Mystery at the Regal Rose Hotel

by C Jane Reid

  “Well, I am half-Brit, after all.”

  “We are keeping the good doctor from his rest,” Vera reminded them.

  “I am sorry, Dr. Tate. Please forgive us.”

  “There might have been over-indulging,” Willa added wryly.

  “I see.” Dr. Tate looked at the glasses on the table as though taking count.

  “But I assure you, we have finished for the evening,” Lola said.

  “We have?” Brandon asked, then, under her stern expression, he added, “We have, yes.”

  Dr. Tate actually chuckled. But then he sobered. “It does take a while for methanol toxicity to take hold, as long as up to twelve hours. Sometimes even a full day.”

  “So it isn’t likely he was poisoned right before he died?” Lola asked.

  “No, it is not. Though,” he added, considering, “if he ingested it over a period of time, it could have accumulated. One final dose would have been enough to be fatal.”

  “He could have killed by being poisoned just before he died, but only if it had been happening for a while?”

  “Yes. I don’t, however, see the feasibility of it.”

  “How did you learn it was methanol poisoning?” Daphne asked.

  “I only speculated. It was the smell,” he answered. “A particularly sweetness to the, er—” He stopped and considered.

  “He’d sicked up,” Gordie said. “Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes, just that. And there were other signs, but the coroner made the positive determination.”

  “Wouldn’t he know he was being poisoned?” Vera asked. “I mean, I would think one would notice a strange taste in one’s cocktail.”

  “Methanol is sweet,” Dr. Tate told her. “As are many cocktails, if that is how it was ingested.”

  Lola looked to where Mickey was leaning on the bar, grinning at a pretty young woman.

  “You don’t think—” Gordie began.

  “No,” Lola interrupted him with a shake of her head. “I don’t.”

  “However, he must go on the list,” Daphne told her.

  She nodded.

  “I hope you aren’t interfering in an official investigation.” Dr. Tate looked disapproving.

  “Why does everyone assume we are interfering?” Willa asked. “Do we look like a group of intereferers?”

  “I’m afraid you rather do,” Dr. Tate told her.

  “I don’t mind being an interferer,” Vera said with a grin. “At least I’m not bored.”

  “We aren’t interfering in the investigation,” Lola assured the doctor. “We simply wish to clear Miss Edie’s name.”

  “I see.” He took a final sip from his brandy and stood. “I do wish you luck. I am inordinately fond of Madame Meunier. I don’t care for the thought that she would be capable of such a thing as murder.”

  “Neither do we.”

  “I’ll bid you goodnight, then.”

  Vera stood and looped her arm through his. “I’ll see you back to the lobby,” she told him with that saucy grin.

  Dr. Tate opened his mouth as if to refuse but closed it again and nodded, tight-lipped.

  As the two left, Daphne shook her head.

  “I think it’s sweet,” Willa said.

  “Vera quite likes older men,” Daphne guessed.

  “She could hardly do worse than a doctor,” Willa told her.

  “Until she’s bored.” Daphne closed her notebook. “If that’s all for tonight, I should retire. Brandon.”

  “What?”

  Daphne heaved an exasperated sigh. “I require a ride home. And it would be wise for you to retire, too.”

  “Now, Daph—”

  Willa stood. “I’d best return home as well. Drive me?” She peered up at him.

  He smiled indulgently. “Of course.” He offered her his arm, then, as if remembering his sister’s presence, offered her the other. Daphne rolled her eyes but with a slight smile.

  “We’ll speak tomorrow,” Willa told Lola.

  “Naturally.” She watched her three friends leave the club.

  “Look.” Lola gestured toward the club doors. Marilyn was leaving, her back stiff, her chin lifted. Gordie turned.

  “She’s angry.”

  “You don’t say?” Lola might have said it with more than a drop of sarcasm.

  Gordie sighed.

  “I’m sorry, Gordie,” she said, mollified. “I know you’re worried about her.”

  “That’s the thing. I’m not certain I am worried anymore. She needs to get on with her life and let me get on with mine. Speaking of, thank you again for the dance. I apologize for using you in such a way. I hope you don’t think ill of me.”

  Lola flashed him a grin. “Not a bit. Well, I confess I was a bit irked, but you’re a friend, a dear friend,” she added with a gleam in her eyes and he laughed, “so I’m not at all averse to helping you out. Next time, however, it would be lovely if you asked me to dance because you wanted to dance with me.”

  Gordie stood and held his hand out to her. “Would you care to dance, Miss Rose?”

  Lola chuckled. “I’d be delighted.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Monday, January 8th

  Lola didn’t sleep well. She was tired after such a full day, but her thoughts wouldn’t settle. She tossed and turned until she finally rose and took a long, hot bath full of bubbles that did wonders, and she managed a few hours of sleep until she heard her mother up and about in the main room of the suite.

  Lola dragged herself out of bed, pulled on her fluffy green robe with the rose embroidery down the collar, and ran her hand through her rumbled curls, her fingers snagging on knots.

  She slouched out to the main room.

  “I hope you’ve sent for coffee and not just tea, Mama,” Lola said and then stopped short. “Oh. Good morning, Sir Caldwell.”

  “Miss Lola.” The gray gentleman blinked and swiftly turned his back. “I apologize for intruding in this manner.”

  “Oh, nonsense.” Lola waved the thought away, “but I should make myself more presentable.”

  Her mother nodded in pointed agreement.

  Lola returned to her room, surprised she wasn’t more embarrassed. Perhaps the way Sir Caldwell always behaved like the gentleman he was. She’d never once felt uncomfortable or unsettled in his presence.

  He was a good match for her mother. Lola smiled. And it was good to see her mother so happy again.

  She set about preparing for the day, deciding on a green day dress with a drop waist in a fabric decorated with large cabbage roses, and two smaller roses stitched on the ends of the scalloped white collar. She added her ruby teardrop necklace and ear bobs after taming her hair back into a gold and ruby clip. A dab of rouge, a brush of powder, and a swipe of ruby lipstick and she was presentable.

  She returned to the main room to find her mother and Sir Caldwell sharing the low-backed sofa, looking magnificently content together.

  “I think I will much prefer the furnishings at Woodberry House,” her mother was saying.

  Sir Caldwell favored her with a rare smile. “You will be allowed to make any changes you wish.”

  “Oh, I doubt that will be necessary.”

  Lola chuckled. “Unless the furnishings consist of cowhide upholstery and leather cushions with brass buttons.”

  “Now, Lola, behave. Those truly were atrocious.”

  “But comfortable.”

  “Yes, I’m sure your grandmother was pleased to have them.”

  “Along with those mounted longhorns. And the—”

  “I believe Sir Caldwell gets the idea,” her mother interrupted.

  Sir Caldwell straightened. “Perhaps I should be going.”

  Lola crossed to the breakfast cart and found a coffee urn blessedly nestled among the tea things. She poured herself a healthy cup with a douse of cream and a few sugars.

  “Do stay, Sir Caldwell,” Lola told him after a long sip. “I’ve even made myself presentable. Besides,”
she added with a little gleam of mischief, “I do have work to do. Miss Edie’s innocence isn’t going to prove itself, it seems. What are your plans today?” she asked the two.

  “I will be occupied for most of the day,” Sir Caldwell said, “but I am hoping you will both join me for dinner. Arthur will be joining us, though, sadly, my aunt will not.”

  “Or maybe she will,” Lola told him confidently. “Once her name is cleared.”

  “Lola—”

  “I am not interfering with an official investigation,” Lola told her mother. “And I’ve told Arthur that much.”

  “I hope you are not,” Sir Caldwell warned.

  “I wouldn’t do anything to embarrass you, Sir Caldwell.”

  “Thank you, but I was referring to Detective Chief Inspector Angleton,” he answered. “He is not a man to be crossed.”

  “I have no intentions of crossing him.”

  Sir Caldwell studied her, and she had the distinct impression of being judged. It wasn’t pleasant.

  But whatever he saw, he nodded and rose. “I must be on my way.”

  Her mother rose too. “I look forward to seeing you tonight,” she told him and Lola could hear by her tone that she was very much looking forward to it.

  She wondered if she should excuse herself from dinner, but if Arthur was going to be there . . . No, that was even more reason. She wasn’t certain she could face him.

  “I’ll make the arrangements,” Sir Caldwell told them. He took her mother’s hands and gave them a squeeze.

  “Oh, I seem to have forgotten my bangles,” Lola declared, and she pointedly left the room. Far be it for her to interrupt their parting.

  She waited until she heard the front door to the suite close. Her mother’s face was somewhat flushed and she had a whimsical smile that thrilled Lola to see. It had been too long since her mother had been truly happy.

  “What is it?” her mother asked, catching her watching.

  “You’re in love.”

  Her mother smiled and glanced at the door. “I suppose I am at that. Oh, but Lola,” she turned with a worried expression, “I don’t want you to think that Sir Caldwell could ever replace your father. What I feel for him is—”

  “Perfectly fine,” Lola interrupted. She crossed to take her mother’s hands. “And I couldn’t be happier for you. Sir Caldwell is wonderful and I adore him and I cannot wait to see you both contentedly wed.”

  Her mother sighed with relief. “We haven’t spoken much of it, have we?”

  “No, but it is all so new.”

  “Let’s take tea together,” her mother said brightly. “We haven’t sat, just the two of us, for too long.”

  Lola smiled. “I’d like that.”

  “And then,” her mother continued, “you can tell me all about how you intend to clear Miss Edie’s name.”

  Lola nodded. “I guess I should have expected that.”

  “Yes, dear. Now go eat your breakfast.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was Marilyn who greeted them. Lola fixed a smile to her lips to hide her dismay. The look didn’t pass her mother by, who raised a brow in question. Lola gave one small shake of her head.

  “Welcome back to the Tea Rose,” Marilyn said with false cheer. At least, Lola thought it was false cheer. Given how the girl had been shooting arrows at her with her gaze last night, Lola would expect no less. Maybe she was hoping for a good tip, much like Mickey, though Mickey’s cheer was never feigned.

  Marilyn led them to a small room. This one was windowless but made up for it with several tall, green plants that matched the pale green furnishings.

  “Full service, please,” her mother told Marilyn.

  “Cream and sugar?” Marilyn asked. “Or lemon?”

  “Cream and sugar.”

  “Of course.” Marilyn gave her another sweet smile and left. Lola’s mother stared after her.

  “I don’t think she will ever become fond of me,” Lola said brightly.

  “Have you learned what she has against you?”

  “She’s in love with one of the young men who spends time with us. A friend,” Lola added before her mother could speak.

  “I see.” She said it in that tone she got when she was reading far more into a situation than Lola meant.

  “Mother—”

  “Ladies,” Marilyn said, coming in with the tea cart. She assembled the tea things and tier of treats on the table. “Please enjoy.” Marilyn left, casting a look back at them as she closed the door. She was still smiling. It was unnerving.

  Lola’s mother poured the tea. “She seems to have forgiven you.”

  “One would think.” Lola wasn’t a bit convinced.

  “Lola?”

  “It’s nothing. I think this whole business with the murder has me on edge.”

  “Yes, that was unfortunate.” Her mother didn’t sound at all grief-stricken.

  Lola gave her a wry look. “I can’t say I’m at all sorry, either, Mother, but a murder is still a murder. And Miss Edie is implicated.”

  “Yes, I know.” Her mother stirred a decorated sugar cube into her tea. “I can’t believe she had anything to do with it.”

  Lola picked up one of the sugar cubes and admired the little iced rose on the top. Who spent their day icing sugar cubes?

  “Did you know about Monsieur Meunier and his relative?” she asked after popping the sugar cube into her mouth.

  Her mother stiffened, staring into her tea as she swirled the spoon around.

  “Mother?”

  “Yes. Sir Caldwell spoke of it.”

  “Wyatt—”

  “Yes, Lola, I know, but Miss Edie’s husband did not cause that tragedy.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting that. I was only going to say that I understand better now. How horrible it must have been, both during and after. To learn an ally caused so many deaths.”

  “Yes.”

  Lola dropped four sugars into her tea and a heavy splash of cream as she considered. “Why Herr Prinz?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why kill Herr Prinz? It can’t have been simply because he was German, can it?”

  “He was an officer in the war, as I understand.”

  “So were lots of Germans, but we saw several during our tour on the continent and none of them was murdered. Not exactly greeted warmly, but not murdered, either.”

  “You believe there must be more?”

  “Gaspard hinted at something more.”

  “Is this interfering, Lola?” Her mother’s tone was stern.

  “No, just questioning. All I want is to clear Miss Edie’s name.”

  “Have you asked her about it?”

  Lola shook her head.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Lola?”

  Lola sighed and set her spoon aside. “I’m afraid she might confess to it.”

  “But you are certain of her innocence.”

  “I want to be certain of it. Is that horrible of me? That I’m not completely certain?”

  “No. I’ve had my doubts as well.”

  “Does Sir Caldwell?”

  “He hasn’t shared his opinion, but I know Arthur doesn’t believe she had anything to do with it.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  “No. I heard him tell Sir Caldwell that their aunt might have no love for the Germans, and that she might be blunt about it, but if she found fault with the man, she’d take it to the authorities.”

  “I wish I knew her well enough to say if it were so.”

  Her mother reached across the table to take Lola’s hand. “Speak with her, Lola. I know you have been trying to build a friendship with her, and I think it a lovely idea. Sir Caldwell worries that she’s walled herself off from everyone far too much. That she’s only waiting to die.”

  “Miss Edie?” Lola couldn’t imagine the strong-willed woman to wait placidly for anything like death.

  “They could be wrong.” Her
mother released her hand to sip at her tea.

  “They are going off the idea that she used Eugenie’s cleaning solution,” Lola said, turning her thoughts to the crime.

  Her mother looked into her tea cup with a frown. “Yes, I heard. It does seem plausible. But it is a large hotel. I can’t imagine Eugenie is the only one who uses such a cleanser.” Her mother shook her head. “Our Thelma used to make her own out of fermented alcohol. She had to draw tombstones on the bottles to keep the cowhands out of it.”

  Lola chuckled and sipped her tea. “Ugh.” She set it down.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I added too much sugar.”

  Her mother pursed her lips before speaking. “I was thinking the same. It is over sweet, isn’t it?”

  A chill overtook Lola. She had to fight against the desire to throw the cup as far from her as she could.

  “Mother,” she said quietly, keeping a thin smile fixed to her face, “don’t drink anymore. Pretend to sip.”

  “Lola—”

  “Please. It’s important.”

  Her mother nodded once and put the cup to her lips, but Lola saw she didn’t swallow.

  “Speak to me of something,” Lola told her.

  “Such as?”

  “Anything. Wedding plans. Refurnishing Sir Caldwell’s house. Anything. I need to think.”

  “You’re going to ignore my talk of wedding plans?”

  “If I must,” Lola answered with a straight face.

  Her mother shook her head. “Very well. I’ve had several long discussions with Lady Wensitt. I don’t believe you’ve had the chance to meet her . . .”

  Lola stared into her tea cup, wanting nothing to do with it, but forcing herself to pretend to sip as she pretended to listen to her mother, who grew more animated as she spoke of her wedding. Lola, however, was turning a newly-formed thought over and over, trying to grasp its full significance.

  It was weak at best. People with far more reasons could have been behind it. Gaspard, Jack, Gordie, even Miss Edie, but Lola trusted her instincts, and they told her that none of them had killed Herr Prinz. Not that she could prove it with her instincts alone.

  She realized she’d forgotten an important detail when speaking to each of them. She hadn’t asked where they’d seen Herr Prinz and at what time and whether he seemed ill or not. Now that she had a time frame in mind for poisoning, a day at most, she thought to trace Herr Prinz’s movements during that time. When had he arrived at the hotel? Who had he seen and when?