Murder the Tey Way: A Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mystery (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 2) (27 page)

Instead, I told him the two local murders were still unsolved. Al didn’t seemed alarmed that the killer was undoubtedly someone I knew.
Odd
, I thought, until I realized he was probably remembering how I’d reacted the last time he’d advised me not to get involved in any more murder cases. No doubt he wanted our evening to go as smoothly as I did.

Our main course arrived. As usual, we sampled each other’s dishes, and were delighted to discover that both had been perfectly prepared. Then I concentrated on savoring everything on my plate. The filet mignon was the best I’d ever tasted. When I finished eating, I glanced across the table and saw that Al had left most of his food untouched. He sat with his hands at his sides, gazing into the distance.

Something’s wrong. He must suspect what I’m about to tell him
.
I promise to tell him over dessert.

Minutes later, our waiter poured our coffee and departed. Al reached for my hand. “Lexie, you are an amazing woman.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling foolish.

“You don’t deserve what I’m about to say.”

I stared at him.

“I feel like such a heel. You and I had an understanding before I left for London. We cared for one another. We had a history of sorts.”

I yanked my hand away. “What is it, Al? Spill it out.”

“I met someone in London. She’s an officer in the company that hired me. We fell in love.”

My mouth fell open. “I thought you were in love with me!”

“I thought I was, too,” he said. “But Deborah’s British. She understands me in a way no American can.”

“Oh!” I said, offended on my own behalf and that of my country. I leaned against the well-padded chair, hoping it would absorb some of the shock of his announcement. Though I was madly in love with Brian, Al’s news was a stunner on many levels.

He looked appropriately abashed. “I’m terribly sorry, Lexie. The human heart obeys no laws.”

I nodded. “I know.”

He learned on his elbows and cocked his head at me. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Time for some compassion and maturity, Lexie. Your pride’s suffered a blow, but things turned out the way they were supposed to
.

I smiled. “Of course I forgive you, Al. Ah, here come our desserts.”

“I thought we’d talk a bit about female-to-male gender-crossing before discussing the plot of
To Love and Be Wise
.” I was happy my announcement met with nods of approval. This evening the members of the Golden Age of Mystery book club sat around Ron Alvarez’s high-beamed Adirondack-style living room on two very long couches. A fire roared in the stone fireplace that covered the entire wall behind me. We were a large group. Five new people, mostly high school teachers, had joined us.

With the exception of Evan, everyone from our last meeting was in attendance. I worried about him. Marge claimed he was baby sitting, then immediately went into raptures recounting some of Eloisa’s antics. Was this a ploy to avoid talking about her husband? Was Evan all right? Was he going to be arrested for grand larceny and spend time in prison? I knew Brian had spoken to him, but nothing else. I was totally in the dark regarding matters in my own backyard.

I continued. “Given Josephine Tey’s love for the theatre, it’s not very surprising to find gender-crossing in one of her novels. After all, Shakespeare uses gender disguise in four of his comedies: ‘Two Gentleman from Verona,’ ‘The Merchant of Venice,’ ‘As You Like it,’ and ‘Twelfth Night.’”

Ron let out a deep belly laugh. “Funny that, since in those days all the actors were men. Gender-crossing meant they were men pretending to be women pretending to be male. Confusing when you think about it.”

He was our host, so I ignored the interruption and merely fine-tuned his observation. “All actors in Shakespeare’s time
were
male, but young boys played the female roles.”

Ron winked at me as he put an arm around Viola’s shoulders. “I stand corrected.”

“Women posed and dressed as men in our Revolutionary and Civil Wars,” Joy said. “They had to, if they wanted to fight.”

Felicity, seated between Marge and Sadie, shivered. “How silly. Why would anyone
choose
to fight in a war?”

Across the wooden table, Corinne glared at her younger sister. “Because they were patriotic, that’s why. And wanted to fight for something they believed in.”

Oh-oh. Corinne wasn’t onboard with Felicity’s new life.

“Don’t forget the female pirates,” Viola added. “I bet they were a ferocious bunch.”

“Cross-gender impersonations go on today,” Marge pointed out. “Think of Robin Williams in ‘Mrs. Doubtfire’.”

“Hey, what about Dustin Hoffman in ‘Tootsie?” Joy said. “Mike and I saw it recently on Netflix.”

“That was one fantastic movie,” Carole, a Spanish teacher agreed. “Hoffman won an Oscar for that role.”

“No, he didn’t,” Marge corrected her. “Sidney Pollack got the award for Best Director.”

“Sorry, Marge,” Ron said with a grin. “Pollack was a candidate, but the only Oscar for ‘Tootsie’ went to Jessica Lange for Best Supporting Actress.”

I cleared my throat. “To get back on track, we’ve many examples of cross-gender roles, both in the arts and in real life. And while we’ve instances of men in drag and dressing as women, let’s stick to the topic of women pretending to be men. Why do you think they do it?”

Viola raised her hand. “That’s easy. Through the ages, men have always had the freedom to do as they please. Women were supposed to stay home and mind the babies.”

“While men risk their lives out in the big, bad world,” Ron said, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand.
They must have some sex life
, I thought.

“Hah!” Viola poked him in the ribs with her elbow. “I’m out in the world same as you are.”

“Nowadays, women are,” I said, “but think of Barbra Streisand in ‘Yentl’. She had to pretend to be a boy in order to study.”

The comments flew thick with examples. Someone pointed out that Anne Perry had written two mysteries with heroines pretending to be male. Finally, I cleared my throat.

“Getting back to our novel,
To Love and Be Wise.
If you’ll remember, the opening scene takes place at a party. It’s very much like the opening of a play, isn’t it?  Inspector Alan Grant is at a literary sherry party where he encounters a strikingly beautiful young man named Leslie Searle who wants to be introduced to the author, Lavinia Fitch. Leslie claims he really wants to meet Lavinia’s nephew, Walter Whitmore, because they have a dead friend in common. To Leslie’s delight, Lavinia invites him to stay at Trimmings, her estate in the country.

“And so Leslie Searle insinuates himself into the lives of the people at Trimmings. Who are they?”

“Lavinia’s sister, Emma, Emma’s stepdaughter Liz who is Lavinia’s secretary, and Walter,” Marge said. “Liz and Walter are engaged.”

“So they are,” I agreed. “Tell us about Walter.”

Corinne fielded that one. “He’s kind of a prig with a weekly radio show. He takes Liz for granted.”

I nodded. “And who is Marguerite Merriam?”

Ron unfolded his legs. “An actress Walter had been involved with. She killed herself after they broke up. She was also—“

I stopped him. “Let’s wait on that. Leslie Searle comes to stay at Trimmings, and causes quite a stir. He and Liz become fast friends, which makes Walter jealous, which is a brand new emotion for him.”

I paced in front of the wall on which hung a beautiful Navajo blanket. “Does everyone like Leslie?”

Felicity shook her head vehemently. “Emma can’t stand him. She’s afraid Leslie will ruin things between Liz and Walter.”

“Leslie is a photographer,” I continued. “He and Walter agree to do a book together. This involves spending a few days away from Trimmings. Leslie and Walter quarrel in a pub one night, and Leslie is never seen again. There’s speculation: did Walter kill Leslie? Did Liz’s stepmother kill Leslie?”

We went on to discuss the extraordinary turn of events, the cross-dressing aspect of the novel that Alan Grant uncovers, and why Marguerite Merriam is a vital element to the story.

Everyone had opinions they wanted to share. Eventually the conversation turned to the novel’s themes as they related to the members’ own lives and values. Most of the women thought it would be fun to masquerade as a man. Ron and the other two male teachers didn’t think they’d have much fun dressing as a woman.

“Too restricting,” Norman, a round, balding man in his forties claimed.

“You’re so right,” Corinne agreed. “Men are born with a sense of entitlement. Even in the twenty-first century. Do we have a woman president?” She turned to Joy. “A female head of the FBI? In some countries, women aren’t allowed to drive a car, let alone run their own lives.”

Marge spoke about a friend’s son who was married and liked to dress in his wife’s clothes. Why would someone do that? Viola wondered. This led to a lively discussion, which I had no desire to stop until I saw that Sadie’s eyes were closing. I hoped she wasn’t in pain.

“Getting back to the novel, would you say it ends on a positive note?”

“Absolutely!” Viola called out.

“All’s well that end’s well,” Ron seconded.

We broke for coffee and cake, then continued our discussion for another half hour.
The wonderful thing about Tey’s plots and characters,
I thought, as I devoured my third mini cannoli—Viola’s contribution—
is that nothing’s as it seemed. Leslie Searle’s performance is very much like a magician’s: detracting people while setting the stage for the real action. But Alan Grant’s a magician of another sort. He realizes events and circumstances surrounding Leslie Searle don’t ring true, so he chips away at facts, unearths others until he unravels Lee Searle’s story.

The meeting broke up shortly after. The new members thanked me and handed me my fee. Most everyone asked when we’d be meeting again.

“I’m not sure,” I answered each time. “I’ll email you as soon as I’ve decided.”  I didn’t know how much longer I’d be staying in Ryesdale. I had no doubt Al would let me continue to live in the house, but I was no longer his girlfriend and didn’t feel comfortable paying him such a ridiculously low rent. The truth was, except for Joy and Mike, nothing was keeping me here. I sighed. Maybe this was the universe’s way of telling me it was time to buy a home of my own.

Or time to move in with Brian.
Not that he’d asked me, but we were heading in that direction.

“Good discussion,” Joy said as she drove us home. “It got me thinking.”

“Thanks. Thinking about what?”

“How hard it still is for women to be promoted to jobs designated as male positions.”

“We’ve come a long way, baby. The president of my college is a woman.”

“So? There should be plenty of women presidents of universities. At least fifty per cent.” She gave me the eye. “Are there?”

“All right. I get your point.”

“I was kind of an oddity in the Bureau, given the type of assignments I proved I could handle.” Joy mused. “Even female criminals are in the minority. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not wishing there were more of them, but not as many women commit crimes as men.”

I laughed. “I’d say that’s a good thing, wouldn’t you?”

“Sure. Less criminals all around. But are there any female mob bosses? No, right? It’s the twenty-first century. Somehow, it doesn’t seem right.”

We rode the rest of the way in silence. Joy turned into my driveway and yanked up the emergency brake. “So, any thoughts?”

“About what?” I asked.

She glared at me. “The murders, what else? Have you forgotten?”

“For the moment,” I admitted.

“Well, I haven’t,” Joy said. “There’s a murderer out there, and he or she might be someone we know.”

“I never got a chance to tell you about seeing Evan the other day,” I said, and proceeded to do so.

Joy remained silent for minutes. “Stolen candlesticks,” she mused.

“And someone in the gang photographed poor Evan stealing them. I told Brian. As far as I know, Evan’s not in jail.”

Joy nodded. “Which means the cops plan to use him to take down the gang of thieves.”

I grimaced. “The poor guy’s caught in the middle because he wanted to rescue his grandchild. But why did the gang pick on him?”

“Could be to get back at him for not paying the additional ten thousand dollars.”

“I’d like to find out. It so unfair.”

Joy glared at me. “Unfair or not, you’re not planning on asking Evan.”

“Of course not.”

“And keep away from that warehouse. I hate to think of what those creeps would do if they found you snooping around.”

“I’ve no intention of doing anything that dumb,” I said frostily. I opened the car door and bid her good night.

The warehouse had turned into a lightning rod for me. After classes on Thursday, I drove to the pet warehouse to buy Puss a box of treats, which the fat cat certainly didn’t need. Afterward, I circled around the parked cars, swinging as close to the other warehouse as I dared. The place looked deserted. The steel doors were closed, and since there were no windows facing the parking lot, I couldn’t see if there were lights on inside. I nosed the car around the side, careful to avoid the range of what I now knew was a surveillance camera. No vehicles were in sight. Ferocious barking broke out from inside the building. Startled, I stepped on the accelerator and stopped just in time to avoid crashing into the cement retaining wall. The barking grew more frenzied. Judging by the commotion, I figured at least three large dogs were inside guarding the stolen goods.

I returned late the following afternoon, telling myself there had to be
some
activity eventually. Now it was dark enough so any light from inside would be visible through the small side window. The barking started up as soon as I approached, but I saw no light or sign of occupancy.

Why was I drawn to the warehouse?
Why was so I intent on catching sight of some of the other gang members?
Because both murder victims, Tim and Len Lyons, had tie-ins with local criminals. Which meant they probably had tie-ins with this gang of thieves. Hell, how many more criminals were there in Ryesdale? I knew I was missing a link in the connection, but I had no idea who or what it might be.