Page 95 of Murder on the Page

“Key,” Tegan demanded.

He fished it from his pocket.

“Winston.” I stepped between him and Tegan and took the key from him. “Stupidity isn’t a crime. You’re free to go. And don’t come back unless you want the cops to intervene.”

CHAPTER23

“Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance.” . . . In spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness.

—Charlotte Lucas, in Jane Austen’sPride and Prejudice

Winston banged the conference room door as he exited. Tegan exhaled, set her teacup on its saucer, and sank into her chair. Chloe, Lillian, and I applauded.

“You were masterful,” I said. “Brilliant.”

“Your aunt would be so proud,” Lillian said.

“Elizabeth Bennet too!” Chloe cried.

Tegan pressed her burning cheeks with her palms. “It was the dress. I felt Jane Austen’s style of speaking churning inside me, and I couldn’t stop them from popping out.”

“Bravo!” I exclaimed.

When we were all sufficiently calm, I served up the trifle, and we dug in. Maybe it was the electric energy in the air, but I had to say it was one of the best I’d ever made.

At dusk, after changing into our regular clothes, packing up the dresses and bonnets Lillian provided, and taking dishes and leftovers to my van, I helped Chloe and Tegan close the shop, and we tallied up the day’s receipts. Then I followedTegan, who was rattled by Winston’s appearance, to the Blue Lantern to make sure she arrived safely.

The lanterns hanging on the shepherd’s hooks were all illuminated. The brass ones by the entry were, too. In the parlor, to the right, guests had gathered for the nightly wine tasting. Noeline wasn’t in attendance. Helga was serving mini quiches laced with rosemary. I bit into one and hummed my approval. They were divine.

“Where’s my mother?” Tegan asked, nabbing a second quiche.

“In her office,” Helga said.

Tegan steered me to the room that was situated left of the kitchen and opened the door. Like the guest rooms, the office was decorated in white and blue with a lantern motif. The antique furniture pieces included a secretary’s desk and chair, a bookshelf filled with hardcover classics, a pair of oak file cabinets, a large vintage floor safe, a beautiful blue brocade divan, and a pair of scroll-back side chairs. Noeline was bent over the desk, which was as messy as all get-out, with pens, pencils, receipts, and paperclips scattered hither and yon.

“What’s going on, Mother?” Tegan asked. “Did a hurricane hit?”

“I’ve lost my keys.”

I flashed on Marigold’s wild search for hers a couple of weeks ago.

“I’ve rifled through every drawer in here.” Noeline sounded as frantic as her sister had. “This is the only place I leave them, unless I’m on my way out. Then they’re by my purse.”

“I left mine in the laundry room last week,” Tegan said.

“I don’t do laundry,” her mother snapped.

Tegan raised both hands in defense.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Noeline said, her cheeks flushing as florid as her rose-colored sheath. “I simply don’t misplace things. I don’t. I’m a creature of habit. Losing things isn’t normal for me.”

“Are these the same keys you said you left home last Saturday?” I asked.

“Yes. I haven’t required them since then and forgot to look for them until now, but I need one to open the wine cabinet, and—”

“Helga doesn’t have a set of keys?” Tegan asked.

“Not to the wine cabinet. It’s not that I don’t trust her. I do. With my life. The cabinet is a recent acquisition. I just never got around to making one for her.” Noeline grunted in exasperation. “Shoot! I always place the keys in the top drawer of this desk. Helga said the last time she saw them, they were by my purse in the kitchen. Shoot!” She spanked the desktop.

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