Thorfinn Grimm's Holiday — Part 2
... And a Happy New Year!
Happy New Year! This is the second part of a Thorfinn Grimm Winter Special that I’m publishing over the next few weeks. Here’s a link to the index so you can catch up on previous parts and older stories.
Enjoy!
Chapter 2
“Absolutely not,” said Pippin, storming out of the room.
It was the day after New Year’s and we were back at our flat. Our Christmas vacation at Pippin’s family estate had been tragically cut short when the house burned down, killing his grandfather, Mr Walter Darby. Instead of decorating trees or opening presents, we spent Christmas Day sifting through the wreckage of Darby House. All we found were some papers locked in a strongbox and a charred corpse.
Due to the holidays (and the fact that nobody liked the late Mr Darby), it took some time for the local police and fire brigade to figure out what had happened. We had just received the report, and it confirmed all my suspicions. There were traces of an accelerant at the scene, suggesting that the fire was caused intentionally by a person or persons unknown. In short, it was murder — or arson, at the very least.
So why didn’t Pippin want me to investigate the matter? Well, there were a couple of reasons. The main one was what happened after dinner on Christmas Eve.
The dinner at Darby House was quite good, actually. Mrs Bunting was an excellent cook and Mr Darby had some fine wines in the cellar. The company, however, was something else.
There was only one other guest present, apart from myself. Father Moore was the local parish priest, a young red-headed man who was tragically blinded as a child. He was quite nice but seemed a bit tense, probably because he was there to administer Last Rites to the family patriarch. (Mr Darby had become surprisingly religious in his final days and insisted on receiving the sacrament every night.)
As for the residents of Darby House, there was Frank and Cora Darby, Pippin’s maternal uncle and his wife. They lived there permanently with Pippin’s mother, Alice Morstan. Mrs Morstan was very quiet, and I gathered that’s how she’d been since her husband’s death twenty years before.
Her brother, Frank Darby, was an absent-minded but genial person. He was a bit quiet too but he would perk up whenever anybody mentioned hunting. His wife, Cora, was anything but quiet. She was the life of the party, engaging everyone in little small talk and pleasantries. Objectively speaking, Uncle Frank and Aunt Cora were adorable. But there was something about them that didn’t sit right with me.
Then there was their son, Frank Jr. A rather good-looking man in his early forties, Frank Jr. was already in his twenties when Pippin and his mother came to live at Darby House. Mrs Bunting told me he used to shove Pip’s head in the toilet for laughs.
Frank Jr. was there with his wife, Elizabeth. She was a city girl who traded stocks before she got married and she stuck out like a sore thumb at Darby House. Elizabeth always looked like she was on the verge of doing something drastic, probably because she was married to a $%£@.
I later learned that Elizabeth had tried and failed to launch an aromatherapy business, which is the closest any of the Darbys had come to having a job. All the money around that dining table traced its source to the vulture-like creature brooding at its head. Walter Darby was lord and provider to all these sorry souls. All except one.
“Boy,” he called, addressing Pippin. “Considering the circumstances of our last meeting, I don’t know if I can honestly say it’s good to see you again. But I do appreciate the fact that you’ve come home for Christmas.”
“To Pippin,” Frank Jr. toasted, downing his fifth glass of red.
“It wasn’t a toast, you buffoon,” Walter snapped. He coughed and shifted in his wheelchair. Though the man looked ready to drop dead at any moment, there was a certain light in his eye that made my skin crawl. Regaining his composure, he smiled, which made him look infinitely more creepy.
“I am glad to have all of you here,” he said. “Even you, Mr… uh… Grimm, was it? I understand you’re a friend of the boy’s. Tell me, what do you think of my menagerie?”
Yeah, I didn’t know what to say to that. I just nodded awkwardly and refocused my attention on the lovely roast beef.
“Well, family,” Mr Darby continued. “As you know, I think of you all as maggots, feasting on my rotting corpse. But this is Christmas, after all. Peace on Earth and goodwill to all, even maggots. So I have a present for all of you. Well, all except the boy. Mr Grimm, did he ever tell you why he left this house? No, I suppose not. You see, a few years ago, young Mr Morstan decided he wanted nothing to do with me or my fortune. We had an argument, and he has refused to see me ever since. I suspect my darling daughter Alice is the only real reason he’s even here.”
“Daddy, please,” Mrs Morstan pleaded urgently. “You’re unwell.”
“Oh yes, I’m quite sick,” he chuckled hoarsely. “Father Moore can attest to that. Isn’t that right, Father?”
The priest stiffened in his seat beside me but didn’t say anything.
“But I am of sound mind,” Mr Darby said. “And that’s all that matters. Well, here’s your Christmas present, Darbys. Taking inspiration from the boy here, I have decided that the best thing I can do for all of you is cut you off.”
“You can’t be serious,” Cora interrupted. “Walter, we take care of you. How would we do that without money?”
“I’m not going to be around much longer,” he shrugged. “So I don’t really care. Oh, and don’t think you can just kill me and get the money that way. On Monday, I’m going to talk to my lawyers and change my will so none of you get a penny.
“This is outrageous,” Frank Jr. yelled, shooting to his feet. “This is insane. You’re insane.”
Mr Darby chuckled. “And a Happy New Year to you.”
A few hours later, Mr Darby was killed and his house was burned down. And as you can see, practically his whole family had reason to want him dead. So, that’s why Pippin didn’t want me to investigate his grandfather’s murder, because he was afraid it would send one of his relatives to prison. I can understand that.
He did change his mind, though.
From Pippin Morstan’s Private Journal
2/1/2025
I was in no mood to talk to Finn, so I decided to take a walk. On the way down, I ran into Mrs Kruger, who asked me why I looked like someone died. I told her someone did, and explained the whole situation to her over a pot of tea in her kitchen.
Mrs Kruger listened carefully and said, “Darling, I know where you’re coming from, but you do realise it’s futile, don’t you? You can’t stop Finn from investigating. I don’t think Finn can stop Finn from investigating. One way or another, that weird brain of his is going to find out who killed your grandfather and why. So why not just… lean into the skid?”
She had a point, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. What changed my mind was a phone call I received shortly after.
It was Aunt Cora. Her voice was steady but she sounded nervous.
“Pip, it’s your mother,” she said. “She’s gone missing.”
To Be Continued…
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Oh no! Pip’s mum! But also his grandfather should have been smarter and informed them of the will change after the fact. Hmm, maybe he did ready change the will and lied to them?
Very interesting. I love stories where the family is gathered together, like vultures, and then are left stiffed of their inheritence. I can't wait to read more Remus. Thank you.