A Daughter’s Guide to Mothers and Murder releases Tuesday, June 24th. To celebrate, I thought I’d share an excerpt. To set the scene; Frances is back in Paris and she and Alicia Stoke-Whitney (remember her?) have met up in the Bois de Boulogne, an enormous and lush park in the city. Alicia has pulled Frances aside to ask a favor:
“What can you tell me about Carlson Deaver?”
“Almost nothing. His sister, Lottie, is married to my late husband’s cousin, Charles.”
“That’s right, I’ve met her.” She poked the air with her index finger, then actually bit her lip when I glared at her. I waited for some comment about Lottie’s clumsiness or Charles’s lack of wit. To her credit, she chose not to insult my relatives, folded her finger back into her fist, and said, “Please, go on.”
Surprise, surprise, the woman was learning.
“As you already know, Mimi Deaver is Carlson’s mother. His father, I believe, passed away last autumn. Shortly after Lottie and Charles’s wedding. Mr. Deaver was involved in railroads, if I’m not mistaken, and left quite a fortune to his children and widow.”
Alicia continued to stare at me with an expectant gaze.
“And they are from New York City,” I continued, “and that is all I know.”
“That’s all?” She looped her arm through mine and dragged me off the path and across the grass toward the lake where we could still see her charges but were out of their hearing. “Can you tell me nothing of his character? No exploits from his past?”
“Alicia, he was part of New York society. I was not. Then after several months of not being acquainted with him in that city, I moved to England, where I had no way of becoming any more familiar with him. I’m sorry, but I can’t provide insight to a man I simply do not know.”
She studied me through narrowed eyes for a moment, then gave her head a firm nod. “Then I’d like to have you investigate him for me.”
“What?”
“Must you shriek so?” she asked. Taking my arm, she pulled me closer to the spray and burble of the waterfall. “Investigate him,” she repeated. “You’ve done that before. You investigated your sister’s suitors.”
We came to a stop at the lake’s edge and pretended to watch the water cascading over the rocks. “That is not exactly true. I had a police officer investigate my sister’s suitors. There is quite a difference. I didn’t do it myself—well, I didn’t do much of it. If you want to look into the man’s background, you should hire someone.”
She spread her arms wide. “Who? I don’t know anyone in Paris who does such things. Only you. I want to hire you, but for some reason, you are playing hard to get.”
“I am simply saying you can do better than me,” I said. Heavens, one would think we were speaking of matrimony. “What are you trying to find out? If he truly has a fortune?”
“I wish to assure myself that he’s not a murderer.” Alicia held up a hand as I gasped. “Don’t you dare shriek again,” she said. “I don’t want everyone around us to wonder what we’re talking about.”
I took a glance at the grassy picnic area behind us and saw that no one was paying us any attention. The flowing water was effectively covering our conversation. I noticed a bench nearby, facing the lake, and drew Alicia to it. Once we were settled on the bench, I began my questions.
“What possible reason do you have to even wonder such a thing about the man?”
Alicia tossed a dangling cluster of red curls behind her shoulder. “His first wife was murdered.”
“By him?” I asked.
“I suspect you are jesting,” she said, shaking a finger in my face. “But the truth is nobody knows. It remains an unsolved case. I would like to know beyond any doubt that Mr. Deaver had nothing to do with his wife’s murder before I allow him to court my daughter. I’m sure you can understand my position.”
Indeed, I did. Alicia’s late husband had been the soul of propriety on the surface but, beneath that veneer, was a man with criminal tendencies. Even Alicia had not seen his true self until it was almost too late. After his deception, it was hardly a surprise that Alicia’s trust would be hard won. I couldn’t help but grimace as the memory invaded my thoughts.
“Yes,” she said. “I see you do understand. If my daughter is going to become involved with this man, I must at least know that she will be safe in his company.”
“At the very least,” I agreed. “I didn’t know Mr. Deaver had been married. What can you tell me about his wife and her death?”
“Only what the newspapers had to say. It happened in January, so, not long after Harriet and I came to stay in Paris.”
“His wife hasn’t been dead a year and he is showing interest in Harriet?” Though it hadn’t been a full year since Harriet’s father, Alicia’s husband, had passed, either.”
“The timing was what first had me wondering,” she said. “It seems to me that most men would mourn their wives for a year. Mr. and Mrs. Deaver were relative newlyweds, married barely a year at the time of her death. They ought to have still been in the honeymoon phase of the marriage. Yet he is already looking for a new wife.”
“You could always ask him to defer his attentions to Harriet until a proper mourning period has been observed,” I suggested.
She looked pained. “He is a very wealthy man. If Harriet puts him off, someone else will snap him up.”
“You and I both know that an advantageous match does not necessarily make for a good marriage.”
“Yes, experience has taught me that much.” She failed to repress a tiny shudder. “If Harriet wasn’t fond of him, I wouldn’t go through this much trouble.”
“I see. What else did the papers report?”
“Carlson’s wife, I believe her given name was Isabelle, was home alone. The police say someone broke into the house in an attempt at burglary, unaware that Mrs. Deaver was still at home. Their suspicion is that the burglars killed her.”
That sounded rather cut and dried to me. “Then why do you think it possible that Mr. Deaver had something to do with his wife’s murder?”
She raised her brows. “Because the police never found the supposed burglars nor any of the stolen loot.”
I laughed at the use of the word. “Loot?”
“Mostly jewelry, if I remember correctly. But the important part is that no one was ever brought to justice. That leaves too much room for suspicion for my comfort.”
“I don’t know if I can do enough to put your mind at ease,” I said. “However, my mother will arrive in Paris tomorrow. I know she had an acquaintance with Carlson’s father and mother. She may be able to provide more information about Carlson, but without assistance from the French police or the newspapers, I may not be able to go any further than that.”
“Even a little information is better than none,” she said.
“Then I will see what I can do.”
