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

            “Unless there is something in the tomb…”Crockett mused.

            “Corinthiana says it hasn’t beenopened since the death of Lucinda a very long time ago.”

Detective Pimento rose. Slowly, he began to pace the room. Hissteps were labored, theatrical as he crossed toward the door. His feet lightlybrushed the carpet, a soft whisper of tensing fibers meeting each footfall.

            “Maybe someone thinks thereis something in the tomb. There could be some kind of family rumor that Lucindahad a large diamond or some expensive jewelry.” Crockett turned toward Pimento.

            “They would have told us thisbefore,” Pimento said. “Augüst would have boasted about it at somepoint.” Pimento shook his head emphatically. “No, I don’t think there isanything in the tomb. I think the attack on Petrarch was out of revenge, anunplanned junket in our little journey.”

            “Revenge?” Crockett looked shocked.“Why?”

            “Perhaps Petrarch knew something—orsomeone. Did he confide in you, Crockett?”

            “He did,” Crockett said. “He told meeverything.”

            “Perhaps he also had secrets.”

            Crockett hesitated. Pimento couldsee the wheels of the young man’s brain working with difficulty. Outside, rainbegan to pelt the windows, another summer storm announcing its arrival.[40]

            As if on cue, the door to the studywas thrown open and Petrarch himself entered. Despite a dressing around hishead, the old man looked the picture of health. His round cheeks were red, hiseyes twinkled merrily.

            “Hullo,” he said warmly. “How arethings coming along?”

            “Petrarch!” Crockett rose and rantoward his master. He gripped the old man’s hand with tenderness. Tears formedon the edges of his multi-colored eyes. “I thought I lost you last night—Ithought…”

            “Dear boy!” Petrarch gently pushedCrockett away. “I’m quite fine. I have an overwhelming headache, but other thanthat, I feel in the prime of my life.”

            “So, you can tell us what happened?”Pimento asked.

            “What did happen? And who are you?”Petrarch’s eyes narrowed.

            “I’m Detective Lucian LucretianPimento. I was called here last night.”

            “Why would you come last night?”Petrarch suddenly looked very alarmed. “We played cards and went to bed. NowI’m up for breakfast.”

            Pimento and Crockett exchangedglances.

            “Petrarch…” Crockett spoke slowly,“you don’t remember last night?”

            “I do remember whist. Kordeliacheats, if you ask me, no way she would take me in a straight game. I was bestat my gentleman’s club for three years running.”

            “Someone tried to kill you, Mr.Bluster.” Pimento crossed his arms over his chest. “You could still be indanger.”

            Petrarch began spluttering oddly. Hislips flapped open and shut but no words formed, only bizarre “pffts” and“pffatzzzs” escaped his mouth.

            “Petrarch, someone shot at you lastnight,” Crockett spoke softly. “We found you passed out on the floor—and then,”Crockett’s cheeks flushed, “then, you, bumped your head on the bed trying toget up.”

            “Someone tried to kill me?” Petrarchsaid slowly. “I was attempted murdered?”

            “I would say murder was attempted onyou, but yes,” Pimento said.

            “Well, by Jove, that does complicatethings.” The old man began to pace the room quickly. It was only then thatCrockett noticed he had not put on pants, or rather, he had wrapped the pantsaround his waist as if they were a belt.

            “Petrarch, perhaps we should get youto back to bed. I think the shock of last night hasn’t completely worn off.”Crockett attempted to catch the solicitor, but he was running in a circleerratically like a chicken.

            “You don’t have your pants on, sir,”Pimento said, the harsh tones used upon his arrival returning to his voice.“You shouldn’t be up here.”

            “But, you know, I thought I had itfigured out! The whole sequence of events. I thought it was August –”

            “Augüst,” Pimento andCrockett said together.

            “But it wasn’t malevolent, you see,it was simply to keep things moving. He was tired of the old man stealingattention, even in death. Aug—well, you know how to pronounce it—he wanted hismoney and to be done. He told me he had a plan to move the family to hisfamily’s home in West Cheshiretonwildonshireshed. Crockett,” the old man ceasedrunning around for a brief moment, “that is why I told you to forget it all andgo along with the entombment. It wasn’t a malevolent murder, simply some parlortricks used as a means to an end.”

            As Petrarch reflected on this, theparty grew. Brontë and her mother entered the room. Brontë threw a glance atPetrarch and then at Crockett. She mouthed words to him that Crockett could notunderstand.

            “Petrarch!” June began to awkwardlychase the old man, who had resumed his chicken run at an increased rate. “Weneed—we need to get you back to bed!”

            “No, but, I’m thinking,” Petrarchsaid. “Fetch me my pipe!”

            Crockett and June ended theirpursuit and stood to the side of the room as Petrarch spoke quickly andintermittently.

            “You see, I thought, well, I hadbeen speaking with everyone and I was going, Crockett, my boy, I was going totell you it was all solved and put to bed, so to speak. Robert Edward is acreepy bugger, but not into murdering—also can’t hold a knife—I tested that atdinner. I was running my own investigation, better than this strange gentleman,if you ask me.”

            It continued in that way for quitesome time before Brontë delicately stepped forward and gently gripped the oldman’s arms.

            “Dear Petrarch, I think you may be abit scrambled still from the events of last night.”

            “The whist! Yes, your pet alligatorcheats at that game, if you ask me.”

            “Alligator?” Brontë lookeddistressed.

            “I think we better get MasterBluster back to bed,” June said quickly, coming up behind Petrarch and gentlyshoving him toward the door. “He’s been through a lot over the past twenty-fourhours.”

            "Diggleshroot! The fish!”Petrarch tried to push away from June and Brontë and run toward the desk. “The herring,I think, wanted the money. That’s why she was killed by the maid. Maids can’tbe replaced by fish, you see. No opposable thumbs!”

            Brontë and June kept their grip andshuffled Petrarch toward the door. The last words Crockett and Pimento heardhim utter before disappearing into the hallway were, “The key maybe did it!Killed the fish and the bird!”

            Muffled yells were heard down