Mischief in St. Tropez

by C. G Oster

  “Yes, but it sounds as though the police have no real clue as to who the culprit is. Their assertion that it was a wronged husband must come from assumptions they’ve made based on Baron Drecsay’s character—potentially without any real proof. It's been almost two weeks now, and they haven't apprehended anyone. That worries me.”

  In silence, Dory considered what this meant. The police were taking their time finding the person responsible. For a moment, she had to wonder if DI Ridley would be more vigilant in his investigation than the French Police appeared to be. The French always had a standoffish attitude to the foreigners here on the coast. They often left any issues for the consulates to take care of.

  Technically, the consulates weren't mandated, or even equipped, to investigate murders, and it certainly wasn't within their jurisdiction. It seemed the French Police had done their bit and concluded they could not find the culprit.

  Perhaps that was a little ungenerous. The inspector was surely following up on any leads he had. But from what Lady Summernot was saying, no particular lover of this baron had come forth. Either they were very discreet or this man wasn't quite the Lothario that people were making him out to be.

  There was no doubt he was a handsome man, and people had naturally assumed he had a lascivious character because of it. It might not be true. He might not be crawling around every bedroom on the coast, even if he had the looks to do so. It was imprudent to assume this was part of his character simply by the way he looked.

  One never assumed that beauty was something that would be problematic for people, but apparently their looks got in the way as people made assumptions based on them. Beauty was always assumed to be a wondrous asset, but perhaps it could be a detriment at times too. People always assume certain characteristics went along with that beauty—spoilt, vapid and entitled.

  With these thoughts, Dory felt ashamed because she had also assumed attributes based on nothing other than how he looked. She was as guilty as others of expecting that a pretty face translated to a simple and easy life. This man, Drecsay, deserved the same level of justice as anyone else who found themselves a victim of an egregious crime. The man had lost his life. No one deserved that, and no one deserved such a crime to go unpunished.

  “I do recall someone saying he was quite close to a Countess Tirau,” Dory said. “Did you know her?”

  “Everyone knew her,” Lady Pettifer replied. “She is not the brightest woman, one has to admit. Petty at times. She would likely be swayed by someone like Drecsay if he was charming to her.”

  “I can't quite recall who said it, I think it was Richard, but he said that Countess Tirau treated him indulgently, almost like a son.”

  The car was silent for a moment and Lady Pettifer seemed to consider the thought, worrying her lip between her fingers. “I shouldn't think they were lovers. She was an elderly woman. It certainly would be unseemly if it were true. We don't know if he profited at all from her death.”

  “It would be good to find out,” Dory agreed. “Although if he had profited greatly and Countess Tirau's family were aggrieved by it, that could be motive for murder. Still, I would have assumed there’d have been quite a scandal if that were the case.”

  “A bequeathment like that would've been taken to court, and I can’t see a court being favorable to some Lothario charming inheritances out of an elderly lady. I haven't heard of any gossip to that effect. Lady Summernot would absolutely have mentioned it. Still, it is the strongest connection that has been mentioned with regards to this man. The problem is that we don't know him that well. He could have been getting up to anything—but the gossip mongers were apparently not hearing about it.”

  “Some people are very discreet,” Dory stated.

  “A man like that, though, is noticed wherever he goes. There is a curious lack of gossip about anything substantial related to this murder. All speculation and no facts.”

  “You don't think he could be a homosexual?” Dory asked. That community was notoriously discreet about their activities, collectively watching out for each other as they bore risks simply by associating.

  “He would clearly have been a part of a certain crowd if that were true. I suppose it could be,” Lady Pettifer said after a while. For a while longer she was silent. “It would be a shame if the police stopped investigating at this point. The man does deserve his justice.”

  *

  They arrived home just before dusk, walking into a mercifully still and silent house after the busy day. Lady Pettifer was tired by the day's activities, even if they'd only sat in the car or at a café for most of it. In the end, they had forgone finding stockings, and had instead returned home. It was still a draining day that Lady Pettifer sat down heavily in her favorite chair as soon as she reached it.

  Supper wouldn't be far away and they simply sat and enjoyed the silence for a while before shifting to the dining room. There was no doubt that Lady Pettifer would retire early that night to recuperate from the day. As for Dory, there was still an unpleasant heaviness to her thoughts regarding this man and his death.

  It felt as if justice was improperly being done. Just because there was a war didn't mean he should be forgotten and swept under the carpet because his death was inconvenient. Or because he was a foreigner in this land. Surely the police hadn't given up. Still, Dory couldn't escape the heavy feeling that had descended on her, because she suspected that his murder was deemed too inconvenient to deal with at this time, and that went against the grain.

  Chapter 11

  L ivinia sighed as she stood by the window in the salon. Apparently, the news that some cuckolded husband was responsible for Baron Drecsay’s murder had spread across the entire coast, and it seemed to have been accepted as truth, even without a scrap of evidence.

  “It’s as if everyone is ready to sweep the whole incident under the carpet,” Livinia said. “Either some husband, or they are saying the authorities are essentially ignoring the case because he really was a spy.”

  “Some people will believe anything,” Lady Pettifer said.

  Grabbing one of the small cucumber sandwiches, Dory sat back in the chair and took a bite, chewing it carefully while she thought. “To be fair, quite a few of the aristocracy admire the fascists.”

  “Posh,” Lady Pettifer said.

  “Come on, Aunt. There are even quite a few who think Hitler is simply marvelous.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  Dory frowned, wondering if Lady Pettifer was applying her own views on others. Dory had heard those sympathizers speaking at Wallisford Hall. They couldn’t all have changed their minds because Britain had declared war. “In Italy, families have profited from aligning themselves with Mussolini. It must be that many in Hungary are hedging their bets by making themselves agreeable to the Nazis. I suppose it would be understandable. If Hungary manages to convince the Nazis that they are aligned with their principles, maybe they will spare themselves being invaded by them.”

  “If he were a spy, he would hardly be spending time at parties dancing with me, would he?” Livinia stated. “Besides, people with Nazi sympathies seem incapable of keeping quiet about it.”

  “He would if he were a spy,” Dory said.

  If he were, it’s hard to see what he would gain by aligning himself with Livinia. It’s not as though anyone of particular importance to the war effort is part of her inner circle. Granted, many have important and influential relatives, but being on the other side of Europe, it’s hard to see how that could be of any use.

  “There’s no point sitting here speculating,” Lady Pettifer said. “What does this Prince Barenoli say?”

  Silence settled on the room.

  “I’m sure the police spoke to him,” Livinia said after a while.

  “And the friends of Countess Tirau,” Lady Pettifer continued. “I did not know her well. I’m not even sure where she was from. She wasn’t amongst my friends, but she would have had some. I’m sure Baron Drecsay wasn’t the onl
y acquaintance she had.”

  “I suppose we could ask,” Livinia said and they all looked from one to another.

  “It’s not really our place to ask,” Dory said.

  Lady Pettifer chuckled. “Could you really rein in your curiosity enough not to investigate?”

  Biting her lip, Dory silently fumed that her curiosity was so very obvious. It was true. She would find it impossible not to pay attention if someone mentioned anything related to Drecsay.

  “Besides, the police seem to have utterly lost interest in the poor man’s death,” Lady Pettifer continued. “If he is related to the Elmhursts, then I know his grand aunt. It wouldn’t feel right not at least trying to urge the authorities to solve this murder.”

  “Perhaps we could speak to this prince,” Livinia said. “I might as well find out where he lives.”

  *

  For the second time in the week, they drove along the winding road to Nice. Lady Pettifer stayed home, her knee giving her trouble. This time, Livinia insisted on driving and Dory clutched the side of the door during the sharpest turns.

  “Most of the princes I’ve met have been old,” Livinia said, “but if he’s a friend of Drecsay, he must be quite young.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Drecsay never mentioned him much. I really didn’t know Drecsay well,” Livinia said earnestly, looking over to gauge Dory’s expression. “But heavens was he handsome. Those dark eyes. Sent a shiver down my spine. I can’t believe someone killed him. It’s such a shame.”

  As they arrived, Livinia pulled in by one of the large Victorian structures along the Promenade de Anglais with massive white columns and impossibly large windows along the front. It was the Palais de la Méditerranée and a velvet liveried man came forward to open the car door for them. He bid them welcome with a smile and prepared to drive the car away somewhere more convenient.

  A darkly dressed man approached them as they entered the lovely lobby of the hotel, decorated with arts décoratifs motifs. Everything in the hotel was modern and of the highest taste. This prince had money. Of that, there was no question. Yet he was friends with a man who was basically considered to be in gentile poverty. Wealth didn’t always count for everything, and it stood in this prince’s favor that he would be friends with a man of much fewer means—unless it was a relationship built on a common mission to uncover information for their governments.

  Dory was increasingly curious about this baron and how he was with his friends and the world around him. How did one identify a spy?

  They were directed to an elevator built of rich cherry wood and brass. An operator dressed in red asked who they sought and then proceeded to get the elevator moving.

  The carpet in the corridor was cream with flowers and the walls had silk coverings with tropical leaves. Every part of this hotel was stunning.

  They arrived at a large, white door and knocked.

  “Miss Fellingworth,” a man said as he opened the door. “I have been expecting you.” Like his friend, this man was dark and beautiful, and he moved with the grace of a man who knew his place in the world. There was an assurance, almost a boredom as he led them in into a sumptuous room, walking past a man who proceeded to close the door behind them. Dory guessed he was a manservant.

  The prince sat down on a white brocade sofa and crossed his legs. His waistcoat was unbuttoned and he looked a little less than ready to receive visitors, even if he clearly knew they were coming.

  “I know who you are, of course,” he said, his attention on Livinia. “You are the one who found Domenik.” The man had dark eyebrows that flared elegantly across his face. Dark hair neatly combed in a side part, displaying a uniform wave to his hair.

  “Yes. I knew him a little.”

  The prince rubbed his thumb across his lower lip as he considered her and from her seat, Dory could almost feel Livinia’s cheeks burning with the attention. The baron and his friend, the prince, had good looks in common. As for Dory, she was wondering if this man in front of her could in any way have been induced to kill his friend.

  “We were hoping you could tell us a little about him,” Dory stated after a while. “There are so many rumors about him. The police seem to have made some assumptions about his death.”

  “The police,” the prince said with a hint of disgust in his voice, “couldn’t find a whore in a whorehouse.”

  Okay, Dory said to herself. “There are some who suspect he was a spy.” On second thought, was that a stupid question to ask? A spy wouldn’t confirm it, would they? “Or that he was murdered by some irate husband. As you are his friend, would you know of any such husband that was particularly upset?”

  “Husbands of beautiful wives are always upset. That is the cost of beauty.”

  The man spoke in generalizations. Well, that was helpful. “Any specific ones that you know of?”

  The man shrugged. “Not that he told me.”

  “And Countess Tirau?” Livinia said.

  “They were friends. She enjoyed beauty. There was a price.” With a sigh, he shifted slightly as if to alleviate his boredom. “Drecsay was a proud man. He was not a man to accept charity. Still, he found the bills a little harder to pay once the countess passed away.”

  “So there was no one new to take the countess’ place?”

  “You mean in his affections?”

  Dory got the distinct impression that this man was toying with her, and she didn’t understand what it meant. Men like him, men with power and wealth did have a tendency to toy with people. She’d seen it before. Vivian Fellingworth was a little like that. They tended to use the truth as a blunt instrument to beat people with. Was he merciless with Drecsay because of his… solution to his problems?

  “The countess was an indulgent woman, but only when it pleased her. She liked to yank the chain at times, ensure he knew who held the reins. Some people use wealth as a means to control. If he displeased her, his debts would build up and she would threaten not to pay them.” He certainly wasn’t sugar-coating his friend’s position. “So was he discreetly visiting the bedrooms of some of the more beautiful members of society here? Absolutely. But he was discreet. Couldn’t have the countess finding out.

  “Financial difficulties aside, the countess’ death released some chains. The countess didn’t like him showing interest in the younger ladies of the coast.” His attention was back on Livinia as if accenting his point. This man knew of Drecsay’s interest in Livinia, Dory bet.

  “Financially, though, the death of his benefactor would have been devastating,” Dory said and slowly, the Prince stole his attention away and settled on her.

  He blatantly studied her for a moment. “He wasn’t overly distressed. I don’t know the details, but he was very positive about his future, stated that he had secured a way to rebuild his family wealth.”

  This surprised Dory. Surely, he hadn’t meant Livinia, but she was an heiress. “Did he elaborate, or was this something he stated quite often?”

  “Are you asking if he was some dreamer who constantly thought up schemes to re-establish the family wealth? Or are you asking if he saw young Miss Fellingworth here as the means to securing his future?”

  His assertion was too forward for her to answer, and he knew it.

  “Nothing about me was secured,” Livinia added loftily. “We barely knew each other. I don’t know why I have to keep telling people.”

  The prince returned his gaze to Dory as if this should provide her with an answer. But it didn’t. “Was he a dreamer?” Dory pressed.

  “No, he was not. I would go so far as to say some of his actions were the result of desperation, but he wasn’t a stupid man—a dreamer. He was very… calculated in his actions. And he did enjoy dealing with Countess Tirau. She might have used her wealth with bluntness, but he had finesse. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  “No threats?”

  “Have you set yourself the task of investigating his murder?”

  “Ye
s,” Dory said frankly and a hint of emotion quickly fleeted across the prince’s face.

  “And what authority do you have to do so?”

  “None. We simply feel the police are not giving this case their due attention.”

  “There are also some duties felt to his family,” Livinia added. The prince only glanced at her. He seemed to have lost interest in her to focus more on studying Dory.

  The man’s eyebrows rose. “I understand part of his background is English. The English do like to stick together, as you say. Is that why you are here? You feel a duty to him because of his family?” He was speaking directly to Dory.

  “No,” she said.

  “Then why?”

  “Because no one deserves to have their life stolen.”

  “So melodramatic.” His eyes traveled down her clothes and shoes. “Your accent is English, but not educated.”

  Dory blushed as he kept studying her. “Yet here you are. What brings you so far away from your country?”

  “I am a companion to Lady Pettifer.”

  “My aunt.”

  “Ah,” the prince said as if everything made sense now. “And here you are, investigating the murder of some foreigner who wouldn’t give you the time of day had you asked.” With a frown, Dory tried to understand what this man was saying. He spoke in riddles, eluding to things without actually saying them. “You are an idealist.”

  Dory had never really put labels on what she was, but perhaps she was. “Someone must be, I suppose.”

  The prince regarded her some more and then looked away. “I must prepare now. It has been charming to meet you both, but my time is valuable.”

  “Of course,” Livinia said and rose. Dory was less impressed. Could he spare so little time to the people trying to find justice for his murdered friend? Or had he lost interest because he didn’t believe they would achieve anything. The comment about Drecsay not giving the time of day to someone like her stuck. Having mentioned it, Prince Barenoli obviously wasn’t unaware of the sentiment. Perhaps he felt the same way.