by Emily Queen
The two Woolridge daughters exchanged a conspiratorial glance, and Vera said innocently, “I think you are positively glowing, Stella dear.” Her eyes narrowed and the corner of her lip turned up. “Though how could anyone blame you, with such an adorable child and a wildly handsome husband? Why, I believe you, as they say, have it all!”
Mr. Woolridge couldn’t help but grin, Stella’s smile expanded, and Leonard flushed six shades of red. However, Evelyn bustled out the dining room door citing a need for more cream even though there were two carafes of it already on the table.
Rosemary allowed Nelly to climb onto her lap and nip a slice of melon off her plate, leaning over the table as she snuggled his blond head. “How are you, Leonard?”
“Right as rain, but the more appropriate question is, how are you? Had quite an outing last night, if I’ve heard correctly.” Leonard raised an eyebrow and appeared intrigued by a murder having occurred so close to Woolridge House.
Evelyn returned just in time to hear what Leonard had said. “Really, is this any kind of talk to have at the breakfast table? Nelly, dear, go outside and play.”
“But I’m not done with the bacon yet, and Auntie Rose said she would take me out to see the horses.”
Leonard cleared his throat in a way that held no real malice but caused Nelly’s eyes to widen. “Go outside like your Gran asked you to do. You can feed the pony, but stay out of the stables unless there is an adult present.” Nelly looked like he might argue, but thought better of it. Rosemary gave him a squeeze before he hopped off her lap.
“Would you rather discuss this business over lunch, Evelyn?” Mr. Woolridge asked wryly once Nelly had tottered off. “This affair is all anyone will talk about, and our family is, at least for the time being, under scrutiny. It seems to me we all ought to be on the same page.”
“Why on earth would we be under scrutiny? Obviously, this—this murder,” Evelyn nearly whispered the word, as if she thought the culprit would hear it and come looking for his next victim, “was a random act of violence. A burglar, or a tramp, perhaps. We have no connection to this Ernest Cuthburt. Surely the police will understand that, and then we can all stop discussing such unpleasantness.”
Mr. Woolridge gazed at his wife with a look of incredulity on his face. “Evelyn, don’t be daft. You need to face the facts. I do business with Mr. Barton and Mr. Cuthburt. We were both present during the time of the murder, and our daughter discovered the body. We are not out of this situation, not by a long shot.”
If Cecil Woolridge had not been one hundred percent correct, Rosemary might have had to stifle a giggle at the expression on her mother’s face.
“What type of business, Cecil?” Evelyn’s voice had an edge to it, and for once she threw propriety out the window. It was not her custom to question her husband, and certainly not in front of their children, but the situation had made her desperate. Even the most even-keeled person in the world could get riled up and say or do something completely out of character under such circumstances. It was one thing Rose had learnt, not from Andrew or her time investigating, but as a woman of the world who paid attention to her surroundings.
He sighed. “Nothing scandalous, Evelyn, and nothing for you to worry about. My lawyers did a thorough investigation before I handed over a dime. However, Ernest could have been killed for many reasons, his business dealings notwithstanding.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Rosemary noted that Vera, along with Leonard and Stella, watched as the scene played out, absently depositing bites of food and sips of tea into their mouths despite paying absolutely no attention to their meal. She couldn’t blame them, given the way her mother’s face now looked—as if steam were about to pour from her ears.
Mrs. Woolridge appeared to realize suddenly that she and her husband were not alone in the room. She smoothed her dress, brushed a stray lock of graying hair from her brow, and pointed her nose in the air. “If it wasn’t a burglar, then it must have been one of the Bartons. After all, the murder happened inside their manor, and the party acted as a distraction. You be careful, Rosemary, and you too, Vera. I would keep my distance from all the Bartons if I were you.”
Rosemary instantly knew exactly to whom her mother was referring: Theodore Barton, the very man she had hoped to pair her daughter with less than twelve hours prior. She merely nodded, tamping down her irritation as was her way. Better not to rock the boat, especially when Evelyn Woolridge was on board, and in a tizzy besides.
“I can’t imagine being invited to a party and then finding a dead body while I was there. Was it absolutely gruesome, Rose?” Stella asked, her eyes wide. Evelyn harrumphed, but for once did not rebuke her youngest daughter.
“It wasn’t as exciting as it sounds, I can tell you that. The police will have their work cut out for them. So many people spread across the whole of the manor—well, it doesn’t make their jobs any easier, that’s for certain,” Rosemary said.
Leonard tipped his teacup up and took a long sip. “And to think, I could have seen both Barton Manor and been part of a murder investigation. While I’m happy to have missed out on all the gory details, I have to say I’m disappointed to have missed my chance at a look inside that monstrosity.”
“The manor, you mean?” Vera asked, her right eyebrow raised in question.
“Yes,” Leonard confirmed through a mouthful of scone. “It’s a perfect example of how new money has shaped the decline of traditional architecture. These big shots pay exorbitant amounts of money to an architect who believes he’s hit the jackpot, and that this is the job that will define his career. They want all the modern conveniences, but in a traditional package, and often their demands resemble a wish list drafted by a child. What results is fodder for those of us who are lucky enough to sit back in our leather desk chairs and critique the work of others.”
Rosemary’s lips turned up into an amused grin. “You wanted to go to Barton Manor because you think it’s ugly?”
“Essentially, yes.” Leonard winked at Rosemary and ignored the reproachful look Mrs. Woolridge cast in his direction. Mr. Woolridge grinned behind the paper he had lifted back in front of his face, and the mood lightened slightly.
That is, until the doorbell rang a moment later. Inspector Max Whittington walked into the dining room with a frown on his face. Rosemary felt Vera’s elbow digging into her side, and recognized that her friend must have had to bite her tongue half off keeping quiet during the previous, uncomfortable conversation with Evelyn. No doubt she would have less luck now that Max had arrived.
“Mr. and Mrs. Woolridge, I do apologize for interrupting your breakfast, but I am on a tight schedule. I must insist on having a word with you both immediately. Some additional details have come to light, and there are a few more questions that need answering. I hope I am not intruding too rudely.” Max knew how to phrase a demand as though it were a polite question, Rosemary assessed.
Her father rose from his chair, brushed the crumbs from his lap, and clapped a hand to Max’s outstretched one. “Of course, good sir. Let us retire to my study, upstairs. Fewer prying ears, if you know what I mean.” He glanced at Rosemary, allowed the glimmer of a smile to flit across his face, and then gathered his wife and led both her and Max toward the foyer.
“Come on, Vera. I need your help with something. Right now,” Rosemary said, tugging on her friend’s arm with more force than was necessary. Served Vera right for poking her in the ribs earlier.
“Rose!” Vera protested, a piece of toast still in her hand. “I haven’t finished yet.”
“Yes, you have,” Rosemary insisted, dragging her through the dining-room door with Stella and Leonard staring after them in astonishment.
Chapter Fourteen
Once in the foyer, Vera stamped her foot. “Rosemary Esther Lillywhite, what in heaven’s name has come over you?” she demanded. “You are acting certifiably insane!”
“Father just gave me a signal. I think he knows more than he lets on because I
am getting the distinct impression he wants us to listen in on his and mother’s interrogation. Well, interrogation might not be the most apt description, but you know what I mean! Follow me.” Rosemary didn’t have to pull Vera along anymore; the prospect quite intrigued her.
“What makes you think he wants you to eavesdrop?” Vera asked.
“Because, don’t you remember when we were children, one of his favorite misquotes trotted out whenever we hid in dark corners? Something about prying ears being one of the devil’s playthings. He knows he will likely remember only one quarter of what Max says, and I believe he is more aware of my crime solving history than he has ever let on. Just call it intuition, if you must, but I want to know exactly what is being said behind that door and what’s more, how it’s being said. I may believe Max Whittington’s intentions are noble, but I have been wrong before.”
Rosemary waited a beat. “On occasion.”
That said, she marched into the parlor which was situated directly below her father’s study, closed the door, and grabbed a chair. “Help me move this, quickly,” she implored Vera.
Once she had positioned the chair where she wanted it, Rose kicked off her shoes, climbed on the seat, and reached up to slowly open the air grate that connected to a spot underneath her father’s desk. Max’s voice drifted down, quiet but still audible enough for the pair to hear the conversation.
“—your son, Frederick.” She picked up Max’s voice and her blood ran cold as ice.
“You cannot possibly believe Frederick had anything to do with this. He barely knows the Bartons, and he doesn’t have a connection with the dead man.” Cecil Woolridge spoke the words Rosemary knew both he and her mother were thinking.
“I have a witness that puts him in proximity of the crime, around the time it occurred,” Max replied on a sigh. A sigh that told Rose he would rather be anywhere else, speaking to anyone else, and she softened towards him infinitesimally.
“My personal feelings aside, I must follow through with every available lead. Please understand, Frederick is not the only suspect and there is only circumstantial evidence against him. All that must happen now is for me to speak to your son. I promise to do my due diligence and not jump to any conclusions, as long as you all cooperate. Do you know where he is?”
Mr. Woolridge cleared his throat loudly. “We will pass the message along to Frederick, and I am sure he will contact you as soon as he is able. Is there anything else?” Rose couldn’t imagine Max hadn’t noticed that her father didn’t answer his question regarding Frederick’s whereabouts, but he didn’t press the issue.
“Yes, actually. It has come to my attention that you invested or had an intent to invest in one of Mr. Barton’s business ventures. Can you tell me anything about that?”
“Of course, of course. I laid down a small amount of money to Mr. Barton, as a show of good faith. In fact, Mr. Cuthburt was the one who convinced me Barton & Co. was a sound investment. As of yet, however, I have been ill-inclined to invest further,” Cecil said succinctly.
Max paused, “And may I inquire as to the reason for your caution?”
“There have been rumors that the business is not entirely on the up-and-up. As such, I felt it pertinent to weigh my options and gather more information before committing any further funds,” Mr. Woolridge explained.
“Hmm, very astute of you,” Max said. “One can’t be too careful, especially considering recent circumstances. Keeping distance between yourself and the Bartons would serve you well at this juncture.”
“So it seems,” Mr. Woolridge said thoughtfully.
The sound of a chair being pushed back alerted Rosemary that the conversation was quickly coming to a close. “One more thing,” Max said. “Did either of you notice anything unusual concerning Grace Barton last night at the party? Were you aware of her absence during the window of time between eleven-thirty and midnight?”
This time it was Mrs. Woolridge who answered. “I saw her step out onto the balcony after Mr. Cuthburt’s speech, and reenter with Rosemary a short time later. After that, the antics of Lorraine Blackburn distracted me, and I did not notice Grace’s movements. I doubt my husband will have paid much attention. His mind has a tendency to wander.”
“My wife is correct. I’m afraid I was pulled into a long conversation regarding golf and then waylaid by Mr. Abbot, who waxed on about his recent art acquisition for close to an hour. I managed to extricate myself when he said he needed to attend to a personal medical matter.”
“All right then, Mr. and Mrs. Woolridge. Thank you for your time,” Max said sincerely. Rosemary heard him walking towards the door and climbed down from the chair upon which she was perched.
Vera and Rosemary exited the parlor just as Mr. Woolridge led Max back down the stairs to the foyer. The knowing look her father gave her assured she had been correct in the assumption that he had intended for her to listen through the grate.
“If you have any more questions, please do not hesitate to return, Inspector,” Mr. Woolridge said, clapping Max on the back. “The sooner you and your men can clear up this mess, the better.”
“I agree, sir,” Max said. He nodded to Mrs. Woolridge and waited for them to return to the dining room before turning to Rosemary. “I would like a private moment before I take my leave, if you do not object.”
“No objections here,” Vera answered for Rose while she waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Fortunately, her back was to Max, and he didn’t witness the gesture. “Anyhow, I think I need another slice of toast. Ta-ta.”
Chapter Fifteen
“You needed to speak to me?” Rosemary asked, her tone neutral as she led Max to a pair of chairs on the front porch. They settled in and she looked at him expectantly.
Max eyed her thoughtfully and let loose a slew of questions, all of them personal in nature. “Rosemary, I merely wanted to see if you are all right. I know you have become peripherally involved in cases in the past, but those all concerned people unknown to you. This is different. I am being forced to investigate you, your family, and your friends. How are you faring? Were you able to get any rest?”
He recalled the time just after Andrew had passed away and remembered the red circles that had become a regular fixture around Rosemary’s eyes. No, she had not been close to Ernest Cuthburt, but death was death no matter how you looked at it, and being involved in a murder investigation might have dredged up feelings he was afraid she might not be equipped to deal with.
It was not that Max believed Rosemary a wilting flower; in fact, he considered her one of the strongest women he had ever known. Still, even steel had a melting point, and strong or not, she was only human.
“Max, I appreciate your concern, but I promise you, I am perfectly fine. Vera stayed with me, and I am nearly positive Wadsworth ordered one of the staff to stand guard by our door all night.”
Max nodded, grateful for that. “I’m afraid this is about to get even more complicated for you. The murder weapon has not yet been found, but Mr. Abbot reluctantly admitted to having seen your brother in the foyer, acting somewhat oddly during the window of time when the crime took place.” He noted that Rosemary did not seem surprised by the news. “Your father claims he does not own a gun of the caliber that was used and has assured me that neither does Frederick. Abbot stressed that your brother was not carrying a weapon and that he has no reason to suspect Frederick as the murderer, however, I have to follow any and all leads to the full extent of my ability.”
“You know me, and I think you have respect for my judgment. I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt, Frederick had nothing whatsoever to do with the death of Mr. Cuthburt. Even if you cannot see that for yourself, please understand that I do. I know my brother better than anyone on this earth, and he isn’t capable of that level of treachery.” Rose’s nose tipped into the air as she spoke.
“I hope your faith in Frederick is not unfounded.” He waited for the onslaught of questions he thought she would ask. He might h
ave been knocked over with a feather when instead, she offered information instead.
“In the interest of full disclosure, and,” Rosemary raised an eyebrow, “the hopes that you will continue to treat me as a friend rather than a suspect, there is something else you ought to know. Vera noticed an exchange between Mr. Barton and Marjorie Ainsworth at the party last night. I am positive she had every intention of telling you about it herself, however, it slipped her mind during the brief questioning she received from your deputy.”
Rose explained how Vera had watched the unlikely couple exit to the balcony outside the ballroom and engage in what appeared to be an argument. “It may have nothing to do with Mr. Cuthburt’s untimely death, but the possibility remains that he was not the intended victim and therefore Mr. Barton’s actions must be reviewed. I am sure you will agree.” Her tone indicated that if he did not, she might think him rather daft.
“As I said, all lines of inquiry will be followed, you may rest assured. I believe I will have a personal conversation with Miss Vera Blackburn, now that you mention it.” Max’s eyes took on a faraway look for a moment, and in that moment, Rosemary wondered if he found her dear friend attractive.
Of course, he does. Everyone with eyes finds Vera attractive. Max was a handsome man, and a single man. Vera was a single woman. Rosemary put the image of the two of them together into the back of her mind for the time being. She had hoped her friend would find happiness again someday but had never considered her husband’s former partner as a contender. Unsure what the unpleasant, niggling feeling in the pit of her stomach might be, she set her mind back to the task at hand.
