Beatrice: An Alarming Tale of British Murder and Woe by Tedd Hawks (the reading list book .TXT) 📕

was home for a short time before returning to the city. Robert arrived duringhis absence claiming his familial connection. Although he appeared to be abizarre villain from a gothic novel, he was kind. Before that, however, no onehad spoken of him.”

            “Where’she from?”

            “Someodd country near mountains. He pronounced it once, but I’d never heard of it.He claims to be a cousin.”

            “Andhis story was his gypsy blood told him to come here?”

            “Yes,he claimed ‘a premonition.’ He sent a letter to Grandfather in regard to thisfear, and Grandfather invited him to come see that everything was perfectlyfine.”

            Crockettagain forgot about the card game. “That is very suspicious.”

            Brontëshrugged her shoulders. “He brought a letter of introduction from mygrandfather, written in Grandfather’s own hand.”

            Crockettlet out an exasperated breath, frustrated that the handful of threads theyunspooled the past few days all lead to dead ends.

“Then, of course,”Brontë continued, “there are Martha and Dexter.”

            Crockettcoughed. “They have something againstyour grandfather?”

            “They’vebeen part of the family for a long time. Martha and Grandfather were alwaysseen talking on the grounds, often privately. My mother claims there was neveran affair, but one can never know. Martha has always been very unhappy, whetherthat’s from being a jilted lover or something else, I can’t say.” Brontëpaused, her hand holding a card just above the table. “The very interestingthing is that Martha and Grandfather’s meetings increased in frequency andintensity as his death approached.”

            Crockett’seyes widened. “You don’t say.”

            “Idid just say it.”

            Thetwo forgot about the fake card game, both looking to the middle distance,collecting their thoughts.

            “Andwhat,” Crockett asked distantly, “is Dexter’s connection? Would he havemotive?”

            “Dexteris a very odd case. He keeps to himself, aside from my grandfather, for whom heshowed infrequent but consistent affection. He came over with Cousin Bixby fromAmerica. When our cousin fought with Grandfather, they separated. Dexter had nomoney. Supposedly, he was also swindled by Cousin Bixby and forced to stay onas groundskeeper because he didn’t have the funds to return to America.”

            “So,”Crockett said, “if anything, he would be the most loyal to your grandfather.”

            “Honestly,he and my grandmother are the most blameless in all this.” She then added,“And, of course, Kordelia is a peculiarity, but she means no harm to anyone.Grandfather didn’t care much for her, but I hardly think she’s capable ofmurder.”

            Crocketttapped a card on the table. “That still leaves quite a number of others withmotive to get rid of him.”

            Brontëlaughed softly. “Beatrice even has cause, if we’re being honest. Grandfatherhated the poor scaly thing. To be fair, Grandmother treated her better than shedid anyone in the family.”

            Crockettshook his head. “I still don’t understand the fish…Why does your grandmotherlove it so much?”

            “There’snothing to understand. Most often things we love find us by accident. Itdoesn’t mean anything more than what it is—it’s a connection—intangible,magnetic.” Brontë abruptly stopped speaking.

            Thelayer of perspiration reformed on Crockett’s hands and forehead. Both youngpeople felt overwhelmed, hot with an anticipation they didn’t fully comprehend.

            Unableto make eye contact with Brontë, Crockett set aside his cards and placed bothhands on his temples. He cleared his throat. “If we…ummm…if we…are being pragmaticabout this, though,”—the word pragmatic, taken from one of his detectivenovels, offered the young apprentice renewed grounding—“pragmatic…yes, if weare that, then the day your grandfather died, the only individuals in the housewere Dexter, Martha, you, your sister, your mother, grandmother, and father,correct?”

            “Yes.”Brontë kept her eyes fixed at a point in the hallway to the kitchen. Sheappreciated Crockett’s return to natural discourse. “Well, and Beatrice, ofcourse.”

            Brontë’seyes met his, the tension dispelled. Crockett chuckled softly, “And Beatrice.”He took a moment to think, his eyes closing. “There’s no proof your grandfatherwas murdered, but if there was, those gathered in the house, aquatic creaturesincluded, would be the culprits.”

            Brontëpondered a moment. “I think we must add Aunt May to that list. Although she wasn’tpresent in the house, she does live near. It could have been a plot.”

            “Verygood. So, the only ones truly free from suspicion in that regard are Petrarch,Robert, and I.”

            “Itwould seem. You and Petrarch were in London and Robert was as well. After hisvisit here he went into the city for business. When he returned to the house tosay good-bye to Grandfather… well, he found out he was deceased.”

            “Thisshakes the conviction in my mind that the séance scheme is in any way related. Theonly two individuals who could have possibly executed it were Dexter andPetrarch, both of whom for which it seems impractical that they could hurtle tothe second floor, turn on the phonograph, then sprint downstairs to get totheir respective positions in the bedroom and the back lawn.”

            Brontëbit her lip. “It seems as if nothing is connected at all.”

            “So,”Crockett said resignedly, “we have no suspects and no concrete motives for anyof it.” He thought briefly of Lucinda’s note; he decided it best not toaddress, as it also only muddied their current understanding of events ratherthan clarify it. “There’s also no physical evidence,” he continued. “The bodyis gone and Kordelia’s glove is hardly a clue because…well, they areeverywhere.”

Brontë suddenly startedand looked toward Crockett. She leaned so closely to him that he could see thesmall, individual lines of color in her eyes. “What if there is someone else?” sheasked breathlessly. “We’re thinking too small, Crockett. Is there anyone else whocould have a reason, and the means, to get rid of Grandfather? Perhaps theséance is a practical joke, but what if there is someone secret, someone hiddenfrom us who would want to enact violence on him?”

            Shefinished quickly, her face radiating excitement. Crockett sat for a moment, caughtup in her earnest energy. Her beauty filled the room, clouding hiscomprehension of the facts of the case.

This was the first timein his life he’d shared such intimate confidences with a woman. He never truly becameacquainted with other feminine figures in his life; they always were at somedistance. But here was Brontë, fully before him, her beautiful complexities causinghis heart to flutter.

In the intrigue, neitherBrontë nor Crockett noticed Kordelia enter and