Murder Actually (12 page)

They didn't pass.

The impact of metal on metal was sudden and intense, and the crash jolted me to the right against a thin guardrail protecting me from a sheer drop into the Hudson. As I struggled to regain control of my Chevy I jerked the steering wheel hard back towards the left. The other car swerved to avoid the impact and fell back, riding on my bumper.

I tried not to panic. What was this? Road rage? My driving wasn't that bad.

The car swerved out again. It started to pull alongside me and I pushed on the gas and watched my speedometer slowly inch forward. My old clunker groaned at the unexpected exertion.
C'mon, baby,
I urged. I glanced fearfully in my rearview mirror and noticed the other car was still at my side and gaining fast.

The second jolt was accompanied by the sickening sound of crunching metal as the driver's side of my old Chevy buckled and creaked. I jerked towards the guardrail again, but this time the other driver went with me, forcing me against the side with a shriek of tires. I could smell hot metal and hoped I hadn't set my car on fire. As we rounded a bend I saw a truck approaching from the opposite direction. I slowed my car to a crawl and rolled down my window, honking and pointing towards the car behind me. The other driver swerved out but saw the truck approaching and quickly fell back. I noticed the license plate was covered in mud and the number obscured.

Just as the truck approaching us got within a few hundred feet, my pursuer dropped further back. When I glanced up again in the rearview mirror they were gone.

I kept driving until I came to the rest stop on Fish Tree Hill. My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly dial the number on my cell. Sergeant Jack arrived about five minutes later; lights flashing and siren blaring. I was glad I was being taken seriously. He helped me from my car and took my rather incoherent statement.

He stood and grimly observed the crunched metal. “I need you to come down to the station and make a statement, Elspeth. I'll arrange for your car to be taken to the shop. Do you need an ambulance?”

I shook my head. “I'm okay, just shaken.”

Jack didn't leave the sirens on for our trip downtown and I was disappointed. I gave my statement a few more times and drank three cups of really bad coffee. I was so exhausted by the time I got home I could barely pull on my pajamas. Blue's food bowl was empty and he remained pissed off even after I explained the situation. Apparently, a near-death experience was not adequate reason to delay dinner.

I settled into my favorite chair and called Julia. Her voice sounded worried. “Do you need me to come and stay with you?”

“No, I'm fine. Chief Liddell has a police car parked down the street just in case whoever it was comes back.”

Julia sighed. “We're getting close.”

“What do you mean?”

“Whenever someone tries to kill Pippa Pepper it means she and Ms. Weebles are close to solving the crime.”

“That's good news.”

“Yes, isn't it? All you have to do is survive a little longer.”

“Thanks, Julia; I was planning to do that anyway.”

I hung up the phone and decided to work on
Cupcake Chronicles
. It was a good stress reliever and I was two weeks away from deadline. I worked until I passed out on the laptop, and woke up around three with my heart racing. I was convinced I'd heard the squeal of tires on the driveway, but when I looked out the window everything was dark and silent…no car, no demonic driver. I crawled up to bed and didn't open my eyes again until late morning.

 

 

 

“Tessa, do you have to do that now?”

Ben poked his head irritably from the bedroom door and I turned off the electric mixer. I wasn't accustomed to having a man in bed, or anywhere else in my apartment, and was trying to get a head start for the Connolly wedding on Saturday.

“I'm sorry, Ben, I'll try to keep it down.”

He came up behind me and slipped a hand under my robe. “I have a better idea. Come back to bed.”

I shook my head. There was so much to do between now and Saturday and I was already behind, thanks to some extended bedroom episodes with Ben. I was feeling refreshed and energized, almost like back in high school, and was eager to make a success of my fledgling bakery.

“Sorry, I can't. There are going to be over three hundred people eating my cupcakes this weekend. It's the biggest order I've ever had.”
His hand fell away and he shrugged. “Suit yourself. I'm getting a shower.”

I was relieved I could let the mixer go full blast and thought about the jobs waiting for the next month. Business was booming and the summer wedding season had just started. At this rate, I would be able to afford to expand into the shop front next door and hire at least two additional bakers…

I stopped typing and pushed back my laptop.

I'd gotten up early to get some work done before Jasper's funeral, but it was slow going thanks to the heroine of
The Cupcake Chronicles
, Tessa Oglesby. She was supposed to be blissfully in love with Ben Kingston but instead of reveling in being part of a couple at the advanced age of thirty-four she was sneaking out of bed to work on cupcake recipes and serving strategies. My love story was turning into a steamy pile of capitalism and at this rate I would be working on chapter sixteen until Easter.

I scowled down at the laptop. “C'mon, Tessa, give me a break.”

My plea woke up Blue and as he came over for his rub, I glanced up at the microwave clock.

Crap, I was late.

It was time to party.

 

* * * * *

 

There's nothing like a good funeral to take your mind off cupcakes, and Jasper's promised to be better than most. I arrived at the Old Dutch Churchyard early, anticipating a big crowd, and wasn't disappointed when I saw the number of cars in the funeral procession.

It was the social event of the year.

Jasper's handsome polished black casket was decorated with classics of Western literature (his books were featured in the front), bagpipes played as the coffin was lowered (Jasper's great-grandfather was rumored to have been from Scotland, or had visited there once), and Jasper, with foresight I wouldn't have given him credit for, had chosen his own tombstone to ensure his legend was properly lauded. It was a tortuously elaborate monstrosity replete with weeping cherubs, lambs and doves carved into over six feet of granite. He'd stolen Keats's line for his epitaph:
Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
It was by far the largest and ugliest monument in the Old Dutch Churchyard, and I knew the tears in Alex's eyes weren't from sorrow but from the fact Jasper had paid for the stone in advance.

“Isn't it beautiful?” Bootsie Spright stared up in awe at the arabesque wonder.

“I've never seen anything like it,” I replied.

Crispin busily snapped photographs of the eyesore. “I can't believe the village board condoned this. I'm a member of the Society for Tradition and Decency and you can be assured we'll take this up at our next meeting.”

“I've never heard of it.”

“Oh yes, the S.T.D. has been an integral part of the village dynamic since its founding.” He stopped and regarded me severely. “I don't know why you're giggling, Elspeth, I'm very proud of my S.T.D. status.”

I choked back more giggles as Julia's elbow firmly embedded itself in my ribs, and I looked over the company assembled at the cemetery. I guess you could've called us the usual suspects, except there was nothing noticeably sinister about our group. Rose and Sabrina Elliott were the height of respectability in blue and dove gray, and Alex and Coco Ware were in solid black from the tips of their fingers to their toes. Crispin Wickford's slim form was encased in gray tweed and red bowtie, and Nora Ware was adorable in a pleated dress.

I wore my old black and a new straw hat with a floppy brim. I thought it made me look mysterious, and wondered if I could wear it to Archer Antiques without incurring too much ridicule.

“Why are you peeping?” Julia demanded; loudly enough to draw the attention of everyone in our immediate vicinity. Crispin grinned and snapped my photo.

“I'm not peeping; I'm mourning.”

Nora came hurrying up to us, looking radiant in her grief. “Did you find any clues?”

I explained to her about the safety deposit box, Thrubwell and the hairpin at the bookstore.

She looked shocked, then gratified. “You and Julia are amazing, Elspeth. I was going to tell you that Chief Liddell released the contents of the safety deposit box yesterday, and I brought everything back home.”

“Including the gun?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Why did Jasper have a gun?”

“He always imagined himself like one of his characters; you know, Sam Spade or Mike Hammer.”

“So he wasn't afraid of anyone?”

She laughed and then glanced around guiltily. “Jasper wasn't afraid of anything.”

“Do you know anyone who might've been blackmailing him?”

“I have no idea, and I really can't see Jasper paying. He was more likely to find out who it was and confront them.”

“Maybe he did.”

 

* * * * *

 

The memorial gathering was at Black Birches at four, and as I passed through the front door I noticed Mrs. Jennings's housekeeping skills hadn't improved with the passage of time. The space was dusty and the parquet floor dim with dirt.

I got a glass of sherry and began to mingle. The floral tributes of the day were arranged on a low table by the door and they each represented their sender: a large, ostentatious collection of lilies from Alex and Coco; a rough bouquet of daisies from Mrs. Jennings; a waxy houseplant from the Elliotts; and garish blue carnations from Crispin Wickford. My own humble contribution, a spray of tiny white rosebuds, was almost lost in the wilderness of petals and greenery.

“Lovely flowers.”

I hadn't noticed Rose Elliott approach until she was standing at my elbow. I watched as she took a drink of sherry and gestured towards Nora.

“She seems to be doing better.”

“Yes, I think all this formality is good for her.”

Rose nodded. “She told me she might be able to make it to our next book club meeting.”

“That's a good idea. She needs something to take her mind off Jasper.”

Rose shook her head. “I think he's putting her through more torment now than he did when they were married, which is quite an accomplishment.”

“Maybe there was a side to him you and I didn't see,” I said doubtfully.

She grimaced. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but with Jasper I think what you saw was what you got.”

“He certainly was a prolific writer. Have you read all his novels?”

“Yes, I'm not a huge fan of detective
noir
, but I felt obligated since he was a neighbor.”

“Did you ever notice anything strange about his writing?”

Her expression turned wary. “Strange how?”

“Like he changed point of view or his voice changed or something?”

Rose glanced away, as if she were uneasy. “No, I never noticed anything like that.” She looked past me and waved. “Here's Sabrina.”

I noticed Sabrina had made some effort in conformity with her loose, low-cut dark blue gown and strings of jet beads. She carried two plates loaded with food and a small glass of sherry. “Have you tried the raspberry scones? They're divine. Nora ordered them from Sweet Annie B's.”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

She grabbed my arm and hustled me towards the dining room.

“You better hurry, I saw Crispin Wickford filling a doggie bag.”

The dining room table groaned with hot and cold appetizers, and I commended our group for not letting grief interfere with our appreciation of free food and drink. I quickly scooped up the last of the mushroom puffs, some dip and a few quiche tarts. I almost choked on my first bite when I saw Chief Liddell stride into the room, Sergeant Jack at his side. He went to talk to Nora and I noticed her face was tense and strained.

I turned back to Sabrina.

“Looks like the cavalry has arrived.”

She nodded. “Yes, with the hunky Jack in tow. I'm surprised Julia isn't over there getting some pointers on the art of detection.”

I was about to suggest that the solemnity of a funeral service might dampen even an ardor as strong as Julia's, but then noticed the lady in question was making a beeline across the room.

I turned back to Sabrina. “Julia's dedicated to the pursuit of truth.”

“And Jack. I heard the two of you were investigating the murders.”

“We're doing what we can to help Nora.”

Sabrina nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Nora is no killer. She wouldn't know where to start; not like me and you, Elspeth.”

I decided this was some form of backhanded compliment and smiled. “Isn't it hard to remember things when someone is questioning you?” I hoped my voice sounded naively innocent as I continued. “The police asked me about that Monday, and I remembered you'd dropped by my place to ask Rose to
unblock your car for a lecture.”

Sabrina let out a comically exaggerated sigh as Rose approached and glanced between us with a worried expression.

“It's all true,” she said. “I was listening to my first year poetry class do iambic pentameter.”

I tried to adopt a sympathetic expression but couldn't remember what iambic pentameter was, something to do with Shakespeare?

“So you were at Essex U all day?” I asked.

She nodded. “I got home around four.”

“You didn't visit Quammy-on-Hudson that day?”

The change in her expression was extraordinary. She flashed white, then red. “No,” she said shortly. “I told you, I was at work. Can you excuse me, Elspeth? I see someone I have to talk to.”

Sabrina hurried away and Rose turned back to me. “Poor Sabrina, she's had a miserable time over all of this. She was in love with Jasper once, did you hear about that?”

I nodded my head as she continued. “It was disgusting the way he treated her. He waited until just before the wedding to tell her he couldn't go through with it. The coward! Poor Sabrina already had her wedding gown made. You should've seen it; it was gorgeous, white satin and handmade lace. When Jasper left her for Nora, Sabrina asked him to pay for the dress to help with some of the wedding expenses. He just laughed, the vicious bastard.”

Rose spoke with a quiet vehemence. It was the first time I'd ever heard her criticize anyone, and she must've noticed my look of shocked surprise.

“Sorry, Elspeth. Water under the bridge, isn't it? Especially now that Jasper's been killed.”

“I suppose so. Do you know what time Sabrina got home on Monday?”

“Around four,” Rose smiled. “I'm sorry; Elspeth, but you can't possibly consider us suspects! You've eaten our brownies,” she concluded reproachfully.

I really had to stop accepting dessert from possible murderers.

 

* * * * *

 

I left the dining room and wandered towards the front of the house. As I walked down the hall I passed by the open door of the library. I could hear voices conversing in low, urgent tones; a man and a woman. I stepped a little closer and realized it was Nora and Alex Ware.

“You have to tell the police where you were the night of the book reading.”

I peeked through the doorway just in time to see Alex Ware run a hand through his hair.

Nora regarded him sadly. “I can't do that, Alex. You know I can't! Imagine what it would be like if I said anything…the scandal.”

“Now isn't the time to be noble.” Alex touched her arm. “You have to tell the police you met me that night.”

Nora pulled away. “What about Coco? Imagine what that would do to her. Everyone would assume you and I were having an affair.” Nora flushed and I noticed Alex's cheeks were stained a ruddy hue.

“Who cares what people think?” he demanded roughly. “You and I know the truth. We're…friends.”

Nora gazed up at him. “Your friendship means so much to me.”

He groaned and grabbed her hand.

“Don't worry, Nora. Everything will work out. I'd never let anything happen to you.”

I watched as he kissed her hand and then turned and quickly walked out the door. I flattened myself against the wall opposite but he was oblivious as he stormed past, his brows pulled into an angry scowl. Nora stood as if turned to stone and stared at the open doorway, still absently rubbing the spot where Alex had kissed her hand, and then she too walked away.

I emerged from behind the door and stepped into the now empty hallway. Nora seemed intent on ending up in prison, and I was running out of ways to stop her. I glanced at my watch and saw it was nearly six, so I slipped outside into the early evening air.

The sky was an angry, leaden gray and the wind came in hot bursts. It began to rain, a mournful drizzle that soaked my black dress and made the brim of my hat droop. I must've been quite a sight when I finally arrived home but after a change of clothes and a double brandy I felt nearly human again, and I pushed the button on my machine for any missed calls.