After a few more questions, Detective Stewart asked Linnet to identify the body. “I am sorry to have to ask you to do this, but as you are probably the closest thing to a next of kin …” His words trailed off.
“I understand, Detective,” she said, standing up. “I’m ready.” She was still holding my hand. From the death grip she had on it, it was clear that she had no intention of letting it go.
Together we followed Detective Stewart to the sunroom. Thrown over a chair was Jackie’s gigantic afghan with its cheerful stripes of white, green, and blue. Had she been happily working on it when her killer came? I turned away, sick. As we approached the side door, my throat constricted. I felt as if I were trying to breathe through a straw. Linnet showed no sign of letting go of my hand. I continued forward.
The body still lay where I had found it, although a white sheet now covered it. Detective Stewart walked over and pulled the sheet back. The blue hat fell limply to one side, revealing the sparse white hair that Jackie had so carefully hidden with her hats. I averted my eyes; I simply couldn’t stomach another viewing. Beside me, Linnet jerked her hand up to her mouth. “Jackie,” she moaned.
Detective Stewart looked up at her. “Is this Ms. Tanner?”
Linnet nodded, her hand still pressed to her mouth and her eyes riveted on the body. I gently turned her away and helped her back inside. “I think I’d like to lie down now,” she said, her voice small. I walked her up the stairs. Her movements were slow and unsteady. At the top landing, she paused as if unsure of her surroundings. Fearing that she might be in shock, I steered her in the direction of her room. She sank heavily onto the bed and flung her arm across her face.
“Would you like me to call a doctor?” I asked.
She shook her head. I sat beside her on the bed for a moment before going back downstairs.
Detective Stewart was waiting for me. “How is she?”
“Okay, I guess, but you probably should have one of the paramedics check her out. She’s had a pretty nasty shock.” So had I, for that matter.
“What was their relationship like?” he asked. “Did she have anything to gain by Ms. Tanner’s death?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “This house is owned by Mrs. Westin. From what I gather, Jackie was down on her luck and Mrs. Westin invited her to live here as a kind of companion.”
“Did they get along?”
“As far as I could tell. I think Mrs. Westin lorded it over Jackie from time to time that she was here out of charity, and I think she sometimes treated her a bit shabbily. But I never saw Jackie get upset because of it.”
Detective Stewart nodded slowly, his mouth a tight line. Lost in thought, he turned and walked away toward the back of the house, slapping his battered notebook against his thigh as he went.
CHAPTER 21
One reason I don’t drink is that I want to know when
I’m having a good time.
—NANCY ASTOR
IT WAS LATE afternoon when I got back to the inn. I had called Aunt Winnie and told her about Jackie, so she and Peter were waiting for me. Randy was there, too. Pushing past them, I headed for the drink cart with a determined stride. I had never been much of a drinker, but tonight I thought I could become one.
“Elizabeth! What a hellish thing for you to go through,” said Aunt Winnie, trailing after me. “Do the police know what happened?”
“Someone killed her,” I said numbly. “Beat her to death. I found her outside in the backyard.” I closed my eyes against the gruesome image of her poor battered face. I finished the first gin and tonic and made myself another. A large one.
“Honey,” said Aunt Winnie, gently taking the glass from me, “alcohol is a crutch.”
“Yeah, well, tonight I could use a wheelchair,” I snapped, grabbing the glass. She frowned at me but didn’t argue. I sat down heavily in one of the fireside chairs.
Peter sat opposite me. “Someone must have overheard her this morning,” he said. I nodded dumbly. “Do the police have any ideas? Anything at all?” He searched my face for some kind of reassurance, but I had none to give. I shook my head. As far as I could tell, we were back where we had started. Actually, we were even worse off. According to Jackie, the “clue” that had led her to the identity of the murderer had to do with the lights. And the only one who’d had anything to do with the lights was Aunt Winnie. I took a large sip.
Peter glanced at Aunt Winnie. “What should we do?”
“Short of getting the hell out of this town, I have no idea,” I replied. “Detective Stewart told me that he was coming over here to talk to everyone. You can ask him when he gets here.”
“This is just terrible,” said Randy, shaking his head. “That poor woman. How is Mrs. Westin doing?”
“I think she’s in shock,” I said.
“Aren’t we all?” murmured Aunt Winnie. “Frankly, I’m scared. There’s a homicidal maniac on the loose!” Randy reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said. Aunt Winnie gave him a brief smile. His words may have given her solace, but they did nothing for me. Neither of them had seen what I had. I took another, larger sip.
Aunt Winnie eyed me worriedly. “I’ve asked Randy to stay here at the inn until this is cleared up,” she said. “I think the more people we have under this roof, the safer we all are.”
Depends on the people, I thought, moving on from sips to gulps. A dark suspicion overtook me. Wasn’t there something about Gerald and the sale of Randy’s bookstore? Could Randy have killed Gerald for financial reasons? He had been around a lot lately. Was he trying to discern what we knew? I studied Randy as he sat, his hand protectively on Aunt Winnie’s shoulder. She smiled up at him. It was obvious that Aunt Winnie trusted Randy. I’d never had reason to doubt her judgment before. Suddenly, ashamed of myself, I pushed the ugly thought away.
Peter turned to Randy. “Did you ever find anything out from your niece, the paralegal, about Lauren?”
Randy straightened his glasses and shrugged. “Nothing more than we’d already surmised through local gossip. Lauren did meet with a divorce lawyer, although no action was taken. Conventional wisdom has it that the prenuptial agreement was ironclad and other than walking away with absolutely nothing, Lauren didn’t have any options.”
Peter leaned back in his chair. “And from what Elizabeth learned about Lauren and her son, Jamie, it’s doubtful that she’d want to take him out of that group house he’s in, especially if he’s making progress.”
Randy nodded. “Right. So we are left with a woman who wanted to divorce her husband but couldn’t because of financial reasons.”
Aunt Winnie pursed her lips. “Crimes have been committed for much less. And, unfortunately, when there’s a lot of money at stake, as there is in this case, it can bring out the worst in people,” she said thoughtfully. “And let’s not forget Polly. Gerald kept her a virtual prisoner. He wouldn’t let her go away to school and she wouldn’t be able to touch her trust fund for years. I wonder what happens to it now? Maybe she gets it early.” She was silent a moment and then snapped her fingers. “Wait a minute! Wasn’t Gerald’s first wife, Tory, having an affair when she died? Did anyone ever find out who it was with? Randy, you lived here then, did you ever hear of anything?”
Lady Catherine jumped up on Randy’s lap. He gently removed her before answering. “No, I never heard who it was,” he said, adjusting his glasses.
Aunt Winnie tapped her finger against her chin. “That’s someone with a grudge, I bet.”
Randy said nothing.
Peter put his head in his hands. “Let’s face it,” he moaned, “everyone who knew Gerald Ramsey had a motive for killing him.”
As if on cue, Daniel walked into the room. He was wearing a blue blazer and jeans, both of which hugged him in all the right places. His hair was artfully tousled and his smile lopsided. But for once his good looks had no effect on me. I was feeling, to quote Pink Floyd, “comfortably numb,” and I planned on staying that way for a long time.