While I waited for the ferocious pressure in my skull to subside, I thought about Aunt Winnie. Although she had tried to hide it, she had taken our disappointing interview with Jackie pretty hard—we all had. On a certain level, we had assumed that given Jackie’s extraordinary ability to know everything about everyone, she would provide a vital piece for our puzzle. I had wanted to keep Detective Stewart’s increased suspicions from Aunt Winnie, but it seemed folly to do so in light of the fact that the reflective tape had been found in her office. It suggested to all three of us that someone was trying to frame her. After I’d gotten back from my meeting with Detective Stewart, Aunt Winnie, Peter, and I had sat in the kitchen drinking coffee and trying to think of who could be behind this. We found ourselves exactly where we had been in the beginning, with a handful of suspects and no real evidence against any one of them.
It was well after midnight when we trudged off to bed, depressed and tired. Our best hope in deflecting the police’s attention away from Aunt Winnie had been the necklace. Unfortunately, this appeared inconsequential to the police in light of Aunt Winnie’s past. We had been left with two absolutes: that the police suspected Aunt Winnie of murdering Gerald, and that the real killer was still out there. It had made for an unsettling night.
When the light no longer made me wince in pain, I gingerly eased myself out of bed. Normally, I loved watching the cool early morning light play across the glossy wood floor, but not today. Today the light merely seemed intent on tormenting me. I dressed sluggishly and crept downstairs to start breakfast. On the stairs, my foot came into contact with something hard. It was Henry’s watch—again. I picked it up and continued down.
Pushing open the kitchen door, grown somehow heavier since last night, I staggered into the kitchen. Peter and Aunt Winnie were busily moving about. “Morning,” I said. At the sound of my voice, which even to my ears sounded like a wounded frog, both of them spun around.
“Jesus!” said Peter. I gathered I didn’t sparkle. He stared at me, mouth open. A forgotten wooden spoon in his hand dripped batter onto the floor.
“Honey?” said Aunt Winnie, coming toward me. “Are you okay? You look terrible.”
“Headache,” I mumbled.
“Oh, sweetie,” she said, rubbing her hand lightly up and down my arm. “I forgot how this kind of weather affects you. No wonder you feel rotten—they’re predicting quite a storm. Here, have a seat.” She gently guided me to one of the toile-covered chairs. The cheerful pattern seemed suddenly garish and loud.
I glanced out the kitchen window. The sky was dark and heavy with low, fat clouds. Paring my speech down to the essentials, I asked, “When?” Aspirin helped some, but the only real relief would come when the storm started.
“Not until this afternoon, I’m afraid,” said Aunt Winnie with real sympathy.
Great. I had several more hours of this to look forward to. Aunt Winnie shoved a cup of coffee in my hand—a bright purple cup that blared in pink letters SASSY, SEXY, AND SEVENTY. I tossed Henry’s watch onto the table and took a grateful sip.
“Why don’t you go back to bed?” she asked. “Peter and I can handle this.”
I took another mouthful of the hot coffee and rubbed my hand across my face. “No,” I said. “I’ll be okay. I think the aspirin is starting to kick in. Besides, didn’t we agree last night that you were going to sleep in and Peter and I would handle breakfast?”
“Thank you,” Peter chimed in with a weary voice. Pointing the wooden spoon accusingly at Aunt Winnie, he said, “I’ve been trying to convince her of that all morning.” More batter dripped onto the wood floor.
Aunt Winnie shook her head. “I remember you two agreeing that I would sleep in. What I don’t remember is my agreeing to it.” She slammed the refrigerator door shut. Sticking her jaw out defiantly, she continued, “What’s the point of running an inn if you don’t run it? This is still my place, thank you very much, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to hide in my room every time something unpleasant happens. I can handle this.”
Her words were strong, but they were belied by her appearance. As debilitating as my headache was, it hadn’t prevented me from noticing the dark circles under her eyes or her pale, pasty complexion.
“Aunt Winnie—” I began.
“No, Elizabeth,” she said, cutting me off. “I know you mean well—that you both mean well,” she amended, turning to Peter, “but I don’t treat you like children and order you back to your rooms.” She stopped and gave me a meaningful look before adding, “Even when you clearly need to be there.” She paused. “All I ask is that you afford me the same respect.”
Peter spoke first. “I’m sorry, Aunt Winnie. You’re right. We didn’t mean to be obnoxious,” he said, the spoon hanging forlornly by his side. Lady Catherine, never far from the food preparations, snaked around his ankles. Her small pink tongue darted out to lick the spilled batter.
“We’re just worried about you,” I added.
“I know,” she said. “But I’m going to be fine. We all will be. Now, Peter, give me that spoon before you make more of a mess of this kitchen and drip batter onto Lady Catherine’s fur.”
I really wanted to believe her, but it’s hard to be optimistic when your head feels like it’s being held together with defective tape.
After cleaning up the batter, the three of us prepped the breakfast. Aunt Winnie put together the cereals, Peter ground the coffee, and I took over the muffins. As I placed a tray of blueberry muffin batter into the oven, I said, “You know, before this weekend, I never really cooked. But I think I’m starting to get the hang of it.”
“Yes,” Peter said, leaning down to change the oven’s setting from broil to bake. “You’re becoming a regular pro.” He winked at me when he said this and gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze.
Joan and Henry were already in the reading room when I carried in the breakfast tray. So was Daniel. What surprised me was Polly standing next to him. Her jet-black hair was still pulled back into a tortoiseshell headband, but she had traded in her usual shapeless ankle-length dress for jeans and a black turtleneck. Against so much black, her freshly scrubbed face appeared young and vulnerable. Unconsciously, my own eyes slid to the room’s mirror to seek out my reflection. The vision that stared back at me was anything but dewy fresh. In fact, I looked like something that sucked the life out of dewy fresh things.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” Polly said with a small smile. “I hope you don’t mind me barging in on breakfast, but Daniel and I are running some errands today. We want to get an early start before the storm hits.”
“Not at all. Help yourself,” I said.
Daniel had been staring at me since I’d walked into the room. His expression was not one of admiration. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, as he lifted a muffin from the tray, “but you look like you’ve been dragged through the hedge backward.”
“I have a headache.”
“I’d say the headache was having you,” he offered before walking away. Polly poured herself a cup of coffee and followed.
I was setting everything out when Joan appeared next to me. She was dressed in a fisherman’s sweater and brown corduroy slacks, and her unruly red hair was pulled back into a simple bun. A stranger would be hard-pressed to guess that this refined-looking woman with the delicate features was involved in a murder investigation. But as she peered at me from behind her glasses, I could see that her eyes were worried. What was Joan Anderson’s secret? And how did it relate to Gerald’s murder?
My head was throbbing and I no longer had any patience for subtleties. “I meant to tell you, I found Henry’s watch. I also found a necklace. You didn’t lose one, by chance, did you?”