—JANE AUSTEN,
BY THE TIME Peter and I got back to the inn, the sun had set. All around us, houses blazed with Christmas lights. The inn was conspicuously dark. I knew the gesture was meant to convey respect for Gerald and his family, but in the midst of so many other cheerful displays, the absence of lights created a different kind of tribute, one of darkness and gloom.
Inside, Daniel was sitting in the reading room. He immediately stood up and came over.
“Here, let me get these for you,” he said, taking the grocery bags from my arms. Looking them over, he added, “I hope all this food doesn’t mean that you already have plans for dinner?”
“Why, I, um …” I began, unsure how to answer.
“Because I was hoping I could convince you to join me,” he continued. “I know a place that makes great clam chowder.”
I stifled a laugh and glanced at Peter, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at Daniel with a bland expression. It was a look I had seen often that summer years ago, usually right before an attack was launched on my person. The hairs on my neck stood up in a long-forgotten salute. The feeling only increased when Peter asked in a disinterested voice, “You’re not dining with Mrs. Ramsey this evening?”
“No,” Daniel said simply.
“Oh,” said Peter. “I see.”
Daniel must have caught the faint disapproval that these words carried because he hesitated and added, “People have visited and interviewed Lauren and Polly nonstop for the past two days. What they want now is a little privacy. They should absorb this without an audience.”
Peter said nothing. Perhaps driven by his silence, Daniel continued, “Sometimes monstrous things happen to monstrous people,” he said slowly, choosing his words with care. “But when that monstrous thing is a murder, well, it may force one to hide true feelings. Just because you dislike someone doesn’t mean you murdered him. But let’s not be naïve, it does give you a motive. And that’s what the police are looking for. Motive.”
“I think I know what you mean,” said Peter. “When you know you’re being scrutinized, you act accordingly. You play a role.”
“Exactly,” said Daniel.
I thought of what I had seen of Lauren’s behavior yesterday. If that had been a toned-down version of her true emotions, then she must be dancing a jig in private. “No offense,” I said gingerly to Daniel. “I know Lauren is your friend, but if she’s trying to downplay her true feelings, she’s not doing a very convincing job of it.”
Daniel turned to me with a shake of his head. “I didn’t say I was talking about Lauren.”
His words took me by surprise. Although Polly had professed that she hadn’t cared much for her father, she nevertheless seemed genuinely upset. If not because he died, at least at how he died. Had that been an act?
“Well, all the same,” said Peter, “I expect that Lauren appreciates your role in this.”
Daniel eyed Peter with a puzzled expression. “My role?”
“Of a good friend,” Peter explained. “It must mean a lot to her knowing she has you on her side.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed slightly. He seemed to sense that Peter’s words held another meaning. Of course they
“Well, I’ll leave you two to discuss dinner,” said Peter. His attack completed, he took his bags to the kitchen.
“Did I miss something?” Daniel asked. Traces of a faint scowl lined his face, as he watched Peter’s retreating form.
“Oh, who knows,” I answered. “Just ignore him.” Changing the subject, I asked, “You mentioned dinner?”
Forcing his face into a more pleasant expression, Daniel turned to me. “Yes.” He smiled. “Dinner. How’s eight o’clock sound?”
“Perfect. Just let me check first that Aunt Winnie doesn’t need me.”
“Of course,” said Daniel, following me into the kitchen.
Daniel helped Peter and me put away the groceries. Thankfully, nothing more was said about acting or roles. In fact, not much of anything was said, as Peter had apparently gone mute. Once the groceries were put away, I went to Aunt Winnie’s room.
“Come in,” she called out in answer to my knock.
I found her at her desk, scribbling away in a tattered notebook.
“What are you doing?”
She held up her hand, signaling me to wait while she finished.
I plopped down on the bed next to Lady Catherine, who displayed her displeasure at my proximity by flicking her tail at me in a suspiciously vulgar gesture. Ignoring her, I sank back into the bed’s thick pillows and studied the room. Years ago, I read that a person’s bedroom is the best indicator of his or her personality. I had laughed because at the time I was sleeping in a depressing space with colorless walls, battered furniture, and mismatched sheets, though in hindsight that was an accurate reflection of my life then. Looking around me, I realized that this room did mirror Aunt Winnie’s personality, which was probably why I liked it so much. The walls were painted a tangy shade of sage green. The curtains were a jumbled mix of soft tangerine, crisp rose, and lime green. The furniture was simple, except for the headboard, which was an enormous wrought-iron structure that looped and intertwined halfway up the wall. Piles of books, some stacked, others just strewn about, covered every available surface. The whole effect was just like Aunt Winnie—colorful, energetic, and unconventional.
After a few minutes, she put down her pen with a satisfied air. “There,” she said, stretching her arms out in front of her. “Done.”
“What are you doing?”
“I decided to write down everything we know about the murder and the suspects,” she said. “I know it sounds silly, but if I can just get everything organized on paper, something important might jump out at me.”
“It doesn’t sound silly,” I said. “I think it’s a good idea. What do you have so far?”
She handed me the notebook. In her familiar sprawling handwriting, I read:
GERALD RAMSEY: early 60s. Wealthy. First wife died. Has one daughter, Polly, from that marriage. Married to Lauren for a few years. Disliked by most who knew him. Wanted to buy Longbourn—was that his reason for coming to New Year’s party? Reflective tape found on body suggests that his death was no random act of violence.
LAUREN RAMSEY: mid-40s. Married to Gerald. Has one child, Jamie, from previous marriage. Jamie lives in South Carolina—has special needs. Rumored to be unhappy in marriage and possibly seeking divorce. Could have been worried about prenuptial agreement. Overheard on phone New Year’s Eve with someone—lover? Is close with friend Daniel Simms—but how close?
Motive: Freedom? Money?
POLLY RAMSEY: early 20s. Single. Lives at home with Gerald and Lauren. Does not seem happy. Does not seem particularly close to Lauren. Resented her father’s control over her life but did not leave. Why? Was she too fond of the money? Applied for passport even though Gerald purportedly refused to let her attend Oxford.
Motive: Freedom? Money?
DANIEL SIMMS: late 30s. Single. Visiting Lauren Ramsey—they are old friends (?).Motive: Help Lauren out of unhappy marriage? Wants to marry Lauren himself?
JACKIE TANNER: mid-70s. Single. Recently moved to Cape with old friend Linnet Westin. Lives with her as a kind of companion. No known connection between her and Gerald. Terrible gossip—seems to know a lot about the purported relationship between Daniel and Lauren. What led to her dire straits?
Motive: none known
LINNET WESTIN: mid-70s. Widowed. Wealthy. Recently moved to Cape. Lives with old friend Jackie. Not very likable but no known connection to Gerald. Check into her husband’s past (Martin Westin)—maybe he had a connection.
Motive: none known
JOAN ANDERSON: mid-50s. Married to Henry Anderson. Visiting from New York. Claims not to know anyone here. Out with Polly in the snow on night of murder—why? Found in dining room after the murder. Claims to have been outside smoking to hide habit from Henry.
Motive: none known
