Chapter Seventeen
Nia exited the theater, and Jane slipped out after her.
When the theater door closed, Jane was keenly aware that she was now alone in an empty corridor with a murder suspect. She knew that she should be afraid, but she was too angry to be scared.
“Are you lost, Ms. Curry?” she asked the figure up ahead.
Startled, Nia swung around. Her body went taut and her dark eyes flashed. Her fight or flight response was on full display. She reminded Jane of a cornered animal, and her fear made Jane feel powerful. After days of feeling worried and helpless, she finally had control.
Nia wasn’t going to raise her hands in surrender, though. Within seconds, she’d mastered her emotions.
Glancing around in feigned confusion, she asked, “Did I go out the wrong door? I have a nasty migraine and can’t think straight. It came out of nowhere.” She pressed her fingers to her temples for emphasis. “The noise in the theater was making it worse. I just had to get out.”
Nia’s acting skills wouldn’t land her a spot with the Storyton Players, but Jane pretended to believe every word. “I’m sure you’re desperate to escape. Why don’t I show you the fastest way to the lobby?”
Though Nia’s panic was almost palpable, she held fast to her charade. “That’s nice of you, but what I really need is some fresh air. A place away from other people.”
“I’ll take you to the loading dock. At this time of night, it’ll be deserted. You can take in the night air in peace. It’ll just be you and the moon.” Jane injected her words with such sugary sweetness that she worried she’d overdone it, but Nia responded with an eager nod.
The corridor wasn’t wide enough for the women to walk shoulder to shoulder, so Nia fell into step behind Jane.
Jane didn’t like this one bit. If Nia had assisted in the premeditated murder of two women, then she was callous and cunning. Jane’s years of martial arts training wouldn’t do her much good if Nia stuck a knife in her back.
“Can I get you anything for your pain?” Jane asked, darting a quick look over her shoulder.
“No, thanks.” Nia’s words came out as a groan. “I just need air. Later, I’ll lie down.”
Jane picked up her pace, hoping to reach her destination without incident. She didn’t expect to run into any staff members because they’d already prepped the Madame Bovary Dining Room for dinner. They wouldn’t return until it was time to fill water glasses or show guests to their tables.
“One of my friends gets migraines,” Jane lied. “She says that medication doesn’t really help. Is that true?”
“Ibuprofen helps a bit. That, and a dark room.”
By this time, they’d reached the door to the kitchens. The muffled sounds of culinary activity could be heard through the thick wood.
“We’ll pass through here to reach the loading dock.” Jane put her hand on the door and gave Nia a reassuring smile. “No one will pay attention to us. Just walk straight through.”
Nia hesitated. Jane could almost hear the other woman’s wheels spinning. She was probably so focused on what she’d do after getting outside that she didn’t realize she was being herded toward the break room.
Passing by prep stations and cooktops with gurgling pots, they received polite smiles or nods from the kitchen staff, and Jane could sense Nia’s panic subsiding. All she had to do was get outside. After distancing herself from the woman in the sparkly blue dress and fairy wings, Nia could make a break for it.
She must have the keys to Kristen’s car, Jane thought. Nia drove the women to the woods.
Those keys were evidence of Nia’s guilt. Jane had to ensure that they ended up in the sheriff’s hands. She could not let Nia escape.
Suddenly, Mrs. Hubbard appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the hallway leading to the break room. She carried a milk jug in one hand and a block of cheddar cheese in the other.
“Look at you!” she cried as she took in Jane’s costume. Dumping the supplies from the walk-in on a counter, she clasped her hands over her heart. “You’re such a lovely fairy! And what about those darling boys? Are they going to come by and show me their costumes?”
Ignoring the question, Jane gestured at Nia. “Mrs. Hubbard, this is Nia Curry. She’s one of our guests. She isn’t feeling well, so I’m taking her outside for some air. Is there an extra coat lying around? I thought she could use the one from that Rip Van Winkle event.”
When Mrs. Hubbard’s smile faltered, Jane knew that her message had been received.
“That’s okay,” Nia protested weakly. “I won’t be out there long. My migraines are strong, but they don’t last.”
“You poor lamb! I know just what you need.” Mrs. Hubbard took Nia’s arm and steered her toward the break room.
The second Nia’s back was turned, Jane grabbed a knife from the wooden block at the end of the counter. She slid it into the pocket of her skirt, silently thanking Mabel for sewing deep pockets into all of her garments.
Jane’s sleight of hand hadn’t gone unnoticed by the prep cook chopping carrots. He shot a glance at Mrs. Hubbard and Nia before taking his phone out of his pocket. When he looked at Jane and raised his brows in question, she responded with a firm nod.
By this point, Mrs. Hubbard and Nia had reached the end of the proverbial road. The loading dock door was perpendicular to the door to the break room, and Mrs. Hubbard had stationed herself right in front of the exit. She wasn’t a small woman, and there was no chance Nia could squeeze by her without using force. As Nia weighed her options, her glance flicking from the woman blocking her path to the door, Mrs. Hubbard continued to fuss over her.
“You need to sit down in a quiet place with a cup of ginger tea. That’ll be much better than catching your death outside.”
“Ginger tea is an excellent idea,” Jane said. Hurrying forward, she opened the break room door and waited for Nia to step inside.
Nia didn’t move. “No, thank you. I just want some air.”
She made to slip around Mrs. Hubbard, but Jane didn’t give her the chance. She pressed a palm against Nia’s shoulder and shoved her into the break room.
Nia reeled sideways but didn’t fall. When she recovered her balance, she faced Jane and shouted, “What the hell?”
Jane brandished her knife. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re no Matilda. You might be smart. You might love books. But you’re not kind, and you’re certainly not good. You’re an insult to Roald Dahl and the heroine he created. He would have written you as a villain. He would have seen that you got your comeuppance in the end. Well, this is the end.”
Nia forced a laugh. “If this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny. I’m leaving.”
Instead of moving, her eyes widened. She then retreated farther into the room.
Jane looked back over her shoulder. Four chefs stood behind her. Three of them held very large knives. The fourth wielded a cleaver.
“Sit down, Ms. Curry,” Jane commanded. “You don’t have a migraine. You have a case of I’m-about-to-get-caught. And there’s no cure.”
Nia’s body tensed again. Preparing for a fight, she scanned the room for a weapon. Other than writing implements or utensils, there wasn’t much available.
Jane handed her knife to one of the chefs. Part of her wanted Nia to give up without a struggle. The other part was looking for an excuse to strike the woman in front of her.
“Gunnar Humphries’s soul was twisted by grief. He lost his daughter, his grandson, and his wife. The best parts of him probably died with the people he loved most. He was willing to throw his life away for the chance to punish those responsible for his misery. But you? Why would you take such a risk?”
“Do you know what motivates me?” Nia asked. Her mouth formed a crooked smile. “Success. I didn’t want a piece of the action; I want to run the show. I want my own publishing business. I’m not working this hard to make someone else rich. I haven’t coddled Gunnar all these years for nothing.” Her eyes sparkled with anger. “Those days are over. It’s time for me to be on top. To call the shots. To have the corner office. I want my name on the door and on every Peppermint Press business card. In gold letters.”
“How does killing Kristen and Gloria accomplish that?”
Behind Jane, she heard murmuring. She assumed the cook’s 911 call had been relayed to the sheriff and that he’d made his way to the break room, but she didn’t turn around to check. She wanted Nia to keep talking. She wanted to understand why a woman who seemed to have everything going for her had been compelled to add murder to her résumé.
She studied Nia’s face and saw the rage boiling in her dark eyes. Jane didn’t shrink from it. She walked toward the other woman, her own anger blooming in her chest.
“Gunnar signed Peppermint Press over to me,” Nia said triumphantly. “Come Monday, I’ll be the new owner. And I didn’t kill anyone. Have fun proving that I did.”
“Even if you didn’t poison those women, you lured them to their deaths,” Jane said flatly. “That’s accessory to murder. How’s that going to look on your gold business cards?”
Nia’s expression turned stony. “I’m done talking to you.”
Jane felt a hand on her elbow. “I’ll take it from here,” said the sheriff.
The curious chefs made a path for the sheriff and Deputy Emory. Jane waited for Nia to be cuffed and Mirandized before moving so close to her that their noses almost touched.
“You murdered two women. You scared my guests. You threatened my sons.” Jane’s voice was dangerously soft. “Being in charge isn’t about profit margins or a title on your letterhead. It’s knowing that the heart of your company is its people. I owe everything to the people of Storyton Hall, not the other way around. And I’ll be honoring their hard work and dedication by making sure that someone like you will never be in charge.”
Deputy Emory put a hand on Jane’s shoulder. “We’re going to take her in now.”
Jane nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
“I would never hurt your sons” were Nia’s parting words.
“No, you wouldn’t,” said Jane. “Because you wouldn’t have gotten past me.”
It wasn’t until Nia was escorted outside that Jane felt like she could breathe again. She stood in the break room doorway until her heartbeat slowed. Once she’d calmed down, she turned to thank Mrs. Hubbard and the chefs who’d come to her aid. To her surprise, the entire kitchen staff broke into spontaneous applause. They whooped and hollered, patted one another on the back, and shouted phrases like “Did you see that?” and “We got her!”
Adrenaline and relief made Jane want to shout too, but she was the manager of Storyton Hall, so she settled for a big smile. She approached every chef who’d picked up a weapon to defend her and gave each of them a hug.
By the time she reached out for Mrs. Hubbard, the head cook was blubbering like a child.
“Oh, my dear! That’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened in this kitchen! And I don’t think I liked it. No, I don’t think I liked it one bit!”
Jane led the head cook over to a stool, forced her to sit down, and wiped her face with a clean napkin. Next, she whispered into a waiter’s ear and he dashed off to fetch a large mug of whiskey-laced coffee.
When he returned, Jane pressed the mug into Mrs. Hubbard’s hands and urged her to drink. After a few sips, Mrs. Hubbard stopped sniffling. She gazed around her domain and nodded.
“Thank you, Jane, but I can’t sit here sniveling with dinner starting in twenty minutes. I’m better now. Whiskey cures most ills.” Getting to her feet, she began barking orders.
Her staff, pleased to see their intrepid leader take the helm again, got back to work.
“It was the thought of someone hurting the twins that made me blubber,” Mrs. Hubbard murmured to Jane in between shouts. “You and the boys are my family. I love you to pieces.”
Jane took Mrs. Hubbard’s hand and said, “We love you too.” She then moved to the center of the room and yelled, “It’s Valentine’s Day. Let’s celebrate love!”
This was met by a chorus of cheers. Suddenly, everyone was exchanging hugs.
Jane whispered, “My work here is done,” and disappeared into the staff corridor.
* * *
Though Fitz and Hem had thoroughly enjoyed the play, they were too focused on filling their empty bellies to discuss it. Jane told them to get in the buffet line while she and Edwin relaxed with glasses of red wine.
“Part of me is afraid to believe that it’s over,” Jane told Edwin when the twins were out of earshot. “I thought Tris and Todd Petty were responsible for the crimes, but I was wrong.”
“Your guests are safe and are having the time of their lives,” Edwin said. “That’s what matters right now.”
Jane took his hand. “That’s true. And I’m with my family. Fitz, Hem, and you.” She stared into his eyes, which were always lit by a spark of mischief and a hint of laughter. Jane liked how his gaze softened whenever he looked at her.
“I don’t want to compartmentalize my life anymore,” she said. “I’ve learned that life is messy. Families are complicated. All families. I love you, Edwin. My sons love you. Can you ignore everything I said to you last fall about trying to separate the woman who loves you from the woman who is mother to Fitz and Hem? Will you commit to all three of us?”
Edwin leaned over and whispered, “What man wouldn’t want to join a family made up of a blue fairy, a liar, and an ass?”
Jane laughed and was about to offer a rejoinder when Edwin stopped her words with a kiss. He then placed an envelope on the table and said, “I’m glad we’re on the same page, Valentine.”
“That doesn’t look like a book,” Jane said. “We exchange books on holidays.”
“Rules are meant to be broken.”
Opening the envelope, Jane muttered, “Rascal. Rake. Rapscallion.” She was about to continue insulting Edwin when she saw that the envelope held four first-class plane tickets to London and a hotel brochure.
“You deserve a vacation. A family vacation,” Edwin said. “And we’re not crossing the pond to ride a giant Ferris wheel or tour the city in a red bus. We can do those things too, but this wouldn’t be a gift for you unless books were involved.”
Jane was dumbfounded. “London? Books?”
“We’re going on a literary tour of England. Austen, Shakespeare, Beatrix Potter, Dickens, Tolkien, Lewis, Brontë, and more. We can’t forget Harry Potter, so we’ll go on the London studio tour before boarding a train to Edinburgh.”
“Scotland,” Jane said dreamily. She then tried to give Edwin a stern look. “We give each other books on holidays. This is not a book. This is magic. I’m the Blue Fairy. I’m supposed to make the magic.”
Edwin cupped her chin in his palm. “You do. Every day. For many people. But it’s high time you took a break, sweetheart.”
The twins returned to the table just as Jane was thanking Edwin with a tender kiss. Before they could roll their eyes or make a snide comment, Jane thrust the hotel brochure at them.
“Guess what? We’re going to London! All four of us!”
After exchanging ecstatic glances, Fitz and Hem began firing questions at Jane.
“Can we have a spot of tea in Buckingham Palace?” Hem asked.
“Oy, guvnah. Can we ride the tube?”
Fitz’s Cockney accent was atrocious, but Hem couldn’t wait to mimic it.
“I hope our flat has a hoity-toity lift.”
Jane sighed and squeezed Edwin’s hand. “They’re going to do this until we touch down in Heathrow, you know.”
Edwin laughed. “Let’s get some food. Maybe they’ll be over their Oliver Twist impersonations by the time we get back.”
When Jane returned to her seat with a plate of braised balsamic chicken, salad with mango vinaigrette, potato croquettes, and glazed carrots, the twins were ready for dessert. Jane told them to stick with two items. Hem selected a heart-shaped brownie and strawberry cheesecake while Fitz went for the red velvet cake with maraschino cherry cream and chocolate mousse. The boys ate exactly half of each dessert before swapping plates.
“That’s one way to get four desserts instead of two,” Edwin said.
When the twins were too full to cram in another bite, they asked Jane if they could bring a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries to Uncle Aloysius and Aunt Octavia.
“Yes. That would be very nice,” said Jane, smiling at her sons. “Your valentines are at home. You can open them whenever you want.”
“We put yours in the kitchen,” Fitz said, giving his mom a quick hug.
Hem hugged her next and said, “You’re the best mom ever.”
The boys gave Edwin high fives and shouted, “See you tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow?” Jane called after them, but her question was lost in the din of talk, laughter, and the clinking of silverware.
“I asked your great-aunt and great-uncle if the twins could spend the night,” Edwin said, looking very pleased with himself. “I was counting on the fact that you’d identify and catch the Fairy Tale Killer before the night was out, and you did.”
“With a lot of help, including yours.”
Edwin brushed the back of her hand with his lips. “You’ll want to check in with the Fins and the sheriff before you leave, so I’ll find Malcolm Marcus and buy him a drink. The man might be a zealot when it comes to book collecting, but I don’t hold that against him. And though he won’t end up with The Velveteen Rabbit he wants so badly, I do have a gift for him.”
Jane was about to protest Edwin’s plan to reward the bookseller. But when she paused to reflect on her reasoning, she realized that she’d judged Malcolm based on his looks as well as his desire to add to his personal collection. She’d been unfair. She’d seen him as greedy instead of passionate. She’d assumed he was manipulative when, in truth, he’d been perfectly transparent with her and everyone else from the start.
“It was generous of you to get him a gift,” Jane said to Edwin. “What is it?”
Edwin placed a book-shaped object wrapped in brown paper on the table. “This character reminds me of Malcolm. I don’t think he’ll be insulted by my choice. In fact, I think he’ll be thrilled. It’s a first edition from 1886 and is in excellent condition.”
He gestured for Jane to pull the twine bow holding the paper in place. After doing so, she peeled back just enough paper to read the book’s title. It was Little Lord Fauntleroy.
Thinking of the spoiled little boy in the novel, Jane laughed. Edwin did too. They sat at their table, surrounded by families of every kind, and laughed.
This is love, Jane thought. This is happiness.
* * *
After dinner, Jane asked the Fins to join her in the Daphne du Maurier Morning Room.
“I don’t want to keep you from enjoying your night off, but I want to be sure that we’re doing all we can to help the sheriff wrap up his investigation. Sterling, have you been able to find any security footage that could incriminate Gunnar or Nia?”
Looking like the cat who’d caught the canary, Sterling handed Jane a printout. “Another camera picked up the figure in the brown jacket before they approached the dining room. The face is hidden under the hood, but as you can see in this freeze-frame image, the person has a tattoo of a bird with four wings on their neck.”
“Nia Curry!” Jane cried.
“Ms. Curry wasn’t wearing that jacket when she first arrived at Storyton Hall. She wore a bright blue coat. The brown jacket was meant to provide camouflage when she was in the woods.”
Butterworth spoke next. “It appears that Ms. Curry had a suitcase devoted to coats. Inside this case, we found price tags taken from the brown jacket, the red coat Ms. Burke was wearing when she was found, and the fur-trimmed coat Ms. Ramirez was wearing when she was found.”
Jane’s anger threatened to flare again, but she shoved it aside. She needed to focus on seeking justice for Kristen and Gloria, and the news about the price tags was excellent. “We have concrete evidence linking Nia to the murders. I don’t see how she can explain that away.”
“We expect Mr. Humphries to confess,” said Sinclair. “He’s not interested in self-preservation. That was plain to all of us when Mr. Humphries saw the sheriff waiting for him in the lobby. His impending arrest wasn’t the only reason Mr. Humphries deflated like a tire. It was coming face to face with Brandon Parks, Ms. Ramirez’s beau.”
Jane frowned. “I don’t understand. Did Gunnar know Brandon?”
“Dr. Parks assisted in the knee replacement surgery Mr. Humphries received a year ago,” Sinclair explained. “The surgery was a success. After six weeks of physical therapy, Mr. Humphries could walk without discomfort. In short, he didn’t need a cane. Dr. Parks was clearly surprised to see Mr. Humphries, and even more surprised to see him using a cane.”
Jane held up her hands. “Wait a minute. Did Gunnar know that his doctor was Gloria’s boyfriend at the time of his surgery?”
“Dr. Parks and Ms. Ramirez had just started dating at the time. She hadn’t told anyone about her new beau, let alone her boss. But the effect of running into Dr. Parks in this setting—a man who could testify as to Mr. Humphries’s physical condition—proved to be too much. As I said, Gunnar Humphries deflated. The fight has left him.”
Putting aside her questions about the investigation for the moment, Jane’s thoughts turned to Brandon. “That poor man. I need to talk to him—to make sure he has everything he needs. The least I can do is see to his creature comforts.”
“Dr. Parks accompanied the sheriff to the station,” said Butterworth. “Before he left, he told me that he came to Storyton to visit the place where Ms. Ramirez was found. Tomorrow, he’d like to spend time alone there. To say good-bye. As for tonight, his main interest is knowing that her killer will be brought to justice.”
“Killers,” Jane said. “To me, Nia is just as guilty as Gunnar.”
Sinclair let her remark hang in the air before continuing, “Having heard what she said in the kitchens, we believe that Ms. Curry will do anything she can to avoid prosecution.”
Jane fell silent, wondering how Nia would handle her arrest. Would she deny her involvement? Would she refuse to speak at all? Would she sit in an interview room, stubbornly gazing at a point in the middle distance while Sheriff Evans tried to get answers from her? Would she immediately demand an attorney?
“We need to help Evans convince her that coming clean is her smartest move,” Jane told the Fins. “Making her believe that cooperation could mean less jail time is the key. She wants Peppermint Press. She committed unforgivable sins to get it, and I think she’ll continue to do whatever it takes to fulfill that dream.”
“We should get the video footage and the price tags to the sheriff right away,” said Lachlan. “Ms. Curry might need to see the evidence against her before she’ll give in.”
“I’ll go to the station. I know the footage better than anyone.” Sterling smiled at Lachlan. “Besides, isn’t your valentine waiting for you?”
Lachlan’s cheeks burned. “My love life comes second to my responsibilities as a Fin.”
“We might have to reexamine those priorities in the future. Love lives should come first,” Jane said. Getting to her feet, she glanced at each of her Fins in turn. “For once, the crimes committed at Storyton Hall have nothing to do with our secret library. That should be a relief, but it isn’t. It’ll take another year or two to empty the library of its treasures, and there’s no guarantee that we’ll have peace once the shelves are bare.”
“Peace sounds quite dull,” said Butterworth. “And rather lovely.”
Jane continued to look at the four men who’d sacrificed so much to keep her and the secret library safe. If she paused too long to consider all they’d done for her, she’d become too emotional to speak, so she hurried on.
“Valentine’s Day is traditionally a holiday for couples. Not here. This weekend, we’ve been celebrating familial love. Such a celebration applies to us as well. We’re a family. And I wanted to take a moment to tell you how grateful I am to each of you. I don’t have boxes of chocolate or sappy cards for you, but I do have a small token of appreciation.”
Jane reached into the shopping bag next to her chair and pulled out four jewelry boxes.
“If this is a proposal, I accept,” Sinclair joked.
Butterworth’s brow twitched. “Mr. Alcott is likely to object.”
“The four of us could overpower a single Templar,” Sterling said, raising a clenched fist.
Instead of adding a comment, Lachlan opened his box. When he saw the gold arrow-shaped cuff links inside, he smiled at Jane.
“This is my first pair. Thank you.”
Butterworth was aghast. “Your first pair of cuff links? Your first?”
The other Fins poked fun at Lachlan until Jane said, “Maybe he hasn’t been invited to a function calling for a tux and cuff links. Now, he’ll be ready for any black-tie event.”
Lachlan knew she was referring to his possible nuptials and flashed her a conspiratorial smile.
Sinclair cleared his throat and stood up. “Before we separate for the evening, might I also recognize the people in this room by quoting a famous man?”
“Please,” said Jane.
Sinclair’s gaze was filled with affection as he spoke, “‘Not even a mighty warrior can break a frail arrow when it is multiplied and supported by its fellows. As long as your brothers support one another and render assistance to one another, your enemies can never gain the victory over you.’”
Holding the jewelry box close to his heart, he got to his feet, turned to Jane, and performed a small bow. “Thank you.”
“Those words are so perfect for this group. Who said them?” Jane asked.
“The quote is attributed to Genghis Khan.”
Jane threw up her hands in mock exasperation. “Because nothing says Valentine’s Day like a genocidal warlord.”
“We’re far more fortunate in our choice of leaders,” said Sterling.
Sinclair gestured at the door. “But our leader needs to go home. The suspects will be waiting in the morning. As will Sheriff Evans. The rest of this night doesn’t belong to the Guardian or to the manager of Storyton Hall. It belongs to a woman in love. Good night, dear girl.”
After embracing each Fin, Jane made her way home.
Home.
Where Edwin was waiting.