Murder in Black Tie

by Sara Rosett

  When I stepped into the corridor, Jasper was coming my direction. “Ah, Olive. I haven’t seen you all afternoon.”

  I grabbed his arm and drew him into the room. I closed the door, and he said, “My, this is unusual. You’ve never dragged me into your room.”

  “I have something important to tell you.”

  “All business, I see.” Jasper crossed his arms and leaned against the door.

  “The files from the time that Parkview was a hospital were stored here in the attic. Gwen and I have been through them.” Jasper straightened, the easy smile leaving his face. I told him what we found and Sonia’s explanation of her time at Parkview. “Aunt Caroline confirmed that she interviewed Sonia here, but that it was only a short interview. She didn’t take Sonia around Parkview. I don’t see how she could have been aware that Mr. Payne was here.”

  “So, it wasn’t an outright lie, but more an oversight—an omission.”

  “Which can be just as devious . . . but in this case, it appears it doesn’t matter.”

  “I made progress as well—also on the negative front,” Jasper said. “I was able to confirm that Captain Inglebrook didn’t serve with Mr. Payne.”

  “So they weren’t known to each other either.”

  “Right,” Jasper said. “It seems we’re being quite successful at clearing people but not finding the murderer.”

  “I do have one more idea. It’s a bit odd, and I don’t know how it fits in with everything else—in fact, it doesn’t seem to fit in with anything, but I’d like to look into it because, well, to be honest, we have nothing else left to do.”

  “And your tone indicates you’re going to be cagey about telling me the specifics.”

  “I’d rather not until I know for sure. Will you come along and keep watch while I take a quick look around someone’s room?”

  “Of course. Remember our sobriquet, partners in crime?” Jasper asked, referring to the nickname he’d given us after we uncovered a criminal at Blackburn Hall. “I can’t let you break into someone’s room without a lookout. That’s the first rule of sleuthing.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jasper looked at the card in the nameplate and murmured, “Goodness,” but he didn’t say anything else.

  I tapped on the door and waited. When there was no answer, I went in and closed the door behind me. Mr. Quigley’s cage, an enormous rectangular thing, stood in one corner. It was nearly as large as a wardrobe and must have taken two footmen to move it upstairs. He let out a resounding squawk. “Hush, Mr. Quigley,” I whispered. “It’s only me. You remember me, right? It’s Olive.”

  Mr. Quigley let out a whistle that I was sure could be heard all over the house. A folded black cloth lay between the large cage and the smaller round cage that Deena had used to transport Mr. Quigley for the village shopping trip. I scurried over, twitched the cloth open, and tossed it over the cage. “Sorry, boy.” I waited a moment, but he was silent. I hoped he’d settle down for a rest.

  I took a deep breath to calm my skittering pulse and went to the wardrobe. It was stuffed so full of dresses that the doors popped open from the pressure of the fabric against them when I released the latch. Rows of shoes filled the base of the wardrobe. I carefully looked over each of them, then searched the other drawers and cupboards, again coming up empty. I removed the cloth from Mr. Quigley’s large cage, refolded it, and went to the door.

  Jasper, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, straightened when I emerged. “Any luck?”

  “I’ll say. They weren’t there.”

  Jasper cocked his head to one side. “You and I have different definitions of lucky.”

  “No, it’s exactly what I needed to know. I’m sure you’ve noticed how everything Deena wears matches, from her hair ornaments down to her shoes. It’s all in a similar shade.”

  “Yes, she’s always well-turned-out.”

  “Do you recall what she was wearing the night Mr. Payne died?”

  “A blue frock, I believe.”

  “I knew you’d remember. You’re good with fashion. Specifically, her gown that night was royal blue. When Longly was talking to us in the drawing room, I noticed Deena’s shoes were light blue.” I raised my eyebrows.

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Jasper said.

  “There are no royal blue shoes in the wardrobe. I don’t think she was reading a magazine in the sitting room. She slipped into the conservatory during one of the moments when Brimble wasn’t in the entry hall. I think she murdered Mr. Payne and got something on her shoes—probably blood. Once she realized what had happened, she dashed back upstairs to change into another pair of shoes. She must have disposed of the royal blue shoes later.”

  “And Brimble didn’t see her coming back down the second time?” Jasper said, his tone thoughtful as he tested out the idea. “I suppose it could have happened that way. But perhaps she didn’t have shoes that exactly matched her dress.”

  “Jasper, she prides herself on being a fashion plate. She has shoes to match every gown. How could someone who wears perfectly coordinated outfits not have a pair of shoes to match that exquisite evening gown? For goodness’ sake, she has silver shoes. Of course she’d have a pair of shoes in the same shade as her royal blue dress.”

  “You’re quite passionate about this fashion clue, I see,” Jasper said, then hurried on before I could argue. “I’m not belittling it. But why did Deena kill Mr. Payne?”

  That was the sticky point. “I’m not sure, but it must have something to do with the time Mr. Payne was a patient here during the war since the photographs were destroyed. Deena volunteered here. Perhaps there was a photograph of Deena and Mr. Payne together. Yes, I bet that’s the reason. Remember, I saw a picture of Deena helping to prepare Parkview for patients, but it was out of order in the album. She removed all the other photos but missed that one because it wasn’t grouped with the rest of them.”

  Jasper said, “So she must have taken the other photographs from the album after she killed Mr. Payne—perhaps during the night.”

  “If we’re right and it all links back to the time when Parkview was a hospital, the answer may be in the hospital files. I have some of them in my room.” As I spoke, we walked along the hall, speeding by the medieval tapestry and the glass antiquities cabinet. “The rest of the files are in Gwen’s room. If we hurry, we can take a look at the ones in my room before we go down.” My steps quickened as I closed the distance to my room. “We’ll be the last ones to arrive in the drawing room, but we should be able to make it before they go into dinner.”

  I went to the recessed cupboard and pressed the trim piece. “Gwen found a volunteer log. Perhaps Deena’s name is on it.”

  The cupboard door popped open. Jasper stepped forward. “Allow me.” He pulled out the box and set it on the bed, then stepped back and brushed down his sleeves, which were now covered in dust.

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “Tell Grigsby I’m to blame.” I began removing the folders, stacking them on the bed. “These are the files for patients who were here during nineteen fourteen, but I think the volunteer log should be here as well—” I halted, my gaze fixed on the name on the tab of the folder I held.

  My sudden stillness caused Jasper to look up from swatting away a thready cobweb that trialed from his cuff.

  “This patient’s name was Robert Stanton.” My thoughts were coming so quickly that I had to sit down on the edge of the bed. “Robert—Bobby—Stanton.”

  “Didn’t know him,” Jasper said with a shake of his head.

  “Oh, right. They visited a few times, but you weren’t here then. Bobby Stanton was Deena’s cousin. Bobby died during the war, and she inherited her uncle’s fortune. Remember she told us about it at the picnic? How her uncle thought she wouldn’t be able to handle the finances of the inheritance and intended to leave it all to Bobby because he was a man?”

  “And from her motor and clothes, it was a large fortune, I gather?”r />
  “Enormous.” I opened the folder and skimmed through the information, reading aloud. “Bobby died here on November seventh, nineteen fourteen.” I looked up at Jasper. “He was in the mahogany room. That’s where Mr. Payne was as well.”

  Jasper, his hands in his pockets, paced away, then came back, his gaze focused on the floor. “So Vincent Payne was there when Bobby died.”

  “Perhaps Deena killed Bobby and Mr. Payne saw her do it.” I went back to Bobby’s file and turned to the last pages. “The notes say Bobby didn’t respond to the nurse when she checked on him during her rounds.” I picked up Mr. Payne’s file and flipped to the page with that date. “Mr. Payne was given morphine that morning, and he was due for another dose at one o’clock. If he was coming around when Mr. Stanton died and he saw what happened . . .”

  “But then why did Mr. Payne keep silent all these years?” Jasper reached for Payne’s file.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps Mr. Payne was groggy from the morphine and was in and out of consciousness, not completely aware of what was happening around him. Perhaps he didn’t work out what actually happened until later.”

  Jasper had been scanning the file as I spoke. He snapped it closed. “If nothing else, I think you found the connection between Deena and Mr. Payne.”

  “Quite.” I began shoving the folders back into the box. “Let’s leave the files here, hidden behind the wainscoting.” Like Sonia, I doubted Deena knew where the hidden cupboards were. “Deena’s in the drawing room. I saw her go down earlier. Why don’t you keep an eye on her while I telephone Longly?”

  Jasper tossed the file in the box. “Oh, no. I’m not leaving you alone for a moment, old bean, now that we know what’s what.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but completely unnecessary.” I bent down and pushed the trim piece to open the cupboard. “I’m good at taking care of myself.”

  Jasper picked up the box. “Yes, I’ve noticed, but perhaps you’ll indulge me.”

  He was hard to resist when he looked at me like that. “All right. We’ll stay together.”

  “Good.” He put the box away. “Just give me a moment to clean up before we go downstairs.” He went through to the bath, swiping at the new streaks of dust on his sleeves and the lapels of his dinner jacket.

  Since I’d only handled the files, not the box, I wasn’t as dusty as Jasper was. The sound of running water came from the bath as I wiped my hands on my handkerchief. I went to the mirror of the dressing table to check my appearance.

  A metallic click sounded as the door swung open—Hannah returning to help me dress. Why hadn’t I locked the door? And Jasper was in my room—well, the adjoining bath, but the door was open—scandalous! The news would be all over the house before the evening was out.

  I swiveled around, “Hannah—”

  But it was Deena who stepped through the door and closed it smoothly with her elbow, despite being burdened with Mr. Quigley’s small cage, which was swathed in a cloth except for the ring at the top where she held it. She wore a stylish cloche, her driving coat with the mink collar, and had the strap of her handbag hooked over her forearm. I took in those details as a hazy background in contrast to the small pistol she held in her hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Good evening, Olive,” she said in a perfectly normal tone of voice as she set the birdcage down on the bed. “Where’s Jasper?”

  Jasper had turned off the taps a few seconds before Deena opened the door, thank goodness. “He’s downstairs,” I lied. Having a pistol pointed at one caused all sorts of physical reactions. My heart was fluttering, and my voice sounded as shaky as my legs felt. I licked my lips and tried again. I hoped my wavering voice had carried into the bath. “He’s gone to call Inspector Longly.”

  “Oh, there’s no need for that,” Deena said. “The inspector is already here.” Her cheeks were flushed, but otherwise she seemed exactly as she had when I’d seen her earlier in the hallway. Her narrow face didn’t look the least bit perturbed, and she held the barrel of the gun steady on my midsection.

  “What do you mean Inspector Longly’s here?”

  “I telephoned the police station with a tip.” The whiffle of Mr. Quigley expanding his wings sounded from under the cloth cover, and the cage rocked slightly. Deena steadied it with her free hand.

  “Then you should put that gun down straightaway,” I said. “The police tend to frown on people waving a pistol about. I’m sure if you put it away, everything will be fine. No harm done.” My voice held a trace of Sonia’s determinedly jolly tone.

  Deena stood in front of the door to the hall. I was too far from the bell pull, so I couldn’t summon a maid, and the bath door was on the other side of the room. I was marooned in an area of the room where the tables and chairs were out of my reach. The closest thing to me was the bed, which was a long stride away, but besides Mr. Quigley’s cage, it only had fringed pillows on it.

  “Inspector Longly will never see this pistol. And I’m not putting it away, so you can drop that false chipper tone. Now,” she said briskly, “there’s no need to pretend you don’t know exactly what’s happened. I came upstairs for my handkerchief and saw Jasper lingering near my room, so I hid behind the tapestry in the hall and heard you talking about my shoes. You both were so lost in your conversation that you walked right by and didn’t notice me. I do hate to depart Parkview so abruptly—such bad manners, but it can’t be helped. I ran back to my room, gathered up a few things.” She glanced toward the birdcage. “I can’t leave Mr. Quigley behind. And I made sure I had this sweet little thing.” She waggled the pistol.

  She flicked a glance at her wristwatch. “I don’t have long. I must slip away while the inspector is busy, and I’ve left him plenty to do. He’ll have to collect the photograph from Peter’s room and arrest him. Then he’ll—”

  “What photograph?” I asked, straining to listen for movement in the bath or the hallway. Had Jasper slipped out through the door that opened onto the corridor? Was he poised on the other side of the bedroom door, waiting for the right moment to burst into my room?

  “The photo I kept back from the album.” She smiled, but there was no warmth in her expression, only a mocking sadness, which accentuated her resemblance to a mournful saint’s icon. “Poor Olive. You’ve worked so hard, running around, trying to figure things out, but I’m about to undo it all. The photograph of Mr. Payne came in handy. It’s a nice touch, I think, putting it in Peter’s room.” She tilted her head to the side, and her dangling diamond earring swung away from her cheek. “It’s such a shame I’ve had to cut things short. It would have been so satisfying to give Inspector Longly another dead body to investigate. But I just don’t have time to arrange an accident and have you drown in the bath.”

  “What? You can’t be serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious, but I’ve abandoned that idea. Once I heard you and Jasper speculating outside my room, I knew I had to cut my plans back. It would be too cumbersome to take care of you and Mr. Rimington,” she said as if killing two people was such a bother. “I would have rather liked to give him a push at the top of the stairs, though.”

  “Like you shoved Peter,” I said, the truth of what had happened during the picnic dawning on me.

  “That was a miscalculation, my one mistake. Pushing Mr. Rimington down the stairs would be a completely different situation. No handy underbrush to grab onto there to break his fall. I never make the same mistake twice, that’s why I’m good at this—quite good, in fact. It’s my talent you know, murders. I can’t sing or play, and I wasn’t clever in school, but planning a murder isn’t difficult. It just takes a little thought to work out all the details, and the ability to adapt when the situation changes.”

  For someone who was on a time schedule, she was quite chatty, but I could tell she was relishing every word. I supposed being a murderer—a successful one—put one in a lonely position. You couldn’t brag or show off. No one else knew of your brilliance, which
wasn’t a happy thought for me. I said, “But Jasper knows you killed Mr. Payne and your cousin—yes, we figured that bit out as well. Whatever you do to me—” The words stuck in my mouth, but I went on, “Jasper knows, and he’ll tell Inspector Longly.”

  She waved her free hand, flicking away my argument. “Inspector Longly may suspect me, but he won’t survive the night. You don’t believe me? That’s foolish. I’ve found people are eager to help me if they’re rewarded properly. A thick wad of pound notes can persuade even the most loyal staff to do me a favor. The turn down by the bridge is extremely dangerous. The inspector and whoever is in the motor with him—which will be Peter, of course—won’t survive. It will close up everything perfectly. That sharp turn by the river . . .” She made a tsking sound as she shook her head. “Their motor won’t be the first to crash there, will it? I heard the servants talking about it. Two other people died there within the last few years. So sad to add to the tally, but one does what one must.”

  “You can’t think leaving a trail of dead bodies will allow you to cover everything up?” I was aghast, and it came through in my tone, but she only widened her eyes, her face taking on an innocent look.

  “But it will be an accident—a tragic, horrible accident.” Her expression hardened. “That’s why I can’t kill you and Mr. Rimington, as much as I’d like to. Four bodies in one evening would be rather over the top.”

  “But the evidence—”

  “Will be with me. I’ll take Bobby’s medical records with me tonight, and then it will only be my word against yours and Mr. Rimington’s. He’s only a silly old fop. No one will take him seriously.”