A Three Book Problem, page 18
“Is there the possibility of a Sherlock Holmes tie-in?”
“Sherlockians can tie their hero to just about anything, but in this case the answer is obvious. In The Sign of Four the murder’s committed by a poisoned dart fired from a blowgun.”
“You think the killer was sending a message?”
“If so, the message completely escapes me. I can see no similarities of any sort between David and his circle and the events and characters in the book, and David didn’t behave in any way like a man in fear for his life. Then again, the message, if there was one, was not directed at me.” I closed my eyes again. “It was eleven o’clock in the morning, and everyone was up and about. The house was full, and we’d all returned from a walk only a short time before. It was a lovely day, so anyone might have gone outside again for some air. Maybe even the scullery maid, also known as you.”
“And wasn’t it embarrassing to have to put on the incident report why I was on the scene so quickly.”
I smiled but didn’t open my eyes. “Our killer carried this strange-looking weapon, the sort of thing that would have anyone asking ‘What’s that then?’ out of the house and across the property. Don’t feed your pizza crusts to Violet and Peony.”
“How’d you know—?”
“I detect an abrupt change in Violet’s breathing and the scratching of Peony’s claws as he hastens to your side. The blowgun, therefore, must have been concealed. Carrying a suitcase or a backpack around the property would attract attention. It was, therefore, hidden in something that would not attract attention, but from which it could be extracted instantly and silently when needed.” I opened my eyes. “A walking stick.”
“A what?”
“A walking stick.” I tapped the photograph. “This device is thin enough to slide inside a gentleman’s walking stick.”
“They’re hollow?”
“Not normally, but they can be made so. As can the handles of ladies’ parasols. Don’t you ever watch historical adventure movies?”
“Obviously not enough. Okay, so who had a walking stick or parasol?”
“David himself, plus Donald and Steve had walking sticks. Miranda carried a parasol. We can’t forget modern umbrellas either. It’s the rainy season in New England. It rained later in the day on Saturday, so having an umbrella wouldn’t have been entirely out of place. Come to think of it, Jayne keeps an umbrella in the van, although I doubt hers has been custom-made to fit a sword or even a blowgun.”
“I’ll send someone around to the house to look at these parasols and sticks,” Ryan said.
“You might get lucky.” I pointed to the picture. “But that thing is small enough to slip in the waistband of a pair of trousers or a skirt and be concealed under a loose jacket. It was not a hot day, and no one would have glanced twice at someone who’d pulled on a jacket or sweater before venturing outside. We’ve ascertained that the blowgun was the instrument of delivery. What have you learned about what was on that dart? We originally suspected strychnine. Was that it?”
“Yes, strychnine. Traces were found on the dart, and the autopsy results confirm it. He died, as you know, within minutes of being hit.”
I took a breath. Not a nice way to go.
“You okay?” Ryan asked.
“I will be.” I pointed to the photograph on the table. “How difficult, do you think, is it to use one of these things with any degree of accuracy?”
“From the quick reading I’ve done, not difficult at all. They’re capable of hitting birds in trees, but I’d think that to hit the target spot on with one shot from that distance would require practice.”
“You’re looking for a man, or for a woman who has had a great deal of practice.”
“Why do you say that?”
I puckered my lips and blew out a stream of air. “It would be a matter of lung capacity. Sufficient air needs to be stored in the lungs and then expelled in one great breath. No huffing and puffing. Men have larger chests and weigh more, on average, than women, so they have greater lung capacity. None of the women at the house this weekend are at all stout. Rebecca’s positively tiny, Miranda unnaturally thin. Annie and Jennifer, in particular, are what’s considered overweight in modern society, but that has nothing to do with the size of their frame. Did you learn anything else?”
“David was in reasonably good health, despite being substantially overweight. He was at risk of developing heart disease and diabetes, but not for some years yet, the pathologist says. And that’s about it. No sign of drug use or excessive alcohol consumption. Do you want the last slice of pizza?”
“Help yourself. Have you had contact yet with a man by the name of Daniel Steiner?”
Ryan chewed and shook his head. “That’s the name of the owner of Suffolk House. No, I haven’t met the man. Should I?”
“I suspect you soon will.” I filled him in on what Irene told me about threats to her and the newspaper.
“More complications.”
I got to my feet and gathered up the dishes and the cardboard box, empty but for chunks of broken crust.
Ryan stood also. “I have to be going.”
“One more quick question, If I may.”
“Shoot.”
“Bad choice of words. Any sign of an intruder onto the grounds of Suffolk House?”
“Nothing. The property’s gated and fully fenced, but most of it’s a plain wire fence, and in some places it’s showing signs of wear and not being repaired. The gate was open when the first responders arrived, and Billy Belray, who met them at the house, told the officers it hadn’t been closed at any time, to his knowledge.”
I nodded. The gate had been wide open when we first arrived.
“If someone didn’t want to chance being seen coming in by the main entrance, the fence wouldn’t have kept them out, but scrambling over a fence usually leaves some signs and we didn’t find anything.”
“It leaves signs, yes. Signs can be erased.”
“So they can, Gemma. So they can.” He pulled me to him and kissed my forehead. “You take care.”
“Don’t I always?”
He left, still chuckling.
Chapter Twelve
“Have a nice time last night?” I asked Jayne.
“We did. Andy came around with leftovers from the restaurant. Yummy.” She sighed happily. Jayne has always been a happy person, happy and beautiful. But since her engagement to Andy a glow had settled around her. At times, I felt something close to envy.
I was also feeling rather proud of myself. I’d always known Andy was the one for Jayne, and I stood patiently by while she went through one unsuitable boyfriend after another.
Maybe not entirely patiently, I had to admit. But they’d eventually found their way to each other and that made me happy too. “You sure you’re okay? I wasn’t with David when he died, Jayne, but you were. You toughed it out for the rest of the weekend, but these things can catch you by surprise at unexpected moments.”
She leaned over the table and put her hand on top of mine. Her blue eyes looked into mine. “Thanks for caring, Gemma. Yeah, I had a few hard moments when I told Andy about it. But he was there for me, and I know you’re here for me, and so I’m okay.”
It was four o’clock, and Jayne and I were having our daily partners’ meeting at the table in the light-filled window alcove of Mrs. Hudson’s over a pot of tea and whatever remained from afternoon tea. Today Jayne had produced open-faced roast beef crostini, cucumber sandwiches, and raspberry tarts and buttery squares of shortbread.
Jayne poured the tea and offered me a cup. “Louise Estrada was in earlier.”
“On police business?”
“Yes. I bribed her with tea and a scone.”
“Excellent plan. What did she want?”
“She showed me a picture of a blowgun, of all things, and asked if I’d seen one like it recently.”
“Had you?”
“No. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. I guess I assumed whoever it was had thrown the dart at David.”
“The blowgun gives more strength and accuracy, if you know how to use it. I called Ryan last night and suggested he check out everyone’s homes and property for signs of blowgun practice.”
“What did he say to that?”
“That the police don’t have unlimited resources.”
“Well, they should have when a man’s been murdered,” Jayne said. “I was surprised you were in the store all day today. I’d have thought you’d have gone around to Suffolk Gardens and be crawling through the bushes, examining the ground with a magnifying glass, interrogating the suspects. Why weren’t you?”
“Because I don’t own a magnifying glass, and because the police are handling the case, Jayne, not me, and I don’t think Rebecca or Miranda would be happy with me interrogating them, as you call it. We were at the scene when David was attacked, and that makes us witnesses. I’ll admit to a certain amount of curiosity, and as long as I was on the property anyway, I poked around to see if the police missed anything of importance. Otherwise the police in general, and Ryan in particular, are more than capable of doing all that poking and investigating and interrogating stuff, and they have resources I do not.”
“But you’ve involved yourself in their cases before. What’s different this time?”
“In the incidents to which you’re referring, I didn’t like the direction in which their investigation was heading or someone close to me was under suspicion.”
“Like that time they thought it was my mom, of all people.”
“Or the time they, Louise anyway, thought it was me. No, this time I will advise the police if they want my advice. Nothing more.”
Jayne might have muttered, “That won’t last long,” but I pretended not to hear and said, “Jennifer came into the Emporium earlier.”
“Did she? I don’t suppose she said anything about David’s death?”
“We were busy at the time so didn’t have a chance to talk. She bought a lot. Stacks of books, brain games and puzzles, some of the I-Am-Sherlocked mugs, and other trinkets.”
“Why’s she hanging around West London?” Jayne asked.
“Other than a couple of the books, she asked me to have her purchases delivered to her parents’ house in Los Angeles. She walked away from her entire life in California and moved here to be with David. It might not have been a wise thing to do, and I suspect her parents told her so, not for a man she’d never met in person, but here she is. Lost and alone and lonely. I invited her to drop in here for tea after her shopping trip, but she said she’d save that treat for another time. I wanted to suggest she go back to California and try to get her job back, but I didn’t think she’d welcome my advice.”
Jayne grinned at me. “You’re learning!”
“What am I learning?”
She was prevented from answering by the sound of tapping on the door. The tea room was closed, the last of the satisfied customers had left, and Fiona and Jocelyn were cleaning up. Irene waved at us through the door.
“Might as well let her in,” I said to Fiona.
Irene dropped onto the bench seat next to Jayne. “No tea for me, thanks, but I’ll have a coffee if you haven’t emptied the pot, Fee.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” Fiona said.
“Great. And a couple of those sandwiches wouldn’t go amiss.” She took a cucumber one off the plate in the center of the table. “Didn’t have time for lunch. A blowgun. Who would have thought it?”
The cucumber sandwiches are my favorite. I love the way Jayne makes them with a touch of mayonnaise and chopped fresh herbs. I snatched the last one before Irene could get it. I said nothing.
“It’s not a secret anymore,” Irene said. “Ryan came around to my place last night and showed me a picture of something they found in the bushes at Suffolk Gardens. He asked me if I saw anything like it when I was there.”
“Did you?” Jayne asked.
“No, and I told him so. Obviously, the police are now acting on the assumption this thing was used to kill David Masterson. Meaning he was murdered, and somehow a blowgun was involved.” She smiled at me.
I took a bite of my sandwich.
“It might not be a secret from you any longer,” Jayne said, “but I’ll take a wild guess Ryan told you that information is not to appear in the paper.”
“Not yet, but in order to be ready when I can use it, I’ve been looking into those things. They’re readily available and the smaller ones are sold as kids’ toys. Like for shooting darts at targets.” She eyed me. “What sort of a hit would you get from a toy dart that would prove fatal to a grown man?”
I leaned back to allow Fiona to put a cup of coffee in front of Irene and another plate on the table. I was highly disappointed not to see any more cucumber sandwiches.
“I know you know, Gemma,” Irene said.
I said nothing.
“And if you know, then Jayne knows.”
Jayne clamped her lips tightly together.
“And if Jayne knows,” Irene said, “I can get it out of her.”
“You can not!” Jayne said.
“So you do know.”
Jayne threw me a panicked look.
“What brings you here, Irene?” I asked. “Aside from wanting a free lunch, that is.”
“Would you be able to go to Suffolk Gardens this afternoon in my place?”
“Me? Why would you want me to do that? I can’t. I’m busy. I have a business to run.”
“So I see,” she said, eyeing my teacup.
“Even small business owners are allowed a tea break once a day. What’s happening at the house, and why don’t you go?”
“I called Rebecca about an hour ago, just to check in. To be friendly.”
“Right.”
“I can be friendly, Gemma. She told me Daniel Steiner’s coming around at five today to meet her and invited me to join them.”
“Is that so?”
“Who’s Daniel Steiner?” Jayne asked.
“The owner of Suffolk Gardens House,” Irene said. “He’s hoping she’ll buy the place.”
“She’s thinking of making a major investment two days after the death of her husband?” Jayne said. “I can’t see that that’s a good idea.”
“It’s not,” I said. “And he knows it, thus he needs to move fast before she comes to her senses. I’m assuming you’ve decided not to go, Irene, because of the threats he made against you and the paper.”
“He made threats against Irene? What sort of threats?” Jayne asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” I said.
“I’d love nothing more than to have a good old-fashioned face-to-face confrontation with the manipulating jerk,” Irene admitted. “But such might not be wise.”
“I assume your editor told you to stay away from him?”
“You assume correctly.” Irene bit into a tart as though wishing it was Daniel Steiner’s head. Or maybe her editor’s.
“Tell me about the laws of inheritance in America,” I asked Jayne.
“I don’t know anything about that. When my dad died, my mom naturally got everything. She didn’t even get it, she kept it, because it was hers, too. I guess when she dies, my brother and I’ll get it. Not that she has much to leave us, other than the house.”
“It varies by state,” Irene said. “I know a little about how it works in Massachusetts but not New York. What do you want to know?”
“Can a person disinherit their spouse?”
“I covered a case like that several years ago when I worked in Boston. The answer is yes, but. A married person can attempt to cut their spouse out of the will, but a wife, or a husband, has rights of inheritance. They can petition the court to have the will overturned and themselves granted an appropriate share of the estate. It’s up to the courts to determine what the appropriate share might be, and that can be a complicated, not to mention potentially expensive and acrimonious, legal procedure. I assume you’re asking because you’re wondering where Rebecca stands.”
“I am.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “One way to find out.” I called up the ever-helpful Mr. Google and searched quickly. “Seems to be much the same in New York. A spouse has rights to at least one-third of the deceased’s estate regardless of the provisions of the will. However, there are always exceptions and complications and it seems as though a prenup might be able to invalidate that provision. I have no way of knowing, drat, if Rebecca and David signed such a prenup.” I drained my teacup. “I will have to act on the assumption that she expects to inherit something, if not all of it. If you insist, I’ll drop around to the house.”
“I thought you weren’t investigating,” Jayne said.
“I’m not. I’m doing my friend Irene a favor and at the same time paying a friendly condolence call on the grieving widow.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Want to come?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Thanks, Gemma,” Irene said. “Let me know your take on this Steiner guy.”
“I’ll tell Ashleigh I’m going out for a while and meet you in the kitchen, Jayne.”
Irene and I reached for the last piece of shortbread at the same time. She was fractionally faster and snatched it up, giving me an evil grin.
I pretended I didn’t mind and slipped through the sliding door that joins the two businesses. “Ashleigh, I—”
“Okay. Got it. You’re going out. Back before closing, but if you’re not I can lock up myself.” She stroked Moriarty, who’d leapt onto the sales counter in order to be party to the conversation.
“How did you know that’s what I was going to say?”
“A man died a couple of days ago, and the police haven’t solved it yet. Irene came into Mrs. Hudson’s and you huddled together over your tea and sandwiches. I can tell when you’re plotting. Can’t I, Moriarty? Yes, I can.”
“Uh, okay,” I said. “Carry on.”
Chapter Thirteen
