Murder at Longbourn (22 page)

“I’m sorry, Daniel.” I lowered my voice. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Everything has been so crazy the past couple of days. I can’t tell which end is up anymore. The police think that Aunt Winnie might have had something to do with Gerald’s murder, and I can’t let them think that.”

“So what are you doing? Playing girl detective to get her off the hook?”

His words stung. “I’m trying to find out what I can. And if it helps Aunt Winnie, then all the better. There’s a lot going on here that doesn’t make sense. I’m just trying to make sense of it.”

“What doesn’t make sense?” he asked sharply.

I opened my mouth to answer but realized there was nothing I could tell him. Daniel watched me closely, and I suddenly was aware of what a stupid position I had put myself in. I was alone in a car, in the dark, with a man I really didn’t know, who had an excellent reason for killing Gerald Ramsey. I inched backward toward the door. Daniel saw the movement and frowned. “What doesn’t make sense?” he repeated.

“I’d really rather not say,” I said. “I think we probably should go inside.”

“I agree. But before we do, I think I should tell you—if you’re trying to play sleuth here—stay away from Lauren and Polly. They had nothing to do with Gerald’s murder. And I will not let them be dragged through the mud just so you can divert attention from your aunt.”

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

“The hell it isn’t,” he said, yanking his key out of the ignition. He glared at me, his pupils cold black dots. The inside of the car seemed to shrink. What had minutes ago been a cozy atmosphere was now decidedly claustrophobic. He leaned toward me and said in a low voice, “Leave Lauren and Polly alone.”

I was too startled to answer. His blue eyes watched me with a guarded expression. Rolling down the window, he threw out his cigarette butt. A blast of cold air rushed in, but its chill was nothing compared to the arctic atmosphere between us. He took a deep breath and forced a smile back onto his face. “What are we doing here, anyway?” he said. “Arguing about nothing. All I’m saying is
that Lauren and Polly are my friends, and I don’t want to see them hurt. Just as you don’t want to see your aunt hurt. And to be honest, I’m worried about you.”

“About me? But why?”

He shrugged slightly. “Call it a gut feeling. A man was murdered here, after all. If word gets out that you’re poking around, you could be in danger. You know what they say about curiosity killing the cat.” He tipped my chin up with his fingers as he said this. “Just be careful, okay?”

I could only nod my head in agreement.

Once inside, he bade me a chaste good night in the foyer. As he disappeared up the stairs, I wondered about his bringing up curiosity killing the cat. Was it a well-intended warning or a veiled threat? The thought of cats made me think of Lady Catherine and the dining room. Every night since I’d arrived, it had been the scene of one kind of nocturnal event or another. I wandered over to see if tonight would be any different. Cautiously peeking into the dark room, I was relieved to find it empty. Just as I turned around to go upstairs, a puff of cold air brushed my face. I peered toward the back of the room. Was the door to the garden open?

Quietly, I crept across the room to the door. It was indeed open a crack. I peered out into the backyard. It was dark and still. Thinking that the door had been left open by mistake, I reached out my hand to pull it shut. As I did, the small red ember of a cigarette cut the darkness outside.

My breath caught in my throat. Who was out there? I was debating calling out when the clouds shifted, releasing a bright beam of moonlight onto the form of Henry Anderson.

He was sitting on the bench, seemingly lost in thought and staring intently at his feet. He stood up and flicked the cigarette out into
the snow, the ember arcing a fiery red against the black sky. Joan had told me that Henry hated smoking and that’s why she’d been forced to sneak her cigarettes. Yet here was Henry smoking away. Clearly, someone was lying, but who? Henry stood for several minutes with his back to me. What was he doing? Could he be hiding something? Finally, he turned around and rapidly made his way toward the house.

I had just hidden myself in Aunt Winnie’s office when he quietly slunk into the foyer. Pressed against the backside of the door, I watched through the crack as he slowly climbed upstairs.

I heard his door upstairs softly open and shut, but I forced myself to count to one hundred before leaving the office. I ran through the dining room and out the back door. The snow crunched under my feet as I crossed the yard. When I reached the bench where he’d sat, I looked around, for what I don’t know. Then I saw the bird feeder. Could he have hidden something in it? I stuck my hand through the opening and felt around. My fingers touched something hard and round, and my heart began to pound with excitement. Grasping the item, I yanked it free from the bird feeder. I held my breath as I opened my hand. I was holding a cluster of acorns. With a snort of disgust, I threw the nuts to the ground. What the hell was the matter with me? I was turning into Catherine Morland in
Northanger Abbey,
seeing intrigue and deception at every turn. Who the hell would hide something in a bird feeder, anyway? Embarrassed, I walked back to the inn with my head low.

I was just nearing the door when a glint of silver, half buried in the snow, caught my eye. I picked it up.

It was a simple silver pendant. I flipped it over. On the back were three initials. V.A.B.

Who the hell was V.A.B.?

I
DON’T KNOW how long I stood there, staring at the necklace. Eventually I realized that my fingers were numb with cold and I was shivering. Behind me a twig snapped. Whirling around, I searched the inky darkness. I couldn’t see anything, but I felt the vulnerability of my position. My skin prickled with the uneasy sensation that I was being watched from behind one of the windows that ran along the back of the inn. With my heart pounding in my ears, I glanced up at the dark casements and ran for the house. My stumbling footsteps on the ice-covered snow sounded like rapid gunfire.

Back inside the dining room, I fumbled with the latch. When I finally secured it, I sagged against the wall. Rubbing my hands together for warmth, I wondered if the necklace could be a clue to Gerald’s murder. The initials didn’t belong to anyone staying at the inn—that is, if the owner was under her real name.

I crept up the stairs, desperate not to make any noise. Turning the corner, I was surprised to see a line of light spilling out from under Peter’s door. Wondering why he was up at this hour, I moved toward his room and gave the door a light tap with my knuckle. Almost instantly it was flung open. Shock registered on Peter’s face
when he saw me. “Elizabeth!” he said. “I didn’t hear you get back. What’s going on?”

“Can I come in?” I whispered, glancing behind me down the dark hallway.

“Of course.” He stepped aside. “Is everything okay? Did Daniel do something?”

“No, Daniel didn’t do anything,” I snapped, pushing past him into the room.

“Then what’s going on?” he asked. Surveying the room, I saw that the bed was still made; there weren’t even indentations in its brightly colored patchwork quilt. An open book lay on the seat of a rocking chair by the floor lamp. I looked at Peter. He was wearing the same jeans and sweater he had had on earlier.

“What are you still doing up?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “I … couldn’t sleep, so I was reading.” He had obvious trouble meeting my eyes.

I stared at him. “In a chair? Fully dressed? Across the room from the bed?”

“Um … yeah,” Peter said feebly.

Realization dawned. “Oh, my God! Were you waiting up for me?”

He still refused to meet my eyes. Stuffing his thumb into his belt loop, he mumbled, “Something like that.”

“Are you kidding me? Why?”

Peter closed his eyes and ground his teeth before answering. “Because I was worried, all right? I know you like Daniel, but I don’t. I don’t trust him. Aunt Winnie wanted to do it herself, but I talked her out of it. She’s tired enough as it is.”

I didn’t say anything. I was torn between hugging him and throwing something at him.

“Well, you needn’t have bothered,” I said after a minute. “I’m fine.”

“Then what’s going on? Why are you here?”

I pulled the necklace out of my pocket and told him what had happened. I did, however, gloss over the part where I frisked the bird feeder.

Peter perched on the edge of the bed. “What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know.” I took a seat in the rocking chair. “Whose necklace could it be? I don’t see how this connects to Gerald’s murder, but it’s got to.”

“It might. I think you should tell Detective Stewart.”

“Oh, I will,” I said. “I can’t wait to point him to a clue that has nothing to do with Aunt Winnie.” I pushed back in the rocking chair. The resulting creak from the wood sounded like a supernatural shriek. I stopped moving.

“Do you want me to drive you to the police station tomorrow?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll call him first. Besides, I can’t go right away. Linnet has invited Aunt Winnie and me to lunch tomorrow.”

“I know. Aunt Winnie told me. I didn’t think she was particularly close to Linnet. What’s the reason for the visit?”

“Officially, it’s just a social visit, but of course that’s only a pretense. I imagine that Linnet extended the invitation to appease Jackie’s curiosity. Jackie probably thinks that we’re a source of information about the investigation.” I smiled. “The irony, of course, is that that’s precisely why Aunt Winnie and I are going—to see what we can learn from Jackie.”

“What makes you think she knows anything?” He stretched his long frame back onto the bed. Raising himself onto his elbows, he stared straight into my eyes. If it had been anyone other than Peter, I would have thought he was trying to flirt with me.

“Well, you have to admit that she has a special knack for gossip,” I said. “I don’t know how she does it, but she’s managed to uncover an awful lot about everything that’s going on in this town since she’s arrived. And there’s something else. When we were leaving Lauren’s the other day, she seemed upset by something.” I sighed and rested my head against the back of the chair. “I know it’s a long shot, but if Jackie knows something that might help Aunt Winnie, then I’ll have lunch with her every day of the week until the murderer is caught.”

Peter nodded and tried to suppress a yawn. I stood up. “All right. I’m going to bed. Which,” I added dryly, “means you can, too.”

“Wait, you didn’t tell me what happened with Daniel.” Peter scrambled into an upright position. “Did you find out anything about his relationship with Lauren? What did he say?”

I gritted my teeth and opened the door. “He said lots. But if I repeated it, it would only make you blush.”

Peter scoffed. “The inane mutterings of some poncey Englishman might make me laugh, but I seriously doubt they would make me blush.”

I was tired of sparring with him. I was tired, period. Without another word, I shut the door behind me and walked down the hall to my room.

Before I went down to start breakfast the next morning, I called Detective Stewart from my room. Sitting in the wingback chair, I nervously traced the floral patterns of the fabric with my forefinger and practiced what I was going to say. But as soon as I heard his gravelly voice on the line, my mind went blank. Instead of a concise description of last night’s events, I blurted out, “This is Elizabeth Parker. I found a necklace.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Hello, Ms. Parker,” he finally said. “And this concerns me how, exactly?”

I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I think it may have something to do with the murder.” I rose from my chair and walked around the room. The floor’s wood planks were cold under my bare feet, but the pacing helped my nerves.

“I see,” he said noncommittally. “Would you like to come down to the station to discuss it? I could meet you here around noon.”

I thought of the luncheon with Linnet and Jackie. I couldn’t risk missing it on the off chance that Jackie did know something. “I can’t meet you then,” I said. “How about later this afternoon? Will you be in your office then?”

“Let me see.” The sound of papers shuffling as he flipped through his calendar floated over the line. “I’m going to be out of the office most of the afternoon. Why don’t I meet you at the inn around four o’clock?”

“No. Not here. How about at the Flowering Teapot? Can you meet me there at four o’clock?”

“Yes,” he said reluctantly. “But what is this about, Ms. Parker?”

“Last night, I found a necklace outside. It looks expensive. It was half buried in the snow. It’s engraved with the initials V.A.B. No one at the party has those initials.”

Detective Stewart coughed, or maybe he was just trying not to laugh. “Just because it doesn’t have one of the guest’s initials on it doesn’t mean it doesn’t belong to any of them. People inherit engraved jewelry and silverware all the time.”