Murder in the Mystery Suite (A Book Retreat Mystery) (10 page)

“And Felix Hampden? Was he affiliated with a college or university?”

“No. Mr. Hampden managed a small theater company in Boston. He had a police record involving several cases of fraud that he committed in his twenties. It would be my guess that he lived well above his means.”

Jane touched the photograph of Alice Hart. It was the image from the
Lost Letters
dust jacket. “Felix, Moira, and Desmond wanted to get their hands on Aunt Octavia’s book. But what about Alice’s story? Why did she come to Storyton Hall?”

“I don’t know,” Sinclair admitted. “She must have presented a fake driver’s license when she checked in. There is no record of payment under the name ‘Alice Hart’ either.”

“She must have used cash while she was here and held the room using a borrowed credit card. Sheriff Evans said that she broke off an engagement shortly before coming to Storyton. Perhaps she used her fiancé’s card.”

Sinclair looked impressed. “I have a contact at the sheriff’s department. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“In the meantime, I need to get better acquainted with Moira and Desmond. I’ll ask the housekeeper from their floors to describe how they’ve disguised themselves for tonight’s ball.” She glanced at her watch. “Speaking of which, I have much to do before it begins. Can you keep researching the connections between these guests and Alice? And try to discover if any of them knew Felix, or if he was merely the victim of circumstance?” Seeing that Sinclair was beaming, she paused. “You haven’t worn that expression since Uncle Aloysius told you of his plans to expand your library. What is it?”

“It’s you, Miss Jane. You were born to do this. They say blood will tell. I can practically hear the Steward blood singing within you, and if I may be so bold, it fills me with pride.”

Jane smiled. “Thank you, Sinclair. Unfortunately, the owl tattoo commemorating my new role will have to wait until tomorrow. I’m wearing a shockingly low-cut dress to the ball.” Winking at the flustered librarian, she left the office and headed for home.

•   •   •

She’d barely made
it halfway across the back lawn when her phone rang. It was Tom Green of the Potter’s Shed, the garden center in Storyton Village.

“Miss Jane!” he cried. “My van won’t start. I tried giving her battery a jump and even changed her oil, but she’s refusing to budge.”

Jane turned to face Storyton Hall. The costume ball would begin in two hours. That was plenty of time to send a few cars to the village to collect the floral arrangements. When she called Sterling, however, she was told that guests had rented every available car and driver.

“Can you blame them, Miss Jane?” Sterling said. “It’s a perfect afternoon to spend wandering through the village.”

Glancing at the sun-dappled grounds, Jane wished she could do the same. She’d love to hop on her bike and race the boys to the Canvas Creamery. She’d treat them to a scoop of frozen custard while she indulged in an iced latte. “I’m sure the merchants are thrilled, but the ballroom won’t be very impressive without Tom’s magnificent flowers.” Suddenly, she had an idea. “I may have a solution. Thank you, Sterling.”

“My pleasure, Miss Jane. And if you have a spare hour tomorrow, I’d like to begin your training.”

Jane had to remind herself that Sterling was a Fin. “Remind me. What’s your specialty?”

“Archery. We should meet at the Robin Hood range before the guests arrive. How does seven sound?”

Jane silently wondered where she’d find the energy to survive her indoctrination as guardian. “A few bruises on the forearm before church? Why not? But I’ll have to bring the twins. I can’t just leave them alone while I become Lady Robin Hood.”

“Certainly,” said Sterling. “It’s never too soon for the boys to learn useful skills. After all, they’re both Stewards.”

After saying good-bye, Jane stood rooted to the ground for a moment. She pictured the twins clad in black ninja uniforms, shouting like banshees as they cartwheeled across the lobby, firing quarrels from miniature crossbows. “Archery? Tae Kwon Do? Fencing? Fitz and Hem are going to think I’m the coolest mom in the world!”

•   •   •

The ladies from
the Cover Girls arrived at the loading dock behind Storyton Hall, their cars stuffed with flowers.

Mrs. Pratt was clearly put out. “There’s pollen all over my dashboard! Why does Tom insist on using every variety of lily? I sneezed so hard that I almost drove into an oblivious pedestrian at Broken Arm Bend.”

“It’s a good thing you’re such an excellent driver. We can’t run over guests on their way home from spending money in the village. It wouldn’t be polite.” Jane gave Mrs. Pratt a grateful smile and gestured for the bellhops to unload her car.

The rest of the Cover Girls were more congenial over having their vehicles turned into floral delivery vans. “Look!” Violet exclaimed as she threw open her passenger door. “I transported all the purple and blue arrangements. Aren’t these freesias exquisite? Tom gave me one to put in my hair. He’s such a sweetheart.”

“He has a crush on you,” Eloise said, handing a centerpiece to one of the bellhops. “The Potter’s Shed never carried so many shades of purple flowers until you moved here.”

Violet waved off the notion. “Tom Green is ten years older than me and a solid twelve inches shorter.” She hesitated and then added, “But I’ll give him this: The man has
gorgeous
hair.”

After helping to empty the last car, Anna asked, “Where’s Betty?”

“She can’t make it,” Jane said. “The Cheshire Cat is slammed.”

Mabel crossed her hands over her heart. “I was too! I sold things that have been gathering cobwebs for months. You’re an angel for having a costume ball and nowhere else for folks to shop except for La Grande Dame. I had to tailor things on the spot. I swear there was smoke coming out of my sewing machine at one point.” She laughed. “I’ll be dancing to the bank come Monday.”

“My shop was packed from the moment I opened until I hung the
CLOSED
sign,” Phoebe said. “At first, I thought I’d be too tired to come tonight, but the sight of all that cash in my register perked me right up.”

Anna sighed. “Not me. I was run ragged fetching this and restocking that. Randall barely moved a muscle. He filled some prescriptions but spent most of the day doing what he does best.”

“Lecturing!” the women shouted in unison.

“You got it. Today’s topic was seasonal allergies. If a guest from Storyton Hall made the mistake of sneezing or using a tissue in the pharmacy, Randall would immediately corner them. He’d give the poor soul a handful of pamphlets and then drone on and on until their eyes glazed over like ice on a pond. I swear, I think one man fell asleep on his feet.”

Threading her arm through Anna’s, Eloise said, “We won’t let that happen to you. Time to make ourselves beautiful, girls!”

Giggling, the women piled into their cars and used the narrow lanes behind Storyton Hall to reach Jane’s house. They swept inside, talking a mile a minute and clutching garment bags and totes filled with hair products and cosmetics.

“Maybe I’ll meet a prince at this ball,” Eloise said, dumping her things on the kitchen counter.

“Dressed as a detective? If your goal was to play the siren this evening, you’ve chosen the wrong costume.” Mrs. Pratt said, examining her own dress with a satisfied grin. “I wouldn’t mind a dance with your handsome brother. Is he coming?”

Eloise shook her head. “Edwin doesn’t do parties. He prefers to spend his free time cooking exotic foods, reading obscure books, and tinkering. He’d be perfectly content living in a cave. He’s like the Grinch.”

“I’m quite fond of the Grinch,” Mrs. Pratt murmured.

Phoebe and Violet lugged a cooler into the kitchen. “Stand back, ladies!” Phoebe called brightly. “We can’t get ready without libation.”

“I hope it’s nothing fattening,” Anna said warily. “My dress is already too tight. I’ll have to yank my pantyhose up to my armpits if I ever hope to zip the thing.”

Mabel snorted. “I told you I’d make you something with a little more give to it. I know you wanted an authentic ladies’ suit from the forties, but you and I have more padding through the middle and far more junk in the trunk than most of the gals from that era.”

Anna put her palm over her belly. “Once upon a time, I had a muffin top. Seems like I’ve got the whole bakery now.”

The women laughed and Violet squeezed Anna around the waist. “You’re gorgeous. We all are.”

Phoebe helped herself to seven tumblers and began to pour a creamy white liquid into each one. “In honor of Jane’s theme week, I invented a cocktail called the Lady Vanishes
.
It’s one part spiced rum, one part butterscotch schnapps, one part chocolate liqueur, and two parts half and half. Shaken and poured over ice.”

“Sounds delish.” Eloise distributed the cocktails. “Shall we have a toast?”

“What are we drinking to?” Jane asked.

“Aunt Octavia’s speedy recovery.”

Mrs. Pratt’s nose quivered. She’d caught the scent of a fresh piece of gossip. “Is she ill?”

“My aunt had a stroke,” Jane said. “She’s going to be okay, but she’ll need physical therapy and a new diet and exercise regime.” She raised her glass. “To Aunt Octavia.”

The women echoed her words, clinked rims, and drank.

“Oh, this is sweet!” Violet exclaimed.

“And smooth as butter,” Mabel added.

Phoebe grinned. “Lovely, isn’t it? That’s why I call it the Lady Vanishes. She disappears right down your throat.”

Mrs. Pratt hadn’t touched her drink. Her eyes were glittering as she stared at Jane. “Tell us the details. Did your aunt suddenly collapse? Did the guests see her? Were you terrified?” She was practically salivating.

After a moment’s hesitation, Jane waved her friends into the living room. “I know we need to get ready, but I want to tell you why my aunt became so upset that she literally made herself sick. That and all the sugary foods she loves but shouldn’t eat.”

Jane went on to explain how her aunt’s copy of
Lost Letters
had accidentally been given to Felix Hampton. She didn’t elaborate on what made the book so special. That had to remain a secret, as did the existence of Storyon Hall’s hidden library. No one could know about her new role. Not Eloise. Not even Fitz and Hem. Jane’s boys liked to gossip almost as much as Mrs. Pratt.

When Jane was done describing the missing book, Felix’s demise, and her suspicions about Moira McKee and Desmond Price, her friends exchanged astonished looks.

“So there’s a book thief staying at Storyton Hall?” Phoebe was aghast.

Eloise was furious. She slapped her right fist against the palm of her left hand. “How dare they! Your aunt values each and every title in Storyton Hall. I’ve heard about guests pilfering paperbacks or unintentionally walking off with a hardcover from a hotel library, but this is different.”

“That’s right. This is personal,” Mabel declared heatedly. “It almost sounds like the crook came to this event just to get your aunt’s book.” She put her hands on her hips. “How can we show these people that they can’t go messing with our friend or her family?”

Jane smiled over her friends’ willingness to aid her. “I was hoping you’d engage in a reconnaissance mission this evening. Nothing too obvious. I’d just like you to chat with Moira or Desmond if the opportunity presents itself. Having a good time is your first priority, however. You paid to attend this ball, and I want you to enjoy every minute of it.”

Mrs. Pratt raised her chin defiantly. “You gave us a discount, so the ticket price was a bargain. In this case, I’d gladly give you twice the amount. Not only do we get to dress in costume, dine like royalty, and dance, but now you’ve involved us in a mystery as well. What could be more splendid?” She shivered with delight.

The Cover Girls took turns staring at Mrs. Pratt and then they all started to laugh. Jane joined in, thankful that she’d had the foresight to send the twins to Mrs. Hubbard for an early supper. She raised her glass and polished off her cocktail in three swallows. “All right, ladies. Let’s transform ourselves into detectives. And remember that tonight is about more than just putting on a costume and playing a role. It’s about doing what real detectives do. Seeking justice.”

Because Jane needed to make sure her staff was ready for the ball, she was dressed and ready to leave before her friends had finished their second round of cocktails. She descended the stairs with deliberate slowness while the Cover Girls clapped and whistled. At the bottom, Jane performed a little twirl. Her black flapper dress flared out and the sequins caught the light, twinkling like a hundred stars. Mabel had sewn the sequins in a fan pattern over four layers of silk georgette. The neckline was lower than the conservative Jane would have preferred, but Mabel insisted that the amount of skin she’d be showing was a reflection of the times.

“I’ve never seen someone wear a flapper dress with such elegance,” Mabel said. “As for the design? Am I good or am I good?”

“You’re amazing,” Jane said. “I feel beautiful and delightfully comfortable.”

“And your hair!” Phoebe exclaimed. “You look like a different woman with those glossy curls. I think you’ve lost four inches of length to hot rollers and hairspray.”

“Here’s to losing inches,” Anna said, raising her glass.

Eloise held up a full tumbler. “One for the road, you gorgeous creature?”

Jane shook her strawberry blond curls. “I’d better not. I have to be razor-sharp tonight.” She glanced at her watch. “My first task will be to identify Moira McKee and Desmond Price. It won’t be easy with everyone in costume, but we need to chat those two up. Eloise, can you flirt with Desmond? He’s a professor, so talk books with him. Get him plenty of punch. See if he’ll let his guard down enough to reference
Lost Letters
.”

Eloise nodded and then turned to Mrs. Pratt. “Will you be my lifeboat? If this Desmond guy starts creeping me out, I’ll signal for you to rescue me.”

“I’ll watch him like a red-tailed hawk.” Mrs. Pratt stood straight as a soldier. “What will the signal be?”

“How’s this?” Eloise pinched her nose.

“You look like you’re about to dive in a pool,” said Violet. “Or just caught a whiff of a noxious odor.”

All the women laughed.

“You two enjoy your intrigues. As for me, I plan to dance, flirt, and misbehave,” said Anna. She hooked an arm through Phoebe’s. “Come on, lovely. It’s time to transform ourselves into goddesses of mystery.”

Jane left the Cover Girls to their costumes, wigs, and makeup kits and crossed the lawn toward Storyton Hall. Even though she had much to do, she didn’t rush. It was impossible not to savor the lavender twilight and the large, lustrous moon.

She took a seat on a garden bench facing Storyton Hall and stared at the rows of illuminated windows. A couple opened the back doors and the sound of trumpet music drifted out from within. Jane guessed that a member of the Storyton Band was warming up, and though that was a sign that the start of the ball was close at hand, Jane wanted to take a moment to collect her thoughts. She couldn’t help but dwell on the terrible notion that a Storyton staff member had recognized the value of the letter in Aunt Octavia’s copy of
Lost Letters
and had decided to betray her employer in exchange for a quick buck.

Storyton Hall had dozens of employees, most of whom were middle-aged. Younger staff members rarely stayed for more than a year. Many bright-eyed men and women came to Storyton Hall to gain experience, but oftentimes, the slow pace of both the resort and the village became intolerable and they’d leave. She understood, of course. There were no nightclubs or all-night coffee shops in this part of the world. There were thousands of books and miles of pristine countryside. There were glorious gardens and book clubs and neighbors who’d come running if someone needed help, but Storyton wasn’t exciting.

“Until now,” Jane muttered. She’d asked Mrs. Pimpernel for a list of the housekeepers who’d had access to her aunt and uncle’s apartment over the past week, but she knew it was unlikely that those women were the only employees who’d gained entry. Bellhops delivering packages or any member of the Activities staff hoping to discuss fishing with Uncle Aloysius would be invited into the sitting area. Jane would need to ask her aunt and uncle to remember which staff members they’d seen the day the books had been switched and then Sinclair would have to conduct a thorough background search on each employee.

Jane didn’t expect such a search to bear much fruit. After all, both Butterworth and Mrs. Pimpernel were involved in the staff’s hiring process and they were far too discerning to permit anyone with an unsavory background to don a Storyton Hall uniform. However, Jane realized that even a decent person could be tempted by money. She paid her employees a fair wage and the cost of village living was relatively low, but for those who resided over the mountain and were struggling to raise a family in the midst of tough economic times, an offer of extra cash in exchange for information might prove difficult to resist.

Jane got to her feet. She’d have to tackle the employee list tomorrow. Tonight, she and Eloise needed to find out if Moira or Desmond had Aunt Octavia’s book.

“And what of the man in black?” she murmured as she made her way to the rear entrance. “If he isn’t skulking in a dark corner, I won’t be able to recognize him.”

She only had to enter the Great Gatsby ballroom to see that there was an abundance of shadowy nooks. Suddenly, she recalled discussing the ball’s décor for this event several weeks ago. Her staff had suggested color palettes from funerary blacks and purples to opulent reds and golds. In the end, they’d voted to incorporate Halloween hues and create a sophisticated, yet spooky atmosphere. Two-dozen Victorian-era brass floor candelabras, polished and fitted with orange candles, lined the perimeter of the room, creating a sense of old-world grandeur. Small tables draped with black linen cloths occupied the spaces between the candelabras. Each table was empty save for a tall vase filled with roses the color of old amber. The effect was both elegant and mysterious.

With the ball beginning in ten minutes, Jane quickly examined the contents of the buffet table. She walked past four crystal bowls filled with blood orange champagne punch, two rows of dessert plates and disposable cups, napkins stamped with black-and-white skulls, vanilla cupcakes decorated with chocolate fondant fingerprints, platters of tuxedo strawberries, and sesame cheddar cookies shaped into magnifying glasses. Everything looked perfect. Jane made a mental note to praise Mrs. Hubbard for her culinary prowess.

The Storyton Band was onstage tuning their instruments. Most of the members wore different hats during the day, but Jane paid them extra to perform in the summer concert series, at weddings, and at other special events like the Murder and Mayhem costume ball. Butterworth served as conductor. He entered the ballroom through a side door, baton in hand. When he spied Jane, he abruptly stopped. “Heavens, Miss Jane. You’re a vision.”

Jane blushed. “Thank you, Butterworth. And you look very fetching in your tails.”

Butterworth closed the distance between them and performed a stiff bow. “I understand the mantle has officially been passed. It is my great honor to serve you as I have served your uncle. I pledge all that I am and all that I have to you, Jane Steward, guardian of Storyton Hall.”

Slightly flustered by Butterworth’s formality, which was even more pronounced than usual, Jane searched for an appropriate response. However, all she could come up with was a stilted thank-you.

Butterworth inclined his head and made for the stage. He mouthed something to the musicians and the band struck up the first few notes of the butler’s favorite waltz, “Tales from the Vienna Woods.” For a splendid moment, Jane forgot about Aunt Octavia’s missing book and Felix Hampden’s death. She turned in a slow circle, delighting in the haunting beauty of the room. For a brief flash of time, the grand space and the graceful music belonged to her alone.

Closing her eyes, she swayed from side to side. Suddenly, someone caught her hand and spun her around so swiftly that she nearly lost her footing. And then a strong arm curled around her waist and a man’s palm pressed into her lower back.

Jane’s eyes flew open in surprise, and before she could utter a word of protest, Edwin Alcott began to waltz her over the gleaming dance floor.

“One cannot stand still when Strauss is being played,” he said, a small smile softening the corners of his mouth. “Especially with such a beautiful woman waiting to be swept off her feet.”

Jane’s eyes flicked to Edwin’s costume before meeting his dark gaze again. “Isn’t it difficult to sweep someone off their feet in a toga?”

His smile grew wider. “Not for Marcus Didius Falco, the most intrepid investigator in all of first-century Rome.”

“You make a dashing Roman, I admit,” Jane said rather breathlessly as he whirled her around and around. “But I wasn’t waiting for a partner. I was merely taking a moment to appreciate the Storyton Band.”

Edwin didn’t reply. His grip tightened and his pace quickened. Gathering her closer, he seemed lost in the melody and in the movement of their bodies. Jane didn’t like to admit it, because she prided herself on being too preoccupied with her double roles of resort manager and mother to bother with attractive members of the opposite sex, but she enjoyed the feel of his arm around her waist. It was a rare delight to be able to let go for a few seconds, to follow Edwin’s lead as he twirled her, lifted her, and then ended the dance by dipping her so low to the ground that her strawberry blond curls nearly kissed the polished floor.

When the song was over, Edwin gently raised her to her feet. He held her for a heartbeat, smiling that roguish smile, and then abruptly released her with a graceful bow. The musicians put down their instruments and applauded. The only person who didn’t clap was Butterworth. He was far too busy casting his most disapproving glare in Edwin’s direction.

“Thank you for the dance, Marco,” Jane said, heat rushing to her cheeks. “I never introduced myself, but I’m Tuppence.” At Edwin’s blank look, she added, “She’s an Agatha Christie heroine.”

“Ah, and here I thought you were Jane Steward, heroine of Storyton Hall.”

At that moment, there was a noise at the other end of the room and Jane saw several couples enter, their faces alight with pleasure and anticipation. Sam, the owner of Hilltop Stables, trailed behind the guests. Spotting Edwin, he raised his arm and waved.

Jane couldn’t help but grin at Sam. He was dressed as G. K. Chesterton’s Father Brown. Clad in black robes and hat, priest’s collar, and silver spectacles, he looked very much the part.

He must have heard that Eloise would be here
, Jane thought. Sam had had a crush on Eloise for years, but Eloise saw him as another brother and didn’t feel an ounce of romantic inclination for him. She was always friendly, but never encouraged his advances. In fact, she’d gone out of her way to call attention to Violet’s attributes whenever Sam was around. Eloise was certain that Sam and Violet would make a very happy couple. However, someone would need to convince Sam of that, and Jane guessed that he’d bought tickets to the ball in the hopes of dancing with Eloise.

Costumed guests continued to stream into the ballroom, and Jane knew she needed to take up her station near the door in order to spot Moira McKee and Desmond Price. She was about to excuse herself to Edwin when she realized he was no longer standing behind her.

“Stealthy as a cat,” she reflected, and moved forward to greet a man who bore a striking resemblance to Raymond Burr as Perry Mason. She then shook hands with Nick and Nora Charles, Inspector Morse, Sam Spade, and Precious Ramotswe. A dead ringer for Lord Peter Wimsey eyed the buffet offerings through his monocle, and a lanky Hamish Macbeth, sporting a kilt and a shock of red hair, helped himself to punch.

“Let’s get this party started,” said a familiar voice behind Jane.

Jane turned to see the Cover Girls posing en masse.

Flaunting convention, Eloise had come as Sherlock Holmes and had convinced Phoebe to be her Dr. Watson. Mabel was Mrs. Pollifax, and Mrs. Pratt made for the perfect Miss Marple. Anna wanted to wear something contemporary, so she’d chosen to be Temperance Brennan while Violet was an adult-sized Nancy Drew. Mabel had done a wonderful job with everyone’s costumes, but the Nancy Drew was Jane’s favorite. It called to mind a vintage prom dress and was made of lavender tulle. Most women would have looked ridiculous in such a getup, but the dress showed off Violet’s curves, turning the traditional schoolgirl sleuth image on its head.

“If the Hardy Boys are here, they’d better watch out,” Jane told Violet and then opened her arms to include all of her friends. “You’re amazing! All of you! Go enjoy yourselves.” She leapt forward to stop Eloise from moving. “Not you, Sherlock.”

Eloise removed a pipe from her mouth. “Unhand me, madam.”

Ignoring the British accent and the fake scowl, Jane said, “I hadn’t considered this before, but how can you flirt with Desmond dressed like that? Should I give Violet the assignment?”

Eloise shook her head. “Violet’s reading repertoire isn’t nearly as expansive as mine.”

“No one knows more about books than you, but your costume isn’t very . . . alluring.” Jane gestured at Eloise’s houndstooth coat and matching cape.

“The solution is elementary, dear Jane.” Eloise unbuttoned the coat. “It’s bound to get warm in here, leaving me no choice but to remove a layer or two. I’m only wearing a white tank top under this houndstooth. The top is rather tight and leaves little to the imagination. Observe.” Eloise parted the lapels of the coat, allowing Jane an eyeful of impressive décolletage.

“Thy cup runneth over,” Jane said and both women laughed. “Ah, here’s your victim now. The one in the vintage suit and the fedora. Colonel Hastings in the flesh.” She took Eloise by the elbow. “Try to get all the info you can on the classes he teaches, his interests, and what brought him to Storyton Hall. Once he’s loosened up, work Adela Dundee’s
Lost Letters
into the conversation. Perhaps you can say how disappointed you were that you didn’t win the book. Watch him closely when you mention the title.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Eloise tipped her bowler hat and disappeared into the growing crowd.