Tag: #Mysteries

Chapter 6: A Legacy

Jacquetta was summoned from the shower by a phone call.

“May I speak to Miss Strike please?” inquired a formal voice, so she replied with equal formality, “This is she”, in spite of her total nudity and the soap in her eyes.

“Miss Strike, this is Neil Dettler of Dawson & Dettler the Glasstown attorneys. I have the honor of being executor of the late Miss Beatrix Rainbeaux’s will. I may say that it mentions you. Could you possibly attend a reading of the will at the home of Mrs. George Cleese, 27 Dane Forge, in that town at two pm?”

“I am? Are you sure?” Jacquetta asked stupidly. Should she mention she’d met the departed less than twenty-four hours ago?

“Certainly I’m sure,” said the lawyer, sounding nettled. “I don’t read things that aren’t there.”

Oooooh! This meant whatever she’d written he hadn’t known about in advance, making the whole thing a lot more likely. How Honey would adore this! Jacquetta could hardly wait to tell her.

“Just let me make a note of it,” she said, water dripping over the calendar. “Do you mean today?” Wasn’t that unseemly haste? “Yes, I’ll be there.”

“Then I’ll expect you,” said the lawyer, ringing off.

Jacquetta dried herself thoughtfully. Did the old lady leave her the price of a lunch, or the entire estate? Jacquetta suspected it was probably something pertaining to their discussion. Had she feared her approaching death? The person she’d described to Jacquetta on the train would hardly scruple to remove an adversary!

She fired up the blow drier and met her own eyes in the mirror, saying goodbye to her long hair, as she always did these days. She had had it since childhood. Well, childhood was long gone. She cast an unwilling glance toward the phone. Her first call shouldn’t be to Honey at The Royal Mess but to the convent.

How difficult it was to lead an honest, much less honorable life! Knowing a funeral was a perfect reason to delay entry for a few days, she had no intention of telling the nuns that she’d only just met the decedent. She might try to con herself that it simply complicated things, but she knew that wasn’t the real reason.

The real reason was, she obviously wasn’t as finished with this worldly life as she’d led them to believe. Really, it was getting to the point where she’d have to start taking notes for her next confession. The list was growing and growing.

What an impostor she was! All the better to sniff out another impostor. How clever the late Miss Rainbeaux had been!

Chapter 5. A Death

Jacquetta woke with a hangover. Oh well, she thought, it’s probably for the last time. Wine in the convent sometimes –maybe twice a year – but champagne definitely not.

Honey, who routinely drank as though she had a wooden leg, put her head around the door. She had not only drunk Jacquetta under the table but she had touched up her hair – newly blonded, it puffed out around her carefully made up face like a bridal veil.

“Here’s coffee,” she offered, “Unless you want more sleep.”

Jacquetta sat right up. “No, no,” she said. “I need to wake up now if I plan to get to that lunch. Coffee, please.”

Honey’s other hand held the morning paper and aspirin.

“What did I ever do to deserve such a fabulous roommate?” Jacquetta wailed.

“We were made for each other,” said Honey. “I’m not even going to try to replace you, so feel free to leave the convent at any time. You know, if it turns out they’re into secret beatings and mind control.”

“Flagellation is passé,” said Jacquetta. Mind control however… always popular. Monasteries or magazines, same thing everywhere. “But aren’t you and Barney getting married?”
Honey shuddered. “He needs to shape up first.”

Coffee in bed with the morning paper…even with a headache it was worth it. Last time, Jacquetta reminded herself. Breakfast in bed really was the ultimate luxury. She started with the town news, always more compelling than the national. And there it was, GLASSTOWN FOUNDER DEAD AT 87.

“Cause of death unknown but heart attack suspected. Miss Rainbeaux’s father Martin came to New Jersey in 1907 to found a factory that soon became world famous for stained glass and objets d’art. Windows from the factory are installed as far away as the American Embassy in Rome and the Cathedral of the Precious Blood in Montreal. Museums…blah blah blah.”

Jacquetta’s eyes bugged but the photograph was quite unmistakable – Miss Rainbeaux taken recently – exactly the woman she had met on the train – and Miss Rainbeaux in youth, dressed for her début. Those eyebrows alone would have scared the men away.

No lunch for me, she thought. What a coincidence! Sister Agatha would say there’s no such thing as “coincidence” and she found herself inclined to agree. You didn’t tell a total stranger you feared a sociopath and then suddenly wind up dead by happenstance. Jacquetta’s eyes flew past “survived by” and down to the announcement of “visitation” which she recognized as another word for “wake.” She produced a pair of nail scissors and cut out the article with care. It looked like the good sisters would just have to wait for their latest postulant. Jacquetta had something important to do first.