Chapter 13
Irma’s tumble down the stairs wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. Thankfully, she only had some bumps and bruises and a badly sprained ankle. However, the hospital decided to keep her overnight for observation.
Frank dropped Nana Jo at the hospital and then took me home. We were gone a lot longer than we originally planned. There was still a couple of hours before the bookstore closed, but traffic was light. I needed to distract my mind and had been missing time in the bookstore, so I let my nephews leave early and took over. It was wonderful to get back into the swing of things. I loved walking around my bookstore and helping customers, especially new customers, find just the right book, which I hoped would open their minds to the genre I loved.
During a lag in customer traffic, I reshelved books and couldn’t help thinking about how much my life had changed since I opened Market Street Mysteries.
“Mrs. Washington.”
I jumped at the unexpected intrusion into my dream world. “My goodness. You scared me.” I turned around and saw a familiar face. “Taylor?”
“I can’t believe you remembered my name.” Taylor smiled.
“You’re hard to forget.” I smiled. “You have such a beautiful face.”
She blushed.
I looked at the Goth goddess dressed in black from head to toe, with black lipstick, black fingernails, and hair dyed so deeply it looked purple under the lights. “Come for more Charlaine Harris?”
Taylor was a student at MISU and a member of a book club started by a couple of students, Jillian Clark, who was Dorothy’s granddaughter and was dating my assistant Dawson, and Emma Lee, who was dating my nephew Zaq.
“I can always use more Charlaine Harris.” She laughed. “But the main reason I came was to thank you.”
I had just reached up to get the latest book in the Harper Connelly Mystery series, which had enough paranormal activity that I knew Taylor would love it, when her words sunk in. “Thank me? For what?”
She smiled. “You suggested I talk to my guidance counselor about combining my love of writing and video games with my dad’s desire for me to become a computer programmer.” She grinned so large and rocked on the balls of her feet.
“And?”
She squealed. “It’s so awesome. There’s this special course I can take and get a certificate and my guidance counselor actually knows one of the founders of Vamps.” She waited expectantly, as though the name would mean something.
I shook my head. “Sorry. I’ve never heard of Vamps.”
She jumped up and down. “Ohmygodohmygod. Vamps is the number one gaming company. They have the best graphics. I absolutely love their games.” She took a deep breath and steadied herself. “It’s just too amazing for words.”
She was so excited; I was afraid she’d pass out. There’d been enough of that for one day, so, I suggested we go to the back of the store and sit down.
The store traffic was virtually nonexistent, and I knew the seat that would give me a clear view of anyone entering or leaving. We went to the back and I brought two cups of tea to a small bistro table. Dawson had prepared a host of goodies to keep the store stocked before he left. Today, my nephews had defrosted the dough for peanut butter cookies, Zaq’s favorite. A few cookies had escaped the twins’ notice, and I brought them over to the table.
By the time I sat down, Taylor had calmed down enough to tell me her news.
“My guidance counselor, Mr. Leonard, knows one of the guys who started Vamps. So, when he found out what I wanted to do, he called him.” She started breathing heavily again.
I reached out a hand. “Breathe.”
She stopped and took a deep breath. “Bottom line, he’s going to give me a summer internship with the company.”
“That’s fantastic. How did your dad take it?”
She smiled. “At first, he thought I was crazy. He said, ‘It’s just a fad and it’ll die out like the’ ”—she used air quotes—“ ‘dot com bubble.’ ” She puffed up her chest and tilted her head in a cocky manner. Then she laughed. “That was until he heard how much money I’m going to be making.”
“I’m really happy for you, Taylor. I hope you have a great internship.”
She spent a few minutes gushing about Vamps and how jealous her boyfriend was when he heard where she was going to be working.
When she finished, we chatted about books for a bit and then she selected and paid for some and left.
I couldn’t help smiling as I closed the shop and tidied up. Taylor was a smart young girl, and I was glad she was having an opportunity to pursue her dream. Working with kids and seeing them achieve things they never knew they could was one of the things I missed about teaching. Seeing the excitement on Taylor’s face filled a void I didn’t know I had.
Christopher and Zaq had let the poodles outside before they left, but I took them down again. Snickers was old and took advantage of the opportunity to go potty every time it presented itself. Oreo took the opportunity to play in the snow until his underbelly and paws were cold. Then he tried to get back inside. However, I had learned to harden my heart against his sad poodle eyes and stood firm behind the closed door until he gave up, went to a nearby bush, and hiked his leg.
Mission accomplished, I opened the door and wiped the excess snow from him. Thankfully, Oreo didn’t hold a grudge and gave my hand a lick.
Upstairs, I wasn’t hungry. The events from earlier today were tumbling around in my mind, and I needed a way to sort through everything.
So, I sat down and fired up my laptop.
Despite the massive size of the house, the drawing room of Hapsmere Grange was small. There was an oversized marble fireplace on one wall and a crystal chandelier that hung from the center of the coffered ceiling. There was also a large overstuffed sofa and several cushioned chairs—too many chairs.
Bakerton, the ancient butler who’d served the duke’s family for decades, opened the double doors that led into the room and Thompkins pushed in a tea cart laden full of cakes, pastries, sandwiches, and tea.
Once the items were distributed, Bakerton and Thompkins turned to leave.
“Thompkins, I would appreciate it if you’d stay,” Lady Elizabeth said.
Bakerton bowed and left while Thompkins, who was accustomed to her ladyship’s odd requests, walked over to a corner and stood stiffly.
Lady Elizabeth knew Thompkins well enough to know he would never sit in her presence, so she smiled and hurried on. “Now, I think we all know why we’re here.” She looked around.
Everyone nodded, although Detective Inspector Covington frowned. The tall, gangly man looked puzzled. “Well, your ladyship. To be completely honest, I know why I’m here.” He looked around. “You think Mrs. Forsythe’s death may have been murder rather than an accident.”
Lady Elizabeth nodded.
“I’m a policeman, so it makes sense for me to be here. I get paid to investigate things like this.” He leaned forward and scratched the back of his neck. “What doesn’t make sense to me is why the rest of you are here.”
Lady Clara huffed and made a very unladylike snort. “It’s rather obvious why we’re here.” She leaned toward the detective inspector and glared. “We’re here because your bloody lot didn’t believe Aunt Elizabeth when she said she thought poor Mrs. Forsythe had been murdered. Now, she’s here to find the evidence to prove that she was. She’s doing the job you should have done in the first place.”
Blood rushed to Detective Inspector Covington’s cheeks and he looked like a teakettle about to blow.
Lady Elizabeth raised her hands and halted the storm, which looked about to explode in the Hapsmere Grange drawing room. “That’s not entirely true, dear.” She turned to her cousin. “The police at the tube station were very kind and attentive; however, they have to work with facts.”
Lady Clara snorted.
“Scotland Yard does a wonderful job and we’ve had the pleasure of working with Detective Inspector Covington several times in the past. He’s always been very good about listening to our ideas.” She turned to the young man. “There’s absolutely no evidence that Mrs. Forsythe was murdered. Nothing, but a . . . feeling.”
Lady Alistair reached across and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Your feelings have been pretty accurate.”
Detective Inspector Covington gave Lady Elizabeth a sheepish look. “Your feelings have been pretty bang on, and I’m sorry.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Detective Inspector. That means a great deal coming from you.” She paused for a moment. “However, the truth of the matter is, we don’t have any proof whatsoever that Mrs. Forsythe didn’t have an accident.” She put down her teacup and picked up the knitting bag she’d set by her side. She took out a ball of pale yellow wool and a pair of knitting needles. “Mrs. Forsythe might be exactly what Mrs. Sanderson accused her of being, a batty old dear.”
“You don’t believe that.” Lady Clara stared at her cousin.
Lady Elizabeth knitted a few stiches and then smiled. “No. There was something about her that didn’t seem like she’d lost her wits. No. In fact, I think she was quite clever.” She knitted a few more stiches. “The way she managed to sneak away from the house when her cousin and his wife were out and how she slipped away from Mrs. Sanderson. That took some cunning.”
“Okay, what do you want us to do?” Lady Clara asked eagerly.
Lady Elizabeth knitted. “We don’t have much time. The cousin wants something.” She paused. “I don’t know what, but I intend to find out.”
“What do you want the rest of us to do?” Lady Alistair asked.
“Well, I was hoping we could divide and conquer.” She smiled. “I couldn’t help but notice Mrs. Sanderson seemed a bit . . . awed by my title.” She glanced at Lady Alistair. “I was hoping we could both tackle her.”
Lady Alistair took a bite from her scone. “Shall I pull out one of my tiaras for the occasion?”
Lady Elizabeth smiled. “I don’t think we’ll need to go to that extreme, but if you have your chauffeur, I think we could definitely borrow him.” She looked from Detective Inspector Covington to her cousin. “Now, I have noticed that men are often more receptive to a pretty woman.” She turned to Detective Inspector Covington. “While women are often more responsive to a handsome young man. I was hoping that you”—she looked at her cousin—“if the opportunity presented itself, could talk to Desmond Tarkington alone.” She turned to the Scotland Yard detective. “While you could have a talk, informally of course, with his wife, Constance.”
Detective Inspector Covington frowned. “I’ve noticed that murderers aren’t usually very forthcoming with information when they find out I’m with Scotland Yard.”
Lady Elizabeth smiled. “Exactly. Which is why I was hoping we could introduce you as a friend of the family.” She looked slyly at her young cousin. “I hoped we could explain your presence as a close friend of Lady Clara.”
The two young people glanced at each other and color rose up both of their necks. However, neither objected.
Lady Elizabeth turned to the butler. “Thompkins, I was hoping you might see what you could find out about Mrs. Forsythe’s maid, Dora.”
Thompkins bowed.
She smiled. “Mrs. Forsythe mentioned they’d had to cut back on expenses. I gathered they may not have many servants, so I was hopeful that tomorrow you would accompany us and . . . well, perhaps you could help find out what’s going on below stairs.”
Thompkins nodded stiffly.
Lady Elizabeth knitted. “I want to caution everyone to be very careful. If I’m right and Mrs. Forsythe was murdered, then someone believes they got away with murder. If they think there’s someone nosing around who suspects the truth, well . . . he or she could prove very dangerous.” She paused and gazed into the fireplace. “Yes. It could prove very dangerous indeed.”