Who's Sorry Now?

by Maggie Robinson

  “Did you see anyone touch your brother’s drink?”

  She shook her head. “I was dancing when it happened.”

  “Who was at the table?”

  “Everyone.”

  “You danced alone?”

  “It was the Charleston. You don’t need a partner, but I met up with a friend of R-Roy’s. Howard Clark. He was sitting in the big room. You can ask him.”

  Dev wrote the name in his notebook, tucking the loose pages under the flap. If he kept encountering any more dead bodies, he’d need a new notebook pronto.

  Or be fired pronto if he didn’t solve the case.

  “Tell me about your brother. Were you close?”

  Pip wiped her eyes with a soggy handkerchief. “Yes. I mean, he was my brother. He could be annoying, but we’d always laugh about it afterwards. We had fun together.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might have wished him harm?”

  “No, I honestly can’t. He even joked around with the employees at the hotel. He was popular. Everyone liked him.” She sounded honest. Dev would find out once he’d talked to the Brighton constabulary.

  “He would have inherited the family business?”

  “Yes.”

  “What will happen now?”

  Her eyes widened. “I—I don’t know.”

  “Was that a sore spot for you, that your brother was being groomed to take over the business and you were not?”

  Pip Dean stumbled up. “You think I killed him over the bloody stupid hotel? How dare you!”

  Dev rose as well. “I never said that, Miss Dean. I know you’re upset. I just wondered if you have a champion that you don’t know about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Someone might have been upset for you. Wanted you to inherit.”

  “That’s—that’s awful.” She was truly aghast.

  “It is. But something to think about. Please accept my sincere condolences. I’ll meet with your parents tomorrow—well, today, really—at their convenience. My sergeant, Bob Wells, can take you home.”

  He walked her to the door and out into the hall. “Mr. Dunford, I’ll see you next.”

  Bernard “Bunny” Dunford looked up from his folded hands. “M-me?”

  “Yes, please. It won’t take long.”

  Dunford was of an age with the rest of them, early to mid-twenties, though shock had made him look very young tonight. He was handsome enough in a bland way, his light brown hair and grey eyes unexceptional. According to Addie, he was in love with the sharp-tongued Lucy Archibald. Dev wished him joy of her.

  “What can you tell me about this evening?”

  “N-nothing, really. We all met up about eleven in the b-back room. D-danced and so forth.”

  “What about the drinks?”

  “Ted brought them. Champagne c-cocktails for the ladies. Manhattans for the gentlemen.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual?”

  “Not a thing. I was listening to Lucy, y’see, and wasn’t paying attention to the others. Then all of a sudden R-roy t-tumbled down on the floor like he’d passed out. He didn’t have that much to drink—none of us did. We hadn’t had t-time.”

  “Where were you sitting in relation to Mr. Dean?”

  Dunford turned a lively shade of red. “Right next to him! But I swear to God I didn’t do anything except give him the extra red cherries in my drink. He w-was awful fond of them, m-maraschino cherries. He ate a whole jar once on a b-bet. Every single one! Ted brought them from the bar.” Dunford suddenly gave Dev a wild look. “My God! Do you suppose the cherries were poisoned and I’m the one that’s supposed to be d-dead?”

  “Hang on just one minute.” Dev dashed downstairs and had the bartender round up all the jars of cherries, green ones too. After a word with the forensics team, he returned to the office. Dunford had recovered his normal complexion but appeared exceedingly anxious.

  “Inspector, is my life in d-danger? I swear I’ve never d-done anything to anyone! Why is someone d-doing this?”

  “I don’t know, but I swear to you, I’ll find out. In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to spend a few quiet nights at home alone.”

  “What about Lucy? Lady Lucy, that is?”

  “I’ll give her the same advice. I can’t tell you what to do, but until we capture the killer, nights out on the town should be strictly forbidden.”

  “Yes, s-sir. Is that all?”

  “For now.”

  Dev opened the door, only to find an additional person waiting in the empty chair.

  Damn it all to hell.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Lady Adelaide, what are you doing here?”

  Oh dear. Inspector Hunter did not seem best pleased to see her.

  “Told you,” Rupert complained. “We could have read all about it in the newspapers a few hours from now in the comfort of your own bed, but oh, no, you had to stick your pretty powdered nose in and see for yourself. A man needs his rest, you know.”

  Rupert was getting nowhere near her bed, newspapers or not. “I couldn’t sleep, and wanted some fun,” Addie lied, ignoring Rupert entirely. She’d set her alarm clock for midnight and had quite a delightful catnap before the buzzer woke her up and Rupert told her what had happened to Roy Dean. She didn’t bother asking him how he knew; it only made her more determined to get dressed and go to the Thieves’ Den in person. “I thought I’d come out after all. Imagine my surprise when I was blocked at the door by a bobby!”

  “How did you get in?” Inspector Hunter was practically growling.

  “Your lovely Sergeant Wells was leaving with poor Pip and waved me through. Once I found out what had happened, I came up to give you all my sympathy.” Addie had an idea Mr. Wells was going to get a reprimand. She tugged her midnight blue velvet skirt down and attempted to look innocent. Perhaps if she’d been wearing a longer skirt, fewer sapphires, and less lip rouge, she would have succeeded.

  “I for one very glad Lady Adelaide here,” Prince Andrei said. “Like mother. Or auntie,” he amended, rethinking. “Perhaps big sister.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Nadia said in disgust.

  Addie agreed. “I’ll just keep the young people company with my elderly self while you’re interviewing. Oh, good! Here is some tea!” The waiter, Ted, had lumbered upstairs with an enormous tray, cups stacked precariously. There was nowhere to put it but the floor, and Rupert leaped out of the way before it landed on his lap.

  Inspector Hunter shook his head and took Lucy in next. Addie bent over and poured some dodgy-looking brown liquid into thick china cups for her “children.”

  “Was it very awful?” she asked, passing Nadia a cup.

  “No, it was a picnic in the park. Everyone likes to go out and watch their friend drop dead right before their eyes,” Rupert grumbled, brushing dust off his trousers. “This portion of the club could use a thorough sweeping. You should tell that Freddy person. It’s almost as bad as the loo.”

  “Roy was sitting there one minute and on the floor the next,” Gregory Trenton-Douglass said. “Not a peep out of him. No distress. Nothing.”

  “I—I g-gave him my cherries,” Bunny Dunford moaned. “I k-killed him!”

  “Don’t be a sap, Bunny. How do you know the cherries did it?” Kit Wheeler asked.

  “I d-don’t, of course. But I b-bet they’ll hang me for it anyway.” He ran his hand through his hair, causing it to stick up like half-a-dozen devil horns.

  “Speaking of hanging, why are you still here?”

  “L-Lucy. She may need me.”

  Kit snorted. “Lucy doesn’t need anybody, least of all you. It’s not as if you can drive her home.”

  “Why not?” Addie asked, passing Bunny some tea. If he was a little drunk, that might straighten him out.

  “D-don
’t drive. Can’t,” Bunny said, turning red. “Well, can but d-don’t.” He sniffed the tea with suspicion.

  “Nerves,” Kit whooped rather unkindly. Bunny clenched his fist but made no move to use it.

  “I don’t blame you,” Addie said quickly. The last thing she needed was a fight. “People are appalling drivers. I rely on my chauffeur in the country. And I’d never drive in London. I always take taxis.”

  “That’s it. I’ll t-take her home in a t-taxi,” Bunny said.

  “I drive everyone in uncle’s car later,” Prince Andrei offered.

  “Not us. It’s a nice night. We’ll walk if we ever get out of here,” Kit said. “We might be behind bars if we don’t get our stories straight. I suppose we’re all prime suspects.”

  Transportation sorted, everyone was quiet as they contemplated their innocence or guilt and sipped the tea, which was absolutely as vile as Addie expected. Evidently no one wanted to confess to the murder of Roy Dean while they waited in tense silence in the hall.

  She checked her diamond-faced wristwatch. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. The noise in the club below had abated, but there was a steady hum of policemen going to and fro, with the occasional raised voice. She wished she could assist Mr. Hunter with his inquiries in the club’s office, but then her role and relationship with the detective would be revealed. If she had to continue to serve as a “mother,” “auntie,” or “big sister” to facilitate matters, so be it.

  “Pip looked devastated when I ran into her outside,” Addie said, trying to restart the conversation. “It’s all so shocking.”

  No one agreed or disagreed besides sighs and low murmurs. Her young friends were having difficulty grappling with Roy Dean’s death, and were robbed of words. Unlike Tommy Bickley’s, they had seen it.

  “This lot is deader than the victim,” Rupert said, wiggling his fingers in front of Bunny Dunford’s pasty face. “Are they mute?”

  “Stop—um, will this stop you all from going out?” Addie wished Rupert was mute himself and would go away.

  “Who can think of such thing at time like this? With maniac on loose. I could be next.” Prince Andrei smoldered at his cousin, but she refused to look at him. “Would you care, Nadia? Or be heartless wench?”

  “Andrei, shut up! You’re getting on my last nerve!”

  “You and Bunny should take pill,” Andrei said with a touch of malice. “I have seen worse to upset in my country, believe me.”

  “Russia, Russia, Russia,” Kit said dismissively. “Don’t be a bore, Andy, there’s a good chap.”

  “My name not Andy! As you know. You English are so cold. Even when watching someone die, no emotion to stir blue blood. Poor Roy.”

  “Why would someone want to kill him?” Addie asked, pleased with the opening. “Did he have enemies? It seems ridiculous to think so—he was so very genial.”

  “Only his sister. N-now she can get her hands on the family b-business,” Bunny replied.

  Nadia glared at him. “Bunny! What an awful thing to say! Pip’s not like that at all! She wants to get married, not run a hotel.”

  Bunny shrugged. “I’m j-just saying some m-might find it r-relevant.”

  Was that an angle worth looking at by the police? Pip had seemed very fond of her brother, but one really never knew what went on inside someone’s head. Addie barely knew what went on in her own half the time, especially when Rupert was nearby.

  “Are you and Pip great friends, Nadia?” Addie asked.

  “Well, yes, I do have friends, contrary to what some people have told you. Millie Avery and Pip and I are quite chummy. Millie was meant to come out with us tonight. She’ll be glad she didn’t.”

  Addie was grateful there was one less suspect. “So, what do you all think happened?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I mean, the man confessed. It was Bunny with his bloody cherries.” Kit smirked.

  Bunny Dunford stood up and took a step forward. “N-not funny, Kit!” This time, both fists were clenched.

  “Oh, put a sock in it, Dunford. I’m not going to waste my time with you as a punching bag. I’ll leave that to your lady-love.”

  “Stop it, Kit. Don’t be cruel.” Nadia rose, putting her cup down on the chair. “I need some air. Do you suppose the coppers will let me cadge a cigarette outside? I’ll promise not to run away.”

  Andrei hopped up. “I come with you.”

  “Please, no. I want to be alone.”

  “Suit self. Now who is cruel?”

  Rupert chuckled. “Ah. Young love. Were we ever this stupid, Addie? They know as well as we do they’ll end up marrying. Nadia’s father will find some innocuous outpost for the prince to exercise his limited diplomatic skills, and Nadia will throw killer parties. Perhaps not killer—that was an unfortunate choice of words.”

  Addie wasn’t as sure as Rupert, but this was neither the time nor the place for an argument. Andrei slumped back down in the uncomfortable chair with a dramatic expression worthy of one of Beckett’s cinema actors, and Nadia flounced off.

  Lucy emerged from the office, her somewhat mangy fox jacket draped over her shoulders. “Greg, he wants to see you next. I’m dying for a gasper.”

  Bunny leaped up and brought out his cigarette case. He gave Kit a black look after lighting Lucy’s cigarette. “I’ll see you home, L-Lucy.”

  “All right. But you can’t come in. The parents will be beside themselves at this hour. Night, all. Good luck at the Inquisition.”

  She sauntered away, appearing to have not a care in the world. Bunny followed behind her like a puppy.

  “Good riddance,” Kit muttered.

  “Do you dislike them?” Addie asked.

  He shrugged, and checked to see if Andrei was listening, keeping his voice soft. “Lucy’s all right. She’s as mean as a snake and all the more interesting for it. But Bunny is a nitwit. Fellow doesn’t have any bal—I mean, spine. Lets Lucy call all the shots. I’d never put up with it if Greg treated me that way.”

  “No indeed. Successful relationships should be in balance.” Addie wondered if Rupert would agree, now that he was on the straight and narrow.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Saturday

  Addie woke up to the insistent ringing of the telephone. Pushing up her eye mask, she answered in a none-too-friendly tone. She had definitely not gotten enough sleep.

  “What in hell were you playing at?”

  Evidently he’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed, and wanted her to join him. Figuratively speaking, of course. “Good morning to you too, Inspector.” She hadn’t said goodnight to him, intuiting she’d better escape before he finished questioning everyone.

  “I’m serious. This isn’t a game but a murder inquiry. There was no reason for you to be there last night.”

  “This morning, but who’s counting the hours? I kept the children company. Acted as a calming influence,” Addie replied, stung. She’d done her best to coax them to have confidence in her. To confess, but that hadn’t worked.

  “And who’s to say being calm is a good thing? Someone might have revealed something in their distress.”

  “They did! Bunny Dunford seems to think the cherries were poisoned. And that Pip might have wanted to kill her brother so she could get her hands on the hotel.”

  “I know this already. What else?”

  There really wasn’t anything else. The inspector was right to be annoyed. “Bunny is not very popular with Greg and Kit—they think he’s awfully wet, and that Lucy runs roughshod over him. Prince Andrei is courting Nadia, but it’s not going well.”

  “So, they’re all at daggers-drawn. Good. That might lead someone to finally tell the truth.”

  “I’m sorry I’m not more helpful.”

  “It’s not your fault, Lady Adelaide.” He paused. “I’m sorry I was short with
you. This case is making me demented. There’s something else going on at the Thieves’ Den apart from the murders, too.”

  “You mean with the Dolly-people?”

  “Forget I ever mentioned them! Those women are criminals you don’t want to consort with.”

  “Are they responsible for Mr. Rinaldi’s beating?”

  She heard Mr. Hunter’s world-weary sigh. “As if he’d tell me. And no, the women usually are not violent. Their male friends—that’s another story.”

  “What can I do to help?” After she had some coffee, of course.

  “What? No, no, no. You’ve done enough, and I release you from your informal assistance with our inquiries. You should go back to the country. If I can find the link between obtaining the poisons and our perpetrator, I’ll have the case solved.”

  “What about the cherries?”

  “Ah. Interesting. According to the autopsy, the cherries were just cherries. None of the jars of cherries I confiscated from the bar were tampered with either.”

  “So Bunny Dunford wasn’t the intended victim!”

  “Probably not. He seems too harmless to kill, anyway.”

  “And doesn’t fit in with the other victims. His family has been here since the Conqueror, and are richer than the king. Very respectable. But Penelope Hardinge was the daughter of a shady businessman. Tommy Bickley’s father made his fortune in beer. Some people might believe Kit Wheeler is defying the laws of God and man. The Deans are first-generation money through trade. Sour grapes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Addie plumped the pillows behind her. “We don’t always reward self-made or ‘different’ people in Britain, do we? There’s always a stigma. As though ‘good birth’ and toeing the line mean everything.”

  “You’d know more about that than I.”

  Addie’s cheeks pinked, even though he couldn’t see her. “I don’t say it’s fair. It just is.”

  “I’ll take your opinion under advisement. So, which of our suspects is a disgruntled, jealous, heartless murderer out to avenge the rules of society?”