Murder Most Austen by Tracy Kiely Read Free Book Online

for life.
    We were just leaving the restaurant when Cora gave a sudden yelp of alarm. “My purse is gone!” she cried.
    “Really, Mama,” Izzy huffed with a practiced roll of her blue eyes. “You lose everything !”
    Cora ignored Izzy and began to frantically search the area. Happily, her purse was found within a few minutes, shoved under a nearby chair. “But how on earth did it get there?” Cora asked us with a bewildered face.
    “You must have somehow pushed it with your foot,” offered Izzy.
    “But I didn’t!” came Cora’s indignant reply.
    “Well, then elves must have done it,” Izzy retorted. “Or perhaps Richard Baines did it. Lord knows you fight with him about everything else; perhaps you should add malicious mischief to his list of crimes.”
    Cora muttered something under her breath while Izzy continued to tease her. Aunt Winnie and I took advantage of their distraction to quickly pantomime our good-byes and dashed upstairs to our room.
    I have to say, I have never been in a room like our room at Claridge’s. It opened into a small, elegant foyer where we were greeted by a side table upon which there was an arrangement of purple and white orchids and a complimentary platter of grapes, dried apricots, and figs. The room itself had a high double tray ceiling and walls the color of thick cream. The patterned rug continued this neutral color theme with shades of toffee and champagne, offering a contrast to the gauzy purple of the bedspread and furniture upholstery. And the bathroom! The bathroom was an art deco masterpiece of marble and glass. I could live in that bathroom for a week and be quite content with my situation. I added several more photos to my growing collection.
    Flopping on the soft bed, I let out a sigh of happiness. “You have a sweet room here, Ms. Reynolds. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Claridge’s,” I said.
    Aunt Winnie laughed. “And I would not think of quitting it in a hurry,” she said, “were it not for the exorbitant cost.” Examining the fruit platter, she chose a plump fig and popped it into her mouth.
    I propped myself up on my elbows. “Yes, about that. Would you please let me chip in for this? I have money and, as much as I appreciate the gesture, I don’t need or want you to pay for everything.”
    Aunt Winnie waved away my words while she finished chewing. “I never said you did,” she said once she’d swallowed. “But this is my treat. Besides, you just quit your job. Now is not the time to be spending money foolishly.”
    While it was true that I had just quit my job as an editor for a D.C.-based newspaper, a publication that was nothing more than a vanity project for the odious owner, I wasn’t without funds. Not totally, anyway. One of the unexpected perks of having a rampant mold problem in your apartment is not being saddled with a pesky rent bill while the landlord fixes the “unfortunate trouble.” Of course, not having a place to sleep was a definite drawback. And while my sister, Kit, had kindly taken me in, that came with its own set of difficulties. Kit is the personification of the “smug marrieds” that Helen Fielding wrote about, especially since she became pregnant with her second child or, as I privately refer to it, “the Second Coming.” In her spare time, she likes to tell me what’s wrong with my life.
    Kit has a lot of spare time.
    The main thing that bugs Kit about me is my involvement—my helpful involvement—in a few murder investigations. Not out of any fear for my safety, mind you. No, what really bugs Kit is that on her private scorecard, she wins in the categories of house, husband, and family, but she can’t compete with me on murder investigations. It’s that—no pun intended—which kills her.
    “Spending money to attend the Jane Austen Festival in Bath could never be considered foolish,” I retorted. “It isn’t right for you to pay my whole way, Aunt Winnie. I’m a grown woman. I