“How many have there been?” I asked, surprised.
“Three,” said Pansy.
“That we know of,” amended Lily.
“But it was the first one …” began Pansy.
“Polly’s mother,” said Lily.
“… that I felt the sorriest for,” finished Pansy.
“What was she like?” I asked. Peter continued to munch his bread.
“She was a pretty little thing,” said Lily.
“She had the loveliest auburn hair,” added Pansy.
“What was her name again?” Lily asked.
“Tory,” replied Pansy. “She died so young.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Car accident,” said Lily. “Although at the time there was talk that it wasn’t completely an accident.” Pansy had just taken a bite of the bread and so could only nod her head in agreement. “I was away at school when it happened,” Lily continued. “But I do remember Mother saying that Tory’s car had run off the road and the police were investigating reports that another car was seen speeding away from the area. Then it came out that Tory had been seeing someone else—but really, considering what Gerald was like, who could blame her? Anyway, Gerald behaved very oddly afterward. He got rid of practically everything that had belonged to her. Some people thought that he might have had something to do with it, but in the end nothing ever came of it. Poor Polly was only about four or five at the time.”
“I saw someone just the other day who reminded me of her,” said Pansy.
“Was it Polly?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” said Pansy quickly. “Polly is her father’s daughter. At least in looks. I don’t know what she’s like in person. Keeps to herself a lot. Can’t have had an easy life.”
“I remember her as a little girl,” said Lily. “Never saw a more determined child. Do you remember the time she wanted that bicycle from Fred Johnson’s toy shop?” she asked Pansy.
“Oh, that’s right!” said Pansy. Turning back to me and glancing at Peter, who was still stuffing his face with the pumpkin spice bread, she explained, “She couldn’t have been more than seven. There was this bright yellow bicycle in the front window of the toy store, one of those banana bikes. I remember it had a long purple fringe on the handlebars. Well, anyway, every little girl in town wanted that bike, including Polly. But Gerald said no. I forget why, probably just to be mean, but he flat-out refused. Now another girl might have thrown a tantrum or pouted, but not Polly. Instead, she talked Fred Johnson into holding a jump-roping contest. He would get the publicity and the winner would get the bike.”
“She outjumped everyone and got that bike,” said Lily.
“But wasn’t there some sort of incident with her friend?” asked Pansy.
“Yes, I’d forgotten,” said Lily. “That little girl—now what was her name?—Mary. That’s it, Mary King. Well, she and this Mary were playing tag the day before the contest—Mary was a pretty good jump roper, too. Anyway, Mary fell and twisted her ankle or something. She couldn’t jump in the contest. I remember at the time that some people said Polly had pushed her down on purpose.”
“I don’t believe that,” said Lily.
“Well, maybe so,” said Pansy, “but they weren’t friends after that.”
“Gerald remarried right around then,” said Lily. “He said he thought that Polly was turning into a tomboy and needed a woman’s influence.”
“Well, he certainly married an influence,” said Pansy. “Pamela was a real witch. Gerald found out that she was stealing money from him or something like that. He got rid of her in short order.”
“And now there’s Lauren,” said Lily. Again the sisters exchanged knowing looks.
“What’s she like?” I asked.
Pansy leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “Well …”
I eagerly leaned in, but the bell above the door sounded, announcing customers. Pansy jumped up from the table and went to wait on them.
Peter popped the last piece of bread in his mouth and stared sadly at the empty plate. “We probably should get going,” he said.
“I’ll just go and wrap up your order,” said Lily.
Minutes later, we collected three large white boxes, each wrapped with a blue bow covered with small white teapots. Customers streamed into the shop now for their afternoon tea and Pansy whispered to me to come back later so we could finish our conversation. Peter and I said our goodbyes and thanks, and stepped out again into the freezing air.
“That was informative,” I said to Peter.
“Yeah. I didn’t know that Gerald had been married three times. Do you think his ex-wife could have something to do with his murder?”
“I don’t know. Really, there are so many people who might have wanted him dead. It’s a bit overwhelming.” The wind picked up. “What’s next?” I asked Peter, trying to shield my body from the wind with the box of pastries. Next door was a clothing shop, with several outfits on display in the window. I wistfully eyed them and the heated interior.
“Butcher,” he replied. I stared longingly in the window. He read the shop’s sign and then turned back at me. “You’re not going to make me go in there, are you?”
“Well, I do need to get a few things …”
Peter sighed and shook his head. “I’ve never met a woman who didn’t.”
“That’s not fair!” I said. “I only packed for one weekend. Who knows how long I’m going to be staying!”
“Uhh-uh,” Peter said to the sky.
“Whatever,” I said. “I’m going in. Are you coming?”
“No offense, but I’d rather go to the butcher.”
“Coward. Don’t you go shopping with Maggie?”
“Maggie isn’t into material goods,” Peter said loftily.
“Then Maggie doesn’t know what she’s missing,” I retorted, handing him the box. “I’ll meet you here in an hour.”
Inside the store was quiet—that serene, tranquil quiet that permeates shops with expensive clothes. The salesclerk smiled vaguely in my direction as I wandered around the store. Forcing myself to keep a casual face, I peeked at some of the price tags. Dear God! Did they mark up the prices while they were drunk? Still, there were several outfits that I would give my eyeteeth for—or at least the better part of the contents of my checking account. I made some quick mental calculations. It seemed unlikely that I would be taking that ski trip to Vermont with Mark next month, which meant that I had a fair chunk of change to play with.
Assuring myself that it was healthy to splurge on oneself occasionally, I gathered up several outfits and headed toward the dressing rooms. The salesclerk, seeing that I was a serious customer, abruptly changed her attitude and now fawned over me. Her name tag indicated her name was Brooke. She was a tall, leggy girl in her early twenties, with long, straight brown hair. While I was predisposed to dislike her based on those facts alone, she actually proved to be very helpful. While she put together several outfits for me, we chatted politely until she discovered that I was staying at Longbourn.
“Oh, my God!” she yelped. “But that was where Mr. Ramsey was killed!”
“Yes.” I paused. “Did you know him?”
“I did! His daughter, Polly, and I are friends. How is she? I’ve been trying to get in touch with her all day.”
Not knowing if Brooke was really a friend or a gossip, I merely said, “She’s holding up okay.”
“Well, if you see her, please let her know that I’m thinking of her. We’ve been friends for years.” She added, “This must be such a nightmare for her. I just wish she had come away with us like we originally planned.”
“You were going away?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Brooke as she handed me a bright pink cashmere sweater. “Every year a bunch of us go to my parents’ ski house for New Year’s. Polly usually can’t wait to go—her dad is … was unbelievably strict. She didn’t get out much. He wouldn’t even let her do that graduate program at Oxford. She was furious about that. I can’t
