The Body in the Box Room

by L. A. Nisula

  The Body in the Box Room

  copyright (c) 2016 L. A. Nisula

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to actual places or persons is purely coincidental.

  When Cassie Pengear agreed to spend the evening with her cousin Milly, and Milly’s latest gentleman caller and his mother, it was with the promise that Milly and her gentleman would not trouble her again unless there was an impending marriage. She did not expect Milly to stumble over a body in her prospective mother-in-law’s box room, and she certainly did not expect Inspector Wainwright to draw the case. Now Milly is convinced they’re all suspects and Cassie is the only one who can figure out who murdered the body in the box room.

  Cassie Pengear Mysteries

  Book 1 Killing at the Carnival

  Book 2 Death at Dinner

  Book 3 Stabbing Set with Sapphires

  Book 4 A Spartan Murder

  Book 5 The Body in the Box Room

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 1

  WHEN I HEARD THE BELL on the pneumatic tube signaling I had a visitor downstairs, I was more than ready for the distraction. As the weather had been unusually frightful, with a brief early snowfall in the late afternoon just when I was thinking of going out for some tea, I’d spent most of the day at my typewriter, working. And there was plenty to do. Scotland Yard had been very busy looking into reports of counterfeit money and forged banknotes connected to a gang calling themselves the Tinrippers, busy enough that they were even sending me some of the typing work. Normally I was relegated to pickpockets and petty shoplifters and only got the interesting cases—and their correspondingly higher rates—if I was directly involved in the case or one of my friends managed to push it through. I had spent most of the day typing up notes from interviews with shopkeepers who had accepted the money, but there had also been a particularly nasty report of an attack on a messenger believed to be by the same gang, which had left the victim in hospital for the better part of the week and some doubt about his ability to use his left leg at all in the future, and helped to explain why they had no leads despite the offer of a reward. Needless to say, after that report something lighter was welcome, even when that something proved to be my cousin Milly.

  Not that I disliked Milly. I was quite fond of her really. And when she was on her own, she could be quite fun, if a bit more adventurous than I was. My tastes didn’t run to slumming through Whitechapel at night or following university students on pub crawls. But she had written, “We’re down here,” on the back of her mint-green calling card, which meant her latest gentleman friend was with her, and I had never liked any of Milly’s gentlemen friends. Still, it was a distraction, and Milly was my cousin, so I sent down the latchkey and opened the door to my flat.

  I was a bit surprised to see Milly come up on her own. She smiled when she saw me in the doorway. “I knew you’d be home. I can always count on you when I need you to be home.”

  I supposed it was too much to hope that Milly had come alone for a chat when she had a gentleman friend. “Nice to see you too.”

  “We can’t stay long, but we’ve been wandering about town, and I said we simply had to come and meet you.”

  Meet me, so it was someone new. I wasn’t certain if that was a good thing or not. “I take it it’s not Mr. Winkleford?”

  “Of course not. That monster. Do you know what he did? Lied to me. He had no money. His wife was using it all on their three children. Can you imagine?”

  Considering the number of times he had lied to me during our brief acquaintance, I could, but if she was done with him, there was no point in saying so. I’d tried it several times when it would have made a difference. “So who is it now?”

  “Just a moment. I’ll get him and you can meet him.” She poked her head over the banister. “Sweetheart, come on up.”

  I heard footsteps in the entryway downstairs, then Mrs. Albright snapping, “Boots! I’m not having London mud tracked through the house.” So Mrs. Albright didn’t have a very high opinion of Milly’s latest either. If she’d liked him, she would have been more polite, although just as insistent. Milly started tapping her foot, and I could imagine her latest fumbling with slush-covered boots while Mrs. Albright glared.

  I didn’t have to wait long to compare my image with the actual person. He was more or less what I expected of Milly. Slightly older than her, wearing a loud but somewhat fashionable suit that was at least a size too small and socks that had at least one hole in them, with a poorly-kept mustache and slightly uneven sideburns. He was carrying a pair of shiny boots that were dripping melting, muddy London slush on the hall floor and apparently oblivious to the mess he was making, since he showed every sign of bringing them into my nice clean flat.

  “Boots!” I snapped.

  Milly turned. “Randall, dear, you’re dripping. Leave those by the stairs.”

  He looked down at the boots as if he’d never realized tramping through muddy slush could lead to a mess and followed Milly’s order.

  “Cassie, this is Randall Fetherton. Randall, this is the cousin I was telling you about. The one who solves murders. Cassie Pengear.”

  Randall’s eyebrows had shot up on the description Milly gave, but he crossed to the door and stuck his hand out as soon as she’d finished the introductions. “Pleased to meet any friend of Milly’s.”

  “Cousin, dear. She’s my cousin.”

  “Family of Milly’s, then. A pleasure, I’m sure.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” I shook the offered hand, as there didn’t seem to be anything else to do with it. There also didn’t seem to be any way to get rid of them, so I resorted to, “Would you like a cup of tea? The kettle’s on.”

  Randall shook his head. “Can’t, I’m afraid. We’re on our way to see my mother. I don’t want to be late.”

  Milly smiled. “I’m meeting her for the first time.”

  Then why on earth had they taken the time to call on me unannounced? But then, it never did any good to overthink Milly’s reasons for anything. “That’s a very big step. I wish you luck.”

  Milly grabbed my hand. “But you have to come with us, Cassie. She’s an absolute harridan.”

  “Yes, Miss Pengear, please. Having someone else there will mean she has to be on her best behavior.”

  “I’m sure you don’t have anything that can’t wait an hour or two, can it?”

  I looked longingly at the corner where I was storing the pound of Finnwool/silk wool Ada had given me for Christmas. It was supposed to be my reward for finishing the day’s typing, and I was eager to start knitting it, and I knew she was eager for me to start and tell her what I thought of it.

  “Please, Cassie, just for an hour or so. Then we’ll say you have to leave. I’ll make up the excuse and everything. And we’ll take you somewhere nice soon. Tea at the Ritz. Won’t we, Randall?”

  Randall looked flustered. Clearly his idea of rewarding me didn’t go to something as expensive as the Ritz. And as Milly had the habit of forgetting to put any mon
ey in her handbag, I knew who would pay if we did go.

  “And then we won’t come back and trouble you anymore, at least not until the engagement.”

  And that was Milly’s real offer. No more dealing with Randall if I helped her now. She knew me better than one would think. I sighed. “All right, let me change.” I was wearing a skirt and shirtwaist, perfectly respectable for working at home, but not really formal enough for visiting prospective mother-in-laws, even if they weren’t mine

  “No, Cassie! You look fine. Just come along as you are.”

  And then it made sense. I glanced at Milly’s hem. She changed from rational dress to the most frivolous of fripperies depending on whom she was with, and the bit of skirt I saw peeking out from under her coat was a strange combination of the two. She must have had second thoughts about what she’d chosen and wanted me along to provide contrast. I rolled my eyes. “At least let me get a jacket.” I went into the bedroom before she could argue and found the jacket that went with the skirt. I was doing up the buckles as I went back into the sitting room, so I was able to hear Randall mutter, “She’ll make us late.”

  I chose to ignore him and gathered up my handbag and keys.

  When we got outside, we discovered that Randall had chosen not to pay their cab driver to wait, which meant Milly and I had to wait in the foyer of my building until Randall could manage to find us another one. Milly kept adjusting her cuffs, first pulling them down over her hands then pushing them up inside her coat without stopping to see what effect either arrangement had. To distract her I asked, “Mrs. Fetherton won’t be too put out having me along, will she?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. She doesn’t know we’re coming.”

  If it had been someone else, I might have thought that was the reason for her distress, but I doubted the idea she should let the woman have a chance to prepare to meet what hopefully would not be her future daughter-in-law had ever occurred to either of them.

  ~*~*~

  Mrs. Fetherton lived in Rusham Street near Bloomsbury, in a narrow townhouse on a small residential street just off the high street. For the first time, I wondered if the money was on Randall’s side for a change, but I held my tongue and followed Randall up the steps to the door.

  The woman who answered was in her late fifties at a guess, although she was dressed so severely that I couldn’t tell her age exactly, with her hair pulled tightly back in a knot and a dress of almost unrelieved navy wool. “Randall, how nice to see you, dear. Come inside.”

  Randall followed his mother inside, and Milly followed him in, so I followed Milly. As we gathered in the entryway to begin the process of removing hats and coats, Mrs. Fetherton looked at Milly and me, clearly unsure why we were standing in her foyer. Fortunately, we were well-dressed enough that she was unlikely to mistake us for housebreakers.

  When Randall made no move to introduce us, I glared at Milly. She took the hint and poked him in the ribs. When that had no effect, she leaned over and hissed, “Aren’t you going to make the introductions, dear?”

  “What? Oh, yes. Mother, this is my dear Milly. I told you about her. And her sister.”

  “Cousin,” Milly and I said at the same time.

  “Cassandra Pengear,” I added, as it didn’t seem likely that Randall would remember either my name or that he ought to provide it.

  Mrs. Fetherton looked from one to the other of us. “I’m very pleased to meet anyone who is important to my Randall. Randall dearest, you should have told me you were bringing people.” She smiled tightly at him.

  Randall gave us a look of long-suffering patience that was clearly false.

  She went on without waiting for him to answer. “I have tea, but nothing to go with it. Go down to the bakery and get something.”

  “Mother, I just walked through the door....”

  “So you still have your shoes on.”

  “Mother!”

  I was regretting ever coming. “I’ll go and bring back some cake. Where is the bakery?”

  “You’re a guest, you shouldn’t....”

  “Mother, how can you...”

  “I’ll find it myself.” I turned to the door.

  “Left, then left again.” Mrs. Fetherton called after me. “It’s Milford’s.”

  Fortunately, the door closed before I could respond.

  ~*~*~

  The trip that so inconvenienced Randall took me all of six minutes, and I’d been dragging my feet. I wasted a bit more time taking a careful look at the choices in Milford’s case, letting two other people cut in front of me while I made my choice. When I decided I’d almost been away long enough to cause a reasonable person to send out a search party—not that I thought anyone at the Fethertons’ would send one or even qualify as reasonable—I selected a coffee walnut cake because it was what I wanted and began the grueling six-minute journey back to the house.

  When I returned, everyone was still in the front hall. Whatever was being said had stopped when I knocked. Randall stood in the open doorway with his hand on the doorknob. I assumed he knew I was supposed to be there as he had invited me, so I didn’t wait for a greeting and slipped inside around him.

  Milly nudged Randall again. “Close the door, dear. What did you bring, Cassie?”

  I held up the box. “Coffee walnut.”

  “That will do,” Mrs. Fetherton said. I decided to take it as a compliment rather than a criticism, although I’m not certain that was how she intended it. “Randall, if you would get the sitting room ready, we’ll get the tea prepared.”

  Randall looked ready to argue, but Milly put her hand on his arm, “Come along, darling, show me where the sitting room is.”

  Randall followed obediently, so I followed Mrs. Fetherton to the kitchen with the cake.

  The kitchen was at the back of the house down a short hallway and a flight of stairs. A maid was standing at the sink finishing the dishes. She turned when she heard our footsteps. “Did you need something, ma’am?”

  “Randall brought guests. We’ll be having tea, Nora.”

  Nora glanced at the sink. “Would you like me to bring it up?” She looked like she wanted to finish her work and probably go to bed after.

  Mrs. Fetherton glanced at me then said, “I suppose we don’t need to be so formal. I’ll get a plate for that if you’d open it.”

  I nodded and set to unknotting the string holding the box closed.

  We’d barely gotten the cake unboxed when there was a crash from what I supposed was the direction of the sitting room. Mrs. Fetherton clutched at the serving platter, wincing and looking as if she were making a mental inventory of what it could have been. A moment later, there was a blood-curdling scream

  “What on earth?”

  I sighed. “Milly probably saw a mouse.” My cousin was nothing if not dramatic.

  “Not in my house.” It took me a second to realize that was a battle cry and not a denial. That was how long it took Mrs. Fetherton to dive beneath the sink and pull out a box filled with lethal-looking mousetraps, half made more dangerous with what looked to be steam-powered locking mechanisms and one that seemed to include an unreasonably large knife. She stormed out of the kitchen. I went back to unboxing the cake. Nora took the opportunity to slip a few biscuits into the pocket of a green coat. I pretended not to notice.

  I’d gotten the cake on the platter and was licking coffee buttercream from my fingers when I heard what sounded like a box of gears being dropped. I glanced at Nora. She shrugged and went back to drying the dishes. I sighed, picked up the cake knife even though I was sure that was foolish, and went to see what in the world was actually happening in the sitting room.

  It took me three tries to find the sitting room—the house also boasted a formal parlor and a small drawing room—and when I did, I discovered it was empty. I went back into the hallway and continued exploring until I found another room with an open door. It proved to be what must once have been an office and was now being used as a small s
toreroom, and it was the place where everyone had gathered.

  The first thing I saw when I entered was Randall flopped out on the floor, unconscious. I stepped over him, barely resisting the urge to step on him, and found Milly and Mrs. Fetherton staring openmouthed at something behind the desk. Two steps later, I saw what it was. A corpse.

  Chapter 2

  I MOVED AROUND MILLY AND MRS. FETHERTON to get a better look at the body. Female, about the same age as Milly and me. She was sprawled out face down on the floor near the desk. There was a drapery cord still around her neck, which certainly suggested she’d been strangled. The window behind her was open, which seemed odd in the cold weather. I edged along the wall, careful not to disturb anything near the body, and looked out. Yes, that was how she had come in. In the fresh snow of the back garden, I could see small footprints that seemed consistent with the size of the body, starting from the stone wall that separated the house from the neighboring one, crossing the tracks left by several cats, or one who had a great deal of business in the area, and stopping just under the window. So our victim had come through the neighbor’s garden, gotten the window open, and climbed in. Why?

  From what I could tell she was dressed in a fashionable wool coat of the sort favored by shop girls and other respectable young ladies. It wasn’t what I would expect to see on a housebreaker. But then maybe that was the idea. I glanced at the window frame. There was a complex locking system made up of gears and pulleys similar to what Mrs. Albright had on the ground floor at Paddington Street. It was the newest thing in locks, and my friend Kate Ferris had been very excited to install it. And expensive; Kate had done the work for free and the system itself had been part of a sample set sent to her. If the victim had managed to get it open herself, perhaps the housebreaker theory wasn’t far wrong. Unless the window had been left open. It was very easy to break in through an open window, no matter the lock. I edged back around the desk and my foot caught on a piece of cloth bunched up on the floor. It looked like a curtain, with a small spot of blood on it. From the position and the blood, it looked like the killer may have tried to hide the body with it, but why the blood? Maybe she bumped her head as she fell, or before she was strangled.