Kill Joy (A Good Girl's Guide to Murder, #0.5) — Chapter no 4

“It’s just the doorbell,” Jamie said, eyeing a shrieking Lauren. She stopped immediately, trying—and failing—to disguise it as a cough.

“Pizza’s here!” Jamie hurried off to answer the front door, remembering only at the very last second to remove his plastic police hat. At least he wasn’t covered in blood anymore.

“Texas BBQ, anyone?” Connor said a few minutes later, passing a pizza box to Zach across the dining table.

“I’m a frickin’ great chef,” Cara said, a line of stringy cheese clinging to her chin.

There were three slices on Pip’s plate, but she hadn’t touched them yet. She was hunched over her small notebook, writing down everyone’s alibis and her initial theories. So far, things weren’t looking great for Bobby, she thought with a secret glance across at Ant. But was that just what the game wanted her to think? Or was it simply because Ant was annoying even at the best of times? She needed to think objectively, remove herself and her feelings from the equation.

“OK,” Jamie said, taking a break from his pizza, the hat now sitting at a jaunty angle on his head. “I’m glad to see that none of

your appetites have been affected by this ghastly murder. But while you’ve been eating, I have completed my second inspection of the crime scene and have uncovered something very interesting indeed.”

“What is it?” Pip demanded, her pen hovering above the page.

Maybe she’d been wrong before. Maybe solving murders wasn’t too different from homework after all. She could feel herself falling headfirst into it, the rest of the world fading out, like when she got lost in one of her essays or listening to an entire true crime podcast series in one night, or anything, really. Teachers called it “excellent focus,” but Pip’s mom worried that it fell much closer to obsession.

“Oh boy, the demon has awoken,” Cara said with a playful prod between Pip’s ribs. She’d been doing that since they were six years old, whenever Pip was too serious. “This is for fun, remember, Celia.”

“I don’t think the staff should touch members of the family,”

Lauren said, looking down her nose.

“Suck my dick, Lauren,” Cara replied with a big gulp of wine.

“It’s Lizzie.”

“Oh, my apologies. Suck my dick, then, Lizzie.”

“Right,” Jamie laughed, raising his voice slightly. “On my second inspection I discovered that the safe hidden behind the family portrait in Reginald’s study was left open. And…it’s empty.”

Cara performed another gasp and Jamie gave her a grateful nod.

“Exactly,” he said. “Someone has broken into the safe and removed the contents. Ralph informed me that his father kept

important documents in there.”

“Did I?” Zach asked.

“Yes, you did,” Jamie said. “This might have happened before or after the murder, but it certainly points to a possible motive.” He cast his eyes back down to his master booklet. “But what secrets was Reginald keeping in there? Whatever was taken, by one of you, it’s

possible that the evidence is still somewhere in the house. Perhaps we should go and look for—”

Pip needed no further encouragement; she was the first up and out of the room this time, the others laughing at her. Where to?

They’d been in the kitchen not long ago; the evidence was probably somewhere else. The library? That had come up in the story a few times already.

She headed toward the living room, The Library sign flapping against the door, straining against its tape. The wind must have found its way inside through some small, unknown crack. Behind her Pip heard Cara and Lauren bounding up the stairs. Were they heading to Reginald’s study? It wouldn’t be in there, whatever it was they were looking for; that was where it had been stolen from.

She stood at the threshold and surveyed the room. Large corner sofa and an armchair where they normally lived. The dark screen of the TV against the far wall, and she a faceless ghost reflected back in it, hanging strangely in the doorway. There was one shelf above the fireplace with two plants and eight books on it. Bit of a stretch to call it a library, but hey.

She stepped forward. On the arm of one of the sofas was a newspaper. She checked but it wasn’t a clue; it was the Fairview town paper, open to an article about traffic-calming measures on Main Street, written by a Stanley Forbes. Riveting stuff.

Resting on top of the paper was a roll of tape. Jamie must have finished labeling the rooms in here.

Another ghost appeared in the TV and a floorboard creaked behind her, making her flinch. She whipped her head around, but it was only Zach.

“Found anything?” he asked, fiddling with his straw hat.

“Not yet,” she said.

“Might be inside something, like a book.” Zach crossed the room to the bookshelf above the fireplace. He pulled one out and flipped through it, shook his head and replaced it.

Pip joined him, starting at the other end of the shelf. She pulled out a paperback copy of Stephen King’s It and flicked through with her thumb. Something jumped out at her, gliding down to the floor.

“What is it?” Zach asked.

“Oh crap.” Pip knelt to pick it up, realizing what it was. “It’s nothing. It’s a bookmark. Oops.” She gritted her teeth and slotted the bookmark back in around page 400. It must have come from somewhere around there. Hopefully no one would notice, especially not Connor’s dad, who was scary at the best of times.

She leaned one hand into the floor to push herself up and reshelve the book, but she stopped, eye-to-eye with the fireplace.

There was something here. Scattered among the dark coals.

Ripped-up pieces of white paper. And on that one there at the very top was the word Clue.

“Zach, I mean, Ralph, it’s here,” she said, gathering up the bits of paper and laying them out on the floor. “Someone tried to destroy it.”

“What is it?” He got to his knees, helping her pull the last of the shreds from the fireplace. Eighteen in all.

“I’m not sure yet, but there’s writing on every piece. It looks typed. We need to stick it back together somehow…. Oh, hey, Zach, can you grab that tape from the sofa?”

He brought it back and, with his teeth, ripped off little squares of tape, sticking one edge to the floor. Lining them up, ready and waiting for her.

Pip went through the papers, catching fragments of words and reshuffling them into phrases and sentences. Arranging them until they fit, like a puzzle. Her eyes stalled on the repetition of the word bequeath. “It looks like it’s Reginald’s will or something,” she said, adding another piece to complete the row of text as Zach gently applied tape along the cracks to stick them back together.

They heard a disturbance out in the hall. Scuffling and giggling.

And then Ant’s voice:

“Inspector, I need to report a very serious crime: the butler has stolen my mustache!”

“Done,” Pip said, holding out the ripped-up document, shiny from the tape and slightly deformed in its resurrection. On one side it said Clue #2 and on the other was printed The Last Will and Testament of Reginald Remy.

“We should go show the others,” Zach said, straightening up.

Pip almost tripped on their way back to the dining room, unable to tear her eyes away from the page. Had the old bastard left anything to her?

“Found it?” Jamie asked them, finishing off his last pizza crust, and Pip held up the will in answer. The inspector called for the others to return to the dining room and take their seats. Ant was the last to file in, having managed to wrestle his mustache back from Connor, though it now sat wonkily on his face.

“Celia and Ralph have found something that must have been stolen from the safe,” Jamie said. “Celia, if you could do us the honor and read it aloud.”

THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF

REGINALD REMY

I, Reginald Remy, being of sound mind, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament. I revoke all wills and codicils previously made by me.

To my son, Ralph Remy, I bequeath total ownership of my company, Remy Hotels and

Casinos, to run as he sees fit. In addition, I leave to him Remy Manor on Joy island and the London townhouse and a sum of 2 million pounds.

To my daughter-in-law, Elizabeth Remy, I bequeath a sum of 500,000 pounds and my racehorse, Blue Thunder, as I know she has always loved going to the races.

To my niece, Celia Bourne, I bequeath a sum of 200,000 pounds, and the artwork painted by my late sister (her mother). I know that will mean a lot to her.

And finally, to the household staff, it is my wish that they will be paid their wage from my estate for a total of six months after my death, while they look for new employment.

Date: 17/08/1924

Jamie had appeared behind Pip, looking at the document over her shoulder.

“It looks like this will was drawn up recently, just last week,” he pointed out.

But there was another glaring thing too. Pip had known even as she was trying to concentrate on reading it out, her eyes flicking

away from her, searching out the gaps like they couldn’t believe it either.

She looked up and studied their faces. Had any of them noticed?

Ant hadn’t; he was too busy fiddling with his mustache.

“Have you realized?” she asked the group, eyes circling them

and coming to land on Ant.

“Realized what?” he asked.

“Robert ‘Bobby’ Remy,” Pip said, offering Ant the document, “you’ve been written out of your father’s will.”