After breakfast, I went into town under the pretext of visiting Lily and Pansy and stocking up on more pastries. In reality, I wanted to go to the Internet café. It was the only place where I’d be able to confirm what I now suspected.
I stopped at the Teapot first, so my outing would not be a total lie. Both Lily and Pansy were agog with questions about Jackie’s death and Linnet’s collapse. Looking over her shoulder, Pansy said in a hushed voice, “I can tell you it’s cast a pall on this town. Everyone is scared and no one wants to venture out of doors. The other day this place was packed—Mrs. Ramsey and that housekeeper of hers, what’s her name?”
“Mrs. Jenkins,” provided Lily.
“That’s right, Mrs. Jenkins. Anyway, they were here placing orders for the reception after the funeral.”
“That friend of hers was with her, too,” Lily added in a meaningful voice. “You know the one.”
“Daniel?”
“That’s the one.” She nodded. “He’s a handsome devil.”
“He and Polly were here?” I asked.
“No,” said Pansy, shaking her head. “Not Polly. Lauren.”
But that meant that he had lied to Detective Stewart when he said that he’d been with Polly all that day. I snapped my mouth shut. I was not about to repeat Jackie’s mistakes.
Once my purchases were boxed, I thanked Lily and Pansy and hurried along the snow-covered street to the Internet café. I bought a cup of coffee and settled at one of the computers. The place was empty save for the proprietor, who idly leafed through a magazine, and a lone customer who methodically tapped away at his keyboard. The former, an earnest-looking boy with wire glasses and neatly trimmed blond hair, and the latter, a lumpy man with stringy black hair, paid me scant interest.
I typed in Baxter and waited. In no time, the information I was searching for appeared on the screen. It was just as I had suspected. I reached over and hit the print button.
CHAPTER 25
Keep breathing.
—SOPHIE TUCKER
I DROVE AS fast as I dared back to the inn, although I was hampered by the icy conditions of the roads and the timid progress of the other drivers. On my way, I called Detective Stewart, whose number I had memorized by now. The line rang and rang and rang and rang. My heart sank with each additional chime and I feared that I was going to get his voice mail again. Thankfully, he finally picked up the receiver. With a sigh of relief, I blurted out what I had learned. My words were jumbled and incoherent, but they must have made sense to him because after a brief silence, he simply said, “Damn it! I’ll be right there. Don’t do anything stupid.”
I wondered what exactly constituted “stupid.” After parking my car, I raced into the inn. In the foyer stood the Andersons, putting on their coats. I couldn’t let them leave. “Um, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson?” I said. “I don’t think you should go out today. The roads are terrible. I’ve just been out myself and it’s treacherous.”
Henry ignored me and continued to help Joan into her heavy coat. For all I knew, their bags were packed and already in the car. I felt a stab of panic.
Joan shook her head. “It can’t be that bad. After all, the policeman was able to drive here.” She nodded in Ichabod’s direction. Watching us with a wary expression, he did not join the discussion.
“Yes, but they have special cop cars equipped for the snow,” I babbled. At this, both Henry and Ichabod turned to me in surprise. Special cop cars? I knew with a sinking feeling that there was no way I was going to convince them to stay, especially if I kept talking gibberish. Aunt Winnie, Randy, and Peter came out of the kitchen. “Hello, everyone,” said Aunt Winnie politely. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing is going on,” said Henry. “Joan and I are going for a ride.”
“I don’t think it’s safe to drive,” I said stubbornly. “The roads are sheer ice.”
Aunt Winnie glanced at me. “That’s very considerate of you, Elizabeth, but I think the Andersons can make their own decisions.” Randy said nothing but watched Joan silently.
Joan gave Aunt Winnie a grateful smile and started to pull on her gloves. I had to do something. They were leaving. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and pulled out the necklace. It hung from my hand, the long silver chain glinting in the light. “I know about Vicky.”
Joan spun around, her eyes riveted on the necklace. Forgotten, her gloves dropped to the floor and her face drained of color so quickly that I thought she might follow after them. Pulling Joan to him in a steadying grip, Henry eyed me with ill-concealed fury. Belatedly, I wondered if this was what Detective Stewart meant by something stupid.
“Detective Stewart is on his way here,” I said. “Why don’t we wait in the reading room for him?” Joan’s face was deathly white. Henry’s, on the other hand, was purple with anger. Mutely, they followed me.
Joan sank down onto a chair. “What is this all about?” Aunt Winnie asked me. Next to her, Randy stepped back toward the bookcases.
“Joan was Gerald’s sister-in-law,” I answered.
Aunt Winnie gasped. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “When I first met Joan, she told me her older sister had died in an accident. Her name was Vicky. I didn’t think about it at the time, but this morning I was thinking about nicknames and I remembered that Vicky is short for Victoria. Gerald’s first wife’s name was Tory, which is also a nickname for Victoria. As we all know, she also died in an accident several years ago. I confirmed it today by pulling up information on the late Mrs. Victoria Ramsey from the Internet.” I brandished the printout of my discovery. “Victoria’s maiden name was Baxter,” I said, waving the paper at Joan. “And you told me that your antiques store was named Miss Baxter’s Things of Yore. Now I understand your relationship with Polly—you’re her aunt.” Henry was standing next to Joan’s chair. His hand gripped her shoulder tightly. Turning back to Aunt Winnie, I said, “I think we now know who Joan was calling from your office—Polly.”
Joan stared at her lap, ruthlessly twisting her hands. I held out the necklace. “The night I found you in the dining room, you were looking for this, weren’t you? It’s Victoria’s, isn’t it?”
Joan threw her head back and stared at me defiantly. “Yes. I lost it the night Gerald was killed. But as loathsome as Gerald was, merely having once been related to him by marriage is hardly a reason to murder him.”
“It is if he killed Victoria,” I retorted.
A terrible silence followed, but Joan did not avert her eyes from mine. “He did kill her,” she said finally. “I know it in my heart, even if the police never were able to prove it.”
“What happened?”
Joan closed her eyes. “Victoria married Gerald after knowing him only a short time. She thought he was charming, and … and I think she really thought she was in love with him. He was very wealthy, which I’m sure helped, too. Vicky wasn’t mercenary, but she had struggled so hard after our parents died.” Joan opened her eyes and added, “Who knows? Maybe she saw what she needed to see. At first she was happy, but soon enough Gerald showed his real stripes. Vicky wanted to leave him, but then she found out she was pregnant.”
Joan shook her head sadly. “She was so excited. She’d always wanted to be a mother and she thought that having a baby might change Gerald. But it didn’t.” Joan paused. “Gerald was disappointed that Polly wasn’t a boy, and after she was born, he ignored them both. Vicky was determined to make a good life for Polly, but she was lonely. And then, well, she met someone.”
No one said anything, but Joan continued as if we had. “You have to understand, Vicky was a good person, but she was in a miserable marriage. In the end, though, she couldn’t go on with it. She didn’t like what she was doing and she thought Gerald was suspicious. That scared her because Gerald was pathological about people lying to him. Anyway, she was coming home from meeting this person for the last time when a car ran her off the road. According to witnesses, it matched a general description of one of Gerald’s. But Gerald produced several of his buddies to swear that he was with them all night. I kept pushing the police to arrest him—I knew he had done it—but in the end they just didn’t have the evidence. Vicky’s death was listed as an accident.”