Queen of Hearts

by Rhys Bowen

  “I bet she was the one who did this,” Stella said, her voice now cracking with emotion. “That cow, his wife. She always hated me, even though she didn’t want Cy for herself. What’s the betting she bashed his head in and then planted the candlestick on me. Killing two birds with one stone. How very neat. You want to question her more fully, Sheriff. Find out if she’s taken out a large life insurance policy on her husband recently.”

  “Don’t worry, Miss Brightwell. We’ll be doing that. Trust me. But when I was a young lawman my boss said to me, ‘Always go for what you know. Go for the obvious first then work outward.’ And what I know right now is that you could have a good reason for killing a former lover and the evidence was found in your bed.”

  “Hardly a former lover,” she said. “We had a quickie after we arrived this afternoon, before the dreadful wife got here.” And she smirked. “And as to having the opportunity to kill him—ask the others. We came into the rotunda together after dinner and we didn’t leave until Cy was found dead. Isn’t that right?”

  I hesitated, wrestling between telling the truth and betraying someone. Then I decided I had no reason to be loyal to Stella. Darcy had followed her across the country, suspecting her of being a notorious jewel thief. I had to tell what I knew.

  “You did leave the room once, Stella,” I said, then blushed when all eyes turned on me. “You went to ask for more coffee when Darcy and Ronnie joined us.”

  “Oh yes. So I did.” Stella gave a little laugh. “But two seconds going down to the kitchen and back hardly constitutes enough time to sneak into the library, kill Cy and rush upstairs with a candlestick, does it? Everyone would have seen me going upstairs, for one thing. And Maria can vouch for my presence in the kitchen. I’m not Peter Pan. I can’t fly around the house in seconds.”

  This, of course, was true. Even if she’d been out of our line of vision we’d have heard her feet going upstairs.

  “I’m not going to caution you officially yet, but I want you locked up with a guard on you until we know more. Which of these rooms can be locked from the outside?”

  “The library,” Stella said, “but I take it even you wouldn’t be insensitive enough to lock me up with Cy’s body.”

  “No. Of course not. And we’ll want to conduct a further search on this room.” He looked around, unsure what to do next. “What other rooms?”

  “The poolside cabanas can all be locked from the outside,” Ronnie said, “but they are currently occupied. As are some of the cottages. In fact Stella is the only person sleeping in the house, apart from Mrs. Goldman.”

  “And Barbara Kindell,” Stella said. “Mrs. Goldman wanted her friend close to her, remember?”

  Instinctively we turned around but Barbara had not joined us at the top of the stairs. Neither had Mrs. Goldman, nor Algie. The sheriff looked around at those of us clustered in the doorway. “So who would have known that this was Miss Brightwell’s room?”

  “Nobody apart from Mrs. Goldman and possibly Miss Kindell,” Stella said. “Most of them were visiting for the first time and Cy never liked his guests to sleep in the main house. He liked his privacy. That’s why he had the cottages built. So they’d have had no way of knowing where I was sleeping.”

  “Interesting.” The sheriff sucked through his teeth. “Well, we’ve got to put you somewhere, Miss Brightwell. I can lock you in my truck for the night, but that’s a little chilly right now. Or I can lock you in a bathroom. . . .”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. This is absurd.” Stella had remained remarkably composed until now but I could tell she was coming to the end of her tether. “I believe some of the bedroom doors have old-fashioned locks and the keys must be somewhere. Ask Maria. She must know where they are kept. We’ve never thought of locking bedroom doors here.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” the sheriff replied with a smirk. “We’ve all heard what goes on in places like this.”

  “Oh, really, this is pathetic,” she said. “Lock me up and put a guard on me if you like, but I actually want to go to sleep. I don’t know about you but I’m dead tired. And if you think I can fly away through the window then go and look out. On this side of the house there are rocks at the bottom of a large drop.”

  “Very well,” the sheriff said. “One of you men go and get the keys from the housekeeper, and you can find an unused room for Miss Brightwell—one that’s already been searched, with no dangerous objects in it.”

  “Come now, Sheriff,” Stella snapped. “Do you expect me to go on another rampage with a candlestick?”

  The sheriff ignored her. “And Hansen, you remain outside the door.”

  “It’s not as if I can escape, Sheriff,” Stella said. “There is only one way out of this property and that’s through the gate that can only be operated from inside the gatehouse. And anyone walking alone in these grounds at night must be mad. I’ve no idea exactly what animals Cy keeps here but they are certainly not all friendly.”

  “I’m not taking any chances, Miss Brightwell,” the sheriff said. “Now if you’d like to go with my men . . .”

  Stella turned back to look at us as she was led away. “This is bloody stupid,” she said—showing how upset she really was. A lady never swears in public. But then she wasn’t a lady, was she? She might be playing Princess Elizabeth in the movie but she had come from the lowliest of circumstances.

  As we trooped down the stairs again we were greeted by the doctor. “Ah, there you are, Sheriff,” he said. “I hope one of your men can run me home. I’ve concluded my preliminary investigation,” he said. “My initial observation is that Mr. Goldman died of trauma to the head, struck with a blunt instrument which one had to conclude was the candlestick, now lying beside him on the floor.”

  “That was obvious to even the most stupid among us,” the sheriff said.

  “Hold on a minute,” the doctor said. “I have yet to autopsy the victim. We don’t know, for example, whether he might have been knocked out in some other way first—poison perhaps, and then finished off with the blow to the head.”

  “Hardly likely,” Darcy said. “We were all talking and laughing with him fifteen minutes before he died.”

  “And this was clearly a spontaneous act when the thief was interrupted in the middle of a robbery,” the sheriff added. “One of the candlesticks was taken. Presumably the thief meant to take both of them but then couldn’t bring himself or herself to take the candlestick matted with hair and blood.”

  “That would prove he didn’t die of poisoning or some other means first, wouldn’t it?” I blurted out, finding this whole thing rather silly. “I mean, there was an awful lot of blood all over the floor and if he was already dead, he would have stopped bleeding.”

  They stared at me as if I were a newly arrived Martian.

  “And how would you know that, little lady?” the doctor asked.

  “I’ve been involved in a couple of murders in my life,” I said.

  “She’s helped to solve them,” Darcy added, moving closer to my side. “She’s quite a whiz, if you want to know.”

  “Holy cow,” the doctor said.

  “So let’s hear it, then.” The sheriff turned to me with a sarcastic smile on his thick lips. “Who did it? We’re all dying to know and then we can go home.”

  “Of course I have no idea who did it yet,” I said. “But I really have to suspect that someone was trying to frame Miss Brightwell. I mean why hide the candlestick where it would so easily be found? She knows her way around this house. If she was planning to hide something, there must be hundreds of out-of-the-way corners and cupboards where nobody would ever look. She could even stash it inside a suit of armor—”

  I broke off as I said this as a picture flashed into my head—Algie standing in the hallway with the suit of armor scattered around him. Right before we found the body of Cy Goldman. Was it possible that h
iding the candlestick was exactly what Algie was trying to do, only he knocked over the armor and had to play the fool instead when we all came running? I couldn’t wait to draw Darcy aside and tell him this. I looked around for Algie and he wasn’t with us at the top of the stairs. I wondered if anyone was guarding the front door.

  Before we could go downstairs another of the deputies came running up toward us. “That fingerprint, Sheriff,” he said. “I just tested it.”

  “And?”

  The silence was palpable.

  “No go, I’m afraid. The person was wearing a glove. A leather glove.”

  Chapter 25

  LATE AT NIGHT ON AUGUST 3

  “Damn,” the sheriff muttered. “Then that’s what we’re looking for next. A bloody glove, and its mate. No other fingerprints?”

  “Plenty,” the deputy said. “All over the candlestick, but then I gather it was passed around everyone here to take a look at.”

  “That fingerprint was on the window frame,” the sheriff went on. “So we have to conclude that either someone exited that way, or wants us to think they did. No sense in poking around in the dark, but as soon as it’s light I want that outside area searched. Who would have thought it could be Stella Brightwell, of all people? My wife idolizes her. But don’t they always say Cherchez la femme?”

  “It would need someone with rope to have climbed down from the window,” Ronnie said dryly. “In case you haven’t looked out of the library windows, there is a sheer drop below. This house is built on a bluff, you know.”

  “Then we’ll be looking for rope as well as a glove,” the sheriff said.

  “Now really, Sheriff,” Mummy’s lovely voice echoed up the stairwell, “can anything else really be accomplished tonight? We’re all utterly exhausted and I’m sure you’d get more out of us in the morning. I’m equally sure you’d like a rest now and there are plenty of rooms all over the place. Help yourself.”

  He looked down at her, looking petite, frail and languid as only Mummy can. Then he said, “Oh, very well. I suppose you can all go to bed, but I want everyone back here at eight o’clock sharp and don’t get any funny ideas about leaving during the night. One of my men is staying in the gatehouse until this is over and that gate doesn’t get opened unless I say so.”

  “We wouldn’t dream of leaving, Sheriff.” Charlie stepped out of the shadows to stand beside Mummy. “We haven’t had this much fun in ages. Usually it’s quite a bore coming here but I must say I’m really glad that I did.” And he turned to glance at my mother. I had seen that look before and therefore I was not surprised when she said to me, in a breathless voice, “You won’t mind if I don’t join you in that horrid little cottage tonight, will you? I think I need the protection of a nice strong man.”

  “Does Mr. Chaplin count as a nice strong man?” I asked. “He’s rather small.”

  “But wiry, darling, and he has such lovely eyes. Like a spaniel I once owned. So deep and trusting.”

  “And I see you don’t mind abandoning your own child to whatever monster might be prowling around out there tonight?”

  She patted my arm. “Oh, darling. You don’t really think that, do you? It had to be Stella, didn’t it? She and Cy had already had one tiff this evening. She lost her temper and clobbered him in a fit of rage. Didn’t mean to kill him, of course, and then put a candlestick in her own bed to make it look as if someone was trying to frame her. She always was a quick-witted child.”

  “What about your maid? What do I tell her?”

  “You don’t have to tell her anything. She’s my maid. She sees nothing and thinks nothing. I’ll tell her myself if it upsets your prudish side. Besides, I believe she came up to dinner in the servants’ hall and I presume she hasn’t been allowed to leave.”

  She headed in one direction, to pass on the information to her maid. We headed for the front door. Belinda fell into step beside me. “I don’t want to walk all that way in the dark,” she whispered. “Couldn’t one of those strong men drive us? I’m scared we’d get savaged by an antelope or something.”

  “I don’t think antelopes go around savaging people,” I said, “but I must admit I’m not too keen to walk there alone either. I’ll ask the sheriff it we can be driven.”

  Darcy was standing within earshot. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You don’t need to ask the sheriff. He’s gone off to question the staff. I’ll walk with you.”

  “But will you be all right walking back alone?” I asked.

  He smiled at me. He really had such a lovely smile. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  He moved closer to me. “Georgie—do you really think there is a murderer lurking in the undergrowth out there? It’s obvious to me that one of us must have killed Goldman and my money is still on Stella Brightwell.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I said.

  “What are your thoughts then?” he asked as we stepped into the cold dampness of the nighttime fog. Belinda latched on to one of my arms with an iron grip. I slipped the other arm through Darcy’s and together we made our way down the flagstoned path.

  “Well, Mrs. Goldman is the obvious one,” I said. “Why did she come here when she normally avoids this place like the plague? I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Goldman had announced that he planned to get a divorce and marry Stella. I really don’t believe that they were a devoted couple, as Barbara Kindell insists, do you? And why is she here too? Was she in on the plot with Mrs. Goldman or is she simply hoping to get some kind of scoop?”

  “There’s nobody else who would seem to benefit from Mr. Goldman’s death,” Darcy said. “In fact they will all be out of a job if Golden Pictures folds.”

  “Actually the one person I keep coming back to,” I said, “is Algie Broxley-Foggett. He was on the ship. He turns up out of the blue and gets himself invited here. And when I suggested that the candlestick could have been hidden in a suit of armor I remembered him and his ridiculous claim about wanting to see how he’d look as a knight.”

  Darcy walked on in silence for a few seconds, our footsteps echoing in the stillness of the foggy night, then he said, “You might have something there. He was the only one unaccounted for after we left the library.”

  “And he didn’t run up the stairs with us when they found the candlestick in Stella’s bed,” I added. “Was that because he knew what they must have found?”

  “Interesting,” Darcy said. “So you think he could be the thief I’m tracking, don’t you? I’d love to find out more about him—whether he was present at all the gatherings where jewelry was stolen. Whether Scotland Yard has any suspicions about him.”

  “So how could you find that out?” I asked.

  “I’ll have to send a cable to London and that would involve driving into Los Angeles, I suspect.”

  “Do you think the sheriff would let you leave?”

  “I can ask in the morning. No telegraph office will be open before eight or nine, I’m sure. And I’m not ditching you tonight. In fact I may just sleep on your sofa, just to make sure.”

  “Mummy’s got other plans, so I gather,” I said. “You could have her room.”

  “Darlings, I don’t want to be a killjoy,” Belinda said. “Why don’t I take your mother’s room and you two can be cozy together.”

  Darcy gave me a quick glance. “If you don’t mind . . .”

  “When have I ever stood in the way of young love?” she said. “Especially when it seems that I am destined to become an aged spinster who keeps cats and does good works.”

  “What is she talking about?” Darcy looked amused.

  “My dears, I was turned down by a man. Rejected. Spurned. I was naked and ready and so very willing and he wasn’t interested. Let’s face it—I’ve lost my sex appeal.”

  “Belinda,” I said, trying not to grin, “I shouldn’t t
ell you this, since you tried to steal him away from me.”

  “You? Craig Hart really was interested in you?”

  “Strange though it may seem, yes he was.”

  “But you’ve got Darcy.”

  “I know that, but Craig didn’t. He was very attentive to me until you arrived. I must admit I was flattered. I mean, Craig Hart. Who wouldn’t be flattered?”

  “I caught them kissing,” Darcy said.

  “You see. I knew it. You have more sex appeal than I do.” Belinda’s voice echoed through the fog.

  “But it was the most uninspiring kiss I’ve ever had,” I said, “and now I know why.” I lowered my voice, searching for the right words. “He’s one of them, Belinda. You know.”

  “You mean Craig Hart is a queer?” She started to laugh. “Are you serious?”

  I nodded.

  “And you knew that and let me go on thinking . . .” Darcy said.

  “I only found out at dinner tonight,” I said. “Ronnie told me. He said that Mr. Goldman had been pushing Craig to marry someone suitable and thus quell any rumors that could spoil his career. I suppose that’s why he went after me. Marriage to a British aristocrat would make good publicity, wouldn’t it?”

  “Oh God,” Belinda said. “And to think if I hadn’t found out—I might have said yes to him and rushed off to Reno and found myself in a sexless marriage.”

  “Ah, but think of the alimony when you divorced. You’d be set up for life,” Darcy quipped. “They’d have paid you handsomely to stay mum.”

  “True.” Belinda paused, then shook her head vehemently. “Darlings—no amount of money is worth giving up sex for any length of time.” She released my arm and strode out ahead of us to where the fairy-tale shape of the cottage loomed out of the fog, a light glowing from a window. Darcy slipped an arm around my waist. “And in case you think I have any intentions tonight, the answer is no. Not with Belinda and your maid in the next rooms,” he whispered. “I’m only here to protect you.”