Julia sidled over to the railing, looking out at the passing scenery. She craned her neck, perhaps looking for a body floating behind the boat. “Well, it is lovely here though. A nice private spot.”
Max was watching Julia and not in the affectionate way one usually watches a kooky old lady. “I think you want the deck above.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.” Aunt Julia turned from the railing and waved a cloud of smoke from her face. “We’ll just run along then. Nice meeting you Mr. …” Aunt Julia raised a brow at him.
“Lawton, Max Lawton.”
“Yes, well then, lovely to make your acquaintance. I’m Julia Marsh and this is my grand-niece, Nora.”
They all shook hands. His was surprisingly warm for a potential cold-blooded killer, but his eyes weren’t. There was something dark and wary about them.
Nora grabbed Julia by the elbow. “Now come along, Auntie, you know that you need to be good or I’ll have to put you back in the institution.”
Julia gave her a disapproving look but didn’t say anything. As Nora led her aunt away, she smiled to herself. With a character like Aunt Julia, she had to get her jabs in when she could.
Max Lawton watched the two women go back down the corridor. The older one was a busybody—he knew the type and he knew she was up to something. She played the part of a senile old lady well, but he could tell acting when he saw it.
Had they followed him on purpose or was it Oxley they were after? More importantly, why? Did they suspect the truth? Max hoped not.
It was too bad; the niece was sort of pretty with her red hair and emerald eyes. She was sharp-witted too, judging by the comment about the institution. She seemed like one of those modern, fun-loving women. Max cautioned himself not to get too friendly with her; she was surely in on it with the aunt. Whatever “it” was.
The aunt was probably one of those old-lady types who fancied herself as an amateur investigator. That was the last thing Max needed. He’d have to keep a close eye on the Marshes and deal with them appropriately if they got too close to the truth.
Chapter Nine
“Really? An institution?” Julia asked later when they’d retired to her room.
Nora laughed. “I have to do something to amuse myself.”
Julia shook her head and sighed. The amber liquid in her cut-glass tumbler swirled against the side.
“What do you have there, Auntie?” Nora glanced at the desk with its many drawers. Did Aunt Julia have a flask hiding in there somewhere?
“Just iced tea. Would you like some?” At Nora’s look at the tumbler Julia added, “All we have in the cabin is these short tumblers.”
Nora nodded. There was no use in questioning her aunt further. Besides, Julia was a grown woman and if she wanted to have a nip who could argue? Even if it was against the law, Nora would never tell; she didn’t want Aunt Julia to get into trouble.
“We’ve had quite a few developments in the case this morning.” Aunt Julia went to the desk and got a piece of paper. “I’ve been mapping out the suspects and this isn’t much different than in my book, Murder on the Eastern Express. You see there are always certain types of suspects.”
“It’s the different types that interest me the most.” Nora flopped into the club chair near the window and looked out as they streamed past a town with brick buildings and pedestrians in fancy hats. Model Ts chugged down the road, which was lined with quaint shops. This was the life, Nora thought, even if it did require solving a murder or two. “So, who was the killer in your book? Maybe we can skip ahead.”
Aunt Julia pursed her lips then shook her head. “No, in my book it was the train conductor. That wouldn’t apply here.”
Nora leaned forward in her chair. “I don’t know about that. Sven Nordby is pretty unfriendly and he was up near the scene but claimed to have seen and heard nothing.”
“You have a point, dear. Perhaps we should consider him, but let’s not overlook the clues. The pilot house is very noisy with that boiler below and the smokestack does hide the view.”
“True, and everything about the murder is personal. Delilah would have had to meet the killer so that suggests she knew him, and the stomping on her hand was violent, it suggests anger. Unless there was some personal connection between Sven and Delilah we aren’t aware of, I think we need to focus on our current suspects. We only have two more days.”
“I’m sure it didn’t escape you that Max Lawton acted very suspicious. Why on earth would he be out on that small deck near the engine room?”
“Maybe he didn’t want to bother anyone with his cigar smoke?” Nora thought about the cigarettes in her bag. Even though smoking seemed to be all the rage—and that was the only reason she even considered partaking in the habit—she always tried to make sure her smoke didn’t blow in anyone’s face.
“Perhaps. He didn’t seem very happy to see us.” Aunt Julia tapped the pen against her lips. “And what happened to Oxley? Why was Max Lawton following him?”
“That might have just been coincidental timing.” Nora remembered the way Max had been watching Oxley and how he had left his full plate on the table. Who did that? Nora certainly never would, not unless something urgent came up. “But I don’t think so. No, he did follow him, but maybe he never caught up to him.”
“Oxley could have disappeared behind any of those doors and Max might have been waiting for him to come out,” Julia said. “And let’s not forget about that locked room that Giles showed us during the tour. That intrigues me.”
Nora smiled. No surprise there. Aunt Julia wasn’t one to let a locked room go unexplored, but did it have anything to do with Delilah’s murder? It was unlikely. Her thoughts returned to the possibility of a more personal connection. “If those knowing looks that Max and Delilah exchanged had meaning, then they knew each other. We already know that Oxley and Delilah were an item. Could be a love triangle and someone wanted to make sure it was a duet.”
“Just like in Lovers’ Leap.” Julia referred to one of her mysteries. “And there’s another person who has raised my suspicions. Johnny Stokes. Don’t you find it odd that he didn’t hear about the death until we told him at breakfast?”
“It does seem odd, but why would he pretend that he didn’t know?” Nora had a soft spot for Johnny, given his obvious affection for his grandmother.
“Maybe he thought it would be a good way to prove he wasn’t the one who pushed her. Trying to disassociate himself from the entire incident.” Julia wrote something on her paper. “I’m not counting him out, though his motive is a mystery.”
“And then there’s Vera Hinchcliffe.” Nora’s money was on her. The way she ran off anytime the murder was mentioned was classic behavior for someone trying to pretend to themselves that they hadn’t done something abhorrent. Maybe she was the killer?
“She is the type I like to make the killer in my books.”
“Maybe Delilah was the one she was trying to avoid at the reception.” Vera acted delicate and a bit ditzy around Beau, but Nora noticed how shrewdly she played him. She was clever enough to be a killer, yet Nora sensed a certain sweetness about her and she’d seen longing in Vera’s baby blues when she looked at Martha, as if she yearned for her approval.