by Emily Queen
Teddy Barton kept his eyes on Max as Vera—and Frederick, who had overheard Rosemary’s instructions—led him up the path toward the main house. The look etched on both faces told the same story; they were already aware that the other had sights set on Rosemary’s affections. It had taken Teddy no longer than it had taken Max to figure out what a remarkable woman Rosemary was. Except, Max had been living with the knowledge for part of a decade, whereas Teddy had just become acquainted with it a few days prior.
It mattered little that the woman in question was so closed off from finding another love that she chose to ignore their attention. When they were out of earshot, Rosemary took a seat and looked at Max expectantly.
“I feel it is my obligation to inform you I have come against a new line of inquiry that peripherally affects you,” Max began stiffly.
Rose scrunched up her nose at his choice of wording and laid a hand on Max’s tense arm. “I can only assume that your obligation is that of a trusted friend, and in that case, Inspector, I beg of you to dispense with the severe level of formality you are displaying,” she said, just as formally but with a twinkle in her eye that begged him to comply with her request.
“I’m serious, Rose. Somehow, during the course of reading through all the statements made that night, I came across a discrepancy. It has to do with Mrs. Blackburn.” He paused and watched as the twinkle left her eye. He was sad to see it go, especially as a result of his own words.
“Lorraine? Oh, please, you must be able to see that her attitude is no more than the affectations of an actress and a deep-seated feeling of inadequacy,” Rosemary objected. The thought that Mrs. Blackburn had anything to do with Mr. Cuthburt’s death had never even flitted across her subconscious, and she vehemently resisted it entering her mind now.
Max shook his head. “You know damned well I have to keep my wits about me, Rose. I cannot go on gut instinct alone. Of course I find it difficult to believe she might be a killer. But I believe she is capable of having done it. Everyone is, on some level. You must know that. She has a reputation as a live wire, and she has made no secret of the fact she knows how to handle a pistol. From what I understand, she could shoot the fleas off a dog’s back at fifty paces.”
“Please explain how that has any significance, considering half the room was watching her every move all evening. Where does she say she was during the time of the murder?”
“In the downstairs bathroom. The one at the back of the house, not the one in the foyer which she claims was locked when she wiggled the handle,” Max explained. “One of the maids admitted to showing Mrs. Blackburn down the hall, but she immediately returned to her post and can’t say where the woman went after that.”
Rosemary gaped at Max. “That’s still circumstantial evidence. You saw what Lorraine wore that night. She couldn’t have fit a paper clip between the dress and her skin, much less hidden a gun.”
“I don’t know, Rose. She could have had it in her purse, or stashed in the cloakroom. Regardless, I discovered a connection between her and Mr. Cuthburt. So far, all the evidence we have indicates Mr. Barton was the target. What I have found is the first clue that points to a motive for killing Cuthburt. After all, he is the one who’s dead.” Max ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the jerky quality of his movements.
“What evidence? You chose to warn me, so now you must give me all the information. I cannot—and will not—allow anything to tarnish Vera’s name without solid proof. You had to have known that, or you would not have come here.”
Max sighed. “Yes, I believe on some level I knew that. Ernest Cuthburt and Lorraine Blackburn apparently had a history. According to Arthur Abbot, there was no love lost between the two. Cuthburt owned the rights to a play Lorraine desperately wanted to star in—this would have been when Vera was a teenager, during the war. From what I understand, Lorraine thought it would be her big comeback to the stage, and then at the last minute, he pulled the plug.”
Digesting the information quickly, Rosemary shook her head in bewilderment. “Why would a businessman like Cuthburt have anything to do with the theater?”
“He doesn’t, normally. It seemed to be a departure for him. Abbot did not enjoy speaking ill of his dead friend, but eventually, I hammered out of him that he believed Mr. Cuthburt bought the rights just to spite Lorraine. It is possible their history extends further into the past than even Mr. Abbot knows. If that is the case, well, it does not look good for Mrs. Blackburn.”
Rosemary could recognize how difficult it was for Max to give her information that ought to have remained classified and appreciated that he had gone to the trouble, but at the moment all she could feel was frustration. Frustration and dread.
“Perhaps not. And here I thought it was only my own flesh and blood I would need to defend, and it turns out I have two people to clear from suspicion: my brother and my second mother.”
Max frowned deeply. “This is still my investigation, Rose. However, I see no harm in you learning whatever you can from Lorraine Blackburn herself. She’ll be far more candid with you than she would with me. Not, mind you, that I believe she hides much from anyone. As for Frederick, the only reason he is not in my custody now is that not a shred of physical evidence points irrefutably towards him. If anything else, however seemingly inconsequential, indicates his involvement, I will have no choice but to arrest him.”
“Well, your timing is impeccable,” Rosemary said, ignoring the point about Frederick, so sure of her own convictions that he couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with Ernest Cuthburt’s murder. “Vera has decided to throw a party at her mother’s estate this evening. It will be the perfect opportunity for sleuthing. Might I say, it feels very much like you need my help, Inspector. I do recall you implying that I would be a hindrance to the success of this investigation.”
“Yes, Rosemary. I know what I said. You can waste time poking fun at me, or you can get on with it.” He couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice, even though he could tell she was taking it personally. He had gone over and over the facts so many times he couldn’t keep count anymore and still had no idea who killed Ernest Cuthburt or why. Now, he was alienating the woman he admired most in the world, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
“Just figure out a way for me to clear your brother. I’m inclined to believe he’s telling the truth, and both Teddy and Marjorie confirmed seeing him leaving Barton Manor around midnight. However, that’s still just outside the timeframe for the murder, and he could have been coming from the study when he met them in the drive. Unless more compelling evidence turns up to implicate someone else, he could wind up becoming a scapegoat. Not all of my superiors are sticklers for proper procedure.”
That was not what Rosemary had wanted to hear, and she recalled her brother’s statement about how he had nothing to fear since he had done nothing wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time Frederick was wrong about something.
“I guess I have some work to do,” Rosemary said, and after a few more minutes discussing the case, she bade the grumpy Max goodbye.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Little Nelly accosted Rose two steps inside the entrance to the foyer, and once again, she allowed herself to be caught up in the delicate smell of his soft, baby-like hair. “Why didn’t you take me out on the horses, Auntie Rose?” he asked, his lower lip jutting out into an irresistible pout.
“Grownup time, my little lamb. Before I leave to go back to London, I promise to take you riding. I am sure Wadsworth here,” she pointed to her man, who had just arrived from the adjacent dining room, “would be happy to take you in my stead.” She winked at Wadsworth, who blanched at the thought of riding, an activity Rosemary knew that, despite his proficiency, he did not fully enjoy.
“Of course, Master Lionel,” Wadsworth confirmed, refusing to meet Rose’s gaze even though his lip quivered from holding back the urge to speak his mind. He wouldn’t, as it would not be appropriate, but Rose guessed
he would find a way to subtly get back at her later. Perhaps with another forced shopping trip that would finally result in actual money being spent. For now, all her thoughts stayed focused on helping clear her brother and Mrs. Blackburn from suspicion. Shenanigans with the staff would have to wait.
Stella and Leonard had just sat down for tea in the dining room, and Rosemary found them there with her mother, father, and Vera.
“Did Teddy and Grace go back to Barton Manor?” She asked, sitting down and pouring a cup for herself and one for Vera.
Vera nodded. “Yes. Grace claimed she had something to do this afternoon, and Teddy accompanied her back to the house to ensure she made it there safely. I believe he has become paranoid, given the circumstances.”
“And where did my dear brother wander off to?” Rose asked.
Mr. Barton answered her question. “I sent him to the office to deliver some documents that needed signing. Perhaps there, he can stay out of trouble.”
“I simply cannot believe the three of you!” Evelyn suddenly burst out. “Do you not listen to a single word that comes out of my mouth? I warned you about getting further involved with the Bartons, and now you have brought two of them onto our property, and it appears you plan to become friends. What on earth could you possibly be thinking?” she demanded.
Mr. Woolridge’s mouth set in a thin line while the rest of the family attempted to keep their jaws from dropping on the table. “Evelyn,” he scolded, “the children are involved in this matter whether we like it or not. We all are, even Stella and Leonard, who would be peripherally affected if the police determined one of us had reason to want Ernest Cuthburt dead. What do you expect Frederick to do? Just sit back and let Inspector Whittington haul him out of here in handcuffs?”
Evelyn’s face paled with chagrin at her outburst, and at having been chastised by her husband in front of her entire family. Cecil reached across the table to pat her gently on the hand, a loving expression on his face. “I know you were only trying to help, my love, but our children are grown and they can make their own decisions. Personally, I feel better knowing that our Rose is on the case. She sees things more clearly than the rest of us.”
“Not everything.” Ignoring Vera’s comment on her lack of a love life, Rosemary felt a rush of gratitude and love for her father. It wasn’t like him to lay praise on so thickly, and it bolstered her confidence in herself.
“Father is right about one thing. We can’t sit back and let the police focus on Frederick. We have to look at the rest of the suspects and figure out who committed the crime before they do.”
“Why don’t you tell us what you know, Rose?” her father asked, sitting back in his seat and folding his hands in his lap. All eyes were on her, and so Rosemary launched into an explanation of the facts.
“First, don’t invest that money with the Barton business until Teddy and his father finish taking a thorough look through the company records for anything suspect. Teddy claims Mr. Barton wants his business run legitimately. Whether those wishes are due to Mr. Barton’s actual concern over being above board, or whether Teddy put on some pressure is another mystery.”
Evelyn clicked her teeth and tongue in a tsking sound that held an edge of triumph. “Didn’t I say the Bartons were not to be trusted?”
Slanting her mother a look, Rosemary continued. “Max—Inspector Whittington—is concerned with our family’s involvement, as the sum Father was planning to invest may have been exactly what they needed to legitimize the business.”
Leonard, of all people, spoke up then. “Wouldn’t that put your brother out of the running as a suspect? He has nothing to gain by killing either Barton or Cuthburt, if what everyone wanted amounted to the same thing.”
“As far as motive goes, yes, one would think. However, as time goes by, and there is pressure to close the case, the inspector fears the local police won’t be as concerned about motives or what makes sense as they are about finding enough evidence to pinch someone. Anyone. Thankfully, Frederick is only one suspect, but unfortunately, now Vera’s mother is another.”
Mrs. Woolridge gasped and settled back in her chair, one hand fanning her face as though she might faint. Hers was an extreme reaction compared to Vera’s, who only looked at Rosemary with shock-widened eyes, then set her jaw and said nothing. Then again, she didn’t need to voice her outrage since Evelyn spoke the words that would have popped out of her mouth anyway. “That’s preposterous! Lorraine is not a killer any more than Frederick is!”
“I know, Mother, and for now, all Max has is a tissue paper motive and a theory. According to the inspector, Lorraine hated Ernest Cuthburt.”
Rosemary explained how Cuthburt had snatched away the possibility of Lorraine appearing in the play she had her heart set on. "The police don’t care if that’s a thin motive; people have killed for less. That’s why I need all of you to engage in a little subterfuge with me. We’re going to continue on with our plans to have a party at the Blackburn estate tomorrow night, and we’re going to find out whatever we can from the other suspects. Vera and I will talk to her mother.”
“Unfortunately, anyone who had opportunity to kill Cuthburt seems to lack motive and vice versa. Except for Lorraine,” she directed at Vera, “who had both if you can call losing out on the opportunity to star in a play motive for murder. Max seems to think the authorities might.”
“What about the rest, Rose?” her father asked. “Certainly someone else had both motive and opportunity.”
“They do. Unfortunately, the other most likely suspect is Frederick, and your mother’s statement that someone was locked inside the bathroom doesn’t completely exonerate him. It does, however, prove she was in the foyer and could have sneaked upstairs to kill Cuthburt after the maid left her alone,” Rose lamented.
Vera’s nose crinkled as she frowned deeply. “For that matter, Grace could have done the same thing, as could have Mrs. Barton. She believes her husband has been stepping out with another woman. That gives her a motive for killing him, and she appears capable, if the scorching looks she shoots every woman in every room is an indication.”
The tea had gone cold, but Rose gulped hers down without noticing. “The problem is proximity. People came and went from the ballroom at such short intervals, and while the study is near enough to hear the party with the windows open, it takes time to navigate the halls and stairs between them.”
Running down the list of possibilities, Rosemary and Vera discussed alibis.
“Mrs. Barton claims she retreated to the kitchens to speak with the butler, but Geoffrey says it was actually Grace he spoke to during that time. Which means both of them were not in the ballroom at the opportune moment. Either of them could have gone upstairs, killed Cuthburt thinking he was Mr. Barton, and then hurried back down.” Rose sighed. Max was right, the case was one big circle. “Unless there was a shortcut between the two rooms, nearly everyone with a motive was seen near the ballroom too close to the time of the murder.”
“It is quite common to install—” Leonard began to say something, but Vera cut him off.
“Grace. It had to be Grace.” She banged a fist on the table. “Grace’s demeanor changed partway through the night.”
“Yes, it did,” Rose agreed. “I assumed her nerves were because of her run-in with Herbert Lock, but perhaps that was a convenient cover. What’s more, she is the only one who admits to seeing the letter threatening Mr. Barton’s life.”
More determined, now that her mother was a suspect, to get to the bottom of the thing, Vera played devil’s advocate. ”Still, she’d have to be an utter piker to drag you out here, Rose, then bump off her old man. It couldn’t have been her, I don’t think.”
“Neither do I,“ Rose agreed. “As for the rest, Teddy was in the billiard room, alibied by several other gentlemen who were also present. Marjorie pulled him away, but she could have fetched him directly after killing Cuthburt, and used him for her own alibi. Except Marjorie seems to have no motive
.”
The deconstruction of the crime went on for several more minutes.
“Mr. Abbot claims he saw Frederick at the bottom of the foyer stairs, and that his actions were suspicious. Considering Freddie was so drunk he doesn’t even remember collecting himself and leaving the bathroom, it’s no surprise he appeared to be in distress. Abbot had excused himself to find a quiet place to administer his insulin shot, and the doctor he has on call verified that he received it. The man is a pillar of the medical community, so his statement holds water.”
Vera stood and paced, picking up where Rosemary had left off. “And then there’s Herbert Lock, whom you and Grace left on the balcony after their altercation. He has no alibi, he’s been cavorting around with Marjorie Ainsworth, and I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
“I think we all share that sentiment. Everyone else, including Mr. Barton, never left the ballroom, that much we know for sure since you were both there.” Rose looked at her mother and father, who nodded in agreement. “As far as I’m concerned, Herbert as the killer makes the most sense. He was already angry. If he’d had an unpleasant conversation with Mr. Barton or Mr. Cuthburt that evening, he may have acted out of desperation in the heat of the moment. His alibi is thin, and he has a temper.”
Some of the animation went out of Vera. “This is all predicated on Mr. Barton being the intended corpse. What if Cuthburt was as much of a bounder as Max says? I mean, if he treated my mother so spitefully, who’s to say she was the only person who ended up on the wrong side of him?”
Cuthburt appearing to have no enemies put a large spanner in the works of the whole case.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Just as Rosemary had predicted, the prominent players accepted Lorraine Blackburn’s last-minute invitation, and had assembled in one of the downstairs parlors. Music that was probably a touch too upbeat considering the tragedy that had recently occurred wafted from the Victrola at a volume that still allowed for conversation.
