The next morning I decided that a walk was the best way to clear my head.
After donning a T-shirt and shorts, I headed out the back door. I explained my plan to the officer standing near the door and glanced across the backyard at the officer posted at the carriage house. “Just going for a walk,” I called out when he stepped forward to intercept me.
He waved me off without asking any questions. Which hopefully means the police aren’t taking Tara Delamont’s accusations too seriously.
But I needed more information, if only to ease my own mind. Circling around to the front of the house, I waited on the sidewalk in front of Ellen Montgomery’s stately home. I’d timed my excursion to coincide with Ellen’s schedule for walking Shandy, even though I wasn’t certain Ellen would have information on any criminal behavior in Isabella’s past.
Ellen appeared on her wraparound front porch, wearing one of her typical colorful ensembles—a silky turquoise tunic over a pair of wide-legged purple, turquoise, and seafoam-green paisley pants. Apparently lost in thought, she reached the sidewalk before looking up. It was the dog, yipping and bouncing on the end of his leash, who first noticed me.
“Hey there, fella,” I said, leaning down to pat Shandy’s head. When I met Ellen’s inquisitive gaze, I offered her a wan smile. “I want to apologize for all the ruckus last night. I guess you’ve heard what happened?”
“Yes, it was all over the local news.” Ellen looked me up and down. “How’re you doing? I know it must’ve been traumatic for you.”
“I’m okay. It was a shock, of course, but the police were very efficient and polite, all things considered.” Realizing I was twisting my hands together, I dropped them to my sides. “The only problem is that all the area hotels and inns are full, and the guests can’t leave town yet, so some of them have to stay on at Chapters. Which is fine, I guess, except …”
“You’re a little afraid one of them might be a murderer?” Ellen used her free hand to adjust her straw hat, which was tied under her chin with scarlet ribbons. “Come, walk with me. I imagine you could use a bit of fresh air this morning.”
“Thanks.” I fell into step beside Ellen as the older woman let out Shandy’s leash, allowing the small dog to trot in front of us. “I did want to get out of the house, and it’s nice to have company.”
Ellen cast me a sidelong glance. “Happy to oblige, but why do I have this feeling you also want to ask me something?”
“Because you are just too darn perceptive,” I said, as we strolled past Turner Street. Off to my right, I noticed an unusual amount of activity around the cafés and shops that lined the road leading to Front Street and the waterfront. The town’s visitors were up earlier than usual—probably grabbing breakfast before heading over to Morehead for the fishing tournament. “I wanted to ask you something about Great-Aunt Isabella. It sounds silly, but there’s apparently some suspicion clouding her past, at least according to the late Mr. Delamont and his daughter.”
Ellen paused at the gate that led into a cemetery. The Old Burying Ground, which predated the adjacent Ann Street United Methodist Church by 145 years, was enclosed by a black wrought-iron fence set into a white concrete base. Established in 1709, the graveyard was listed on the National Register of Historic Places and was one of Beaufort’s most unique attractions. It included graves from the eighteenth century, many covered with curved brick vaults. When I’d first explored the site, I’d been told that flooding and wild animals would’ve been a problem in the early years, hence the aboveground vaults. The cemetery was now owned by the town.
“I don’t want to take the dog inside.” Ellen motioned toward the gate. “Feels disrespectful, honestly.”
“Agreed.” I gazed into the graveyard, which was shaded by the twisted limbs of old trees and shrubs. “On the other hand, it seems fitting to ask my question here, since I’m searching for answers from the past.”
“Something about Isabella?” Ellen reined in Shandy, who was fighting the leash. “No, we can’t go in, you rascal.”
“Yes. Now, maybe you don’t know the answer …”
“I probably don’t. Isabella could talk a blue streak, but she rarely spoke about her past. But I’ll help you if I can.” Ellen glanced off to our right. “However, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to sit down first. Let’s head down Craven. There are plenty of benches in that little park between Front Street and the docks.”
I nodded and followed Ellen and Shandy down the street, passing another church on one side and a bar, which sat back on an alley, to the right. If it had been later in the day, I would’ve suggested stopping. I’d always enjoyed grabbing a beer or glass of wine at the small bar on summer evenings when I wasn’t hosting events at Chapters. The brick interior and outside patio were equally charming and offered a quiet retreat from the bustling crowds of tourists who filled the area closer to the waterfront.
Crossing Front Street, Ellen headed to a tree-shaded patio area off the main boardwalk. She scooped up Shandy and sat down on one of the backless wooden benches. “All right,” she said. “Ask away. You look like you’re dying to do so.”
I grimaced as I took a seat next to Ellen. “Please don’t mention dying.”
“Sorry.” Ellen stretched out her legs as Shandy spun around before snuggling in her lap. “I assume you’re trying to figure out something related to Isabella’s past?”
“Yes, mainly about the period in the fifties when she worked as a maid. I realize you didn’t know her until much later, but I thought maybe she’d mentioned that time once or twice.”
Ellen pursed her lips and looked over at the boat slips before replying. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be very helpful. She did tell me she’d worked at some fancy estate back in the early fifties, but that was all she said. She was always tight-lipped about her youth.” Ellen absently stroked Shandy’s back as she stared beyond the boardwalk.
Following her gaze, I focused on the forest of masts that filled the harbor. “That’s the thing—she never talked about that time in her life with my family either. All we knew was that she went to work there when she was in her mid-twenties. I think that must’ve been around 1950, since she was born in 1926.” I looked down at my hands, which were clutched in my lap. “Not sure why she took that job, to be honest. She actually had a college degree, so that always puzzled me.”
Ellen, fiddling with Shandy’s harness, didn’t meet my questioning gaze. “It doesn’t surprise me. From what I’ve heard from older relatives, women had difficulty finding professional positions in those days, especially since it was not long after the men came home from the war.”
“I guess that makes sense. According to my mom, Isabella only worked at the estate for a few years. Then she disappeared for a year or two before showing up here in Beaufort and buying the house that later became Chapters.”
“Really? Your family must’ve been very concerned.”
“Yes, they were. Especially since she never contacted them between the time she left the estate and her eventual move to Beaufort. I remember Grandma fussing about that years later, at one of our family reunions.”
Shandy wriggled with pleasure as Ellen absently scratched a spot behind the little dog’s ear. “Things were a bit crazy in the fifties for a lot of people, but the economy was booming. Maybe Isabella found a way to make some quick cash.” Ellen side-eyed me. “A way the family wouldn’t have approved of, perhaps?”
“Yes, but that’s the thing—how did she manage it? She was working as a maid, left that job, and then poof!—two years later she had enough money to buy Chapters and begin building her fabulous library.” I scratched a mosquito bite on my bare forearm. “You know, I never really thought about it before, but when Lincoln Delamont suggested something was amiss with that story, it made me reconsider Isabella’s past.”
“Ah, the plot thickens.” Ellen tapped her foot against the pavers. “Did Delamont insinuate that Isabella was involved in some sort of illegal activity?”
“Yes. He implied that she stole some rare books and other valuables from her employers, then sold the items to fund her new life in Beaufort.” I pressed my thumb against the bite, which I’d scratched to bleeding. “I thought he was just threatening to expose an old scandal so I’d sell him some valuable books at a discount. Then last night his daughter, who read some notes he’d kept about his investigation into Isabella’s past, accused me of killing him to keep the story quiet.”
“I see.” Ellen pushed back her hat, allowing it to hang from the ribbons tied around her neck. “I wouldn’t worry. Personally, I doubt there’s any truth in Delamont’s tale. Yes, Isabella was very evasive about how she made enough money to buy her house and live there for so long before having to convert it to an income property. But I have another theory.” Ellen cast me an amused glance. “I always suspected there was a man involved. A sugar daddy, I guess you’d say. Someone who couldn’t marry her but wanted to keep her in style.”
“Really?” Considering this suggestion, I realized it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Despite possessing beauty, intelligence, and charm, Isabella Harrington had never married. In fact, she’d never even mentioned any “gentlemen friends” to my family. If she’d had a secret lover—perhaps a wealthy man who wouldn’t, or couldn’t, leave his wife—that might explain a lot of things. Not just her single status, but also her ability to live at Chapters for years without any obvious means of support. “Supposing that were true, do you think she turned Chapters into a bed-and-breakfast in the early eighties because her benefactor died or something? I mean, she didn’t seem to need the money before then.”
Ellen stared out over the harbor. “I can’t say. Despite our many conversations, Isabella never breathed a word about such a thing. She claimed she went into the lodging business simply because she was bored.”
“Which means Lincoln Delamont could’ve been lying, just as I thought.”
“Probably, although”—Ellen set a restless Shandy down and rose to her feet—“it’s hard to say for certain. Isabella, for all her outward chattiness, was quite secretive in many ways. I suppose it’s possible she engaged in some shady business to set herself up in style. She did have a rather offhand relationship with the law.”
“In what way?” I stood and trailed Ellen and Shandy onto the wooden boardwalk that flanked the docks.
“Oh, she fudged her taxes, for one thing.” Ellen pulled her hat back up onto her head as Shandy danced on the end of the leash, anxious to keep moving. “I was always afraid the IRS would come calling, but as far as I know, they never did.” Ellen glanced at me. “From my handling of the trust, I believe that mess was all sorted out before you inherited Chapters.”
“The lawyers did tell me they had to pay some significant back taxes out of the estate.” Processing the idea that perhaps my great-aunt had been a thief as well as a tax evader, I frowned. “But if what Lincoln Delamont said was true, why was she never suspected of stealing from her former employers during her lifetime? Surely if things went missing, it would’ve been noticed when she left.”
“Maybe that’s why she disappeared? Or—perhaps she had an accomplice?” Ellen’s tone was as light as the wispy clouds drifting through the pale-blue sky. “I understand there were several sons in that family, and a few of them were the right age to appreciate a young woman with Isabella’s charms. Maybe one of them helped her take a few valuables and covered up any losses.”
“You mean, one of them could’ve also become her lifelong benefactor.” I grimaced as another thought occurred to me. “Or her blackmailer.”
“I doubt that.” Ellen leaned against the wooden railing separating the boardwalk from the water below. “Isabella wasn’t the kind of person to put up with that sort of thing for long. No, I think if that was the scenario, it would’ve been a love match, and they would’ve been in on the theft together.”
I gazed out over the water. The emerald shoreline of nearby Carrot Island, a refuge for wild horses and other native animals, glittered in the early-morning sunlight. “That’s the romantic way to look at it, but I’m not convinced. Now that I think about it, I remember my late grandmother saying that Isabella seemed much happier in her later years, even though establishing and running Chapters required so much time and effort.”
“Did she?” Ellen’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon. “Of course, I didn’t know Isabella until the eighties, so I couldn’t say if that was true or not. But I’m glad to hear it.”
“What if she made a devil’s bargain and was only freed by the death of her secret lover?” I winced as I pondered this possibility. “She lost her benefactor but gained her freedom.”
“Yes, freedom.” Ellen rolled her shoulders as if casting off some burden. “That would’ve been important to Isabella, I think. She was definitely no shrinking violet or clinging vine.”
“That’s true. Not that I got to interact with her that much. She only visited us occasionally. We never came to Beaufort because she claimed her home was her business and she couldn’t put up nonpaying guests. But I remember how fiercely independent she was.”
“Yes.” Ellen seemed lost in thought. “Anyway, this is all speculation. We have no proof.”
“And, maybe, neither did Lincoln Delamont, although he appeared confident about his information.” I brushed a windblown lock of hair from my eyes. “But my guess is that he didn’t really want to expose the truth, whatever it was. He just hoped he could use the rumors he’d collected to compel me to sell him some of Isabella’s rare books at bargain-basement prices.”
“That seems likely.” Ellen moved away from the railing as Shandy pulled against his leash. “Honestly, Charlotte, I wouldn’t waste any more time worrying about what Isabella might or might not have done.” She yanked the brim of her hat down a little lower on her forehead. “We should keep walking. Shandy has no patience for just standing around.”
“You really think Lincoln was bluffing?” I followed Ellen and the Yorkie to the end of the boardwalk.
“Don’t you?” Ellen paused to check for traffic before crossing to the corner of Front Street and Turner. “Considering he wasn’t the most honest of individuals …”
“That’s true,” I said, thinking of Scott’s comments from the evening before. But—I stared speculatively at Ellen’s back as I trailed the older woman and her dog—I wonder how Ellen knew about that aspect of Lincoln Delamont’s character.
“Well then, who’s to say he knew anything salacious about Isabella? As a dealer in rare books, he’d probably heard a great deal about her and her private library over the years. Maybe enough to concoct a story he planned to use to take advantage of you.”
“That makes sense.” I increased my stride to keep up with Ellen’s fast pace. “More sense than my great-aunt being a thief, anyway. It’s just too bad his daughter had to stumble over his lies.”
“Before he was murdered, you mean?” Ellen cast me a wry smile. “No, I’m not suspecting you of stabbing him, although I can understand a desire to do so.”
“That’s just it, though,” I said, as we trotted down Ann Street. “There are any number of people who actually had a reason to kill him.”
“Oh?” Ellen paused at the gate to her front yard. “You’ve identified some suspects?”
I glanced at the back bumper of a police car parked beside the bed-and-breakfast. “Perhaps we shouldn’t talk about that out in the open.”
“Join me on my porch then. We’ll be out of view of the officers there.” Ellen unlatched her front gate and motioned for me to walk ahead of her. “You must share. I wouldn’t mind a go at some amateur sleuthing. Things have been dull as tombs around here recently.”
I stepped into Ellen’s small front yard. “I don’t know. I haven’t worked it all out, so I might be casting aspersions without any basis in fact.”
“Then you definitely need me as a sounding board. Who better? I’m certainly not a suspect, unlike anyone who was at Chapters last night.” Ellen latched the gate behind her before unhooking Shandy’s leash from his harness.
The dog bounded away, running in circles around the shrubs dotting the yard while Ellen and I climbed the short flight of steps that led up to the covered front porch.
“Okay, I’ll share my thoughts. But only if you agree to tell me if my ideas are complete nonsense.” I settled onto a white porch swing. “It would be nice to hear another opinion.”
Ellen sat down in a turquoise Adirondack chair. “Just like in the classic novels. I can be your Captain Hastings or Watson.”
I pushed off from the wooden floor of the porch with one sneakered foot, setting the swing in motion. “Sorry, but I don’t think I qualify as a Poirot or Holmes. You’d fit that profile better.”
“Nonsense. I’m just an eccentric old lady,” Ellen said with a smile. “Now—lay out the facts for me, or at least as much as you understand.”
I took a deep breath before outlining my observations of everyone I considered a suspect, including Alicia, Tara, Jennifer, and Scott. I didn’t tell Alicia the details about Lincoln swindling Scott’s father, though, and I didn’t mention Julie, not wanting to share information, even with Ellen, about her involvement with Lincoln. I knew the story would undoubtedly come out, but I wasn’t going to be the one to shine a spotlight of suspicion on my friend.
“I can’t imagine Mr. Kepler stabbing anyone, can you? Although I suppose we must leave him on the list,” Ellen said, when I’d finished my spiel. “And you left out Damian Carr. He had access to the key and the knife, and from what I hear, he does have a temper.”
I crossed my ankles and lifted my feet, allowing the swing to move freely. “True, but I haven’t figured out his motive. Although I suppose I don’t really know everyone that Lincoln interacted with in the Beaufort area over the last few years.”
“This wasn’t his first trip here, from what I understand.”
“No, when he made the reservation, Lincoln told me he’d visited here many times before.” I eyed Ellen, wondering how she knew so much about a random visitor’s activity.
“There you go. He could have made enemies you don’t know about. Like Damian, or any of the locals at your party.”
I couldn’t repress a chuckle. “Surely not the Sandberg sisters.”
“Are you certain? I daresay Bernadette could wield a knife with the best of them, and sometimes it’s the most unlikely people who commit crimes. At least that’s been my experience.” Ellen leaned back in her chair and stared up at the slowly spinning ceiling fan. “From books and true crime shows, I mean.”
“I suppose anything is possible, even if not probable.” I halted the motion of the swing before glancing at my watch. “But look at the time—I’d better go and help Alicia with breakfast or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“As long as she doesn’t have a knife, I think you’ll be okay,” Ellen said, as I leapt off the swing and headed for the porch steps.
I cast her a raised-eyebrow look over my shoulder. “Very droll, but I think I’ll be safe in my own kitchen.”
“One of the deadliest rooms in the house. Statistically, I mean,” Ellen replied, as I bounded down the steps and into the yard.
I shot her a smile before using one foot as a barricade to keep Shandy inside the fence while I slipped out the front gate. “Anyway, thanks for listening,” I called out from the sidewalk.
“Always glad to play sidekick, detective,” Ellen replied with a cheery wave.
Striding toward the kitchen door, I considered Ellen’s offer. I knew I should keep my nose out of this case. And I definitely had no business dragging my elderly neighbor into it. Neither one of us was a trained investigator, or even an experienced amateur sleuth.
But we’re smart women, I thought, as I shoved open Chapters’ back door. And like some of the famous classic mystery heroines, we’re also older and easy to overlook. The kind of women a lot of people might underestimate.
Maybe just the kind of sleuths the situation required.