The Mystery Guest

“Oh, it will be. Did you know that I’ve been researching him for about two decades? I’ve dedicated much of my life to that man, and my efforts were underappreciated. I always thought my biography would be flattering.” She leans in close and lowers her voice. “But let’s just say recent evidence suggests he was not what he seemed.”

“Fascinating,” says Stark.

“Do tell us more,” I add.

Beulah puts her clasped hands on the table. “If I tell you, you must assure me that none of my research will be used in an unauthorized biography or publicly disseminated in any way. My book must be the first to market. It will cement my place as the foremost literary biographer of our times. My name will live on shelves in perpetuum.”

“Remarkable,” I say out loud. What I don’t say is how her use of Latin mirrors Mr. Grimthorpe’s so precisely.

“We won’t steal your research,” says Detective Stark. “And you know, I have a funny feeling you’re right. Beulah Barnes is a name that will go down in history.” Stark smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Now about those Grimthorpe items,” she says.

“Bought fair and square,” Beulah replies. “And sorry, I don’t know anything about the seller if that’s what you’re getting at. But I’m now the proud owner of an original monogrammed Grimthorpe Moleskine, amongst other valuable items. For years, the LAMBS were certain his notebooks meant he wrote his first drafts in longhand. Like with most things, they were wrong.”

“Wrong?” Stark says.

“He only doodled in them,” Beulah explains.

“That doesn’t seem so damning,” I say. “Why has your opinion of the man changed so much?”

“Because of other evidence. The love note, for instance.”

“Love note?” I repeat.

“J.D. was having an affair with that pretty, young secretary of his, Serena Sharpe,” Beulah says.

“He was not,” I reply, but I feel another nudge under the table.

“Molly’s right,” Detective Stark adds. “Turns out that note was from someone else in this hotel.”

“Look, not every KultureVulture item has a clear provenance, but let me assure you that J.D. was a fraud,” Beulah says. “His cue cards from the day of the big event prove it.”

“So you have his cue cards?”

“I do,” Beulah says. “I bought them alongside everything else.”

“You knew we were conducting a murder investigation, but you never thought to hand over those cards?” Stark says.

Beulah snorts. “Some investigation. You don’t know a thing about the man. J. D. Grimthorpe had a closet full of secrets.”

“Secrets?” Stark says. “Such as?”

“Did you know that at one point in his life, he was a raging alcoholic?” Beulah offers. “I tracked down employees who used to work for him—security guards, gardeners, and a maid. They were all fired. According to the maid, J.D.’s wife was a tyrant and he himself was not who he appeared to be. The maid accused him of getting handsy, then got fired for speaking up. He didn’t dare lay a hand on me, though.” Beulah picks more cat hair off her bosom and sends it flying.

“So you met him?” I ask. “You met J.D. in person?”

“Yes, I did. Right outside his hotel room. Lesson learned: beware of meeting your idols. They don’t always live up to expectations.”

“His books were powerful,” Stark says, “and yet he was kind of weak, wasn’t he?”

“He was,” Beulah says. “Liver and kidney damage from years of alcohol abuse.”

“So you were aware of that as well,” Stark says.

“Of course. Like I said, J.D. was my life’s work.”

Just then, Lily and Angela appear at the entrance of the tearoom. They wheel a tea cart toward the table. Angela is wringing her hands on her apron, her eyes flitting about the room. Lily’s shoulders are back, her head held higher than I’ve ever seen before. For once, she doesn’t look skittish at all.

“My apologies for the interruption,” Lily says, her voice resonant, a clarion bell.

We all turn her way.

“Angela and I were instructed to bring in this tea cart,” she explains. “It’s complimentary, for Mr. Grimthorpe’s number-one fan.” She pauses and executes the most perfect curtsy I have ever seen.

“That’s very thoughtful,” says Beulah.

“You’re not wearing your pin,” Angela notes, pointing to the spot on Beulah’s sweater where her #1 Fan pin used to be.

“I lost it,” Beulah explains.

“That’s funny,” says Angela. “I thought I saw you take it off the other day at the Social. You tossed it on the table and left it behind.”

“Must’ve been someone else,” Beulah insists. “No one can tell us LAMBS apart. It’s rather insulting.”

Lily picks up the teapot from the cart and pours steaming tea into a Regency Grand cup. She places it in front of Beulah. “How do you take your tea, Ms. Barnes?” she asks.

“Four lumps of sugar,” Beulah replies. “Bit of a sweet tooth.”

“Ah yes,” says Lily. “You take your tea the same way Mr. Grimthorpe did.”

“No,” Beulah replies. “J.D. took his with honey, not sugar. Always honey. Loads of it.”