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

            “Mr. Cook, do you mind if I ask yousomething? We can put aside the phonograph accomplice for now.”

            The young man grew nervous. “Yes…ofcourse, you may ask me anything.”

            “Good.” Pimento put his hands behindhis back and stared upon the house grounds. “You see, I’ve already eliminatedyou as a suspect. You don’t know the house, and you couldn’t have found the keyto get to the sword that killed the herring.”

            “Beatrice…”

            “So, I trust you.” Pimento turneddramatically. “Would you mind if I expressed my own opinion of the events toyou? Perhaps you could provide additional context or insights.”

             Crockett nodded apprehensively.

            Pimento did not notice thereservation in Crockett’s expression. The detective sniffed assuredly andturned back to the window. “Good, my boy. You see I need to know everything.This case, I believe, is not one that is dangerous, but one that stems fromwhat is being unsaid, what is being kept secret. In West Hampminstershireshirewe don’t get many murders …or attempted murders. To be honest, it’s your opinion that is of the mostvital importance to me. You come from the outside. You can see therelationships of these people better than most, better than they, probablybetter than I. You have been here, in the thick of it, heard them talk, heardthem plot, heard them complain. I need you to be absolutely honest, overflowingwith veracity. You,” the old detective turned and began to walk towardCrockett, “you are the key to this, my dear boy. Petrarch is incapacitated andI need you to be my eyes and ears.”

            Crockett looked deeply into thedetective’s eyes. He felt both seen and, yet, looked over, as if he werestanding in front of the star actor the audience desperately wanted to view.But, as Crockett hesitated, Detective Pimento extended his hand and gently putit on Crockett’s shoulder.

            "I think we can take care ofthis case together," he said.

            A shock went through the young man,a jolt of profound feeling. The conspiratorial nature, the warmth, the fatherlytouch overwhelmed the solicitor’s young assistant. With Petrarch injured, Crockettneeded a new, avuncular confidant to share his secret, and something in theassured touch of Pimento struck an emotional chord deep inside him. Themistrust he felt moments before, loosened. Pimento, whether through detectivian[37] wisdom or emotionalwarmth, had created a bond. Without thought or compunction, Crockett spoke.

            “Bixby,” he said quickly.

            Detective Pimento’s eyebrows rose.His mouth punched out like that of a fish, a haunting resemblance to thedeceased Beatrice.

            “Actually, Pip Hawsfeffer, otherwiseknown as Bixby, Jr.” Crockett went on breathlessly, “I think it’s Bixby’s sonwho is behind everything. He’s back and he’s interfering with matters to takewhat he thinks is owed him and avenge his mother’s death. I think Kordelia’sphonograph trick was merely an amusement, but Pip killed his father and thenkilled Beatrice to get revenge on his family and…attain something...That’s whatI’m unsure about.”

            Detective Pimento’s face shiftedfrom the surprised fish expression, to one of deep confusion. Slowly, he movedaround the desk to his seat.

            “The homosexual?” he asked. “The onein Paris?”

            “Yes. Have you heard about the note?I think it’s vital to the case, but I don’t know what it means.”

             “I have not,” he said drily, his body slowlylowering into the leather chair. Crockett noted that he appeared to want to saymore, but, for some reason, it was withheld.

            When the detective did not speak,Crockett continued, “Corinthiana most likely didn’t mention it because itdoesn’t link to anything. But what if it did?”

            “What is in the note?” Pimento nervouslyplayed with his lapel. “Who wrote it? Who was it to?”

            “It was from Bixby’s first wife,Lucinda.” Crockett paused, unsure whether the detective was humoring him orbelieved in some part of his fantastic theory. “It was addressed to Petrarch tobe opened at the time of Bixby, Sr.’s death. It included the key to the tomb. That’swhy Petrarch had it—he didn’t really discover it in his papers.”

            “Yes?” Pimento’s eyes lost theirmerriment; in its place an intense thoughtfulness flooded in.

            “Lucinda wrote a note shortly beforeshe disappeared. It seems benign, but it could mean something very important.It simply asks Pip to visit his mother’s tomb, but…well, perhaps it was a codeof some kind.”

            Pimento was still off-kilter. Hiswords came slowly, laboriously. “What do you know about Lucinda?”

            “Nothing of importance.” Crockettleaned back in the chair. A deep sense of relief accompanied his confession.Even Brontë laughed at his theory, but Pimento seemed, at the very least,interested. “I know she was Bixby Hawsfeffer, Sr.’s first wife and that shedisappeared many years ago. There is suspected foul play.”

            “Do you think they’re linked then?” Pimentoasked. “Do you think that her death all those years ago and the current…” hehesitated briefly, “…troubling incidents are linked across time?”

            “That I don’t know,” Crockett said.“I just have a feeling that, not only is Bixby the younger involved, but someonein the house is assisting him.” Crockett hoped that this would jar thedetective—make him gasp in appreciation—but he only looked more troubled.Crockett continued, “The people in this house are eccentric; they all havemotive. It’s not a far reach to suspect that we all could be guilty. We shouldbe looking at everyone, even Petrarch, Martha, and Dexter.”

            Detective Pimento came to raptattention. Crockett looked at him uncertainly. “Yes, Detective?”

            “Sorry…Dexter…” he said slowly.

            “Yes, the groundskeeper,” Crockettcontinued. “He ran off. I spoke with him, and I can say I think he's the leastlikely to be involved in any of this.”

            Detective Pimento turned his gazeout the window. “It’s an interesting assortment of characters,” he saidthoughtfully. “We need to get them all organized, but our time is short.”

            “Short?” Crockett felt an impendingsense of dread.

            “My boy,” Pimento turned his headtoward him ominously, “there has been an attempted murder, and the killer andthe victim are still undiscovered. It’s only a matter of time before there isanother strike made against the old man. My guess is that the solicitor knowswho did it, and the perpetrator is moving about the house in abject fear of himawaking and confessing. We stand on the edge of a knife.” Pimento