The Last Dance

by Sonia Parin

  Abby pushed out a hard breath. “I meant… and what about me? I still haven’t had my breakfast.”

  “Why not? You’ve been over at Joyce’s.”

  Resigned to her fate, Abby went up the stairs. “I know the town likes to make their own entertainment,” she said as she strode into her apartment, “but when the fun is at my expense…” She stopped. Joshua hadn’t come alone.

  “It looks like an intervention,” Faith said as she gave Abby a gentle push.

  Sebastian stood by the window and Charles Granger sat opposite Joshua, a cup of coffee in his hands.

  “What’s going on?” Abby set Doyle down and watched him head straight to his doggy bed. She hadn’t been the only one hauled out of her slumber. “And why all the secrecy?”

  Joshua looked up from his full breakfast. “I told Joyce to keep it under wraps.”

  “And she did, but that meant separating me from my breakfast. You think people didn’t notice that? I’m surprised the entire town didn’t follow me here.” She snatched a piece of bacon from Joshua’s plate.

  Sinking down on the couch next to him, she closed her eyes and chewed.

  “Oh, are these the photos from last night?” Faith asked.

  “Yes. Everyone sent them without delay. I’ve had my officers up for most of the night printing them out and going through them. So far, they haven’t come across anything suspicious.”

  Faith nudged her but Abby refused to open her eyes. She still had two more bites of bacon to go.

  “Are you right there, Abby?” Joshua asked.

  “I’m on four hours of sleep, three cups of coffee and this is the first bite of food I’ve had. No, I’m nowhere near right.”

  “You’ll be pleased to know we wish to enlist your keen observation skills,” Joshua said. “You might notice something my officers couldn’t pick up.”

  Abby tried to swallow but nearly choked. “You’re kidding.”

  “We’ll be carrying out our own investigation but it would be good if you could ask a few questions. That’s all. I trust your discretion and people trust you. They’ll answer our questions, but they will most likely open up to you and talk about something they saw, something that didn’t quite look right.”

  Abby opened her eyes in time to see Joshua giving her a sheepish smile. She suspected he wanted to include her without officially asking her to assist in the investigation.

  Sebastian cleared his throat. “Harriet Winthrop has agreed to speak with you and only you. She’s prepared to give you an exclusive interview.”

  Abby looked at Charles to see if he had something to add, but he merely nodded and continued looking into his coffee cup. She imagined him trying to understand how something like this could have happened on a night that should have been all about having a good time.

  “Are you on-board with all this?” Joshua asked.

  “You want me to do all this under the cover of secrecy?”

  “Yes, if you could, please.”

  “At some point, you’re going to tell me you have more news from the medical examiner who probably made a special trip in on a Sunday.”

  “He was called in,” Joshua admitted. “As suspected, Marigold Winthrop died from formaldehyde exposure.”

  “Ingested?” Abby asked.

  “No, and he’s still working on identifying how she became exposed. According to the people standing closest to her, Marigold displayed all the symptoms of a severe asthma attack. Shortness of breath. Wheezing and coughing. She complained of a tightness in her chest. At first, she became pale and then, her lips turned blue.” Joshua reached for his coffee and took a sip. “I did some research. The toxicity of the substance is the reason why new houses are thoroughly aired before the owners can move in.”

  “So, your job now is to find out how Marigold came into contact with the formaldehyde.”

  He nodded. “I’d like to retrace her steps before she arrived at the ball but Harry Winthrop is not up to talking yet.”

  “Are you going to eat that toast?” Abby asked.

  “It’s all yours.” Joshua stood up. “Are you happy to work here? Charles mentioned making his house available to you.”

  Abby looked at Charles who continued to stare into his cup.

  “Charles,” Joshua prompted.

  “Oh, sorry. I was a million miles away.” Charles frowned. “Isn’t that strange. I’m British and have used the metric system my entire life. I guess it wouldn’t sound the same if I said I was a million kilometers away.”

  Abby and Faith exchanged a raised eyebrow look.

  “I should apologize,” Charles continued. “So much planning went into making the Venetian Ball the best event of the year, I could never have imagined something like this happening. Now, I’m afraid people will talk about it for all the wrong reasons.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “As Joshua said, I’m happy to put Willoughby Park at your disposal.”

  Leaning her chin on Abby’s shoulder, Faith whispered, “We could set up a crime board there and have afternoon tea and scones served to us on the terrace.”

  “In fact, it might be a good idea for you to move in,” Charles added. “That way, you won’t have to bother trying to keep everything a secret because… Well, no one will know you’ve set up the crime board at Willoughby Park.”

  Abby didn’t know if she should blame her lack of sleep or lack of food for the stray thoughts whizzing around her mind. Right from out of nowhere, she imagined people clambering up the fire escape ladder outside her window to peer at her crime board. She brushed her hands across her face and considered slapping herself awake.

  Faith grabbed her arm. “Please, say yes. Please.”

  “Huh? Oh, yes.”

  ***

  “I NEVER IMAGINED I’D live in a house as grand as this one.” Faith swirled around.

  “Um, Faith. I don’t want to be the one to burst your bubble of joy, but we’re sort of here to try to find a murderer.”

  If the butler, who had introduced himself as Wadsworth, had any opinions about Faith’s behavior, he kept them to himself.

  “On behalf of Lord Granger, welcome to Willoughby Park.”

  “Lord Granger?” Abby asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I had no idea he had a title.”

  “His Lordship has made a point of trying to fit into the local community. In deference to my long service in his employ, he allows me to address him as Lord Granger.”

  “I see,” Abby said. Although, she really didn’t. “A Lord… I thought as the third son he didn’t have any titles.”

  “He has acquired several hereditary titles from his uncle.” The butler lifted his chin. “The 15th Viscount of Trenthenton, 20th Baron Willoughby from which this park is named. Lord Granger was very fond of his uncle, Ernest Granger, 19th Baron Willoughby. In reality, he should be addressed as Lord Willoughby or Lord Trenthenton, but that would only cause confusion as everyone knows him as Charles Granger.”

  “Do we curtsey?” Faith asked. “He never said anything about having titles. In fact, we were all under the impression he didn’t have any.”

  “Lord Granger does not wish to boast.” The edge of the butler’s lip lifted.

  Clearly, the man rather enjoyed boasting on his employer’s behalf.

  Faith whispered, “So… do I curtsey or not?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Abby said.

  “If you follow me, please. Your rooms have been prepared. They face the lake and have an adjoining door. You’ll find provisions have also been made for Master Doyle.”

  “Huh? Who?” Doyle flapped his tail against Abby’s leg.

  They were led up the stairs and along a wide hallway with doors on either side. The butler ushered them into a splendid room complete with a canopied bed, a fainting couch and a fireplace.

  Faith pointed to a mini canopied bed. “That must be for Master Doyle.”

  Doyle took a tentative step toward it and sniffe
d the air. After a moment, he strode around it and poked his little head inside. Finding it to his liking, he leaped inside and, moments later, poked his little head out from between thick velvet curtains.

  “He appears to approve,” Abby said.

  The butler opened an adjoining door. “This is your bedchamber, Miss O’Keefe.”

  “He means you, Faith.”

  “Once you have settled in, you may make your way down to the ballroom. It has been transformed into your headquarters.”

  Faith cleared her throat. “Um… And if one might actually wish for some refreshments, what might one need to do?”

  Mr. Wadsworth gave a small nod. “One might ring for it. Lunch will be served at noon.”

  Faith waited for the butler to leave and close the door before taking a leap and flopping onto the canopied bed. “Can you believe this place? Last night we dined and danced here and today, we’re settling in. Just call me Cinderella. Do you think I could marry a prince?”

  “Can you ask me again later when I’ve had lunch? I’m not sure I can trust what comes out of my mouth.”

  “In other words, no fat chance.”

  “Come on, let’s go down and inspect our headquarters.”

  “You said that with a serious face. That’s the spirit.”

  Abby would have rolled her eyes but they still felt droopy. “Are you coming, Doyle?”

  “I think he’s pretending to be asleep.” Faith peered inside the little canopied bed. “Nope. He’s actually fast asleep.”

  “We’ll leave him to it.”

  As they made their way downstairs, Faith asked, “Do you think we’ll be expected to change for lunch? I might have to rush back home and get more clothes.”

  “I think we’ll be fine. Charles isn’t a snob.” She strode into the ballroom and stopped. “Wow.” Two large couches had been placed opposite the fireplace with a coffee table in-between. Abby assumed the furniture had been removed for the ball. At one end, they had a work table, a couple of laptops and a whiteboard. The photos Joshua had organized for her sat in a box. The butler had thought of everything. Including a doggy bed for Doyle, which he’d placed next to the fireplace.

  “I think we should be thorough and leave no stone unturned. This might take us weeks,” Faith said.

  “Sorry, I’m going to have to be a killjoy.” Abby picked up a marker and wrote Marigold’s name on the whiteboard. “Okay. Start giving me names of people associated with Marigold.”

  “Harry and Harriet.”

  “Do we know if her mom is still alive?” Abby asked.

  Faith nodded. “She retired and moved away from town several years ago.”

  “What about friends? People from her youth she might have kept in contact with.”

  Faith picked up a marker and began writing. “Jealousy. Revenge. Greed. We could work backward. Start with motive and find a suspect. Harry Winthrop might be guilty of greed because he doesn’t want to cough up a large divorce settlement.”

  Abby nodded. “Sebastian said Harry didn’t issue divorce papers but what if Marigold wanted to ditch her husband? He’d have to pay her alimony.”

  “We have different rules for divorce here. Everything is split down the middle,” Faith said.

  Abby folded her arms and looked at the whiteboard. “That might be the case for regular folk, but I’m guessing wealthy people have other arrangements which include pre-nuptial agreements. Joshua will have access to that information so we should focus on what we can find without treading on anyone’s toes.”

  Hearing the sound of someone clearing their throat, Abby turned and saw the butler holding Doyle in his arms.

  “I heard Master Doyle whimpering and scratching the door.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Abby said. “I hope he didn’t cause any damage.”

  “Not at all.” The butler set him down

  Looking over his shoulder, Doyle scurried toward her. “Thank you, Mr. Wadsworth.”

  “Wadsworth will suffice, ma’am.”

  When he left, Abby turned to Faith. “How come I get ma’am and you get Miss? And I thought the British only used ma’am to refer to the Queen.”

  “He might be making concessions for your background. Don’t Americans use ma’am?”

  “It depends.” Abby sighed. “If you’re a Southerner or Midwesterner, yes. It’s not really used on the east or west coast.”

  “You’re from Iowa. That’s in the Midwest.”

  “Yes, all right. Enough already.”

  “If you don’t like it, you should tell him,” Faith suggested. “He corrected you. Would you like me to run after him and say you prefer to be referred to as Miss?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Faith strode up to the whiteboard and scrawled the butler’s name on it.

  “Really?”

  “Why not? I’d love to be able to say, the butler did it.” Faith added a thick line under his name.

  Moments later, Wadsworth returned to announce lunch would be served in the conservatory. Seeing his name on the whiteboard, his eyebrows rose and then, to Abby’s surprise, he smiled.

  Chapter Eleven

  CHARLES JOINED THEM FOR lunch and regaled them with stories about the morning’s rambling.

  “I had to get out and clear my head. To think I almost gave up on taking my daily walks. The first time I went rambling around the estate, I ventured into the surrounding forest and heard what sounded like a bear. My survival instincts kicked in and I headed up the hill. I’d only been living in the country for a short while. For two months, I actually believed we had wild bears roaming around the estate. Then Joyce Breeland set me right and told me I’d actually heard a koala bear most likely grumbling because I’d been trespassing on his territory. I’d never have imagined such cuddly creatures could sound so ferocious.”

  When Wadsworth finished serving their main course and withdrew, Charles leaned in and whispered, “You’ve made his day. He rather likes the idea of being a suspect.”

  “We thought it might cheer him up,” Abby said around a mouthful of quiche.

  Charles pushed his chair back and stood up. “Here’s Kelly. I asked my assistant to join us for lunch.” He drew a chair out for her and, once she’d settled down, he sat down again.

  Wadsworth appeared and got busy at a side table preparing a plate for her.

  While Abby lowered her head and focused on her meal, Faith took a sip of water and asked, “Did you notice anyone gate-crashing the event?”

  Kelly shrugged. “There were so many guests…” She slanted her gaze toward Abby.

  If she meant to convey a message, Abby missed it completely. She could only assume Kelly knew Abby had not been on the list…

  “What about the serving staff?” Faith asked.

  “We engaged the services of a reputable catering company and they organized the servers.”

  “How long ago did you organize that?”

  “I’d have to check my diary.”

  “Didn’t Joshua say Marigold hadn’t ingested the poison?” Charles asked.

  “True.” Faith tapped her chin. “I’m thinking the perpetrator might have wanted to be close to the murder scene and watch his plan unfold. It might have been easier to gain employment as a waiter than to actually gate-crash the event.” Leaning forward, Faith tried again. “Did you recognize anyone at the party who should not have been there?”

  “I’ll go through the list again,” Kelly offered.

  Once again, her eyes met Abby’s.

  “When Marigold arrived, everyone’s attention turned to her,” Faith said. “I saw you fleeting around. Did you hear anything that might have sounded odd?”

  When Kelly shook her head, Faith added, “Perhaps I’ll go through the guest list myself.”

  Enough with the guest list, Abby thought…

  Faith shifted in her chair. “How long have you been working for Charles?”

  Kelly gave a nervous laugh. “Am I under suspicion?�
�

  “No, Abby and I like to give everyone the shakedown.”

  “That’s something to look forward to,” Charles said, his tone jovial.

  Faith turned to Charles and grinned. “Perhaps we should start with you. Where were you when Marigold arrived?”

  Charles sat back and looked up at the ceiling. “Let me think.”

  “No, don’t think,” Faith warned. “Just tell us the first thing that comes to mind.”

  “Heavens, this reminds me of an inkblot test I did once… I made the rounds and commended everyone on a job well done. Then, Kelly told me a phone call I’d been expecting had come through. Instead of taking it in my study downstairs, I made my way upstairs to my room and that’s when I bumped into Marigold.”

  Abby frowned. That would have been well before the other guests had arrived.

  “I should explain,” Kelly offered, “Marigold Winthrop arrived in the afternoon. Charles had offered her a room for the day so she could prepare.”

  Both Abby and Faith sat back. “Does Joshua know this?” they both asked.

  Charles nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  So, why hadn’t he shared that information? “Is there a particular reason why Marigold needed a room here?”

  Charles picked up his glass of wine and drank deeply. “She’d had a slight disagreement with Harry.”

  “I assume the police did a thorough search of the room,” Faith said.

  “Yes. They were there early this morning.”

  That meant anyone could have accessed the room during the night to clear away vital evidence. Abby mulled over the thought.

  Faith must have been thinking along the same lines. “Did you lock the door during the night?”

  “No, we had no reason to.”

  Because the night before no one had suspected foul play. At least, not with any degree of certainty, Abby thought.

  Faith turned her attention back to Kelly. “How long have you been working for Charles?”

  “You already asked that,” Abby murmured.

  “One year… or thereabouts.”

  “And where did you work before coming here?”

  “I can provide a copy of my resume,” Kelly offered. Pushing her chair back, she said she needed to get back to work and left.