Murder Most Austen (20 page)

“I can’t do this,” I muttered to Aunt Winnie as Ian moved away. “We shouldn’t be here. This is wrong. This is a private event, and we are here for all the wrong reasons. Let’s pay our respects and leave.”

Aunt Winnie paused in the process of heaping a scoop of chicken salad onto her plate. Regarding me with a serious expression, she said, “Elizabeth, you are a nice girl. And your instincts do you credit. Yes, we are barging in, but our reasons for doing so are not wrong. We are here to help a woman who, I think, has intentionally been set up as the fall guy for a murder. Someone went to a lot of trouble to frame Cora, and I want to know who. We are not gate-crashing; this memorial is as much for Valerie’s ego as it is for Richard’s memory. It’s not private, it’s open to one and all who want to come. Look around you; half of the people here are from the festival. If people were truly mourning his death, then I’d stay away. But they’re not. They are largely here for the same reason you and I are: curiosity. However, ours is altruistic, whereas theirs is largely ghoulish.”

I didn’t respond right away. I still felt like an interloper and wanted to leave. I was not a detective, and therefore I had no reason to be here. But then I thought of Cora and felt some of my resolve fading. As annoying as she had been in her opposition to Richard and his theories, she was a nice woman who probably had been set up to take the blame for Richard’s murder. And if I could help her, then I should.

I let out a sigh of acceptance. Aunt Winnie heard it and smiled at me. “Good girl,” she said, putting a scoop of chicken salad on my plate. “I knew you’d do the right thing.”

Plates in hand, we milled about the room looking for a suitable group to join. Aunt Winnie was right; most of the memorial attendees were from the festival and most likely had never met Richard Baines other than in passing. Seeing this, some of my guilt began to ebb, and I allowed myself to take a bite of the chicken salad.

Spying Lindsay in deep conversation with Valerie, Aunt Winnie moved to where they stood. I reluctantly followed. Lindsay appeared much the same as she had earlier, under the weather/pregnant. She wore a dark gray wool skirt with a cream-colored sweater set and clutched a crumpled tissue in her hand. Her panicked expression as she noticed our approach led me to believe that she had not yet shared with Valerie the joyful news that little Zee was going to acquire a cousin.

“Hello,” Lindsay said to us. “Valerie and I were just talking about Richard’s paper. We are both agreed that it must be delivered.”

“Is there a reason it wouldn’t be?” Aunt Winnie asked innocently.

“None at all,” Valerie replied archly. “However, the decision does not reside with us. It is up to Alex to decide.” Both Valerie and Lindsay glanced irritably at Alex, who was standing on the other side of the room. Still wearing the dazed expression of one who’s had a shock, she was listening with glassy eyes to John as he expressed his sympathies.

Aunt Winnie allowed her eyes to open wide. Leaning in a bit, she lowered her voice to the pitch of a confidential murmur. “Don’t tell me you think that Alex might prevent the paper from being delivered? Why would she want to do that?”

Valerie pursed her lips and gave a snort of dissatisfaction. “Well, that is the question, isn’t it? Going on with the presentation of that paper would be the best thing for…” Valerie stopped herself just in time from saying “us” and instead remembered to say “Richard’s memory.” Lindsay nodded in agreement. “However, Alex is the one who has been asked to make the decision,” Valerie added, throwing another dark look in Alex’s direction.

“Yes, but why wouldn’t she want the paper to be delivered? Didn’t she agree with Richard’s theories?” Aunt Winnie asked.

“I’d be surprised if Alex even bothered to read it,” answered Valerie. “She didn’t care about Austen or Richard’s theories. It’s too bad. It would have been wonderful for Richard if he had a wife who could actually
help
him advance his career, someone who understood his work. Someone who was a
true
soul mate.”

Lindsay quickly ducked her head, but not before I saw the swift flush of crimson that stained her checks at hearing Valerie’s “hope.” I had a sudden vision of Valerie’s reaction to learning that Lindsay was not only carrying Richard’s child but also had been quite ready to step into the role of “true soul mate.” It was all but identical to the scene from
Sense and Sensibility,
when Lucy Steele confides to Fanny Dashwood of her engagement to Edward Ferrars and is roundly beaten about the head and shoulders for her effort. Afraid that my own face might be expressing more than I wished, I quickly busied myself with my chicken salad.

Aunt Winnie pressed on. “Well, this is surprising,” she said, her voice still conspiratorial. “I really got the feeling that Alex supported Richard’s work. Do you think that there could be something wrong with the paper? Could that be why Alex is hesitating to present it?”

Lindsay’s head shot back up. “There is nothing wrong with that paper. It is perfect.”

“Then what could be her reason?” I asked.

Valerie lifted her shoulder in a half shrug. “Well, it’s not actually definite that she’s not going to present the paper. She hasn’t told us one way or the other.”

“Perhaps she’s been preoccupied with the fact that her husband was murdered,” Aunt Winnie offered sweetly, and I was again forced to examine my chicken salad. It was just as I’d left it—largely unremarkable. Which, I’ve noticed, is pretty standard for chicken salad.

“Perhaps,” Valerie agreed with a tight-lipped smile. “Well, we’ll just have to wait and see.” Giving Aunt Winnie and me a dismissive nod, she turned her attention back to Lindsay and said, “Lindsay, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Without another glance in our direction, she pulled Lindsay away to another part of the room. As I watched them go, I wondered at the reason behind Valerie’s interest in Lindsay. Was it because of their mutual interest in seeing Richard’s paper shared with the uneducated masses, or was it something else?

“Come on,” Aunt Winnie said. “Ian is talking with Gail. I think we should convey our sympathies.”

“But we just did that!” I protested.

Aunt Winnie shot me an exasperated look. “Are you going to get into the spirit of this or not? We are here to learn what we can, which means we need to talk to people.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Lead the way.”

Aunt Winnie briskly crossed the room to where Ian and Gail stood talking. Although Gail had changed out of her pink suit into a more somber navy blue one, there was no escaping the quiet sense of happiness that emanated from her. I didn’t think it was done deliberately; rather, it was akin to seeing someone who was clearly in excellent health. If your skin glows, well, it glows. And if you are content with your situation, then you are content. Gail was obviously content.

Seeing our approach, Ian nudged his mother and nodded our way. Gail stopped whatever it was she was saying and aimed a polite smile in our direction.

“Mother,” Ian said, “I don’t think you’ve met Winifred Reynolds and her niece, Elizabeth Parker.”

“No, I don’t believe we’ve formally met,” agreed Gail as she extended her hand to Aunt Winnie. “I’ve seen you at the festival, of course.”

“Yes, this is our first year here,” said Aunt Winnie. “I just wanted to say that I didn’t know Professor Baines very well, but I’m very sorry for your family’s loss.”

Gail dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you. It’s all so confusing. None of us know what to think, really.” Then, suddenly seeming to place Aunt Winnie, Gail asked, “You’re friends with Cora, aren’t you?”

Aunt Winnie nodded. “Yes. I used to work with Cora’s late husband. I haven’t seen her in years, actually. We bumped into each other quite by chance.”

“Cora is a dear soul,” said Gail. “She’s been one of my magazine’s biggest supporters.”

Despite the fact that she’d never laid eyes on an issue, Aunt Winnie glibly added, “Oh, I’ve been meaning to compliment you on that, by the way. It’s such a wonderful magazine, and so much more insightful than its counterparts.”

Gail’s face lit up in a genuine smile. I suppose most people are predisposed to believe compliments about their work, and Gail proved no exception. I was happy that Aunt Winnie possessed the talent of flattering with delicacy, for Gail suddenly seemed much more receptive to our company.

“Why, thank you,” she said. “I’m rather fond of it myself. In many ways, it’s my baby—after Ian, of course,” she added, gently patting Ian’s arm. Ian produced a strained smile.

“Cora speaks very highly of it,” said Aunt Winnie. “And that is high praise indeed, as you know. Cora takes the subject of Jane Austen very seriously.”

Gail nodded. Then, with a furtive glance to make sure our conversation wasn’t being overheard, Gail dropped her voice. “Speaking of Cora, I understand that there is some question about her involvement in Richard’s death. I don’t for a second believe that she had anything to do with it. Cora didn’t like Richard’s theories, nor did I, for that matter, but I know her well enough to know that she’d never resort to violence.”

“I agree,” said Aunt Winnie, lowering her voice as well. “The whole situation is very sad. I just hope the police find the answer. Have they told you anything?”

Gail shook her head. “No, they’ve told me nothing, really. I imagine that they’ve been more forthcoming with the current Mrs. Baines,” she added with a dark look in Alex’s direction. Ian shifted uncomfortably.

“At least you were both spared not to have been there,” Aunt Winnie continued with a glance at Ian, her voice one of an old confidante. “That would have been too horrible.”

Ian nodded quickly in agreement. “Yes, that’s right. Neither one of us was at the Guildhall when it occurred. Mom wasn’t feeling well, so I’d escorted her back to her room and stayed with her there. I saw the lights from the police cars from her room. Remember?” Gail’s forehead crinkled, and she turned confused eyes to Ian. He ignored her and continued to address me, saying, “I’d just left her when I ran into you in the lobby.”

“I remember,” I said. “Valerie was with us.”

“Yes, that’s right,” he agreed with unnecessary firmness. Gail resumed her earlier placid expression, either having sorted out her confusion or having decided to address it later.

“We were just talking to her,” I said. “She mentioned that there was some uncertainty regarding whether Professor Baines’s paper would still be delivered. Why is that?”

At my mention of the paper, Gail’s lips pinched together in a small, tight ball, not terribly unlike a shriveled prune. But whether this reaction was involuntary or designed to prevent herself from speaking, I couldn’t tell. Ian produced a kind of strangled cough and said, “Well, yes, that is true. I think Alex has some reservations about the propriety of going forward with it as planned.”

“Propriety, my ass,” Gail interjected. “She just wants to see how much she can get if she sells it.” While Ian sputtered ineffectively in an attempt to shush his mother, she continued on. “Everyone thinks Richard was killed because of what’s in that stupid paper. That paper is now gold. Alex figures that she can make a pretty penny selling it. I can just see the headlines: ‘Read the Paper That Was Worth Killing For.’ It’s disgusting. Had he just read it, it would no doubt have been dismissed as utter rubbish. But now…” She waved her hands in an expression of fatalistic frustration.

“Mom!” hissed Ian.

Gail sighed and shrugged her shoulders in acquiescence. “Sorry. Forget I said that.”

“No, it’s all right,” said Aunt Winnie. “For what it’s worth, I quite agree with you. I’m horrified at Professor Baines’s death, but that doesn’t mean that I want to see his paper suddenly given more credence than it should.” Glancing at Ian, she added, “Sorry, Ian. No offense.”

“None taken. I know that Dad’s theories weren’t for everyone,” Ian said in the weary tone of one who has said those words too many times before.

A petite woman with waist-length jet-black hair that was pulled off her angular face with a gold beaded headband sidled up to us. “Gail?” she asked tentatively. “I’m Marsha Zucker. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met last year…”

Gail smiled and extended her hand. “Marsha! Of course, I remember you. How nice to see you again. Have you met my son, Ian?”

Aunt Winnie and I stepped back to allow Marsha her turn to offer her sympathies (or lack thereof) to Gail and Ian. Giving Ian a small wave good-bye, Aunt Winnie and I moved toward one of the room’s many tables. We had just taken a seat at the only unoccupied one when we were joined by Byron and Alex. Both looked exhausted.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” said Byron as he slid into a seat opposite me. “Hello, Ms. Reynolds. It’s nice to see you again.”

At the sound of our names, Alex’s head snapped up in apparent recognition of who we were. “Oh, hello,” she said, offering us a perplexed smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“I imagine we look a little different out of our Regency garb,” I offered.

Alex nodded. “And I’m a little overwhelmed with everything,” she said, rubbing a hand over her eyes. After a quick glance over at the refreshments table, Alex said, “Byron, would you please get me a cup of coffee? I’d go, but Gail is over there with Valerie. I don’t have the energy to deal with their crap right now. Honestly, I don’t see why they wanted to do this in the first place. If you ask me, it’s in bad taste. I feel like we’ve made ourselves into another exhibit at the festival.”

Byron, as well as Aunt Winnie and I, glanced over at the refreshment table. As Alex said, Gail was standing next to it, plate in hand, and deep in conversation with Valerie and Lindsay. I didn’t blame Alex for not wanting to venture over. No doubt they were all discussing the fate of Richard’s paper.

“Sure,” said Byron, getting to his feet. Turning to us, he said, “Can I get either of you anything?”

“No, thanks,” Aunt Winnie and I said in unison. Byron nodded and moved away.

“I don’t think I ever properly expressed my condolences to you,” said Aunt Winnie to Alex after Byron left the table. “I obviously didn’t know your husband very well, but I’m so sorry for your loss.”