That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone:
Wherever she went, including here, it was
against her better judgment.
—DOROTHY PARKER
ALT HOUGH SHE WASN’T expected to provide lunch, it being a B and B, not a B and B and L, Aunt Winnie nevertheless put out a tureen of clam chowder and some chicken sandwiches for the guests. It was a bit like leaving cookies out for Santa. You never saw anything eaten, but soon there was only an empty tray with a few crumbs. Not that I was complaining. I wasn’t keen on sitting in a room and watching other people not make eye contact with me.
My conversation with Bridget and Colin reminded me that I had other phone calls to make. I would have to call my mother, sister, and boss to let them know what had happened. Unfortunately, my mother wasn’t home and I ended up speaking with George. He oozed concern for my safety—a sentiment that would have been more believable had he bothered to turn down the football game blaring in the background. My phone call to Kit was no more enjoyable. For five minutes she screamed incoherently about how this news affected her stress, which apparently had reached its zenith over the weekend. I didn’t bother to point out that had her stress indeed reached its zenith (her words), then my news could not have possibly added to it. She then proclaimed that had I joined her for New Year’s Eve “none of this would have happened” and asked if I had “even the slightest idea” of what this was doing to her blood pressure. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask how my presence at a hot tub party could have prevented a murder, but I restrained myself. As for her query about her stress and blood pressure, I refrained from calling them my old friends, having heard them mentioned with consideration for twenty years at least. She wouldn’t have caught the reference anyway and I saw no reason to waste a perfectly good line.
The only call I enjoyed was the one to my boss, Cheryl. As I had anticipated, she ranted and raved once she understood that I would be out of the office for the next several days. She demanded to know who was in charge of the case and I happily obliged her by giving her Detective Stewart’s direct line. I hoped she would call him; they deserved each other.
By midafternoon, Aunt Winnie and I had packed the food for Lauren and Polly and were on our way to their house, with the car radio blasting. When Aunt Winnie is stressed she likes to listen to country music. She says the songs are so depressing that they make her feel better in comparison. So as we drove along in her light blue ’68 Mercedes, I stared out the window, trying to ignore both the blaring music and her horrible attempts to sing along. Finally, it was too much for me and I reached over and turned the volume down. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Do you know what happens when you play country music backward?” I replied conversationally. Without waiting for her to answer, I continued. “You get your job back, your wife comes home, your dog comes back to life, you sober up …”
“You know, some people consider country music an art form,” she countered.
“Some people feel the same way about body piercing.”
“Are you saying you prefer body piercing to country music?”
I pretended to consider the question. “Would you be singing the country music?”
She laughed. “Oh, never mind. We’re here.” Before us was a massive colonial situated a couple of hundred yards from the beach. Dusk was starting to settle by the time we pulled into the driveway, and the trees out front blazed with thousands upon thousands of tiny white lights. It was beautiful, to be sure, but in all honesty, I preferred the simple charm of Longbourn.
A somber-looking woman of indeterminate age answered the door. She briskly introduced herself as Mrs. Jenkins. She had an intelligent face, fine brown hair pulled back into a tidy bun, and neat, serviceable clothes. This, combined with her aura of cool efficiency, made her subsequent announcement that she was the Ramseys’ housekeeper superfluous. In fact, so perfectly did she fit that part I wondered briefly if she was from central casting. I didn’t think people like Mrs. Jenkins existed outside of Agatha Christie novels.
Explaining that Lauren was on the phone, Mrs. Jenkins graciously took our wicker baskets of food and led us to wait in the sitting room. I was curious to see what an actual sitting room looked like, having only read about them in books that boasted characters like Mrs. Jenkins. Sadly, the room held only standard doors, not the French-window variety that Agatha Christie’s characters were forever popping in and out of. I felt cheated.
The room was a curious blend of both Gerald’s and Lauren’s personalities. The formal atmosphere, with its brocade fabrics in red and cream and Queen Anne furniture, was clearly Gerald’s choosing. The collection of ceramic pug dogs with giant faux-sapphire eyes, however, was just as obviously Lauren’s contribution.
The rest of my inventory was cut short by the discovery that Aunt Winnie and I were not alone. At the far end of the room stood Daniel and Polly, their heads bent close together. Upon seeing us, they pulled apart with startled expressions. Daniel recovered first and crossed the room to Aunt Winnie and me.
“We’re sorry to interrupt,” began Aunt Winnie. “We were just bringing some food over for Lauren and Polly.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Daniel. “But please, don’t apologize. It’s always a pleasure to see you, Ms. Reynolds, and of course you, too, Elizabeth.”
The wink that accompanied this aside to me happened so fast I wondered if I had imagined it. By now Polly had joined us. Her hair was pulled back with her signature tortoiseshell headband and she wore another shapeless dress, this one of dark blue corduroy. She looked terrible. Her face was pale and drawn, and there were dark circles under her eyes. “Lauren is on the phone,” she said, “but I’m sure she’ll be off any minute. I know she’ll want to thank you.”
“How is she doing?” I asked.
Polly shrugged and glanced at Daniel before answering. “She’s doing all right, I guess,” she said, “as well as can be expected. With Lauren you never really know.”
Daniel opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but Aunt Winnie spoke first.
“And how about you, dear?” she asked kindly. “How are you doing?”
Polly’s lower lip twitched and she took a steadying breath before answering. Daniel watched her intently.
“I’m okay,” she said, giving us a humorless smile. “I’m not going to pretend that my father and I got along particularly well, or that I was overly fond of him. But … he was my father.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of Polly’s answer. Granted, I had found Gerald Ramsey to be a singularly disagreeable man, but he wasn’t my father. It was another thing altogether for his own daughter to react this coolly to his death. But then again, she was his daughter. Maybe she was more like him than anyone realized. That said, the line “sharper than a serpent’s tooth” still sprang to mind.
Aunt Winnie tilted her head to one side and said quietly, “I think that with all things considered, you’re holding up just fine, dear.”
Something unspoken passed between them and Polly’s eyes welled with unshed tears. The door suddenly swung open, breaking the mood. Mrs. Jenkins entered. Beyond her right shoulder was a bright red hat covered in tiny white flowers that bobbed furiously up and down. Mrs. Jenkins’s announcement was unnecessary. Miss Jackie Tanner had arrived.
She instantly swooped down on Polly. “Oh, you poor, poor child!” she gushed as she enveloped Polly in a tight hug. Polly’s startled face hovered above the mass of white flowers before she deftly removed herself from Jackie’s grip. Jackie appeared not to notice the maneuver.
“What an awful thing for you to go through,” Jackie said in a tone that belied her words. Having a close relative murdered not ten feet from her was probably Jackie’s idea of high drama. “If there is anything I can do to help,” she continued, “just let me know. And don’t you worry. I know that the police will find out who did this terrible, terrible thing. Tell me, dear, have they given you any idea as to which one of us they think killed your father?”
Jackie’s words hit like a bucket of cold water. There was a startled pause, a lot of rapid blinking, and, for some reason, slightly better posture. Only Jackie seemed unaffected. She gazed expectantly at Polly, calmly waiting for a response.
Polly gaped at Jackie before glancing at the rest of us for help. None came, and I realized that while we all might abhor Jackie’s tactics, we nevertheless were eager to hear what they produced.
However, if Polly knew anything, she wasn’t telling. She merely shook her head and said, “I don’t know any more than you do. Detective Stewart has asked Lauren and me to stay in town for a few more days, but other than that, he hasn’t told me anything.”
“I heard that there’s no chance it was a mistake,” said Jackie.
“What do you mean?” asked Daniel, his voice hard-edged.
Jackie turned to him, her eyes big with excitement. “Well, from what I understand, the police found reflective tape on Gerald. They think the killer must have put it on him sometime during the evening, to be sure the bullet found its mark.”
Polly let out a little gasp. This had gone too far for me. “Ms. Tanner!” I said firmly. At the same moment Aunt Winnie snapped, “Jackie! Really!”
I continued, “I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation to be having right now.”
Jackie’s brow furrowed underneath the shadowy brim of her hat. “Why?” she asked, with the simplicity of a small child.
My mind went blank. She was too unbelievable for words. I tried without success to explain why I thought a conversation in front of Polly about the details of her father’s murder was in bad taste. Thankfully, my incoherent sputtering was interrupted by the arrival of Lauren.
She looked amazing. She floated rather than walked into the room. Her long blond hair hung in a simple ponytail, giving her a youthful and somehow innocent appearance. Her skin glowed and her eyes appeared almost luminous. My first thought was that death became her—the death of her husband, that is. I snuck a peek at Daniel to gauge his reaction. His blue eyes watched her with what seemed a mix of open admiration and bemusement.
She glided toward our little group. She was holding a dog in her arms, clearly the inspiration for the ceramic collection. The dog eyed us with such an expression of enthusiastic desire that I found myself almost missing Lady Catherine’s icy disdain.
“I am so sorry to keep you waiting,” Lauren said. “Mrs. Jenkins tells me that you brought us some food,” she continued, addressing Aunt Winnie. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.”
“It’s the least we can do,” Aunt Winnie replied.
Lauren smiled again but said nothing. Her message was clear. Thank you for the food, now please leave. I didn’t fault her. Only a ghoul would expect a wife to entertain guests mere hours after her husband had been murdered.
“What a lovely room you have here,” said Jackie, settling herself comfortably into one of the chairs. “You have such nice things,” she wistfully continued, delicately touching one of the hideous ceramic pugs.
Even Daniel’s composure was shaken at this audacious display. For the first time since I’d met him, he was speechless. It was Polly who spoke. “Thank you, Miss Tanner. Why don’t I have Mrs. Jenkins bring in some tea?”
“That’s very kind of you, Polly,” said Aunt Winnie, “but Elizabeth and I should go—”
“Oh, please stay,” Polly implored Aunt Winnie and me. “I insist.” I don’t think she wanted to deal with Jackie alone. I can’t say that I blamed her.
“Well, just for a little while,” replied Aunt Winnie. We both sat down.
“Thank you,” said Polly, with a grateful expression. “I’ll go and tell Mrs. Jenkins. I’ll only be a minute.”
From Lauren’s arms, the dog now gave an impatient bark. “Does my sweetums want down?” she crooned, lowering the dog to the floor. “Now play nice with our guests, Denny.” She smiled at us and added apologetically, “He gets a bit wound up with strangers.”
Super. I was stuck in a room with a hyper dog by the name of Denny, no less. More and more I felt as if this whole weekend was a terrible joke in awful taste and someone from Candid Camera was minutes away from popping out and admitting to the prank. But no one emerged from a hidden doorway to call an end to the gag. Instead, it got worse. Mere seconds after leaving Lauren’s arms, Denny hurled his body at my leg. With a low grunt of satisfaction, he wrapped one fat paw around my calf and then the other. Seconds later, he latched on and was furiously humping away, his pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth and his eyes rolling back into his furry little head. Before I was the recipient of some premature pugalation, I jerked my leg, sending him flying flat on his back. Apparently Denny liked the rough stuff, because seconds later we were eye to eye, literally. He planted himself on my lap, his squashed face not two inches from mine, panting heavily. He appeared in no hurry to move.
“What a sweet little doggie,” Jackie said.
Daniel was overcome with a violent coughing fit that I was sure was designed to mask uncontrollable laughter. I glared at him from over the top of Denny’s furry head.
“I hope you don’t mind, Elizabeth,” said Lauren. Mind? Mind what? That the family dog was trying to molest me?
“Not at all,” I mumbled. “It’s just that I usually get dinner and a movie first.” Daniel’s coughing grew louder.
“Denny hasn’t been himself today,” Lauren continued. “I think he senses the stress. There’s so much to arrange. I’ve been on the phone all morning. But at least I was able to get through to Jamie.”
“Jamie?” repeated Jackie, instantly on the alert for new information. “Who’s that?”
Clearly regretting her words, Lauren’s answer came a half beat slow. “Jamie is my son,” she said. She eyed Jackie distastefully, no doubt anticipating that this information would be all over town by nightfall.
“Why, I didn’t know you and Gerald had a son,” exclaimed Jackie. Polly had returned in time to hear Jackie’s words. She looked aghast.
“We don’t,” replied Lauren testily. “Jamie is my son from my previous marriage.”
“Oh, I see,” said Jackie. “How old is he?”
“He’s fourteen,” Lauren said briskly. She smoothed nonexistent wrinkles on her sleeve.
“Such a wonderful age,” Jackie said, oblivious to the fact that Lauren seemed not to share her enthusiasm for the conversation. “Does he live with his father, then?”
“No.”
“Really?” The little white flowers quivered like radar picking up a signal.
Lauren made no further comment, and Daniel said curtly, “Jamie has special needs. He lives in South Carolina.”
Jackie’s mouth made a silent O, but thankfully she said no more. If she was aware of Lauren’s animosity, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. Mrs. Jenkins entered with the tea tray and the rest of us busied ourselves with pouring and trying to make small talk.
“Miserable day out,” said Daniel.
“Yes,” said Aunt Winnie. “They’re calling for more snow, I believe.”
“Yes, I heard that, too,” I said to Denny’s nose. I debated shoving him off me but decided I’d rather have him sitting on my lap than molesting my leg.
“Downtown was a complete mess,” said Polly, as she picked up the silver teapot. “The streets are treacherous. I’m supposed to visit Harriet up in Brighton later this week, but unless the roads improve, I’ll have to cancel.”
“You went downtown?” asked Lauren. “I didn’t know that. When?”
Polly concentrated on filling Jackie’s cup before answering. “I thought I told you. I was sure that I did. I went this morning. I needed cigarettes.” She handed Jackie her cup.
“Speaking of which,” said Daniel, “I’m out. Can I pinch one from you?”
“Oh,” said Polly, “that’s right. I forgot. I should have picked some up for you.”
“Could you two please not smoke in here?” said Lauren, with a sigh. “You know it triggers my migraines.”
Jackie abruptly set down her teacup, spilling the contents in the process. “Oh, dear,” she said as she tried to mop it up with her napkin, “what a klutz I am. I’m always making a mess of things. Only this morning, I broke one of Linnet’s china figurines. I don’t know how she puts up with me. I really am sorry, Lauren. I hope I haven’t ruined your lovely chair.” Jackie’s face was pinched and worried underneath her hat.
“It’s fine,” said Lauren stiffly. “Please, don’t worry about it.”
But the incident seemed to prey on Jackie’s mind and she was silent for the rest of the visit. As I watched her over the top of Denny’s immovable head, I felt a surge of sympathy for her. After all, she was a lonely old woman whose only excitement seemed gleaned from the lives of others. Still, I was grateful for her silence. For, in the words of Jane Austen, I was quite sure that it would pass. And, no doubt, more quickly than it should.
When the tea was finished, Aunt Winnie and I made our excuses to leave. They were readily accepted. Even Jackie was ready to go. After extricating myself from Denny, I went out into the foyer to see about our coats.
On the hall table lay a stack of mail. On the top was a large envelope from the State Department. It was addressed to Polly. I laid my hand on it, my fingers feeling the definite outline of a passport. It would seem that Polly was going to Oxford after all. The question was, did she make that decision despite Gerald’s protestations or because she knew they wouldn’t be an issue?
I had just stepped back from the table when Daniel appeared behind me. “It was good of you to come, Elizabeth,” he said into my ear.
“Well, we wanted to see if there was anything we could do.”
“I see.” He turned me to face him. With an impish smile, he took my hands in his. I willed them to neither sweat nor tremble. “And have you done everything you can do?” His face was so close to mine that I could see the faint laugh lines intertwined around his blue eyes.
I knew I was blushing, but I refused to let him turn me into a blithering idiot. “Daniel,” I said, “it’s been a long couple of days. I’m really tired and I’m not up for innuendos right now.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said. “I’ve wanted to do this from the first moment I saw you. New Year’s resolutions and all that.” He bent down and kissed me.
He had just stepped back when Mrs. Jenkins appeared with our coats. Or maybe she appeared once he stepped back. I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I took my coat without interest. I was already quite warm.
Lauren, Polly, Jackie, and Aunt Winnie joined us in the foyer. We all said goodbye and walked outside. Jackie was still very quiet.
“Are you all right, Jackie?” asked Aunt Winnie, pulling her coat tightly around her.
“What?” Jackie answered distractedly. “Oh, yes. Yes, I’m fine. I just have a sudden headache, that’s all. Something doesn’t make sense. I need to sort it all out. I know the answer is there, I just can’t puzzle it out.”
Aunt Winnie and I waited politely for an explanation, but none was forthcoming. Instead, Jackie smiled at us and merely said, “Good afternoon, ladies. I will see you soon.”
Jackie’s car was a burgundy ’93 Oldsmobile Cutlass. Slapped over a dent on the back fender was a bumper sticker that read I BRAKE FOR PEOPLE. Once inside, Jackie gave us a little wave and slammed the door shut.
And with that, she left.