Murder at Longbourn by Tracy Kiely

any good books lately, when he spoke.
    “So, have you read any good books lately?”
    I laughed.
    “What’s so funny?” he asked.
    “I was about to ask you the same question.”
    “But?”
    “I couldn’t decide between that or, ‘What’s your sign?’ ”
    He grimaced. “All right, fine. New question. What have you been up to for the past fifteen years?”
    “Well, let’s see,” I said. “I finished school with a degree in English, which qualified me for either a low-paying secretarial job or an even lower-paying secretarial job.”
    “Is that what you do, then?”
    I shook my head. “Not anymore. I work as a fact-checker for a local paper.”
    “Sounds interesting.”
    “It’s not. What about you? What are you doing these days?”
    “Mainly I’ve been working for my parents, helping them open hotels.”
    “Oh.” My mind seemed to be working in slow motion. I could think of nothing besides my hurt pride. Around me Cole Porter’s “Let’s Do It, Let’s Fall in Love” played. Suddenly Peter said, “I was surprised when Aunt Winnie told me that you were coming. I would have assumed that you’d have big plans for New Year’s. But she said something about you and your boyfriend breaking up.”
    I glanced sharply at him. Was he deliberately trying to rub it in? His face was unreadable. “Yes,” I said finally. “That’s right. I did just end a relationship. Things were starting to get a bit too serious.” Thankfully, my nose did not start growing with this last bit, but I couldn’t stand the thought of him believing that I was some pathetic loser who’d come running to Aunt Winnie’s for lack of a better offer. “And you?” I asked sweetly. “No one special in your life right now either, I take it?”
    His expression grew cool and I regretted my nastiness. This was no way to start the weekend. But before I could apologize, he said, “Actually, there is someone—Maggie. But she couldn’t make it this weekend. She’s visiting family.”
    He abruptly stopped dancing and glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I should go and check in now,” he said. “I promised to call before things got too busy here. Thanks for the dance, though.” Releasing me, he turned and walked away. I was overcome by a sudden chill, and I rubbed my hands up and down my arms for warmth. I mentally rolled my eyes at his arrogance in bringing up his girlfriend. No doubt he wanted to make it clear that he was off the market. As if he needed to worry about that! Peter McGowan was the last man I’d ever run after. He probably had a closet stuffed full of argyle sweaters.
    Unfortunately, the thought of argyle got me thinking about Mark. I wondered if he missed me or had tried to get in touch withme. More to give myself something to do other than stand alone in the middle of the dance floor, I decided to see if I had any messages. My cell phone was in my purse, which I had left in Aunt Winnie’s office. I crossed the empty foyer and headed for it. Papered in a faded vintage rose pattern, the tiny room was sparsely furnished with only a desk, chair, and filing cabinet. This was fortunate because with all the clutter that Aunt Winnie had amassed, she couldn’t possibly fit anything else in the room. I pushed aside some catalogs and files on the wooden chair, sat down, and retrieved my purse from underneath the desk. Flipping open my phone, I saw that I did indeed have three messages. My self-esteem rose a few notches as I entered my code to retrieve them. Maybe Mark had called me. I briefly entertained images of him pining away for me for the rest of his days while I pityingly sent him Christmas cards once in a while and encouraged him to get on with his life.
    The messages, however, were not from Mark. One was from my mother, one was from Bridget, and the last was from Kit. She was calling to tell me that her party was starting at nine, “in case you change your mind.” I scowled. Although I had repeatedly told