Murder at Chateau sur Mer

by Alyssa Maxwell

  He took his time, finishing his cup of coffee and pouring another. He plucked another sandwich off the platter near him, then held it up and stared at it a moment before setting it, untasted, on his plate. He heaved a sigh and then, without glancing up, spoke to those two thick slices of bread and the deviled ham between them.

  “I began to suspect Boyd after the first few robberies. He’d be nowhere to be found, then suddenly show up at the Blue Moon or the boardinghouse where we both had rooms. Then the night of the fire, he pushed Miss Cross—”

  “You saw him push me?” My mouth dropped open on a burst of indignation. “And you said nothing?”

  He avoided my angry gaze. “I saw him push past you, and you fell into the street. I couldn’t prove anything—it just seemed suspicious. And he’d been gone again—another one of his disappearances.” He shrugged. “Without proof, what was I supposed to say? Besides, there’s a dockworkers’ code of honor.”

  “A dockworkers’ what?” The notion galled me. “I could have been struck by falling, burning roof timbers, and you were concerned with—”

  Jesse held out a hand, signaling for me to be silent. I closed my mouth and gritted my teeth. “Then what?” Jesse prompted.

  “It was Miss Cross accusing me of hitting Madam Heidi that really got me thinking. I knew I hadn’t done it, but I also knew there wasn’t a thing that happened on that wharf or the immediate vicinity that she didn’t know about. And I began to think, if Jonas was up to something, she’d know, just as sure as she knew her own face in the mirror. She must have said something to him, maybe about Lilah. Maybe about the fire. And he beat her to shut her up.”

  He had just confirmed my own theory about Jonas and Madam Heidi. As he spoke, he’d taken on the mean, bullying look I knew so well, but this time with a difference. For once it wasn’t aimed at Brady or me, but at the idea of Jonas using physical violence to frighten and intimidate a . . . a what? What exactly did Mr. Dobbs consider Madam Heidi? A neighbor? A businesswoman? A fellow Newporter? A hapless victim? All of those things? Suddenly, I saw an entirely different side to this man—a man willing to risk his life for a wealthy family he didn’t much know, and for a woman—me—for whom he had no regard. It was confusing, disconcerting, and not a little astounding.

  “I’m sorry I accused you,” I mumbled.

  He again shrugged one of his hulking shoulders, made even bigger by the manual labor he’d been engaged in since leaving the police force. “Don’t think this changes anything. I don’t like your family, Miss Cross. Not your good-for-nothing brother, and not you with your meddling and bossy ways.”

  “Bossy? That’s the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Dobbs?”

  “That’s enough.” Jesse glanced at the policeman taking notes. Derrick caught my eye and winked. “Tony, how did you happen to know what Jonas intended tonight?”

  Was there the faintest note of accusation in Jesse’s question?

  “When he left Morton Hill today, I decided to follow him. I saw him knock out Miss Cross behind the grandstand.”

  I tossed up my hands in frustration—and anger. “Again, you watched him assault me and did nothing?”

  “Your little maid was already on hand,” he said defensively. “Isn’t it better I followed Jonas to see what he planned next?”

  “You could have alerted the police.” Derrick’s hands balled into fists against the tabletop as he spoke. “We could have avoided the entire scene here tonight.”

  “Good heavens, man!” George Wetmore shoved back his chair and came to his feet. “You endangered my wife and daughters so you could play the hero?”

  Mr. Dobbs’s shrug was becoming intolerable. “The police department and I are not on the best of terms. For all I knew, they wouldn’t have believed me. And our Miss Cross here believed it was me that killed Lilah. Didn’t you, Miss Cross?” I admit I squirmed a bit as his scrutiny shifted to me. “Besides, alerting anyone would have meant letting Jonas’s trail go cold. I stayed right behind him all the way to town and back, and he never knew it. I didn’t spend ten years as a police detective for nothing.”

  There wasn’t much more to say, and Anthony Dobbs was allowed to return to town. He left with heavier pockets than he had arrived with, for Mr. Wetmore insisted on showing his appreciation in the form of a generous monetary reward. To his credit, Mr. Dobbs hesitated before taking it, looking very much as though he were about to turn it down. Sensing his disinclination, Mr. Wetmore pressed the stack of bills into Mr. Dobbs’s hand. Mrs. Wetmore expressed her desire to pay me as well for the services for which she had hired me, but I assured her there was no hurry for that, that I knew her payment would arrive in good time.

  Jesse took statements from each of the Wetmores and from me. Then he offered to drive me home, but I instead accepted the Wetmores’ offer to have their chauffeur bring me. I had seen the look of displeasure on Derrick’s face when Jesse made his offer, and I was simply too exhausted to cope with the ongoing rivalry between the two men. I found Nanny awake when I arrived at Gull Manor. As I creaked my way up the stairs, her bedroom door opened. Never have I been so happy to walk into her welcoming, and slightly admonishing, embrace.

  “Will you stop your snooping now, Emma?” she demanded after I’d told her everything that happened. I merely smiled, kissed her cheek, and took myself off to bed.

  And yet I slept little. Instead, I lay awake, not reliving the fear of the past day, but wondering about tomorrow, and all the days to follow. I needed employment, and quickly, for though my great aunt Sadie’s annuity allowed for the general upkeep of Gull Manor, there was still food and fuel and clothing to buy. How could I continue taking in women in need, or helping the children of St. Nicholas Orphanage in Providence, without an income?

  The question of what I would do plagued me until sunrise.

  Chapter 18

  “Miss Cross, I do hope we aren’t being too forward in coming to see you. Nanette insisted and, well, we owe you so very much.”

  Mrs. Hartwell’s statement left me momentarily dumbstruck. The entire family—those who remained—had telephoned first, and then driven out to Gull Manor shortly after breakfast. They were leaving Newport on the first available steamer, but wished to have a word with me first. I hadn’t known what to expect. I certainly didn’t expect the Hartwells to feel in any way indebted to me.

  I gestured at the shabby furniture that inhabited my parlor. “Please, do come in and sit down. May I offer you tea and refreshment?”

  The family did as I bade, but as to my question, Mrs. Hartwell pressed her hands together. “No, we wouldn’t hear of putting you out in the slightest. Besides, our boat leaves within the hour. No, Miss Cross, we merely wished to express our gratitude. And our regret, for your having been caught up in our family’s difficulty.”

  Young Nanette was nodding vigorously. Mr. Hartwell also nodded, but solemnly, meeting my eye only briefly. But then, it was his father who had died at Jonas Boyd’s hands. Gerald merely stared across the sofa table at me, his eyes lit with an admiration I didn’t feel I deserved.

  “Mrs. Hartwell,” I began, then addressed them all by encompassing them in my gaze. “I only wish I had been more alert to the danger Mr. Hartwell Senior faced. Perhaps I might have done things differently, and avoided—”

  “Oh no, Miss Cross,” Nanette said, her golden hair piled beneath a simple straw hat trimmed in pink satin. Once they arrived home, they would order appropriate mourning attire and begin the funeral arrangements. “You mustn’t blame yourself. It was my brother.” I flinched at this, and again the girl nodded. “My parents have confessed all to me. I admit it’s all quite shocking and difficult to accept. I imagine it will sink in at some later date and I shall cry buckets over it. But I know now that I’m adopted, and I know the truth of why my grandfather died.”

  I stared at my hands. “He died to protect you, Miss Hartwell.”

  “Please, call me Nanette. Yes, he died to protect m
e—he’d have done anything for me.”

  “As would the rest of us,” her father put in quietly, a rumble from deep in his chest.

  A blush suffused Nanette’s cheeks, and her eyes shone with unshed tears. “I know, Papa. And I do understand why you never told me the truth about where I came from, or that I had a brother and sister somewhere in the world.” She turned to me again. “What can you tell me about my sister, Miss Cross?”

  “She was . . .” I hesitated, wondering how much, if anything, Nanette knew about Lilah and the Blue Moon. I decided it wasn’t my place to enlighten her on those details. That would be up to her parents. “She was well-liked. And respected. And very brave, as it turns out. Somehow, she followed your progress through life, and took particular interest in you when you came to Newport. How your brother came to be here is not completely clear to me, but once Lilah realized the danger he posed, she resolved to intervene.”

  “But you say she took particular interest in Nanette,” her mother said. “Why did she not simply come to us and tell us of Jonas’s plans?”

  I had wondered about that myself. Why had Lilah been so intent on warning Mrs. Wetmore and not the Hartwells? “She must have known Jonas was blackmailing your grandfather and perhaps decided to leave it between them. How else to shield Nanette from the truth of her origins?”

  “I didn’t need shielding.” The girl’s chin came up, hinting at the spirit beneath her refined exterior.

  “Perhaps not,” I conceded, “but your sister must have believed it was up to your parents to decide. She wished only to prevent an incident due to the good turn Mrs. Wetmore, and others like her, did you when you were a baby. Jonas was very bitter about being left behind at the orphanage. Perhaps with good reason, but Lilah was also left behind, yet seemed to bear no ill will toward anyone because of it.”

  “She was a good person.” Nanette’s expression brightened as she spoke.

  “I’d say she was.” I came to my feet. “Wait here, I have something for you.”

  Their curious stares followed me from the room. When I returned, I placed Lilah’s photograph album in Nanette’s hands.

  “What’s this?”

  “It is about where you came from.” I experienced a sudden doubt and darted a glance at her mother. Mrs. Hartwell nodded, closing her eyes for an instant. When she opened them, they held tears. “There are no pictures of you, I’m afraid. Either Lilah couldn’t bear to gaze upon them for missing you too terribly, or she sought to erase your past once the Hartwells adopted you.”

  “We have pictures of Nanette as a baby.” Her mother smiled shakily. “We’ll add some of them to the album.”

  Gerald had stood and walked behind his sister’s seat on the sofa. Peering over her shoulder as she slowly turned the pages, he scowled. “You might wish to remove the photographs of him.” He pointed to a young Jonas.

  Nanette shook her head. “No, I should like to think he wasn’t always evil. Once perhaps, he was a fun-loving boy who cared about his family. Who cared about me, perhaps very much.” She raised her chin to look up at her brother. “Even as you do, Gerald.”

  They left soon after. I lingered in the parlor, thinking about the future, although not my own—not just then. I resolved to speak with Flossie at the first opportunity and offer her an alternative to life at the Blue Moon. She was still young. Perhaps she could be spared the tragedy that all too often befell women in her position. Thus determined, I rose, but on my way to join Nanny and Katie in the kitchen, a knock came at the front door. It was Derrick, and judging by the looks of him, he was here about an urgent matter.

  “I’ve got a solution to both our dilemmas,” he said in lieu of a greeting. He dragged his hat off his head as he stepped into the front hall. “It’s perfect, Emma, and I’m hoping you’ll give it serious consideration.”

  With a laugh I led him into the parlor. “Give what serious consideration?”

  “The Newport Messenger is for sale, and I’m considering buying it. What do you say?”

  He stood practically toe-to-toe with me, rather crowding me, if the truth be told. High color suffused his cheekbones, and his smile was infectious, or would have been, if I had better understood his intentions. As it was, I gave a small shrug. “It sounds like a wonderful opportunity for anyone wishing to break into small-town newspapers, but are you serious about this?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Derrick, the Messenger is little more than a news sheet with a very small subscription list.”

  “I’ll build it up.”

  “But are you certain you want to remain in Newport?”

  “Why not?”

  He seemed determined to answer most of my questions with other questions. “For one thing, your father is very likely to relent about his decision to disinherit you. He’s angry about Judith—hurt, really, to discover his daughter stepped beyond the bounds of propriety. Any father would be. He’s lashing out at you because, frankly, with Judith so far away, he can’t lash out at her.”

  “Father can keep the Providence Sun. I no longer care. I want to begin anew with my own paper. Buying the Messenger is the perfect way to do that. The offices and the presses are already there. I’ll rehire the existing employees, and . . .” He lowered both his voice and his chin, speaking to me on an even level. “And I want you to be part of it, Emma.”

  A knot began to form in my stomach. “Derrick, I’m not sure that’s a good idea just now.”

  His eyebrows converged. “Whyever not?”

  “Well,” I began warily, “just exactly what do you have in mind concerning my participation?”

  “Full partner.”

  “I haven’t the funds to invest in a newspaper, no matter how tiny it is.”

  “That doesn’t matter—”

  “Derrick, do you not know me at all? Do you not understand that it matters to me, very much?” His exuberance melted away like snow in a January thaw. I was not only disappointing him, I was hurting him as well. But I couldn’t help it. I knew any other woman in my shoes would have snatched at this opportunity; would have considered me mad for pushing it away. But accepting such terms—in essence, allowing him to pave my way through life—would obligate me to him in a way I could not countenance. Not until I had reached some decision concerning my future. Were I his wife, we could have been partners and I would have gloried in our joint business venture. But I was not his wife, nor were we merely friends either. Too much history existed between us, along with too many future possibilities, and decisions I was not yet ready to make.

  No, those decisions must be made first, and only when they became perfectly clear, both to myself and to Derrick, could he and I speak of a business partnership, or any kind of partnership. Until then, accepting his offer would have been wrong, and might have been misconstrued by him.

  The telephone rang, and it was with some relief that I went to answer the call.

  “Miss Cross, I’m glad to find you in.”

  “Mr. Bennett?”

  “Indeed. Miss Cross, I’ve thought long and hard and I’ve made a decision.”

  There was that word again: decision. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know what he meant. That knot in my stomach pulled tighter, not from apprehension this time, but from sheer excitement. Mr. Bennett was about to solve my dilemma, both concerning my need for employment and Derrick’s untimely offer. I could barely contain my eagerness. “Yes, Mr. Bennett?”

  “The Herald could use a reporter like you, Miss Cross.”

  “Really, Mr. Bennett! This is wonderful news.”

  “How soon can you relocate to New York?”

  “I . . .” The receiver came away from my ear and I stared into it. Surely I had heard wrong.

  “Miss Cross? Are you there?”

  I raised the ear trumpet back into place. “I’m here, Mr. Bennett. It’s just that, well, I’d hoped to work from Newport. To report on this town and the outlying area, and wire my stories—”
>
  “No, no, that won’t do. I need you in New York. What do you say, Miss Cross? This is quite an opportunity I’m handing you, and I’ll need an answer soon. Quite soon.”

  “Yes, Mr. Bennett, I’ll give you my answer . . . soon.”

  “Good. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  The line went dead, but for several moments I remained staring at the call box, holding the ear trumpet. Leave Newport? Even now, the sounds of pots clunking, water running, and Nanny’s and Katie’s voices traveled down the hallway from the kitchen. Leave them? Leave this house where Great-Aunt Sadie taught me to rely on my wits and skills, to be independent, to answer to no one but myself? Granted, I would not be utterly alone in New York, for my Vanderbilt relatives lived there for much of the year. But I wouldn’t be here, in this city, on this island I loved so much. Could I leave this place that was so much a part of me, that had shaped the person I was, that seemed, sometimes, the very source of my strength?

  Was employment—even the dream of achieving the status of a hard news reporter—worth all that?

  “Emma, is something wrong?” Derrick stood in the parlor doorway.

  “I don’t know,” I mumbled, and gently set the ear trumpet on its cradle.

  “What?” He frowned in concern and crossed to me. When he reached me he took my hands and held them against his chest. “Who was that? What has happened?”

  “It was . . .” I swallowed the bitter taste of indecision, of wondering what it was I truly wanted in life. Of wishing the answers would fall into my arms. “It was nothing pressing. Never mind. Come, let’s see what Nanny is preparing for lunch later. And then, why don’t we take a walk along the water’s edge? I haven’t done that in rather a long while.”

  He smiled. “I’d like that. And about the Messenger. I realize I came rushing in here all half-cocked. It’s merely an option. Perhaps we can discuss it further.”