by C Jane Reid
“That is a smashing idea,” Brandon agreed.
“But we don’t know when he’ll be released.” Daphne frowned. “Or if he will. They might have more information about what happened that could implicate Gordie.”
“This is all very tiresome,” Brandon said. “You’d think it would be easier to say how a bloke was killed.”
The women turned their stares to him.
“Let’s return to the Regal Rose,” Lola finally decided. “I’ll ask Mr. Argyle to telephone the police department to find out if and when Gordie will be released so we can meet him, and in the meantime, we can see if the Punch Bowl has opened for the day. What is the time?”
“Reach into my coat pocket,” Brandon told Willa. “My watch is just there.”
Willa did so and the three women in the back sat exchanged meaningful looks.
“Three o’clock,” Willa announced.
“When does the cocktail club open?” Vera asked. She glanced at her dress. “I’m hardly properly attired.
“Neither am I.” Lola sighed. “We could mix drinks in my suite.”
“I have a brilliant one to share,” Daphne announced, quite unexpectedly. She glanced at them when no one remarked. “What is it?”
“You hardly seem the sort to mix cocktails,” Vera told her. “Not to offend, darling.”
“Daphne finds the interaction between liquids and tastes stimulating,” Brandon told them, saying it as though reciting an oft-heard quote.
“I do,” Daphne admitted, for the first time sounding shy about her knowledge.
“Well,” Vera said brightly, “isn’t that simply wonderful. You are now my closest and dearest friend.”
They laughed, and Lola couldn’t recall a time she’d felt as perfectly accepted as she did with this fascinating, and eccentric, group of friends.
Once Brandon left his auto with the parking valet at the Regal Rose, they went straight for the lift. Daphne was making a list of ingredients she would need, with Lola inserting whether she had it available or not in the suite. The lift was waiting, and they piled in.
“We can telephone down for the rest,” Lola told them.
“There are fewer things I admire better than a well-stocked bar,” Vera told them. “Except perhaps a well-stocked gentleman. Hello, there,” she said to Carmen.
He offered her with a smile, but Lola noticed it wasn’t as dazzling as usual. “Miss.”
Lola squeezed around Brandon. “Carmen, are you well?”
Carmen didn’t answer immediately, instead watching the arrow indicating each floor they passed. Lola’s pulse quickened.
“Carmen?”
Her friends had gone quiet.
The lift came to a halt, and Carmen opened the gate. Wordlessly, the others stepped into the hall and away from the lift.
Lola went to stand closer to lift operator. “What’s happened?” She felt cold, certain someone else had died.
“The police,” Carmen said quietly, as though afraid to speak aloud. “They are with Madame.”
“What?” Lola’s voice carried down the hall, and Carmen winced. “Sorry.” Lola lowered her voice. “Why?”
“I don’t know, but they were very serious when I took them up. And—” He hesitated.
“What? Carmen, please, I can’t take the suspense.”
“Detective Chief Inspector Angleton was with them.” He said the name fraught with meaning. It went completely over Lola’s head.
“Is he important?” One of Arthur’s fellow inspectors? She didn’t know enough, or rather anything, about Arthur’s recently acquired, to her, at least, profession, let alone who worked with him.
Carmen stared at her as though she’d turned purple. “Yes.”
Lola waited, but Carmen appeared to be out of words.
“Wait just a moment, will you?”
He nodded, and Lola hurried to where her friends had gathered. She handed Willa the key to her suite.
“The Jewel Suite,” she told her. “Call down for whatever you need,” she told Daphne. “And save me one of each.”
“What has happened, Lola?” Vera asked.
“Miss Edie may be in trouble.”
“Then I’ll come with you.”
Lola was about to assure her not to bother but having a friend with her, especially one who knew London and its inhabitants much better than she, was too comforting. “Please.”
“Send word if you need us,” Willa told her as Lola and Vera returned toward the lift.
“The cavalry will charge,” Brandon added.
“With cocktails at the ready,” Daphne agreed.
Lola couldn’t stop herself from laughing.
“And what a cavalry that would make,” Vera said, also laughing. “The bobbies won’t know what hit them.”
“Especially with Daph mixing the drinks,” Brandon added even louder.
Carmen closed the gate behind them.
“I do wish I could have changed,” Vera complained. She plucked at her day dress, wine-hued with cream lace at the hem of the long sleeves and around the skirt, which fell past her knees. Her stockings were also cream, her shoes black with glittering buckles. The dress would have been sweetly innocent if the neckline were quite so daring.
“You look darling,” Lola assured her. She felt rather drab by comparison in her dark brown dress, even with the frilly neckline. She hadn’t noticed until Vera brought it up. It was another hint of how comfortable she felt among her new group of friends that she hadn’t taken immediate notice to compare herself to what everyone wore.
“And I think, given how Carmen looked at you, that it suits you very nicely,” Lola added with a grin.
Vera fluttered her eyelashes at Carmen, who answered with another weak smile.
“Penthouse floor,” he said as the lift came to a stop.
“Thank you, handsome,” Vera told him with a wink as they left the lift.
“Yes, miss.”
“You are incorrigible, Vera,” Lola told her as they took the few short paces to Miss Edie’s door.
“I come by it naturally. My mother was quite the flirt in her day. Well,” Vera amended thoughtfully, “she rather still is. According to my father.”
Lola wanted to ask her more, realizing how little she knew about her friend, but they had reached the door.
“I suppose it is good news that there isn’t a bobby standing guard outside.”
“Why do they call them bobbies?” Lola asked.
Vera shrugged. “No idea.”
The door was slightly open, so Lola simply pushed it the rest of the way and walked in.
At least, she would have walked in if a uniformed police officer hadn’t stepped out in front of her.
“This area is off limits for the time being,” he said with a much less precise accent than Lola was accustom. She truly needed to get out more.
“I am Madame Meunier’s personal assistant,” Lola stated in her best pompous voice and without a moment’s hesitation. “You will please let me pass.”
The bobby frowned. “Wait here.”
“Yes, sir,” Vera said with a stiff posture and a subordinate tone.
He eyed her, then really eyed her. She hitched her hip and smiled those perfect lips of hers. Lola tried not to grin.
The bobby muttered something and stumbled as he tried to walk away.
“You enjoyed that,” Lola accused.
“Immensely.” Vera winked. “I do love undermining a man’s perceived power. And it is all perceived,” she added drolly.
The bobby returned with a wide-shouldered, older man in a nice, if not fashionable, suit.
“Madame Meunier does not keep a personal assistant,” he said without greeting. He looked annoyed.
“Of course she doesn’t keep me,” Lola answered. “I have my own residence.”
He frowned, which made him look on the intimidating side. Not as intimidating as Mr. Abernathy, the hotel’s chief security officer, but still hostile in
a way an annoyed bull was hostile. And to be avoided.
Lola had faced annoyed bulls. True, she’d been on horseback at the time. She thought she could probably outrun this man, though.
“If you would please let Madame know I’ve arrived,” she said archly.
The man’s jaw worked back and forth.
“And,” she added for good effect, “it would be simply lovely if you would do me the honor of introducing yourself.”
He actually flushed at that. “My apologies. I am Detective Chief Inspector Angleton.”
“Miss Lola Rose.” She extended her hand. He glanced at it before accepting. His hand was large, rough, and warm.
Her father had always said you could tell something about a man by his handshake. Lola wondered what he’d say about Detective Chief Inspector Angleton.
“If I might be allowed to see Madame?” Lola asked, but it was less of a question and more of a hint.
Instead of answering, he looked at Vera. “And you are?”
“Vera Tracy. I’m Miss Rose’s personal stylist.”
Lola choked.
Chief Inspector Angleton did not look amused.
Vera smiled.
“Let them in, Chief Inspector.” Miss Edie’s voice came from inside the penthouse. “And get on with it, if you will.”
With a final, appraising look that had nothing to do with Lola’s and Vera’s appearance and everything to do with their presence, he stepped aside.
Lola went to where Miss Edie was standing. Eugenie was standing nearby with such a look of outrage that Lola was very glad not to be the chief inspector. Two police officers were going through end table drawers. Shockingly, Mr. Abernathy was standing by a window, arms crossed, his face suspiciously calm.
“Be careful, you ham-handed brute,” Eugenie snapped when the vase on one of the tables began to topple as the officer searched. He steadied it but cast Eugenie a warning look.
“What are you going to do, man?” Eugenie demanded. “Toss me in shackles for protecting Madame’s priceless objects d’art?”
He ducked his head and moved to another place in the room.
“Help me sit, Lola.” Miss Edie held out her arm. Lola had never seen her looking so frail. Lola helped her cross to her favorite chair and sit. Vera joined Eugenie in explaining to the officers certain furnishings and fixtures and their importance in the art and style worlds. Her knowledge was impressive, nearly as much as her batting eyes and sultry voice.
“Can I bring you tea?” Lola asked Miss Edie once she was sitting. She was worried and it came across in her voice.
Miss Edie patted her hand. “That is sweet of you.” She gave Lola a weary smile.
And then winked.
Lola had to press her lips together to keep from smiling. Miss Edie, the actress. And a very good one, it seemed.
“It is tiring to have so many young men traipsing about, going through my things.” Miss Edie spoke loud enough that there was no way that the chief inspector, standing on the other side of the room, could miss it. He gave her a brief glance, then returned to speaking with his subordinate.
“Why are they here?” Lola asked quietly.
“Apparently I am under suspicion for the murder of Herr Prinz.”
“Whyever for?”
“I hardly hid my dislike for the man,” Miss Edie said with a flick of her wrist.
“Yes, I recall.”
“I am not certain why they have chosen to singled me out for having pushed the man down the stairs. I was quite asleep at that time of night.”
Lola remained silent, wondering if she should share what Arthur had told her.
“You know something,” Miss Edie said, not in question.
Lola nodded. She knelt down next to Miss Edie’s chair to whisper to her.
“I met Arthur coming from—well, that hardly matters. What does matter is that Herr Prinz did not die from the fall. Arthur claims he was poisoned.”
Miss Edie stiffened.
“What type of poison?” Her words were flat.
“Arthur didn’t bother to mention.” She didn’t hide her annoyance.
An officer hurried to the chief inspector, carrying a large, glass bottle sealed with a cork. He spoke to the older man in a hushed voice. The chief inspector opened the bottle and sniffed, then drew back sharply.
All eyes turned to Miss Edie.
The chief inspector handed the bottle back to the officer with a terse, undertone command. The officer and one other left the penthouse.
The Detective Chief Inspector Angleton crossed to Miss Edie.
“Madame,” he said formally but with a cold tone, “you are to remain within your suites until notified otherwise. Two officers will be stationed here, one outside, one inside. No one is to be allowed entry without their permission. You will be allowed to keep your lady’s companion with you, but no one else.” His gaze fell upon Lola, who stood gracefully, smoothing her dress.
“On what charge is Madame being held?” she asked tightly.
“Suspected murder.”
Lola kept from gasping. “With what evidence?”
“I will discuss that with Madame Meunier.”
“Then do so,” Miss Edie commanded.
The chief inspector studied her, his expression calm. “As you wish, Baroness.”
Lola’s eyes widened, but if he had hoped to shock Miss Edie, he failed. She neither moved nor spoke, instead remaining calm and completely in control.
“The victim was poisoned using a strong dose of methanol,” the chief inspector said.
“Methanol?” Lola asked when Miss Edie said nothing.
“Wood alcohol.”
“It is mine,” Eugenie spoke up, hurrying to them. “I use it for cleaning.”
“It was in easy reach to anyone with knowledge of where it was stored,” the chief inspector said, not looking away from Miss Edie. Still, Miss Edie said nothing.
The chief inspector looked frustrated. “Will you abide by my restrictions, or do I have to have you removed from the hotel?”
Miss Edie arched an eyebrow at him, then slowly and regally stood.
“Eugenie, I will take tea in my bedroom. Lola, please inform Sir Winston of this development. Thank you.” And with that, Lady Edwina Blythe Fromer Meunier, Baroness of Alwick, left the room.
“She didn’t do it,” Lola told the chief inspector, her voice sharp. “Just because she didn’t like him doesn’t mean she killed him.”
The chief inspector studied her, and she had to fight not to shrink from that gaze.
“I wonder, Miss Rose, how much you know of your employer, if she is indeed your employer, and her history.”
Lola lifted her chin.
The chief inspector said no more. He gestured to the front door. Lola cast Eugenie an apologetic look, squeezed her hands, and, with Vera following, left the penthouse. As she did, she cast Mr. Abernathy a glare.
Mr. Abernathy didn’t see it, however. He was too busy glaring at Detective Chief Inspector Angleton.
Chapter Thirteen
Sir Winston Gladstone, managing director of the Regal Rose, stood from his desk faster than a man of his considerable bulk should be able.
“She’s what?”
“Detained on suspicions of murder.” Lola spoke calmly, but she’d had time to process the events on the way to see the director of the hotel.
“That is impossible.”
“I said as much, but Detective Chief Inspector Angleton seemed convinced by the evidence they found.”
“Did you say Detective Chief Inspector Angleton?”
Lola nodded, surprised by Sir Winston’s wide-eyed reaction.
He straightened, pulling at his suit coat. “Miss Rose, might I beg a favor?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“While the chief inspector and his officers are in the hotel, please refrain from antagonizing them.”
Lola drew back. “Sir Winston, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He
eyed her knowingly.
She sighed. “How is it that everyone at the Regal Rose assumes they know my character after so short a time?”
“Because, Miss Rose, you are a singularly vibrant young woman with a few, ahem, eccentric character traits.”
Lola smiled. “Guilty.”
“Detective Chief Inspector Angleton is not known for his sense of humor. Quite the opposite.” Sir Winston’s expression was serious. “If he suspects Madame of any wrong-doing, he will doggedly pursue the evidence.”
“And discount anyone else who might have been involved?”
“He isn’t that close-minded, but his instincts are rarely wrong.”
Lola hmphed. “So are mine. If you’ll excuse me, Sir Winston. And I trust you’ll see to Madame’s requirements?”
“Naturally.” He looked offended to be reminded.
“And Mr. Abernathy will remain with her?”
“As though I’d be likely to convince him otherwise.”
“And you’ll do everything in your power to assist her?”
Sir Winston drew himself upright with a stern look.
To sooth the offense, Lola smiled. “You are a magnificent director, Sir Winston. I’m quite in love with you.”
He flushed.
Lola waved to him as she left but dropped her smile as soon as she was out the door.
“Is it true, Miss Rose?” Mr. Argyle caught her leaving.
She didn’t bother asking what he’d heard. Mr. Argyle seemed to hear about everything. “I’m afraid it is. A terrible mistake of justice is being made.”
He pursed his thin lips. “Perhaps I am wrong to information you, but Detective Inspector Blythe has arrived at the hotel.”
Arthur. Lola perked. “Do you know where he is?”
Mr. Argyle gave her an arch look.
“Of course you do,” Lola amended. “My apologies.”
“He has gone to the penthouse.”
She muttered a word her mother would not approve. Mr. Argyle, however, didn’t flutter an eyelash.
“Could you send him to my suite when you see him? My friends and I are having a bit of a do.”
“As I understand from the quantity of liquor requested to your suite.”
She grinned. “Daphne is something of a cocktail chemist. I asked to see her at work. Shall I send one down for you?”