smile.
“What about your bookstore?”
“I’m selling it,” said Randy. “Without Gerald, the plan for the mini–shopping center fell through and I was able to find a buyer.”
I was still standing with my fists clenched at my sides. “Elizabeth,” said Aunt Winnie, “it’s what I want to do. No one forced me into this. It was my decision. It’s because I love Longbourn so much that I’m doing this. If people won’t stay here, then I don’t have a business. But if Peter and his parents take it over, then it has a chance. And like Peter said, once all this is finished, I can buy my share back. I will feel much better with them running the inn rather than some stranger.”
I didn’t know what to say. Aunt Winnie’s mind was made up. I looked at her and Randy sitting together on the couch. I refused to look at Peter. Randy caught my eye and said gently, “From a business point of view, it makes great sense.”
Defeated, I shook my head and turned to leave the room. “Where are you going?” Aunt Winnie called out after me.
“To bed.” I felt like I could sleep for a week.
Contrary to the popular belief that a good night’s sleep is a great cure-all, I didn’t feel better in the morning. In fact, as the cold morning light streamed through my bedroom window, I felt worse. I now understood Aunt Winnie’s impulsive decision to buy Longbourn in the first place. There was something special about it. The thought of her having to sell it—even if it was only a part of it—made me feel worse than any hangover.
Lying in bed mulling over this recent turn of events, my mind rekindled a thought I’d started to formulate after Jackie had died, something to do with nicknames. When it came to me, I sat upright. Of course! Other facts formed a pattern, and a solution emerged. I ran downstairs, past the armed policeman in the foyer, to tell Aunt Winnie. I flung open the kitchen door.
“Jesus,” Peter said. “Don’t do that! You scared the crap out of me!”
Still angry, I ignored him. “Aunt Winnie,” I said, “I think I figured out something! I’ll need to check it out, of course, but—”
Aunt Winnie’s face clouded over. “No, Elizabeth,” she said, interrupting me. “I’ve made my decision. I want you to stay out of this. And you, too, Peter,” she said, turning to him. “Let the police handle it.”
“Are you kidding?” I said.
Peter was equally astonished. “You want us to leave this in the hands of Detective Stewart and Ichabod Crane out there?” He jerked his head toward the foyer.
“In a word, yes,” said Aunt Winnie.
“But why?” I asked. “I think I’ve figured something out—” Aunt Winnie grabbed my arm. Hard. “Why? Are you serious? Listen to me! Elizabeth, this isn’t a game! Jackie is dead because she tried to play detective! And someone tried to kill Linnet because he thought she knew something. I’m not going to let the same thing happen to you. You are the closest thing I’ve ever had to a daughter and I’m not going to put you in danger!” Her voice caught and tears sprang into her eyes. “And you!” she said, spinning back to Peter. “Don’t you get any stupid ideas, either. I may not be related to you, but as far as I’m concerned you’re a part of this family. I am pulling rank on the both of you. You will not get involved. We will let the police handle this. I know that they suspect me, and I appreciate what you have been trying to do, but I cannot let you do anything more. It’s simply too dangerous. Am I understood?”
Peter and I stared mutely at her. She glared back. “Answer me! Am I understood?”
“Yes, Aunt Winnie,” I said, pasting on a meek expression.
“Yes, Aunt Winnie,” said Peter with equal meekness.
But I knew we were both lying.
Aunt Winnie knew it, too, because she said, “And to ensure that you do just that, I’ve taken the liberty of calling your friend Bridget.”
“What?” I said. “When?”
“Last night. She and Colin are on their way up.” She checked her watch. “They should be here by two o’clock. They’ve agreed to stay a couple of days. I’ve already got their room ready.”
“Who are Bridget and Colin?” Peter asked.
“Bridget is my best friend,” I answered quickly, forgetting that I wasn’t speaking to him, “and Colin is her fiancé.” I looked back at Aunt Winnie. “But why did you call them?”
“Because I know you. And I can’t watch you twenty-four hours a day to make sure that you—the two of you —stay out of trouble. But among me, Bridget, and Colin, the odds are much more in my favor.”
“But this is silly!” I sputtered. “I don’t need a babysitter!”
“I never said you did,” Aunt Winnie answered. “Think of it as a little peace of mind for me.”
The arrival of Bridget and Colin might bring peace of mind to Aunt Winnie; it would do anything but that for me. Bridget had an overblown and finely honed sense of loyalty. If she had promised Aunt Winnie to keep me from investigating, then that’s what she would do. I glanced at my watch. If I wanted to get anything done before she and Colin arrived, I would have to get moving.
After breakfast, I went into town under the pretext of visiting Lily and Pansy and stocking up on more pastries. In reality, I wanted to go to the Internet café. It was the only place where I’d be able to confirm what I now suspected.
I stopped at the Teapot first, so my outing would not be a total lie. Both Lily and Pansy were agog with questions about Jackie’s death and Linnet’s collapse. Looking over her shoulder, Pansy said in a hushed voice, “I can tell you it’s cast a pall on this town. Everyone is scared and no one wants to venture out of doors. The other day this place was packed—Mrs. Ramsey and that housekeeper of hers, what’s her name?”
“Mrs. Jenkins,” provided Lily.
“That’s right, Mrs. Jenkins. Anyway, they were here placing orders for the reception after the funeral.”
“That friend of hers was with her, too,” Lily added in a meaningful voice. “You know the one.”
“Daniel?”
“That’s the one.” She nodded. “He’s a handsome devil.”
“He and Polly were here?” I asked.
“No,” said Pansy, shaking her head. “Not Polly.
But that meant that he had lied to Detective Stewart when he said that he’d been with Polly all that day. I snapped my mouth shut. I was not about to repeat Jackie’s mistakes.
Once my purchases were boxed, I thanked Lily and Pansy and hurried along the snow-covered street to the Internet café. I bought a cup of coffee and settled at one of the computers. The place was empty save for the proprietor, who idly leafed through a magazine, and a lone customer who methodically tapped away at his keyboard. The former, an earnest-looking boy with wire glasses and neatly trimmed blond hair, and the latter, a lumpy man with stringy black hair, paid me scant interest.
I typed in Baxter and waited. In no time, the information I was searching for appeared on the screen. It was just as I had suspected. I reached over and hit the print button.
CHAPTER 25
—SOPHIE TUCKER
I DROVE AS fast as I dared back to the inn, although I was hampered by the icy conditions of the roads and the timid progress of the other drivers. On my way, I called Detective Stewart, whose number I had memorized by now. The line rang and rang and rang and rang. My heart sank with each additional chime and I feared that I was going to get his voice mail again. Thankfully, he finally picked up the receiver. With a sigh of relief, I blurted out what I had learned. My words were jumbled and incoherent, but they must have made sense to him because after a brief silence, he simply said, “Damn it! I’ll be right there. Don’t do anything stupid.”
I wondered what exactly constituted “stupid.” After parking my car, I raced into the inn. In the foyer stood the Andersons, putting on their coats. I couldn’t let them leave. “Um, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson?” I said. “I don’t think
