The doorbell chimed. “That’s Randy,” said Aunt Winnie, jumping up.
“And who’s Denny?” Peter called after her.
Aunt Winnie let out a snort of laughter as she went to answer the door, leaving me to explain my attractiveness to a spoiled pug.
“Don’t be too hard on the dog,” Peter said, laughing when I had finished. “Maybe he’s just cuckoo for Cocoa —”
I swung the poker menacingly at him. “If you finish that sentence, you will regret it! Why your parents ever encouraged you to talk, I’ll never understand.”
“Touchy, touchy,” Peter muttered, as Aunt Winnie returned to the room with Randy. He was wearing a rumpled brown cashmere sweater and tan slacks. Behind his glasses, his magnified brown eyes resembled fish swimming in a tank. He smiled at Peter and me, and said, “I understand from Winifred that the three of you are playing amateur sleuth. Have you discovered the culprit?”
“Don’t answer him,” instructed Aunt Winnie. “He’s making fun of us.”
Randy laughed. “I am not.”
“You just called me Miss Marple in the foyer.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“Liar. And anyway, I’d prefer to be compared to Amelia Peabody.”
Randy lowered the top half of his body into a mock bow. “Whatever you say,
Aunt Winnie was a die-hard fan of Elizabeth Peters’s Egyptian mysteries featuring the indomitable sleuth Amelia Peabody. So was I, for that matter. We tended to look with horror on those who did not share our admiration.
“Well, regardless of who we fancy ourselves to be,” said Peter, “I think we have to be serious about the fact that one of the guests here murdered Gerald Ramsey. And, if the police are right, this was no spur-of-the-moment crime of passion. It was a well-thought-out and deliberate murder.”
“I agree,” said Randy, taking a seat next to Aunt Winnie on the couch. “And until the police find the killer, I fear that there may be more trouble.” He glanced meaningfully at Peter and me.
I knew he was alluding to Aunt Winnie. He must have also caught wind of Detective Stewart’s suspicions.
“If you are referring to the police’s ideas about me,” said Aunt Winnie, pushing her bright red curls back in an angry gesture, “I do wish you would just say so. I dislike being talked of as if I’m some doddering old fool.”
“Nobody said you were a fool!” I said.
“Or doddering!” Peter chimed in.
“They didn’t have to.” Pointing at me, she continued. “You’ve been staring at me all day like I was an egg about to crack. And you,” she said, addressing Peter, “you’ve been treating me with kid gloves and making furtive phone calls when you think I’m not around!”
Peter squirmed in his chair but did not deny the charge. I wondered whom he had been calling.
Aunt Winnie continued. “I am quite aware that Detective Stewart thinks that Gerald’s determination to buy me out of this inn may have been why he died.” She added, “The man’s a dammed idiot. Unfortunately, he knows about what happened with Marion.”
As soon as she said that, my stomach sank. It was exactly as I had feared. The police knew.
Randy looked from Aunt Winnie to me and then to Peter for clarification. “Who’s Marion?” he finally asked.
Aunt Winnie sighed. “Marion is one of my oldest friends. I’ve known her since I was sixteen. Years ago she married a man by the name of Danny Baker. Well, Danny was a big hulking jerk, but Marion fell for him.” Aunt Winnie shook her head sadly. “No matter how boorish or obnoxious Danny was, Marion would stand up for him and say he was just misunderstood. Because she seemed to love him so much, I tried to keep my mouth shut. But then Marion started showing up with bruises. She always had an excuse—she fell or tripped or some sort of other silly story. I became suspicious, of course, but Marion never said a word against Danny. I tried to do what I could, but she was completely under his spell. Then one day, I’ll never forget it, Marion showed up at my house sobbing hysterically. It was awful. She was a mere slip of a thing and Danny had beaten her within an inch of her life. One of her eyes was swollen shut, her lip was split, and her jaw was purple and raw. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. In her arms was her beloved little dog, Pixie. He was dead. Danny had apparently flown into a rage because the dog had gotten into the trash can. Danny had snapped his neck.”
Aunt Winnie fell silent at her memory of the broken dog’s limp body. “Marion had tried to protect the dog, so Danny went after her as well. Seeing Danny kill Pixie made Marion finally realize what a monster Danny was. She had come to me to ask for help in getting her things out of the house while Danny was at work. Of course, I said yes. As far as I was concerned her life was in danger.” Aunt Winnie’s eyes flickered uneasily in Randy’s direction before continuing. “We were getting ready to leave when Danny returned home, drunk. When he realized that Marion was leaving him, he flew into a rage. And that’s when I pulled out my gun. Danny was a rather large man and I wasn’t taking any chances.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Randy. “You had a gun?”
“Yes. As I said, it was a long time ago, and I thought I needed it for protection.” She added defensively, “I took the recommended classes and was very careful with it!”
“I’m not judging you,” said Randy. “I’m just surprised.”
“Well,” Aunt Winnie continued with a shrug, “once Danny saw the gun, he calmed down. I explained that Marion was leaving and that he had better not try anything. I thought he was going to let us leave, but at the last minute he lunged at me and I … fired.”
“Jesus!” said Randy. “Did you kill him?”
“Of course not!” Aunt Winnie snapped. “I’m an excellent shot! I nicked him on the leg so he couldn’t chase us. I knew what I was doing. Trust me, if I’d wanted to kill him, he’d be dead.”
Her words hung in the air. No one said anything.
“Which is why, I suppose,” she finally continued, “that things might look a little dark against me now. I have a record. I was charged with assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder, and about six other things I’ve forgotten. Of course, they dropped them once they learned what had actually happened, but the fact remains that the police know that I know how to use a gun, I’m a very good shot, and I don’t put up with bastards.”
“But that was a completely different situation,” I said. “You were defending yourself. Your life was in danger.”
“Yes, but our local detective seems to be channeling the intellectual prowess of Inspector Clouseau. He’s looking at that incident and coming away with a very different impression. Therefore, I’ve resolved that I must find out who the killer is. I want whoever did this caught and put away, and soon. I have to clear my name so people will feel comfortable staying at Longbourn. In short, I want my life back.”
“You’re right,” said Randy, extending his hand to her. “And I’ll do anything to help.”
“I know you will.” Taking his hand, she smiled softly at him.
“And so will Elizabeth and I,” said Peter. “We’re a part of this team, too.”
It was odd to hear Peter speak of us as a team. But this whole weekend had been one odd experience after another. Then Peter suggested we move to the kitchen to discuss what we knew while he cooked us dinner, and I was forced to add yet another odd experience to my list.
An hour and a half later, we were still in the kitchen drinking coffee after finishing remarkably good chicken Marsala. The aroma of sautéed mushrooms mingled with chicken and wine still hung in the air. I stirred some sugar into my coffee.
“Thank you again for dinner, Peter,” said Aunt Winnie. “It was very good.”
“My pleasure,” he replied. “I was just lucky that you happened to have all the ingredients for the one meal I can make.”
“Speaking of which, I think I’d better restock,” said Aunt Winnie. “I’m not sure how long Detective Stewart is going to keep everyone here, but however long, I’m going to have to feed them. I’d better make a run into town tomorrow.”
“I’ll do that for you, Aunt Winnie,” I said.
“I’ll go with you,” said Peter. I looked at him in surprise, but he ignored me. “Now, for everyone’s ideas about
