“Who cares? He’ll just be happy that the case is solved.”
“I guess.” I pulled out my phone and called Detective Stewart. As predicted, he did not sound happy to hear from me. However, his tone changed considerably when I told him of my discovery.
Two hours later, I was back at Longbourn, sitting in the reading room. Based on my discovery, Lauren had been summarily brought down to the station. A search of her house had turned up a vial of ground foxglove. It didn’t seem likely that she’d be leaving for Bermuda anytime soon. Around me the mood was celebratory. Aunt Winnie had been cleared and the inn was safe. I still wasn’t happy with Peter, but at least he would no longer be buying the inn.
While I was glad for Aunt Winnie, my mind couldn’t wrap itself around the fact that Lauren was the killer. Granted, I had initially wondered about her because she had married Gerald for his money and was no doubt relieved to be rid of him, but a murderer? The more I thought about it, the less it made sense. I kept my thoughts to myself, however. Lately I had had such lousy judgment where people were concerned that it was probably an indication of Lauren’s guilt that I didn’t think she was guilty.
I slept badly that night. My mind kept probing at the question of Lauren and at my own dissatisfaction with it. Was I nothing more than a modern-day Don Quixote, titling at nonexistent windmills? By morning, my brain was a foggy jumble. After two cups of hot coffee, I was no better. I needed fresh air and exercise. I went upstairs, pulled my hair back into a ponytail, and threw on my jeans and a sweatshirt. After glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I added the new earrings I’d gotten on my shopping spree. I don’t know why, but the soft jangling noise they made and their bright colors cheered me. Should I run into any of Aunt Winnie’s friends, I could at least hold my head up with the knowledge that while my outfit was sloppy, at least my accessories were nice.
Downstairs, Peter was waiting for me in the foyer.
“What do you want?” I said, as I yanked my coat out of the closet.
“I want to talk to you,” he said. “I didn’t take advantage of Aunt Winnie. I was trying to help her!”
“If that was the case, then why all the secrecy? Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning?”
“Because Aunt Winnie asked me not to. She wanted to be the one who told people. It is her inn.”
“Yeah. Thank God that hasn’t changed,” I said. Peter’s face fell. I knew that I wasn’t being fair. But I had been angry. I was angry that Jackie was dead and Linnet had been in the hospital. I was angry that Peter and Aunt Winnie had been right about Daniel using me. “I’ve got to go,” I muttered. “We can talk about this later.” I didn’t wait for his response. Jamming my arms into my coat, I left, slamming the door behind me.
I tried to reconcile Jackie’s text message to Linnet with the facts as I knew them. I couldn’t. I tried to visualize Lauren slipping on the glove and shooting Gerald. I couldn’t do that either. And then there was the lie I’d heard told to Detective Stewart. What was the reason for it? A niggling in my brain told me that I was missing something. I drove to the beach. I walked along the hard sand, my head bent low against the wind. I pulled out my gloves from my coat pocket and slipped them on. And then it came to me. I had seen Lauren write out a number for her friend with her left hand. Like most blondes, Lauren was a southpaw. The glove found at the murder scene was for a right hand. Someone had tried to frame Lauren! But who? Lauren might be annoying and vapid, and she had clearly never loved Gerald, but it took a special kind of hate to frame someone for murder. Slowly a fantastic idea took form in my brain. I froze in my tracks, thinking about Lauren. There was someone, after all, who might have hated Lauren, someone who would derive satisfaction at seeing her in jail. But that would mean …
My mind raced with the events of the last few days, replaying scenes in my head. Of course! I had been looking at everything upside down. Once the pieces fell into place, it all made sense. However, my only proof lay in the details of a lost love and a seemingly white lie told to Detective Stewart. Could I even get Detective Stewart to listen to me? I knew better than to try. I needed more evidence, evidence I would simply have to get myself.
I raced back to my car, left a message for Aunt Winnie as to where I was going, and drove to the Linnet’s house. Thankfully, no one was home. Now that I was here, though, the question of how exactly I was going to get in presented itself. Smashing a window would no doubt set off an alarm. I peeked under the doormat in the faint hope that I’d find a key. There was none. I dragged my hands through my hair in frustration. I simply had to get in. Without the evidence, Detective Stewart would never listen to me.
I ran around the side of the house, all the while petrified that I’d be spotted by the neighbors. Despite the cold, a clammy sweat broke out on my neck and back, and I realized I could never lead a life of crime. Not due to any superior moral fiber on my part; I just didn’t have the stomach for it. The mere idea of breaking into someone’s house had rendered me sweaty and queasy. If I actually got in, there was a very good chance that I’d throw up and then pass out. Still, I kept searching for a way in, holding on to the hope that I’d find a spare key outside. My weak stomach aside, I couldn’t let Lauren hang for Gerald’s and Jackie’s murders. Finally, luck smiled on me. Hanging from a nail near some plants was a gray house key. I was no gardener, but I would bet money that these were the foxglove plants from which the murderer had prepared the poison. I grabbed the key and ran around front. With shaking fingers, I slid the key into the lock and pushed open the door.
The stillness inside amplified the pounding of my heart. I darted up the stairs and into Linnet’s bedroom. A quick search provided what I was looking for. I lifted the lid of the jewelry box and enjoyed a moment of triumph as my hand closed around the glittering earrings. I had been right!
I thought of Gerald, who was hated by nearly everyone he knew, a man who most likely caused his first wife’s death. I thought of Jackie and her ridiculous floppy hats and insatiable thirst for gossip. In spite of her silliness, she had been likable. She hadn’t had an easy life. Her dreams of moving to Hollywood were ruined by a friend who opted for marriage instead. What had Linnet said? “Jackie, on the other hand, has always had a real talent for mimicry—more of a gift, really, than a talent. She was amazing.”
Another memory slid into focus—the night of Gerald’s murder. I had been in Aunt Winnie’s office, hearing the front door open. Two voices floated in. One was Linnet’s. “This is a horrible night to be out. Really, Jackie, I don’t know why I let you talk me into coming to this. I hate these things.”
Next came Jackie’s voice, all breathy and excited. “Oh, don’t be that way, Linney. It’ll be lots of fun. You’ll see.”
But that wasn’t what Linnet had told the police. She told Detective Stewart that going to Aunt Winnie’s had been her idea. And with Gerald’s death a chain of events had been set in motion that would end with Jackie’s death. Gerald, a man who was universally hated, a man who no one was surprised to hear had been murdered. In quick succession, other facts fell into their correct place: a sudden weight loss and a smooth, unpierced ear beneath a floppy blue hat.
I was so caught up in my reverie that I didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs. Too late, the hair on my neck stood up, telling me that I was no longer alone.
I spun around.
“Hello, Jackie,” I said, once I got my voice back.
CHAPTER 27