Murder Actually (14 page)

 

Essex University provided some much-needed diversity for All Hallows, and as I drove through campus I noticed the students, if that's what they were, appeared to be of all ages and shapes. I was left with the impression that people who attended summer school were a little strange. I remembered my undergrad years, those halcyon days of coffee shops, Natty Lite, hackey-sack, and Beck's, all set against a backdrop of literature courses and pub crawls. I still had dreams where I'd just missed my finals and didn't really have a degree at all. Or worse, had to retake Modern British Fiction, yikes.

The faculty parties were held in Lesar Hall, an ancient stone structure with enough history to be formidable but enough shabbiness to appeal to potential donors. I passed through the archway into a room on the first floor that had a homey, drawing room feel, with chintz curtains, watercolors, and plenty of overstuffed furniture. The small space was already overheated with thick bodies and intellectual conversation.

I looked around the crowd for Julia. I was glad I'd taken some effort with my appearance, even though most of the people there were dressed with a disregard for, if not disdain of, fashion in varying degrees of dowdy bohemianism. I saw an odd assortment of sack dresses, shirt dresses, flannel pants, and on one woman, a wrap that looked like a Native American rug.

Julia had been cornered by Professor Eleanor Ashby from political science and was enduring a lecture of some volume and length. She shot me a desperate glance, but I decided I needed some fortification before I delved into the Pierian Spring.

Half a glass of tepid chardonnay later, I was firmly ensconced by the service door where the staff would periodically, or more aptly, infrequently, appear with appetizers. So far I'd scored a slimy bit of smoked salmon on stale rye and a nearly inedible bruschetta. I was growing desperate for something more substantial (visions of cocktail wieners danced in my head), when the door opened and Grant appeared with Ainsley.

I caught Julia's eye and quickly ducked behind a potted palm.

No luck, he'd seen me and they were coming over.

“Hello,
Elspeth
. You're looking lovely this evening. Is that a new dress?”

Since Grant had seen me wear this particular dress at least a hundred times during our marriage I was understandably peeved. Had I always just faded into the background?

“I bought it yesterday,” I said. “How are tricks?”
He looked at me oddly and then glanced down at my glass. “How much have you had?”

I was tempted to act drunk just for the hell of it, but maturity reared its ugly head, so I turned and greeted
Ainsley
.

She smiled at me sweetly. “I found one of your books at the library. It was very…cute.”

“Thanks, Ainsley. That means a lot coming from you.”

“Have you had any leads in your little murders?”

“No, have they sent you to cover anything besides regional news?”

Grant hastily stepped between us and offered to get some drinks.

“Just a club soda for me, darling,” she said coyly.

Grant walked to the bar and Ainsley turned back to me, her expression speculative.

“You've known Grant a long time.”

“Yes.”

“So you know what he's like?”

I didn't like where this was going. “I suppose I do,” I said cautiously.

“Grant and I are really in love. We've been living together for five months now but for some reason Grant hasn't wanted to set a date for our wedding.”
I wasn't surprised. “I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe he's worried about making another mistake?”
She ignored me. “I think coming to All Hallows was a mistake. It's so idyllic, and you know how Grant is! He pictures himself as a retired countryman with tweeds and a pipe. He seems to be going through some kind of mid-life crisis,” she smiled, showing me her perfect white teeth. “I'm sure someone your age can appreciate what that's like.”

I reflected again that I didn't like this girl. “No, I'm afraid I can't.”

She took a step closer to me and I could smell her cloying perfume. “I was wondering if you'd say something to him.”

There were a number of things I'd like to say to Grant, but probably not what she had in mind. “Like what?” I asked.

“Maybe mention that it was time he set a wedding date. That way both of you can get on with your lives.”

“I'm sure you'll bring him up to scratch pretty soon.”

Her expression soured. “I don't think you can characterize it like that, but I thought maybe if you said something to him he might make a move. He seems to value your opinion.” Her tone implied that she had no idea why, and she took another step closer. “I know you just want him to be happy.”

I contemplated her in silence. I felt surprisingly indifferent to Grant's happiness or lack thereof. “I don't really care,” I said finally.

She snorted. “Oh c'mon, Elspeth. I know you're trying to get him back.”

I was speechless. Maybe she was drunk? It was a little early but you never knew with television people. “As much as I admire your tremendous powers of deduction, you've miscalculated both the allure of Grant's charms and my own level of desperation.”

Ainsley was undeterred. “I just wanted you to know that Grant and I are going to be married. And it will be soon. So, whatever fantasies you've concocted about the two you getting back together…”

I interrupted her. “Look, Ainsley, I have absolutely no desire to have Grant back in my life. If you remember, he came to see me, not vice versa.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“I'm working.”

She rolled her eyes. “I've seen the way you look at him, Elspeth.”

This remark brought me up short. Was it possible I was looking at Grant in any particular way? I'd just assumed my expression reflected the irritation, annoyance and exasperation I always felt in his presence, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe those looks of intense impatience appeared to others as melting glances of adoration. I nearly shuddered at the thought but my reply was interrupted by the breathless arrival of Julia.

“There you are, Betts,” she exclaimed loudly. “I was wondering what happened to you! There's someone I want you to meet. Good to see you again, Ainsley.”

She dragged me away and Ainsley watched us go, a scowl on her pretty face.

“Thanks, Julia; I was trying to find a way to deny I had designs on Grant while keeping a straight face.”

Julia studied me curiously. “Do you want him back?”

“No, but it's gratifying I could get him back if I wanted to.”

“Forget about Grant, we have bigger fish to fry. Crispin is here.”

“Where?”

“By the French doors. Are you ready?”
I opened my bag and took out a tattered note. It was a rough facsimile of the blackmail letter from Jasper's safety deposit box, and had been distressed under the wheels of Julia's Range Rover to give it an authentic look.

Crispin was busy with his camera and barely glanced up as I approached. I noticed he was wearing another of his bowties and a knit vest, further reinforcing my theory that no man over the age of five should wear a sweater vest.

“Hi, Elspeth. Have you tracked down the Hound of the Baskervilles, yet?”

I ignored him and thrust the note under his nose. He looked at me curiously, read through it, and then stopped and gaped at me.

“What's this?”

“I think you know, Crispin.”

“I have no idea.”

“It's the blackmail note you sent to Jasper Ware!”

Crispin eyebrows shot up. “Blackmail?

“Oh, c'mon, Crispin,” I said impatiently. “I distinctly heard you refer to Jasper as a hack and that's the same reference in this note. It's not a term you hear very often.”

“I'm quite certain it's an appellation Jasper heard frequently in his career.” He thrust the note back at me. “It's an interesting idea, Elspeth, but I never tried to blackmail Jasper and I have no idea what he could've done to warrant blackmail.”

Crispin turned to go and I raised my voice.

“Just a minute, Crispin. Jasper had controlling interest in the
Gazette
and was threatening to change your format. And unless I miss my guess, he was also threatening to get rid of the editor-in-chief. I know the
Gazette
is your life, and I know you wouldn't let anything happen to that paper.”

Crispin turned back to me and scowled. “Jasper's suggestions were ridiculous! He wanted to turn the
Gazette
into some sensational tabloid rag. I told him there was no room for that kind of business model in All Hallows. This isn't that kind of town.”

“Which kind?” I snapped. “You mean the blackmailing, murdering kind?”

“You can believe whatever you want, Elspeth, but I would never have stooped to blackmailing Jasper. It would've made me no better than he was.”
Crispin sounded so sure of himself, so outraged, that I started to feel slightly uncertain.

Then I remembered the body count and plowed ahead. “You were bitterly angry with Jasper and you were desperate to stop him. You followed him upstairs at the book reading and then killed him.”

“Where did I get the dagger?”

“Violet Ambler! You commissioned her to get it for you and then killed her to shut her up.”

“That's ridiculous! Why wouldn't I have just bought the dagger myself?”

“You didn't want it traced back to you.”

“It seems an unnecessarily convoluted scenario. I could've just got a gun and shot Jasper in some dark alley.”

“You weren't thinking clearly. You were blind with rage.”

He laughed. “Have you met me? I'm not exactly the blind with rage type.”

“Everyone has their breaking point.”

Crispin shook his head. “Not me. I never went upstairs that night and even your detective theories have to obey the laws of physics. I was so busy taking pictures I scarcely had time to…” he stopped suddenly and his face paled. He raised a shaky hand to his brow.

“What is it, Crispin?”

“The pictures…” he murmured.

“What about the pictures?”

“The photographs from my camera, the ones I took that night. I thought I saw something…” His voice broke off as he stared into the distance. He looked like he was in a trance.

“I could have sworn I saw…on the stairs…”

“Crispin?” I asked tentatively.

The expression on his face cleared. “Nothing. Sorry, I had a brain freeze. Anyway, to answer your very impertinent allegations: no, I didn't kill Jasper and no, I didn't kill Violet.”

“And you weren't blackmailing Jasper?”

“Absolutely not. I'm an editor, not a blackmailer.”

We stood looking at each other a few minutes. He was sweating profusely, but his expression was earnest and I knew he was telling me the truth.

Damn, damn, damn.

“Okay, Crispin. If you remember anything else from that night, please call me.”

I wrote down my number and handed it to him. He thrust it into his jacket pocket without a glance. “Thanks, Elspeth. I'll sleep better knowing you and Julia are on the case.”

I wandered away, feeling deflated, and noticed Coco Ware standing by the bar.

“Hello, Coco.”

“Hello, again, Elspeth. Our paths keep crossing. How delightful.”

I ignored her sarcasm. “Is Alex with you tonight?”

“He's around somewhere. We've had another exhausting day. Jasper left Alex a share of his book royalties and we had to go to his publisher to figure out commissions and all that.”

She waved an elegant hand, as if the disposal of millions of dollars of assets was a mere weekend diversion.

“I heard Jasper's estate was quite large.”

“Yes,” her tone was noncommittal. “Alex is thinking about giving up Ware Realty. He has so many obligations now and we're considering a move back to Manhattan. It's been lovely being here in All Hallows but one does get tired of not having any decent restaurants.”

How can one tire of The Hobo Hut? I wanted to ask. And when does one start referring to oneself as ‘one'? Was it after the two million mark?

“Why did you move to All Hallows?”

She shrugged an elegant shoulder. “It seemed quaint, and I was tired of the Hamptons.”

Does one get tired of the Hamptons? “Yes,” I replied sympathetically. “I could see where you might get bored, but you've done so much for the community! There's your work with the D.A.R., and Rose Elliott was telling me you've been helping her collect for the St. Anne's rummage sale for months.”

Coco's expression changed and her eyes went from bored to wary. “Yes, it's for a good cause. We need a new roof on the chapel.”

“You didn't pick up anything from Nora Ware, did you?”

Coco laughed. “Of course we did! Nora is notorious for buying clothes she never wears. Most of the things I got from her still had price tags on them.” Her expression changed and she smiled at me. “This has been…lovely, but can you excuse me, Elspeth? I simply must talk to Crispin about the next D.A.R. luncheon.”

I watched her hurry across the room as Alex Ware approached. His eyes were glazed from whiskey and his expression was jovial. “Hello, Elspeth. How's the snooping going?”

I was in no mood to object to the characterization. “Okay. It's frustrating, though. Every time I think I'm headed down the right path I realize something new about the case and have to change my mind.”

“I believe they're called red herrings,” he said.

“Well, I call them annoying.”

“Maybe you're in the wrong business.”

“Maybe I am, but I'm going to see this through. Can I ask you something?”