The Murdered Matron: Doro Banyon Historical Mysteries, #2

The Murdered Matron

A Doro Banyon Historical Mystery-Book Two

D.S. Lang

Copyright ©December 2023 by Debra Sue Lang

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [include publisher/author contact info].

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover by Karen Phillips

Editing by Alyssa Colton

ISBN paperback: 978-1-962039-06-2

ISBN ebook: 978-1-962039-05-5

Contents

1.Chapter One

2.Chapter Two

3.Chapter Three

4.Chapter Four

5.Chapter Five

6.Chapter Six

7.Chapter Seven

8.Chapter Eight

9.Chapter Nine

10.Chapter Ten

11.Chapter Eleven

12.Chapter Twelve

13.Chapter Thirteen

14.Chapter Fourteen

15.Chapter Fifteen

16.Chapter Sixteen

Author's Notes

About the Author

FAMILY FAVORITE COOKIES

Thank You!

Doro Banyon Historical Mystery series

Arabella Stewart Historical Mystery series

Chapter One

Friday signaled the end of the school week, but not the conclusion of the work week for Dorothea Banyon. As a college librarian, she often put in a few hours on Saturday, especially as a term concluded. Although the holiday break lay ahead, her duties as a member of the Christmas festival committee added to her burden. Despite loving her job and the annual celebration, Doro would have enjoyed snuggling under the covers for another hour—or longer.

With grim resignation, she climbed out of her warm bed, hurriedly dressed, and consumed a cup of coffee with a roll before leaving the cozy confines of Wheaton Hall, the residence for women faculty members. As soon as she stepped outside, a blast of cold air hit her. Only a light coat of snow dusted the ground, but gun-metal gray clouds hinted at more falling. How lovely it would be to curl up in an easy chair by her fireplace with a book and coffee. Such a respite would not happen today.

This morning, ambivalent feelings filled Doro as she scurried toward the auditorium for another planning meeting. As far back as she could remember, the annual Christmas event had been a major occasion in Michaw, her hometown. Everyone—residents and students—eagerly anticipated the weekend. This year was no exception, although the celebration had dwindled down from three days of fun to only a party, mostly because fewer and fewer people volunteered to assist. Even so, folks were looking forward to it more than ever. Doro certainly was. A period of uneasiness had followed the murder of a professor in October. Although the case had quickly been solved, shock about such an awful crime occurring in their peaceful village had rattled folks. Now, they were ready for a return to normalcy. The coming revelry would help.

As a member of the committee, Doro felt excited about instituting new touches: electric lights on the tree, boughs of mistletoe in the archways, and a phonograph for the latest music. All were among her suggestions. At the last meeting, most of the committeewomen had been enthusiastic. Today, a final decision would be made—and the possibility that her ideas would be dismissed by the person in charge kept Doro’s spirits contained.

Upon arriving at the meeting site, Doro found several ladies gathered at a table in the far corner of the room. With a smile on her face, she rushed to join them. Hello.

You’re late, Dorothea. An imposing woman in her sixties commented from the head of the table.

Doro’s enthusiasm ebbed. Why-oh-why was Mrs. Frotis still chairwoman of the event? Twenty years was too long, especially when the matron ruled with an iron-hand, albeit one clad in a pristine white glove. She had not yet commented on Doro’s recommendations. Would she object? Probably. If so, would the others support Doro, or would they give in to the imposing matron?

Since she was right on time, Doro did not reply. Instead, she took the only empty seat, which was unfortunately next to Mrs. Frotis. As she glanced around the group, Doro noted the sympathetic expressions on two faces. Irma Green, whose husband was an area farmer, and Magenta Silven, whose spouse was the town doctor, smiled at her. Both women had endeavored to modify party plans over the past several years, but Mrs. Frotis had held sway. When Doro had met with the pair on Wednesday, both women had agreed to support changes. But neither was a fighter. A struggle might occur, because power was rarely ceded, especially by someone like Hortense Frotis. While the chairwoman’s narrowed gaze remained on her, Doro pulled off her mittens and took off her wool cloak.

Dorothea, a lady wears gloves. Mittens are for children and laborers. The stinging criticism again came from the chairwoman.

Instead of tucking the mittens into her coat pockets as she had been about to do, Doro laid them on the table. For a long moment, she studied the beautiful craftsmanship and considered how many hours her mother had dedicated to knitting the gift. The mittens not only protected Doro’s hands during winter walks across campus, they warmed her heart. Like the locket at her neck, a family heirloom from her mother, the apparel was a physical connection to her parents, who now lived hundreds of miles away in Colorado.

I’m sure they do a better job of keeping your fingers toasty than gloves would, Magenta Silven said. And they’re pretty, too.

Doro turned to the doctor’s wife, who offered a smile along with her kind words. You’re right about them providing warmth. They do. She fingered the zig-zag pattern, knit in shades of blue, as she spoke. According to her mother, the dominant color—a soft blue—exactly matched Doro’s eyes.

A harrumph left Mrs. Frotis but, before she could say more, barking erupted. Doro grinned as she turned toward the door. The campus security officer, Everett Mallow, was making his rounds with little Agatha Christie in tow. When they had adopted the stray in October, Doro and Ev had chosen the name because both loved the mystery writer’s work.

Tee, the puppy’s nickname, was yapping wildly and pulling hard on her lead. After Ev petted the little ball of fur and whispered to her, she quieted, and he moved forward. This time, Tee was not as wild, but she danced toward the group of women like a prima ballerina. When the pair reached Doro, the dog fell to her side and showed her belly. Doro could not help but laugh as she stooped to stroke Tee’s warm tummy.

That little yapper should not be inside this building. She’ll spread her fleas everywhere. The complaint came from Mrs. Frotis, who shot a scowl at the dog and then, at the security officer.

She doesn’t have fleas, ma’am. As he took off his gray uniform cap, Ev replied in a respectful tone, but annoyance flickered in his silver gaze.

A harrumph left Mrs. Frotis. All curs have fleas.

Tee is a pet. Doro gently stroked the pup while avoiding the matriarch’s censorial gaze. Officer Mallow takes good care of her. I’m sure if a flea gets on Tee, he removes it quickly. I’ve seen no sign of any when she’s with me.

The older woman’s scowl deepened. Letting that filthy thing stay in campus housing is abominable.

When Doro glanced at Ev, she saw his jaw tighten. The rules are made by the college administration, he said in an arctic tone.

That’s right, Doro agreed. Besides, Officer Mallow lives in the attic apartment above the president’s garage, not in actual campus housing.

The mutt has been in your apartment, hasn’t she, Dorothea? the older woman asked.

Tee has only stayed with me two nights, when Officer Mallow was out-of-town, Doro replied.

Mrs. Frotis lifted her chin and stared down her formidable nose at Doro. She could spread her fleas in two minutes. Besides, she’s unruly. Get her off me right now.

Tee, while within two feet of the chairwoman, was not touching her. Even so, Ev reached down and swept the puppy into his arms.

She always seems well-behaved, Mrs. Silven put in, a grin on her pretty face.

She is, ma’am, Ev added.

Doro smiled. Officer Mallow has done a great job of training her.

Ha! Dogs do not belong inside. Mrs. Frotis made the statement as she looked straight at Ev. You should leave it at home, not bring it to work.

Annoyance overcame Doro’s usual restraint when dealing with the matron. "Tee is a she, not an it," Doro said.

Mrs. Frotis, an angry flush on her angular face, turned to Doro. I plan to talk with the trustees about allowing a mutt on campus.

I doubt if any of them is as starched up and small-minded as you. The statement came from a newcomer, a lithe blonde in her thirties. She bent to pet Tee before greeting Officer Mallow. Hello, Ev. How nice to see you again.

Good day, Mrs. Parson, he said with a slight lift of his chin. Clad in a gray, hip-length, fitted uniform jacket and matching pants, the campus security officer looked much like any small-town constable but with an added aura of authority that probably came from his time as a Prohibition agent.

I’ve told you to call me Veronica. As she spoke, the woman gestured toward a chair sitting against the wall. Would you mind getting that for me, Ev?

Of course not. Ev handed the leash grip to Doro. He patted Tee’s head and murmured, Stay with Doro.

Here you go, ma’am, he said, setting the chair down for the woman. Once again, his tone was clipped.

Mrs. Parson laid a gloved hand on his arm. Thank you, Ev.

You’re welcome, he replied.

When he stepped farther away, she smiled at him again. Would you help me with my coat?

Sure thing. Again, neither his expression nor tone held any enthusiasm. After assisting the woman, he hung the garment over an extra chair by the wall.

Thank you again, Ev, Veronica murmured with a level of sweetness that didn’t match his simple courtesy.

The exchange hit a sour note with Doro. In the weeks since she had helped Officer Mallow solve a murder, Doro had gotten to know him better. At their first meeting, he had seemed officious and overbearing, but first impressions were not always right—and that was true in his case. Sometimes, he was reserved and serious but, more and more often, he was open, amusing, and fun. And always, he was handsome. His face had an appealing symmetry, while his dark brown hair was thick and glossy. But his eyes were his most striking feature. Fringed in black lashes, they reminded her of polished silver, but now they more closely resembled river ice.

When his gaze met hers, Doro inwardly chastised herself for her mental meandering and focused on the meeting. She glanced around the table. I start work at noon today, so maybe we could begin.

Another harrumph left Mrs. Frotis. We cannot commence in a timely manner when committeewomen are late. She glared at Doro and then, at Mrs. Parson.

Since you make all the plans yourself and dictate to the rest of us, Mrs. Parson said, I don’t know why we meet at all. Why not make lists and give them to us? It would save time.

Why I never, Mrs. Frotis barked out.

No, you never listen to anyone, Mrs. Parson said with a laugh.

Several moments of uncomfortable silence passed before Ev spoke. Excuse me, ladies. I need to check the other buildings and such. He extended his hand and took the leash from Doro.

When he turned toward the door, Doro wished she could leave with him and Tee. They could play with the pup and laugh together. Instead, she braced herself for another tedious meeting, which turned out to be as miserable as she feared.

As soon as the officer was gone, Mrs. Frotis wasted no time in grabbing her gavel and pounding the table. We need to come to order. She immediately called for the secretary, Eloise Vining, to read the previous minutes.

As the chairwoman followed Robert’s Rules of Order to a fine point, Doro remembered her first committee meeting—twenty years ago—when she had come with her mother. They had not stayed long due to Mrs. Frotis’ objection to a child being in attendance. At age five, Doro hadn’t heard of meeting rules. Now, she knew them like the back of her hand, mostly due to Mrs. Frotis and her insistence on proper parliamentary procedure. More than once, other committee women had suggested dropping the formality, but to no avail. Majority rule wasn’t on Mrs. Frotis’ agenda. Criticism and domination were.

After Miss Vining finished reading the minutes, the chairwoman spoke again. You missed some details, Eloise, but you always do.

Eloise Vining, a raw-boned woman in her forties, offered a faint smile. I get all the crucial details, Hortense, just not every syllable of your meanderings.

Was there a slight edge in Eloise’s tone? The spinster seldom spoke up at the meetings or elsewhere. She was a native Michawan, who still lived in her family’s cottage on the edge of town. And on the edge of life, in general. Scarecrow-thin with a gaunt countenance and wiry gray hair, Eloise was plain. Mousy was how townsfolk described her, which Doro found rude. But the woman did not try to look pretty or dress well.

Scarlet formed twin splotches on Mrs. Frotis’ lean cheeks. You are impertinent, Eloise. We should never have allowed you to take your mother’s place as the committee secretary.

Veronica Parson chuckled. We don’t need officers. The mayor’s clerk handles the money, which is most important. If you weren’t so starched up, Hortense, you’d get a few people to take care of the various tasks and let them do it. Instead, you race around checking up on everyone, which is why the committee gets smaller every year. You’re running out of ladies who will put up with your nit-picking. If you keep antagonizing people, you’ll be all alone. Or maybe you’ll be replaced.

Mrs. Frotis snorted derisively. You won’t be put in charge, in any case. You can’t even control those mutts of yours.

After staring daggers at the chairwoman, Mrs. Parson lifted her chin. Duke and Duchess are pure-bred Airedales, not mutts.

Ha. They’re nuisances, running loose and digging everywhere, Mrs. Frotis shot back. And you’re responsible for their damage to my flower beds.

Ralphie replanted your chrysanthemums two months ago. They’ll bloom next year, the other woman said.

Ralph Bolt had worked for the Frotis family since boyhood, which was long before Doro was born. He lived above the garage and served as gardener, handyman, and errand boy.

And your mutts will dig them up again, Mrs. Frotis said. Those two beasts should be put down.

All casualness left Mrs. Parson’s expression, and red-hot anger replaced it. If something happens to either Duke or Duchess, you will live to regret it…but you won’t live long.

The outburst surprised Doro. As she glanced around the table, she noted the others had similar reactions.

Color surged into the chairwoman’s face. Do not threaten me, or I shall go to Constable Lammers. Then, we’ll see about getting rid of your mutts permanently. She looked at Doro. And that little flea bait of yours, too. All the troublemakers should go.

Before Doro could respond, Veronica spoke again. If that’s the case, you should be at the top of the list, since your bullying upsets half the town. Maybe more.

Something between a chuckle and a chortle left Eloise before the spinster clapped a hand over her mouth and focused on her notepad. Seconds of silence passed as everyone else appeared to be held mute.

Then, Mrs. Silven raised one hand. We’re here to discuss the annual Christmas party. Some of us have other obligations, so it’d be best if the meeting continues without side conversations.

Yes, Irma Green added. I have to take our littlest one to the doctor this afternoon.

Mrs. Frotis continued to scowl but nodded. All right.

From that point on, the group covered the various tasks ahead of them. Although the remaining path wasn’t entirely smooth, it was not as rocky as the beginning had been. Unfortunately, when Doro’s suggestions came up for review, Mrs. Frotis rejected most of them.

We’ll have the church choir, as usual, to provide music, the chairwoman observed.

People enjoy dancing, Veronica put in. They can still sing along with the choir for a time, but a phonograph would be better for kicking up our heels.

I’m sure you’d love to prance around. Mrs. Frotis scowled again. Some folks dance when the singing goes on. Improper and rude, but I cannot control everything.

But you would if you could, Veronica sniped.

Eloise snickered before again bowing her head. Since Doro still hoped to see her other ideas implemented, she ignored the remarks and posed a question. What about the mistletoe and electric lights?

The chairwoman took a sidelong glance at Doro. Mistletoe is unseemly, but the lights will be fine. I assume you know where to purchase them.

Winning on one count was better than none, so Doro nodded. The hardware store in Sylvania just started stocking them. I’ll call this morning.

Fine. You can fetch them, Mrs. Frotis said.

Despite her busy schedule, Doro wanted the glittering lights, which remained a novelty, on the tree. Of course. I can drive over tomorrow. Perhaps, she and her grandmother, who lived in Sylvania on Summit Street near uptown, could have lunch together. We haven’t discussed refreshments. I know we’ll meet again, but what time will the Adlers deliver everything?

They won’t, Mrs. Frotis said. I’ll speak with them later today, but I’ve hired a bakery in Toledo to supply the event. It’s near my new attorney’s office, and they do a splendid job.

Gasps escaped the other women. Eloise was the first to find her voice. The Adlers have always made the party treats. By now, they’ve probably started work.

I’m sure they have, which means they may be stuck with baked goods, Irma Green added. We should at least buy what they have on hand.

The decision is made, and I must be on my way. Mrs. Frotis banged her gavel again, ended the meeting, and hurried out.

In the aftermath of her departure, the other women chattered among themselves about the Adlers being dropped. Although Doro wanted to voice her perspective, she had to get to the library before her shift started. A few quiet moments in her little office would provide a chance to review plans for her mystery class’s final meeting. Thinking about all her duties—as a librarian, a professor, and a volunteer—weighed on Doro. But teaching a course on the mystery novel played into one of her lifelong pastimes—that of playing armchair detective. A smile touched her lips. Weeks ago, Ev had crowned her as an amateur sleuth, steps above an armchair detective.

As Doro left the building, Irma caught up with her. That was the worst meeting yet, the other woman, a petite blonde in her early thirties, said. Rejecting the victrola and mistletoe was foolish, and dropping the Adlers. Just awful. She shook her head. The worst thing was Mrs. Frotis threatening Veronica’s dogs. I don’t blame Veronica for being upset, but she sounded furious in response.

It was an ugly exchange. Doro didn’t want to admit her genuine reaction, because Irma’s effervescence often made her too chatty. Going over all the issues in detail would take too much time, time Doro did not have. We don’t need to tell people, though. Harmful gossip hurts everyone, and I’m sure neither will act on their threats.

Of course not. I hope the next meeting goes better. Irma wrung her hands. I’m nervous about the decorations. We have beautiful trees on the farm, and my husband and his brothers will cut one down and bring it to town. The children and I can gather greens, but putting ornaments on the tree will be tricky. The same with lights. We’ve never used electric ones.

When Doro shot a