Free Murder at Longbourn by Tracy Kiely Page A

her. It must be hard to go through life with a father as obnoxious as Gerald Ramsey. I wondered if she often found herself apologizing for his rude behavior.
    “I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said finally. “Aunt Winnie didn’t seem upset.”
    “I’m glad. She seems like a nice lady. I hope she never sells this place.”
    That surprised me. “Oh, I don’t think you have to worry about her selling anytime soon. She loves it too much.”
    “I hope so, but you don’t know my father. When he wants something, he usually gets it.” In a low voice, she added, “Just tell your aunt to be careful.”
    Before I could ask what she meant by that, Daniel walked up. “Well, here you are! Why are you two hiding in the corner?”
    Polly smiled at him. From across the room, Gerald barked out, “Polly! Come here!”
    Her smile instantly died and her checks grew red, but whether from shame or anger I couldn’t tell. “Excuse me,” she said quietly, and slowly walked to where Gerald stood.
    Daniel watched her go, his lips pressed together in a thin, angry line. “That poor kid,” he said finally. “He’s a real prat.” He absentmindedly ate a cheese puff and surveyed the room. In one corner Linnet stood talking to Jackie. Daniel observed them quietly. With a nod to Linnet, he then said, “So, I take it that’s the fine lady who single-handedly saved Ms. Tanner from a life of abject poverty?”
    I glanced at him in some surprise, and he shrugged. “She made it pretty clear.”
    I shook my head, all the more sorry for Jackie. “Yes, that’s Linnet. I guess they’re old school friends. Apparently, when they were younger they were going to go off to Hollywood together.”
    Daniel ate another cheese puff. “Really?” He eyed them critically and then pronounced, “Well, they look like they once had the gams for it.”
    “What?” I sputtered with a laugh.
    “Their legs. Being a connoisseur, I’ve found that there are really only two kinds of women’s legs. Their ankles either curve in nicely from the calves or they don’t. With the latter you get that tree-trunk appearance.”
    I knew the look he meant—that was a perfect description of my legs. A guy I once dated had cruelly referred to them as “cankles.” I hoped he was dead now.
    I shifted my weight uncomfortably and prayed he wouldn’t lookdown. He did turn to me but thankfully he didn’t look at my legs. Leaning in closer, he stared into my eyes and my heart beat a little faster. “You look quite lovely tonight, Elizabeth,” he said.
    Before I could respond, Susie walked by, and in the time it takes to say “fickle,” his attention had transferred from me to her. “Save me a dance?” he said, before popping another cheese puff in his mouth and trailing after Susie. I had a sudden urge to hurl the heavy tray at his beautiful English head.
    Making my rounds once again, I saw Tom raise his eyebrows at Susie. She, in turn, checked to see that Steven was looking the other way before nodding her head in affirmation. Glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed this exchange, I saw Karen, her face contorted with rage, glaring at Susie. When Karen noticed me watching her, she turned on her heel and marched toward the bar, where she accepted a drink from Peter and quickly downed it.
    The grandfather clock in the front hall chimed. It was a quarter to nine and time to seat everyone for dinner. Aunt Winnie smoothly showed the guests to their assigned seats, while Peter and I went to the kitchen to load the plates.
    “So,” said Peter, as he tossed the baby arugula with the champagne vinaigrette, “do you have a guess as to who’s going to be murdered?”
    “My money is on Susie,” I replied. “Although, if she gets shot in the chest, she’s in grave danger of deflating.”
    Peter laughed and meowed at me. I studiously ignored him. Aunt Winnie joined us a minute later, and the three of us served the first course of salad with warm pears and