A Masked Murder, page 6
She stepped onto the podium and picked up the mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said.
No response. The music didn’t even lower in volume. In her shock, she’d forgotten to actually turn it on.
She tried again, this time flicking the all-important switch first.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Sorry for the interruption. If I could please ask the committee members to join me here? Thank you.”
Slowly but surely, the two Syndercombe sisters, and Mrs. Hayman, wended their way through the crowds, looking surprised.
Autumn then continued, thinking that she might as well get the news over with, while she had everyone’s attention.
“There’s been an unexpected incident, as a result of which…” Goodness, she hoped she was saying the right thing. People were listening – some frowning, some looking avidly curious. One person already was filming this. She was on camera.
“As a result of which, we’re going to have to ask you all to leave,” she said. “We are unfortunately wrapping up this event a couple of hours earlier than planned. Thank you all so much for being here.”
Apart from the murderer. She wasn’t thanking him – or her. “Please will you all collect your belongings and vacate the premises immediately. Thank you once again.”
She didn’t know if she’d said the right thing. People were looking angry at having their fun cut short. Thom had been right when he’d said she would need the help of the committee, even if it consisted of two septuagenarian sisters, and one angry looking woman in a cat mask.
Hastily, Autumn clambered off the podium to explain.
“What on earth? Is this a practical joke?” Mrs. Hayman hissed.
“Stafford has been murdered,” Autumn hissed right back again, causing the woman’s mouth to jerk wide open in surprise. “I went to find him, to ask him to give his speech. He’s been stabbed. Thom is calling the police as we speak. Now, we have to get everyone to leave calmly.”
For a few shocked moments, the other committee members took in what she was saying.
“Are you sure you didn’t do it?” Mrs. Hayman asked, pointing her red-nailed finger at Autumn herself.
“What?” she spluttered, feeling totally affronted by the idea.
“I’m only asking because you were in charge of him, and he was being very unpleasant,” Mrs. Hayman defended herself, her trademark haughtiness in full evidence. “Perhaps you thought it would be the most practical solution.”
The sisters’ heads were swinging from Autumn to Mrs. Hayman and back again as Mrs. Hayman spoke, as if they were watching a tennis match.
"I am no killer!" Autumn said. "If you think I would kill anyone, or wish anyone dead, you are very wrong. Someone did kill him, though, and I hope the police find out who it was. For now, I'm going to get people out of here. Please, do not mention the murder. What I say is what we all say. An unexpected incident. Nothing more.”
Talk about the last straw. Still seething at Mrs. Hayman’s unwanted rudeness, Autumn stalked away. At least anger had now replaced her shock, and strangely, it had felt like a jolt of ice water down her back, snapping her into a practical frame of mind.
She headed to the door, with person after person grabbing her arm, all with different questions. The music had stopped, and now, everyone’s voices sounded loud and discordant.
“What’s going on?”
“An unexpected incident,” she smiled.
“But what incident?”
“An unexpected one. Please, make your way to the door.”
“Are we allowed one more drink?” someone else called out.
Autumn was surprised there were any drinks left. She’d just caught sight of the eats table, and it looked as if a plague of locusts had descended. There was barely a tartlet left.
“Please, make your way out of the venue, sir,” she replied. “You may consume your drink while you leave, but please leave the glasses on the registration table by the door.”
“Why do we have to leave?” a woman called out. “Is there a fire scare?”
“There is no fire in the building, ma’am. Please make your way to the door.”
Goodness, this was hard work. Autumn felt as exhausted as if she’d had to physically manhandle everyone out of the venue on her own. The guests weren’t keen to leave. They’d been having fun. But there was no way this event could continue. Not after what had happened. Autumn felt a sense of dark expectancy inside her, as if she could see the future that would play out.
“Are we able to buy paintings before we leave?” somebody else asked. That was a little close to home, and it took a moment for her to get the words out in reply.
“Paintings are not available for sale at this time, but please keep in touch with the organizer,” she decided on.
“Can we call a buggy to fetch us?”
“Yes, of course. Buggies are already waiting outside to take guests home.”
"What's happened?" That was Willow's voice. Her sister had found her in the melee and was now tapping her shoulder anxiously. Behind her, looking just as concerned, she saw Ethan, his mask removed, his tie askew.
“I can’t tell you now,” she said firmly. “I can’t say anything. Please leave.”
Willow’s eyes widened, and Autumn knew her perceptive sister was assuming the worst. As for Ethan, he was frowning deeply. He also realized that there had been a disaster.
“Come on,” he said, taking Willow’s arm and heading for the door.
Around the hall, she could hear other raised voices as the rest of the committee strove to manage the barrage of questions. Slowly but surely, everyone was filtering to the door. And, as they did, blue lights flashed on the main road as the police car came into view. When it was a hundred yards away, it slowed, and the lights dipped.
Unfortunately, with being the only car on the road, and the need to keep the horses calm, the police’s occasional arrival at crime scenes was never a dramatic affair. Even so, the mere presence of the police car caused cries of consternation.
“There’s been a crime?” one of the women called out in a shrill voice.
“Better check your purses in case a pickpocket’s been active,” some wit quipped.
“Are we in danger?” an elderly lady asked Autumn.
“There shouldn’t be any danger, ma’am, if you keep calm and go straight home,” Autumn said, feeling like a stuck record. There was no sign of Ben, and she guessed that the resourceful and quick thinking veterinarian had sensed the stress in her voice, and decided that the best thing he could do was to leave the scene, unlike absolutely everyone else.
There was the police officer, approaching the door with a concerned look on his broad, and usually good natured face. Something told her that he'd been in bed and had dressed hastily before rushing here. Yes, it was his inside-out shirt. She caught a glimpse of the sleeve seam under the official blue short-sleeved jacket he was wearing. Plus, he looked a little red-eyed.
“Good evening, Autumn,” he said when he saw her.
“Good evening, Officer Warring,” she replied politely.
He moved in, stepping away from the crowds who were now shuffling more obediently out, with quite a few casting avidly curious glances in their direction.
“What’s going on? I understand there’s a – a murder?” His voice dropped.
“That’s correct,” Autumn said. How she wished she didn’t have to give out this news. It felt so final, such a tragedy, and although this was still in the first few minutes, she knew that in days to come, the ripples would be felt around the island.
“Well, it does seem as if we are experiencing a surge in crime,” the officer said, giving Autumn a doubtful glance. She couldn’t blame him. Last time a murder had happened on the island, she’d been the one to call him, too. Admittedly, she’d been cleared as a suspect, but even so. She didn’t think she was the officer’s favorite person right now. “I’ve called for forensics to come over from the mainland, and the coroner, too. My junior officer should be here any minute. He was coming on his bicycle, as all the buggies are in service.”
“Thank you,” Autumn replied.
"Let's take a look at the scene," he said. "I assume you've sealed the hall and asked everyone to remain on site? If not, they must be told to stay."
Her stomach clenched. In her panic, she’d done totally the wrong thing, believing that it would be handling the situation more calmly if they’d all been told to leave quietly.
“I’m afraid we didn’t do the right thing. We cleared the hall, and everyone’s already on their way out,” she admitted.
Warring sighed. “Alright. If anyone’s still around, tell them to stay. Otherwise, I assume you have a list of the attendees?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” She had that at least.
Autumn led him across the hall to where the back offices were located. "It's down there," she said, as Thom stepped forward to escort the officer to the crime scene. A crime scene. It felt so impossible, here in the town's hall, at the time of the busiest event of the year. The clinking and clanging from the side of the hall told her that the catering was being packed up. Outside, hooves clopped as buggies began ferrying customers back to their more far-flung locations – for some, that was only a few hundred yards away, of course.
Nearly the whole town had turned out for this ball, along with dozens of guests. How were the police going to figure out who had done it? Autumn fretted. It would be easier to rule out the numbers of people who hadn’t been there. And, of course, with a mask in place, anyone could have slipped in during the evening. They hadn't had stringent security measures in place after the music had begun. It wasn't that kind of a town. Usually, Magnolia Bay was as safe and peaceful as it could be.
Someone had been targeted and brutally stabbed.
Who had wanted to kill Stafford so badly?
Pacing up and down, listening to the tones of the police officer as he spoke to Thom, and looking out for the arrival of the coroner, Autumn found herself asking another question.
As someone who’d been rushing around throughout the night, had she come face to face with the killer, without realizing it?
CHAPTER NINE
“Autumn!” The whispered voice, coming from the shadows of a tree along the roadway, nearly cause Autumn’s heart to stop.
She whirled around, adrenaline flaring, only to see Ben step out from the bench where he’d been sitting. He must have been there a while, she realized. He looked tired, but anxious.
“I guess something serious must have happened,” he said. “I thought I’d wait here, in case you felt uneasy walking home alone.”
“Thank you,” she said gratefully. Having finally been allowed to leave the venue, it was true that the mile-long walk back to Harbor View had felt like a dangerous traverse in her mind. And with all the buggies still busy, now taking the catering equipment and the helpers back to their home bases, she hadn’t had a choice but to walk. “That’s very kind.”
“I’m so sorry something bad happened,” he said neutrally.
She felt another wave of gratitude that his sole purpose for waiting hadn’t been curiosity. The amount of people who’d lingered at the venue door, peeking in and hoping to find out what was going on – well, eventually, Autumn had wished she’d had her feather duster with her to shoo them away.
“It’s a murder,” she admitted, now feeling glad to offload the gory reality to someone who would understand. Ben caught his breath in horror.
“Autumn, that’s terrible!”
“It is so confusing,” she admitted. “The artist was killed, Rowan Stafford. The entire evening was very stressful, trying to manage him – that was my job because he could be a little – outspoken.”
"Yes," Ben nodded, speaking softly as they strode along, their feet scrunching on the road. "I overheard him talking to a couple of the guests. Eventually, I walked away. He was being very rude. But rudeness is no reason to murder someone?"
“There must be another reason,” Autumn admitted. “I suppose Officer Warring will look into it.”
She couldn’t stop the dubious note from creeping into her voice as she said that. Officer Warring was a fine, good man, and he was excellent at basic policing. But the last time there had been a serious incident on the island, she had to admit, he had seemed a little out of his depth. She’d ended up playing an important role in solving the last murder.
Maybe this time, Warring would have more assistance from the mainland. Autumn hoped so, at least.
“He and his junior officer interviewed me at length,” she said, maybe trying to convince herself as much as Ben. “He must have spoken to me for half an hour, asking what exactly I’d seen when I walked in, my whereabouts beforehand, and whose whereabouts I was able to identify.” She sighed. “The problem is that everyone was wearing masks, I sneaked off to eat some dinner, and then – well, then you and I were about to dance.”
Ben nodded ruefully. “That was the part of the evening I was most looking forward to,” he said, in a tone that made Autumn feel suddenly warm inside, despite the stress of the past few hours.
“Me, too,” Autumn admitted. “So I can’t really account for anyone’s time. And I don’t know if he was murdered five minutes or twenty minutes before I last checked on him. It would have been somewhere in that timeframe, but a lot happened. And I don’t think they can narrow down the time of death so specifically. Not with the coroner getting there over an hour later.”
“No.” Ben spoke with more sureness than she did, and she guessed his veterinary training would have given him knowledge on that front. “By the time the coroner got there, I doubt if such a fine analysis would be possible.”
It was strange to be discussing such a macabre subject as they walked down the clean, quiet and well lit streets of the island. But in a way, Autumn was relieved to speak about it. It was better than holding her anxieties inside.
“They said the knife was an ordinary hunting knife. But you know what that means,” she said.
“Someone must have brought it along?” Ben asked.
“Exactly,” Autumn said. “There were no hunting knives on sale or display at the venue. A few knives in the kitchen, but those were all accounted for.”
“Were there any fingerprints on it?” Ben asked.
“They’re going to check it,” Autumn said. “But I doubt there will be. Don’t you?”
“It would be a basic error,” Ben admitted.
“And if the weapon was brought to the venue, then this was carefully planned,” Autumn said.
“Was there – was there any sign of a struggle?” Ben asked, worriedly.
"The coroner said that he was probably asleep when the crime was committed due to the lack of any visible struggle," Autumn said.
Whoever this killer was, they had managed to work out a way to get to the artist while he was alone, and had been lucky to find him not so much asleep as passed out. And Autumn herself had made it easy by taking him off to his private room.
But then, Autumn forced herself to stop thinking in that direction. It wasn't her fault. It was his fault. He'd been obnoxious and antisocial, and had drunk far too heavily, so much so that a private room had been prepared for him beforehand by Thom, who'd known that he would need to be shuttled off there. The killer must have been watching from behind their mask, but even if Stafford hadn't gone to that room, a determined killer would have found another way.
“Do you think it’ll have a bad effect on business?” Ben asked. There was anxiety in his tone, and Autumn realized he was worried about her bed and breakfast, relying as it did on the sentiment of tourists.
“I hope it won’t,” she replied. “It would be terrible if people were put off the island because they perceived it to be dangerous. And so unfair.”
With her mind now working at full speed, Autumn realized that the vast majority of the guests and the workers were either local, or else, had stayed overnight in one of the nooks and crannies of Magnolia Bay.
She shivered at the thought.
“What is it?” Ben asked.
Autumn shook her head. “It’s nothing, really. Nothing I should be worrying myself about, at any rate. It would be better for me not to think about it at all.”
“You can’t stop thinking about something so serious,” Ben admitted logically. “If you want to share it, then do.”
“I was thinking that the last ferry to the mainland is at ten p.m., and it’s already after midnight. There’s no way anyone could have got from the town hall to the harbor by ten, after killing Stafford. Could they?”
Ben was silent for a while, thinking about what she’d said.
“No,” he agreed. “No way that could happen, with that timing.”
“Did the killer leave at all? Or are they still on the island?”
There was a thoughtful pause as they walked. And then, Ben said something that Autumn had to admit surprised her.
“Do you want to go down and check at the harbor?” he said. “We could ask whoever’s on duty?”
It was really a job for the police, Autumn reasoned, but she found herself wondering how soon Officer Warring would get around to it. He had hundreds of names to go through. By the time she'd left, he'd been interviewing Thom, and a restless-looking Mrs. Hayman had been waiting in line, muttering that she needed to get back to her cat.
She was sure that everyone he interviewed, he would question thoroughly. He was methodical, but slow. And really, she was feeling so anxious about this crime and the possible consequences that she wanted the killer caught, just for her own peace of mind.
"It's only a ten-minute walk. Let's go," she said.
They carried on walking, but now, there felt like a different dynamic between them. They were not just strangers, who were fumbling toward a deeper connection, with a lot of shyness and interruptions along the way.
Now, they were co-investigators, and suddenly, Autumn felt as if this tentative relationship had reached a new level.
The harbor was very quiet. It was officially closed and would reopen at six a.m. However, there was a night guard in place who was stationed here in case of emergencies. Right now, there was an emergency. The coroner and forensics must have sailed over, because the harbor gate was open, and there was a speedboat with an official logo and a yellow stripe, parked in the bay closest to the pier, which Autumn knew wasn't usually there. That was how they'd gotten here.
