Lethal Legend (17 page)

 Squaring her shoulders, she marched back upstairs. They had moved on to arguing over the veil—white nun’s veiling was Maggie’s choice; Elmira opted for point lace.

“I am not wearing a veil,” Diana said, stepping into the room. “Only first-time brides wear veils, or white dresses, or carry orange blossoms. Besides, I already have my bridal gown. I’m sorry,” she said to the dressmaker, “but I do not need your services today.”

“But only look at this one,” Elmira wailed, thrusting a fashion print at her. “That’s Brussels lace for the trim and the cathedral train is decorated with balayeuse on the inside outer edge.”

“I don’t even know what balayeuse is,” Diana protested.

“Dust ruffle,” Maggie supplied,
sotto voce
.

Elmira glared at her. “You could have it made in cream silk faille if white offends you.”

Diana waited until the dressmaker had gathered up her paraphernalia and left before she rounded on the other two women. “This is
my
wedding. I have already made all the necessary arrangements and I’ll thank you not to interfere with them.”

“You can’t shut us out,” her mother protested. “We have a right—”

“You have the right to attend, nothing more.”

Elmira looked sulky. “You might at least share some of the details with us. How else are we to know what you have planned.”

“Such as?”

“Who is to give the bride away. Ed would—”

“My grandfather will perform that service.” Word had been waiting upon their return from Belfast that Isaac Torrence and his daughter, Diana’s Aunt Janette, would be arriving a few days early for the wedding. She was looking forward to seeing them again. Her mother was not.

“He’s ninety-two,” Elmira objected. “Are you sure he can manage to totter down the aisle?”

“Who is to stand up with you?” Maggie asked. “And with Ben? Is that why he really went to Keep Island? Is Graham—?”

“Ben’s brother will serve as his groomsman. I would have liked my old friend Rowena Foxe to attend me, but she is unable to make the long trip from California. I’ve asked Jerusha Fildale to be my bridesmaid instead.”

Maggie brightened. “Oh, I remember her. The actress.”

“An
actress
!” Elmira looked horrified at the very idea.

“For heaven’s sake, Mother, given what you do for a living, how can you possibly object to acting as a profession?”

Years ago, Diana’s parents had disowned her for eloping with an actor, but things had changed since then. Elmira no longer had the high moral ground.

“Shhh! The servants!” Elmira’s cheeks flamed, betraying just how deeply annoyed she was.

Diana did not mistake the sudden rush of color for embarrassment. She didn’t think it was possible to embarrass either Elmira or Maggie. She did, however, obligingly lower her voice.

“Why are you two suddenly so determined to take control of my nuptials?”

Elmira and Maggie exchanged an enigmatic look before Maggie spoke. “Mrs. Entwhistle called for you while you were away. You didn’t tell me you’d met her, Diana.”

“We crossed paths in town the other day, but what possible bearing can Zenobia Entwhistle have on my wedding?”

“She’s an arbiter of fashion in this town. And she liked you. I must confess I’ve never cared for the woman myself, and I have no desire to move in her circle, but she’s someone to be cultivated if you want to fit into the social life of your new home town.”

Did she? Diana sank slowly onto the foot of the bed and thought about that. She couldn’t imagine spending all her time playing whist and doing “good works.”

“There’s time yet to invite the Entwhistles to your wedding,” Elmira said.

“No, there is not. The guest list is complete.  All the invitations I mean to send have gone out.”

“Not even one exception?” Maggie asked, frowning.

Diana sighed. “Who?”

“Justus Palmer.”

Diana felt her jaw drop. A moment later she was on her feet and moving in on Maggie. “You know where he is? Tell me.”

Caught off guard, Ben’s mother took a step back, almost plowing into Elmira. “I don’t know where he’s staying, no, but I’m sure it’s somewhere nearby.”

“When did you see him last?”

Two bright spots of color bloomed on Maggie’s cheeks. Apparently, Diana thought, she had been wrong about Maggie’s capacity for embarrassment. “Well?”

“Around midnight,” Maggie mumbled.

“Last night?” Taken aback, Diana’s voice came out as a squeak.

Elmira gave a snort of laughter. “What hidden depths you have, Maggie Northcote. The man is at least twenty years your junior.”

“Mother, please.”

“Looks can be deceiving!” Maggie shot back. She stood a bit taller as she glared at Elmira. “There is nothing wrong with taking a moonlit stroll in a garden. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Our garden?” Diana was still struggling to comprehend the ramifications of this new development. The image of Maggie and Palmer together in the garden refused to come into focus.

“I was out gathering herbs,” Maggie said. “They’re best when picked at midnight, you know, by the light of a full moon. Granted the moon wasn’t quite at the full last night. It won’t be for three more days. But I wanted to make a particular potion this afternoon, so I decided it was close enough. In any case, I’d just filled my basket and started back inside when, all of a sudden, there he was.”

 Diana cursed silently. Justus Palmer had been here, right underneath their noses, and they hadn’t had an inkling of his presence.

“We walked. We talked. Then he bit my neck. I did tell you he’s a vampire, didn’t I?”

Elmira burst into laughter. Diana groaned. She should have known better. This was just another of Maggie’s outrageous stories.

“No, really! Look, I’ll prove it.” She undid enough buttons to pull the collar away from her throat. “See!”

There did appear to be two little red marks on the skin, but on closer inspection, Diana concluded that Maggie had made them herself. It looked as if she’d stabbed herself with a two-tined fork.

For once Elmira made no comment. Diana pursed her lips, concern for her future mother-in-law flooding through her. Were the delusions getting worse? Had what Ben insisted on calling “eccentricity” crossed over into insanity?

Diana’s troubled thoughts were interrupted when Annie, the maid, scratched at the door. “Beggin’ your pardon, mum, but the Western Union boy’s come with a telegram.”

“Three telegrams,” Ben said, entering the room behind her. “Two are for you.” He drew her a little apart from their mothers and lowered his voice. “Mine is from the county attorney. Frank Ennis is to be buried tomorrow in Ellsworth. I should attend the funeral. I may need to stay away overnight.”

“I’m going with you.”

He gestured toward the other telegrams, now crumpled in her hand, “Perhaps you should see what those contain first.”    

Tearing the first one open, she skimmed the contents. This time it was not a threat, or at least not a threat of the same kind. It came from Horatio Foxe in reply to her request for information. Her heart sank as she read. “Oh, no!”

“What?”

Guilt assailing her, Diana steeled herself to admit that she’d made a mistake. “You were right, Ben. I’m afraid my questions sparked Foxe’s interest. He says he’s found out something about Graham Somener.”

The vein in Ben’s neck pulsed once before he exerted tight control over any outward signs of annoyance. “What has he learned?”

“He doesn’t say, but he wants me to pursue my ‘interview with the reclusive millionaire.’“ She gathered her nerve and blurted out the rest: “He says he’ll be in Bangor a few days earlier than he originally planned.”

“Tell him no. On both counts.”

Collapsing into the small boudoir chair across from the bed, Diana sent a fulminating glare his way. He knew better than to believe
that
would work. “He’s on the trail of a story, Ben. He’ll pursue it with or without my cooperation. You know how he is.”

“I do know.” Ben paced, looking like a caged lion in the narrow confines of Diana’s bedroom. “And since we did invite him to the wedding, he’ll be right here on the spot. That’s the last thing Graham needs right now.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I
was
careful about the way I worded the telegram. I never thought—”

“You don’t think,” he grumbled. “That’s just the trouble!”

She bristled at the criticism but never got a chance to defend herself.

“So that delightful Mr. Foxe is coming early, too?” Maggie sidled up to Ben and put a hand on his sleeve. “How lucky it is that we’ve room for one more.”

“We do not have—”

She talked right over his protest. “The secret of a successful marriage is to share a bed and never climb into it angry. I’ll see to it that Diana’s things are transferred to your room, shall I, Ben? Then Mr. Foxe can have this one.”

“There’s no rush,” Ben said between clenched teeth.

“That’s right,” Diana agreed. “Mr. Foxe won’t be arriving right away. Even if he left New York today, he wouldn’t reach Bangor until sometime tomorrow.”

“No time like the present to prepare.” Maggie bustled off, doubtless to order Annie to pack up Diana’s belongings. Elmira, looking thoughtful, followed her out.

Diana glanced at Ben. His temper had cooled. Now his eyes were filled with regret ... and with something that looked suspiciously like anticipation.

She felt her blood heat. Sleeping with Ben would be no hardship, even if she did hate being manipulated by his mother.

“Foxe may be a problem,” Ben said, pulling her thoughts back out of his bedroom.

“I should never have contacted him. He’s worse than a dog worrying a bone when he catches wind of a scandal, and in this case the bone is Graham Somener. I didn’t say I suspected either Miss Dunbar or Mr. Somener of murder. I didn’t even say there had been a murder. But Foxe could have found out on his own. He has sources everywhere. And once he heard that someone was dead under mysterious circumstances, he’ll have leapt to the conclusion that Mr. Somener was involved. With the least bit of evidence, he’ll chew your friend up and spit him out, replete with scandalous details he’s invented himself.”

“I can’t let that happen. Graham’s been through too much already with that business five years ago. This could push him over the edge.”

“There’s little you can do to prevent it ... unless we discover who really did kill Frank Ennis.”

“Perhaps we have that answer already.” Ben sounded cautiously optimistic. “Is that third telegram from the Peabody Museum?”

Distracted by her concerns about Foxe, Diana had all but forgotten about the last yellow envelope. After their return from Belfast, she had gone through with her plan to query the Peabody Museum, asking the director to verify the facts they’d learned from Professor Winthrop.

She read the reply aloud: “‘DUNBAR PRIVATE STUDENT 1885. LEFT WITHOUT COMPLETING STUDIES. NO RECOMMENDATIONS.’ Succinct and to the point. That seems to confirm what Professor Winthrop told us.”

Ben’s lips had compressed into a grim line as he listened to the message. “Graham’s likely to attend Frank Ennis’s funeral. I should be able to find a moment to take him aside and tell him what we’ve learned about Serena Dunbar. He won’t like hearing it, but the sooner he’s warned, the better. At best she’s a confidence woman. At worst, she’s a cold-blooded killer.”

Chapter Eight

Ben was not fond of funerals. He’d attended far too many of them. The service for Frank Ennis was particularly depressing. The dead man had no kin. No close friends were in attendance. The only ones present for services at the Unitarian Church in Ellsworth were his most recent colleagues and a few people who barely knew him. The preacher mouthed the usual platitudes, having never met Ennis in life, and the casket was carted off to be consigned to a lonely grave in the local cemetery under lowering skies that let loose with a light, steady rain as soon as the assembled mourners had tossed their ritual handfuls of dirt onto the coffin.

They adjourned in haste to the Hancock House, the same hotel where Ben had booked two rooms for the night. The only bright spot in this entire affair, Ben thought, was that Diana was with him. She might have her own room at the hotel for propriety’s sake, but she would not be sleeping there alone.

Graham had arranged for a private parlor and refreshments. A wake of sorts, Ben supposed, except that nobody was reminiscing about Frank Ennis. Prudence Monroe stood by the window, her back to the rest of them, staring out at Main Street and the Union River Bridge as she sipped a cup of tea. She was all in black and the hue did not flatter her. It emphasized her bony frame and made her pale, thin face appear gaunt.

Paul Carstairs, who had brought along his own bottle of Moxie Nerve Food, had filled a plate with food and was intent on consuming it. George Amity had not attended the funeral. He had been left behind to guard whatever secret Serena Dunbar was hiding on Keep Island.

Ben and Diana stood on one side of the room, Graham and Serena on the other. They were deep in conversation, oblivious to everyone else.

“I need to talk to him soon,” Ben whispered. He’d assumed Graham would stay overnight in Ellsworth, since it was a long trip by water to return to Keep Island. Instead Graham and Miss Dunbar, together with Mrs. Monroe and Paul Carstairs, planned to travel by road to Bucksport after the wake and board the
Miss Min
there in the morning.

“Perhaps one of us should find a moment speak with Mr. Fellows and Sheriff Fields first,” Diana whispered back, “and find out how the murder investigation is progressing.”

Oscar Fellows and Dorephus Fields had helped themselves to food but now stood awkwardly, balancing plates and glasses of lemonade. The stranger beside them was attempting, with little apparent success, to engage them in conversation.

Keeping an eye on Graham, lest he miss the chance to take his oldest friend aside, Ben grasped Diana’s arm and escorted her to the refreshment table. “Fellows,” he greeted the county attorney. “Fields. Any progress on the case?”

“None, nor likely to be any.” Fellows had the grace to look a trifle embarrassed by this. His sidelong glance at the stranger was enough to put Ben on alert.