by Shéa MacLeod
I choked on my hot toddy. “Isn’t that how burlesques usually are?” I wasn’t very up on the burlesque scene.
“Of course not, Ophelia,” Aunt Butty scoffed. “I mean, yes, they disrobe, but tastefully. And all the important bits remained covered with fans and such.”
“At this establishment, they most assuredly did not,” Louise said tartly. “I have never seen so many buttocks and bosoms in my life.”
This time, a mouthful of hot toddy sprayed the veranda.
“What did you do?” Chaz asked as he pounded my back, his face suspiciously pink and his eyes dancing with naughty delight.
“Why, we hid in the back and watched, of course,” Aunt Butty said as if it were the most reasonable thing ever. “One never knows when one will learn something of interest.”
I polished off my hot toddy and flagged down Mr. Singh. “Another, please,” I whispered. “And can you make it a double.” Could hot toddies be doubles?
“Same,” Chaz said, holding out his glass. “Er, a bijou, not a toddy.”
Mr. Singh, impassive as ever, went to mix us drinks. I suppose he was used to Aunt Butty’s shenanigans by now.
“What happened next?” Chaz said once our drinks were replenished.
“We were about to sneak out when the proprietor caught us,” Louise said. “He kicked up such a fuss I was forced to threaten him with an expose in the Daily Express. He wasn’t impressed.”
“So what did you do?” I asked.
Aunt Butty shrugged. “We ran.”
The image of my aunt and Louise Pennyfather running down the Promenade was too much. I erupted in laughter. Which led to a fit of coughing. Between the laughter and the coughing, I had tears running down my face.
“You two really can’t be left on your own, can you?” Chaz said with a shake of his head.
“I don’t see what the fuss is about,” Aunt Butty said. “If men can go into such places, why can’t women? After all, it was our bits they were staring at.”
She had a point there.
“Peaches! Come back here!” Louise barked so loud I nearly upset my drink.
At some time during the conversation, Peaches had gotten bored and wandered into Sir Eustace’s garden again where he was currently doing his best to dig up a rose bush. At Louise’s shout, Elenore exited the house and walked calmly toward the small dog. I had a moment of unease at her determined step—which was ridiculous as she was the sweetest woman—but she simply leaned down, patted the dog’s head, and then kindly shooed him toward his mistress.
“Better keep him out of the garden,” she called. “Eustace won’t like it.”
“So sorry,” Aunt Butty shouted back. “We’ll keep a better eye on him. Thanks, Elenore!”
I felt myself relaxing. Until I saw the expression on Elenore’s face. She was smiling, but there was something... off about her. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it filled me with unease.
Despite the afternoon heat, I shivered. Then told myself it was just the head cold.
Chapter 6
We ate al fresco that evening as the stars spattered themselves across the dark velvet sky and the sea sent tendrils of salty air whispering about the patio. Louise had wrapped herself in a plum and burgundy pashmina her husband had brought back from one of his trips to India while my aunt had pulled on a bolero jacket in black and red which clashed magnificently with her day dress.
As for myself, I huddled under the pile of quilts, trying not to let on that I was feeling a little rough around the edges.
Hale arrived just as Mr. Singh served us with Maddie’s assistance—Flora was allowed nowhere near the kitchen. Her first day there she’d dumped an entire bottle of Bordeaux into the cook’s sauce—a very expensive bottle, I might add—put sugar in the salt cellars, and generally made such a nuisance of herself, Cook had banned her from the kitchen for all eternity. I couldn’t say I blamed Cook. Personally, I’d have banned her from the house, but Aunt Butty was fond of her.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised and pleased. “I thought you had to play tonight.”
“I do,” Hale said, dropping a kiss on my cheek. “But not for a couple hours. Figured I could drop in to see you. Your aunt said I was welcome any time.” He turned to greet the others. Louise raised an eyebrow but was otherwise clearly unbothered by our unusual guest and my coziness with him. I should have expected nothing less. She was, after all, Aunt Butty’s closest friend.
After Hale and Chaz shook hands and the men had seated themselves, Hale leaned in close. I could smell his spicy aftershave mixed with the faint hint of cigarette. “I heard you had a bit of an accident. Are you alright?”
“Yes, quite. Or I will be soon enough. I seemed to have picked up a minor cold.”
“Pneumonia, more like,” Aunt Butty said darkly. I ignored her.
“I would have come sooner, but band practice.” Hale shrugged as if to say, What can you do?
I was a tad miffed he hadn’t dropped everything the moment he’d heard about the incident. After all, we were supposed to be a thing. Whatever that thing was. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been playing with his band for simply yonks. But I reminded myself I was an independent woman and didn’t need a man at my beck and call. Still, if I was going to bother to have one about, did I want one who wasn’t there? I put that thought aside for perusal at a later time and reminded myself I was enjoying his company now.
The dinner was marvelous. Tapenade on toast, salty and sharp. Coq au vin with chicken so tender it simply melted in the mouth. Tarte au Citron—the crust buttery rich and the filling just tart enough to tingle the tongue, but smooth, creamy, and oh, so sweet. The wine flowed, naturally, as did the conversation. After the numerous hot toddies followed by wine, I felt myself slide into that mellow place of half sleeping, half waking as Mr. Singh delivered the final course, a cheese plate.
I have never understood why people insist on eating cheese after something sweet. It seems quite backward to me. However, that did not stop me diving in. I’m particularly fond of French cheeses. The smellier the better.
Hale took his leave with another chaste kiss on the cheek and a promise to visit later. I watched him go rather wistfully.
“I wonder where that Sir Eustace is going?” Aunt Butty’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
I glanced over to see Sir Eustace, dressed in shockingly casual dungarees and a lumpy linen suit jacket. The kind that was supposed to be worn during the day. A large straw hat was pulled low on his head and he kept his face turned from us. It was rather astonishing. People of our class simply didn’t dress like that. Not in public, anyway.
His motor turned over and he roared down the drive, out of sight. Where would he be going dressed like that? Not anywhere a person like Sir Eustace would want to be seen in, that was certain. Perhaps he was trying to go incognito?
The dishes had been cleared, the wine drunk, and Aunt Butty and Louise excused themselves. Louise claimed exhaustion and Aunt Butty wanted to finish the novel she was reading.
“Want me to help you upstairs, old thing?” Chaz asked.
I snorted. “I may be ill, but I’m perfectly capable of climbing stairs.” I let out an almighty sneeze that might have begged to differ.
Chaz lifted an eyebrow but kept wisely silent.
“Are you going out?” I asked.
“Not tonight.”
“Then I’d like to stay out a bit longer. I’ve been cooped up in that room all day.”
“Cabin fever on top of a real fever, eh?”
“Something like that,” I admitted.
He sat next to me and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Things seemed a bit frosty between you and the musician.” He lit a cigarette and blew a smoke ring toward the moon.
“I think he felt awkward with everyone here. Things were decidedly not frosty last night.”
He slid me a sideways glance. “Not him, darling. You.”
I stared out into the dark, wishing I could see the
water. I found it tremendously soothing. “Ah, that. Well...” I wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t make me sound like a petulant child.
“You’re angry he didn’t come the minute he heard you’d been half drowned.” Chaz hit the nail on its proverbial head. He was like that. Astute.
“It’s stupid,” I admitted. “I’m not looking for a husband, or a full-time... anything. But the fact he didn’t ring at the very least...” I shrugged. “Feels as if he doesn’t really care.”
“Or maybe he just figures you’re a tough bird who can handle anything that comes her way.”
“How very flattering,” I said dryly. “I’ve always dreamt of being called a tough bird.”
He grinned. The cheeky man. “Better than the alternative.”
I mulled over his suggestion. Did Hale see me as someone who didn’t need mollycoddled? The truth was, I didn’t need it. Didn’t want it. But sometimes it’s nice to know someone cares that much. “Like I said, it’s stupid. I’m overreacting. Probably that damn tonic Aunt Butty forced on me.”
We sat in companionable silence for a while. He smoked. I stared at the stars.
“You could tell him. Hale, I mean.”
I glanced over at him. “I could.” But would I? I wasn’t sure. I supposed it would be the grownup thing to do.
Just then, Sir Eustace’s car roared back up around the drive and shuddered to a halt. He climbed out, dragging something from the passenger’s seat.
“What’s he got there?” Chaz murmured, squinting in the darkness.
“Looks like... rope.”
Sir Eustace opened the front door and closed it behind him. Lights came on inside, showing his movement from foyer to sitting room. When that light came on, I gasped.
In the middle of the room was a massive trunk big enough to put a person in. I leaned forward, squinting. Could it be? Yes, I was sure of it. Smeared along the edge of the lid was a dark stain that looked like... blood.
Sir Eustace, still dressed in his ghastly clothes and oversized hat, immediately began wrapping the trunk in rope, tying knots here and there as if to ensure the trunk couldn’t be opened.
“Oh, Chaz,” I whispered. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Chapter 7
I barely slept that night. Thoughts of that big, body-sized trunk wrapped up in rope picked at my brain, infiltrating fitful dreams. I woke several times in a cold sweat—whether from dreams or fever, it was hard to tell—unable to remember the nightmare, but with a feeling of dread hovering somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach. Glances at Sir Eustace’s villa showed the place dark and still. My nightmares just that.
As the morning sun peeped over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of rose and gold, a light finally came on next door. Propping myself on an elbow, I stared eagerly at the house. The lit window was definitely Elenore’s bedroom, but the shutters were drawn, and I couldn’t tell what was going on. What about the bloody towel and the giant trunk? Was I wrong after all, and everything was just innocent?
I was feeling ten kinds of stupid—curse my vivid imagination!—as the sun crested the hills over Auron-sur-mer. Perhaps even a little guilty for playing Peeping Tom. Just then, I heard the rumble of a motor down the drive. I clambered out of bed and perched on the armchair, so I could get a good view out the window. A few moments later, a beat-up truck pulled into view. Two men, clad in overalls, climbed out and rapped on the door. The door swung open, and the two men entered. I could imagine them tromping through the entry, down the hall, and into sitting room, no doubt there to collect the trunk.
Sure enough, I saw movement between the slats of the shutters on the French doors. I gripped the arms of the chair, barely able to contain my excitement.
“Oh, no,” I murmured. “He’s getting rid of it.” I don’t know how, but I just knew Sir Eustace was behind the trunk. I had to stop him somehow, but there was no way I could hobble over in my condition and stop three grown men from doing whatever they wanted.
There was a rap on my bedroom door, and Maddie appeared with my breakfast tray. She eyed me askance.
“What is it, m’lady?” she asked suspiciously.
“Maddie, I need you to do something for me.”
“Yeeees...?” Her suspicion was growing by the minute. She knew me too well.
“See that removal van down there?”
She peered out the window. “Sure. I ain’t blind.”
“I need you to go down there and see if there’s any writing on it. Take note of the plate number and if there’s a company name. Can you do that without getting caught?”
She set the tray down on the table near the window and propped her hands on her hips. “Now why would I go do a fool thing like that?”
“Because I asked you to. Now hurry! Go before they see you.”
With a heavy sigh, she stomped toward the door.
“Move it!” I snapped. “Or there’ll be no more romance novels for you!”
That lit a fire under her backside. She ran out into the hall and I could hear her footsteps charging down the stairs. The bang of a door told me she’d exited the house. I kept my eyes trained on the front door, waiting for the men to reappear.
Maddie appeared in view on our side of the wall. She paused as if deciding what the best way to get over it and into the neighbor’s drive would be. Finally, she strode up to it, hiked up her skirt, and clambered over, dropping inelegantly to the other side.
“Hurry,” I whispered, knowing at any moment the movers would appear and catch her.
She pushed her way through the bushes surrounding the drive, pausing to extricate herself from a snag. I clenched my fists in frustration. Why did I have to go and get some godawful plague! I should be down there handling this myself.
A sudden, explosive sneeze reminded me of why I wasn’t.
At last, Maddie got through the last bit of shrubbery, only to stop. “Why are you stopping?” I muttered.
The reason became apparent as the movers exited through the still open front door, hauling the clearly heavy trunk. They crunched their way across the gravel drive to their van and loaded in the trunk. Then the driver climbed in while the other man walked back to the front door and popped his head in, obviously chatting with Sir Eustace, though I couldn’t actually see him. After a moment the man crunched back to the truck, climbed in, and the truck rattled off down the drive.
Meanwhile poor Maddie was stuck, crouching in the bushes, no doubt cursing the day she’d come to work for me.
Once the van was out of sight and the front door banged shut, she turned, shot a glare at my window, then waded back through the bushes. Climbing the other side of the wall proved a bit trickier, but at last she tumbled over, sprawling face-first into a bed of dahlias. I could hear her muttering curses all the way up in my room.
It seemed a lifetime before she returned. Meanwhile, I busied myself with my breakfast of toast and jam, boiled egg, bacon, and fresh fruit. Not to mention a pot of coffee with cream and sugar. Delightful. I kept one eye on my food and one on Sir Eustace’s villa, but there wasn’t a thing to be seen. Maybe Sir Eustace was breaking his fast, too. But where was Elenore? Was she in the trunk? Had that awful man killed her? I suddenly found myself unable to swallow a bite, and it had nothing to do with my sore throat.
Maddie appeared, puffing and huffing and glaring. She’d a bit of greenery stuck in her hair and a smudge of dirt along her right cheek.
“Any luck?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I couldn’t get close enough to see the plates, but there wasn’t no writing on the van.”
“Did you see Sir Eustace?”
“Plain as day.”
I sighed. “Well, that’s that, then. We’ll never know who the moving company was unless we get a look at the bill of lading.” No doubt Sir Eustace had one stashed somewhere.
She crossed her arms and shook her head. “I ain’t breaking into no houses.”
“I never asked you t
o,” I said innocently.
She snorted. “If you’re done with that breakfast, I’ll be taking the tray.”
“Go ahead, just leave the coffee. Oh, and can you tell Chaz I want to see him when he’s up?”
“Don’t you go gettin’ that poor man involved in your shenanigans,” she ordered, as if she were the employer and I the maid.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Something is up over there and I’m going to find out what.”
She rolled her eyes and stomped out of the room, clearly done with me and my shenanigans. I turned my focus back to next door. Still nothing going on. So I poured myself another cup of coffee and sat in wait, like a spider in her web. Waiting... waiting...
I had a good view of what I’d decided must be his study. I couldn’t see a desk or anything, but there was a narrow bookshelf and what looked like newspaper articles and framed photos on the walls. The wallpaper was dark and manly—navy with some kind of gold pattern I couldn’t make out at this distance.
All the rest of the windows were still shuttered, which was strange. I would have thought Elenore and Sir Eustace had gone, except I was sure Elenore would have come to say goodbye. Plus, the car was still parked out front. No, no, I was certain Sir Eustace had done something awful.
There was another knock on my door. “Come in!” I called, resting my head on the back of the chair and trying not to look as if I’d just spent the morning spying on my neighbor.
The door swung open and Chaz strolled in. One look and he clearly knew what I’d been up to. “Please tell me you got some sleep,” he said, pulling up another chair.
“Not much,” I admitted.
“Ophelia, love, I think you may be getting carried away with this.”
“You think I’m imaging this whole thing.”
He eyed me with grave suspicion. “What whole thing?”
“You know what whole thing,” I snapped. “That Sir Eustace went and offed his wife, and no one is doing anything about it.”
He sighed heavily. “There was no sign he offed anyone, let alone his wife. He was simply shipping a trunk. People do it all the time. Maybe he was sending his wife’s things back to England. Did you think of that?”
