You are too sensible a girl … to fall in love merely
because you are warned against it.
—JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
BY THE TIME Peter and I got back to the inn, the sun had set. All around us, houses blazed with Christmas lights. The inn was conspicuously dark. I knew the gesture was meant to convey respect for Gerald and his family, but in the midst of so many other cheerful displays, the absence of lights created a different kind of tribute, one of darkness and gloom.
Inside, Daniel was sitting in the reading room. He immediately stood up and came over.
“Here, let me get these for you,” he said, taking the grocery bags from my arms. Looking them over, he added, “I hope all this food doesn’t mean that you already have plans for dinner?”
“Why, I, um …” I began, unsure how to answer.
“Because I was hoping I could convince you to join me,” he continued. “I know a place that makes great clam chowder.”
I stifled a laugh and glanced at Peter, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at Daniel with a bland expression. It was a look I had seen often that summer years ago, usually right before an attack was launched on my person. The hairs on my neck stood up in a long-forgotten salute. The feeling only increased when Peter asked in a disinterested voice, “You’re not dining with Mrs. Ramsey this evening?”
“No,” Daniel said simply.
“Oh,” said Peter. “I see.”
Daniel must have caught the faint disapproval that these words carried because he hesitated and added, “People have visited and interviewed Lauren and Polly nonstop for the past two days. What they want now is a little privacy. They should absorb this without an audience.”
Peter said nothing. Perhaps driven by his silence, Daniel continued, “Sometimes monstrous things happen to monstrous people,” he said slowly, choosing his words with care. “But when that monstrous thing is a murder, well, it may force one to hide true feelings. Just because you dislike someone doesn’t mean you murdered him. But let’s not be naïve, it does give you a motive. And that’s what the police are looking for. Motive.”
“I think I know what you mean,” said Peter. “When you know you’re being scrutinized, you act accordingly. You play a role.”
“Exactly,” said Daniel.
I thought of what I had seen of Lauren’s behavior yesterday. If that had been a toned-down version of her true emotions, then she must be dancing a jig in private. “No offense,” I said gingerly to Daniel. “I know Lauren is your friend, but if she’s trying to downplay her true feelings, she’s not doing a very convincing job of it.”
Daniel turned to me with a shake of his head. “I didn’t say I was talking about Lauren.”
His words took me by surprise. Although Polly had professed that she hadn’t cared much for her father, she nevertheless seemed genuinely upset. If not because he died, at least at how he died. Had that been an act?
“Well, all the same,” said Peter, “I expect that Lauren appreciates your role in this.”
Daniel eyed Peter with a puzzled expression. “My role?”
“Of a good friend,” Peter explained. “It must mean a lot to her knowing she has you on her side.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed slightly. He seemed to sense that Peter’s words held another meaning. Of course they did, but that meaning was meant for me.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to discuss dinner,” said Peter. His attack completed, he took his bags to the kitchen.
“Did I miss something?” Daniel asked. Traces of a faint scowl lined his face, as he watched Peter’s retreating form.
“Oh, who knows,” I answered. “Just ignore him.” Changing the subject, I asked, “You mentioned dinner?”
Forcing his face into a more pleasant expression, Daniel turned to me. “Yes.” He smiled. “Dinner. How’s eight o’clock sound?”
“Perfect. Just let me check first that Aunt Winnie doesn’t need me.”
“Of course,” said Daniel, following me into the kitchen.
Daniel helped Peter and me put away the groceries. Thankfully, nothing more was said about acting or roles. In fact, not much of anything was said, as Peter had apparently gone mute. Once the groceries were put away, I went to Aunt Winnie’s room.
“Come in,” she called out in answer to my knock.
I found her at her desk, scribbling away in a tattered notebook.
“What are you doing?”
She held up her hand, signaling me to wait while she finished.
I plopped down on the bed next to Lady Catherine, who displayed her displeasure at my proximity by flicking her tail at me in a suspiciously vulgar gesture. Ignoring her, I sank back into the bed’s thick pillows and studied the room. Years ago, I read that a person’s bedroom is the best indicator of his or her personality. I had laughed because at the time I was sleeping in a depressing space with colorless walls, battered furniture, and mismatched sheets, though in hindsight that was an accurate reflection of my life then. Looking around me, I realized that this room did mirror Aunt Winnie’s personality, which was probably why I liked it so much. The walls were painted a tangy shade of sage green. The curtains were a jumbled mix of soft tangerine, crisp rose, and lime green. The furniture was simple, except for the headboard, which was an enormous wrought-iron structure that looped and intertwined halfway up the wall. Piles of books, some stacked, others just strewn about, covered every available surface. The whole effect was just like Aunt Winnie—colorful, energetic, and unconventional.
After a few minutes, she put down her pen with a satisfied air. “There,” she said, stretching her arms out in front of her. “Done.”
“What are you doing?”
“I decided to write down everything we know about the murder and the suspects,” she said. “I know it sounds silly, but if I can just get everything organized on paper, something important might jump out at me.”
“It doesn’t sound silly,” I said. “I think it’s a good idea. What do you have so far?”
She handed me the notebook. In her familiar sprawling handwriting, I read:
GERALD RAMSEY: early 60s. Wealthy. First wife died. Has one daughter, Polly, from that marriage. Married to Lauren for a few years. Disliked by most who knew him. Wanted to buy Longbourn—was that his reason for coming to New Year’s party? Reflective tape found on body suggests that his death was no random act of violence.
LAUREN RAMSEY: mid-40s. Married to Gerald. Has one child, Jamie, from previous marriage. Jamie lives in South Carolina—has special needs. Rumored to be unhappy in marriage and possibly seeking divorce. Could have been worried about prenuptial agreement. Overheard on phone New Year’s Eve with someone—lover? Is close with friend Daniel Simms—but how close?
Motive: Freedom? Money?
POLLY RAMSEY: early 20s. Single. Lives at home with Gerald and Lauren. Does not seem happy. Does not seem particularly close to Lauren. Resented her father’s control over her life but did not leave. Why? Was she too fond of the money? Applied for passport even though Gerald purportedly refused to let her attend Oxford.
Motive: Freedom? Money?
DANIEL SIMMS: late 30s. Single. Visiting Lauren Ramsey—they are old friends (?).Motive: Help Lauren out of unhappy marriage? Wants to marry Lauren himself?
JACKIE TANNER: mid-70s. Single. Recently moved to Cape with old friend Linnet Westin. Lives with her as a kind of companion. No known connection between her and Gerald. Terrible gossip—seems to know a lot about the purported relationship between Daniel and Lauren. What led to her dire straits?
Motive: none known
LINNET WESTIN: mid-70s. Widowed. Wealthy. Recently moved to Cape. Lives with old friend Jackie. Not very likable but no known connection to Gerald. Check into her husband’s past (Martin Westin)—maybe he had a connection.
Motive: none known
JOAN ANDERSON: mid-50s. Married to Henry Anderson. Visiting from New York. Claims not to know anyone here. Out with Polly in the snow on night of murder—why? Found in dining room after the murder. Claims to have been outside smoking to hide habit from Henry.
Motive: none known
HENRY ANDERSON: late 50s. Married to Joan. Second marriage. First wife died. Visiting from New York.
Motive: none known.
I handed the list back to her. “Very good,” I said with a nod. “I learned a few more things today that might be of significance.” I quickly told her that Gerald had been married not twice but three times, that his first wife had been having an affair when she died, and that Polly usually went out of town with friends for the New Year but this year she had canceled at the last minute.
“That is interesting,” Aunt Winnie said, as she added those facts to the list. “Did Lily and Pansy say anything specific about Gerald’s second wife?”
“Not really. After his first wife, Tory, died, Gerald acted oddly—he abruptly got rid of all her belongings. He married his second wife, Pamela, shortly after in the hopes of using a woman’s influence to rein in Polly.” I told Aunt Winnie the story about the bicycle and Polly’s determination to have it.
“From what Lily and Pansy said,” I continued, “Pamela wasn’t very nice, and Gerald got rid of her pretty quickly.”
“Slow down,” said Aunt Winnie as she frantically scribbled on the list. “Okay, so there could be an ex–Mrs. Ramsey out there with a bit of a grudge?”
“It’s something to consider,” I said. “So, what did you learn today? Did you get a chance to talk to Joan?”
“I did, but I didn’t learn anything new. She told me the same story she had told you, but I see what you mean. She is holding something back. I just can’t tell what.”
Aunt Winnie chewed on the end of the pen as she reread her list. A slight nagging started at the back of my head. I was missing something. “Let me see that list again.” I reached out my hand. Aunt Winnie handed it to me and I reread the information on Joan. A memory swirled and settled. “The phone call!”
“What phone call?”
“The first night I got here, Joan was just coming out of your office. Do you remember?” Aunt Winnie nodded uncomprehendingly. “She said that her cell phone was dead or something and that she had used the phone in your office to make a local call.”
“So?”
I tapped the list. “According to Joan’s statement to the police, she doesn’t know anyone here. So who was she calling?”
Aunt Winnie leaned forward and eagerly took the list from me. Over her purple-framed glasses she scanned it again. “You’re right. And she couldn’t have made a long-distance call on that phone. I have it set up for local calls only.” She pursed her lips. “Looks like this requires another chat with Mrs. Anderson.” She pushed the list away with a frown.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “We’ve found something else.”
“I’ll admit it’s a start.” She sighed. “But we have so little to go on. We need more. Jackie and Linnet have invited us to lunch tomorrow. I can’t see what they have to do with this, but if nothing else, Jackie might know something. She seems to know a lot about everything else.”
“Sounds good.” Adopting a casual tone, I added, “I may be in a position to find out a bit more tonight. Daniel has invited me out to dinner.”
She gazed at me over the rims of her glasses. “I see” was all she said.
“What?” I said, still trying to act casual. It might have been more believable if I’d been able to make eye contact.
“Just be careful, dear. Daniel may really like you. That kiss he planted on you yesterday would certainly indicate that he does.” I felt my cheeks burn hot. I didn’t realize she had seen that. “But we don’t know a lot about him,” she continued. “And he does have a motive for killing Gerald.” She tapped her list. “Even if he’s not romantically involved with Lauren, he may have tried to help her out of a horrible marriage.”
I was quiet. A small part of my brain understood what she was saying, but the larger part was hurt. It was as if Aunt Winnie and Peter still saw me as an unattractive and gauche ten-year-old.
“Elizabeth?” said Aunt Winnie gently.
“I just don’t understand why everyone’s first assumption is that Daniel is using me.”
“I never said it was my first assumption, Elizabeth,” Aunt Winnie said sternly. “But a man was murdered in this house not two nights ago by someone who is still on the loose. That means everyone is a suspect and should be treated as such. Daniel may very well like you. But he might also be using you. I know that’s hard to hear, but I’d be horribly remiss if I didn’t make sure that you understood that. Do you understand?”
“I do.” Even as I said it, I knew it was only partly true. On some childish level I was angry and wanted to prove her—and Peter—wrong.
Aunt Winnie gave me a searching look before changing the subject. “Very well, then,” she said. “Go out with Daniel tonight—see if you can find anything out. And tomorrow we’ll go to Linnet’s and Jackie’s. I’ve no doubt Jackie will have much to tell us,” she added wearily.
I gave a small laugh, trying to restore the early friendly atmosphere. “Yes,” I said, “but just how much of it is truth and how much is rank speculation is yet to be seen.” I stood up to leave. “Are you sure you don’t need me for anything else tonight?”
“No,” said Aunt Winnie. “If I want anything, Peter can help me. Go and have a good time.”
I kissed her good night and turned to leave.
“Elizabeth?” she said.
I turned.
“Be careful.”
I nodded and shut the door behind me.
The restaurant that Daniel took me to had originally been a private residence but had been renovated to accommodate five separately themed dining areas on the main level. Our table was in the garden room, which was a study in brightly colored floral prints and hand-painted French antiques.
We quickly got through the awkward first-date chatter—childhood memories, school experiences, and job histories—and fell into an easy rapport. Leaning over to pour me a glass of wine, Daniel said, “So tell me again how you used to draw pictures of naked men.”
“It wasn’t like that.” I laughed. “It was for art class. You know, sketching the human form and all that.”
“The buck-naked human form, you mean. Bit pervy, if you ask me. But don’t get me wrong, I like pervy.”
“Didn’t you ever take art class in school?” I said in an attempt to regain control of the conversation.
“Sure. We covered all the basics—crayon, finger paints. I just don’t recall the naked people. To be honest, I feel a bit cheated.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive,” I said, sipping my wine.
“I suppose,” he said. “So I take it that you decided to nix a career as an artist?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, my sketches looked as if they’d been done by someone more comfortable with finger painting. And how about you? How did you land in investment banking?”
“I like money,” he said frankly. “I never seemed to have a knack for my own, mind you, but I knew a lot of people who had loads of it. Those contacts made me a perfect fit for the firm. That’s actually how I met Lauren. She was a client.”
“Really?” I said, trying not to sound too interested. “I didn’t know Lauren had lived in England.”
“Well, it was a long time ago. She came over to do some modeling. It never really took off, but she did. She became quite popular with a certain set. That’s how she met her first husband. He was a mate of mine.”
“What happened?”
“Well, James was a bit of a bounder. He made a beeline for Lauren the first moment he saw her. They had a great time together for a while, but then Lauren found out she was pregnant. She was happy about it. I think she had the naïve idea that James would settle down into domestic bliss with her and the baby, but that just wasn’t in James’s nature. He married her, of course, but once the baby was born he quietly divorced her.”
“That’s terrible,” I said, aghast.
“Yes. His family made sure she received a decent settlement, and then they basically washed their hands of her and Jamie.”
“Did they know that Jamie had … ?” I faltered.
“Problems?” Daniel finished for me. “No. Jamie’s fine. His only real problem is that he’s a delinquent.”
“But you said …”
“I know,” said Daniel with a small smile. “That he has ‘special needs.’ I only said that to throw Jackie off the scent. Lauren has a hard enough time without word getting out about Jamie. He’s not a bad kid, actually, most of the time. What he really needs is a swift kick in the ass. Or a dad.”
“Doesn’t his father have any contact with him?”
“No. James died in a car accident a few years back. But he wasn’t much of a father even before that.”
“What about James’s parents?”
“Clive and Anne?” He scoffed. “They’ve never even seen Jamie. I think they convinced themselves that Jamie wasn’t James’s son to begin with.”
“How sad,” I said. “Poor Lauren.”
“Yes,” agreed Daniel. “It hasn’t been easy for her. I made sure that she invested her money wisely, but it was still a struggle for her.”
“And then Gerald came along.”
Daniel nodded. “And then Gerald came along,” he repeated. “I think she did care for him at first. Gerald could be charming when it suited him, and Lauren’s instincts with men aren’t exactly what you’d call razor sharp. By the time she realized what a bastard he really was, it was too late. But she was determined to stick it out for Jamie’s sake. She’d do anything for that boy—she completely dotes on him. With Gerald’s money, she was able to get Jamie into one of those treatment centers for wayward boys. And she’s convinced that he’s making progress.”
“I gather Gerald would never have considered moving so she could be closer to Jamie.”
“Are you kidding?” Daniel scoffed. “He’d never have left here. He was too intent on buying up all the land he could—like your aunt’s inn. He was incandescent with rage at losing that place.”
“So I gather,” I said. “And now he’s dead.”
“And now he’s dead.” Daniel nodded. In a solemn voice he recited from Sir Walter Scott, “ ‘The wretch, concentred all in self, living, shall forfeit fair renown. And doubly dying, shall go down to the vile dust from whence he sprung, unwept, unhonour’d and unsung.’ ” After a brief pause, he added, “More wine?”
By the time we pulled into the inn’s driveway, I was feeling rather floaty. It might have been the wine, or it might have been the way Daniel kept looking at me. I really didn’t care what the reason was—I just didn’t want it to end. Turning off the ignition, Daniel turned in his seat to face me.
“Thank you again for asking me to dinner, Daniel.”
“No, thank you.” He leaned in close to me. Cupping my face in his hand, he stroked my cheek lightly with his thumb. My heart jerked into a pounding rhythm. “You’ve done me quite a service. This is something I could get used to,” he said softly, before kissing me.
I returned his kiss, but part of me blanched at his words. How had I been a service? Peter’s and Aunt Winnie’s intimations reverberated in my head. Was that the reason behind tonight—to fortify his “just friends” story with Lauren? Putting my hand on his chest, I lightly pushed him away.
“Elizabeth? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Something you just said. What do you mean, I did you a service tonight?”
“By going to dinner with me,” he said. “I enjoyed your company. I think we go well together. I like the idea of being with you. Why? What did you think I meant?”
I couldn’t ask for a nicer answer, but something deep inside me wasn’t buying it. After all, we didn’t know each other that well. A few flirtatious conversations and one dinner generally didn’t provoke such a serious reaction in men like Daniel—at least not with women like me.
“I don’t know,” I said. He leaned toward me. “Wait.” I put my hand on his chest again. “Daniel,” I said slowly, unsure how to phrase my question, “I don’t know how to ask you this, but are you and Lauren … ?”
He immediately stopped trying to kiss me. “Are Lauren and I what?” he asked, with an edge to his voice.
Blushing, I averted my face from him. “More than friends,” I said, my voice small. I hated having to ask, but I had to know.
Daniel leaned back, his eyes dark with annoyance. “Why would I be here with you if that were the case?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that there’s been a lot of speculation about you and Lauren, especially since Gerald was murdered. Everything is moving so fast. We don’t know each other very well, and I … well, I …”
“I realize that we don’t know each other very well,” he said, “but I thought that was the point of dinner—to get to know each other better.”
My face burned with embarrassment. “I know, but …” I began lamely.
“Is that why you went out to dinner with me tonight? To see what you could find out about me? About Lauren?”
“No! But just now, I wondered.”
“You suddenly wondered if Lauren and I are more than friends.” He frowned. “And if we are, what would be the point of my seeing you? To throw off suspicion about my relationship with Lauren?”
“Something like that.” Hearing it voiced out loud rendered the whole thing silly and melodramatic, but nevertheless I noticed that he hadn’t answered my question.
Daniel reached into his jacket pocket and took out a cigarette. As he lit it, I noticed that his fingers shook slightly. He inhaled deeply before continuing. I watched the smoke curling out into long, wispy tendrils. “I like you, Elizabeth,” he finally said slowly, choosing his words with care, “but this isn’t a good way to start a relationship—with suspicions and insecurities.”
“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.?