The Murder Next Door

by Emily Queen

  “I’m sorry, Rose, truly,” Abigail apologized. “I felt it was my duty to keep quiet unless the information was absolutely necessary.”

  “I would have done the same for my husband.” The statement was true down to the letter, and Rosemary chose to keep any other thoughts that crossed her mind to herself for the time being. “However, you’re right. This information changes the circumstances a great deal.”

  “Are you still willing to help me?” Martin asked, a plea in his eyes when they met Rosemary’s. “I swear to you, I didn’t kill Segal,” he repeated, “but I stand by my statement that I’m not sad he’s gone.”

  It was enough for Rose and confirmed what she’d believed all along. Martin was innocent. She just wasn’t sure she could say the same for his wife.

  “Yes, I’ll help you, though we’re at a bit of a standstill considering the lack of viable suspects. Nathan Grint might be a shoddy reporter and a travesty of a person, but I don’t think he has the stomach for murder. He’s an opportunist—he was angry with you for reprimanding him, and he lashed out. He’ll get his due, eventually. I highly doubt the elderly Mrs. Linley had any connection to Claude Segal, so for the moment, it appears that you two are the only ones with a motive. Unless there’s someone we missed—” Rosemary stopped short, realizing the implications of what Abigail had said a few moments before. “Wait a minute,” she said, turning to face the woman. “Polly isn’t as discreet, what did you mean by that?”

  Abigail collapsed into a chair and sighed. “You wouldn’t have any brandy on hand, would you?” Frederick jumped up from his chair and crossed the room to the bar cart, poured a glass of amber liquid, and handed it to Abigail. She tossed it back with a gulp and a cringe and set the glass back on the table.

  “What I meant was,” she said, finally getting around to the point, “she’s an insufferable idiot who doesn’t know a thing about keeping her mouth closed. Honestly, it took no more than a suggestion that I knew Martin was hiding something for her to crack.”

  Rosemary wasn’t surprised by the news. It hadn’t taken much for her and Vera to get Polly talking about the death of Mr. Segal, and they’d only just met her.

  “It’s better if I start at the beginning. I knew something was going on, but I wasn’t sure what. So, I followed Martin one Wednesday night and watched him go into a bar in one of the less swanky neighborhoods. I’d thought maybe he was having an affair, though I didn’t really believe it. That’s not Martin’s style.” She remained faithful to her husband, Rosemary noted. Whether it was due to actual devotion, though, she couldn’t discern.

  “I didn’t want to confront him until I knew exactly what he was hiding, and I didn’t dare follow him inside to find out. But then, one day I was bringing down Martin’s tray, and I heard Polly talking on the telephone. She was talking to her landlord, begging for an extension because her paycheck had been returned for insufficient funds. That’s when I began looking into our finances and discovered that we were nearly broke.”

  “That must have been quite a blow,” Rosemary said after a moment when she realized Martin had no intention of speaking up to either defend himself or provide an explanation. “How did you find out about the gambling?”

  “That part was easy. I confronted Polly. Told her I knew about Wednesday nights, and she spilled. She begged me not to tell Martin she let his secret slip; said he didn’t even know she knew about it, but that she’d overheard a conversation between him and Claude Segal and connected the dots. Of course, I wanted to out her right away, but I was waiting until it became necessary. I’d say this qualifies.”

  Rosemary directed her gaze towards Martin, who seemed shocked to learn his wife had been following him around and checking up on him. It was obvious he hadn’t expected to discover that he didn’t have any secrets left. She wondered if it was a relief or more of a burden than he already carried.

  “I can’t do anything about the money you owe, but if we can figure out who killed Mr. Segal, the police won’t have any choice but to prosecute, and your name will be cleared. According to Max—Inspector Whittington, I mean—they consider the matter closed and will continue to do so unless we force their hand.”

  The rest of what Max had told her, she’d hold in confidence until there was no other choice. Putting a target on his back was an unacceptable risk.

  “The best place to start is the scene of the crime. Was there anyone else who might have had the opportunity to tamper with the tank besides the people in the waiting room?” She ran Martin through the events of the day two more times.

  Though Martin had dismissed his secretary as a suspect, Rose wondered about Polly and decided she ought to keep her dentist appointment the next day. This time, she would have the opportunity to observe the girl with more knowledge of her character. Something told her she might be able to gather even more information using a direct approach.

  “What about the back staircase Abigail mentioned? Could someone have entered from there?” Rosemary asked.

  “Martin shook his head, “No, it’s only accessible from our kitchen, and we keep the door locked.”

  “All right then. How much time have you spent with Mr. Segal and his associates? Can you think of anyone close to him who might have reason to want him dead?”

  Martin spent another moment racking his brain for anything that might prove useful, and then slapped his knee and stood up with a start. “Claude had a bodyguard of sorts. Charles Dupont is his name, Charlie to his…friends. One could rarely find Claude alone because Charlie was always hanging around in case things got out of hand. It was he who cornered me the night we all went to the theater. The night before Claude died.”

  Another mystery solved, and one that even Rose had forgotten needed explaining. Now that she was aware that Abigail knew about Martin’s gambling problem, her reaction to her husband having been cornered on the street made more sense.

  “It didn’t occur to you that that might be important information?” Rosemary asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “It wasn’t the first time. Charlie spends a lot of time following up.” Martin gave the term emphasis. “Usually, that means someone walks away with a black eye or a couple of broken fingers, assuming they’re unable to make good on their debts. Mainly, he likes to let everyone know that he’s never far away and that he’s watching in case you get any bright ideas about running. He was cordial that evening, though—I got lucky because I wasn’t alone. He certainly wasn’t going to get physical with an audience of my friends and my wife, but he made it known that if I didn’t pony up, he’d make it worse for me later. The only reason I didn’t mention it before was because…well…I didn’t want Abigail to find out. Best laid plans, I suppose. If you want to find out who had a bigger grudge than me against Claude Segal, go find Charlie. I’d recommend bringing these two along with you.” Martin indicated Desmond and Frederick, who puffed out his chest and attempted to appear menacing.

  Rosemary agreed that the pertinent thing to do would be to find Charles Dupont, and see if there was anything he could tell them, but she didn’t have high hopes. If he had been employed by someone like Claude Segal and did the dirty work required for the job, she doubted he’d be willing to part with any helpful information. More likely, he wouldn’t want to implicate himself, and in the worst-case scenario, she’d be putting herself and her friends in danger.

  Then Rose thought about what Max might say and decided it would be better if he knew as little as possible about her plans. If she could discover information that would break the case, Max could stay in London, and everything would be set back to rights.

  Having said goodbye to the Redberrys, who thanked her profusely on their way out the door, Rosemary retired to her bedroom for the evening, followed by Vera. Neither felt like socializing, and all Rose wanted was a hot bath and a cup of tea.

  Anna rallied to the occasion, filling the tub with steaming hot water and puttering about displaying the same odd behavior she had all w
eek long.

  “What is it, Anna,” Rose demanded, having finally had enough. There were already too many unanswered questions swimming around inside her head; she didn’t need another one. “What is going on with you?”

  It was rare for Rosemary to raise her voice to any of her staff; in fact, Anna couldn’t ever remember having been spoken to so sharply, and it brought a tear to her eye. “It’s my tooth, Miss. I didn’t want to trouble anyone, but it simply won’t stop throbbing. Nothing seems to help. Cook has made several poultices for it, but still, it aches.”

  “Oh, Anna, why on earth would you keep that a secret?” Rosemary asked, her tone gentler now. “I thought you might be in some sort of feminine trouble, or perhaps that you were looking for another post. This is fixable, and therefore, we shall fix it. Don’t cry.”

  Anna closed her mouth and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “It’s just—it’s just—do you think I’ll have to take the drill?”

  Rosemary realized Anna wasn’t scared of her and felt a little better for it. “It’s possible; however, it can’t be worse than the pain you’re already in, can it?”

  Anna shook her head, but the expression on her face told another story altogether.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rosemary flopped into a chair when she and her friends were alone once more. She allowed herself to be talked into a cocktail while deciding what to do with the information that had just come to light.

  “We were this close to being let off the hook,” Frederick said, holding up his hand with the tips of his thumb and forefinger nearly touching.

  “If you believe our Rosie was going to walk away from an unsolved mystery, you don’t know your sister as well as you think you do,” Vera retorted.

  Frederick sneered and then turned away from Vera to address his sister. “So I assume you want to track down this Charlie and see if we can shake him up.”

  “You’ve been reading too many American crime novels, brother dear. I think the expression is ‘shake him down,’ however. And yes, I want to find him and question him. We’ll take Wadsworth.”

  When Frederick raised an eyebrow at the suggestion and put on a greatly exaggerated impression of a doddering old man trying to fend off a thug with his cane, Rosemary nearly threw her empty glass at his head.

  “He’s more than a butler, Fred. He may look old and worn, but you don’t need to be young and spry to aim a pistol. Wadsworth’s a crack shot. Anything goes south, and he’ll protect us with his life.”

  “Fair enough,” Frederick said, sitting back with a pensive expression on his face. He’d had no idea Wadsworth would prove such an asset, but now that he thought about it, it made sense. Andrew would have ensured his and Rosemary’s safety, and planting a butler with a protective streak sounded exactly like something he would have done.

  Nobody seemed to realize how much Frederick had thought of his sister’s husband, but Andrew had been a good man and a good match for Rosemary. The thought caught Frederick off guard, and he had to blink and take a big swig of gin to avoid letting his emotions show.

  “No!” Quiet until now, Desmond launched to his feet and repeated, “No! I won’t have it, I tell you. You’re talking about Rosemary bearding a possible murderer in his den like it’s nothing more than a day at the park. You’re barking mad, the lot of you, and I won’t have it.”

  His feverish pacing brought him to where Rosemary sat, and when he settled onto the stool at her feet and laid a hand on hers, her breath caught. He looked adorable with his face flushed and his hair ruffled up as the result of restless fingers tangling there. She remembered him during their tender ages, and how much she’d yearned for him to look at her the way he was right now.

  But then there had been Andrew, and when his face swam into her memory, Rose set aside the remnants of her childish crush. Maybe someday, and sooner rather than later, she’d be ready for another man in her life, but it wouldn’t be fair to Desmond to ask him to wait. That was assuming he even wanted to, and Rose would rather not add the complication of knowing how he felt.

  “I’ll be fine. We’ll arrange to meet in a public place, during the day, when it’s safer,” she said, trying to set his mind at ease.

  “Segal was killed in a public place of sorts, might I remind you, and during the day.”

  “Well, he didn’t have you, Freddie, Vera, or Wadsworth to watch over him. It will all be fine. You wait and see. We’ll go as a group, and I’ll even let you choose the time and place as long as it’s soon.”

  With that, Desmond had to be satisfied.

  “Come, darling. We’ll let the men take care of the details while we assemble our costumes. I mean outfits.” Vera could turn anything into an excuse for mucking about in her closet. Rosemary wondered if the size of hers was the thing keeping Vera from coming to stay. Maybe she should offer to convert one of the bedrooms, though knowing Vera, it might take two.

  As soon as the bedroom door shut behind her, Vera let out a squeal. “Did you see the way Des looked at you? I wish a man would look at me like that.”

  “What are you on about?” Rosemary lifted a hand to her own cheek, felt the heat flaming there. “Men look at you like that all the time. All you have to do is crook your finger, and they fall in line like ducklings.”

  “Ducklings,” Vera said, spinning and settling herself on the bed, “are cute and fuzzy.”

  “As are some men.” Rosemary’s dry tone pulled a trilling laugh from her friend.

  “So they are, but not what I want in a companion. Give me a little sizzle and burn. I want someone who makes my toes tingle.”

  Rosemary could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she’d heard Vera’s voice turn so wistful, and the sound of it tore at her heart. Sisters of the heart, the friends had missed their chance to lay claim to the term by legal means when Vera’s fiancé, Rose’s brother, had been lost to the war. As much as Vera chided Rose’s reluctance to jump back into dating, she was the pot casting aspersions on the kettle’s shade.

  “Has no one tingled your toes since Lionel?”

  “Not as yet, but I remain ever hopeful, and I’m having fun testing the theory.”

  ***

  Charles Dupont was the epitome of a flunky, with thick, rope-like arms and a forbidding expression. However, there was some softness in his eyes, and in the curl of his lips when he tried to hide what Rosemary suspected was a frequent smile that had her doubting he enjoyed his line of work. She realized she might have been overly cautious bringing an armed guard along, but in this line of work, it didn’t pay to take chances.

  It had taken Frederick and Desmond far less time to find the man than Rose had expected, though according to them, the feat had been little more than a step away from a pilgrimage to Rome. They’d managed to make themselves into heroes, even though she suspected she and Vera would have been able to complete the task in a comparable amount of time and without half the fanfare.

  Now that she was there, standing in front of the man, he seemed far less formidable than a lackey of the type Martin had described ought to be.

  “You were there when Segal died, weren’t you, Charles?” She asked, playing a hunch and looking straight into his chocolate brown eyes.

  He stuttered, apparently caught off guard at the pointed question. It wasn’t as though he believed women were as meek as many men would like to think. He knew better; had met more than his fair share of passionate, fiery ladies. It was part of the job. He had, however, expected that out of the two standing in front of him, the lady who might give him a run for his money would be the brunette whose eyes flashed with a blatant challenge.

  “Yes,” he stammered, eying Freddie and Desmond with a wary look. Whether he could take them in a physical confrontation wasn’t the problem, but it would be two-on-one, and he had places to be and couldn’t afford to arrive spattered with blood from a fight in which he had no desire to engage. He didn't even notice the biggest threat, Wadsworth, who remained in t
he car with his trigger finger primed and ready. “What’s it to you?” he demanded.

  “To me? Nothing, personally. However, to my neighbors, Dr. Redberry and his wife, it means a great deal. You either had a hand in Claude Segal’s death, or you have a clue as to who else might have wanted him out of the picture.”

  Charlie let his shoulders drop and looked helplessly at Rosemary. “That list is a long one,” he said. “About everyone who had dealings with Segal would have liked to see him drawn and quartered.”

  “Can you narrow it down to the people who were in the waiting room at the time of his demise?” Rose prodded.

  “I didn’t see anyone. I was standing outside the window, waiting for Mr. Segal to have his tooth fixed. He’d been whining about it all morning and insisted I drive him. Won’t let me smoke in the car, so I hung around on the footway while he was inside.”

  Rose raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you hang around when you found out he was dead? Wouldn’t that have been part of your job description? Or are you only responsible for pummeling the poor souls who can’t pay their debts?”

  Charles’ eyes darted back and forth between the group that was now staring him down. “Don’t make the mistake of believing I like what I do. I was stuck with Mr. Segal just as much as that dentist was stuck with him. I took off because I was relieved he was gone. Just thought it was an accident. Didn’t realize he was murdered until that story came out. Didn’t care, either, you want to know the truth.”

  “Why were you stuck with him?” Rosemary’s heart had begun to soften for the poor man, though she couldn’t fathom why.

  “Paid my mother’s hospital bills, he did. He put her in a nice home and made sure she had nurses to take care of her round the clock. He didn’t do it out of the kindness of his heart. I don’t believe Mr. Segal had one. A heart, I mean. He did it so I owed him, and made sure I’d spend the rest of my life paying him back.”