Murder Most Austen (26 page)

She nodded. “Fairly sure. Apparently, Professor Baines only used a specific type of paper.” I nodded, remembering what Byron had told me. Inspector Middlefield went on, “It’s a very heavy paper stock and not one that’s commonly used.”

“Byron told me that someone sounding like Valerie called him this morning and asked to meet him. When she didn’t show up, he returned to his hotel room and found that someone had broken in and stolen the paper,” I said.

“Yes, I know that. What do you make of it, though?”

I thought about it. While I could see Valerie stealing the paper if she thought she could sell it for more money than what she stood to make from the ticket sales, it didn’t quite make sense. For one thing, just last night she was excited about the presentation. What could have changed in only a few hours? But there was something else that bothered me. “Why would Valerie die with paper—even if it was only a scrap—in her hand? I’m not a medical expert, but it appeared to me as if she was strangled. Wouldn’t she have fought back? How could she fight back with it in her hand?” I asked.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Inspector Middlefield’s lips. “That’s an excellent question,” she said. “It doesn’t make sense. In fact, it makes me think that someone wants me to think that Valerie stole the paper and fought to the death to keep it. I have to be honest—I don’t understand the fuss over this paper.”

I shrugged sympathetically. “Nor do I. But it certainly stirred up a lot of emotions in others.”

“Like Cora Beadle,” Inspector Middlefield observed.

“Yes,” I agreed somewhat hesitantly. “She hated the idea of the paper. But I don’t believe she would have killed to prevent its presentation.”

Inspector Middlefield stared at her notebook again, her face thoughtful. “How was Gail with Cora last night?” she asked after a moment.

“It was awkward, but Gail and Cora are friends. I don’t think Gail really believes that Cora had anything to do with Richard’s murder,” I said.

“I rather had the impression that Valerie felt otherwise,” said Inspector Middlefield.

“I would agree with you there. In fact, I thought Valerie was rude to Cora last night, but Cora didn’t let it get to her.” I forced myself not to add more. I didn’t think it would help Cora’s case if Inspector Middlefield found out that Valerie had essentially been blackmailing Cora. However, I didn’t want to hide evidence, either. My head gave a sudden throb. I took another sip of tea.

“I gather that Izzy took offense at Valerie’s behavior,” said Inspector Middlefield.

I took my time swallowing. Inspector Middlefield had clearly already talked to someone else. But who? And just how much did she know? I certainly didn’t want to withhold evidence, but I didn’t want to screw things up for someone else, either. “Yes,” I finally answered, “she did. I didn’t really blame her. She defended her mother. I’d probably have done the same thing.”

“What happened then?” she asked.

“Ian could see that Valerie was going to escalate the situation and so he basically hustled her out of the bar. Gail stayed a few minutes, and then she left as well. I don’t think she was angry at either Izzy or Cora.”

Inspector Middlefield nodded, still watching me closely. “So was that it? Everyone went to bed after that?”

I took a deep breath. My Irish Catholic conscience screamed at me to do the right thing and tell the inspector everything I’d learned. My gut told me I was in danger of potentially harming innocent lives.

“Ms. Parker? Is there something you are not telling me?”

I put the cup of tea down. “Yes. I suppose there are one or two things,” I said. And then in a low voice I began to tell what I’d learned.

CHAPTER 25

How horrible it is to have so many people killed! And what a blessing that one cares for none of them!

—LETTERS OF JANE AUSTEN

T
WENTY MINUTES LATER
I had finished telling Inspector Middlefield what I’d learned: everything from Lindsay’s pregnancy to Valerie’s blackmail of Cora to Ian’s lie about his whereabouts during the Regency Masked Ball.

It was a full three minutes before Inspector Middlefield was able to find her voice to respond.

Frankly, I would have been fine if it was longer.

“Are you kidding me?” she finally asked, her voice the personification of some hard metal on the periodic table.

I assumed the question was rhetorical but still found myself answering. “Um, no. Not really. No.”

My response was met with a steely glare to match the voice. “The mind truly boggles. Who the hell do you think you are? You Americans really are unbelievable! This ‘going rogue’ spirit may sell across the pond, but over here, let me tell you, it’s bloody annoying!”

“I wasn’t trying to interfere,” I began but then realized that was a lie. Oh, dear God. Had I just pulled a Sarah Palin? I shuddered in disgust. “Well, maybe I was,” I amended. “But I just wanted to help Cora. I don’t believe that she had anything to do with Richard’s death. I only wanted to help.”

Inspector Middlefield’s mouth twisted into a taunting smirk. “Really? And how is this helping? You didn’t come to me with any of this information. You kept it to yourself. What were you going to do—track down the killer and out him in a room full of other suspects? Tell me, was there a plate of watercress tea sandwiches being served when this happened? Were you all drinking sherry? I also suppose that once you cleverly outed the killer, he would meekly bow to your superior detective skills, quietly confess, and then allow himself to be arrested! Let me remind you that this is real, Ms. Parker. This is not some bloody period drama on Channel 3!”

My face flushed with well-deserved embarrassment. She was absolutely right, of course. Years of watching civilized murderers tracked and unmasked by equally civil detectives all from the safety of my couch had clearly warped my thought process. Somewhere over the past few years, I had assumed the mantle of amateur sleuth. Granted, it wasn’t without merit. I did seem to have a knack for finding things out, but I wasn’t helping anyone by keeping those tidbits to myself. “I’m really very sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

Inspector Middlefield closed her eyes and let out a weary sigh. “I could have you locked up—you know that, right? I could charge you with about eight different offenses.”

“I am sorry,” I repeated.

Inspector Middlefield tapped her notebook in frustration. “Right. Well, I’m not. Going to lock you up, that is. Whether I like it or not, you have provided me with some valuable information. But from now on, I must insist that you stay out of this investigation. And if you do happen to
innocently
stumble across information”—she paused to glare at me as she said this last part—“then you will call me immediately.”

I nodded my agreement. “Of course I will.”

She paused, as if uncertain how to proceed. “There were several—well, more than several—a surprising number of incoming calls logged on Valerie’s phone. She did receive calls from Ian, Gail, Byron, and Cora this morning, but it would seem that the vast majority came from New York; however, they are all different numbers. We are working on identifying them, but it’s still early.”

“Do you think that these calls might have been from the killer?” I asked, leaning a bit forward in my chair. “Could Valerie have been working with this unknown person all along to get hold of Richard’s paper and then sell it? If so, does that mean Valerie might have been involved in his death? Could Valerie have been the woman in the Elizabeth Bennet costume who rushed Richard outside?” As my questions tumbled out one on top of the other, I felt a faint sense of hope that Valerie’s frequent caller was the killer. I liked that scenario much better than one in which the killer was someone I knew.

Inspector Middlefield held up her hand and shot me a quelling glance. I closed my mouth and tried to affect an expression of casual interest, rather than one suggesting unhinged meddler. I leaned back against my chair in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner.

“I am saying no such thing,” she said. “I just wondered—seeming as you’ve been conducting your own investigation—if you’d noticed anything odd about her incoming calls.”

I thought about the question. “She did seem to always have her phone with her,” I said after a minute, “but I guess that’s not too surprising, as she has a young child back home. However, I did overhear one of her calls last night.” I quickly told her about Valerie’s odd conversation in the bathroom.

Inspector Middlefield listened intently. “So are you sure she said, ‘Now, do you know what I’m going to do?’”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Inspector Middlefield frowned. “Any idea what she was talking about?”

I shook my head. “Sorry, I don’t. It was just the way that she was talking that struck me more than anything else. I mean, it wasn’t her usual voice. It was lower, somehow. And once she realized that someone else was in the bathroom, she got off the phone.”

Inspector Middlefield closed her notebook and stood up. Fixing me with a dark look, she said, “Okay. Well, thank you for letting me know what you’ve found out. But please believe that I’m serious about your staying out of this investigation. Unless I ask for your help, consider it not needed.”

I’d like to think I left the interview with poise, but I’m pretty sure that any unbiased witness would have used the term
slunk.

*   *   *

AUNT WINNIE WAS
waiting for me when I came out of the interview. She took one look at my face and said, “Are you okay, sweetie? What happened?”

I sank into one of the nearby chairs. “No, I’m not okay. I feel like a jackass. I told Inspector Middlefield everything we’ve learned. She was pretty angry. And you know what? I don’t blame her. I’m not a detective. I’ve no right investigating this murder—especially as I didn’t tell the police what I learned. I’m nothing more than a meddling phony.”

Aunt Winnie sat in the chair next to me and put a comforting hand on my leg. Giving me a reassuring smile, she said, “Honey, you are not a meddling phony. You are a sweet girl who tried to help a woman who was scared and afraid of being arrested for a murder she didn’t commit.”

I tried to return her smile, but I couldn’t. “No, I’m not. I’m trying to be something I’m not; namely, a clever detective. I appreciate your trying to make me feel better, but it’s no good. I’m not a detective, and I need to stop pretending that I am.”

Aunt Winnie scoffed. “That’s a load of bullshit. You’ve been amazing in helping the police in the past—and you’ve done it again this time, whether they want to admit it or not. Yes, you didn’t tell them what you’d learned, but that doesn’t make you a meddling phony. I know you. You just didn’t want to say anything until you knew it was relevant. You kept quiet because you didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

I stared at my lap. I wanted to believe her, but I just didn’t know anymore. Ever since I’d lost my job and my apartment, I felt like I was at loose ends. All around me, friends and family were moving forward with their lives. My best friend, Bridget, was newly married. My older sister, Kit, was expecting her second child. And what was I doing? Playing Miss Marple.

Before I could explain this to Aunt Winnie, Izzy ran up with Cora in tow. “Is it true?” Izzy asked breathlessly. “Did someone really kill Valerie?”

Her face was pale, her eyes large with fright. Cora simply looked dazed. “It’s true,” I said in a low voice. “Aunt Winnie and I found her. She’d been strangled. But that’s not all. Someone broke into Byron’s hotel room this morning and stole Richard’s paper. Part of it was found in Valerie’s hand.”

Izzy’s hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh, my God. You poor things! Poor Valerie! I didn’t like her, but she didn’t deserve this.” The memory of Izzy last night saying that she could cheerfully strangle Valerie popped into my head. I quickly looked away before my face transmitted my thoughts. However, I wasn’t fast enough for Izzy not to notice. “Elizabeth?” she asked, squatting down in front of me and grabbing my hands in hers. “I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with this. I was mad at Valerie for what she’d done to Mama, but I swear to you, I wouldn’t kill her!”

I tried to read her expression. She certainly looked sincere, but what the hell did I know? Despite her declaration that we were “soul mates” and destined to be “friends forever,” I had met her only a few days ago. I really didn’t know her at all.

“How is Ian taking it?” Cora asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

“So, do the police think that Valerie stole the paper?” Izzy asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Byron said he got a phone call this morning from someone claiming to be Valerie. She asked to meet him to discuss a job with the magazine. Valerie never showed up, and when Byron went back to his room, he found that the paper was gone.”

“Was it the only copy?” asked Cora. “I know that Richard was weird about computers.”

I nodded, wondering how well known Richard’s aversion to computers had been. “Yes,” I said. “It was the only copy. Either Valerie made the call to get Byron out of the room, stole the paper, tried to sell it to someone, and then was killed for her efforts…”

“… or someone is trying to make it seem that way,” Aunt Winnie finished.

Something that Inspector Middlefield said suddenly resonated in my mind. “Cora?” I asked. “Why did you call Valerie this morning?”

Cora flushed crimson at my question and looked down at the carpet in confusion. “Um, well, I don’t think that I…,” she began, but I cut her off.

“The police have Valerie’s phone, Cora,” I said. “They’ve already checked. They know you called her.”

Izzy whirled around and stared at Cora with all the indignant fury of a mother finding her child sneaking out of the house. “You didn’t! Oh, my God! You did!” she cried. “You actually called her! I told you not to. I told you that I would take care of it, but did you listen to me? No! Of course not! And now you’re probably back in the police’s crosshairs!”

Surprisingly, Cora did not crumple under Izzy’s withering glare. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin a few millimeters and said, “Yes, I called her. I wanted to find out if it was true—if she’d really scammed me into thinking that I’d lost the society’s money. How was I to know that she was going to be killed? And how dare you talk to me like that? I am your mother, not some half-wit child.”