Queen of Hearts

by Rhys Bowen

  Ronnie nodded. “It’s a closely guarded secret. I suspect that’s why Mr. Goldman introduced him to you. He’s made it clear to Craig that he needs to marry somebody and marry quickly. Marriage to a young lady with royal connections would look good in all the picture papers, wouldn’t it?”

  “How awful,” I said. “Luckily I have Darcy or I might have been swept off my feet and said yes.”

  “You’d better warn your friend in a discreet way,” Ronnie said.

  “Yes.” I was watching them. It would be interesting to see how things progressed.

  Dinner ended and Mr. Goldman stood up. “I fancy a good cigar. Any of you guys care to join me?”

  “You’d better go and smoke in your library then,” Mrs. Goldman said. “You know how I hate the smell of cigar smoke. It gives me a headache.”

  “Fine with me,” Mr. Goldman said. “Brandy and cigars in the library, guys. Anyone coming?”

  “I will.” Darcy got up to follow him, as did Archie, Craig and Ronnie. Charlie Chaplin started to follow them, then turned back. “I think I’d rather get to know this young lady with the long legs,” he said, making a beeline for me. “I want you to tell me all about yourself.”

  “There’s really not much to tell,” I said, blushing as the others watched while he escorted me from the room.

  “I believe Maria’s put out coffee in the rotunda,” Mrs. Goldman said. She led us through double doors to a round open area, just off the main foyer. It was decorated more in the Spanish style with leather sofas and chairs, heavy dark wood tables. Coffeepots and cups had been put on a low central table.

  “Now come and sit next to me, you sweet young thing, and I’ll attempt to corrupt you,” Charlie Chaplin said.

  “I’ve been warned about you, Mr. Chaplin,” I replied, safe in the knowledge that I was surrounded by people and Darcy was nearby. Also that two minutes ago he’d been flirting with my mother, who now looked slightly miffed.

  “No doubt by our dear Barbara.” He flashed her a wicked smile. “All lies.”

  “You know I only ever speak the truth, Charlie,” Barbara said. “Nobody has ever managed to sue me for libel yet, especially not you.” She went to sit beside Mrs. Goldman.

  “I should help pass around the coffee,” I said, dodging past him to where Belinda was already handing around cups. Belinda was looking pleased with herself.

  “Did you see how he didn’t take his eyes off me once all through dinner?” she whispered. “I think this may be it, Georgie. I’ve finally struck gold.”

  I debated whether to tell her, but decided it was none of my business. I finished handing around coffee then sat on the sofa beside my mother. Charlie immediately came over and squeezed in beside me. “Now isn’t this cozy,” he said as he rested one hand casually on my knee. “So tell me all about the royal family. All the juicy scandals with the Prince of Wales.” And he walked his fingers up my thigh. I wasn’t sure whether to slap his hand or not and decided to pretend that it didn’t bother me that one of the most famous men in the world was now trying to seduce me. Two of them in two days. I rather wished that Fig could see me now.

  We were still drinking coffee when Ronnie came back to join us.

  “So what do we do in the evenings?” Mummy asked. “I don’t see a bridge table, or a gramophone.”

  “Mr. Goldman doesn’t go in for parlor games and such,” Ronnie replied. “He has a full cinema in the basement where he’ll be happy to show you his latest successes.”

  “I don’t feel like watching a film at this hour,” Mummy said.

  “We could play some kind of game if you’d like to organize it, I’m sure,” Ronnie said. “Charades? Twenty questions?”

  “I don’t feel like that either.” Mummy gave a bored sort of sigh. “I need a little excitement. It’s been horribly dull since I came here. Come to think of it Homer Clegg turned out to be as dull as ditchwater. Is it always horribly dull in America?”

  “I have a little something in my purse that might make you feel better, if you like.” Stella moved over to Mummy and whispered in her ear, just loud enough for me to overhear. “I’m willing to share if you want to go through to the kitchen. God knows I need cheering up too. It’s been a hell of a day.”

  “Darling, I can’t take drugs in front of my daughter. What would she think of me?” Mummy said. There was an awkward sort of silence. I noticed Barbara Kindell watching Stella and Mummy with interest. Presumably she had also overheard. I wondered if Stella’s cocaine use would show up in tomorrow’s gossip columns.

  “Cy always was a rotten host,” Mrs. Goldman said. “Of course he grew up with no sort of refinement. I’ve tried to educate him but he’s never even bothered to learn bridge. But then . . . he has found other less savory games to play.” And she stared pointedly at Stella.

  We went back to sipping coffee, hoping there would not be a repeat of this afternoon’s uncomfortable scene. I think we were all glad when Darcy came back in with Craig. They went over to the coffee tray but Stella intercepted. “It will be cold by now. I’ll have Maria make you some fresh.”

  Darcy came to perch on the arm of my sofa, giving my shoulder a reassuring touch. Craig went over to the window. “Too cold for a swim tonight, I’m afraid,” he said. “The fog has come in.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Belinda looked up at him. “I’m always game for a late-night swim.”

  “Did you bring your costume?”

  “No, but does it matter?” Her eyes flirted outrageously. I was always rather impressed and secretly envious of this skill.

  “All right. Come on, then. What are we waiting for?” Craig held out his hand to her. “Anyone else care to join us?”

  “Not me,” Mummy said. “Watching my nipples turn blue with cold is not my idea of fun.”

  So off they went.

  “What’s Cy doing now?” Mrs. Goldman demanded.

  “I don’t know. I thought he was following us,” Darcy said.

  “Probably playing with his new toys one more time.” She sniffed. “Just like a two-year-old. Pathetic. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going up to bed. It’s been a long and tiring day.” She got up and headed for the stairs.

  “Do you want me to come up with you, Helen, honey?” Barbara Kindell asked. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Helen Goldman said. “I should never have come. Stupid. Absolutely stupid.” And she stomped off, across the tiled foyer.

  There was an awkward silence, then Ronnie and Darcy went off to talk in a corner, the latter glancing back at me as Charlie’s hand rested on my knee while he whispered something silly and rather risqué in my ear. I grinned at Darcy to let him know he didn’t need to worry. Maria arrived with more coffee and handed around cups.

  “Where’s Juan?” Stella asked suddenly.

  “He went to bed right after dinner,” Ronnie said. “I don’t blame him. It hasn’t been the easiest sort of day, has it?”

  “I wonder if I should go and see if he’s all right. Give him some moral support,” Stella said. She started for the front door.

  “Is that what you call it these days?” Mummy had a glint in her eye.

  Suddenly there was an almighty crash. Coffee cups were hastily put down. We leaped up. “What was that?” Stella demanded. “It came from the direction of the library.”

  We crossed the entrance hall and turned into the side corridor. The suit of armor was lying sprawled on the tiled floor. Suddenly a tall apparition wearing a helmet and visor staggered out at us, making Stella, who was first in line, scream. Darcy grabbed it. Then he said angrily, “Broxley-Foggett, what the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  “I say, get this bally thing off me, will you?” a muffled voice said.

  It took two of them to wrench the helmet off Algie’s head. He looked suitably sheepish. “Sor
ry about that, everyone,” he said. “Dashed silly of me, I know. I saw the suit of armor and I realized I was rather keen to be an extra in the film and wondered what I’d look like and whether Mr. Goldman might decide to make me a star too. So I put the helmet on and the blasted visor dropped and I couldn’t see where I was going. I must have knocked the whole bally thing over.”

  “I’m surprised Mr. Goldman hasn’t bawled you out for knocking over one of his prized possessions,” Ronnie said. “Where did he go?”

  “He was still in the library when I came out,” Algie said. “But I went to spend a penny and it took me hours to locate a loo. Almost left it too late, don’t you know? Had to put on a bit of a sprint. Do you know that even the lavatories have banners hanging in them?”

  Ronnie stepped over the armor and pushed open the library door. The smell of cigar smoke still lingered in the air. “Mr. Goldman, sir?” he began. Then he said, “He’s not in there. That’s strange. Wouldn’t we have noticed if he had come out?” Then he said, “The candlesticks are missing.”

  “What?” Darcy pushed past him into the room. I followed and saw the foot at about the same moment he muttered, “Oh my God.”

  Chapter 19

  Cy Goldman was lying between the big library table and the heavy drapes that were now closed around the window alcove. One of his candlesticks lay on the floor beside him, matted with hair and blood. I didn’t want to look but with that morbid fascination one has for anything gruesome I couldn’t help myself. The back of his head had been smashed in.

  “Everyone stand back,” Darcy said. “Out of the room now and nobody touch anything. Someone should call the police.”

  “The police? That’s not going to be easy,” Ronnie said. “We’re under the jurisdiction of Ventura County, not any particular city. That would mean the sheriffs and I don’t believe they have anyone stationed anywhere near here, or anyone who is equipped to investigate a homicide. Perhaps they request assistance from Los Angeles—or even from Ventura. I don’t know how it works. I’ve never had to deal with anything like this before.” His usually worried face was now creased into a deep frown and he looked white enough to pass out any second.

  “Do we have to?” my mother asked. “Call the police, I mean. Couldn’t we say it was an accident and he fell and hit his head? It probably was an accident, wasn’t it? He drank too much at dinner and he fainted, or had a heart attack. And if we call the police, think of the scandal.”

  “This was no accident.” Darcy stared at her. “I think I can guarantee he was murdered.”

  “Murdered? My darling Cy?” Stella’s voice trembled. “Who would do that to him? We were all his friends. We all adored him. Let me go to him.” She struggled as Darcy kept her away.

  “I suppose he is actually dead?” Algie said, trying to sound flippant, but his voice trembled a little. “I mean he didn’t just faint or something?”

  “I don’t think anyone survives his head being bashed in like that,” Darcy said grimly. “This was done with considerable force.”

  “Come on, everyone,” Ronnie said. “Back into the rotunda, I suppose. And I’ll see if I can round up any kind of law enforcement, though I’ve no idea where.”

  He grabbed Stella’s arm, attempting to pull her away. She resisted, trying to get back to Cy Goldman’s body. “He must have interrupted a burglar,” Stella said, her voice now choking with emotion. “The other candlestick is missing. But I don’t understand it. I mean, we were all here. Only a few yards away from him. How could anyone have come in here unnoticed? There’s only one way in to this estate and it’s through that gate. And our gatekeeper, Jimmy, would never let in anybody he doesn’t know.”

  “We have to presume that the gatekeeper is all right,” Darcy said, “and an intruder didn’t bash him over the head to get in here.”

  “Jimmy has an alarm button he can push from inside his cottage if he needs help,” Stella said. “And he can telephone through to the main house. And our groundsmen are armed.”

  “I expect someone could cut the wire fence if they were determined enough,” Charlie said. “And there must be places where trees have grown up close enough to the fence to make it possible to climb over.”

  Ronnie swallowed hard. “I’ll go and put through a call to Jimmy at the gate, make sure he’s all right and tell him not to let anybody in or out until the police get here. And I suppose we ought to have the groundsmen drive around the perimeter to check if the fence has been cut. Oh God. And someone will have to go and tell Mrs. Goldman.”

  “I’ll do it, honey.” Barbara patted his arm. “It should be someone she knows and trusts.”

  “Are you sure?” Relief flooded Ronnie’s face. “And she’d better get dressed and come down right away if the police are going to be here.”

  One by one they staggered out, stepping over the suit of armor.

  Stella paused at the doorway and looked back. “It’s like a bad dream,” she said. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  Darcy remained standing behind the body, and, fighting back my revulsion I went to join him. He was staring down at Mr. Goldman with a sort of horrified fascination. “And to think we were in here with him less than half an hour ago. It doesn’t seem possible.”

  I put a hand on his arm. “It’s horrible,” I said.

  “If it were any other young lady, I’d have you escorted from the room instantly before you swooned over the evidence,” he said, “but you’re probably more familiar with this sort of thing than I am.”

  “I don’t go looking for dead bodies,” I said. “They just sort of happen to me. But we should take this opportunity to think things through before the police get here.”

  “You realize what this means, don’t you?” Darcy said, dropping his voice so that he couldn’t be overheard. “It had to be one of us.”

  “Oh crikey,” I said. “I suppose you’re right. What a horrid thought. Unless . . .” He looked up at me. “Unless it really was your cat burglar from London. You had a hunch he might be here, didn’t you? If anyone could find a way in here, it sounds as if he could.”

  Darcy nodded. “Or she,” he said. “But this doesn’t fit with what we know of him or her. The burglar takes enormous risks, we know that. He’s walked along ledges and gained access from rooftops, so he might have been able to find a way into the estate. I don’t think the front door was locked, so he could have waited until we were all at dinner and slipped into the house and waited to take his chance. But the manner of death doesn’t seem right. At home they refer to him at Scotland Yard as the gentleman thief. It’s always been suspected that he is an aristocrat, or at least moves in their circles.”

  “And you don’t think aristocrats kill people?”

  He smiled. “Yes, but not bash their heads in. A stiletto through the heart—I’d go along with that. But our thief works with finesse. This killing is brutal, violent, and I don’t think our thief is a violent person. There have been occasions in the past when he was interrupted during a burglary and he just melted away. He might have killed someone then, but he chose to abandon his attempt.”

  “He was interrupted, you say? So he has been seen?”

  “No. He always managed to slip out of a window or down a hall as someone approached. We know he’s slim and probably dark, but someone did glimpse his shadow. That’s all.”

  “It was definitely someone who came here to commit robbery,” I said, “because the other candlestick is missing. The thief was going to take both of them, but Mr. Goldman must have interrupted him and was hit over the head before he could call for help.”

  Darcy shook his head. “And then the thief left the second candlestick because it now had blood on it? He must be a thief with sensibilities. Why not make off with both, especially when one can be identified as the murder weapon. It might even have telltale fingerprints on it. And I notice he hasn’t touche
d the El Greco painting, which must be a lot more valuable.”

  The painting still lay propped against a shelf. The colors glowed in the soft light.

  “Well, your suspicions about Stella Brightwell certainly don’t apply this time,” I said. “Didn’t you notice? She was devastated by his death. And presumably she could have taken the candlestick anytime she chose, and would never have killed her lover to do so.”

  Darcy sighed and nodded. “It does appear that way.” He looked around the room. “We’d better get out of here and not risk touching anything until the police arrive.”

  I pulled back the drape cautiously. “I wonder if the window is closed or if the murderer got out that way.”

  Darcy took out a handkerchief. “It doesn’t appear to be latched.” He pushed the window cautiously. It swung open.

  I took a tentative step toward the window and peered down. Light shone out, illuminating a sheer marble wall and what looked like rocks below it. “But I don’t think anyone could climb out through it,” I said. “It’s an awfully long way down and I wouldn’t want to risk falling onto those rocks.” Outside I heard the roar of a motor and one of the small carts went speeding past. I thought I saw a rifle slung across the back of the person who was driving it.

  As I stepped back into the room I noticed something. “Look at that, Darcy,” I said, and I pointed to a bloody fingerprint on the window frame. “That should help the police identify the culprit easily enough.”

  “Well, one thing is for sure,” Darcy said. “He’ll have a hard time getting away.”

  “If you really think it was one of us, then he’ll stay and hope to bluff it out,” I said. “And if it was your clever burglar then he’s probably already long gone.”

  “You know, the awful thing, Georgie,” Darcy said as he ushered me from the room, “I’m not exactly surprised, are you? There was so much tension in this place. Mrs. Goldman arriving out of the blue. That unpleasant fight before dinner . . . the dustup with the Spaniard—Where is he, by the way? I haven’t seen him since dinner and he hardly said a word then.”