Aunt Dimity Beats the Devil (Aunt Dimity Mystery) (24 page)

J
ared Hollander slunk into the room like a dog caught digging up a flower bed. He was dressed as beautifully as ever, but his bluff manner and arrogant posturing had vanished. He walked head-down, refusing to make eye contact with anyone in the room except for Dickie, whom he eyed nervously.

Dickie placed a straight-backed wooden chair before the hearth, pointed to it, and barked, “Sit.”

Jared sat.

Dickie then took the floor, strutting between the hearth and the oak table like a prosecuting attorney presenting a summation.

“I’ve never liked you, Jared,” he began. “I liked you even less after you began your little trips to Newcastle. What kind of man leaves his wife alone in the back end of nowhere, less than three months into his marriage? That’s what I asked myself, and that’s why I hired a private detective—to get some answers.”

Jared sank lower in his chair.

“You thought you could treat Nicole like a child,” Dickie continued. “You could teach her, scold her, mold her, but you couldn’t really love her, could you, Jared?” He placed his face three inches from Jared’s and repeated sharply,
“Could you?”

“No,” Jared whispered.

Nicole’s eyelashes fluttered in confusion and Dickie came to stand before her.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, “but I swore on your father’s grave that I’d look after you, and that’s what I’m doing.” He glared at Jared. “Do you want to tell her what my detective discovered, or shall I?”

“Please,” said Jared. “Allow me. I owe her that much.”

“You owe her a damned sight—” Dickie began, but Nicole silenced him with a touch.

“Let Jared speak,” she said. She looked imploringly at her husband. “Is it true, Jared? Is it true that you never loved me?”

“There are all kinds of love,” Jared answered. “You and I share a love of beautiful things, Nicole, and I greatly admire your gentleness. It’s rare to find a woman so lovely and yet so untouched by the world. In you, I knew I’d found a pearl of great price.”

For the first time, I caught a glimpse of what Nicole saw in her husband. Jared’s declaration held a softness and sincerity I’d never imagined him to possess. Guy, for his part, had eyes for no one but Nicole. He slid the pillow from his lap and watched her almost without blinking, as if poised to come to her defense.

Jared stared down at his hands. “I hoped that one day I might come to love you as you deserve to be loved, but it was no good. It was never any good.” He took a deep breath. “The truth is, Nicole, I’m in love with someone else.”

Nicole’s lower lip trembled. “I see.”

“No, Nickie, you don’t see,” Dickie insisted. “Ask him who he’s in love with.”

“Jared?” Nicole prompted.

Jared twisted his hands in his lap. “His name is Karl. He teaches art therapy at Newcastle General. I met him shortly after you and I became engaged. I didn’t mean to fall in love with him, but…” One shoulder rose in a minute gesture of resignation.

“Karl…” Nicole tilted her head to one side and gazed abstractedly into the middle distance. “His name is Karl.
His
name is Karl. I see. I truly do see now. That’s why we never…Oh, yes, I do see your predicament.” She favored him with a pitying smile. “Poor Jared.”

“Poor
Jared
?” Dickie thundered.

Jared stiffened and some of his pomposity returned. “Thank you for understanding, Nicole. Your uncle, alas, is somewhat homophobic.”

“I don’t care if you snog
parrots!
” Dick retorted. “But you don’t get to lie about it, my lad. You don’t get to pretend you’re someone you’re not. And you sure as hell don’t get to marry my niece!”

Jared withered under the onslaught. “You’re quite right, Mr. Byrd. My behavior toward Nicole has been reprehensible. If there was any way I could make it up to her, I would.”

Nicole got to her feet. There was something regal in her bearing as she walked slowly to her husband, placed her hand under his chin, and lifted it until she could look into his eyes.

“You will leave Wyrdhurst,” she said evenly. “I’ll see to it that your things are sent on, and Uncle Dickie will take care of the annulment.” She let her hand drop and took a backward step, as if making way for his departure. “Please give Karl my best. I hope the two of you will be very happy.”

Jared rose, tweaked the waxed tips of his mustache, and left the room. Hatch, no doubt under Dickie’s orders, met him at the study doors to escort him from the premises.

The moment Hatch closed the doors Nicole covered her face with her hands and began to sob. Guy leapt to his feet and gathered her to him, encircling her with his good arm while she buried her face in his sling.

Dickie started toward them, but I grabbed his elbow and hauled him toward the hidden stairs.

“Don’t you know when to make an exit?” I scolded, reaching for my flashlight. “Come with me. I’ve got books to show you.”

It’s not every day that a mother, wife, and part-time bibliographer gets to captivate a corporate titan, but not many mothers, wives, or bibliographers are blessed with such riveting material.

By the time I finished telling my tale of terrorists, ghosts, and tragic wartime romance, Dickie was as close to speechless as I’d ever seen him. Which wasn’t really very close.

“Captain Manning took a bullet defending my girl, did he?” Dickie crossed the tower room to peer out of a narrow window. “I like the sound of that.”

“He’s a genuinely good man,” I said. “Nicole could do a lot worse.”

“She already has,” Dickie asserted. He turned his back to the window and let his gaze travel slowly around the room. “Truth to tell, I can understand Josiah’s feelings. When Nickie decided to leave me for that lying lump, I wanted to lock her up. But I knew I couldn’t. You’ve got to let them fly, don’t you? That’s why I didn’t look into Jared sooner. I didn’t want to set a foot wrong, have her accuse me of interfering.” He sighed. “But I think I know how the old devil felt.”

When I broached the subject of ghosts, Dickie claimed that he’d encountered a variety of apparitions in musty libraries and dusty bookshops all over England. He didn’t bat an eye when I told him that Wyrdhurst was haunted. I didn’t tell him everything Claire had done, only that she’d needed my help to solve her problems.

“You’re not done yet,” he commented. “You still have to find the treasure Edward sent.” He glanced at his watch, then gave me a grim look of disapproval. “We’ve been up here for two hours and I haven’t seen a single book. If you’ve lied to me, I’ll have something to say to Stan Finderman.”

We spent another hour exploring in the cupboard. Dickie was so delighted with the children’s books that he promised to add an endowment to the Serenissima as payment for my services. Stan Finderman would, I knew, have something flattering to say about his protégé’s success.

Nicole was sitting at Guy’s knee when Dickie and I came through the hidden door. The two were so absorbed in each other that they didn’t notice us until Dickie let loose a stentorian
“Ahem!”

“Uncle Dickie?” Nicole’s eyes were reddened from crying, but she seemed well on the way to a full recovery. “Where have you been?”

“Looking at books.” Dickie extended his hand to Guy.
“Lori’s told me everything you’ve done for my niece—and for my country. It’s a privilege to know you, sir.”

“The privilege is mine,” Guy returned.

“I’ve thanked Guy for sending Adam to watch over us,” Nicole told me brightly.

Guy’s eyes slid toward me. “It was such a remarkably fine idea that I’m surprised I managed to think of it.”

“I’m not,” Nicole said. “You’re brilliant as well as brave.”

“I’m also very late.” Guy stood. “I’m afraid I must be going.”

“I’ll drive you,” offered Dickie. “Make sure you get there in one piece. My man can ferry your car.”

Nicole decided to accompany the men, but I declined her invitation to join them. I needed some time to myself.

I sat alone before Claire’s portrait, sifting through myriad small details that until now had seemed utterly unconnected. Slowly, carefully, I arranged and rearranged the pieces of the puzzle until a picture began to emerge. Finally, I put in a call to Dr. MacEwan. It took him less than five minutes to answer my questions.

By then Dickie and Nicole had returned, in a festive mood. For the moment, I set the puzzle aside and joined them in their celebration. There’d been more than enough revelations for one day. I would wait until tomorrow to fit the final pieces into place.

I
put off seeing Adam until after lunch the next day, when Nicole took Dickie upstairs to examine young Claire’s things, and the risk of interruption was remote.

The drapes were open in the blue room, and the windows framed a dark, forbidding sky. Adam was sitting up in bed, the covers smoothed to his waist, his back propped against a mound of pillows. His attire was uncharacteristically flamboyant—a pair of watered silk pajamas in a squint-worthy shade of bottle-green.

He looked very frail. His blackened left eye was swollen shut and his face bore the marks of his beating, but when he turned his head to smile at me, my heart still took off at a gallop.

“I hope you don’t intend to amuse me,” he said. “It hurts like hell when I laugh.”

“I guess that rules out my opening remarks on your jammies,” I said.

“They’re Jared’s,” he informed me dryly. “Nicole insisted. She was in here earlier, telling me the most hair-raising tale about Guy Manning saving the world from bloodthirsty fanatics. It seems to have had a happy ending, though. She’s clearly besotted.”

“The feeling’s mutual. He’s over the moon.” I crossed to the right side of the bed, to sit in the chair Mrs. Hatch had provided for visitors, but before I could take a seat, Adam patted the blankets.

“Come up here,” he said. “I’m getting a sore neck from turning my head in one direction.”

I kicked off my shoes, climbed gingerly onto the massive
bed, and sat facing him, my back against the footboard, wondering where to begin.

“We always seem to end up in bed together,” I said with a rueful grin.

“Yes.” Adam sighed wistfully. “It’s a pity we’re such an honorable pair.”

I laughed and looked toward the windows. “I got it all wrong, you know. First I thought it was Jared, trying to scare Nicole. Then I thought it might be the charwomen he’d insulted, or villagers acting on their behalf. I even came up with a theory about burglars.” I shook my head. “I never suspected terrorists.”

“It would have been very strange if you had,” Adam commented. “It’s Guy’s job to think of such things, not yours.”

“Right. It’s just…” I caught my lower lip between my teeth. “I’m not sure his job’s done. There are some loose ends that have been bugging the heck out of me.”

“What sort of loose ends?” Adam asked.

“I’m not happy with Bart Little’s confession.” I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. “He admits to big things, like plotting to blow up the Scottish Parliament, but denies all sorts of little things.”

“Can you be more specific?” Adam requested.

I concentrated on my clasped hands. “He says his men went to the third floor only once, but Nicole heard someone up there at least three times. He says his men never touched the dustcovers up there, but someone did. And there’s something else…”

Adam said nothing.

“Bart denies going into the mausoleum,” I continued,
still staring at my hands. “He swears that he ran into you as you were coming out of the tomb.”

“Does he?” Adam said softly.

The hint of resignation in his voice told me that I was on the right track. I would rather have been anyplace else, but there was no turning back. I had to know the truth, for Claire’s sake, and my own.

“And…and there’s the face Nicole saw at her bedroom window,” I faltered, “and the flying ghost outside of the library. There’s the block and tackle on the east tower and…and it took pretty good climbing skills to rescue Reginald and…and…”

“What are you trying to say, Lori?” Adam asked.

His kindly tone made me feel like a badgering brute. I ducked my head and tried to speak with more composure. “I found you lying near a crypt in the mausoleum. There’s an inscription carved on the crypt. I didn’t have time to take it in right then, but later it came back to me.”

“It’s funny what you can remember when you set your mind to it,” Adam murmured.

I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze. “Can you remember the inscription, Adam?”

“‘Claire Eleanora Byrd,’” he recited. “‘A tribute of affection to the memory of a beloved daughter from her afflicted father.’”

“And the dates,” I pressed, though I hated myself for pressing. “I’m not usually good with numbers, but I remember the dates. Do you?”

“Born October 31, 1898,” Adam said. “Released March 15, 1918. She hadn’t yet turned twenty.”

I forced myself to go on. “She didn’t die of a broken
heart, and influenza didn’t kill her. I asked Dr. MacEwan to check the old medical records, but he didn’t have to. He’d checked them very recently, you see. Someone else wanted to know how Claire Byrd died.” I looked at Adam pleadingly, through a glaze of tears. “Who are you, Adam Chase, and why did you come to Wyrdhurst?”