Read Online Trouble at High Tide by Donald Bain, Jessica Fletcher - Free Book Online
Authors: Donald Bain, Jessica Fletcher
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Alicia, but my mother wasn’t about to let anyone reject her. She said that as the eldest Tom was the right person to raise her. I don’t remember any hands going up in protest.”
“That must have been a traumatic time for a little girl.”
“I guess. But my mother felt so sorry for her that she spoiled her terribly. You can imagine how that sat with Stephen and me. We were not fans.”
“Did she go somewhere else when your mother died?” I asked.
Madeline shook her head and sighed. “No. She stayed through two more wives, and got worse and worse. I think those women left Tom because of Alicia. Claudia changed all that.”
“How did she do that?”
The beginnings of a smile played around Madeline’s lips. “She sent her off to a boarding school.” Madeline’s eyes met mine. “We were all glad to be rid of her. Tom, too, I’m willing to bet. Not that he would ever admit it.” She closed her eyes and covered a yawn with her hand.
“Tom wanted me to ask you to come downstairs,” I said. “What shall I tell him?”
She sighed. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
As I left, she still sat with her arms embracing the pillow, a vacant, distant look in her eyes. She’d given me a snapshot into the Betterton family, and not a very pretty one. Younever know about families. You view them from afar and all appears to be well. But within many there are jealousies, frustration, turmoil, ambitions, and egos at work that outsiders seldom see. I wasn’t sure that I was pleased to be allowed into the Betterton family’s inner sanctum, and under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn’t have wanted to know anything.
But this wasn’t an ordinary circumstance.
This was murder.
Chapter Six
A part from the family and those who worked for them—and, of course, the police commissioner—I hadn’t seen anyone else during the day who’d been present at the party the night before. I knew that Tom’s British publisher, Godfrey Reynolds, and his wife, Daisy, who were guests in the other cottage, were among those asked to remain in Bermuda. But they had opted to go out to a restaurant rather than join the family for dinner. I didn’t blame them. The meal had been a somber affair, and I had made my exit as soon as possible.
I hadn’t had a chance to examine the scene of the crime in the daylight; policemen posted on the beach kept the curious away. When I returned to my cottage after dinner, the security guard Adam had hired cautioned me not to go down to the beach for a few days. It was a difficult instruction to follow with the sound of the waves rolling up the sand like a siren song.
I sat on the swing on my porch and replayed my discoveryof Alicia’s body over and over in my mind, trying to remember every detail. There had been a flight of stairs from the Jamisons’ property leading down to the beach not far from where I’d stumbled on Alicia’s body. The shoes that the police thought might be hers had been found at the top of those stairs. Daniel and Lillian Jamison were sparring with Tom over a building he wanted to construct that, according to them, would mar their view. If the shoes were indeed Alicia’s, why would she have been at the Jamisons’ house? She had direct access to the beach from her uncle’s home.
Had Tom sent her over to their house to convince them to drop their suit? It seemed unlikely, particularly at that hour, and given that the last time I’d seen Daniel Jamison, he was drunk and trying to pick a fight with Tom.
Could Alicia have been planning to meet someone in secret? If she didn’t want anyone at the Betterton house to see her go out so late at night, she might have walked over to the Jamisons’ and used their access to the beach. That sounded like a more plausible scenario to me.
Of course, she could have walked down to the beach from Tom’s house with one of the other guests and I might not have heard them. I was fast asleep on the swing. That was also possible.
The
“That must have been a traumatic time for a little girl.”
“I guess. But my mother felt so sorry for her that she spoiled her terribly. You can imagine how that sat with Stephen and me. We were not fans.”
“Did she go somewhere else when your mother died?” I asked.
Madeline shook her head and sighed. “No. She stayed through two more wives, and got worse and worse. I think those women left Tom because of Alicia. Claudia changed all that.”
“How did she do that?”
The beginnings of a smile played around Madeline’s lips. “She sent her off to a boarding school.” Madeline’s eyes met mine. “We were all glad to be rid of her. Tom, too, I’m willing to bet. Not that he would ever admit it.” She closed her eyes and covered a yawn with her hand.
“Tom wanted me to ask you to come downstairs,” I said. “What shall I tell him?”
She sighed. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
As I left, she still sat with her arms embracing the pillow, a vacant, distant look in her eyes. She’d given me a snapshot into the Betterton family, and not a very pretty one. Younever know about families. You view them from afar and all appears to be well. But within many there are jealousies, frustration, turmoil, ambitions, and egos at work that outsiders seldom see. I wasn’t sure that I was pleased to be allowed into the Betterton family’s inner sanctum, and under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn’t have wanted to know anything.
But this wasn’t an ordinary circumstance.
This was murder.
Chapter Six
A part from the family and those who worked for them—and, of course, the police commissioner—I hadn’t seen anyone else during the day who’d been present at the party the night before. I knew that Tom’s British publisher, Godfrey Reynolds, and his wife, Daisy, who were guests in the other cottage, were among those asked to remain in Bermuda. But they had opted to go out to a restaurant rather than join the family for dinner. I didn’t blame them. The meal had been a somber affair, and I had made my exit as soon as possible.
I hadn’t had a chance to examine the scene of the crime in the daylight; policemen posted on the beach kept the curious away. When I returned to my cottage after dinner, the security guard Adam had hired cautioned me not to go down to the beach for a few days. It was a difficult instruction to follow with the sound of the waves rolling up the sand like a siren song.
I sat on the swing on my porch and replayed my discoveryof Alicia’s body over and over in my mind, trying to remember every detail. There had been a flight of stairs from the Jamisons’ property leading down to the beach not far from where I’d stumbled on Alicia’s body. The shoes that the police thought might be hers had been found at the top of those stairs. Daniel and Lillian Jamison were sparring with Tom over a building he wanted to construct that, according to them, would mar their view. If the shoes were indeed Alicia’s, why would she have been at the Jamisons’ house? She had direct access to the beach from her uncle’s home.
Had Tom sent her over to their house to convince them to drop their suit? It seemed unlikely, particularly at that hour, and given that the last time I’d seen Daniel Jamison, he was drunk and trying to pick a fight with Tom.
Could Alicia have been planning to meet someone in secret? If she didn’t want anyone at the Betterton house to see her go out so late at night, she might have walked over to the Jamisons’ and used their access to the beach. That sounded like a more plausible scenario to me.
Of course, she could have walked down to the beach from Tom’s house with one of the other guests and I might not have heard them. I was fast asleep on the swing. That was also possible.
The
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