by C Jane Reid
“Did you understand what he was saying at all?”
“Only when he told me to stop. ‘Halt! Halt!’“ Henry did a passable impression of an angry German. “You saw everything from there on, I think.”
“I believe you are correct.” Lola sighed.
“Hoped I had a bit more to offer up?”
“No, well, I suppose I did. A little. Maybe he could have shouted the name of who poisoned him.”
Henry didn’t laugh.
“Henry?” Lola stared at him. “What is it you aren’t telling me?”
“I really shouldn’t say, miss.”
“Henry?”
“The chief inspector was awfully clear that I wasn’t to talk to anyone about it.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not simply anyone, but a trusted guest who is becoming your faithful friend.”
Henry pulled the lift to a halt but didn’t open the gate. He faced her, his expression torn.
Lola decided to spare him. “This wouldn’t have to do with a certain woman who works at the Tea Rose, would it?”
Henry’s eyes widened.
“You saw her with Herr Prinz?”
His mouth dropped open.
“And something about them together made you suspicious?”
“Miss—”
“Would it help if I told you that answering wouldn’t bring new trouble down upon anyone?”
Henry shifted, then sighed. “He met her,” he said, “outside the Tea Rose. Making arrangements to meet that night, I think it was.”
“The night he died?”
Henry nodded.
“Anything else?”
“No, just that. He didn’t go in. She came out to him. Brought him a few little treats and a cuppa. She looked happy to see him.” He said the last with a sour face.
Lola shook with shock. She’d thought she’d believe it. Truly she had. But this . . . this made it real.
Marilyn killed Herr Prinz.
And she had tried to kill Lola.
“Miss?”
Lola managed a smile. “I apologize. I think remembering that night has gotten to me.”
“Beg your pardon, miss,” Henry rushed to say, but she held up her hand.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for.” She patted his arm. “I’d best meet my friends.”
“Yes, miss.” He opened the gate. “Have a pleasant evening. Don’t stay out too late, though, miss.”
She gave him a weak smile and stepped out of the lift. After he closed the gate, she stumbled over to one of the chairs along the hallway wall and sat, feeling ill.
Perhaps her mother was correct and this was too dangerous.
But no. She’d had only a sip of that poisoned tea. Not enough to do any lasting harm. It would take more than that to kill her. She’d simply have to watch what she drank.
Gathering herself, Lola stood, raised her chin, and walked toward the Punch Bowl. Given the realizations she’d had, it wasn’t terribly difficult to look as ill as she felt.
Surprisingly, Vera was standing outside the door to the cocktail lounge, speaking with an older gentleman. “Oh, there’s Lola.”
The man turned and . . . it was Arthur.
He was a wearing a sharp black suit and his blond hair had been combed to the side. His expression was pleasant, nearly playful.
Vera looped her arm through his. “Lola, do you remember Arthur Blythe?” she asked loudly. “From New Year’s?”
“Yes.” She managed not to stammer. “Mr. Blythe.”
“Miss Rose.”
“He’s here all alone,” Vera continued. “We simply can’t have that, can we?” She fluttered her eyelashes up at Arthur.
“No, I suppose we can’t.” Lola was off balance. She told herself it only added to the look of illness.
“Are you quite well?” Vera asked her with concern.
“Just a little overtired.”
“Then shall we?” Arthur asked, opening the door for them.
Lola gathered herself, and it wasn’t difficult to continue looking ill when seeing Vera and Arthur together. Why was that making her stomach knot?
Arthur escorted them to a table for four and pulled out a chair first for Vera and then Lola. Their waiter arrived nearly on their heels.
“Drinks?”
“G&T for me,” Vera told him with a grin.
Lola hesitated, then swallowed her fear. “The Rose.”
“Gin Rickey.”
“Oh and some of those lovely little cakes,” Vera said, pointing at another table.
The waiter nodded and left with their order. Ver leaned in toward Lola.
“Arthur called me,” she told Lola in a hushed voice. “He said he needed assistance for the plan tonight, whatever that might be. He can be annoyingly tight-lipped, can’t he?”
“Yes, he can.” Lola eyed him. “You failed to mention this today.”
“Every plan should allow for adaptability,” he said with perfect calm.
Lola tried not to roll her eyes and glanced around the lounge instead while Vera began telling Arthur about her idea to write a mystery. She was feeling better knowing that Vera’s presence was part of the plan. At least, it seemed like it was.
“Is that Willa and Brandon?” Lola asked, noticing the twosome across the lounge. Brandon was leaning towards Willa, a lock of her hair between his fingers.
“I do believe it is. Aw, so sweet,” Vera cooed to Lola. “They are a handsome pair, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they rather are.” Lola smiled, but then it faltered. “I’m surprised to see them here.”
“Oh, I may have mentioned coming to the Punch Bowl,” Vera confessed with a wave of her hand.
Arthur looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Lola, however, could have kissed Vera. She felt much better knowing her friends were close by.
“I think that’s Daphne at the bar,” Vera added.
So it was, and making a stirring motion with her hand to the bartender.
“What is she doing?” Lola watched, amazed.
“Most likely coaching the man on the correct construction of whatever cocktail she’s ordering.”
“Poor bloke,” Gordie said from behind Lola.
“Gordie!” Lola jumped from her seat to embrace him, then remembered she was supposed to be ill. “Goodness, I may faint.”
“Not on my account, I hope.” Gordie studied her with concern. “Are you certain you should be here? You look exhausted.”
“Such a way for a gentleman to compliment a lady,” Vera chastised.
“I never claimed to be a gentleman,” Gordie replied, “but I do take my friendships seriously. Lola, let me see you back to your suite.”
“I simply need to sit,” she assured him, and a slid back onto her seat. “Ah. Much better.”
Gordie studied her again, concern etched across his face. “Lola—”
She took hold of his hand. “Gordie, please don’t fret. I’m well enough to sit and enjoy a cocktail.”
Gordie relented and took the seat next to her.
“Gordie, this is Arthur,” Lola introduced belatedly.
“We’ve met.” Gordie’s expression was neutral.
“Under rather strained circumstances,” Arthur added. “I’m glad that has changed.”
“Not more so than I.”
Lola winced at Gordie’s hard tone.
“Now, gents,” Vera said, “play nice. We’re all friends here. Isn’t that so, Arthur?” She wrapped her arm around his again, shifting closer.
“I hope you will accept my apology,” Arthur said to Gordie. “I assure you, I was only doing my job.”
“I can hardly hold you at fault for that.” Gordie relaxed, if only a little, and he tried for a smile, doing rather well, Lola thought.
“Shall we begin again?” Arthur reached across the table with his left hand. “Arthur Blythe, Detective Inspector.”
Gordie accepted, his smile widening. “Gordie Canfield, former
suspect.”
Lola and Vera laughed.
“There,” Lola said, pleased. “All better.”
The waiter returned with their drinks and the plate of small, decorated cakes.
“Gin Rickey for me, if you will,” Gordie requested.
“We share that in common, it seems,” Arthur observed as the waiter left.
Gordie smiled. “I don’t suppose you follow rugby?”
“Not a bit.”
“Thank goodness for that.” Vera sagged with relief. “I cannot abide talk of sports over a cocktail. Oh, look at these!” She picked up one of the little cakes with its iced rose and popped it into her mouth.
“These are darling, aren’t they?” Lola held one up. “The little iced roses are such an elegant touch. I can’t get enough of them.”
Gordie frowned.
“You don’t like cakes?” she asked.
“No, I’m fond of cake. I could simply do without these iced roses.”
“Whyever for?” It said something that no one commented on her choice of words.
“They remind me of Marilyn.”
Arthur and Lola exchanged looks. Gordie didn’t miss it, and he looked at Lola in question and, she thought, with suspicion.
Lola popped the little cake into her mouth. “I had wondered before,” she said after swallowing, “who takes the time to make all these little roses on the cakes. And the sugar cubes.”
“Sugar cubes?” Vera perked. “There are iced roses on the sugar cubes?”
“Yes! It was shockingly adorable.”
“It usually goes to the apprentice baker to make them,” Gordie told her. “Once the technique is learned.”
“You know a surprising amount about icing for not liking it.”
“Marilyn.”
Lola tilted her head at him. “Marilyn what?”
“You must be Marilyn,” Vera said a little too loudly, and Lola turned to see the woman standing by their table. She was wearing her outfit from her hostess duties, the rose dress with the rose pinned in her dark, upswept hair. She didn’t seem at all uncomfortable and that made Lola uneasy.
“Yes, hello.” Marilyn gave Gordie an unreadable look before facing Lola. “I came to apologize.”
“You did?” Lola was shocked.
“I’ve behaved very badly to you, and I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Oh, I—” Lola glanced at Gordie, whose expression was guarded. “That is gracious of you.” She had to force out the words. It was all too eerie the way Marilyn was standing next her so completely at ease.
“Thank you so very much.” Marilyn clasped Lola’s hands, and Lola fought the instinct to jerk them away. “I’ve been a terrible fool. It is good to see Gordie happy, even if I can’t be the one to make him so.”
“Marilyn—” Gordie began, but Marilyn continued.
“I won’t keep you any longer. I hope to see you at the Tea Rose soon.”
“I believe my mother made reservations for tomorrow,” Lola said a bit drily.
“Wonderful! I’ll see you then.” And with that, Marilyn walked away, leaving the foursome staring after her.
“That was . . . odd.” Lola frowned, disturbed.
“Yes.” Arthur was still watching Marilyn.
“I’ve missed something.” Gordie looked between Arthur and Lola. “Haven’t I?”
“No more than I have,” Vera told him. “Shall we demand an explanation?”
Lola tried to relax. What if they’d been wrong about Marilyn? Would a murderer come up to a table and apologize to an intended victim? None of it made sense.
She chewed thoughtfully on another cake, considering. What was she missing?
Lola picked up a third cake, then stopped. “Gordie. You said it had been a few months since you and Marilyn were a couple.”
“Yes.”
“But the Regal Rose only officially opened less than two weeks ago.”
“What’s your point, Lola,” Gordie asked.
“What is it about these iced roses that bothers you if Marilyn didn’t work here when you were together?”
“Lola,” Arthur commanded staring at the bar, “do not eat that.”
She followed his gaze, cold washing over her. Marilyn was behind the bar piping icing on a plate of cakes, smiling pleasantly as she spoke with a guest.
“Marilyn worked at a bakery,” Gordie finally answered. He stared at Lola with growing horror. “She was known for her iced roses.”
Arthur was on his feet in a flash, Gordie right behind him.
“Lola?” Vera began as Arthur reached the bar and took the icing bag from Marilyn. Gordie grabbed her arm, his expression one of fury.
“What is that about?” Willa asked as she and Brandon joined them. Lola didn’t answer, caught in a dawning terror. She pushed her way across the lounge toward the bar. Daphne moved to her side.
“It’s her, isn’t it,” Daphne asked. Wordlessly, Lola nodded.
Arthur sent the bartender for one of the officers in the lobby and took hold of Marilyn from Gordie. She didn’t protest or struggle. Instead, she stared at Lola with a look of victory.
“You’ll never have him now.” Her voice was flat and her eyes gleamed with madness.
“Daphne,” Gordie said, coming to stand by Lola, “would you be so kind as to summon Dr. Tate.”
“Is someone ill?”
“Someone will be.” He looked at Lola.
Lola’s stomach churned. She stumbled around the bar and only just made it to a trash bin before heaving the contents.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Saturday, January 13th
Four days passed before Dr. Tate declared Lola recovered. Vera had been on her feet faster, having eaten only one of the cakes, though, according to Dr. Tate, she had played ill for another day to remain in the room that Sir Winston arranged for her as an apology for being poisoned by one of the staff.
“She has it until the end of the week,” Dr. Tate told Lola as he returned his medical instruments to his bag. “I may have put in a word for her,” he added with a bemused smile.
“You are too sweet,” Lola said, then made a face. “I think I may never like saying ‘sweet’ again. Or drinking anything sweet. Or eating anything sweet.”
“It will take time, Miss Rose, but I think you will find that you overcome it.” He stood. “I must insist that you limit your activities for the next day or two. Give your body time to regain its strength.”
“Yes, Doctor, I will.”
He studied her. Lola put on her best look of innocence.
“Hmm,” was all he said.
Willa, Brandon, and Daphne called upon her as soon as Dr. Tate left.
“You came quickly,” Lola said as she settled on the sofa.
“I asked Mr. Argyle to notify me that moment you were allowed visitors,” Willa told her.
“I’m certain we could have come sooner,” Brandon added, “but the old boy has a protective streak for you.”
“Mr. Argyle or Dr. Tate?”
“Both.”
“Or someone else does.” Willa gave Lola a long look.
“Miss Edie, no doubt,” Lola said.
“No doubt.”
They shared news and gossip and then extended Vera’s invitation to join her in her room later that evening, to which Lola readily agreed.
Arthur was the next to visit.
“She finally confessed,” he told her.
“And?”
“She hoped to regain Gordie’s affections by avenging what had been done to him. Herr Prinz hadn’t been the first attempt. A handful of other Germans had come down inexplicably ill in the neighborhood of the bakery where she had worked before being hired on here.” Arthur rubbed his hands over his face. “All for love, she said.”
“Was it the iced roses?”
“For you. Herr Prinz was poisoned by drink. Apparently he didn’t care for cakes.”
“Will she stand trial?”
Arthur sh
ook his head, frustrated. “Sir Caldwell believes she will make an insanity defense. It will likely work.”
“A mental hospital instead of a jail.”
“Life in an insane asylum instead of a hanging,” Arthur corrected.
Lola shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
“I am sorry I didn’t realize the threat to you until it was too late,” he said soberly. “I hope you can forgive me.”
Lola chuckled.
“What?”
“You British. Always so polite and apologizing. You could hardly have known, Arthur, and I don’t blame you in the least.”
He nodded, though she doubted he would forgive himself as easily. He stood. “I was told not to overtire you.”
“By Mother?”
“For one. It seems you’ve gained quite the following here.”
She laughed. “I can’t imagine how.”
Arthur studied her. “No, I guess you don’t.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him, but he turned for the door.
“I’ll be in touch.” He smiled, revealing those delightful dimples.
Lola stared at the door as it closed behind him. Did he mean to be in touch in an official capacity or a personal one?
Not long after Arthur left, Gordie arrived.
“I’ve had quite the run of visitors,” Lola told him after he asked after her.
“I can imagine. We’ve all been worried. Willa even instructed her family’s butler to inquire after you every other hour. I’m sure it drove the front desk clerks insane.”
She laughed. “Dear Willa. Are you coming by Vera’s room later? She’s having a thing. I’m not sure what thing, but I can assure you, I will not be drinking cocktails.” She thought to get him to laugh, but he didn’t.
“Lola—” he began, then stopped.
Leaning forward, she took hold of his hand. “This wasn’t your fault, you realize that, don’t you?”
“After the continued reminding from Willa and Brandon and the long lecture from Daphne, I have accepted that I had no part in Marilyn’s actions.” There was a ghost of a smile in his voice, then he looked away.
“What is it?”
“I didn’t tell you the entire truth.”
A chill ran through her. “What do you mean?”
