by C Jane Reid
“Certainly not, Miss Rose.”
Laughing playfully, Lola left the front desk. She met Brandon as he stepped out of the lift.
“Ah, Lola. Vera told us what happened. Terribly unexpected.”
“She didn’t do it.”
“No, no, she never would, I’m certain.”
Lola drew a breath. “I’m sorry, Brandon. I feel as though all I’m doing lately is defending the people I care about.”
He cocked his head. “So, you and Gordie—”
“Heavens, Brandon,” Lola interrupted. “I’ve known the man for only a few days. I’m hardly choosing my wedding trousseau.”
He smiled that cocky smile. It was good to see him back in form. This, whatever it was, thing with Willa had shaken him off balance. She wanted to ask him about it, but the timing was off.
“Back to business,” Brandon said, “I’m off to fetch Gordie. Willa has been ringing the police department every quarter hour to learn when we can see him, and this last time they said he was being released.”
“He’s being released because they believe Miss Edie is responsible.”
“It’s a bad show all around. Good, though, that Gordie’s being cut loose.”
“Shall I come?”
“Best not.” Brandon shifted, looking away.
“Oh. Yes. Manly pride and all.”
He gave her a quizzical look.
“Nevermind. Bring him to the suite, will you?”
“He’ll most likely want to clean up first.”
“I’m sure he will. We’ll order up some grub so it’s ready for him.”
“Grub?” Brandon grinned. “Best watch out, Lola. Your Texan is showing.”
She laughed and pushed him away. “Off with you.”
Skipping, she got into the lift. Carmen gave her an odd look. She couldn’t blame him. It was odd, feeling such sudden giddiness when Miss Edie was in danger, but securing Gordie’s release, even if she’d no hand in it, had been an all-day excursion. Now that it was at hand, she felt the need to celebrate.
Then they’d get down to securing Miss Edie’s release. And proving her innocence.
Chapter Fourteen
Gordie did indeed look worn around the edges when he arrived with Brandon at the suite. Perhaps worn around the edges was too kind. His eyes were sunken with exhaustion and he was pale, well, paler than usual. At least what Lola assumed was usual, having known him for only a few days.
“Gordie!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed. His left arm went around her waist and squeezed in return, and he buried his face against her shoulder. After he breathed in deeply and then out again, he released her.
“We are so glad you are free,” Lola told him. “I’ve been worried for you.”
“You believe it wasn’t me, don’t you?” The look he gave her was hollow but pleading, as though he needed to hear the words but didn’t dare hope for it.
“Of course it wasn’t you.” She frowned. “I knew that at once. Come sit down. We have a feast laid out for your homecoming.” She took his left hand and led him into the main room of the suite, where, indeed, a feast was laid out.
Gordie stood still, staring at it all.
“This wasn’t necessary,” he said in a thick voice.
Lola eyed him anxiously, twirling her hand into her short strand of pearls. He was either very tired or this meant more to him than they had realized. Did he have family? How had he been welcomed home from the war?
She tightened her grip on his hand in silent strength. “It was absolutely necessary.” She spoke with finality and certainty. When he looked at her, he was blinking hard.
“And we’re all starved,” Brandon said, grabbing a piece of crustless toast smeared with fish paste and topped with garnish. He popped it in his mouth, then winced.
“Spicy,” he warned around the bite in his mouth before reaching for a glass. Daphne thrust one into his hand.
He swallowed the bite. “It’s pink,” he complained, swishing the liquid in the glass.
“It’s delicious,” Vera told him. Her glass was nearly empty.
Brandon shrugged, then drank. And finished it in three gulps.
Daphne handed him another.
“Sit,” Lola commanded Gordie. She led him to a plush chair, waited until he had sat, then fixed him a plate heaping with food. Daphne handed him a tumbler of amber liquor, and Lola handed him the plate. They both stood over him, watching.
Gordie glanced at Brandon then up at the ladies.
“I’m Daphne,” Daphne told him.
“She’s my sister,’ Brandon explained.
“No, he’s my brother,” Daphne corrected.
“Welcome to the madness,” Vera whispered to him as she leaned over the back of his chair. “Are you quite unharmed? We’ve been worried into doing very foolish things. All orchestrated by Lola, naturally.”
“Let him eat,” Lola told her.
“Let’s all eat,” Brandon said, helping himself to a plate.
“By no means stand on ceremony,” Daphne said dryly.
Brandon glared at her. “I am serving my friends.” He filled the plate and went to Willa.
“How sweet of you,” Willa told him with a smile. She came to sit in the chair next to Gordie. “Do eat, Gordie. We won’t feel certain that you are well until you do.”
“And you wouldn’t want us to worry any more than we have,” Vera added. “There is no telling what shenanigans we might concoct.”
Gordie stared at all of them, one in turn. Then laughed.
“It’s like I’ve walked out of hell and into paradise.” He grinned, and it took years off his looks. “Fine food, finer liquor, and the sweetest women in London.”
“I say!” Brandon protested.
Gordie flinched.
“I can be quite sweet,” Brandon told him, stoutly.
They all laughed, and it broke the emotion that had begun to thicken in the room and freed everyone to seek their own plates and glasses.
As they ate, Lola, aided by Daphne, with inserts by Vera, explained what had happened since Gordie was taken away by the police.
“And so now that you’ve been released, we must help Miss Edie,” Lola concluded, brandishing her fork like a cavalry sword signaling the order to charge.
“I’m still a suspect,” Gordie reminded her. He had refilled his plate twice and, plate finally empty, sat back with his tumbler in his hand, as relaxed as Lola had seen him.
Lola waved away the thought. “They always say that.”
“And you have experience with suspects?” Daphne asked with an arched brow.
“Here and there. Now, where do we begin?”
“If you don’t know,” Vera said, “then none of us do.”
“I do,” Daphne protested.
They all looked at her.
“We discuss all the potential suspects and motives.”
“And how each could have carried out the crime,” Lola said, standing. “Yes, that’s a perfect idea.”
“We’re going to solve the crime.” Vera grinned. “Oh, I do like this.” She downed the rest of her cocktail and held her glass out to Daphne.
Without word, Daphne claimed it and swept to the liquor tray.
“How do we begin?” Willa asked. Brandon took her empty plate then returned to sit on the arm of her chair. Lola thought they looked ever so sweet together.
“First, suspects,” Lola said, focusing. “At least, people who might be suspects.”
“I’ll be on that list,” Gordie said, resigned.
“Yes,” Lola told him, “and crossed off at once.”
Daphne handed Vera her glass, this time filled with a pale green fluid and garnished with a peel of lime, and sat. “We need a notebook.”
“A notebook?”
“To record all of our evidence.”
“Like detective inspectors.” Vera chuckled. “Oh, I like this very much. I believe I’ll need a new outfit for this undertaki
ng.”
“We probably don’t have time for a change,” Lola warned her.
“Well, I won’t need the outfit now,” Vera told her. “It will have to wait until the next murder.”
They gaped at her.
“Or theft,” she added. “A crime of some sort.”
“Don’t be daft,” Daphne said.
“It’s London,” Vera reminded her with a flip of her hand.
“She has a point,” Willa said. “It is London.”
Lola glanced at her friend and found her perfectly serious, except for that sparkle in her hazel eyes. Lola tried not to laugh.
Brandon was on the telephone. “Any type will do,” he was saying. “And include a pen or pencil of some sort.” He paused. “Good man.”
He returned the telephone to the cradle to find them all staring at him.
“You did request a notebook,” he defended. “I assumed you meant we needed to have one brought up.”
They all looked at one another.
“He is right,” Willa said. “I haven’t one with me.”
“I’ve never needed one,” Vera confessed, “though now I think one will have to be designed into my new outfit. Brandon, be a dear and order up another. I need to start sketching out ideas.”
Brandon picked up the phone again.
“You can do that?” Gordie asked, amazed. “Call down and have notebooks sent up?”
“It might take a bit of time,” Willa told him, “but in a place like the Regal Rose, you can have nearly anything brought.”
His eyes widened.
“If you have the financial means,” Daphne said.
Gordie looked at Lola. She shrugged.
“It’s an entirely different world,” he muttered.
“Not too different, I hope?” Lola asked him, concerned.
He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m not complaining. Frankly, the whole world has turned on its ear in the past few years.”
“The past decade, you mean,” Brandon corrected.
“Yes.” Gordie nodded, distracted. “That it has.”
Lola and Willa exchanged worried glances, but Gordie brightened.
“I don’t suppose you could call up coffee, could you?”
“Oh, that’s easy.” Vera crossed to the telephone.
“If that’s all right?” he asked Lola.
She waved her hand at him. “It’s a lovely idea. I could do with a cup myself.”
“We could get tea instead, if you prefer.”
“Absolutely not.” she wrinkled her nose.
He chuckled.
“What do we do until the notebooks arrive?” Willa asked.
“There is no reason we can’t begin now,” Daphne said. “I have an excellent memory.”
“She does,” Brandon grumbled. She shot him a triumphant look.
“So, suspects.” Lola leaned forward with her elbows on the back of Daphne’s chair. Daphne twisted to watch her.
“Who would want to kill Herr Prinz?”
“Perhaps we should consider who wouldn’t want to kill him,” Willa suggested. “It would be a shorter list.”
“That’s awfully bloodthirsty of you, Willa, dear,” Vera said.
“He wasn’t a pleasant man.”
“He had his moments.” Vera shrugged under their stares. “I spent part of the evening with him.”
“Define ‘part,’” Daphne told her.
“I saw him in the hotel lobby as I came in. I do admire striking, older gentlemen,” she said, to which Willa and Lola nodded, “and you must confess he was striking.”
“In a pompous, arrogant sort of way,” Willa agreed.
“There isn’t anything wrong with that,” Vera said. “It simply makes them more susceptible.”
“Susceptible?” Daphne furrowed her brow in confusion.
Vera gave her a sideways grin. “I’ll explain when you’re older, darling. Anyway, I approached him, because I’m hardly shy—”
“We had noticed that lack in you,” Willa assured her.
“Thank you. My reasons, though, were the looks he was casting me. I simply couldn’t let those go by.”
“What sort of looks?” Gordie asked, his tone darkening.
Vera waved her hand in the air. “The usual sort, though on him they had a bit more, well, strength. We spoke for a little while. I was surprised he was German, I confess, but I do try to keep an open mind.”
Willa giggled.
“Shush,” Vera told her, then continued. “He said he was here on business, a venture he was hoping to make, and that he was eager to make it happen because it meant he could remain in London.”
“Did he say why he wanted to stay in London?” Lola asked.
“Not in words.” Vera shifted her shoulders suggestively.
“Ah.”
Gordie coughed.
“I did,” she went on with less humor, “get the sense that he wasn’t eager to return home to Germany.”
“Why was that?” Daphne asked.
“He never said. It was simply a sense. Anyway, I asked him if he’d been to the Portage Club and he said that he hadn’t but he’d be delighted if I were to introduce him to it, and that’s when we arrived to meet you, Lola.”
“Where he changed his mind about the club,” Lola added.
“I could have convinced him to stay.” Vera grinned.
“Why didn’t you?”
“There are limits that even I have for pomposity.”
“You were looking for a graceful escape,” Daphne accused. Vera grinned.
“I do try to be tactful when I’m trying to escape.”
They laughed.
“He never said what the venture was?” Lola asked.
“No.” Vera stretched, then leaned back on the sofa. “I had the impression it was all very secretive.”
“Curious.” Daphne tapped her finger to her lips in thought.
Lola bit her lip, then circled to sit next to Vera. “I have something to confess, but I do hope you will each keep it in the strictest confidence.”
“Absolutely,” Willa assured her.
“I do not share confidences,” Daphne told her.
“You know you can trust me,” Brandon said.
“And me,” Gordie added.
“I am the soul of discretion.” Everyone faced Vera, who was perfectly straight-faced. Until she laughed. “Seriously, though, darling, you can count on me,” Vera said to Lola, taking her hand.
Lola nodded. “Herr Prinz was here to meet with Miss Edie. He wanted to buy shares in the hotel that she is putting up for sale.”
“She’s selling the hotel?” Willa looked aghast.
“No. She’s merely selling shares in it. He wanted to purchase them. She said no.”
“Why?”
“She told me that he was, and I quote, ‘an arrogant, immoral, and unconscionable criminal,’ and she wanted nothing to do with him.” Lola paused. “And that she was relieved that she would have nothing more to do with him.”
“Why” Brandon asked.
“Because he’s dead,” Daphne told him flatly. He glared at her.
“Why would she say all of those things of him?” Brandon reiterated, still glaring at his sister.
“I think they might share a history of some sort,” Lola said.
“Of what sort?” Willa asked.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?”
A rapping on the door interrupted them. Lola stood and crossed quickly. Part of her hoped it was Arthur so that she could continue to chew him out. Most of her hoped it wasn’t.
It wasn’t.
One of the porters stood in the hall carrying two packages, one larger than the other, both wrapped in rose-hued paper.
“Miss Rose, the items you requested.”
“My,” Lola said, accepting them, “that was quick.”
He smiled. “Do you require anything further?’
“No. Yes,” she said quickly before he could mo
ve. “How is Madame? Have you heard?”
“Madame Meunier is still in her suites,” the young man answered with a frown, “under police watch.”
“Will you ask at the desk to notify me if that changes in any way?”
“Yes, miss.” He made a slight bow and she thanked him before she closed the door.
“That was quick,” Vera said. She grinned as she took the smaller package from Lola. “I do love opening gifts.”
Lola handed the other package to Daphne. “I think you should be our resident secretary.”
“I believe I prefer adjutant.”
Lola laughed.
“Pens!” Vera waved around a set of fine ink pens. She chose one. “This is simply perfect.”
Daphne unwrapped two hardbound leather notebooks, one bound in blue and the other in green. She held the green out to Vera, who accepted it with a grin.
“I should keep a journal,” Willa said, coming to admiring Vera’s notebook. “I could treat myself to one in red with gold threading.”
“I thought all earls’ daughters kept journals?” Vera asked saucily.
“I’ve never done enough of interest to want to read about in my declining years. That might be changing, however.”
Brandon stepped up to her. “What would you write about me?”
She smiled and pinched his cheek before returning to her seat on the sofa.
Lola laughed and glanced around the room. Gordie was not laughing. He wasn’t even paying attention anymore. His expression was haunted as he looked at the closed door of the suite.
Lola crossed to him, concerned.
“Gordie?” She had to say his name again and finally touch him on the arm. He started.
“I apologize,” he said. He rose to his feet. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be very good company tonight. I should go home.”
“Nonsense!” Vera said vehemently. “You must stay and help us with our suspect list.”
“See who your competition is,” Willa added.
“I say, Willa, that was uncalled for,” Brandon chastised.
“A joke, Brandon,” Willa soothed. “And probably a bad one.”
“I’m writing it down,” Daphne told her, bent over the blue notebook.
“Gordie,” Lola said quietly, “what is wrong?”
His jaw tightened. She laid her hand on his arm again. “Please tell me. I’d like to help.”
“What do you know about Madame Meunier?”