Anything But Civil (27 page)

“No, I didn’t kill him, though I had every intention to.” Rachel Baines gasped again as I continued staring at him, expecting him to say more. He didn’t.

“What do you mean you intended to kill him?” I said. “Did you take Sir Arthur’s gun?” He nodded.

“I’m ashamed to say I did. But I didn’t use it, I swear.” He looked pleadingly to everyone in the room. “The miscreant got what he deserved,” he shouted, “but I didn’t shoot him!”

“But you did beat him,” I said.

“No,” Priscilla declared with a surprisingly spirited voice. “He couldn’t have. He was with me all that morning, weren’t you, Morgan?” She was still clutching his arm.

“No, my love. You have no reason to lie for me. I was there and I did it. I pounded on that pompous, reprobate scoundrel until I couldn’t anymore.” He rubbed his knuckles, which didn’t show any signs of bruising. It was cold that morning. He’d probably been wearing gloves.

“Why?” John Baines asked.

“Because he was a hypocrite, a liar, and a traitor,” Lieutenant Triggs said. The letter Sir Arthur and I’d found in Henry’s fireplace came to mind.

“You sent him that letter,” I said.

“You know about that too?” Lieutenant Triggs said. “What else do you know?”

“Tell us why you did it, Triggs,” John Baines insisted.

“Miss Davish was right. Starrett was the captain of the ship that was transporting my regiment to Chickasaw Bayou. I had the misfortune of stumbling on hidden crates of quinine that Starrett was obviously smuggling to the rebs. While ‘serving his country’ he was making a profit for himself.”

How despicable,
I thought. And ironic! Henry Starrett attacked and harassed a copperhead at every opportunity for more than twenty-five years all the while hiding his own treasonous past. If Enoch Jamison had known, he might’ve killed Henry years ago.

“I don’t believe it!” Rachel cried. “If it’s true, you would’ve turned him in. Even I would’ve stopped him from smuggling stolen medicine to the rebels.” Tears welled in the woman’s eyes.

“Why didn’t you turn him in?” John Baines asked.

“Because it’s not true,” Rachel said.

“Because he stopped me before I had a chance,” Lieutenant Triggs said. “One minute I was lifting canvas off crates, the next minute I was gagged and tied next to them.”

“And when he handed over the quinine, he handed over you as well,” I said.

“So it was ‘Merry Christmas, Graybacks!’ ” John Baines sneered, his lips curled.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Lieutenant Triggs said. “And after the battle, I was just one more soldier lost or missing. I spent the next eighteen months in prison.”

“He contracted the mumps there,” Priscilla said, her voice cracking in despair. “We never could have children after that.” She started to sob quietly. Her husband put his arm around her and pulled her close.

“You can see why I didn’t want an open confrontation with the man,” he said, glancing at his wife. “I tried to just get through the holidays, but I couldn’t do it. I admired General Starrett and was appalled that he, like many others, was unwittingly welcoming a traitor back into this glory-filled community. And Henry had the gall to boast about terrorizing that copperhead and his elderly mother in their own home. At least that Jamison man was honorable in his own way, serving time for his beliefs. No, it was too much. I wrote Henry Starrett that letter and suggested we meet. I knew the cocky, arrogant devil would come. Like I said, I went intending to kill him. But I swear he was alive when I left.”

“So why didn’t you?” Rachel Baines asked. “Kill him, I mean.” She was sitting on the edge of her seat, balancing her teacup on her knee.

“He was unarmed. If I’d killed an unarmed man, I’d be worse than he was. Besides, he had the smell of perfume about him and I thought, if he’d fooled a poor woman into loving him I didn’t want her to suffer like my wife had. That poor woman was already suffering enough.”

“He smelled of lily of the valley didn’t he?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t know one perfume from the other,” he said. John and Rachel Baines exchanged glances and John Baines abruptly left the room.

“I wonder what’s gotten into him?” Rachel said, shrugging her shoulders. “So what did you do then?”

“Like I said, I beat him with my fists until I was exhausted. I might’ve kicked him a few times too. If he’d died from that, I wouldn’t have been surprised. But he didn’t, did he?”

“No, the coroner confirmed that it was the gunshot that killed Captain Starrett,” I said.

“And Sir Arthur’s gun?” Rachel said. “The police found it in the river.”

“I don’t know how it got there,” he said. “I threw it down at Starrett’s feet, cocked and loaded. I hoped he’d use it on himself.” He shook his head. “But he was a bad egg. I should’ve known he wouldn’t do it.”

“But someone did,” I said, my mind racing.
If not Lieutenant Triggs,
I thought,
then who?
“You’ll have to tell this to the police.” Lieutenant Triggs nodded. I tugged on the bellpull. “Did you steal the photograph from my room?”

“I’m ashamed to say I did. I beg your forgiveness for invading your privacy.”

“But why?”

“When you asked General Starrett about it, I was surprised to learn that no one knew about Henry’s visit to Vicksburg. Even Henry denied remembering when or where it was taken. So with him dead, I seemed to be the only one who knew. If the photograph disappeared, no one would be the wiser, would they? Henry’s treachery would be my secret alone and the general spared the shame. So I burned it. I didn’t know about the letters.”

“And you weren’t wearing a boutonniere that morning, were you?” I asked. I thought I knew the answer, but I wanted to be certain.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Rachel Baines asked. Lieutenant Triggs, frowning and furrowing his brow, seemed as skeptical as Mrs. Baines.

“It’s important. Were you?” I asked again.

The lieutenant shook his head. “No. No, I wasn’t. I’m allergic to flowers.”

I was right.

William arrived in answer to the bell. “Someone rang?” he said.

“I did,” I said. William frowned. “Would you send for the police, please?” William’s eyebrows shot up. His eyes took in the scene: Rachel Baines rearranging herself in her chair, fluffing the folds of her dress, Priscilla Triggs softly crying as her husband comforted her.

“Don’t worry, PrissyCat,” Morgan Triggs said to his wife. “I didn’t kill him. Everything will be okay.”

I
couldn’t stay in that room. While we waited for the police, we sat in awkward silence for several minutes. The Triggses seemed in their own private world while Mrs. Baines, with no reason to stay other than her own sense of drama, pulled a
Harper’s Bazar
from the table and began idly leafing through it. I was amazed at her composure. I finally stood up and crossed the hall to Sir Arthur’s library. I entered with the intention of tidying up, having the expectation that he would be released soon. It was immaculate. I was disappointed but should’ve known. Other than his atrocious handwriting, Sir Arthur held order in high regard. So instead, I grabbed a blank piece of paper, dipped my pen, and wrote down the questions that were still unanswered:

If he was telling the truth, Lieutenant Triggs wasn’t the killer after all.
And I’m not any closer than I was before,
I thought.

If Lieutenant Triggs took Sir Arthur’s gun as he claimed and left it at Henry Starrett’s feet, anyone could’ve come along and shot him, taking advantage of his incapacitation. Anyone. The idea was overwhelming. Henry Starrett was an obnoxious man who had many enemies. Oscar Killian had thrown away his livelihood getting revenge for Enoch Jamison. What if others knew of Starrett’s treachery? Or objected to his treatment of Enoch Jamison and happened to stumble upon him, see the gun, and . . . ? My reflection was interrupted by the front door bell. I left the library, carrying my list. Walter and Officer Corbett were in the hallway. Walter was handing William his coat. Officer Corbett took off his hat and nodded.

“Good afternoon, Miss Davish,” he said, smiling. “It’s nice to see you again, though once it would be nice to meet under more pleasant circumstances.” Walter frowned.

“How is Sir Arthur?” I asked.

“He’s fine, Miss Davish,” Corbett said, “and if the reason I’m here is because you’re a better policeman than I am, then he’ll be home for his Christmas Eve supper.”

“I hope so,” I said, indicating for Corbett to lead us into the parlor.

“By the way,” the policeman said, “we have confirmation that Enoch Jamison was in Chicago the day before the murder. His mother followed him there and had him telephone. His story checks out. He may still face charges for Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook’s death, but he didn’t kill Henry Starrett.” Another suspect I’d have to cross off my list. Hopefully Lieutenant Triggs’s confession, even to just the beating of Henry Starrett, was enough to clear Sir Arthur.

“I thought I heard someone come in,” John Baines said, coming down the stairs. He nodded to Walter and then noticed Officer Corbett. “Ah, the police. Are you here to arrest Triggs then?” Walter looked at me with wide eyes.

“I was on the steps about to ring the bell when he drove up,” Walter said, speaking low into my ear. “What’s going on?”

“A breakthrough,” I said, grasping his hand. I looked into his eyes and smiled. He squeezed my hand and his brilliant smile lit the room. I felt giddy, only the seriousness of the moment kept me from laughing. Walter had always had my heart and he knew it. We let go of each other’s hands. Corbett, who had seen our exchange, wore an embarrassed expression. He caught my eye briefly and hesitated, as if to say something, before turning abruptly on his heel.

That’s that then,
I thought, distressed that I was the cause of a good man’s disappointment.

Walter gestured to me with an outstretched arm toward the retreating policeman’s back and we followed Corbett and John Baines into the parlor. All three occupants of the room looked up.

“He took Sir Arthur’s gun and assaulted Henry within inches of his life,” Rachel Baines announced, pointing to Lieutenant Triggs. Walter looked at me for confirmation. I nodded.

“Is this true, sir?” Corbett asked Lieutenant Triggs as John Baines joined his wife, sitting on the arm of her chair.

“Yes.”

“But he didn’t kill him,” Priscilla said pleadingly. “He didn’t kill him.” She looked at me. “You believe him, don’t you, Hattie?” Officer Corbett turned to me, expecting a reply. What was I supposed to say? That my impression of Lieutenant Triggs was that he was incapable of cold-blooded murder? I’d learned the hard way that anyone could murder, if they thought it was for the right reason. Luckily I didn’t have to give a reply. As often before, Walter came to my rescue.

“According to the autopsy and the medical examiner’s report, the bruises were consistent with what we know about Lieutenant Triggs in terms of strength, height, and the fact that he’s right-handed,” Walter said.

“But that could describe Sir Arthur as well,” Officer Corbett said. Walter conceded that that was true.

“But the lieutenant is admitting to it,” Rachel Baines said. “Sir Arthur always claimed he didn’t do it.”

“You have a point, Mrs. Baines,” Corbett said. “But that still leaves the identity of the shooter unknown.”

“Well, he probably shot him too,” she said.

“No!” Priscilla exclaimed with force. “My husband is not a liar, let alone a killer.”

“Once a liar, always a liar, dear,” Mrs. Baines said, smirking and shaking her head.

“Truly, Rachel?” John Baines said, his eyes unusually steady. His wife looked up at him in surprise. “You lied about your relationship with Henry, didn’t you? Maybe you’re lying about shooting him too.” Rachel’s hands flew to her face, covering her expression of horror. But only for a moment.

“How dare you!” she screamed. Then she slapped her husband across the face. John Baines didn’t flinch.

“Tell them or I will,” he said.

“Mrs. Baines?” Officer Corbett said. Rachel looked as if she was going to ignore him, but her husband grabbed the brooch she was wearing and ripped it off her dress. The collar tore, exposing her bare neck. Rachel quickly covered the tear with her hand.

“You animal,” she declared. John Baines held the brooch before her eyes.

“Tell them or I will.” Rachel looked around the room until her eyes lingered on me.

“Not with her here,” she said. “I’ve been humiliated enough already.” Everyone turned to look at me. Officer Corbett’s face was flush with anger as he turned away from me to face Mrs. Baines.

“You will explain yourself, right here, right now, Mrs. Baines,” he said. “Now!”

“All right,” she said, waving her hand as if to dismiss the seriousness of her situation. “I was with Henry the morning he died. But he was alive, quite full of life, if you get my meaning, when I left him,” she hastened to add. “In fact, he was in high spirits.”

“Where did you leave him?” Officer Corbett said.

“On the bridge, the one that goes to the park,” she said. “We’d taken a walk along the river and parted on the bridge. He went toward the park; I came back here.”

“Do you wear lily of the valley–scented perfume?” I asked. Rachel Baines glared at me and folded her arms across her chest.

“Yes, she does,” her husband replied instead. “I’d always been fond of that fragrance. But now . . .” Rachel Baines glanced at her lap unable to meet her husband’s gaze.

That answered whose perfume lingered on Henry Starrett that day, I thought. But not whose footprints were in the snow. I mentally checked yet another suspect off my list.

“Did you see Lieutenant Triggs?” Corbett asked.

“No,” she said. She looked at Lieutenant Triggs and his wife. “If I had, I’d have stopped him from killing Henry.”

“He didn’t kill anyone,” Priscilla insisted in a whimper.

“But he does admit to stealing Sir Arthur’s gun and assaulting the victim,” Officer Corbett said. “I’m sorry, but Lieutenant Morgan Triggs, you are under arrest. Please stand and come with me.” Priscilla burst into tears and wouldn’t let go of her husband’s hand.

“Don’t worry,” Lieutenant Triggs said. “Everything will be all right. They’ll find the real killer and then everything will be all right.” He turned to me. “You found me out. I have no doubt you’ll find the real killer.” What could I say to that? I had thought he was the real killer.

“Does this mean you’ll release Sir Arthur?” I asked. Before the policeman could answer, William entered carrying another exquisite bouquet of flowers and a box.

“These arrived for Sir Arthur,” the butler said to no one in particular. “They’re from the Reynards.” The policeman took the card that accompanied the gifts.

“I believe they’re getting ahead of themselves,” he said. He handed the card to me. Instead Rachel stood and snatched it from his grasp.

“I don’t think the girl should be reading Sir Arthur’s private mail,” she said. “You had no right doing it either,” she said to the policeman.

“On the contrary, in a murder investigation everything concerns me. As to Miss Davish, she alone in this household has the authority to read Sir Arthur’s correspondences. She’s his secretary, as you so like to point out, after all.” Rachel Baines blushed as the policeman took the card from her and handed it back to me. It was from General Starrett and Frederick and Adella Reynard.

With our sincerest wishes. May
you
be home for Christmas and the
rightful
culprit in jail,
the card read.

“That reminds me,” I said. The flowers reminded me again of the olive leaves.

“Reminds you of what, Miss Davish?” Corbett said.

I hadn’t realized that I’d said it out loud. “We still don’t know where the olive leaves came from,” I said.

“What olive leaves?” It was my turn to blush. I’d inadvertently forgotten to tell Officer Corbett about the leaves. I corrected my mistake, handing him my list of questions, and told him everything I knew: where I’d found the leaves, how I’d verified the species in Frederick Reynard’s greenhouse, and how none of the men, with the exception of Frederick Reynard, had been wearing olive leaves in their boutonnieres. A chill went up my spine. I suddenly knew who killed Henry Starrett.

“Were you wearing or carrying flowers with you when you met Captain Starrett that morning, Mrs. Baines?” I said, already knowing the answer.

“I’m not answering to this girl,” Rachel said, dismissing me with a wave of her hand.

“But you will answer to me,” Officer Corbett said. “Were you or were you not wearing flowers that morning?”

“No,” she declared. “Why would I? We weren’t meeting to go dancing!”

“And the corsage that Mr. Reynard sent to us the day of the Christmas entertainment? What did you do with that?” I asked.

Rachel scrunched up her nose in a look of disgust.

“I threw it away,” she said snidely.

“Why should I believe you, Mrs. Baines?” the policeman said.

“I can confirm it,” William said. Everyone, including myself, turned to look at him. I’d forgotten he was still in the room. “With the guests and extra Christmas tasks, I’ve had to do some of Ida’s work. I cleaned the waste baskets and can confirm that Mrs. Baines’s corsage had been discarded.”

“But she could’ve thrown it away after she met with Henry,” Walter said. The policeman nodded.

“No, sir, she couldn’t have because I emptied the baskets before I went to bed that night.” My heart sank. I didn’t want to be, but I was right.

“Then where did the leaves come from?” Lieutenant Triggs said, innocently curious.

I turned to look at his wife beside him. “A sprig of olive leaves was in each of the ladies’ corsages that Frederick Reynard sent,” I said. “Some dropped from your corsage when you covered the bullet wound with the dead man’s coat. You shot Henry Starrett, didn’t you, Mrs. Triggs?”

“What?” Lieutenant Triggs was on his feet and launched himself at me. Mrs. Baines screamed as I scrambled to avoid his grasp and knocked over a chair. Walter and Officer Corbett caught him by the arms and wrestled him to the floor.

“How dare you! Of all people, Miss Davish!” he cried, kicking and wrestling with his restrainers. “I’ve never hit a woman, but by God—”

“Do something!” Rachel Baines shrieked to no one in particular. Priscilla put her hand on her husband’s arm.

“It’s true, Morgan,” she said, barely audible. He shook off Walter and the policeman and knelt before his wife.

“Why, Priscilla, why are you doing this? I told you I didn’t kill him. You don’t have to lie for me.” She shook her head slowly and put a hand to his cheek.

“I saw you retrieve Sir Arthur’s gun from where you’d hidden it in our room and followed you to the park,” she said.

“I didn’t see you there,” Rachel Baines said.

“But I saw you.” Priscilla looked Mrs. Baines in the eyes for the first time since they’d met. “I saw what you and Henry were doing.” Rachel’s jaw dropped and she was stunned speechless. John Baines glared at her, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

“Rachel, I should . . .” John Baines seethed. I was concerned for Mrs. Baines’s safety until John abruptly stood and walked to the fireplace. He picked up the poker and smashed it against the wall. Tiny fragments of plaster burst from the dent the impact made. The poker clattered to the floor. We all gaped in silence at the man’s back as he refused to face the room.

“Please continue, Mrs. Triggs,” the policeman said, disregarding John Baines’s outburst. Priscilla looked back down into her husband’s tormented face.

“I overheard everything you said, Morgan,” she said. He dropped his head against her knees. “I never knew how you ended up a prisoner. You never wanted to talk about it.”