HENRY ANDERSON: late 50s. Married to Joan. Second marriage. First wife died. Visiting from New York.
Motive: none known.
I handed the list back to her. “Very good,” I said with a nod. “I learned a few more things today that might be of significance.” I quickly told her that Gerald had been married not twice but three times, that his first wife had been having an affair when she died, and that Polly usually went out of town with friends for the New Year but this year she had canceled at the last minute.
“That is interesting,” Aunt Winnie said, as she added those facts to the list. “Did Lily and Pansy say anything specific about Gerald’s second wife?”
“Not really. After his first wife, Tory, died, Gerald acted oddly—he abruptly got rid of all her belongings. He married his second wife, Pamela, shortly after in the hopes of using a woman’s influence to rein in Polly.” I told Aunt Winnie the story about the bicycle and Polly’s determination to have it.
“From what Lily and Pansy said,” I continued, “Pamela wasn’t very nice, and Gerald got rid of her pretty quickly.”
“Slow down,” said Aunt Winnie as she frantically scribbled on the list. “Okay, so there could be an ex–Mrs. Ramsey out there with a bit of a grudge?”
“It’s something to consider,” I said. “So, what did you learn today? Did you get a chance to talk to Joan?”
“I did, but I didn’t learn anything new. She told me the same story she had told you, but I see what you mean. She is holding something back. I just can’t tell what.”
Aunt Winnie chewed on the end of the pen as she reread her list. A slight nagging started at the back of my head. I was missing something. “Let me see that list again.” I reached out my hand. Aunt Winnie handed it to me and I reread the information on Joan. A memory swirled and settled. “The phone call!”
“What phone call?”
“The first night I got here, Joan was just coming out of your office. Do you remember?” Aunt Winnie nodded uncomprehendingly. “She said that her cell phone was dead or something and that she had used the phone in your office to make a local call.”
“So?”
I tapped the list. “According to Joan’s statement to the police, she doesn’t know anyone here. So who was she calling?”
Aunt Winnie leaned forward and eagerly took the list from me. Over her purple-framed glasses she scanned it again. “You’re right. And she couldn’t have made a long-distance call on that phone. I have it set up for local calls only.” She pursed her lips. “Looks like this requires another chat with Mrs. Anderson.” She pushed the list away with a frown.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “We’ve found something else.”
“I’ll admit it’s a start.” She sighed. “But we have so little to go on. We need more. Jackie and Linnet have invited us to lunch tomorrow. I can’t see what they have to do with this, but if nothing else, Jackie might know something. She seems to know a lot about everything else.”
“Sounds good.” Adopting a casual tone, I added, “I may be in a position to find out a bit more tonight. Daniel has invited me out to dinner.”
She gazed at me over the rims of her glasses. “I see” was all she said.
“What?” I said, still trying to act casual. It might have been more believable if I’d been able to make eye contact.
“Just be careful, dear. Daniel may really like you. That kiss he planted on you yesterday would certainly indicate that he does.” I felt my cheeks burn hot. I didn’t realize she had seen that. “But we don’t know a lot about him,” she continued. “And he does have a motive for killing Gerald.” She tapped her list. “Even if he’s not romantically involved with Lauren, he may have tried to help her out of a horrible marriage.”
I was quiet. A small part of my brain understood what she was saying, but the larger part was hurt. It was as if Aunt Winnie and Peter still saw me as an unattractive and gauche ten-year-old.
“Elizabeth?” said Aunt Winnie gently.
“I just don’t understand why everyone’s first assumption is that Daniel is using me.”
“I never said it was my first assumption, Elizabeth,” Aunt Winnie said sternly. “But a man was murdered in this house not two nights ago by someone who is still on the loose. That means everyone is a suspect and should be treated as such. Daniel may very well like you. But he might also be using you. I know that’s hard to hear, but I’d be horribly remiss if I didn’t make sure that you understood that. Do you understand?”
“I do.” Even as I said it, I knew it was only partly true. On some childish level I was angry and wanted to prove her—and Peter—wrong.
Aunt Winnie gave me a searching look before changing the subject. “Very well, then,” she said. “Go out with Daniel tonight—see if you can find anything out. And tomorrow we’ll go to Linnet’s and Jackie’s. I’ve no doubt Jackie will have much to tell us,” she added wearily.
I gave a small laugh, trying to restore the early friendly atmosphere. “Yes,” I said, “but just how much of it is truth and how much is rank speculation is yet to be seen.” I stood up to leave. “Are you sure you don’t need me for anything else tonight?”
“No,” said Aunt Winnie. “If I want anything, Peter can help me. Go and have a good time.”
I kissed her good night and turned to leave.
“Elizabeth?” she said.
I turned.
“Be careful.”
I nodded and shut the door behind me.
The restaurant that Daniel took me to had originally been a private residence but had been renovated to accommodate five separately themed dining areas on the main level. Our table was in the garden room, which was a study in brightly colored floral prints and hand-painted French antiques.
We quickly got through the awkward first-date chatter—childhood memories, school experiences, and job histories—and fell into an easy rapport. Leaning over to pour me a glass of wine, Daniel said, “So tell me again how you used to draw pictures of naked men.”
“It wasn’t like that.” I laughed. “It was for art class. You know, sketching the human form and all that.”
“The buck-naked human form, you mean. Bit pervy, if you ask me. But don’t get me wrong, I like pervy.”
“Didn’t you ever take art class in school?” I said in an attempt to regain control of the conversation.
“Sure. We covered all the basics—crayon, finger paints. I just don’t recall the naked people. To be honest, I feel a bit cheated.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive,” I said, sipping my wine.
“I suppose,” he said. “So I take it that you decided to nix a career as an artist?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, my sketches looked as if they’d been done by someone more comfortable with finger painting. And how about you? How did you land in investment banking?”
“I like money,” he said frankly. “I never seemed to have a knack for my own, mind you, but I knew a lot of people who had loads of it. Those contacts made me a perfect fit for the firm. That’s actually how I met Lauren. She was a client.”
“Really?” I said, trying not to sound too interested. “I didn’t know Lauren had lived in England.”
“Well, it was a long time ago. She came over to do some modeling. It never really took off, but she did. She became quite popular with a certain set. That’s how she met her first husband. He was a mate of mine.”
“What happened?”
“Well, James was a bit of a bounder. He made a beeline for Lauren the first moment he saw her. They had a great time together for a while, but then Lauren found out she was pregnant. She was happy about it. I think she had the naïve idea that James would settle down into domestic bliss with her and the baby, but that just wasn’t in James’s nature. He married her, of course, but once the baby was born he quietly divorced her.”
“That’s terrible,” I said, aghast.
“Yes. His family made sure she received a decent settlement, and then they basically washed their hands of her and Jamie.”
“Did they know that Jamie had … ?” I faltered.
“Problems?” Daniel finished for me. “No. Jamie’s fine. His only real problem is that he’s a delinquent.”
