by Emily Queen
All she received in response was a glare as Vera stood there, arms akimbo, in the doorway.
“All right, all right. It was last night on the beach, during our walk. It was…nice. Normal, really,” Rosemary explained.
“Sounds hot, Rosie,” Vera replied sarcastically.
Rosemary sighed. “It was sweet. Not exactly passion-filled, but nice, and likely the best widow’s first kiss one could have asked for.”
“I feel a however coming on,” Vera said with an eyebrow raise.
“No, not exactly. Well, maybe you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right.”
“Of course, you are.” Rosemary returned the eyebrow raise. “I don’t know what the however is, that’s why a little break from seeing him might do me some good. And, it will keep you and Freddie from bickering, which in and of itself is a good thing. Hurry up now, we can dissect my love life later.”
When Vera was ready, they prepared a plan. “Anna, are you in?” Rosemary asked. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“No,” Anna said with conviction. “If there’s a way I can help, I will.” It was settled, and the threesome descended to the first floor via the stairway rather than the lift, which appeared to, once again, be out of order. When they were at the bottom, Rosemary raised herself up on her tiptoes and peered out the little window that looked onto the lobby.
“Gloria must be off this afternoon. Margaret is still manning the reception counter.”
“Good,” Vera replied, “she’ll be an easier target.” Her shoulders squared, she strode out of the stairwell and approached the desk. Rosemary and Anna followed, pretending to have urgent business with the brochure stand near the entrance door, and waited.
“I seem to be having a problem with my room key,” they overheard Vera explaining. “And I simply must get back inside quickly.” Poor Margaret tried to insist upon sending up the porter, but Vera pressed the issue until the girl sighed, retreated into the office for a moment, and then accompanied her to the stairs.
Anna muttered under her breath. “I wish I had half of Vera’s powers of persuasion.”
“There doesn’t seem to be much she can’t wheedle out of a person, does there?” Rosemary agreed. “Now, you stand watch and give the signal if anyone approaches the office door.” Putting her trust in Anna, she looked surreptitiously around and slipped inside. It being just on teatime, the place was deserted and the office empty.
What she found, Rosemary hadn’t expected. Cecily had been a stickler for procedure, and it made sense that her office would have been ruthlessly organized. Except now, there were file folders and papers stacked high on every surface; drawers had been overturned and rifled through. She knew from experience the police didn’t often care whether they made a mess, and suspected they’d thoroughly searched the office for any clue as to who might have killed Cecily.
She reached for where the keys were hung, and her hand hovered over the one labeled with Richard Wright’s room number while she wrestled with what she was about to do. Too late to change her mind now, she grabbed the key and pocketed it. With a peek out the door to ensure nobody was coming, Rosemary took the opportunity to poke around. Her eyes landed on a cabinet marked “employee files,” and she quickly crossed the space to take a look.
Just as she opened the top drawer, she heard Anna’s signal and grabbed the first file she could get her hands on. It was labeled with Benny’s full name, and since there was little time for dalliance, she shoved it beneath her blouse and tiptoed back out of the office and around the corner to where Anna was stationed just as Margaret returned to her post.
An irritated looking Benjamin Marlowe marched into the lobby and passed by where she and Anna were huddled. He didn’t look up but made a beeline for the lift. “Let’s wait, I am in no mood to ride up to our floor with that man,” Rosemary said, receiving a nod of agreement from Anna.
Charlotte emerged from the stairwell just as Benjamin Marlowe realized the lift was out of order. He appeared to be in quite a hurry and started when she bustled out in front of him. Rose couldn’t see Charlotte’s face, her view obstructed by Benjamin, but she saw the girl quail when she nearly bumped into him.
She also couldn’t hear their conversation, though by the way he cocked his head to one side while speaking to Charlotte, Rosemary guessed he was having a go at her the same way he had with Vera.
“Interesting,” she murmured to herself. “Particularly after seeing her come out of his room in tears just this morning.”
“He has positively no decorum, does he?” Anna replied in a shrewd assumption of the situation. It wasn’t the first time a similar comment had been made about Benjamin Marlowe.
Rosemary shook her head. “None that I can see. What could Geneviève possibly be thinking by agreeing to marry a man like that?”
“Some women simply don’t care whether their husbands are faithful, as long as they’re taken care of in the manner to which they’ve already become accustomed. Unfortunately for Ben, I don’t believe he has two pence of his own to rub together.”
“What makes you say that?” Rosemary wanted to know.
Anna grinned, and there was an uncharitable glint in her eye. “I saw him stealing toiletries off one of the maid’s carts. Why would one need to steal soap if he had money to spare?”
“A very good question, Anna.”
Benny’s file, Rosemary found quite disappointing, as it consisted of little more than the address and a recommendation from his former employer. According to the short missive, Benny was a good and conscientious worker who required more training than average to understand his duties.
“According to one Aloysius Highbrown, Benny is a loyal soul, but slightly slow to learn.” It all added up to what Rosemary had observed since her arrival. “I see no mention of violence, nor of any untoward incident whatsoever.”
“Could be this Highbrown fellow was eager to pawn his problems off onto Cecily,” Vera offered a possibility.
“Hmm, you could be right. Besides, I lean towards Mr. Wright as the more valid suspect. I shall be very interested to see what we find in his room.”
Except that the pursuit of illicit information would have to wait, for Mr. Wright, without knowing how his actions annoyed them, remained entrenched in his room the entire day, leaving the intrepid sleuths no opportunity to snoop. A situation Vera found highly amusing for a time, but eventually she became bored to the point where she forced Rose to abandon all hope and try the next day again.
“This is, after all,” she insisted, “a holiday. Cecily would want us to enjoy ourselves to the extent that we can.”
Whether or not that was true, Rose allowed herself to be carted off to the beach where Vera attempted to bake away her sniffles.
Chapter 13
Cecily’s body would be shipped back to England, and the scheduled day dawned bright and sunny, just as every other day on the island had. The atmosphere dismayed Rosemary, who felt the drear and drizzle of London more appropriate weather to mourn the dead.
“This is an odd occasion. Should I be wearing a dress fit for a funeral? I didn’t bring anything suitably somber.” Vera assessed her wardrobe while Anna admired the black silk kimono Vera had been wearing the night before.
“And whose fault is that?” Rosemary said, somewhat sharply. “You took everything that would have been acceptable out of my case before we left. Would it have killed you to leave well enough alone?” She felt terrible as soon as the words left her lips, and even worse when Vera’s face fell.
“I’m sorry,” Rosemary said, sighing and touching her friend’s hand lightly. “I’m a bit distraught, and honestly, I don’t think Cecily would care what we wore, so long as we’re there to bid her goodbye.”
The response satisfied Vera, who patted Rosemary’s arm. “It’s all right, Rosie. I know how hard this must be on you, feeling as if you are obliged to accompany Cecily home, and yet needing to stay and solve th
e mystery.” She didn’t have to mention that ever since Andrew had passed, every death of someone close to her affected Rosemary deeply, and that alone was enough to bring on a dreary mood.
Still, Vera thought, it had been two days now, and she’d have to find a way to shift Rosemary out of the doldrums before the sadness became a habit. She noticed Anna fingering the kimono and said gently, “you can borrow that if you like, though I’m not sure it’s appropriate for today.”
“Thank you, Miss Vera, it’s lovely,” Anna said, though the thought didn’t seem to cheer her.
“What’s the matter, dear?” Rosemary asked. “Are you nervous about today? You won’t have to see the body, you know.”
“Really?” she brightened.
“Really. It’s not a funeral, we’re just accompanying her coffin to the ship. You don’t have to go if you’d prefer not to.”
Anna considered. “I didn’t know Miss DeVant all that well, and to be honest, I’ve been dreading the thought. Are you sure you won’t mind?”
“Of course not,” Rosemary said.
Anna thanked her and tottered off to her own room holding the prized kimono.
“You’re being quite lenient with her,” Vera commented, but Rosemary had already slipped into the loo to finish dressing. Under her breath, Vera muttered, “I do hope she’s being careful.”
A half-hour later, in the most somber outfits they could find, the two women descended to the reception area where Frederick and Desmond waited in silence. Rosemary gratefully took her brother’s outstretched arm and allowed him to lead her to the bus parked outside.
As more and more people lined the road to say goodbye, it became clear that during her short time in Cyprus, Cecily DeVant had touched a great many lives. Not only did all off-duty staff appear, but so did some of the guests, along with a host of people from the village who wished to pay their respects.
The ride back to the ship was somber, which would have infuriated the woman it was intended to honor. When Cecily’s coffin was carried below decks, Rose breathed a sigh of relief. The worst part was over; now came the memorial, which was to be held back at the hotel.
“Mrs. Lillywhite!” Gloria flagged Rosemary down as soon as she walked back into the lobby. “I have a telegram for you.” She handed over an envelope, which Rosemary pocketed after giving Frederick a pointed look.
“It’s from Mother and Father,” she said, to which he nodded. The foursome found a quiet corner and Rosemary ripped open the envelope and read the contents aloud.
“Devastated. Stop. Stay. Stop. Investigate. Stop. Love Mother. Stop.”
A woman of few words, Evelyn got her point across.
Frederick raised an eyebrow. “It seems they’re coming around, doesn’t it?” he asked. “Who would have thought Mother of all people would want you involved in a murder investigation?”
“I’m not surprised at all,” Vera replied. “I believe your mother is far more progressive than she’d like to admit.”
Coming from Vera, who had never got along well with Evelyn Woolridge, it was a high compliment.
Rosemary snorted. “I think you’re the first person to ever call our mother progressive, that’s for certain. At least we know they’re supporting us, though I imagine it’s more that mother is grieving and angry.”
“Mother did always speak so highly of Cecily. I’m sure it was a blow to hear she’s gone,” Frederick agreed. “Now, let’s just get through this afternoon. I fear it’s going to be a long one.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Desmond and caused Rosemary’s hackles to rise.
“What are the two of you planning?” she asked, not sure if she really wanted to know the answer.
“None of your business, sister dear,” was all he would say on the subject. Desmond merely shrugged, but a smile played around his lips. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have some sleuthing to do.”
With that, he and Desmond took themselves off to chase down their own theory of the crime. Smiling wryly, Rosemary watched them go. With their heads together as they conspired, Desmond’s dark against Freddie’s fair color, they reminded her of the young boys she remembered so full of mischief.
Rosemary and Vera settled into a table at the far corner of the lounge, one that boasted a vantage point that allowed them to observe the entire room and also make a hasty escape should one become necessary. Getting caught up in idle conversation with, say, one of the old biddies was not something either of the women wanted to endure. If Vera had to hear another word about rheumatism, her head would explode.
She peered at Richard Wright, who sat alone, his eyes on the door, watching like a hawk in much the same manner as Rosemary.
“You do realize, don’t you, that Cecily’s killer is among us at this very moment.” The quiver of anger in Rose’s voice sent a shiver over Vera’s skin. “And I haven’t a clue who it is.”
“If you ask me, it’s that Geneviève woman,” Vera said, glaring at the subject of her ire from across the room. It was an abrupt change from her previous conviction that Richard Wright was the culprit, and Rosemary had a feeling she knew exactly why the French fiancée was on Vera’s mind.
“Why? Because she’d have liked to take Freddie for a spin if he’d been willing?” Rosemary’s eyes traveled to where Geneviève sat alone, her eyes trained on something else entirely: Benjamin leaning down to speak to Charlotte, who sat at another table. He smiled that smile of his that made Rosemary sick to her stomach, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“Nothing of the sort,” Vera said indignantly, bringing Rose back to their conversation with a start. “Freddie is free to demean himself however he pleases. Why should I care if his tastes run to rhinestones instead of diamonds?”
Why indeed, Rosemary thought, but she let Vera think she was fooled. “I’m sorry this hasn’t been the holiday you expected. Days under the sun, nights of jazz and dancing. So much for romance on the Isle of Love.”
Vera heaved a sigh. “I can have romance every night of the bloody week if I want it. Have done, really.” Another sigh. “I think I’m getting old, Rosie. I’m losing my taste for the scandalous life. Living for the flutter and flash is losing its appeal.”
Sagely, Rosemary only nodded, for until Vera figured the truth out for herself, she’d bite the head off anyone who ventured to point out she might be ready to think about settling down.
“It’s these men today, Rosie, make no mistake. They’re merely boys playing at the game of—”
A commotion interrupted Vera mid-sentence. An angry male voice rose and drew everyone’s attention. Rose turned just in time to see Benjamin, back at his own table, slamming his fist down hard enough to make the cutlery jump. Geneviève started, and Rose watched in fascination as she smoothed the hint of fear from her face and replaced her expression with one of bored disinterest.
“I wonder what that was all about.” Vera slid her tumbler back and forth on the table.
Rose shrugged. “I only caught a word or two. Probably just a little touch of jealousy on Geneviève’s part, but I must admit I find it easier now to imagine him picking up a weapon and bashing Cecily over the head.”
“Speaking of,” Freddie said, appearing as if from nowhere and pulling out a chair. “Boothe says the murder weapon was probably a brass doorstop. You’ve seen them, they’re shaped like a pineapple, and there’s one in every room, so he’s got men going door to door looking for one with bloodstains on it. He’s certain he’s going to catch his killer within the hour.”
Tipping her glass, Rosemary sipped and hoped Freddie was right. She didn’t care who caught Cecily’s killer as long as justice was served. Inspector Boothe stood alone near the lounge entrance, watching the gathering with flat, expressionless eyes.
From time to time, one of his men would return with information, and from what Rosemary could tell, things weren’t going to plan. With each short conversation, Boothe’s brows furrowed a bit more.
“Where’s Des?” Vera noticed the abs
ence first. It had been the three of them more often than four, so Rose hadn’t even thought of him. Whether that boded ill for their burgeoning relationship, or if she was simply distracted with grief, Rosemary wasn’t sure. What she did know was that she would not be rushed, and if Desmond couldn’t understand her position, that was answer enough.
“Stopped to talk to one of the constables,” Frederick explained. “Should be along once he’s finished pumping the fellow for inside information about the case.”
“No, no, no!” Another angry outburst near the kitchen door drew everyone’s attention to Benny. “This is all wrong. It’s all wrong.”
As best anyone could tell since Benny capered in front of the buffet fairly blocking the view, someone had laid out the service differently than was Cecily’s preferred arrangement, and Benny wasn’t having it. His voice rose higher until Walter appeared and told him to hush up.
With a great deal of patience, Walter listened to Benny, whose face was flushed and sweaty in his earnest attempt to set things to rights. Rosemary found herself surprised by the patient way Walter calmed and diffused the situation.
Instead of chastising the younger man, he called one of the waitstaff over for a short conversation that resulted in the service being reset. Calmer now, Benny subsided and went off to do whatever it was that he did when there was no luggage to carry about.
Focused on Benny, Rose hadn’t noticed that Desmond had finally joined the group. When she turned back and his eye caught hers, she blushed and looked away. Eventually, she would have to smooth things over with Des, but now was not the time. Besides, Des had news.
“There’s been a theft of money. Boothe thinks he’s found the motive for Cecily’s death.”
“Do tell, old chap,” Frederick urged. “Sounds like we’re one up on the girls, eh?”
“I had it from one of the constables that the little maid told him a sum of money had gone missing from Cecily’s desk drawer a week, maybe two weeks back. She called all the staff in, lined them up, and gave a speech.”
