The Butler Didn't Do It Read online

  Although the sconces were on, the area around the altar remained dark. The candles were still the only source of light up there, illuminated nothing more than the empty bier. My aunt’s body had vanished.

  I swallowed hard and started to move when Gerald grabbed me.

  “No!” he said, hoarsely. “Don’t.”

  I pulled my arm and forced it out of his grasp. I needed to get closer to see. My brain raced. I knew we needed to call the Constable, Jamison, anybody. I didn’t want to be alone here. Gerald, in his current state, didn’t count.

  Maybe the funeral home had mistakenly come early. I walked up the aisle, my steps slow, barely aware of Gerald behind me. Moving closer, I halfway expected to see a business card from Montmorency & Sons on the bier. Like when a realtor leaves a card behind to let you know she’s shown your house while you were out. My mind was practically babbling.

  Of course, there was nothing there but a satin pillow. In fact, it still had the impression of Clara’s head on it and one lone gray hair. As I started to head for the main switch panel to turn on the rest of the lights, I realized what Gerald was saying.

  “She’s going to come back. She knows it was me.” He blubbered around the words, crying and covering his face with his hands.

  “Gerald?” I said, not wanting to understand what I was hearing. Was he trying to tell me that Aunt Clara had been murdered? And that he’d done it?

  He looked up, his face tear-stained. “She’s coming back for me.”

  “Coming back?” I realized what he was saying. “Gerald, get a grip. Aunt Clara is dead.”

  He nodded, still blubbering. “I saw them. They didn’t know.”

  He glanced towards the empty bier. “And now she’s walking the night. The other night, I came to ask her for some money. My business...” He looked at me with an apologetic glance.

  “But I couldn’t find her,” he continued. “So I went up to see the butler. To see if he knew where she was. His door was open. They were there together. It was horrible.”

  I was appalled, bemused, and more than a little confused. So my aunt had been having an affair with her butler. It wasn’t exactly “the thing” in the local circles, but Clara had always marched to her own beat.

  “Blood,” whispered Gerald.

  He finally looked at me, his eyes shiny and round. “He was drinking her blood, and then, she did the same to him. So, I had to do it.”

  I stared at him, not believing what I heard. Was my aunt into some sort of Goth weirdness? At her age? She’d always been a little strange, but this was too much to believe.

  “I had it all worked out,” he continued, his voice stronger now, as he gained confidence in his actions.

  “I’d report her dead. Then blame Jamison. I was coming to the chapel to make sure it was permanent with her, too. But it’s too late. She’s already risen.” He started to walk towards the bier, his movements jerky and unnatural. “Now she’ll come for me. With him.” He turned back to face me. “It’s like your books, but it’s real.”

  “Gerald,” I started walking toward him. My only thought was to get him to a doctor, and soon. He’d really flipped. A low keening sound came out of his throat as he stared past me toward the chapel door we’d just come in.

  My legs gave out when I heard a low, yet, cheerful voice behind me, and I fell into the front pew with a thud.

  “Darling, child, it’s all true, you know.”

  I didn’t want to look at the source of those words. I knew it was Clara’s voice. Clara -– the same person that had been lying dead on that bier just a few hours ago.

  She continued speaking, a definite hint of amusement in her tone, “I’m afraid Gerald discovered our little secret.”

  “You see,” said Clara, sitting down in the pew behind me. “I found out a few months ago that I had a fatal blood disorder. That’s when Jamison did what he’s always done. Take care of me and of Chalfont. After all, I didn’t want to die. I wanted to stay at Chalfont and enjoy my life. Besides, who would take care of Mrs. Cooper, and young Dina?”

  I turned, half afraid to look directly at her. Gerald was making incoherent moaning sounds behind me. This could not be happening. Part of me wanted to believe her, the other part wondered if I’d fallen into some bizarre nightmarish plot from one of my own novels. I avoided the cliché of pinching myself –- I definitely knew I was awake.

  Still dressed in the incongruous white nightie, my aunt looked healthier than she had any right to be, a self-satisfied smile on her face. She grinned and showed off some rather pointed incisors, and then reached over and patted my hand. Her skin felt cool, as if she’d been out in the night air. Come to think of it, she probably had.

  I pulled back my hand. I wasn’t sure about any of this.

  “Clara,” I said, finding that I could still speak. “You can’t mean what I think do.”

  Clara laughed; a delighted sound that bounced around the echoing chapel walls. She motioned for Jamison to come closer. He’d been standing in the shadows behind her.

  “Yes, dearest, it is true, although hard to believe. Jamison only told me when he realized I was dying. He gallantly offered and I accepted.” She turned to him and smiled.

  Jamison bowed slightly and said in his best butler’s voice, “Anything for Miss Clara.”

  My aunt reached over and patted my hand again, continuing her story. “So I rewrote my will. I figured I’d falsify my death at some point and then come back as a distant cousin or something when it was necessary to keep up appearances.”

  She looked at her undead butler and smiled. “I set up the trust with Jamison’s great-great-grandson. He’s my solicitor as it turns out. Young Jamey will administer the trust and Jamison will run the house. When it’s necessary, he’ll “retire”, and then his “cousin” will come into service here. It’s perfect! You do realize that he’s been here for a very long time?” She looked concerned, as if she wanted to be sure I fully understood.

  I managed a sickly smile. I’d always heard of the four generations of Jamison men. Could she be implying that it was this Jamison all along?

  Her smile grew wider into a Cheshire Cat grin as she saw the comprehension in my eyes. Now I could really see the sharp points of her new teeth gleaming. I was beginning to believe her. She’d never looked like that before. She was positively glowing.

  “But why the bier,” I stammered, finally accepting that Clara was serious. “Why the whole death thing? Couldn’t you have just kept on for a while?”

  At this, Gerald broke into loud sobs and fell into a crumpling heap on the floor.

  Clara frowned at the sight of my cousin weeping like a toddler. “It was Gerald’s fault,” she replied. “We weren’t going to set up my death for at least twenty more years, but your cousin forced the issue. He wasn’t supposed to have been here last weekend. After he saw us, he reported my “death” to the authorities, making me play out this silly charade.” She tugged on the neck of the nightgown and frowned.

  Clara’s voice grew hard as she turned her gaze on Gerald. “Is that why you told them, Gerald? And had Jamison arrested? To punish me? What were you planning to do?”

  Gerald moaned again. “I’d seen part of your will when I came up that weekend. I went upstairs to confront you.”

  His voice became as whiny as a child’s as he continued. “I was your nephew and needed the money more than those servants of yours.

  “And when I saw the two of you, I knew I had to do something. I figured that the police would keep him until daylight and then it would be all over for him. After that, I could come back and move you out into the sun. Then you’d really be dead. And you wouldn’t be an abomination and I’d get the money since he’d be gone, too.”

  His voice was still shaking but he stood up and thrust out his chest. “I had it all figured out. I sent a telegram to Lindsay, and then called the constable.”

  I groaned, realizing that that was what Mrs. Cooper and Dina had meant about t
he doctor. I’d gotten the telegram early Saturday afternoon. When I’d arrived, today, Monday morning, they’d implied that Clara had “died” just yesterday. Gerald had found her “dead” on Sunday and reported it then. As usual, Gerald had messed up and done it in the wrong order. Eventually, he would have been found out. I was pretty sure that both Mrs. C and Dina were aware of this whole set-up.

  “So, what now?” I asked with more than a little bravado. I wasn’t too sure I wanted to hear the answer. If this were one of my novels, or a TV show, the “bad guys” would be getting rid of the witnesses. That would be Gerald...and me.

  Clara laughed again, obviously enjoying herself. “Dearest Lindsay, you don’t really think I would let anything happen to you?” She folded her hand around mine, giving it a small squeeze. This time, I didn’t draw it back.

  “Besides, I’m sure that you wouldn’t mind a few anecdotes from the real world?” She winked at me broadly.

  I began to see the possibilities. I could always use more grist for my writing mill. It wasn’t easy to come up with fresh angles for my books. Modern audiences were rather jaded these days. I suppose it was overexposure, but new books were getting harder to write. I’d even resorted to borrowing heavily from classic Greek and Roman tales. An infusion of new blood, so to speak, might be just what I needed. After all, who would ever believe it was real?

  Clara stood up abruptly and motioned with her hand. In one swift movement, Jamison was past me and had grabbed Gerald by the arm. He’d been trying to sneak out the back.

  He stood there cowering under Clara’s gaze, as Jamison held him immobile. Clara smiled and delicately licked her lips. “I think we can work something out.” She looked at Jamison and laughed, “For the both of you.”

  That was three years ago. For some bizarre reason (maybe it was the latest crop of vampire TV shows?) my books were selling like the latest fancy coffee drink at Starbucks. Not that I was complaining. I’d been able to quit my day job and write fulltime now.

  I still kept in touch with everyone via e-mail, especially Mrs. Cooper and Dina, who’d bought new computers once my aunt’s will was probated. Clara had been duly “buried” and mourned and her butler had taken over the running of the house.

  As for Gerald, Mrs. C reported that everyone in town agreed how very lucky he’d been to be able to obtain a position at Chalfont after his business failed. How kind of Mr. Jamison to think of his late employer’s relation and to offer him the job of valet. And Mr. Gerald with no training, either.

  The latest rumor was that a distant cousin of Aunt Clara’s had written to Mr. Jamison. It seems her people had immigrated to New Zealand some time ago, and she’d recently found out about her relatives in England. In fact, she might be coming for a visit soon...

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  THE BUTLER DIDN’T DO IT