tray.

“He’s Lauren’s son from a previous marriage,” said Aunt Winnie. “Apparently, he has special needs and lives in some sort of home in South Carolina.”

“What does that prove?” asked Peter.

“It doesn’t necessarily prove anything,” she said. “I just think it’s interesting, that’s all. Don’t you think it’s strange that the boy isn’t living with his mother? Even if he needs to be in some sort of supervised community, you’d think she’d live closer.”

“You think that Gerald didn’t want anything to do with Jamie and had him shipped away?” I gave the burning logs a thoughtful shove with the poker.

“Would you really be surprised if that were the case?”

“Oh, I’m not arguing with you,” I said. “It sounds exactly like something Gerald would do. But then again, Lauren doesn’t strike me as the most maternal of women. She may have preferred having her son live far away.”

Aunt Winnie nodded.

“Oh! I almost forgot. Polly got a passport!” I said, quickly explaining my find.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Aunt Winnie.

“Your driving must have scared the memory out of me,” I replied, although I knew that wasn’t the reason. Daniel’s kiss was the reason. I hoped I wasn’t blushing.

The doorbell chimed. “That’s Randy,” said Aunt Winnie, jumping up.

“And who’s Denny?” Peter called after her.

Aunt Winnie let out a snort of laughter as she went to answer the door, leaving me to explain my attractiveness to a spoiled pug.

“Don’t be too hard on the dog,” Peter said, laughing when I had finished. “Maybe he’s just cuckoo for Cocoa—”

I swung the poker menacingly at him. “If you finish that sentence, you will regret it! Why your parents ever encouraged you to talk, I’ll never understand.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Peter muttered, as Aunt Winnie returned to the room with Randy. He was wearing a rumpled brown cashmere sweater and tan slacks. Behind his glasses, his magnified brown eyes resembled fish swimming in a tank. He smiled at Peter and me, and said, “I understand from Winifred that the three of you are playing amateur sleuth. Have you discovered the culprit?”

“Don’t answer him,” instructed Aunt Winnie. “He’s making fun of us.”

Randy laughed. “I am not.”

“You just called me Miss Marple in the foyer.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“Liar. And anyway, I’d prefer to be compared to Amelia Peabody.”

Randy lowered the top half of his body into a mock bow. “Whatever you say,
Amelia.
”

Aunt Winnie was a die-hard fan of Elizabeth Peters’s Egyptian mysteries featuring the indomitable sleuth Amelia Peabody. So was
I, for that matter. We tended to look with horror on those who did not share our admiration.

“Well, regardless of who we fancy ourselves to be,” said Peter, “I think we have to be serious about the fact that one of the guests here murdered Gerald Ramsey. And, if the police are right, this was no spur-of-the-moment crime of passion. It was a well-thought-out and deliberate murder.”

“I agree,” said Randy, taking a seat next to Aunt Winnie on the couch. “And until the police find the killer, I fear that there may be more trouble.” He glanced meaningfully at Peter and me.

I knew he was alluding to Aunt Winnie. He must have also caught wind of Detective Stewart’s suspicions.

“If you are referring to the police’s ideas about me,” said Aunt Winnie, pushing her bright red curls back in an angry gesture, “I do wish you would just say so. I dislike being talked of as if I’m some doddering old fool.”

“Nobody said you were a fool!” I said.

“Or doddering!” Peter chimed in.

“They didn’t have to.” Pointing at me, she continued. “You’ve been staring at me all day like I was an egg about to crack. And you,” she said, addressing Peter, “you’ve been treating me with kid gloves and making furtive phone calls when you think I’m not around!”

Peter squirmed in his chair but did not deny the charge. I wondered whom he had been calling.

Aunt Winnie continued. “I am quite aware that Detective Stewart thinks that Gerald’s determination to buy me out of this inn may have been why he died.” She added, “The man’s a dammed idiot. Unfortunately, he knows about what happened with Marion.”

As soon as she said that, my stomach sank. It was exactly as I had feared. The police knew.

Randy looked from Aunt Winnie to me and then to Peter for clarification. “Who’s Marion?” he finally asked.

Aunt Winnie sighed. “Marion is one of my oldest friends. I’ve known her since I was sixteen. Years ago she married a man by the name of Danny Baker. Well, Danny was a big hulking jerk, but Marion fell for him.” Aunt Winnie shook her head sadly. “No matter how boorish or obnoxious Danny was, Marion would stand up for him and say he was just misunderstood. Because she seemed to love him so much, I tried to keep my mouth shut. But then Marion started showing up with bruises. She always had an excuse—she fell or tripped or some sort of other silly story. I became suspicious, of course, but Marion never said a word against Danny. I tried to do what I could, but she was completely under his spell. Then one day, I’ll never forget it, Marion showed up at my house sobbing hysterically. It was awful. She was a mere slip of a thing and Danny had beaten her within an inch of her life. One of her eyes was swollen shut, her lip was split, and her jaw was purple and raw. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. In her arms was her beloved little dog, Pixie. He was dead. Danny had apparently flown into a rage because the dog had gotten into the trash can. Danny had snapped his neck.”

Aunt Winnie fell silent at her memory of the broken dog’s limp body. “Marion had tried to protect the dog, so Danny went after her as well. Seeing Danny kill Pixie made Marion finally realize what a monster Danny was. She had come to me to ask for help in getting her things out of the house while Danny was at work. Of course, I said yes. As far as I was concerned her life was in danger.” Aunt Winnie’s eyes flickered uneasily in Randy’s direction before continuing. “We were getting ready to leave when Danny returned home, drunk. When he realized that Marion was leaving him, he
flew into a rage. And that’s when I pulled out my gun. Danny was a rather large man and I wasn’t taking any chances.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Randy. “You had a gun?”

“Yes. As I said, it was a long time ago, and I thought I needed it for protection.” She added defensively, “I took the recommended classes and was very careful with it!”

“I’m not judging you,” said Randy. “I’m just surprised.”

“Well,” Aunt Winnie continued with a shrug, “once Danny saw the gun, he calmed down. I explained that Marion was leaving and that he had better not try anything. I thought he was going to let us leave, but at the last minute he lunged at me and I … fired.”

“Jesus!” said Randy. “Did you kill him?”

“Of course not!” Aunt Winnie snapped. “I’m an excellent shot! I nicked him on the leg so he couldn’t chase us. I knew what I was doing. Trust me, if I’d wanted to kill him, he’d be dead.”

Her words hung in the air. No one said anything.

“Which is why, I suppose,” she finally continued, “that things might look a little dark against me now. I have a record. I was charged with assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder, and about six other things I’ve forgotten. Of course, they dropped them once they learned what had actually happened, but the fact remains that the police know that I know how to use a gun, I’m a very good shot, and I don’t put up with bastards.”

“But that was a completely different situation,” I said. “You were defending yourself. Your life was in danger.”

“Yes, but our local detective seems to be channeling the intellectual prowess of Inspector Clouseau. He’s looking at that incident and coming away with a very different impression. Therefore, I’ve resolved that I must find out who the killer is. I want whoever did
this caught and put away, and soon. I have to clear my name so people will feel comfortable staying at Longbourn. In short, I want my life back.”

“You’re right,” said Randy, extending his hand to her. “And I’ll do anything to help.”

“I know you will.” Taking his hand, she smiled softly at him.

“And so will Elizabeth and I,” said Peter. “We’re a part of this team, too.”

It was odd to hear Peter speak of us as a team. But this whole weekend had been one odd experience after another. Then Peter suggested we move to the kitchen to discuss what we knew while he cooked us dinner, and I was forced to add yet another odd experience to my list.

An hour and a half later, we were still in the kitchen drinking coffee after finishing remarkably good chicken Marsala. The aroma of sautéed mushrooms mingled with chicken and wine still hung in the air. I stirred some sugar into my coffee.

“Thank you again for dinner, Peter,” said Aunt Winnie. “It was very good.”

“My pleasure,” he replied. “I was just lucky that you happened to have all the ingredients for the one meal I can make.”

“Speaking of which, I think I’d better restock,” said Aunt Winnie. “I’m not sure how long Detective Stewart is going to keep everyone here, but however long, I’m going to have to feed them. I’d better make a run into town tomorrow.”

“I’ll do that for you, Aunt Winnie,” I said.

“I’ll go with you,” said Peter. I looked at him in surprise, but he ignored me. “Now, for everyone’s ideas about the murder,” he continued. “Does anyone have a favorite suspect they’d like to share with the group?” He smiled as he said this, but his tone was grim.

Lauren was my bet. Could she have ever loved Gerald? They were such complete opposites—and not in the charming way that some people say “attract”—that I found myself agreeing with the local gossip: she must have married him for his money. Plus there was her phone call on the night of the murder. In addition, her behavior and appearance today were about as far as you could get from a grieving widow. Emotionally cool was a better description. I said as much.

“You may be right,” said Aunt Winnie thoughtfully. “But then again, if Lauren did have something to do with it, wouldn’t it make more sense for her to appear distraught?”