No Mortal Reason (10 page)

“Did you have an interesting morning?” she asked him.

“Informative. I’ve arranged for a rig from the livery stable. If it’s agreeable to you, we can leave here after luncheon and be in New York City by—”

“I can’t leave now!”

“Diana, you must see that this is not a good time for a family reunion. Your uncle is in the midst of a business venture that is likely to fail. He has no support from the town. Indeed, there seems to be active opposition to his plans. You don’t want to be caught in the middle of that. And then there’s this matter of the body. There can’t help but be trouble over it. This town is too small for there not to be. What possible reason could you have for wanting to stay when you have the option of coming back later, after things settle down?”

“Horatio Foxe wants a story on Elly Lyseth’s murder.”

Ben looked as if he’d just had a door slammed in his face. “There’s no proof it was—”

“Her death, then, and finding her remains.”

“How did he hear about that? And so fast? Did you—?”

“No, I did not!”

“Well, then?”

She shrugged. “He’s been following reports of a murder that took place in this area last October. At a guess, his contact at the county jail sent him word of our discovery. I’d honestly forgotten all about Foxe’s interest in the ‘Sailor Jack’ story until this telegram arrived.”

She handed the slip of paper to Ben with an apologetic look and watched his face while he read it. He was displeased by her decision. Worse, she was not certain he believed her explanation.

“I expect that Mr. Buckley notified the sheriff before coming out here last night,” Diana said. “It wouldn’t take long to send a telegram from Liberty to the county seat in Monticello or from Monticello to Manhattan or from Manhattan back to Liberty and on to me.”

“Why can’t Foxe’s contact in Monticello handle this?”

“Because whoever his source of information is, that person is not a journalist. Most likely it’s one of the jailers, or perhaps someone in the county clerk’s office. No one in a position to write about Elly Lyseth. He needs me for that.” She put one hand on Ben’s forearm and smiled up at him, but got only a glare in return.

“And Foxe knew you were here because . . . ?”

“I wrote to him before we left Denver. When we stopped in New York on our way to Maine, I’d planned to have a final interview with him.”

“In which you were going to resign?”

“Well, no.” She looked away, out at the view of the mountains. The sky was overcast again. Threatening clouds took away any sense of peace the vista might have offered. “I’d intended to talk to him about writing more travel articles, and perhaps a few interviews with some of your state’s summer residents. I understand there are a good many wealthy businessmen who own property on the coast of Maine.”

Ben caught her chin with both hands and gently tilted her face upwards until she had to meet his eyes. “Diana, you know you don’t need to worry about making your own living any more. We’ll be married in a matter of weeks, after which I’ll provide for you for the rest of your life. That’s what husbands do.”

Sincerity radiated from him, but what she saw in his expression was a mixture of love and frustration. “Not all husbands. Besides, I want to work.”

Diana loved Ben Northcote, but she needed to keep a small bit of independence, and control of her own income. Until now, she hadn’t thought Ben had any real objection to having a wife who worked, except for wishing that she’d chosen some other employer.

“Perhaps you could write for the
Whig and Courier
,” Ben suggested, naming one of Bangor, Maine’s newspapers.

“I already have an assignment,” she said in the gentlest voice she could manage.

“Let it go, Diana. Tell Foxe to send someone else to cover the story.”

“How can I?” She slipped free of his loose embrace and began to pace. “You know there’s something wrong about that girl’s death. She was murdered, Ben. That it happened ten years ago shouldn’t matter. She deserves justice.”

“That it happened ten years ago makes it impossible to find her killer.” He reached for her but she eluded his clutches.

“Not necessarily. This is a small town. People stay put. And if any do leave, their neighbors know about it.”

“Do you hear yourself? You aren’t a detective, Diana. You wrote articles about crime while you were in New York. You interviewed a few police officers. That doesn’t qualify you to investigate a murder.”

She whirled to face him, temper flaring. “I have, in my bumbling way, managed to bring one or two criminals to justice!” Really! The man was insufferable when he got on his high horse.

“And you almost got yourself killed doing it,” Ben shot back.

Hands on hips, she glared at him. “I’m still here. I prevailed.”

He glared back, but he kept his distance. “It was a near thing. Twice now, I’ve almost lost you. Do you think I’ll allow you to put yourself at risk like that again? I love you, Diana,” he shouted. “For your own good, we must leave here.”

Allow
her? The rest of what he’d said made no impression once she heard those words. How dare he speak to her as if she were his to control? She was not his child. Or his dog.
Or
his wife.

“I’ve made my decision!” she shouted back, so furious she could hardly see straight. “With you or without you, I’m staying right here until I know who killed that poor innocent girl!”

Chapter Five

When Diana swept out of the room without speaking another word, Ben started to chase after her, then thought better of it. They both needed time to calm down.

He could feel the pulse in his neck throbbing, always a bad sign. He took deep breaths, but that didn’t seem to help. She was comparing him to Evan Spaulding again. Nothing annoyed him quite so much. But the real irony of the situation was that, this time, it was his own fault. He knew better than to issue commands around Diana. Ben flung himself into a chair and let his head fall back against the antimacassar.

Spaulding had been arbitrary and controlling. At least, Ben thought, he didn’t share the cad’s other faults. Spaulding had been an actor—irresponsible, self-centered, and difficult to live with. He’d thought nothing of taking Diana into the worst sort of neighborhood. Not only had she accompanied him on tour, staying in cheap hotels and spending endless hours on trains, but on occasion he’d dragged her with him into gambling dens. That he’d died in one, to Ben’s mind, had been poetic justice.

But Spaulding had left behind a legacy. His behavior toward his wife had made Diana slow to trust another man. His weakness of character had obliged her to become strong and, after his death, self-sufficient. Unlike most women, she didn’t think she
needed
a husband, but Ben had thought he’d convinced her she
wanted
one.

He lifted the telegram he still held and stared at it. He could do nothing about Evan Spaulding. The man was already dead. Horatio Foxe was another matter entirely.

At their last meeting, Foxe had been all too willing to help Ben’s cause, but he’d had an ulterior motive. It was always the headlines with Foxe, and the more scandal-filled the better. Now that Ben thought about it, he was not really surprised that the Manhattan editor kept track of murders all over New York state. Anything to sell more newspapers than his rivals at the
Times
and
Tribune
and
World
.

Diana readily acknowledged that she’d more than repaid Foxe for all he’d done for her—giving her a job after Spaulding’s death, for one thing—but Ben knew she still felt a certain obligation to honor his requests. It was a matter of friendship, he supposed, and of loyalty, both admirable qualities. Foxe’s sister, Rowena, had been Diana’s closest friend at school. Diana had thought of Foxe as a surrogate brother before she’d gone to work for him.

Ben sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and let his hands dangle loosely between them. The telegram, now sadly crumpled, fell to the carpet, For a time, he stared, unseeing, at the pattern of roses on the rug, wondering if Diana would ever be free of her sense of obligation to Horatio Foxe. In a marriage, the wife was supposed to obey her husband in all things. It was right there in the wedding vows. What a pity he could not simply forbid her all further contact with her editor.

Abashed by the thought, Ben straightened abruptly. It was a good thing he hadn’t put those feelings into words while Diana was still in the room. And if his mother ever found out he’d entertained such a notion, even for a moment, she’d have his guts for garters. That was the low phrase Maggie Northcote would use, too, Ben thought. She delighted in trying to shock people.

Ben rubbed the bridge of his nose, struggling to see the situation from Diana’s point of view. She obviously thought he’d overreacted to her acceptance of the assignment. He had to admit that there did not appear to be any physical danger to her here in Lenape Springs. He wanted to take her away as much to avoid an ugly scene with Myron Grant as to protect her from harm. It would be only a matter of time before Grant found out who she was. Diana was a terrible liar.

Ben’s hands clenched into fists, but he was angry at himself, not Diana. He was the one who’d forced her to complicate her lie. Every argument he’d used to convince her they should pose as husband and wife was still valid, but he could see now that he’d made a mistake by not consulting her first. He hadn’t had the right to make that decision for her.

He hadn’t really consulted her about leaving here, either. Oh, he’d mentioned the possibility last night, but the plan had been to discuss the matter this morning. He’d jumped the gun, assuming she’d see things his way. And when she’d sprung Horatio Foxe on him, he’d overreacted. His strident opposition to Diana’s plans had left her no room for compromise. Every word he’d spoken had made her even more stubbornly determined to go her own way. Worse, by now she had probably convinced herself that he’d be just as undesirable a husband as the man she’d eloped with all those years ago.

Don’t think about Spaulding!

Aware that his strong feelings about Diana’s late husband always muddled his thinking and knowing that he’d be unable to escape them if he sat there brooding, Ben rose and left the suite. It was time to find Diana—time to grovel, if necessary.

If she was determined to solve Elly Lyseth’s murder and give Foxe his story, then he would help her. His offer of support would prove to her that he could tolerate her job. And working with her would make it possible to protect her. It would keep him constantly by her side. He only hoped that, this time, she wouldn’t get too close to the truth for a killer’s comfort and put herself in mortal danger.

A few minutes later, Ben found Diana in the small writing room off the lobby. She was seated at a ladies’ desk, bent over a piece of writing. Ben was certain she heard him come in, but she did not look up. She appeared to be making a list.

“Suspects?” he asked.

“Yes.” She still sounded annoyed.

“May I see what you have so far?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to help.”

“You’re staying?”

“There was never any question of my leaving alone. We’re in this together, Diana. The investigation of the murder
and
the rest of our lives.”

Although she continued to avoid his eyes, she had to clear her throat before she could speak. He took heart from the notion that she was momentarily overwhelmed by gentler emotions . . . but he didn’t press his luck by saying anything more.

“I’m working on the assumption that Elly was involved in a secret romance with Howd,” she said, recovering.

“No one seems to have known he gave her that locket.” Ben came farther into the room, closing the door behind him, and settled into a chair by the window. “And it was heart-shaped.”

“Did you see what was inside it?”

“I didn’t get the opportunity. The coroner has it now.”

“I want to keep an open mind, but all that secrecy is a motive of sorts. Perhaps she became too demanding and he killed her rather than marry her. Or, there could have been an accident during a lovers’ spat.” She looked directly at Ben at last. “Do you think he killed her?”

“I’m relatively certain he didn’t. He was shocked to recognize the locket. Still, that might simply have been surprise that the bones were found at all. If he set the fire to hide his crime, he probably thought there’d be nothing left.”

“When did the fire break out?”

“Apparently it was a few days later. It’s the fact that there was a fire at all that makes the whole affair so suspicious.”

“You think it was set to get rid of the body?” An eager light in her eyes, she awaited his opinion, appreciative of his expertise in such matters.

What a way to woo a woman, Ben thought. But he was willing to do whatever worked. “It was a miscalculation if it was. Heat and flames rise. The floor was scorched but intact and the body, further protected by the damp ground, wasn’t damaged in the blaze. It was pure chance that she wasn’t found back then.”

“Deliberately setting a fire doesn’t make much sense. The entire hotel might have burned to the ground. Howd wouldn’t do that to his own family. Perhaps it was sheer coincidence. And an accident.”

“You don’t want Howd Grant to be guilty.”

“I like him, “Diana said. “So do you.”

“I’ve barely met the man,” Ben objected. “Neither of us knows much about him. Or about anyone here.”

She wasn’t listening. “Howd knew Elly had the locket,” she mused, “and that it might be recognized. If he killed her, he’d have taken it away with him.”

“Murderers aren’t always logical, Diana. A man doesn’t think very clearly right after he’s killed someone.”

“What if Howd didn’t realize she was wearing the necklace? It could have been hidden by her clothing.”

“Keep Howd on your list,” Ben advised, “if only so you can prove him innocent. Who else have you considered?”

“Elly Lyseth’s parents,” Diana said promptly. “Perhaps she provoked her mother to a fit of rage because she tried to leave town. Or maybe they found out about her secret romance with Howd.”