Four Red Diamonds (A Lady Marmalade Mystery Short Story Collection Book 1)

by Jason Blacker

  Inspector Pearce and Lady Marmalade stood in the middle of the room awkwardly. Frances looked around. There was a large bookshelf on one end of the wall, to the right of the desk as you sat in it. The bookshelf was rather barren. Mostly sprinkled with the company's income and sales reports. The desk was uncluttered. It held a desk calendar that had very few handwritten appointments on it and a clutch of pens in a penholder.

  The receptionist returned in a few minutes with Miss Hester Reese. Hester was a young blonde woman. Good looks with too much makeup. She wore a tight blouse that showed off her ample bosoms and her dress was shorter than was fashionable. She also had on dress shoes with much higher heels than was probably comfortable.

  “Will there be anything else?” asked the receptionist.

  “No, thank you,” said Inspector Pearce.

  The receptionist left and Pearce turned to Hester. He offered her his hand.

  “Miss Reese, I am Chief Inspector Devlin Pearce of Scotland Yard and this is Lady Frances Marmalade. As you might know, I'm investigating the murder of Maude Bloomfield.”

  Hester nodded and looked down. Her hands were clasped in front of her.

  “Yes,” she said, “what a terrible thing.”

  “Please sit down, Miss Reese,” said Pearce.

  Hester sat down on the sofa by herself as Inspector Pearce and Lady Marmalade took a chair each. Pearce twisted his mustache and then took out his notebook and pencil.

  “How well did you know Mrs. Bloomfield?” asked Pearce.

  Hester looked up at the Inspector with big brown innocent eyes.

  “Not very well at all, Inspector. She didn't come in to the office much until a few months ago when we started seeing her regularly, but she didn't interact with us much.”

  “I see,” said Pearce. “And where are you employed at Bloomfield Confectioners?”

  “In the accounting department,” Hester said.

  “Have you ever been over to the Bloomfield home?” asked Pearce.

  “No sir, I haven't,” she replied.

  “Do you ever wear scarves dear?” asked Frances.

  Hester shifted her gaze over to Frances. She was sitting as stiff as a board on the sofa, her hands politely clasped in front of her on her lap.

  “I do sometimes, Lady Marmalade,” said Hester, “when the weather gets a bit cool.”

  “Please, call me Frances, dear.”

  Hester smiled at Frances.

  “Have you lost a scarf recently?” asked Frances.

  “No, I haven't, but I did give one to Mr. Bloomfield the other day,” Hester said.

  “What did it look like?” asked Frances.

  “It was one of my favorites,” Hester said, smiling, “it was red, a darker red than yours and it had blue and yellow flowers on it. It was rather quite colorful.”

  Inspector Pearce, looked over at Frances, Frances smiled and nodded at him.

  “And you say you've never been over to the Bloomfield's home?” Pearce asked again.

  “Yes, that's right,” said Hester.

  “Your scarf Miss Rees, appears to have been used to strangle Maude Bloomfield,” said Pearce.

  Hester put her hand to her mouth in apparent shock.

  “Good heavens,” she said, “I had no idea.”

  “No idea?” asked Pearce incredulously, “then tell me, why would you give Mr. Bloomfield a scarf of yours.”

  Hester's eyes were misting up.

  “Well, he, he asked for it. He'd come and visit us ladies in the accounting department and he was flirty. But in an innocent way. He was never inappropriate you understand. And he was always so kind to us, he'd bring us up the newest sweets that we were making to try. So when he asked, I thought nothing of it to give it to him. The weather had cleared up by that afternoon and so I wouldn't have needed it on the way home.”

  Hester pinched her lips closed, took a tissue from her purse and dabbed at the corner of her eyes.

  “There, there, dear,” said Frances, “it'll be okay.”

  She looked up from her glassy eyes and smiled at Frances.

  “I just feel so awful, that my scarf was used to kill Mrs. Bloomfield. Who would do such a thing?” Hester asked.

  “That's what we'll find out,” said Pearce.

  Hester dabbed at her eyes again.

  “So, are you telling me that you were never inappropriate with Mr. Bloomfield?” asked Pearce.

  “Good heaven's no, Inspector. I'm not that kind of woman. I have a fiancé, anyway,” Hester said.

  Pearce nodded. He looked over at Lady Marmalade.

  “I have nothing else to ask.” Frances said.

  “Thank you, Miss Rees, you may go,” said Pearce.

  Hester hesitated to get up and leave. Pearce looked up from his notes.

  “Is there anything else you'd like to add?” he asked.

  She looked up at him sheepishly.

  “Well,” she said, “there is one thing.”

  “Go on,” he said, his full attention back at her.

  “I heard Mr. and Mrs. Bloomfield arguing once when I was down on the manufacturing floor. Mr. Bloomfield had left his window open above and we could all hear them go at it.”

  “What were they arguing about?” asked Pearce.

  “They were arguing about Agnes. Mrs. Bloomfield threatened to leave him if he didn't put a stop to it. He said he wouldn't. She said she'd expose him for pilfering money from the business. He said he wouldn't let her, he was going to cut her off.”

  “I see,” said Pearce, “thank you for that.”

  He looked back down at his notes, scribbling.

  “There is another thing,” Hester said quietly.

  “Yes, dear, do tell,” said Frances.

  “Another time as I was walking home from work, I heard both Mr. Bloomfields arguing.”

  “Owen and Ambrose?” asked Frances.

  Hester nodded.

  “Owen was saying something about getting the stupid woman out of the business as she was making bad decisions, and if Mr. Ambrose wasn't going to do anything about it, then Owen would make sure she couldn't. Something like that. That was all I heard.”

  Pearce looked back up from his notes.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Thank you Miss Rees, you're free to go,” he said.

  Hester left quietly and very shortly after she had left, Ambrose Bloomfield came back in.

  “Good day Chief Inspector, Lady Marmalade,” he said. “Are you making any inroads into determining who killed my wife?” he asked.

  Both Pearce and Frances stood up when Ambrose came into the office.

  “Yes, I think we are, Mr. Bloomfield. Though I'd like to ask you some more questions,” said Pearce.

  “Certainly,” said Ambrose, “anything I can do to help you.”

  “Well, frankly, Mr. Bloomfield, you have been less than honest with me when it comes to your wife's murder.”

  “I beg your pardon?” asked Ambrose.

  “The scarf that was used to strangle your wife. You knew it. In fact, it was given to you by one of your staff. That makes you look suspicious,” said Pearce.

  Ambrose sat down in the sofa and sighed. He put his head in his hands. Then he looked up again at Lady Marmalade and Inspector Pearce.

  “Yes, you're right, Inspector. I have not been as forthcoming as perhaps I should have been.”

  “Then please enlighten me,” said Pearce.

  “Well, that scarf was a gift to me. From one of the ladies in accounting. Her name is Hester Rees, you’ve just met her. Listen, Inspector, I might be a bit of a cad, but I am by no means a murderer. I loved my wife and I did not kill her.”

  “We also have a witness who overheard you arguing with your wife. She found out about you skimming from the business, and unless you called it off between you and Agnes, your wife was going to expose you. You weren't about to let that happen,” said Pearce.

  Ambrose
looked down. He looked tired and old and haggard. He nodded his head.

  “Yes, that's true. I'm not proud of it. Agnes is expensive to keep. I was irrational, Inspector, I was going to cut my wife off from the business. I was going to divorce her, not kill her.”

  “You were going to sabotage your own business just to continue being with your mistress?” asked Pearce in disbelief.

  Ambrose nodded.

  “Yes, Inspector, yes I was. Very foolishly of me, but what can I say? I was, I am, in love with Agnes. I'd do anything for her,” said Ambrose.

  “Including killing your wife?” asked Pearce.

  Ambrose sighed again.

  “No, that's not what I meant. Owen and I had a bit of a row the other day, too. You might have heard of that as well. He wanted to get her out of the business...”

  “Who, your wife?” asked Pearce.

  “No, though I can see how that might have been the interpretation. He was really talking about Agnes. In the sense that she was causing me to take money from the company for her upkeep. Owen was going to buy me out for a song. He had his suspicions about me pilfering money from our company, even though I denied it vehemently. He was offering me a way out. I was, am, going to take it.”

  The receptionist knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” said Inspector Pearce.

  “Sir, there's a telephone call for Inspector Pearce,” she said to Ambrose.

  “Let him take it in here on my line,” Ambrose said.

  “Yes, sir,” she said and then she left the office.

  The phone rang and Inspector Pearce answered it.

  “Pearce,” he said. “Yes. Oh, really. You're certain. Yes, that's very interesting. Okay, thank you.”

  He put the phone down. And looked out the window with surprise written on his face.

  “What is it?” asked Frances.

  He turned back around and looked at her.

  “That was the coroner,” he said. “They wanted to share some very interesting news about the murder.”

  “What have they found out? Did they confirm she was strangled?” asked Frances.

  Pearce shook his head.

  “Not, they didn't. That's the interesting thing. They said she was poisoned.”

  “Good God,” said Ambrose.

  Pearce looked at him and nodded.

  “But how?” he asked.

  “They're not certain. She must have ingested it somehow. There are no visible puncture marks on her body,” said Pearce.

  “What type of poison did they say it was, Inspector?” asked Frances.

  “Uh, I think they said something about Taipoxin,” said Pearce.

  “Fascinating,” said Frances.

  “Fascinating?” asked Ambrose flabbergasted, “what on Earth does it mean?”

  Frances looked at him.

  “Taipoxin makes up the bulk of the venom of the Inland Taipan,” said Frances.

  “Is that a Japanese poison?” asked Ambrose.

  “No,” said Frances, “it is more sinister, and much closer to home.”

  “You're speaking in riddles Fran,” said Pearce. “If you'd please just indulge us.”

  “Very well,” said Frances. “The Inland Taipan is a highly venomous snake, indigenous to Australia.”

  “Good God,” said Ambrose.

  “Exactly,” said Lady Marmalade, “we are now getting closer to identifying our murderer. Inspector, at your leisure, I'd like to make our way back to Hightown. I have a hunch I'd like to follow up on and I need to speak with Marlow, the butler.”

  Pearce nodded.

  “We'll be off right away, then,” he said.

  “I'll follow along shortly,” said Ambrose, “I'd like to be there when you corral the scoundrel.”

  Lady Marmalade and Inspector Pearce got back into his police car and started off the way they had come. It would take them another hour to get back. Not that Lady Marmalade was in a rush, but she was excited to be closing in on the killer.

  “So do you have any idea as to who the killer might be?” asked Inspector Pearce, once they were well on their way.

  Frances was looking out the side window, watching the trees zip by as they made their way back towards the coast. It looked like the weather was changing. Up on the horizon gathered some gray storm clouds. She looked back at Pearce.

  “Well, sometimes, as you know, Inspector, the murderer is the most obvious choice. But other times it is the person you least expect it to be.”

  “In this instance, I'd say the most obvious choice is Ambrose. More times than I can remember has it been the husband who ends up killing his wife. And Ambrose can start afresh now with his mistress, what with his wife dead. Though as much as I like him for it, I'm starting to have my doubts. He does seem rather forthcoming.”

  Inspector Pearce had both hands on the steering wheel and his face was a map of stern concentration.

  “I rather think that in this particular case Inspector, our murderer is perhaps the least likely candidate,” continued Frances.

  “Really?” he asked, turning to look at her briefly.

  Frances nodded her head. Her scarf was still neatly covering her hair like a baby's bonnet.

  “Then who do you fancy for it?”

  “I think it is likely one of the visitors from Australia. Jasper Bloomfield, Rufina Pritchard or Agnes Bennett.”

  “Ah ha,” said Inspector Pearce, “then I'll tell you exactly who did it. Do you want to know?”

  Frances looked at her dear friend and nodded.

  “It's Agnes Bennett. She clearly has the best motive.”

  “Interesting theory, Inspector, you might well be right. However, the last person to see Nana Bloomfield alive, appears to be her own son, Jasper Bloomfield. And to add insult to injury, he's in deep financial struggles. With his mother out of the way, he might have easier to access to the funds he needs.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Pearce, “but Agnes now has it all. She'll marry old man Bloomfield and be next in line for the business should he depart this world. And the only person she'll have to worry about is Owen, though Jasper, as you say, might get his knickers in a knot and tie up the estate in court for a few years. If he can afford it.”

  “Let's look at Rufina then too,” said Frances. “She came all the way here on the hopes of beseeching Maude into giving her a job. Now she will be sent packing, back to Australia, with nothing left down under for her to do. No prospects and no job.”

  “True indeed, however,” said Pearce, “she knew coming here that the likelihood of a job was slim. So she hasn't really lost anything and in some ways she has gained a free passage back on a luxury liner.”

  Frances nodded.

  “You have answers for everything, Inspector,” she said.

  “Well, I have to think these things through. I've been doing this some time now and, more often than not, I'm right. You have to keep your eye on the ball you know.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “So Fran, I think it's Agnes, who do you like for it?”

  “I like them all for it, if they did it,” said Frances. “I'd rather keep an open mind until I'm fairly certain I have the suspect in my sights.”

  “You always play so coy,” said Inspector Pearce. “Let's finish this up then, this afternoon.”

  “Agreed, I think we'll know soon enough.”

  As they continued their drive towards the coast, towards Hightown, the storm clouds continued their advance towards them. Who would get there first? Who would uncover the mystery of Nana Bloomfield's murder?

  It was just before eleven when they arrived back at the Bloomfield's Hightown home. Marlow was there to greet them at the door.

  “Lady Marmalade, Inspector,” he said.

  “Good day,” said Frances.

  “You're just in time for elevenses,” said Marlow as Frances and Pearce stepped into the hall.

  “Wonderful,” said Frances.

  “If you'll just follow me,” sai
d Marlow, “everything is getting set up in the living room due to the inclement weather.”

  “Just one minute of your time first, if you don't mind, Marlow,” said Frances.

  “Certainly,” said Marlow.

  “Could you possibly shed any light on the murder of Mrs. Bloomfield yesterday?” Frances asked.

  “I'm not sure what you mean, my Lady,” said Marlow.

  “Can you remember when Mrs. Bloomfield first went into her study yesterday?” asked Frances.

  Marlow looked upwards to the left, thinking for a moment.

  “As I recall,” he said, “she was in and out of her study practically most of the day. It was after breakfast, at around eight thirty a.m. that she entered her study first, I believe.”

  “Was she in there the whole time? Did you see her leave at any time?” asked Frances.

  Inspector Pearce had his notebook out and he was taking notes with his pencil.

  “I do recall her coming out for elevenses. Perhaps she was out for around a half hour. Then she went out for a stroll along the bluff. I think she returned to her office at around twelve,” said Marlow.

  “Did she entertain anyone in her office that you can remember?” asked Pearce.

  “Yes, I remember Rufina going to look for her at around a quarter to twelve. She went into the study, but at that time Mrs. Bloomfield was out on the bluff. Rufina came out again shortly afterwards.”

  “Did she meet up with Mrs. Bloomfield at all?” asked Frances.

  Marlow nodded.

  “Yes. my Lady, I think it was around noon when Mrs. Bloomfield came back from her walk that Rufina met her and they went back into the study.”

  “I see,” said Pearce, twirling the right handlebar of his mustache, “and did you happen to overhear any of their conversation?”

  “No sir, I'm not like that,” said Marlow, genuinely slighted.

  “Of course not,” said Frances, “but perhaps you heard something on your coming and goings?”

  “Not that I could make out,” Marlow said, “but it sounded like they were having an argument, and about ten minutes later Rufina stormed out, visibly upset.”

  “Was there anyone else who went in to see Mrs. Bloomfield while she was in her study?” asked Frances.

  “Yes, my Lady. Both Mr. Jasper Bloomfield and Mr. Ambrose Bloomfield went in to check on her. Of course when Mr. Bloomfield senior went in, that's when he found her dead, and came right out and told me to call the police, which I did,” said Marlow.