Death of a Cozy Writer: A St. Just Mystery (34 page)

“As for Sir Adrian—are we really surprised? No one doubted for a minute he had the heart of a murderer, that he was a man of many guilty secrets, some major, some minor. He’d changed his name to get the title illegally, but who cared about that? Only he and Chloe. But, by the way, there’s one other thing that got in our way: He was Welsh, which helped him even more in keeping his origins quiet.”

“I don’t follow, Sir.”

“Davies is a common name in Wales. And, by tradition, children in Wales sometimes take different names from their parents, often a name evocative of the father’s place of origin, creating even more of a muddle for anyone interested enough to try to trace his origins. I wondered why, according to Albert, Sir Adrian worked so hard to squash reporters not willing to swallow intact whatever he fed them. That whole title business—he was as big a snob about it as Chloe. In that regard, it was a match made in heaven.”

“But, Sir, why in the name of all that’s holy would he write a book about a murder that he himself had helped cover up?”

“Maybe because he thought he was so clever, no one would realize it was not a work of fiction. Or maybe he didn’t care about anything but creating a stir that would guarantee his reputation would live on forever. Who knows, with an ego like that? I do know his instructions were explicit—that was the one book that was not to be published until his death, when he was beyond the reach of our law, anyway.

“Sir Adrian, as I have noted before, was a childish man, recklessly indiscreet. He couldn’t resist the fun he was having with his ready-made plot, regardless of the fact he was telling a lot of tales in there that other people didn’t want told. Yet another reason for Natasha to get rid of him, you know—if she knew about the book, which I think she did. She was, all her life, the daughter of that notorious, adulterous murderess, Lady Violet Winthrop. A book by Sir Adrian called
A Death in Scotland
could only be about her mother’s case.”

“I can see why she would want it not to come out,” said Sergeant Fear. “But how would she learn about the book?”

“My guess is she saw it in Albert’s room. I’m certain she spent half her time turning over the contents of the house—remember her training—to learn what she could learn. Even if she couldn’t get past the title, the title told her all she needed to know—or all she needed to know to panic over it. Or perhaps she just chatted Jeffrey up about it; it wouldn’t be hard to get anything she wanted out of him. Watch out for that branch!”

Sergeant Fear turned the wheel sharply onto black ice, fighting to control the skid.

When his heart resumed normal operations, several minutes later, St. Just went on, “That old dear, Agnes, had it right all along. But without Mrs. Romano’s evidence—which we’ll get—we’d never have been able to prove much of anything, after all these years. Basing a case on a book of ‘fiction’ would be next to impossible. They didn’t believe Agnes then, they wouldn’t believe her now. But the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary is sending someone to get her statement. Someone ‘yoong.’ We’ll see if it does any good this time.”

He sighed.

“Violet is one of those women capable of doing whatever is necessary, and getting away with it. She is, as Chloe said, about as cold-blooded as they come.”

“Like mother, like daughter, then?”

“Very much so, in appearance, and in temperament. We all missed that, but shouldn’t have. The callous manipulation, particularly of men, but of everyone—the kind of coldness I am certain is highly prized in the more secret corridors of Scotland Yard, by the way. Yes, I am certain Natasha learned all of that at her mother’s knee. What is more, I believe Violet manipulated her own daughter, telling her it was Sir Adrian who was the killer, giving Natasha a healthy grudge to nurse all those years.”

“And then, the money thrown in as a sweetener for revenge …”

“Violet inherited a fortune from Sir Winthrop, pretty much in line with the plan Natasha had for George. It took the pair of them decades to run through it all. And it wasn’t until Violet had exhausted most of it that Sir Adrian’s proposal—a form of blackmail, if you ask me—held any interest for her. As I say, cold-blooded, with money being the motivating force for both of them.”

Sergeant Fear laughed.

“We really should have paid more attention to Sarah, Sir. In a way, she was right: ‘The lack of money is the root of all evil.’”

Several mornings later St. Just was on his way to the train station to await the 8:02 for London and Heathrow. It was rare that he could get away for even a few hours; this time, he had wrangled four full days on the slopes. His cat, Deerstalker, was being spoiled by the neighbors. All was right with the world, and Sergeant Fear would have to cope with what wasn’t right until he returned.

It was as the cab neared Trumpington that he saw them, Sarah and Jeffrey, power-walking, hand-in-hand, which rather impeded their progress. They didn’t seem to mind. They looked blissfully silly, as only those newly, deeply in love can do.

He wondered if it would work, how they would get on together, Sarah with her grab bag of philosophies, and Jeffrey with his boundless, seemingly directionless, energy. He supposed what they really had in common was a sort of unfounded, blinkered optimism.

And perhaps, he thought, that was sufficient to be getting on with.

THE END

BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS

1. Mystery novels have been written from a variety of viewpoints— first person, alternating point of view, and so on. What point of view is used in
Death of a Cozy Writer
? Why do you think the author chose to tell the story this way? What are the drawbacks to a writer in using a particular point of view—for example, first person—to tell a crime story?

2.
Death of a Cozy Writer
has been called an affectionate send-up of the traditional or “cozy” mystery genre. The author calls it an homage to the golden age of the classic British mystery. What key elements do you think constitute a traditional mystery? How is this book different from a traditional mystery? How does it play off the traditions of the genre?

3. Of the four grown children of Sir Adrian, Ruthven appears to be the favorite (insofar as Sir Adrian favors anyone). Do you think most parents have a secret preference for one child over another?

4. How much do you think Chloe, Lady Beauclerk-Fisk is responsible for the failings, or the successes, of her various offspring?

5.
Death of a Cozy Writer
has several unlikable characters. Was there any one you particularly “loved to hate,” and why? Which of the characters in
Death of a Cozy Writer
would you like to get to know better?

6. The novel has several red herrings. Were you misled by any of these? Were you able to guess “who done it,” or did the author surprise you? If you were surprised, who did you think was the murderer, and what was his or her motive?

7. How does the weather reflect the atmosphere inside Waverley Court?

8. How important is the Christmas holiday season to the story? How would the story have been different if set in a different season?

9.
Death of a Cozy Writer
belongs to the “fair-play” school of crime writing. Once you learned who the culprit was, did you feel the author had “played fair” in providing you the clues needed to solve the crime?

10. Discuss the author’s use of humor in the book. Is humor ever appropriate to a murder mystery?

11.
Death of a Cozy Writer
is also the story of a death in Violet’s past. How successful is the author in bridging the past with the present?

12. In what ways do you think Sarah’s future will be altered by the events of this book?

If you enjoyed reading
Death of a Cozy Writer,
stay tuned for G. M. Malliet’s next St. Just Mystery

Death and the Lit Chick

COMING SOON FROM MIDNIGHT INK

PART I—ENGLAND

_______________________

I.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK?
Poisoned Pink, or Pink Menace?”

The young blonde woman of whom this question was asked adopted a pose of deep concentration, weighing the matter with all the deliberation of King Solomon presented with two feuding mothers. That the colors under discussion were nearly identical to the naked eye seemed to escape the notice of both women. The manicurist held the two small bottles aloft in the late winter sunlight streaming through the window of the trendy Knightsbridge beauty salon.

“The Poisoned Pink, I think, Suzie,” the blonde said at last. “The other is so, like, totally last year. Positively no one in New York would be caught dead wearing it any more. Besides, Poisoned Pink sounds perfect for a crime writers’ conference, don’t you think?”

Suzie nodded, bending to her task and laying about with an emery board.
Give me an old-fashioned romance book any time
, she thought.
Barbara Cartland, now: There was a woman who knew which way was up
with men and all. Lovely hair she had, too.

“I’m getting an award from my publisher during this conference, you see. Did I tell you?”

Only three times.

Kimberlee Kalder, the blonde, paddled the fingers of one elegant, narrow hand in a bowl of soapy water as she lifted one elegant, narrow foot to examine the hand-woven gold brocade of her £900 ballet flats. “And for that and, well,
other
reasons, I want to look, like, to die for.”

So there’s another man at the end of all this effort, then
, thought Suzie.
Thought so.

“Not that I don’t
always
strive to look, like, really hot,” Kimberlee went on. “Image is, like, everything in this business, my agent says.”

“I’m certain he’s right, Miss.”

“She, actually. At least, for the moment.”

Not really interested, Suzie asked politely, “When’s the conference, then?”

“This weekend. I head to Scotland tomorrow. My publisher is treating his most successful—well, in some cases, just his longest-lived—authors to a few days at Dalmorton Castle and Spa during Dead on Arrival.”

Seeing Suzie’s look of mystification, Kimberlee said: “That’s a crime writers’ conference held in Edinburgh every year. And, as I say, he’ll be handing out a special award to his most successful writer: Me.”

“Me,” as Suzie well knew, was a favorite word in Kimberlee Kalder’s vocabulary. That and “I.” She was a big tipper, though—writing must pay bloody well.

“I always wanted to write a book,” said Suzie wistfully. “Maybe I will one day when I have time. I’d write about me gran, during the war—”

Kimberlee just managed to stifle a snort of derision, although she didn’t bother to hide the contempt that lifted her beautiful, chiseled mouth in a smirk. If she had a pound for everyone who was going to write a book when they could find the time. Like they were going to pick up the dry cleaning or something when they got around to it. Really, people had no idea.

Cutting off the flow of wartime reminiscence, Kimberlee said: “No one cares about that old crap anymore. Don’t forget—I want two solid coats of the topcoat. Last time my manicure only lasted two days. And watch what you’re doing. You’ve missed a spot.”

“Must be all that typing you do,” Suzie said quietly. Kimberlee was her least favorite customer and there always came a point in their conversations when Suzie remembered why.

“What, me? Type?” said Kimberlee, as if to say,
I? Slaughter my own
cattle?
“I guess you’ve been looking at my publicity stills. ‘The Famous Writer at home, fingers poised over her laptop.’ But I have
people
who do all that, where necessary. I just dictate.”

Really?
thought Suzie.
So what else was new?

II.

News item from the
Edinburgh Herald
, by Quentin Swope:

Book lovers wait in thrilled anticipation of this weeks’ Dead on Arrival
conference, where fans and wouldbe authors can meet their
favorite crime writers—in the flesh. Said writers will also be signing
their books “by the truckload,” conference chair Rachel Twalley tells
this reporter.

Among conference highlights is the anticipated appearance of
hot young newcomer Kimberlee Kalder, who burst onto the mystery
writing scene last year, quickly climbing the charts with her
runaway “chick-lit” hit,
Dying for a Latte
. Kimberlee will be fêted
before and during the conference by her Deadly Dagger Press publisher,
Lord Julius Easterbrook, who must be thanking his lucky
stars for leading him to Kimberlee. She may single-handedly have
revived his moribund family publishing house.

Other Dagger authors invited to push out the boat at Easter-brook’s
exclusive gathering at Dalmorton Castle include Magretta
Sincock, Annabelle Pace, and Winston Chatley—the stars of yesteryear.
Rumor has it top agents Jay Fforde and Ninette Thomson, and
American publicist B. A. King, are also on the guest list, along with
ex-pat Joan Elksworthy, author of a detective series set in Scotland,
and American spy-thriller novelist Tom Brackett. Also look out for
newcomer Vyvyen Nankervis—a little bird tells me she’s really Portia
De’Ath, a Cambridge don, and the author of a delightful series
of Cornish mysteries.