by C Jane Reid
She blinked. “Why?” Her first thought was of the secret she was keeping on Miss Edie’s behalf, the fact that she was not simply the wife of the deceased, hotel architect, but the daughter of one baron and widow of another.
“She was married, wasn’t she? To a Frenchman?”
“Yes,” Lola said, withholding a sigh of relief. “That isn’t secret.”
“Do you know anything about her husband?”
Lola stepped back, looking at Gordie. “What is this about?”
He sighed and ran his hand over his face before sinking down into his chair. “I know the name Meunier,” he said in a hollow voice.
“How?”
“France.”
Lola pulled a chair closer to Gordie and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her crossed knees.
“Give us the story.”
Vera spilled another two fingers of scotch into his tumbler. He gave her a curious look, set the tumbler aside, and drew in a deep breath.
“I don’t like to talk about the war,” Gordie began, but as Lola began to apologize, he held up his hand, “but this is important, especially if it has any bearing on what’s happened.”
Lola nodded. She could sense that the others had settled close by to listen. The room was unaccustomedly quiet.
“In October of 1918, I was still in France at hospital waiting to be invalided home.” His look grew faraway and his voice took on a flatness that alarmed Lola. She held back from reaching out to take his hand, not wanting to draw him out of his tale quite yet. “There were Americans in the hospital, too, sent down from the front line at the Argonne. Most of them had come from being trapped behind the lines.” He drew in a long breath. “They’d been trapped for days.”
Lola swallowed hard. “I know the story,” she said, surprised by how rough the words came out.
“I think I remember something of it,” Brandon said, too. “A company caught out and surrounded by the Boche when an advance fell apart.”
Gordie was shaking his head before Brandon finished speaking. “It was a battalion. And it wasn’t that the advance fell apart.”
Lola straightened and clasped her hands together to keep them from clenching. “Six days they were trapped. No food, no water, cold and rain and no winter gear.” Lola glanced around her, finding her friends staring at her in surprise. “My cousin, Wyatt, served in that battalion. With Jack Edgars.”
“Then I can see why Jack would hate Germans,” Vera said with a scowl. “I believe I might be less open-minded now, too.”
“What does that have to do with Miss Edie?” Brandon asked.
“Nothing at all,” Gordie answered. “But it might have something to do with her late husband, M. Meunier.”
“Why?”
Gordie looked at Lola, who shook her head in confusion.
“The Germans knew in advance about the offensive because a traitor helped them infiltrate the line to steal information.”
Lola’s breath went shallow and a chill stole over her.
“M. Meunier?” she whispered.
“No. But it was a Meunier.”
“A brother? A cousin?” Daphne asked, pen poised over her notebook.
“I don’t know,” Gordie admitted. “But I do know that the name Meunier became infamous when the plot was uncovered and the traitor caught.”
“What happened to him?” Willa asked. Everyone looked at her and she flushed. “He was killed, wasn’t he?”
Gordie nodded. “Firing squad.”
Silence filled the room. Lola had never realized how desperate her cousin’s plight had been, how awful to learn it might have been avoided. So many deaths—
She put it from her mind. “Now we must learn if this new information has anything to do with Herr Prinz’s murder.”
“How do we do that?” Vera asked.
“Gordie?” Lola focused on him.
He looked startled. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. I was merely shocked to hear the name spoken so casually.”
“If you,” Lola said slowly, “were that shocked and you hadn’t actually been in the Argonne when it happened and only learned of it second-hand, not—” she added quickly, “that I’m belittling your experiences in any way.”
“I’d never think you capable of that, Lola,” Gordie assured her with a friendly smile.
“Oh, good, because I wouldn’t. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, if you were that stunned to hear the name without having gone through it firsthand, what must it be like for those who did survive that awful event?” She sighed. “Someone like Jack.”
“But—” Willa began, then cut herself off.
“Weren’t we there saying how much we believe he couldn’t possibly have had a hand in,” Daphne said.
“I’ll admit, this is a bit awkward to consider,” Lola conceded. “I’m not claiming to believe that Jack had anything to do with it. But he and Gaspard were discussing the possibilities. And this news about the poison is equally distressing.”
“Gaspard?” Gordie asked.
“The head concierge,” Lola told him.
“Wait,” Willa said, lifting her hand. “What does all this with the Meuniers have to do with Herr Prinz? Aside from the fact that he was German.”
Everyone fell silent.
“Obviously,” Lola said after a few moments, “more information is necessary.”
A knock came on the door. Lola hesitated, knowing it wouldn’t be a porter this time. She crossed the room and fixed a smile to her face. “I believe our informant has just arrived.”
Arthur was standing on the other side of the door, and he did not look happy.
“I’ve just come from Miss Edie’s,” he said before Lola could greet him. “What is this about your being her personal assistant?”
“Won’t you please come in, Detective Inspector?” Lola gestured with a sweeping hand, ignoring his question.
Arthur’s jaw tightened. “Please answer the question, Miss Rose.” He stressed her last name.
Lola drew in a long breath and then let it out. “I would think the title describes exactly what I am to Miss Edie.”
“And when did this change in your relationship occur?”
Lola tried for a flippant shrug but faltered under Arthur’s hard stare. “I don’t see why it matters.”
“It matters because you are involving yourself in matters that you should not. We discussed this, Lola.”
“Miss Rose.”
He huffed out a breath and muttered something that sounded like “obstinate American.”
“Why, thank you, Detective Inspector,” she said with a smile. “Now, do stop being rude and join us so we can ply you with questions.”
“I think I’ll refuse your invitation for now.”
“Now don’t be—”
“Lola, this is serious business,” he said harshly, “and I don’t have time to flit about with your inebriated acquaintances. A man is dead.”
Lola drew herself up, her expression going cold. “We know what’s at stake, Arthur. We aren’t as ignorant as you would make us out to be. We might choose to approach the matter with more levity than you would allow but don’t take that as a sign that we do not care. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I will join my inebriated friends and prove Miss Edie’s innocence.”
“Lola—”
She didn’t hear what else Arthur might have said because she shut the door in his face.
She stood staring at the ornate door, her heart pounding.
Was she being too flippant? Were they treating this like a game instead of a serious investigation?
Someone approached her, and she turned to find Gordie behind her with a concerned look on his haggard face.
“He was out of line,” Gordie told her, taking her hand in his.
“But was he?” Lola bit the inside of her cheek. “What if we have been making this into a game? A man died, after all. Playing with the idea of suspects while throwing a cocktail party does seem like black hu
mor.”
Gordie shook his head before she had finished speaking. “Lola, if it weren’t for you and the others,” he added with a nod toward where they were gathered, “I’d most likely still be in lock-up.”
“The police believe in your innocence,” Lola began, but he cut her off.
“No, they simply have another suspect now. I’m still on their list, but because of your faith in me, I’m no longer in jail. And, most of all, knowing you believed in me helped me not give in to despair. You can’t know what that means to me.”
Lola couldn’t speak.
“You, Lola Rose, aren’t playing a game. You are genuinely concerned for your friends, even the ones you’ve only known for a short time. And you are doing what the police cannot.”
“What is that?”
“You are looking for proof of innocence, not proof of guilt.”
Gordie’s words resonated with her. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. You made an argument for my innocence when the police were looking at the reasons why I might be guilty. And now you are doing the same for Miss Edie.”
“And there is no reason why we have to take it all so seriously,” Vera said. “We know what is on the line, after all. Just because we choose not to moan and frown and otherwise act as though it is the end of all things doesn’t mean we are heartless. If anything, it means we are heartful.”
“Heartful.” Brandon chuckled. “I rather like that.”
“We are heartful because we believe in innocence before guilt,” Vera continued. “And having a cocktail or two never ruined anyone’s ability to think.”
“Just to think clearly,” Daphne said dryly.
“Tut.” Vera waved away the thought. “Opium is supposed to grant visions of wisdom, isn’t it? Why can’t a good G&T do the same?”
“I hope you aren’t suggesting we visit an opium den,” Willa said, alarmed. “Not only do I have absolutely no interest in the idea, but the Earl would most likely suffer a stroke at the very thought of it.”
Vera tutted. “I’m only saying that it isn’t all bad to have a drink or two to relax the body and loosen up the mind.”
“I’m not sure I agree with all that,” Daphne told her, “and mostly definitely not with the idea of an opium den, but I do agree that working from the idea of innocence is much more agreeable than assuming everyone who had anything to do with the deceased could be guilty. What a dark way to see the world.”
“I agree with Daph,” Brandon said, and his sister nodded to him in thanks.
Lola drew in a deep breath, feeling much more herself again. “So, we go from the notion that Miss Edie is innocent but someone did kill Herr Prinz.”
“And the police can worry over that detail,” Gordie told her, squeezing her hand. “We focus on clearing Miss Edie’s name.”
“What if we learn otherwise?” Daphne asked. They stared at her, and she stiffened. “I’m only proposing it as a possibility, not that I believe it.”
“No, Daphne is right,” Lola said. “We need to be open-minded that we might uncover something that would incriminate her, however unlikely I find that to be.”
“Then we will be honest,” Gordie told her, “and tell the detective inspector.”
“And then listen to him say ‘I told you to stay out of it’ until we want to commit a homicide of our own,” Willa told them.
They laughed and the mood lightened considerably.
“So, where do we begin?” Vera asked. She sat down and crossed her legs, her notebook on her lap. Daphne gave her a pointed look.
“I believe Lola asked me to take notes.”
“Please do,” Vera insisted. “I’d be awful at it. I’m simply recording my own doings in this. You know, for posterity. And,” she added with a wink, “it might make for a great read one day.”
“You can publish it as a mystery novel,” Brandon suggested.
Vera brightened. “What a marvelous idea.” She opened her notebook and uncapped her pen to write.
Brandon sidled closer to read over her shoulder. “The Mysterious Death of the Pompous Herr Prinz?”
“Rather catchy, don’t you think?”
Willa laughed. “It’s as good a title as any.”
“We weren’t able to question Arthur,” Lola said suddenly. She frowned and tugged on her pearls. “We have to learn more about the Meunier business. It might help explain why Miss Edie was so against Herr Prinz.”
She straightened as a thought struck her.
“Gaspard!” she announced at the same time as Brandon shouted, “The concierge!” They looked at each other from across the room.
“I say, I think I’m rather good at this.” Brandon looked proud.
“Of course you are, darling,” Willa told him, patting his hand where it rested on the back of her chair.
Brandon’s grin broadened.
Lola and Daphne exchanged meaningful looks.
Lola composed herself. “He should still be on duty.”
“We’ll summon him to the suite,” Brandon said, crossing to the telephone. “That way we can all question him at once.”
“That might not be the best approach,” Gordie said. “I could come with you,” he offered to Lola. “I think he might speak with me.”
“Because you were both in the war,” she said, then winced. “Not that you need reminding of that.”
“It’s fine, Lola. I’m not ashamed of the fact.”
“I’d never think that of you,” she hurried to say.
He chuckled. “But don’t think you can’t speak of it, is what I meant. After all, I’m reminded of the fact often.” He nodded toward his empty sleeve and gave her a smirk. It was good to see him in better spirits.
“I say you speak with Gaspard and then we all convene this evening at the Portage Club,” Vera suggested.
“I won’t be able to take notes if I’m not there,” Daphne said with a pout that was completely out of character. At least as far as Lola knew, having only just met her. How had she come to feel this close to these people so quickly?
“I think between Lola and I, we’ll remember enough for you to record,” Gordie assured her.
“Very well.” She stood, packing up her new notebook and pens. “I’ll need a ride,” she told her brother.
“I should return home, too,” Willa admitted. “I wouldn’t want Mummy to stoop to sending the butler after me.”
“Would she do that?” Brandon asked, uncertain.
Willa merely shrugged.
“I have no intention of going home,” Vera told them. “I need a new dress, after all.”
Lola sighed. Shopping sounded like a fine way to spend what was left of the afternoon. But, Miss Edie was depending on her, even if she didn’t realize it. And there was a Frenchman to question.
Chapter Fifteen
Lola found Gaspard where she thought she would, in the hotel lobby near the front desk. When he saw her, he looked nervous, but he hid the look quickly.
“Mademoiselle,” Gaspard greeted pleasantly with his raspy voice. “How may I assist you?”
“I don’t want to interrupt your work, but I am hoping that we could sit and have a chat.” Lola gave him her most winning smile.
Gaspard glanced from her to Gordie.
“Might I inquire as to what this concerns?” Gaspard asked with a note of defensiveness in his tone. Lola understood why. He was a French man and a German had been killed. He would naturally be one of the suspects. Lola had discounted him as one at first, but the news of poisoning meant she couldn’t assume he was innocent.
“I was hoping,” Lola said, “that you would speak to me concerning Miss Edie. I am ever so worried for her. I heard she might be a suspect, which is quite ridiculous.”
She didn’t need to feign her feelings on the matter even if she couched them overdramatically.
Gaspard relaxed if only slightly. He glanced at Gordie again as if to confirm what Lola had said. Gordie nodded.
“Then I shall be pleased to speak with you,” Gaspard replied.
“Excellent,” Lola said brightly. “When you are free, please join us in the Punch Bowl. I’m feeling in need of a cocktail. Gordie?”
Gordie studied her for a moment, and she hoped he saw her pretense of silliness because she wasn’t at all interested in a cocktail. Not at the moment anyway.
Whatever he saw made him smile. A smile on Gordie was like the sun coming out after a long gray rainy week. Lola delighted to see it.
“I shall join you at half past,” Gaspard told her in his gruff whisper.
“We’ll have a cocktail waiting for you. Or would you prefer a G & T?”
Gaspard hesitated. “Wine,” he finally said. “Merlot.”
The Frenchman made his customary half-bow before returning to his post.
Gordie held out his arm. “Shall we?” he asked.
Lola put hers around it. “Indeed.”
The Punch Bowl was located on second floor. It was lively at this time in the late afternoon, but not so much so that Lola and Gordie couldn’t find seats. Compared to the Portage Club, which was dim and sultry, the cocktail bar was bright and cheery. As were the hotel guests enjoying themselves inside.
Gordie pulled the chair out for Lola to sit. She was used to such manners in gentlemen, but coming from Gordie it felt less like an act of formality and more like a gesture of friendship.
The chair was comfortable, with a curved, sateen-cushioned back in mauve and a round, white leather seat. The round table was the perfect height for leaning toward a companion on the other side, which Lola refrained from doing. It was not the time for flirting.
They ordered drinks from the waiter, a man dressed in a white shirt, black trousers, the thin black tie. His hair was slicked back like Brandon wore his, but he was clean-shaven. Better still, his eyes didn’t linger on Lola’s neckline, which was modest. Her dark brown day dress was decidedly not for catching the eye but for setting a tone.
Lola ordered the first drink that came to mind, a Bee’s Knees, and Gordie ordered a brandy.
“And whatever nibbles are on the menu tonight,” Lola added. “No! Wait. Those little Tiger Eyes. Do you have them?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Those, if you will. You’ll love them,” she said to Gordie. Then she laughed. “It is so amusing to think that we are sitting in a public place about to drink cocktails when back home we’d need to be in a barn with a plank for a bar and the place reeking of sour mash.”
