Murder at Longbourn (17 page)

“And, as much as you may personally want to, you can’t condemn her simply because she’s a beautiful woman,” said Peter.

“I’ll admit that you both have a point,” said Randy. “But Lauren is not, shall we say, the cleverest of women. It may not have occurred to her that she should wear black and cry a lot.”

“Which is only another point in Lauren’s defense,” said Peter. “She just doesn’t strike me as clever enough to pull something like this off.”

Aunt Winnie nodded in agreement.

Randy looked unconvinced. “Perhaps, but there’s something else.” He paused. “I feel funny telling you this, like I’m breaking a kind of trust, but Lauren was in my store a few weeks ago. She bought several books dealing with legal contracts—prenuptial agreements, to be specific.”

“Really?” said Aunt Winnie. “That is interesting. If Lauren wanted out of the marriage but was bound by an ironclad prenup, then she had an excellent motive for killing Gerald.”

“I would have thought just living with Gerald was motive enough,” I added.

“I agree with you there,” said Peter. “The question becomes, then, whether Lauren wanted out because Gerald was so odious or because someone else was so attractive.”

For some unknown reason, they all looked at me. Well, not for some unknown reason. I knew damn well why they were all looking at me: Daniel. I refused to let them get to me.

“You’re blushing, dear,” Aunt Winnie said mildly, as she sipped her coffee. Peter rolled his eyes in disgust.

I ignored them both. “Well, how do we go about finding out whether Lauren was considering divorcing Gerald?”

“My niece works in a law office in town,” said Randy. “The paralegals are all very chummy. She might be able to help us.”

“Isn’t that privileged information?” asked Peter.

“Probably,” said Randy, as he thoughtfully stroked his white beard, “but it’s still worth checking into.”

“What about Polly?” I asked.

“What about her?” said Peter. “You think she might know if Lauren was planning to divorce Gerald?”

“No. I mean what about the possibility that Polly killed Gerald? Maybe she was sick of his controlling ways and wanted her freedom. By all accounts, Gerald wasn’t going to let her go to Oxford for the graduate program, yet she still applied for a passport. Why?”

“I think there’s another possibility that we’re overlooking,” said Peter. “Daniel. It’s all over town that he and Lauren were carrying on. He might have killed Gerald hoping to get Lauren and the money.”

“I know that’s the rumor,” I said, “but I haven’t seen anything that would suggest that they’re more than friends.” I quickly told them about Lauren’s phone call the night of the murder. “And, if Lauren is having an affair, then that phone call I overheard points
to someone other than Daniel. And in any case,” I added in a rush, “some of Daniel’s behavior suggests that he’s not interested in her at all.” I busied myself by pouring more coffee.

“I’ve no doubt that you haven’t seen anything between them,” said Peter. “In fact, I think it’s far more likely that they would pretend to be just friends, or even to be interested in someone else.”

His words felt like a physical slap and my face blazed. “Are you suggesting that the only reason Daniel might show interest in me is so that I can serve as his cover?” I asked angrily.

“I think you’re being foolish if you haven’t considered that possibility,” Peter retorted. “How long have you known him, anyway? A day and a half? Haven’t you wondered yourself why he’s giving you such a hard sell?”

“Well, according to you, the idea that he should actually find me attractive and interesting is absurd. Apparently it’s easier for you to believe that he’s using me.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Peter said.

“The hell it wasn’t!”

Aunt Winnie interrupted us. “Stop it, both of you!” she said sternly. “If we’re going to find out who killed Gerald, we have got to stick together. I need you both to help me. Remember, we’re a team.”

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” Peter said. “I didn’t mean it the way you thought. Aunt Winnie’s right, we are a team.” I was about to reluctantly accept his apology when he ruined it by adding, “And after all, as my lacrosse coach used to say, ‘There’s no I in T-E-A-M.’ ”

I stared at him. Somewhere a village was missing its idiot. And I was going to spend tomorrow shopping with him.

After Randy left, Peter and I persuaded Aunt Winnie to go to bed early. She didn’t put up much of an argument, which told me that
she was far more tired than she was admitting. Peter and I cleaned up the kitchen and prepped tomorrow’s breakfast. If he sensed that I was still upset with him, he didn’t let on.

Peter had just gone up to bed when I heard the noise. It was coming from the dining room. This time, however, I wasn’t going to let Lady Catherine get the better of me. I marched into the room, flipped on the lights, and said in a loud, confident voice, “All right, you sly wench, get out!”

I don’t know who was more surprised—me or Joan Anderson.

She was standing motionless by the back door of the room, dressed in a dark sweater and slacks. Her red hair stood out around her head like a flaming halo. In her hand was a flashlight. Neither of us spoke for what seemed an eternity, although it was actually only a few seconds.

“Oh, Elizabeth, you scared me!” she said in a rush. Her hand went to her neck in a reflexive gesture. Was she kidding? I had scared her? My heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest. “I hope I haven’t done anything wrong,” she continued. “I snuck outside for a cigarette.”

“A cigarette?” I repeated stupidly.

“Yes. I hope that’s okay. I didn’t want to smoke inside. I know I should probably quit, but …” She let the sentence hang unfinished in the air.

“I still don’t understand,” I said slowly.

Joan twisted the flashlight in her hands, so hard her knuckles showed starkly white. I doubt she was even aware she was doing it. “Well, to be honest, Henry would kill me if he knew I was still smoking. He thinks I quit. I snuck down here after he went to sleep. I’m sorry I startled you. I didn’t mean to.” Again, her hand strayed to her neck.

“But why are all the lights off?” I asked.

“Given what happened here last night, I guess I didn’t want anyone to see me in here,” she said. “I thought it might look bad.” She let out a small, nervous laugh. “But, of course, I see now that this looks even worse.”

She walked toward me and I took an involuntary step back. She was still clutching the flashlight in her hand, one of those large, heavy models that would do a very neat job of bashing in someone’s head. She noticed my movement and stopped short.

I didn’t say anything. She continued to stare at me and twist the flashlight. There seemed nothing more to say, so she finally said good night and moved toward the door. When she reached the doorway, she turned around. For a second I thought she was going to say something more. She didn’t. She scanned the room, gave me a slight smile, and turned to go. As she scurried across the foyer, I saw her hand unconsciously reach up to her bare neck again, seeking comfort from something that was not there.

L
AZY BEAMS OF sunlight bathed my room in soft orange. Rolling over, I buried myself deeper into the warmth of the covers, savoring the brief seconds of blissful ignorance that precede full waking. But all too soon the madness of the last few days tumbled back. One memory in particular promoted a low groan: I was spending the morning with Peter.

Downstairs, I found Peter and Aunt Winnie huddled together in the kitchen. Jumping apart when they saw me, Aunt Winnie sang out a cheery, “Good morning, sweetie!” in a voice that I had long ago learned to associate with trouble. Lady Catherine was also in attendance. With her tail lazily switching back and forth, she watched me. From the inscrutable expression on her peevish face, it was hard to tell whether she was merely waiting for food or silently mocking me. With cats, you never can tell.

“What are you up to?” I asked without preamble.

Aunt Winnie shot Peter a warning glance before answering. “Would you like some coffee, dear?” she asked.

“Please,” I said, but did not relent. “What are you up to?”

Aunt Winnie opened her green eyes very wide in an attempt to appear innocent. She failed miserably. “Why, nothing at all,” she said in the chipper voice reserved for small children or the criminally insane. “You’re imagining things. You know how you are in the morning.” She poured coffee into a bright green mug that boldly proclaimed I
VEGAS! and held it out to me. “Here, have some coffee.”

I looked at her and then at Peter, who seemed very interested in the floor.

“I’m not imagining things,” I muttered, before taking the coffee from her. I knew there was no use arguing. I would just have to brace myself for whatever it was that she was scheming. Besides, I thought as I sipped the hot coffee, Aunt Winnie looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks were pale beneath her pink rouge. The stress and worry of the past few days were taking their toll on her.

“I was just going over my shopping list with Peter,” she continued smoothly. “I can’t thank you both enough for doing this for me.”

“Don’t be silly. Elizabeth and I are here to help,” said Peter. I suppressed an urge to throw my Vegas-loving mug at him. I wasn’t sure when he and I had become this big buddy team, but I found it irritating. The memory of our exchange over Daniel last night prompted another one—my encounter with Joan.

“I almost forgot,” I said. “Guess who I found prowling around the dining room last night?”

“Who?” said Aunt Winnie.

“Daniel?” said Peter.

My hand itched to launch my cup at his head, but I restrained myself.

“Joan Anderson,” I said, ignoring Peter.

“Really?” said Aunt Winnie. “What was she doing?”

“She said she’d been outside in the garden having a cigarette.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound too strange,” Peter said.

“She was sneaking around in the dark with a flashlight,” I added.

“Oh. Well, yes, that is a little strange,” he amended. “What do you think she was really doing?”

“I don’t know. She was upset about something. There’s more to it than she’s telling.”

“So you think she was lying about having a cigarette?” asked Aunt Winnie.

“I do,” I said. “I don’t know why, but I think there’s something she’s not telling us, or the police. Remember, she and Polly were outside together before the murder. They said they were looking at the snow, but as Detective Stewart pointed out, women generally don’t go outside in freezing weather wearing evening gowns.”

Aunt Winnie looked thoughtful. “I’ll see what I can find out from her today.”

“I’ll help,” I said.

“No,” she said firmly. “I need you to help Peter with the shopping. And speaking of which, you had better get ready, Elizabeth. Everything will be picked over unless you hurry.”

I looked down at my jeans and sweatshirt. “But I am ready,” I said.

Aunt Winnie cast a disparaging glance at my outfit. “You’re going into town, dear, not fishing. Trust me, you two are going to be scrutinized within an inch of your lives. We already have one black mark against us in that Gerald was murdered here. Let’s not add ‘slovenly appearance’ to our list of sins.” Her tone was light, but she wasn’t kidding about the message.

I felt my face flush and was about to tell her that I couldn’t care
less what the locals thought of my appearance, when I caught sight of Peter’s face. Without another word, I turned and stormed out of the kitchen. I was so furious that I stalked by Daniel on the landing without so much as a hello. I thought I heard him call to me, but I kept walking. In my room, I angrily tore off my jeans and sweatshirt. But looking down at the ratty heap of clothes on the floor, I realized that Aunt Winnie was right. Peter and I would be the objects of study and gossip. How we looked, what we said, and what we did
would
be discussed. I owed it to Aunt Winnie to make as good an impression as possible. If the tide of public opinion turned against her, her business would assuredly fail.