Page 47 of Murder Will Out
She turned, putting a polite smile on her face as he hastened over, breathless. “Mr. Ramsey, how nice to see you.” The convenient social lie came out smoothly; duplicity, never one of Willow’s strong suits, seemed to be getting easier with time.
“Miss Stone—Willow—” Hank reached over and grasped her shoulder; he was panting a little, and she wasn’t sure if the physical contact was intended to be friendly or if he needed someone to hold him up so he didn’t faint; either way, she wished he would stop.
Hank’s grandiose manner was dialed back today, though; something was different, something that went beyond the blotchy face and out-of-breath gasps.He seems almost human, Willow thought.
When he regained his breath, he said with uncharacteristic earnestness, “The other night, when my dear bride had her horrible mishap—I wanted to thank you for being there for her, for staying with her and getting her the help she needed.” For a moment, Hank looked forlornly out at the bay, toward the mainland and the hospital. “I can’t even imagine… Thank God she is all right. If anything had happened to her, I don’t know what I’d…” He trailed off, looking a little embarrassed. Hank cleared his throat gruffly, releasing Willow’s shoulder and pulling himself upright.
He cares, Willow thought.He genuinely cares for her.
“Do the police know what happened?” she asked, watching his face for his reaction.
He shrugged. “The police are looking into this dreadful attack, though I will insist upon a mechanic’s confirmation that the damage was deliberate; as good as our police force is, I’m not sure I have much faith in their automotive knowledge.” Hank’s voice reclaimed its familiar pompous, rolling tones.
And just like that, the old Hank is back, Willow thought wryly.
“And given what my dear Patricia had been working on,” the man continued, “it’s clear that some on the island would like tosilence or frighten her.” At Willow’s puzzled expression, he gave a satisfied smile and said, “Ah, you haven’t seen today’s paper yet, have you?” He pulled a folded newspaper out of a pocket of his sport coat and handed it to her. “Here you go—I’m off to visit my bride at her bedside; they are discharging her this afternoon!” He leaned in and murmured, “Front page below the fold,” gave her shoulder another unctuous squeeze, and headed off in the direction of the dock.
Curious, Willow opened the paper. Accounts of Geralt Talbot’s death and Rina’s arrest filled most of the front page, but at the bottom, an unexpected headline halted her in her tracks.
In large, bold type, it proclaimed,NEW CONNECTION DISCOVERED BETWEEN RAMSEY AND CAMERON FAMILIES.
A photograph of Hank and Patricia Ramsey, below, was captioned “Prominent citizen and amateur genealogist Patricia MacFarlane Ramsey discovers that her husband, Henry Ramsey Jr., is a direct descendant of the Cameron family.”
When Willow arrivedat the café, two copies of the same newspaper sat in the center of the round table. Mac and Catherine sat glaring at them balefully as Diana got coffee and sandwiches for a couple of visitors. Willow added the paper Hank had given her to the pile.
“So, is this for real?” she asked incredulously.
Mac snorted. “For real? It’s from Hank; I have to conclude it’s a load of steaming poo.”
Willow collapsed into one of the chairs. God, she was tired; she tried to make her exhausted eyes skim the article, but the tiny letters blurred in her vision. “Okay, I don’t have the energy. Can someone please tell me what this is all about? What’s going on?”
Catherine said, “The Ramseys are claiming Hank’s great-grandfather was married to a Cameron. That part’s true, by theway; Effie’s aunt—her name was Annabel—was married to Bruce Ramsey and had a son with him before he died.”
The name pierced Willow’s exhaustion. Annabel?HerAnnabel?
Catherine continued, “The son was killed during the Second World War, no wife or kids. But now Hank and Patricia say they have proof he got married overseas before he was killed, at a military hospital where he was sent after he was wounded.”
Willow’s eyebrows shot up. “Um… wow.”
Catherine held up a finger. “It gets better. The hospital where he was treated was apparently destroyed during the fighting, along with all its paperwork. Which means there is no official record certifying the wedding.”
Diana murmured, “Convenient,” as she set down a giant mug of coffee in front of Willow, who took it gratefully.
Catherine continued, “According to Hank and Patricia, there was a child from their brief marriage, and the baby was Hank’s grandfather.”
Willow looked up from the article and frowned. “That’s… Could it be true?”
Mac scoffed, “Please. It reads like a subpar historical novel or a bad movie of the week.”
Diana nodded and sat down. “I agree. But they say they have proof.”
“Show me the proof, then I’ll believe it,” Mac retorted.
“I agree,” Diana said. “I want to see proof. Especially given the timing of this grand revelation—I’m sure it’s not a coincidence that he waited till Geralt was beyond challenging him, which makes me wonder if Hank knows this would fall apart if someone with the resources to do it examined it too hard.”
“Yeah,” Mac said bitterly. “Someone like Effie or Sue or Geralt, who are now—again we have that wordconveniently—unable to push back on this.”
“It’s up to us, then,” Willow said. Then, carefully, “What do we know about this Annabel?”
