The Sleuthing Starlet Mysteries

by Bianca Blythe

  “To England?”

  “Why naturally! Where else? Edmund will be delighted that I’ll have company on the crossing. And it will be nice to have someone decent to speak to. Edmund’s relatives are all so dreadful. Most unamused about absolutely everything.”

  Europe was miles away, filled with people who criticized the American way of doing things and from which emanated all manner of dramatic headlines.

  “Just because you’ve developed an appalling habit of being boring, does not mean you have to remain that way. If I’d never changed...” Veronica’s face took on a faraway look, and Cora wondered whether she was thinking of the sordid childhood she’d been rumored to have before being discovered. Veronica shook her head. “Well, we’ll just have to fix that.”

  “I couldn’t do that.”

  “Oh, do say you’ll come. It will be most picturesque. Edmund’s parents have a manor house in England. Quite remote from reporters. There will be snow and Christmas carolers and all those other things. It’s in a place called Yorkshire, darling.”

  “It sounds cold.”

  “That’s why blankets were invented, honey. Besides, isn’t your grandmother English? It will be like coming home.”

  “She’s my great aunt,” Cora said, “and I’ve never met her.”

  “Then you must meet her,” Veronica exclaimed. “Where does she live? London? York?”

  “I believe a place called Sussex?”

  Veronica’s frown was instantaneous. “That’s the very bottom of England. Apparently, it’s pleasant, but from the pictures I’ve seen, the grass is a far paler shade than that of Yorkshire. One wonders whether it can be termed green at all. And I suppose great aunts can scarcely be considered family.”

  Cora nodded, though her stomach tightened uncomfortably.

  Perhaps Great Aunt Maggie could scarcely be considered family, but apart from her parents, she was the only relative Cora had.

  “You should still come with me. You’ll be utterly anonymous.” Veronica flashed two rows of well-maintained white teeth.

  Anonymous.

  Cora tested the word out in her mind, but the negative connotation seemed to roar back.

  “How grand,” she said. “But I’m not sure—”

  “It will be such fun,” Veronica hastened to say. “No press at all. You can go about in some dusty old tweed like the locals. Not a single sparkle. And at night, you can stay at Chalcroft Park. All quite smashing. And not in the least like a normal park. None of the picnic basket carrying crowd. Just a great big old house. It’s terribly out of fashion—all turrets and gables, and it has loads of land that the sheep trim themselves.”

  “Isn’t Europe supposed to be dangerous?”

  “Utter nonsense. I know some journalists are quite insistent on depicting Hitler in the most revolting tones, but honestly, they’re writers. It’s practically their job to exaggerate! And they’re old, and we all know how old people like to drone on and on and on about how much better things were in the past. Besides, think how much worse things were in the last generation. All those brawny farmers drowning in mud on dreary battlefields in Belgium and France. What could probably be worse? And those chemical attacks. Utterly monstrous. I’ll take Hitler any day. Edmund’s father can explain it all to you. He’s quite passionate on the subject. One really mustn’t be upset at them for wanting to rebuild their army after it got demolished in the last war.”

  “I suppose not,” Cora said.

  “Look, you can take my maid’s place. I’d rather she went after me anyway so she can bring more things. Besides, I don’t think you understand how dull it can be to travel. All those deserts and forests are attractive in their manner, but they’re far better suited to paintings that one can glance at for a moment rather than as endless scenery. And then my new husband’s family—” She sighed. “Really, you’ll be helping me.”

  “I’ve never traveled farther east than Nevada. I’ve never even been on a plane.”

  Veronica widened her eyes. “Well, that settles it. You’re coming with me.”

  Chapter Two

  DESPITE WHAT VERONICA said about flying being a common occurrence, flying felt anything but natural. The aircraft flitted by tangerine-tinged clouds. The propellers roared in Cora’s ears, and the plane jostled as it pushed through more clouds.

  She was going to England.

  It was really happening.

  Modern buildings stretched majestically toward the sky, and slate blue waters glittered below.

  Veronica leaned over Cora. “That’s our ship!”

  It was the largest one in the water, though it looked worryingly small beside the skyscrapers.

  The plane rattled, and Cora tightened her grip on her armrests.

  Veronica downed the vodka drink the stewardess had given her and pulled out a silver cigarette case. Her crimson fingernails flashed as she inserted a cigarette into a jade holder and lit up. The ashy smoke wasn’t able to hamper the view as the plane descended from the clouds. Pursing her ruby red painted lips around the holder, she inhaled deeply, and gray ash toppled onto Cora’s lap.

  Before, Cora could react, Veronica brushed it away. “Sorry.” Her voice seemed tighter, more constrained than normal, and Cora jerked her head toward her friend. Perhaps Veronica was nervous about flying after all.

  The plane glided to the ground and came to a halt, and Cora followed Veronica down the metal steps. Cora got a fleeting glimpse of a two-story brick building with a windowed tower set in the front center, before they were ushered into a taxi that sped them toward lower Manhattan.

  The clouds shifted, and the sun splashed bright light over the buildings. Glass windows sparkled Steam rose from the gutters, but the burst of fog seemed to only imbue the atmosphere with added intensity.

  This did not resemble California.

  The palm trees were missing.

  They’d been replaced with trees that had thicker trunks and possessed a multitude of branches, but none of them managed to retain many leaves. Any that remained were orange or brown, wrinkled or dead. The palm trees in California faced no such difficulty, and Cora felt a pang for their slender forms and the graceful arch of their leaves.

  Cora shifted in her seat, unnerved by the height of the buildings. They couldn’t possibly stand hundreds of stories effortlessly.

  Tall buildings existed in both Vegas and Los Angeles, but not at this height, and the open expanse of land in those places had never made the buildings seem claustrophobic. These buildings were huddled together as though seeking strength from each other.

  The taxi wove quickly through the streets, lurching from corner to corner, as if each opening of space between the cars and carriages was a lifeline.

  “It’s so different,” Cora exclaimed.

  Veronica smirked. “Wait until we reach England.”

  Cora nodded, but a prickle of nervousness coursed through her.

  Perhaps her great aunt lived in England, but Cora had never met her, and she certainly didn’t know anything about the country except that the colonials had found the English sufficiently unappealing that they’d waged a revolution to free themselves.

  It seemed foolish for an American to venture there.

  Californians weren’t even supposed to feel at home on the East Coast.

  As the taxi continued its rush through the city traffic, street children stepped out of the way. Dirt stained their clothes and tangled hair.

  “How horrible,” Cora said.

  “They’ll be fine.” Veronica averted her gaze abruptly. “It will be awfully grand to be on the ship. So much velvet, dear. And the crimson kind.”

  “Just like the theater.”

  “Yes,” Veronica purred. “Oh, you do understand. Though I’ve never been quite partial to red velvet attire. Blues and greens are so much more mysterious. And one must be mysterious.”

  Veronica continued to chatter merrily over the merits of various hues and tints, not returning her gaze to the
window until they reached Central Park, and the urchins had been replaced with strolling ladies in fur coats and embroidered hats.

  Cora frowned. She knew so little about Veronica’s childhood.

  The mothers of the other child stars had practically resided on set, but not Veronica’s.

  She turned her gaze to the window.

  Men marched on the streets in long woolen coats. Shoes with spats peeked from their business suits. Beside them women strode purposefully, swathed in fur-collared tweed and swinging glossy alligator handbags.

  These men and women were not going to work before the bright lights or in the dimmer environs of the backstage. It seemed strange to see a city so large not reliant on the entertainment industries.

  For a moment, jealousy coursed through Cora. What would it be like to be one of those women? Or even to work for one of them?

  The idea seemed almost appealing. She wouldn’t worry then about photographers following her, and she wouldn’t need to recite romantic lines to an actor she’d just met before a large crew.

  But then Cora remembered the crash. Wall Street and New York City had played a role in ushering in the Great Depression. It was better to be wary of the place, with the narrow gaps between its buildings, and the seeming never-ending bustle of people.

  The taxi turned toward the river. Boats and ships dotted the almost gray water. Cora missed California’s turquoise waves, studded with foamy white spray.

  The taxi finally stopped. “We’re here,” announced the driver.

  Cora waited for him to open the door and then stepped out.

  The RMS Queen Mary seemed calm, a beacon of elegance and sumptuousness against the tightly crammed buildings. The scarlet smokestacks adorned it with the magnificence of a crown, and people thronged upon the decks.

  “Why, it’s Veronica James!” someone shouted, and a crowd of journalists rushed toward them.

  “How does it feel to be a countess?” one journalist asked.

  “Glorious.” Veronica twirled around, and Cora wondered if her sharply angled felt hat might fly off.

  “Such a fairy tale,” another person exclaimed.

  In her element, Veronica beamed.

  It was a fairy tale.

  Earls normally married English debutantes, when they bothered to marry at all. They weren’t supposed to marry Americans.

  “How did you like your last time in Hollywood?” a third journalist shouted.

  Veronica’s smile wobbled. “I’ll miss you, America.”

  The others laughed. “Nah. No way.”

  “I still have one more film to make,” she said quickly. “After Christmas.”

  “You won’t come back,” a reporter called to her. “Not when you’re reunited with your earl.”

  “Who wants an autograph?” Veronica asked, and an excited murmur rippled through the crowd.

  Cora frowned.

  How happy was Veronica that she was giving up her career for marriage?

  Likely, she was reading too much into it.

  Unlike Cora, Veronica had chosen to leave. The decision was obvious to anyone. Why be an actress when one could be a countess?

  They ascended the gangway, and Veronica murmured that they were lucky that they would be sailing so late in the year and the ship was not full. Most people didn’t want to submit themselves to the whims of the ocean, and Veronica had been able to procure one of the nicer cabins.

  They strode over lush red carpets that covered the floors, as if the ship were attempting to mimic a grand hotel and was not the main method of transportation to the continent. Hopefully the long pile of the carpets had not been selected as necessary padding for a tumultuous crossing.

  “Tell me more about the hosts,” Cora said. “I’ve never met a duke and duchess.”

  “But you are on very intimate terms with a countess.” Veronica winked.

  Cora smiled. She imagined the duke and duchess’s lives involved a great deal of jewels and permanently upturned noses.

  Veronica released a sigh. “They are perhaps not the most pleasant of hosts.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, hospitality is hardly an English trait. They see their role as more of reminding people of their importance. To think, one day Edmund will be a duke, and I will be his duchess.”

  The magazines were already celebrating that fact.

  “Do tell me more about Chalcroft Park,” Cora said.

  Veronica shrugged. “It’s called a park darling, but I must admit, it looks more like a castle. Though technically it’s a manor house.”

  “Smashing.” Cora tried to lean back casually and replicate some of Veronica’s nonchalance.

  “It’s beautiful.” Veronica’s eyes sparkled, and her lips spread into a wide smile.

  It was perhaps difficult, even for a Hollywood movie star, to act entirely nonchalant about the prospect of turrets and moats.

  “Who will be there?” Cora asked

  “You’ll meet Edmund of course.” Veronica gave Cora a blissful smile that seemed incongruent with the man’s pompous name.

  Cora had seen pictures of him in newspapers and magazines, and she was happy to be able to meet him in person. All the articles had lauded him, praising his attractiveness. His receding hairline and weak chin seemed unlikely attributes in a cover model, but Cora supposed aristocrats had different standards to meet. Simply being under forty seemed a cause for celebration.

  “What are his parents like?” Cora asked. “Does he have siblings?”

  “An older half-brother. His father was a bit of a scoundrel in his past, and Rhys won’t be inheriting anything. And Edmund’s parents are—” Veronica paused, and for the second time Cora wondered if she was truly happy moving to England.

  It had seemed odd that she’d been so eager to bustle her off and join her for Christmas.

  “I mean...they’re fine,” Veronica said. “Naturally.”

  Cora waited for her to continue.

  “His father is quite old. I imagine he will likely pass away soon.”

  “How unfortunate.”

  Veronica blinked. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

  “Though sometimes appearances can be deceiving,” Cora said, trying to be reassuring. “Perhaps he’ll reach a hundred. I imagine dukes have quite wonderful doctors.”

  “Er—yes.” Veronica rang the bell for an attendant and seemed relieved when he arrived. “Can you please make sure my maid is settled properly? And bring us drinks.”

  “Something refreshing?”

  “Something strong.” She gave the attendant a tip and turned back to Cora. “It won’t be just the family. Audrey will be there of course. Lady Audrey, I should say. They do so insist on using their titles.” Veronica gave a slight grimace, a gesture Cora thought she’d reserved purely for the most appalling news headlines. Veronica was careful to minimize the formation of future wrinkles.

  “Who is Lady Audrey?” Cora asked.

  “I believe the term they use in England is ‘bright young thing.’ Perfectly ghastly, if you ask me. As if the rest of us are not nearly as bright. She’ll be painting my portrait—she’s already working on one for the duchess.”

  Cora doubted that Audrey’s supposed intelligence was what was causing Veronica grief. Veronica used to tease the more studious of girls on the lot, and certainly seemed disinclined to emulate, much less be mistaken for them.

  “How did you meet her?”

  “Edmund knows her. She lived in a nearby manor house, and I gather they climbed apple trees together and watched frogs jump or some such idyllic nonsense. Now she lives in London, but she expressed nostalgia, and poor Edmund is such a sweet man—really, such a sweet, sweet man, that he invited her. To our first Christmas together.” She put her arms on her hips and glared, as if she were auditioning for the role of head fury in some Grecian tragedy.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Veronica shrugged. “What you must think of me, honey. And she’s not so bad. In fact—you m
ust spend time with her. Heaps of time.”

  Cora nodded. She had the vague impression she’d been invited there to rectify a third wheel by becoming a fourth one. She could do fourth wheels though. It was two wheels that she had more trouble with. Her dates had been limited to publicity stunts, where she’d been chosen more for her reliability and disinclination to sell salacious gossip than for any compatibility.

  “Who else is coming?” Cora asked.

  “Rhys Ardingley and his wife Katherine. She’s in a wheelchair and terribly prone to petulance. It doesn’t help that they’re both impoverished. Rhys has never gotten over the fact that he’s the duke’s eldest son but isn’t actually allowed to inherit anything.” She shrugged. “At least the duke acknowledges him. And apparently, some Italian man is coming too, Edmund says. He has some sort of business dealings with the duke.”

  “I see.”

  “You’ll adore England,” Veronica said. “Not the people, naturally. Far too conceited.”

  Cora hid her smile. Veronica seemed an unlikely person to be outraged by a well-developed superiority complex.

  “The countryside there is decent,” Veronica mused, and Cora followed her gaze to the tiny porthole. Cora glanced around. She had to admit, despite the well-appointed comfort of the stateroom, it was a bit cramped for space.

  Veronica jumped up. “Let’s explore the rest of the ship.”

  Cora followed her out. People crowded around them as they entered the first-class lounge. Businessmen surged around them, and Cora was once again conscious that she was traveling far away from her home.

  “Aren’t you scared of overeager men?” Cora whispered.

  “Oh, you are really rather too uptight,” she said. “It was fine when you were younger, but you’re becoming set in your ways. What you need is a nice man. Someone like Edmund.”

  “I doubt I will find one with your new relatives.”

  She laughed. “Edmund’s older half-brother is extremely dashing.” Her smile faded into a thoughtful pout. “Though quite married. Perhaps Edmund has a friend. Perhaps someone he plays squash with on a regular basis. Or perhaps...polo.” She gazed up at the sky, and her eyes glimmered, in a way that only experienced women were accustomed to doing.