Murder in the Mystery Suite (A Book Retreat Mystery) (6 page)

Hem’s fingers tightened on her arm. “Did the man with the funny mustache win?”

Jane studied her son. “Yes, he did. Why? What is it, Hem?”

The boys exchanged guilty looks. “He only won because of us,” Fitz said. “We helped him every time he got stuck.”

“And he got stuck a lot,” Hem added.

Jane opened her mouth to chastise her sons when Fitz suddenly cried, “We had to! He said he had to win—that he’d die if he didn’t win! He wasn’t kidding, Mom. Really.”

“Why would he say such a thing?” Jane felt the stirrings of alarm. Was Aunt Octavia’s book that valuable?”

“I don’t know.” Fitz shrugged innocently. “But he was a really good tipper.”

Just then, Jane heard Doc Lydgate’s voice echoing down the hallway. She prodded each boy in the chest with her index finger. “Off to bed. No arguments. I’ll send Ned to watch you, and we’ll talk in the morning.”

When the boys were gone, Jane reached up and brushed a strand of damp hair from her aunt’s cheek. “We’ll get the book back. I promise.”

It was a promise Jane sincerely hoped she could keep.

An hour later, Jane stood with Doc Lydgate in the hospital waiting room. A physician in green scrubs had just informed her that Aunt Octavia had suffered a stroke.

“May I see her?” Jane asked. “My great-uncle is on his way, but I’d like to wait with her until he arrives.”

Glancing down at a patient chart, the man shook his head. “Not just yet, but we’ll come get you as soon as she’s resting comfortably.” His voice was kind and Jane tried to be reassured by his words.

Nodding absently, she sank into a chair.

Doc Lydgate sat beside her. “I’m sorry, my dear. I wish I could say that I’m surprised, but I warned your aunt a hundred times about her diet. I’ve repeatedly given her brochures outlining the risks of Type 2 diabetes and have advised her to exercise, but whenever I pay her a home visit, she dismisses all of my recommendations. For the past year, she’s refused to step onto a scale. In the end, there’s only so much a local GP can do.”

“She’s impossible. And you’ve been devoted to her, I know.” Jane patted his hand. “We’ve all chided, nagged, and pleaded for her to pay more attention to her health, but it’s no use. She simply won’t change her ways.”

Doc Lydgate gestured around the waiting room. “If she doesn’t, we’ll be here again.”

Jane didn’t like that thought at all. “That might be the one arguing point that will finally convince her to heed your advice. She abhors having to come over the mountain for any reason and she hates being away from Storyton Hall. She hasn’t left the grounds or village in years.”

“I hope she can return home soon,” the doc said. “And if she requires occupational therapy or a full-time nurse, we’ll find the most highly skilled and trustworthy individual.”

“She has to come home! I can’t imagine Storyton Hall without her.” Jane interlaced her fingers to keep them from trembling. “Oh, why won’t they let me see her?”

Doc Lydgate gave Jane’s arm a paternal squeeze. “What you need is a strong cup of coffee and something to eat. You look quite peaked. I’ll fetch something from the cafeteria.” He held out a finger to stave off her protests. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Thank you. It’s such a comfort to have you here.” Jane gave him a grateful smile.

Five minutes after the doc left, a nurse approached Jane. “Are you with Octavia Steward?” When Jane nodded, the woman waved toward the double doors leading to the hospital’s inner passages. “You can come on back.”

Jane got to her feet just as Uncle Aloysius and Sterling, Storyton Hall’s head chauffeur, rushed into the waiting room.

“Where’s my sweet? Where’s my wife?” her uncle asked. His fishing hat was crumpled between his hands, and Jane saw a spot of blood collect near his wrist and fall onto the tiled floor.

“You’re bleeding!” Jane carefully pried his fingers away from the hat. Fishhooks protruded from his middle and pinkie fingers.

The nurse peered over Jane’s shoulder. “You need to register, sir, and let someone take care of that before—”

“Stuff and nonsense,” Uncle Aloysius interjected. “Take me to my wife.”

The nurse frowned in response to his patrician tone.

“Wrap this around your hand, sir,” Sterling said, offering Jane’s uncle a handkerchief. “It’ll keep the floor clean until these fine people can fix you up.”

Jane shot the nurse a plaintive look. After a moment’s pause, she dipped her chin and gestured for them to follow her down a brightly lit corridor.

“She’s sleeping right now,” the nurse said as she entered a room containing a bed, an upholstered recliner, and a wall-mounted television set.

Aunt Octavia was tucked under a pale blue blanket. Her arms were stretched out, and lines ran from both wrists to IV and medicine bags on stands next to the bed. Monitors flanked the headboard like sentinels, humming and beeping without pause. A second nurse bustled about, making notes on Octavia’s chart and conferring with the nurse who’d led them to the room, but Jane’s aunt didn’t move.

Uncle Aloysius lifted his wife’s hand, kissed her palm, and then pressed it to his cheek. “Darling.”

Sterling’s eyes grew moist. Swallowing hard, he leaned over to Jane and murmured, “I’ll be out in the hall if you need me, Ms. Steward.”

Jane nodded and approached the nurse holding the chart. “We were told she had a stroke. How serious was it?”

“The doctor will go over everything with you,” the nurse said. “We don’t know the full effects of the stroke at this time. When she wakes up, we’ll run more tests.”

Jane wished Doc Lydgate would appear. She had no idea which questions to ask. “Did she say anything? Is she . . .” Casting an anxious glance at her uncle, Jane lowered her voice. “Was there brain damage?”

“She was talking right up until we gave her something to help her rest. We had no trouble understanding her, which is a good sign. She kept saying, ‘Get the book back. The prize book. Wrong copy. Get it back.’ The nurse hugged the chart against her chest. “She became so agitated that we were concerned she might harm herself. But you don’t have to worry about that now. She’ll sleep until morning, and we’ll be checking on her all night long.”

“Oh, Aunt Octavia.” Jane covered her mouth with her hand and stifled the sob welling up in her throat. “Please. If she wakes up, will you tell her that we’re getting the book back? Will you tell her that Jane said everything is fine?” She touched the nurse on the wrist. “And please don’t let my uncle know that she was so upset she needed sedation. He’s stressed enough as it is.”

The nurse smiled. “Sure thing, honey.”

Doc Lydgate arrived carrying a beverage tray filled with four cups of coffee. He distributed coffee to Jane, Sterling, and Uncle Aloysius, who put his cup on the table next to the bed and let it sit there, untouched. The only thing he could focus on at that moment was his wife.

“I’ll hunt down the attending physician,” Doc Lydgate said, leaving Jane standing there with nothing to do but listen to the machines and watch the steady rise and fall of her aunt’s chest.

Jane remained in that position for what seemed like a long time. Eventually, Doc Lydgate reappeared and offered to drive her home.

“You might as well save your strength for tomorrow,” he said kindly. “We already know who’ll be sleeping in that recliner tonight.”

They both looked at Uncle Aloysius.

Jane nodded. “Sterling can take me back to Storyton Hall. You’ve done more than enough for us already.”

Sterling had had the foresight to grab one of the resort’s extra toiletry kits and a blanket in case Uncle Aloysius should need to spend the night. When he offered them to Jane, she praised him for being so thoughtful and then laid them on the seat of the recliner.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” she told her uncle and kissed him on the cheek. His skin felt cold and paper-thin, so Jane wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. “You need to take care of yourself in order to take care of her,” she whispered and rubbed his back.

He gazed up at her with frightened eyes. “I might be the one with Steward blood in my veins, but it’s Octavia who has the true heart of a Steward. She loves every brick and piece of timber that is Storyton Hall. It cannot endure without her.
I
cannot endure without her.”

“You won’t have to,” Jane promised. “We just need to be as stubborn and determined as she is. We have to monitor what she eats and get her to exercise more often.”

Uncle Aloysius raised his shaggy eyebrows. “Easier said than done, my dear. I haven’t won an argument with your aunt for nearly thirty years.”

“It won’t be you against her. Everyone at Storyton Hall will unite in this common cause. We all want her to live for a long, long time, and if that means incurring her displeasure and having a few bowls of sugar-free pudding thrown at our heads, so be it.”

“Best warn the housekeepers now.” Her uncle managed a small smile. “You’re a good girl, Janie. Go home. Your aunt will rest easier knowing you’re holding down the fort, and the boys will be wondering what’s happened.”

Kissing him once more, Jane left.

At Storyton Hall, the gazes of a dozen concerned staff members followed her through the employee entrance. Sterling had offered to tell the staff about Aunt Octavia and Jane had gratefully accepted. She didn’t want to let another second pass until she’d gotten her aunt’s book from Felix Hampden.

Because she’d given Hampden his key, Jane knew that he was in room 316. The Mystery Suite. Heading for the servant’s staircase, Jane pushed on the door marked
STAFF ONLY
and nearly collided with Mrs. Hubbard.

“I’ve been waiting up for you!” she cried. “Don’t spare me. Tell me quickly! Is she . . .”

“Sleeping,” Jane said.

“Thank the Lord!” Mrs. Hubbard exclaimed and pulled Jane into a fervent embrace. As comforting as Mrs. Hubbard’s warm arms were, Jane hastened to free herself. She thought she’d succeeded until the head cook’s hand closed around her wrist. “I’m to blame, aren’t I? I’ve killed her with my rich food, haven’t I?”

Jane shook her head, moved by the stricken look on Mrs. Hubbard’s face. “We’re all at fault for indulging her every whim. But that’s over and done with now. As soon as Aunt Octavia is well enough to return to Storyton, she’ll be on a strict diet. Anyone who sneaks her sweets will answer to me.”

Putting hands on hips, Mrs. Hubbard puffed up her generous bosom. “And to me as well.”

“With your help, I’m confident that Aunt Octavia will not only recover, but add a decade or two to her life.”

Mrs. Hubbard lifted her eyes to the heavens. “God willing.”

“I need to see a guest.” Jane said gently but firmly. “There’s no sense in worrying any more tonight. I’ll come to the kitchen in the morning if there are any updates. But for now, go home and put your feet up.”

“Yes. That’s a good idea. The feet will go up and the nightcap will go down,” Mrs. Hubbard murmured as she headed down the corridor toward the kitchen.

Jane sighed. She’d love nothing better than to follow her own advice. She longed to put on her pajamas and flop onto her bed, but she had to tell Felix Hampden about the prize mix-up and assure him that she’d have another copy of the book in his hands first thing tomorrow.

When she reached his room, however, she found a
DO NOT DISTU
RB
sign hanging from the doorknob.

“This is a fresh quandary,” Jane muttered. She glanced up and down the hall, making sure there were no other guests around before putting her ear to the door. Not a sound came from within.

Stepping back a pace, Jane stared at the sign. She was at a total loss. Aunt Octavia needed her to recover the book, but Jane had been taught to adhere to a strict code when it came to Storyton Hall’s guests. It was so ingrained in her that she never questioned it. Guests were to be treated with courtesy and respect at all times, even when they were behaving badly. Even though Felix Hampden had bribed the twins in order to win the scavenger hunt, his actions still did not give Jane permission to disturb him. He was a guest. The very word created an automatic response deep within Jane’s psyche.

Defeated, she turned away from the door. But as she did so, an image of Aunt Octavia’s anguished face entered her mind, and before her determination could falter, she raised her fist and wrapped softly on the thick, polished wood. She waited. Listened. And lightly knocked again. There was no answer. Taking a deep breath, Jane knocked with more force and then snapped her hand down to her side as if she’d been caught stealing cookies from Mrs. Hubbard’s special jar in the butler’s pantry.

“He might be wearing earplugs,” she whispered to herself. Down the hall, the elevator pinged, causing Jane to start. It would be unseemly for her to be seen standing in front of an occupied guest room, especially one with a
DO NOT DISTURB
sign hanging from its doorknob, so she fled.

Descending the staircase to the second floor, Jane found Muffet Cat waiting to be let inside her aunt and uncle’s apartment.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Jane said, scooping the big cat into her arms. Muffet Cat pressed his face against her chest and purred while she unlocked the door. After turning on the lights, Jane set Muffet Cat on a chair in the sitting room and assured him that Aunt Octavia would be home soon.

She then entered her aunt and uncle’s private library and immediately spotted a familiar roll of wrapping paper. Felix Hampden’s prize had been packaged in the same paper. “If there are two copies of the same book, this might be where Aunt Octavia wrapped the wrong book.” Feeling a thrill of hope, Jane sifted through a large box of bows, ribbon, tape, and tags, but came up empty-handed. She then spied a rectangular lump under her aunt’s copy of the
New York Times
, which was spread open on the club chair by the fireplace. When she peeked underneath the Arts section, she found the missing book.

The hardback had a dark blue cover featuring a photograph of an old-fashioned typewriter. There was nothing remarkable about the image and Jane didn’t recognize the name of the editor, one Alice Hart, so she flipped to the copyright page. “A first edition. And it’s in pristine condition. Mr. Hampden shouldn’t be disappointed.” She fanned the pages to dislodge any loose papers, but the book didn’t seem to be keeping any secrets. “No surprise there,” she murmured. “It’s my aunt’s copy that’s special. I just wish I knew why.”

Tucking the book under her arm, Jane turned off the lights, locked the apartment, and walked home.

She thanked Ned and tried to pay him, but as usual, he refused. Though Ned was in his early twenties and had plenty of friends his own age, he genuinely enjoyed spending time with Fitz and Hem.

“I have five sisters,” he’d once explained to Jane. “I grew up in a house filled with dolls, dresses, and the color pink. Do you know how much I would have loved a little brother? When I hang out with Fitz and Hem, I feel like I have two of them.”

“One of these days, I’m going to find a way to thank you properly,” she told him now.

Ned smiled shyly and wished Jane a good night. As she moved through the house, Jane saw signs of what Ned and the twins had gotten into during her absence. They’d had hot chocolate with half a bag’s worth of marshmallows in the kitchen, made a tent of blankets in the living room, and judging from the wet spots on the walls, had waged a bubble war on the way to bed. Ned did a fabulous job entertaining the boys, but he rarely tidied up afterward.