The French Maid Murder

by Anisa Claire West

  We stormed the Blue Shade Inn, flashing our badges at the front desk as the clerk on duty divulged Rhett’s room number. “Let’s take the stairs,” I suggested. “We can’t risk any technical problems with the elevator.”

  “Definitely,” Max agreed as we climbed to the fourth floor.

  Knocking insistently on room 406, we waited with racing pulses for our person of interest to open the door. Within seconds, Rhett surfaced at the door, appearing not the least bit surprised to see us. Unshaven, the former butler was dressed in a Hard Rock Café tee-shirt and a pair of baggy cargo pants that emphasized his leanness.

  “Detective Luna Langford, Homicide Unit. And my partner, Max Larken.” We presented our badges as a formality.

  A peculiar smirk painted Rhett’s lips. “I remember. It was only yesterday.”

  “We need to have a word with you…” I started.

  “I know. I was kind of hoping you would find me,” Rhett said as my eyes bulged.

  “Why?” I asked inquisitively as my heart pounded. Was he getting ready to confess? A guilty conscience could work wonders towards extracting a confession from a criminal, but it was a rare gift that police officers almost never received.

  “You know, I was going to head up to Canada. Get a change of scenery,” he said dreamily, evading my question. “But I decided to stay in Rhode Island just a little longer. It was like there was a magnet keeping me stuck here.”

  “What would you like to tell us, Rhett? Go ahead,” I coaxed gently, desperate for him to speak before he changed his mind.

  “I know something,” he said in a low voice. “That’s why I walked out on the Miltons yesterday. I couldn’t keep the secret any longer. Not after Fifi died.”

  Again, the man’s words astounded me. It didn’t sound at all like Rhett was the perpetrator but that he knew who was. “What secret?” I prompted.

  Rhett heaved a ragged sigh. “Sir Milton and Fifi were having an affair.”

  “Having an affair?” Max echoed as my jaw dropped. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m very sure. The whole mansion knew about it. Including Lady Milton. That’s why I ran away. I couldn’t stay and keep the secret any longer, but I also didn’t want to get involved. I don’t need this stress in my life.”

  “No one needs this stress in their lives, but it’s your duty as an upstanding citizen to share what information you know,” I coached diplomatically. “And now you’ve done that duty.”

  “Am I going to get in trouble? Are you going to arrest me for not telling you this information yesterday?” Rhett asked nervously.

  “No. But we’re not done questioning you yet. Who do you think killed Fifi?” I queried even though the answer was crystal clear.

  “Isn’t it obvious? It had to be Lady Milton!” Rhett claimed as I nodded.

  “One other question: how did you get downstairs so quickly after our interview yesterday? You seemed to disappear into thin air,” I probed as the smirk resurfaced on his lips.

  “I guess you haven’t found the secret passageway yet,” he said with a fiendish glimmer in his eyes.

  Chapter 8

  “Secret passageway?” I breathed incredulously.

  “Yeah. The help isn’t supposed to know about it, but we all do. It leads to a cellar where Sir Milton keeps his most expensive vintages. He’s got wines in there that are worth thousands. But I didn’t take any, I swear!” Rhett hastily added.

  “Why did you use the secret passageway? Why didn’t you just take the regular stairs?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Because I wanted to get away from you,” Rhett said sheepishly. “You made me so nervous with all your questions, Detective.”

  “I barely had a chance to ask you anything,” I argued. “You’ve given us some very valuable information tonight. Is there anything you left out?”

  “Now would be the time to tell us,” Max said firmly.

  “No, that’s all. I swear I don’t know anything else. Besides, if I wanted to hide from you, don’t you think I would have checked into this motel using a fake name? I used my real name!” He looked at us unblinkingly.

  I couldn’t argue with that bit of logic but I still wouldn’t let him off the hook. “You do realize that if you’re lying about any of this information that the truth will come out and you’ll be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, right?” I said harshly.

  “Yes, but why would I lie?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I feigned naïveté. “Perhaps to protect yourself?”

  “Protect myself from what?” Rhett asked blankly.

  “To throw us off course and place the burden on someone else,” Max clarified. “It’s a common tactic among criminals.”

  “You mean make up a story about an affair because I’m the one who killed Fifi? That’s nuts!” Rhett finally caught on.

  “Oh, but it isn’t,” I protested. “As Detective Larken said, it’s a common strategy but not a successful one in the end.”

  “The affair was real! Didn’t you notice how Lady Milton reacted to Fifi’s death? She didn’t give a hoot about it!” Rhett said as I was forced to acknowledge the truth of his words.

  “Okay, Mr. Wagon, and you do also realize that now you’re going to be required to give a formal statement at the police station, right? And that this statement will be given under strict oath?” I asked warily.

  “I’ll give whatever statement you want. As long as you don’t arrest me for anything!”

  “You seem awfully worried about getting arrested,” Max observed. “Are you sure there’s not something else you’d like to tell us?”

  “No,” Rhett replied stonily as it became immediately clear that he had shut down and wouldn’t share any other information.

  “Okay, well we’re going back to Newport now to continue our investigation. Why don’t you come with us and we’ll drop you off at the station to give your formal statement?” Max invited as though Rhett had a choice in the matter.

  “Sure. I guess it beats taking the bus there,” Rhett mumbled.

  Darkness had fallen by the time we reached Newport with our witness in tow. Depositing him at the police station for further questioning, Max and I rushed to get back to the mansion.

  “This might be even better than going at the crack of dawn. They probably aren’t expecting to see us again tonight,” I pointed out.

  “Probably not. But here we come!”

  “I don’t know what to do first,” I struggled as Max parked outside the mansion and turned the headlights off to be discreet. “Question Lady Milton or find the secret passageway?”

  “We have to pounce on our suspect. We can’t give her any more time to think or plan or falsify her reaction. If we had known about this affair sooner, we could have questioned her more aggressively from the start. After all, she was the one who found the victim and reported the death. That has never sat well with me.”

  “Me neither. Let’s pounce!” I envisioned us as sleek leopards in the night, sprinting across untamed land to capture our helpless prey.

  We knocked loudly on the front door as lights flickered on throughout the mansion. Running feet and incensed voices bespoke of the fact that the entire household had been ambushed. I blinked disbelievingly as a disheveled Lady Milton ripped the door open and faced me down with blazing eyes.

  “What are you doing here at this hour?” She screamed, appearing wild-eyed like a zombie mutant.

  “Thank you. So kind of you to invite us in on short notice,” I said sarcastically as her lips curled into a snarl.

  “We can do this at the door or we can do this inside like civilized people,” Max said. “Either way, we’re coming inside at some point.”

  Audaciously, Lady Milton left us standing at the front door as she marched down the hallway. Determinedly we followed her, shutting the door behind us and finding the enraged madam in the sitting room, pouring a glass full of red wine.

  “We don’t drink on the job, but tha
nks for asking,” Max quipped as her snarl intensified.

  “Let’s just cut to the chase. How long have you known about your husband’s affair with Fifi LeChou?” I interrogated as she took a big gulp of wine.

  “All along,” she said carelessly. “It wasn’t his first affair and it won’t be his last.”

  Her reaction caught me completely off guard. I had expected Lady Milton to stutter her way through a response, swearing up and down that she didn’t know about the affair. But she was readily admitting her knowledge which made me question whether she really was the guilty party. But I was far from finished with my questions.

  “So you knew about the affair? And did it upset you?” I prodded.

  “Please! I don’t care what that man does. We don’t even sleep in the same bedroom anymore,” Lady Milton revealed candidly.

  Frowning thoughtfully, Max jumped in. “So you’re saying that you weren’t the least bit angry that your husband was carrying on with a woman 20 years younger than you? It didn’t irk you at all?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Lady Milton replied, sipping her wine like it was medicine. “My question is how did you know about it? Did you interview my husband from his hospital bed?”

  “We can’t expose our sources. Let’s just say that the affair is common knowledge at this point,” I said carefully to protect Rhett’s identity.

  “Oh, it certainly is. My husband is anything but discreet.” She laughed bitterly.

  “So it does upset you a tad?” I provoked.

  “He upsets me a great deal! I can’t stand the man. If there was anyone in this house I would want to kill, it would be him! But did the affair upset me? No. Not one iota. But I’ve already told you that several times.” Lady Milton regarded us condescendingly as though we needed to take a crash course in Police Interrogation 101. What she didn’t understand is that drilling the same questions over and over again was a method employed to break suspects down and make them confess.

  “Did you kill Fifi LeChou?” Max asked outright.

  “No, I did not kill Fifi LeChou.” She enunciated each word with razor-sharp precision.

  “Do you think your husband killed her?” I asked.

  “No, she was his new plaything. They had only been romping around for a few months. He wanted to keep her. Besides, my husband isn’t a violent man. He’s a soft-bellied teddy bear,” she said with certainty.

  “Then who do you think killed Fifi?” I challenged.

  Setting her glass of wine down on a coaster, Lady Milton licked her lips and said in a low intimate voice. “If you really want to know, I’ll tell you. It was Rhett.”

  Chapter 9

  “Why Rhett? What motive would he have?” Max forced Lady Milton to support her bold accusation.

  “Rhett was attracted to Fifi. When she first started working here, Rhett couldn’t take his eyes off of her. I think it upset him very much when she started canoodling with Howard. As a butler, Rhett felt so inferior. He had nothing to offer Fifi.”

  “And what was your husband offering Fifi? Other than an illicit affair?” I inquired brusquely.

  “He gave her a little more cash on the side, I’m sure. Probably shared some of our pricey vintages with her. She was from France, after all, so I’m sure she had quite an affinity for fine wine. And my husband has a collection to rival any in France.”

  “And you think this was enough motive for murder?” Max questioned skeptically. “The butler had a little puppy love crush on the maid, couldn’t have her, and killed her? I’m not buying it.”

  “Well, you asked my opinion and there you have it. It wasn’t for sale, so you don’t need to buy it,” Lady Milton bristled.

  “Another question. If you’re so miserable with your husband, then why do you stay with him?” I dug deeper to access the woman’s psyche.

  “I’m not that miserable with him. We lead separate lives. He has his business and his French maids and I have my book club and tennis dates. It’s not so bad, really. Besides, I don’t want to break up my finances….er, I mean my family,” she swiftly corrected herself, but the Freudian slip had already exposed her real feelings.

  I looked over at Max as he cocked his head towards the servant quarters. Yes, it was high time we discovered the secret passageway. The conversation with Lady Milton was rapidly turning into a botched therapy session.

  “We’ll be doing some more searching, now,” I informed. “You may not want to go back to sleep yet because we’ll probably need to speak with you again at some point tonight.”

  “Peachy!” Lady Milton crowed as she polished off her wine and poured a second glass all the way to the rim.

  Leaving the lush to her own devices, Max and I swept out of the room without another word. As we approached the staircase leading to the servant quarters, the sound of hostile voices carried into the hallway. I craned my neck to listen and easily identified Laurelle’s French accent mingled with Chef Gregory’s barbarian monotone.

  “I wonder what they’re arguing about,” I whispered to Max.

  “Strange,” he remarked. “Let’s have another talk with those two right after we check out this secret passageway.”

  The staircase coiled like a cobra to attic level and I had no idea how to access the invisible passageway. “We should have asked Rhett for more specifics,” I noted.

  “Too late for that,” Max answered. “Let’s just feel our way around.”

  Our hands brushed against one another as we stroked the wood panels of the walls. The paneling felt hollow, as though there were a whole other world located just beyond it. Gregory and Laurelle continued their heated argument upstairs, although I couldn’t decipher exactly what they were saying. Their voices were blatantly quarrelsome but muffled.

  Losing my footing on the base of the staircase, I toppled over into Max’s arms as he caught and held me solidly in his grip. “Easy there, Luna. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I whispered, already starting to pull away.

  Before I could extradite myself from the entanglement of Max’s embrace, I lost my balance again and fell forward. My entire body weight pressed against his chest, creating a domino effect and an unexpected opening to the secret passageway.

  “Whoa!” Max grunted as his back inadvertently unsealed the hidden doorway.

  Together, we fell through the hollow wooden door and into a musty crawl space. “This can’t be what Rhett was talking about!” I muttered, coughing from the dusty atmosphere.

  “This is like some kind of dungeon! Did he trick us?” Max wondered aloud as I rubbed my eyes and tried to adjust to the darkness.

  As my eyes shifted into focus, I could see another set of stairs leading to a spacious, unfurnished loft. Grabbing Max’s hand, I wobbled to my feet and staggered towards the loft. From the bottom of the stairwell, I could see countless bottles of wine stored horizontally with alphabetical tags categorizing them. We dashed to the top of the stairs, briefly inspecting the wine bottles and then deepening our search with a thorough perusal of every square foot of the space.

  “Look over there,” Max said. “It’s another door. It looks like it leads to the outside.”

  I glanced up at the glass-paned door that reflected slices of moonlight from the night sky. “That must be how Rhett got out of here! I guess it would be a little faster than walking through the entire mansion, but not much.”

  Max nodded his assent as he scanned the bottles of wine and gave a low whistle. “Man, these wines would impress Dom Pérignon himself! Old Howie has good taste. I can say that for him.”

  “Max!” I hissed. “Who cares about the wine? We need to keep searching!”

  “I know. I’m acting like a kid in a candy shop. But seriously, Luna, these are the Corvettes and Rolls Royces of grape right here!”

  I giggled at Max’s boyish enthusiasm. “If we solve this case tonight, I’ll go out and buy you a nice bottle of wine, how about that?”

  “Deal!” He sa
id impishly.

  Playfully rolling my eyes, I pushed past Max to the top of the loft. The space was empty except for one glaringly obvious deviation: a wide open safe! “Max, come up here,” I said anxiously.

  “What did you find?” He asked, practically flying to where I stood.

  “Just look,” I urged as we peered inside the safe.

  Dozens of packets of bank-wrapped cash were piled in the safe along with one conspicuously torn open stack that was half depleted. “I bet Rhett stole some money before he left,” I guessed. “That’s why he came in here. Not because it was a fast getaway!”

  “And he was so sloppy that he left the safe wide open,” Max chuckled without mirth.

  “But how did he know the combo to the safe? Who told him?” I wondered aloud.

  “Maybe Fifi knew the combination,” Max deduced. “Howie might have shared it with her as a perk for passion.”

  A feeling of dread washed over my entire body as I mumbled, “Maybe there was a price on Fifi’s head. Maybe she was murdered for this money!”

  Chapter 10

  Max regarded me as though I had just discovered the eighth wonder of the world. Slowly, he drawled, “Keep talking, Luna. Lay out your theory.”

  “Rhett wasn’t the only member of the staff to know about this secret passageway. He told us that everyone on the staff knew about it.” I paused and inhaled a sharp breath. “My gut is telling me that either Gregory or Laurelle is the culprit. I’m just not sure which one.”

  “Bomb sniffing dogs follow their noses to solve crimes, but we as cops have to follow our guts,” Max said with conviction. “I’m with you, Luna.”

  I smiled, elated that my male partner was practically gift wrapping the case and tying it up with a bow for me to unveil. Maybe I can do this job after all! “Okay, Max. Let me go upstairs and see what those two are arguing about. You stay on my tail in case I need back-up.”

  Wiggling my way through the crawl space, I shimmied out of the secret doorway and mounted the stairs. A peculiar silence had fallen over the servant quarters as I wondered whether Gregory and Laurelle had gone to sleep. Ever so quietly, I passed Gregory’s chamber, surprised to see the door ajar. Peering inside, I noted an empty room with a perfectly made bed. Where was Gregory?