Murder at Longbourn

I shook my head. “Not anymore. I work as a fact-checker for a local paper.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It’s not. What about you? What are you doing these days?”

“Mainly I’ve been working for my parents, helping them open hotels.”

“Oh.” My mind seemed to be working in slow motion. I could think of nothing besides my hurt pride. Around me Cole Porter’s “Let’s Do It, Let’s Fall in Love” played. Suddenly Peter said, “I was surprised when Aunt Winnie told me that you were coming. I would have assumed that you’d have big plans for New Year’s. But she said something about you and your boyfriend breaking up.”

I glanced sharply at him. Was he deliberately trying to rub it in? His face was unreadable. “Yes,” I said finally. “That’s right. I did just end a relationship. Things were starting to get a bit too serious.” Thankfully, my nose did not start growing with this last bit, but I couldn’t stand the thought of him believing that I was some pathetic loser who’d come running to Aunt Winnie’s for lack of a better offer. “And you?” I asked sweetly. “No one special in your life right now either, I take it?”

His expression grew cool and I regretted my nastiness. This was no way to start the weekend. But before I could apologize, he said, “Actually, there is someone—Maggie. But she couldn’t make it this weekend. She’s visiting family.”

He abruptly stopped dancing and glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I should go and check in now,” he said. “I promised to call before things got too busy here. Thanks for the dance, though.” Releasing me, he turned and walked away. I was overcome by a sudden chill, and I rubbed my hands up and down my arms for warmth. I mentally rolled my eyes at his arrogance in bringing up his girlfriend. No doubt he wanted to make it clear that he was off the market. As if he needed to worry about that! Peter McGowan was the last man I’d ever run after. He probably had a closet stuffed full of argyle sweaters.

Unfortunately, the thought of argyle got me thinking about Mark. I wondered if he missed me or had tried to get in touch with me. More to give myself something to do other than stand alone in the middle of the dance floor, I decided to see if I had any messages. My cell phone was in my purse, which I had left in Aunt Winnie’s office. I crossed the empty foyer and headed for it. Papered in a faded vintage rose pattern, the tiny room was sparsely furnished with only a desk, chair, and filing cabinet. This was fortunate because with all the clutter that Aunt Winnie had amassed, she couldn’t possibly fit anything else in the room. I pushed aside some catalogs and files on the wooden chair, sat down, and retrieved my purse from underneath the desk. Flipping open my phone, I saw that I did indeed have three messages. My self-esteem rose a few notches as I entered my code to retrieve them. Maybe Mark had called me. I briefly entertained images of him pining away for me for the rest of his days while I pityingly sent him Christmas cards once in a while and encouraged him to get on with his life.

The messages, however, were not from Mark. One was from my mother, one was from Bridget, and the last was from Kit. She was calling to tell me that her party was starting at nine, “in case you change your mind.” I scowled. Although I had repeatedly told her that I was going to Aunt Winnie’s, she probably thought that I had made the whole thing up and was now huddled on my bed in the fetal position gorging myself on Ben & Jerry’s. She was completely absurd. I hate Ben & Jerry’s.

I deleted her message with an angry jab of a few buttons. I was debating calling her back when I heard the front door open. Voices floated in on a blast of cold air.

“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. They’re so tiresome.” It was a woman’s voice. She spoke in a crisp, autocratic tone.

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.”

I exited the office. In the foyer stood Jackie and a woman I assumed was Linnet, mainly because I’d just overheard Jackie call her that. I’m clever that way. While the two women shared certain physical characteristics— they were both in their late seventies and of a similar height and build—they couldn’t have been more different in their manner or dress. Linnet wore an extravagant fur coat over an elegant cream suit of cashmere. Jackie wore a serviceable black coat over a plain black dress of thick wool. Linnet’s face was artfully, although heavily, made up. Jackie wore no makeup. Linnet’s silver upsweep was, upon closer inspection, actually a wig, but the effect was still regal. Jackie, once again, was almost hidden underneath an enormous hat. This one was black silk with a large white velvet peony pinned to the upturned brim.

Jackie greeted me enthusiastically. “Hello, Elizabeth! We aren’t late, are we? The snow slowed us up. It’s really coming down now. Linnet was just saying how much she’s looking forward to tonight.” I ignored this little lie, as did Linnet. Jackie turned to her friend and continued, “Linnet, may I present Ms. Reynolds’s niece, Ms. Elizabeth Parker?”

Linnet extended a perfectly manicured hand. “How do you do? Jackie’s told me so much about you.”

This I did not doubt. “It’s very nice to meet you,” I said. “I understand that you’ve recently moved to the area.”

“Yes,” replied Linnet. “I bought one of those cottages down by the beach.” I had seen the houses she was referring to on the drive in yesterday. To refer to them as cottages was like calling Versailles a house in the country.

“Moving is always such a hassle,” she continued. “But, of course, having Jackie with me has been a tremendous help.”

“Have you two been friends long?” I asked.

Jackie opened her mouth to answer, but it was Linnet who spoke first. “Oh, my, yes. Jackie and I have known each other all our lives. We’re actually distant cousins. My grandmother and Jackie’s grandmother were second cousins or something like that. And we were roommates in college. We were inseparable back then. But after I got married, we lost touch.”

“Linnet’s husband passed away last year,” said Jackie.

“Oh,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

Linnet waved her hand slightly. “Thank you. But he’s in a better place now,” she said matter-of-factly. “That’s actually how Jackie and I came to be reunited, as it were. When news of Marty’s death was posted in our alma mater’s newsletter, Jackie saw it and wrote me. Well, once we caught up with one another and compared notes on our lives, and I learned of Jackie’s situation, I insisted that she come and live with me.”

Jackie ducked her head a little. “Linnet’s been very kind,” she said softly.

Although Linnet waved her hand again, as if to dismiss Jackie’s words, I noticed that she was smiling slightly. I felt a pang of sympathy for Jackie. I had known Linnet all of two minutes, but she had already managed to make it clear that Jackie owed her current improved situation to Linnet’s own generosity. It struck me that while Linnet Westin might be generous to those in need, she also liked to be recognized for it. I wondered if it was difficult for Jackie to live with constant reminders of her benefactor’s kindness.

Taking their coats, I led them into the dining room, where Peter and Aunt Winnie stood talking with Joan and Henry. Henry preened proudly in his tux, mentioning often that he’d purchased it at one of Mrs. Dubois’s favorite stores. Joan’s bright red dress was very festive, but instead of adding color to her complexion, it had the opposite effect. She looked deathly pale. While Aunt Winnie made the introductions, I went to the kitchen to get the tray of hors d’oeuvres. I had just returned with it when Daniel arrived, looking like he’d stepped off the cover of GQ magazine. I deduced that the people with him were the Ramseys.

Gerald was a tall man who appeared to be in his early sixties. His thick mane of silver hair was meticulously brushed back from his face and his eyes were a cold, almost translucent shade of blue. I don’t know if it was his solid build or direct, unblinking gaze, but he had a definite presence. And it wasn’t a pleasant one. There was a ruthlessness in his expression reminiscent of creatures in the animal kingdom that eat their young. In fact, if it weren’t for the young woman standing just behind him, who I could only assume was his daughter, Polly, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that he had.

She was probably in her early twenties, but her plain gown with the Peter Pan collar made her seem younger. Her shoulder-length jet-black hair was pulled back in a tortoiseshell headband, further emphasizing her youthful appearance. The only discordant note was her eyes. Large and green, they slanted up like a cat’s. Framed by delicately winged eyebrows, they hinted at an exotic and mature nature underneath the otherwise unremarkable and childlike façade.

Next to her stood a woman who, by virtue of the fact that she was both blond and tan, I took to be Gerald’s wife, Lauren. With her heart-shaped face, large blue eyes, and faintly vacant expression, she reminded me of my