Queen of Hearts

by Rhys Bowen

  “He went off to bed right after dinner. He’s been upset all day.”

  “So he was someone who wasn’t accounted for when Cy Goldman was murdered.”

  “Yes, but . . . he’s sleeping in one of the cottages, isn’t he? If he’d come in through the front door, he’d have had to cross the foyer to get to the library corridor and we would have seen him.”

  “Someone should go and wake him. He’ll need to be awake and alert when the police get here.” He closed the library door and we stood in the darkness of that hallway. “I have a bad feeling about this, Georgie. I’ve heard enough about the American way of justice to know that it’s often shoot first and ask questions afterward. A rural sheriff isn’t likely to have the skills to solve this. I rather fear that it’s up to us.”

  “Up to us? How can we solve it? I mean we can hardly question our fellow guests, can we?”

  “We can do some preliminary thinking—work out who was where, who had a motive, who had the opportunity.”

  “As to that, who could it be? You men were all together smoking cigars with Mr. Goldman. Perhaps the sheriff will try to suggest that you were in a conspiracy and you all killed him together.”

  “That’s not even funny, Georgiana. He may well think that.”

  “Oh golly. I didn’t mean it seriously. Sorry. I don’t think even a sheriff could believe that Craig Hart killed Mr. Goldman. Craig’s a big star. Mr. Goldman made him one. They needed each other. And had no quarrel as far as I could see.”

  “Anyway, Craig has to be in the clear. He and I left the library together. Ronnie left before us.”

  “And Algie?” I asked.

  “He must have left when we did. Yes, I believe he followed us down the hallway. You know what he’s like—never quite part of the conversation, always hanging around the periphery, hoping to be included.”

  “I must say it’s refreshing to have someone more accident-prone than I for once,” I said. “But think, Darcy. If he hadn’t had that accident with the suit of armor, we might not have discovered Mr. Goldman’s body for hours. It would have been more difficult to gauge when he died and the killer could have made an escape with ease.”

  “That’s true. Stupid young oaf. It’s a wonder he didn’t bump into the killer and wind up dead himself.”

  “Darcy”—I paused at the doorway, staring at the armor still lying on the floor—“I suppose Algie really is as dense and clumsy as he seems? I mean could it possibly be a clever ruse so that nobody would ever suspect him?”

  Darcy frowned, then shook his head. “I’ve known him for years and he’s always been a complete twit. When he was a child and we were at a house party together he fell into the lake when he was trying to walk along a wall. I had to dive in and pull him out. He couldn’t swim, of course.”

  “Maybe he lost his clumsiness when he grew up but he found it useful to keep up the illusion.”

  He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into me. “Georgie—are you saying that you think Algie could be the gentleman burglar?”

  “It’s a possibility, isn’t it? He’s tall and slim and he’s an aristocrat and he wangles himself invitations to parties and things. He’s always hanging around on the edge of conversations so he must hear interesting snippets. Was he attending any of the functions where the robberies took place?”

  “I didn’t actually study the guest lists myself but his presence obviously never raised red flags to the English police. I could send a cable to Scotland Yard and ask if his name appears on any of those lists. If I’m allowed to leave this place tomorrow, that is.” He walked down the hall and picked his way over the suit of armor. “I suppose we’d better not touch this either. It does prove that Algie had the best opportunity to do the deed. We have no idea how long he was alone in this hallway, playing with the suit of armor. One thing we know—nobody could have entered or left while he was there. Which makes the window of opportunity for killing Goldman even slimmer.” He shook his head. “I can’t see Algie hitting someone over the head like that, can you? He’d probably miss and smash some priceless object instead.”

  “If he really is who he pretends to be,” I said. “But he did look rather green about the gills when we discovered the body, didn’t he? And if he did kill Mr. Goldman, then why draw attention to himself by knocking over the armor and putting the helmet on his head? He could have just slipped in to join the group and probably nobody would have noticed.”

  “Unless, as you say, he was being rather too clever. He wants us to say that it couldn’t possibly be him, because he was staggering around with a helmet stuck on his head, being idiotic as usual.”

  We looked at each other.

  “Darcy, how can we ever figure out who did this?”

  “Well, if it was Algie, his fingerprints will be on the candlestick,” Darcy said. “Actually the same goes for the rest of us. Nobody is wearing gloves. . . .”

  “Or carrying a handkerchief? Wouldn’t that do just as well?”

  Darcy took me into his arms. “You are a cold-blooded little thing, aren’t you? Calmly discussing methods of murder.”

  “I’m not always cold-blooded.” I smiled up at him. “And if we ever get a chance I’ll prove it to you.”

  He kissed me on the tip of my nose. “I can’t wait.” Then he slipped an arm around my shoulder. “I suppose we should go in with the others and face the music.”

  Chapter 20

  I had expected to find a bigger group in the rotunda, but I saw only my mother and Stella, sitting side by side holding hands on the sofa, and Charlie Chaplin and Algie, over at the bar with what looked like glasses of scotch, all stiff and silent as if posing for a portrait. Ronnie’s voice could be heard, raised and strained, from a telephone in some alcove in the foyer. “Yes, I’m sure it’s Mr. Goldman. I know what my employer looks like.” And then, “How soon? Well, I suppose we have no choice. Of course, I understand that. But you realize this will be a high-profile case. Your men will be in the spotlight. You’re going to need to get it right.”

  The telephone was slammed down and Ronnie’s feet echoed from the ceramic tiled floor as he crossed the foyer toward us. “Damned fools,” he muttered. “They say their men are needed at a suspicious fire up in hills above the Simi Valley. That’s miles from here. The sheriff is going to try and make it over here himself but he says nothing must be touched until he gets here. Does he mean touch nothing in the library or the whole rest of the house? What are we supposed to do, then. Not move?”

  “I gather you spoke with the groundsmen,” Darcy said. “We heard those little carts outside.”

  “I did. They are going to tour the whole property. And Jimmy at the gate says nobody has entered except us. Only people he knows.”

  “Is there any way someone could have climbed over the gate or found a way to open it when he wasn’t looking?” I asked.

  Ronnie shook his head. “The gate has the same barbed wire on top of it as the rest of the fence and the only way to open it is a switch inside the gatehouse.”

  “I hope they find the fence damaged somewhere,” Mummy said, “because that will mean the killer has escaped again.”

  “You want him to get away?” Stella demanded.

  Mummy shrugged. “I don’t like the thought of him trapped close by with us. We have to sleep in that lonely little cottage tonight.”

  Stella stood up suddenly, making us all jump. “Oh my God. Juan. He’s all alone and asleep. I should go and see if he’s all right.”

  “We’ll go,” Darcy said. “I don’t want you walking around alone in the dark. Want to come with me, Algie?”

  “Me?” It came out almost as a squeak. “But what if the killer is prowling out there?”

  “There are two of us,” Darcy said. “Come on.”

  Algie put down his drink, most unwillingly. “I’m the heir to Broxley-Foggett e
state. There will be a frightful stink if I’m bumped off.”

  “And while you’re out there you should tell the lovebirds in the pool,” Mummy said dryly. “They won’t thank you for disturbing them, but they’ll have to be here when the sheriff arrives.”

  “I’m not sure that I want that task,” Darcy said. “You think they’ll still be in the pool or will they have retired somewhere more private?”

  “Craig has one of the poolside suites,” Stella said.

  “Right.” Darcy looked as enthusiastic about interrupting them as Algie had done about going out in the dark. Surely Algie couldn’t be the killer, I thought as I watched them go. He looked positively terrified. Certainly not like a killer who dared to kill when all of us were within earshot. I wanted to call out, “Be careful” to Darcy but it seemed silly, and Darcy knew how to protect himself. Besides, who could be lurking around out there? If it was the thief, he’d be well away from the house by now. And if it was one of us—well, we were all here, weren’t we?

  Then I realized that no, we weren’t. Juan had been absent since dinner. And Mrs. Goldman had gone to bed before the crime happened. That made me pause and consider. There was clearly no love lost between her and her husband. They had lived apart for years. And she never came out West. Stella said she hated this castle. Had wanting to see the candlesticks merely been an excuse to come out here and kill him? Presumably she was now a very rich widow.

  I went over to the group of sofas and tried to see if the stairs were visible to those of us who were sitting facing that way. They were. But not the actual entrance to the passageway leading to the library. Had we seen Mrs. Goldman going upstairs in the first place? I wondered. Maybe she had never done so and hidden in an alcove behind one of the statues until the right moment. After all, she had refused Barbara Kindell’s offer to accompany her. I shuddered. Murder is horrible enough but when someone kills a person they are supposed to love, then that’s even worse. Had they been in love to begin with, like Darcy and me? If so, when did love turn sour?

  I jumped as Mummy touched me. “Don’t worry about him, darling. He can take care of himself. Come and sit down. Or better yet, get your old mother a drink.”

  “What would you like?” Charlie asked. “I’m acting as bartender.”

  “Oh, I think it better be a large brandy,” Mummy said. “I shall need fortification to face policemen.” She reclined in a dramatic pose of the distressed damsel. “I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here in the first place. I should never have accepted Mr. Goldman’s offer. Why would I want to be a film star, at my age? So silly. And now it will be in the papers and Max will hear about it, and he loathes scandal. And what’s more, Homer Clegg will find out about it and all will be lost.”

  “Homer Clegg?” Charlie Chaplin asked with interest.

  “Mummy’s husband. The one she’s trying to get unhitched from without his knowing.”

  “Oh, honey, I’ve been through that hundreds of times. And every one of them was a nightmare. I hope you’re doing it in Reno?”

  Mummy nodded.

  “Then at least you have a chance of things going smoothly. Anyway, if you want expert advice just ask me.”

  “You’re very sweet,” Mummy said. “And you are extremely talented too. An absolute genius. I wouldn’t have minded making a picture with you.”

  “It would have been fun, I’m sure. But I rather fear that I’m a has-been. My day was over the moment they invented the talkies.”

  “No, surely not. You’ve made some talking pictures,” Mummy said.

  “Yes, but my brand of comedy was made to be silent. Not everybody makes the transition smoothly.” And he looked across at Stella’s back. “She’s only hanging on by her fingertips because Cy kept her going.”

  “So you think his death means the end of her career?” I asked in a low voice.

  “Let’s put it this way. Her star is definitely on the wane.”

  Stella turned back from the window, making me wonder whether she had overheard. “I hope they are all right,” she said. “They are taking their time, aren’t they?” Then she let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. Someone’s coming.”

  The front door opened, allowing the cold fog to creep in and we saw that it wasn’t the men at all, but Belinda and Craig. Belinda was now wearing a jumper that was several sizes too big for her and Craig looked extremely romantic in a silk dressing gown, his hair still wet and tousled.

  “What’s all this about?” he demanded. “We’re having fun in the pool and suddenly someone’s yelling at us to get dressed and into the house as the police are coming.”

  “You didn’t hear the news yet?” Ronnie asked. “Mr. Goldman is dead.”

  “Dead? Oh my God. Poor old guy,” Craig said, shaking drops of water from his dark curls as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Heart attack? I’m not too surprised. He always was a heart attack waiting to happen, wasn’t he?”

  “I hardly think it was a heart attack,” Ronnie said. “Someone hit him over the head with one of his new candlesticks and stole the other.”

  Craig went almost as white as Ronnie had done. “Murdered, you mean? We’ve got a killer on the premises? Then let’s get the hell out of here while we’re all safe. I’ll go and pack. Someone get the automobiles out of the garage.”

  “Nobody is allowed to leave until the sheriff gets here,” Ronnie said.

  “Then where does Goldman keep his firearms? We need to arm ourselves just in case there’s a gang of them.” Craig looked distraught now. “There are mobsters in the area, you know. They’ll gun us down without thinking twice.”

  “I don’t think a whole gang could sneak past us and get into the library without anyone hearing them, Craig,” Stella said angrily. “And mobsters would have taken the second candlestick, even if it did have blood and hair on it.”

  “Then what are you suggesting? A single burglar?”

  “Has to be,” Stella said. Then she paused, thinking. “That’s strange. We had one of those on the Berengaria coming across the Atlantic. A ruby was stolen and then a diamond ring and as far as I know the thief was never caught.” She turned to look at my mother and me. “You don’t think that same thief followed us here, do you?”

  “Anything is possible,” Mummy said.

  I observed her with interest. Darcy must have had good reason to suspect her and yet she was bringing up the very events that might throw suspicion onto her. But I still couldn’t believe she could have killed Cy Goldman. She owed her current and continued stardom to him, and she was his mistress as well. Why upset the applecart? Unless Mr. Goldman had decided, following that row before dinner, to break up with her. Maybe he’d had some kind of threat from his wife—a divorce with lots of alimony? I stared across the room at Stella’s elegant back, now draped in a dark mink stole. I simply couldn’t imagine her as the infamous cat burglar, crawling along ledges, leaping over rooftops, fearless, willing to take any risks. Impossible, I thought.

  “Get that down you, old man. You’ll feel better.” Craig accepted the glass of scotch that Charlie handed him. Belinda shook her head and came to sit beside me.

  “Mr. Goldman really was murdered?” she whispered.

  I nodded. “No doubt about it.”

  “Just my luck,” she said. “When I think I’m getting somewhere a door slams in my face. And I don’t think I seem to be going anywhere with Craig either.”

  “He said you were having fun in the pool.”

  “His sort of fun, maybe.” She made a face, then she wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m freezing,” she said, “and all my clothes are down at your little cottage. I’m not going down there in the dark. But I must look a complete fright.”

  I smiled at her. How typical of Belinda that she was worrying about her looks when a murderer was on the loose. “Craig’s jumper actually rather s
uits you. Very sexy.”

  “You think so?” she asked. “It didn’t seem to turn on Craig.”

  “So he didn’t try to get fresh with you?”

  She leaned close to me and whispered, “Darling, we both stripped off and he has a body like a Greek god and he dived into the pool like Tarzan and I got in too and then guess what?”

  “I don’t know. What? Is it fit for my innocent ears?”

  “He challenged me to a swimming race. Can you believe it? Me, of all people. You know how I swim. I hate getting my face wet.”

  “Did you take on the challenge then?”

  “I did point out that we were alone and naked and he said this wasn’t the time or place, out of respect to our host, who was also his boss.”

  I tried not to smirk.

  “I did mention Mr. Goldman brought his mistress with him, quite openly. But Craig said that they were always very discreet and he expected his stars to be models of decorum.”

  “Oh dear,” I said, “how very frustrating for you.”

  “You can say that again. I was all ready for a good old roll in the hay. Dying for one, you might say. And with a body like his?” She shook her head in bewilderment. “Georgie, do you think there may be a chance that I’m losing my touch? Am I destined for a life of spinsterhood and crochet and keeping cats?”

  In spite of everything I did laugh now. “No, Belinda. I really don’t think that will happen to you.”

  “So where is everybody else? Where’s Darcy? Not out searching for the murderer alone, I hope.”

  “He and Algie went to wake Juan. Remember he went to bed right after dinner and he’ll need to be here when the police arrive.”

  We looked up as we heard the sound of high heels tapping on the tiled floor. Mrs. Goldman was coming down the stairs, holding on to Barbara Kindell’s arm as if it were a lifeline.

  “Where is my husband’s body?” she demanded. “I have to see my husband’s body.”