Tracy Kiely: Murder at Longbourn

“Yes,” said Detective Stewart. “We’ve gotten some medical history on Ms. Tanner and apparently she’s struggled with this anger a long time. She’d seen several psychiatrists over the years, but without success.” He paused. “Obviously.”

“Could she really have gotten away with it?” asked Bridget. “I mean, just taking over someone’s identity like that?”

“She might have,” said Detective Stewart. “Neither woman had other living relatives and there was no reason to doubt who she said she was. You can get away with a great deal if you have enough audacity.”

“So Joan was …” said Randy.

“Polly’s aunt, nothing more, nothing less,” intoned Detective Stewart.

“But what about Daniel?” said Peter. “He lied about being with Polly. Why?”

“Because Polly was actually with Joan. They didn’t want that known because they were afraid that people would start to wonder why they were spending time together. If their relationship as aunt and niece was discovered, they feared that Joan would fall under police suspicion. Daniel gave Polly that cover.”

“And we all know how uncomfortable suspicion is,” said Aunt Winnie to the ceiling.

Detective Stewart shifted awkwardly in his chair. “I am sorry, Ms. Reynolds,” he said, “but …”

Aunt Winnie waved away his apology. “But I look like a crazed killer. I know. Don’t worry about it. I get that all the time.” She leaned forward and winked. “Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m hungry. How about you all come help me in the kitchen?” Next to me, Peter moved to stand up. “I didn’t mean you, Peter,” she said. “You sit here and rest. Keep Elizabeth company.”

Within seconds, the room was empty, the result of Aunt Winnie’s none-too-subtle maneuvering. Peter and I sat close together in silence and watched the rhythmic leaping of the flames of the fire. My heart beat a little faster.

Peter took a deep breath and gently took my hand in his. “Elizabeth? I hope you know that I wasn’t trying to put one over on Aunt Winnie with the inn. I was only trying to help.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was just upset about her having to sell it in the first place. It really didn’t matter whom she sold it to.”

“There’s something else you should know,” he said. His face was flushed, but whether from the fire or emotion, I couldn’t tell. “I was going to rename it the Inn at Lambton.”

“Peter, it doesn’t matter what … wait a minute, what were you going to name it?”

His amber eyes glowed in the soft firelight. “From Pride and Prejudice, the Inn at Lambton.”

“But …” The Inn at Lambton was where Elizabeth was staying when she and Mr. Darcy realized they loved each other. Peter leaned toward me and kissed me. I didn’t stop him—for a long time. Then I reluctantly unwrapped myself and eased away. His eyes sought out mine in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, after all I am a girl on the rebound.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I overheard what you said to Aunt Winnie on New Year’s Eve. You told her that you didn’t want to date a girl on the rebound.”

Peter looked embarrassed. “Oh. I just said that to save face. You’d made it pretty clear that you didn’t like me. I knew that if I asked you out, you’d say no.”

“But what about Maggie,” I replied. “I don’t like …”

He laughed. “Maggie is my dog. I made up the rest.”

I reached up and touched his bandaged head. “It’s a lucky thing you have a head injury,” I said, before pulling him back toward me.

Later, as we sat together with everyone again eating crackers and cheese, I thought about my New Year’s resolutions: to have inner poise, not to let Peter McGowan get under my skin, not to allow myself to be locked in a dark basement, and finally to have a calm and relaxing New Year’s.

In a week, I had broken every single one of those resolutions. I grabbed Peter’s hand and smiled. He squeezed my hand and smiled back.

It was going to be a great year.