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

“No, it’s Augüst.” August pronounced his name so precisely spittle flew onto Pimento’sred jacket.

            The detective wiped the saliva fromhis lapel. “Mr. Winterbourne then,” he said quickly. “And you, my foreignfriend?”

            “Robert Edvard Harrington, at yourservice.” Robert bowed dramatically.

            Pimento’s nose twitched. “Indeed. Whatam I to expect when I see the crime scene?”

            “Already having us do your workthen?” August crossed his arms over his chest triumphantly.

            The detective glared. “Perhaps youcan be of more assistance, Mr. Harrington.”

            “Somevun tried to kill ze old solicitor,”Robert said nervously. “But he vas a bad shot and ve vere afraid he died of aheart explosion.”

            “But he woke up,” August said, histone bored. “So, perhaps, it’s best if you went away and left us.”

            Pimento’s eyes flicked between thetwo men. “Why was I called, if there is no murder proper?”

            “Vell, ve zink zat zere is somethingafoot.”

            August’s mustache shimmied as heleaned in close to Robert. “Let’s keep this all in the family,” he saidquietly. “There's no need to include anyone else.”

            “Mr. Winterbourne,” Detective Pimento’svoice grew grave, “I’m not here to squabble; I’m here to investigate an evilincident. I have no desire to exchange barbs with you throughout the night. Ifthe situation is as you say, then I will happily go on my way.”

            August’s mustache shook happily.

            “But, before I leave for theevening, I will need to see the solicitor, and I will also need to know why ourdear, foreign friend,” he said motioning to Robert, “is so upset.”

            August, for the first time, lostsome of his resolve. The truth was quite complicated, and, had the police notproven to be incompetent for decades, would have been included from the first.

He looked at Robert sheepishly. Neither man spoke.

Detective Pimento shook his head in annoyance. “Out with it,please. I do not do well with those who waste my time.”

            August sniffed haughtily and beganto speak slowly—although, he was an expert at feigning confidence, he had noidea how to describe the present situation in which his family foundthemselves. “About one week ago, the patriarch of the family died by drowning,”he said, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

            “Where?” asked Pimento.

            “In the river which runs along theback of the estate.”

            Pimento flicked open a notebook, hiseyes holding the gaze of August. While keeping eye contact, he began toscribble in his notebook. “And?”

            “And we all gathered at the housefor the burial, of course, or rather…entombment, to mark his passing sincethere is no body.” As Pimento seemed to swell and gain authority, Augustdiminished, growing almost deferential. In just a few, brief moments, thedetective had undermined August’s abundant ego and made him a simpering puppy.

            “No body?” Pimento let out a largebreath from his nose. “Interesting.”

            “As others arrived, things havegrown odder with each passing day. Corinthiana, his wife and my mother-in-law,wouldn’t read the will, you see. Then, May and Robert Edward arrived late. The fishwas murdered.”

            “The fish?” Pimento stopped writing;his penetrating gaze bored even more intensely into August. “A fish wasmurdered?”

            “Beatrice, y-y-y-yes,” Auguststuttered. “She was eviscerated and hung by the door.”

            “No accident then? This fish…was…whydid its death matter?"

            “She was our matriarch's pet. She'sfrom the country, you know. She grew up with pet trout.” For the first time theabsurdity of Corinthiana's fish companion hit August with full force. He took amoment to regain his composure and continued. "Someone disemboweledBeatrice using a sword."

            Pimento’s hand resumed writing, racingacross the page. “You know it was a sword?”

            “Yes, the weapon came from thebasement. My daughter discovered it.”

            Pimento’s eyebrows raised as hecontinued writing. “Please continue.”

            “Then tonight it was discovered wehad a copy of the key for the tomb to complete the entombment and carry on withthe funeral.”

            “There was no key before?” Pimentoasked coldly.

            “No.”

            “So, the delay in the will readingwasn’t a delay so much as the entombment itself was delayed due to no key?”

            “Perhaps, yes. Corinthiana wanted todo the will reading and the entombment concurrently.”

            “I see.” Pimento took a break fromwriting and daintily tapped his chin with his pen. “And that brings us to thepresent scene?”

            “Yes.” August grew more and morenervous. He spoke quickly, fat droplets of sweat running down his forehead. “Itappears someone thought Petrarch, our solicitor, had the key in his room, sothey fired the gun and searched the premises.”

            With a flick of his wrist, Pimentoshut his notebook. In a few quick, gliding steps he made his way toward thehallway which he’d seen Crockett and the doctor exit into. The man in thepolice uniform followed quickly.

            “So!” August called out anxiouslybehind him. “You think it’s all a family squabble? No cause for alarm?”

            Pimento stopped only for a moment. Heturned his head, the feather in his jacket shaking with the sudden shift inmomentum.

            “Now you are asking for the adviceof an incompetent detective, Mr. Winterbourne?” The detective's mouthtightened, creating a harsh gash of a smile on his face. “My intuition sayssomething ominous is hidden here. Murder can have many faces and, in thishouse,” he said softly, “I can see its eyes shining in the dark.”

Chapter 17: Tick Tock

            Detective Pimento quickly dispelledany inhibitions the family had regarding the intelligence of the local police.Deftly, he entered Petrarch’s bedroom, launching direct, penetrating questionsat all those gathered. His eyes flitted surreptitiously between the entire castof characters; a few times he smiled knowingly to himself as he scribbled inhis notebook.

During the interrogatory assault from the detective, the doctorinspected Petrarch and confirmed that the old man had no permanent damage, andthat he was, in fact, still breathing.[35] His one contribution wastaking a bottle of unmarked pills from his bag and advising Corinthiana to“administer ‘ery hour er day, whichever camed first.” He then presented thewidow with a potato with a wink. This confused everyone greatly, however Pimentoassured them all that keeping a ripe potato in the room with a sick person wasa Welsh tradition going back to the twelfth century.

Within three-quarters of an hour of the detective’s arrival, thefamily was moving back to bed, Petrarch was snoring peacefully, and