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

            “Is that…” Crockett’s memory flashedto the night of Beatrice’s death. “Is that who you referred to when we wokeyou? When you said, ‘Is it him?’”

            Martha appeared surprised. “I saidthat?”

            “Yes, when we woke you.”

            The expression of surprise flickeredthen faded. “I suppose it could be anyone. There’s lots of hims in thehouse.” She cleared her throat, a large amount of phlegm gurgling in her windpipe.With a loud “pfft!” she spit it into her apron.

            Crockett did his best to hide hisrevulsion. “Ummm…But do you know why she would have written to Bixby Von Bunsonwhen she heard about Bixby Hawsfeffer’s death?”

            “No,” she said abruptly, wiping hermouth with the back of her hand. “Me and the lady don’t particularly get along.We’ve grown closer out of necessity since the death of Master Hawsfeffer, butit’s not warmth that brought me into her confidences.”

            “I see.”

            Martha shuffled toward the door,dragging the broom as she went. “I’m glad you’re still looking” she said. “Ihope you find something. You and Brontë are sniffing around…you’re brave fordoing so. They say Hawsfeffer Manor swallows its secrets. It swallowed OldBaron Von Bunson. It ate Lucinda, and now,” abruptly she stopped her steadyshuffle, “it has taken Beatrice and has its eyes on Petrarch.”

            She resumed her movement again,trailing past Crockett. He could smell the odor of soap and dust on herclothing. Although not a warm woman, Crockett felt some sort of genuinekindness in her words, in her wish for Brontë and him to find something. Unlikeafter their meat cleaving exchange, he now at least felt he could trust her. Therewas also something disarming about seeing her alone in that large room. Thefrightening image of her greeting him at the front door upon his arrival wasless ominous now that he saw her attending to her regular duties.

            “Martha,” Crockett spoke softly, “Iwas speaking to the detective this morning and he asked if I could find outmore about Lucinda Hawsfeffer.”

            “Lucinda?” The old woman appearedgenuinely startled.

            “Yes, you see we both have an ideathat perhaps the events of this week are tied to the past in some way.Lucinda’s name came up in our conversation, but we don’t know anything abouther.”

            Martha turned fully toward Crockett.A smile appeared on her wrinkled face. “The past?” Her eyes clouded with amaternal glow. “Well, Lucinda was a beautiful woman, inside and out. If youbelieve what they say happened to her, then you know that it was the worsttragedy to happen in this house. The day I watched her put into the big tomb…Itwas a dark one.”

            “Was it true?” Crockett took a stepcloser. “What happened to her…?”

            Martha’s smile faded. She shook herhead. “As I said, the house swallows its secrets. I do know that the day shedied was one of the saddest I’ve seen while serving this household.” Her eyesmoistened, but she had turned away from Crockett before he could see if therewere proper tears. “If you’re nosing about the past,” she said softly as shemoved out of the room, “I’d say you should look at the paintings. You can takethe back stair through the ballroom if you want to go up and look at the onehanging in the study; it is a servant stair normally, only used by me andDexter, but it's useful for a number of things.”

            Crockett barely heard her, he wastoo focused on his final question, the one that burned inside him. His voice cracked.He finally asked, “In terms of the past, can you say whether Bixby Hawsfeffer,Jr., Mr. Pip, has ever been back? Could he have caused this chaos to seekrevenge and take back his fortune?” He held his breath in anticipation of theresponse.

            Martha’s shuffling slowed, minutely.“That is a boy I haven’t seen in quite a long time,” she said turning out ofthe room, “a very, very long time. In this house he is as dead as Lucinda andBeatrice put together.”

            Crockett shook his head as the oldwoman turned the corner. The sound of her hobbling gait faded as she passeddown the corridor.

            He quickly analyzed the interview—asecond note, Lucinda’s death, and the complete disregard of his inquiry into Pip.

Deep in thought, his eyes lifted to the ceiling. He assessed thepainting. The figure of the rider on the white horse looked triumphantly downat him. Even six feet above him, his blue eyes sparkled. The visage wasstriking—it made him think of the painting in the basement; it was tragic the faceof the young Bixby Hawsfeffer was rubbed out, ruining it.

Crockett sighed. He looked into an American soldier's eyes, then turnedhis attention to the carnage of the corpses littered throughout the rest of themural.

            “So much senseless violence,” hesaid to no one.

A dust mote floated through his line of sight and drifted acrossthe room. Resignedly, he put his hands into his trouser pockets and walked intothe hall. It was his dearest hope that Detective Pimento had come to some otherconclusion, less fantastic, more practical. In his heart, however, was thenagging feeling that Martha may have been right. The house would simply swallowthis secret as it had all the others. His fear was that, in the chaos, it mayswallow them all.

Chapter 19: Toward the Climax

            Pimento and Crockett gathered backin the study after their separate investigations. Crockett felt melancholy, hisconversation with Martha leading to nothing substantial (although he felt pridein getting any answers at all). He divulged the full details of their exchangein a plodding, defeated manner as Pimento smiled at intermittent points in hisnarrative.

            “I hope your investigation yieldedsomething more useful.” Crockett felt a pang of hope looking into Pimento’seyes. They were bright and smiling, his glasses giving off glints of sparklinglight.

            “Well, my dear boy, I think you willbe very happy with what I found.” The detective leaned toward Crockettconspiratorially. “You see Corinthiana told me the truth about that secretletter Martha spoke of. The contents will lift your spirits.”

            “The letter from Corinthiana to BixbyVon Bunson?”

            “Oh, ho!” Pimento steepled hisfingers together. “But was it to Master Von Bunson?”

            “I don’t