The Butler Didn't Do It (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 2) (19 page)

I didn’t know what to say as I watched him shuffle back into his room. He’d summed up everything I’d been feeling since I’d walked in on him and Chintilly Swan. I couldn’t forgive him. He didn’t deserve me.

But the more Joe apologized, the more I was starting to question my own blame in this marital breakdown. The truth was, neither Joe nor I deserved to be caught in this infernal loop. It wasn’t healthy.

SIXTEEN

We sat down to lunch at noon.

Julie came up to me before taking her seat. “On behalf of the GRIMMS, I’d like to apologize for Jonas. He’ll be kicked out, naturally,” she assured me. “We have no place in our society for such appalling behavior. We uphold ourselves to a very high standard.”

I didn’t ask where she’d heard—or what exactly she
had
heard. I was too focused on the upstanding member who had disgraced the society somewhat worse than Jonas Mayer.

Having learnt my lesson, I’d taken great care with the seating plan. Miss Crawley was on the opposite end of the table to me. Mr Hollow was next to me, also as far from Miss Crawley as I could get him in case she let something slip about his third mortgage. And I’d optimistically put Nate next to Charles so he’d be on hand for any convenient arrests.

Burns’ attempt to recreate my mom’s magic with the roast wasn’t an absolute failure: the juices didn’t flow and the middle was rather sinewy, but it wasn’t blackened to a husk, so there was that.

The table buzzed with underlying tension and no one said much until after Burns brought in the platters of sliced tropical fruits for dessert.

Julie pulled her envelope out and placed it on the table. “As our only non-member, perhaps Miss Crawley could go first.”

“Hear, hear.” Ella Parker raised her glass of white glass and sipped gingerly.

I think her weekend of hard drinking had finally caught up to her. She looked rather green around the mouth and her hair had lost some its blonde gloss. Her husband wasn’t even trying to keep up appearances. He nursed a glass of ice water and had sat through most of lunch with his head propped in one hand.

Delighted at the honor, Miss Crawley opened her envelope and slid out a sheet of embossed paper. “I put forward Paul Fieldman, Lydia’s husband.”

“Objection,” Ella called out. “Paul Fieldman wasn’t present. He can’t be considered.”

“In normal circumstances, perhaps.” Miss Crawley peered at her over the top of her rimless bifocals. “This is a real life murder, however. No one is exempt.”

There were a few murmurs of consent around the table.

“Overruled,” Mason said.

The courtroom drama style was a little more formal than I’d envisaged. At this rate, Nate could make them swear his oath and cross question his witnesses. I tried to catch his eye, but his attention was fixed on Miss Crawley.

“Motive?” demanded Julie in her nasal drawl.

Miss Crawley smiled and continued. “Lydia confronted her husband on his nefarious smuggling activities and threatened to go to the authorities. I propose he followed her to Hollow House and lurked in the forest, awaiting his opportunity to kill Lydia and be gone without anyone knowing he was here. Now, we know the rope used was the prop rope Ms Storm had purchased for the weekend—”

“I didn’t know that,” Ella cut in.

Julie sat up straighter. “Fact or speculation?”

“Fact,” Miss Crawley declared.

“Where did this information come from?”

Miss Crawley gave her a prim look. “I never reveal my sources.”

“You can’t introduce new evidence without proof.”

“My reputation in the community speaks for itself,” Miss Crawley said. “And I contend that Mr Fieldman snuck inside while we were at dinner Friday evening, stole the rope from the wicker basket, and slipped away without anyone seeing him.”

“Last I heard,” Mr Hollow spoke up, “Fieldman was on the other side of the world, digging up some turkey.”

He thumped his empty port glass on the table and looked for Burns, who was probably napping in his favorite gold and brown damask wingback chair. Failing that, Mr Hollow stood to gather his cane in one hand, port glass in the other. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m too old for party games.”

Nate settled back in his seat, and I’m pretty sure that was envy in his eyes as he watched Mr Hollow leave.

Joe shifted into Mr Hollow’s seat and leaned in to whisper, “If I handed in a book with that many plot holes, my editor would throw it out the window.”

I kicked him under the table, missed, and stubbed my toe on his chair leg. “Ouch,” I winced.

“I know.” He nodded grimly. “She’s a miserable tyrant.”

“I put forward Ella and John Parker,” Julie said, bringing us back on topic.

“That’s ridiculous,” Ella snorted.

Julie arched a brow at her. “It’s well known that Lydia felt you lowered the tone of our society and wanted you struck from the Honored Masters scroll. She put it to the vote at our last meeting.”

“And the motion was discarded.” John put an arm around his wife. “We’ve earned our place as Honored Masters. It isn’t a popularity contest.”

“I’m well aware of that, thank you, John.” Julie fiddled with her envelope, but didn’t open it. “Still, there was plenty of animosity and Lydia was determined to find a loophole in the GRIMMS founding laws.”

Ella jumped to her feet, palms flattened to the table. “We didn’t leave the lounge until Charles and Jonas came through, fussing about having heard a scream.”

“You didn’t leave the bar, you mean, or so you say,” Julie said dismissively. “Would anyone have even noticed?” She looked from Mason to Charles, then back at Ella. “We stopped paying attention years ago, my dear. You and John are just background noise at these events.”

I cringed on behalf of the GRIMMS family.
That
was harsh.

Ella turned white with rage. “Come on, John, we don’t have to listen to this,” she barked and walked out.

“We do okay with our scores,” John said bitterly as he stood to follow his wife out. “Considering we’re just background noise.”

Miss Crawley made a disapproving
tut
. Whom she disapproved more of, the Parkers or Julie Brown, I couldn’t say.

Mason grilled Julie with a hard look. “That was uncalled for.”

“Step down from your high horse,” Charles told him. “They had it coming.”

Now was as good a time as any to drop my bomb into the war zone. I didn’t have an envelope, but I had a head stuffed with conjecture. “I put forward Charles Sitter.”

All eyes turned on me.

Nate’s jaw clenched. He slashed a finger across his throat, telling me to cut it and shut up. Of maybe he really was planning to kill me as soon as he got me alone.

I scowled him off. “Charles had the opportunity and his behavior Friday night was…”
downright suspicious
“…curious.”

“That’s enough,” Nate said thinly. His face darkened to thunder—not just for me. He looked around the table, spreading his ire evenly. “Amateur speculation does more harm than good.”

“Not at all.” Charles flapped his napkin Nate’s way. “Please, Ms Storm, do continue about this curious behavior of mine.”

He sounded cordial. Didn’t snigger or sneer with contempt. But it was there, buried not too deep beneath the skin. He was mocking me.

My spine stiffened and my stubborn streak locked in. “That red wine you spilt on your shirt sleeve was no accident, it was an excuse to leave the table. You grabbed the rope from the alcove beneath the stairs and stashed it in your room. Then, again, you declined dessert so you could write a note and slide it under Lydia Fieldman’s door while everyone else was still in the dining room.”

Julie exhaled noisily, blatantly unimpressed.

Nate rubbed a hand across his brow, his jaw hollowed from biting down on his back teeth. At least his gaze had narrowed on Charles and stayed there. The cop in him wouldn’t waste this golden opportunity to monitor our prime suspect’s reaction.

“Sure you want to do this?” Joe said beneath his breath.

Of course I wasn’t sure. But we didn’t have anything else. No motive. No witnesses. Not a scrap of proof. No trail. If I stirred things up a bit, maybe I’d hit a few home truths and something would pop.

Ironically, Charles was the only one who seemed to have any faith in me. He inclined his head, nodding slowly. “Go on.”

“Whatever you put in that note, you knew it would intrigue Lydia. You waited, allowing sufficient time for her to reach the pre-assigned spot, and then you made some excuse about fetching a newspaper. You have a garden suite, so it was easy to sneak out and back inside without…” I faltered.

We had no motive, no proof, no trail, no nothing.

Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so warm and fuzzy about my own convictions (or Nate’s.) What if I were openly accusing an innocent man?

Julie regarded me with a pained look. “Are you done?”

“Not until I hear what possible motive I might have had for getting rid of poor Lydia,” Charles said. “You do have one, I assume?”

I didn’t, actually. And I didn’t particularly want to finish what I’d started.

His brow dipped as he looked me square in the eye.

He wasn’t going to let it go.

Julie examined her manicure, clearly bored by the proceedings.

Which reminded me of something she’d said.
No offence, Ms Storm, but many of these mystery parties become routine after a while, somewhat boring.

It was a mighty far stretch, but I wanted to move things on almost as much as she did. “Boredom,” I said to Charles. “You were bored with the routine of solving mundane cookie-cut murders.”

A small gasp escaped Miss Crawley’s composure, followed by a minute of silence at the table as everyone mourned my loss of sanity.

“There’s a reason reality shows are a hit,” I mumbled. “People get bored with fake drama.”

Nate groaned.

“Now, can we move on?” Julie said.

“Please, do,” I begged.

“Charles?” She arched a brow at him.

He pulled his gaze from me to look at her. “After much consideration, I’ve decided to abstain.”

Julie sucked in a sharp breath.

“You have no ideas on the murder at all?” pressed Miss Crawley.

“I didn’t say that, Miss Crawley,” he said dryly. “I choose to withhold my opinions.”

Julie scraped her chair back and rose abruptly. Then seemed to forget what the rush was, her gaze stuck on Charles.

Miss Crawley’s hand fluttered to her chest. “Is everything alright, dear?”

“Why, yes.” Julie’s gaze snapped to me, a frown settling in as the moment dragged. “Only, I really should go after the Parkers and apologize. I don’t know what came over me.”

Well, that’s strange.

Nate obviously agreed. He studied Julie, his expression thoughtful, his gaze following her departure and lingering on the doorway long after she’d passed through.

Mason coughed. “I was going to put Jonas Sash forward, in case anyone’s interested.”

Miss Crawley dipped a look at me. “Oh, I don’t think it’s appropriate to mention that name in this house.”

The question burned on the tip of my tongue and I really shouldn’t, but I had to ask. “What exactly did Jack say this morning when he came around with Jonas?”

“Not a thing,” she said, sounding quite put out. “I had to phone Deputy Harvey at an indecent hour to learn why a fellow guest was being frog-marched to the door. You’d think I’d pulled him from his deathbed, the way that man went on about his ulcer. It’s not the thing, you know, to get that descriptive before breakfast. Doesn’t do one’s digestion any good at all.”

I had to ask, didn’t I?

SEVENTEEN

I helped Burns clear the table while the remaining GRIMMS were, hopefully, in their rooms and packing up their belongings. The Parkers had already departed—in a huff according to Burns. If Julie had made that apology, it clearly hadn’t been very effective.

Nate followed me into the kitchen, his face still brooding all kinds of grim (pun intended.) I didn’t blame him. These GRIMMS had left a sour taste in my mouth. I couldn’t wait to be rid of them.

“That was a major letdown,” I said as I loaded the dishwasher with plate ware. “I really thought there’d be some big revelation at lunch.”

“I know what you were trying to do with Charles Sitter,” Nate said as he took over rinsing dishes and passing them to me. “You should have given me a head’s up.”

“You would have stopped me.”

“Damn right, I would have.” He handed me a dish, held onto it when I made to take it. “You exposed yourself to a possible murderer, Maddox. Did that even occur to you?”

“Everyone was accusing everyone,” I told him. “It’s all just supposition. He can’t think I’m a real threat.”

“That’s why I stayed quiet and didn’t make a big deal about it.” Nate’s gaze sunk into me, his expression softening before he finally let go of the dish. “I didn’t want him to think I gave your theory any special relevance.”