Mystery at the Regal Rose Hotel

by C Jane Reid

  “I would not have poisoned him if I wished him dead,” she said coldly.

  “And Eugenie?”

  Miss Edie started.

  “Come now, we know she’d do anything for you,” Lola told her.

  Arthur shifted.

  “What?” Lola demanded.

  He winced. “Eugenie came to the precinct to confess to the murder.”

  “She what?” Miss Edie stood. “Eugenie!”

  “Aunt, I took her statement and threw it away,” Arthur rushed to say. “I knew what she was trying to do.”

  “That does not excuse—”

  “Madame?” Eugenie came into the room, wringing her hands.

  “What is this about a confession?”

  Eugenie didn’t shrink back. “It was my cleaning solution.”

  “You had nothing to do with it. But you are so certain that I did not?”

  Eugenie looked aghast. “It is ludicrous! And that nasty man acting so certain. I couldn’t let you suffer through an inquest and trial and verdict. That chief inspector is out to get you, Madame.”

  “Yes, I know.” Miss Edie waved it off, though Lola very much wanted to hear more. “Very well. But do not, under any circumstances, do anything so foolish again.”

  Eugenie raised her head and didn’t respond. Lola smiled to the woman in complete understanding. Eugenie nodded once, winked at Lola, and left the room.

  “The murderer wasn’t anyone that the chief inspector suspected,” Lola declared. “Or you, for that matter,” she added to Arthur.

  “You know who it was?”

  “Marilyn of the Tea Rose.”

  Lola waited for a response but none came. “Don’t you want to know how I know?”

  He unexpectedly grinned. Lola glared at him. “If you tell me that you already knew—”

  “I suspected,” Arthur said, raising his hands in defense as though he thought she might attack him. “As did the chief inspector. We are detectives, Lola. But I wasn’t certain until what happened to you today.”

  “So you’ll arrest her?”

  Arthur sighed. “It isn’t that easy, Lola.”

  “Why?”

  “We need evidence. Did you happen to keep any of the tea?”

  She sighed. “No.”

  “Did you witness her putting anything in a drink?”

  “No.” Lola narrowed her eyes. “I sent tea both to my suite and here. I don’t suppose—”

  “It is only tea.”

  “So was mine.” She sank back against the cushions. “So that’s it?”

  “Not entirely. I’ll continue to watch her.”

  “How?”

  He smiled in a secretive way.

  Lola gritted her teeth. “It was you at the Portage Club,” she accused. “The gentleman speaking with Mickey.”

  He nodded. “I may not be officially on the case, but my family is involved, and whatever I observe I can report.” He paused. “I can see Marilyn’s motive against you. You and Mr. Canfield have grown close.” He had chosen his words with care, but the lack of inflection in his voice had Lola taken aback.

  “Yes, we have. Gordie is a dear friend.” Lola emphasized the last two words.

  “As I’ve heard.”

  Lola let that pass. “If she believes I’m ill, then she’ll most likely go to the club again tonight to see if Gordie is there.”

  “It is likely.”

  “Then I should be there—”

  “Lola.”

  “—and she might try something we can catch her at.”

  Arthur studied her. “I believe we have a dinner to attend tonight,” he reminded her.

  Lola glared. “I enjoy spending time with Sir Caldwell and my mother, naturally, but this could solve our case.”

  Arthur raised an eyebrow.

  “Fine. The case.” Lola crossed her arms. “We will have to reschedule dinner. Sir Caldwell will understand, don’t you think, Mother?”

  “I’m sure he will.”

  “We are not rescheduling,” Arthur insisted.

  “You can’t be serious. Are the demands of society more important to you than your calling as a police officer?”

  Arthur said nothing. Indeed, the room went still.

  Lola bit her cheek and twine her fingers into her strand of ruby beads. “I apologize, Arthur. That was uncalled for.”

  He gave her a tight smile. “No more than my comments yesterday, for which I have yet to apologize.”

  “Friends?” Lola held out her hand to him.

  His smile brightened, though not quite enough to reveal dimples. “Friends.” They shook hands.

  “That still doesn’t change the fact that dinner should wait,” she argued.

  “It cannot.”

  Lola glared. “Arthur—” but she stopped when she saw the look in his eyes. One might call it playful. Even mischievous.

  “You have a plan.” She sat back. “Spill it.”

  Arthur chuckled. “What is it that Brandon says? Your Texan is showing?”

  “Don’t encourage her,” Lola’s mother warned. “That isn’t close to how very Texan Lola Lucille can be.”

  Lola smirked.

  “Yes, I have a plan,” Arthur finally admitted. “Though I doubt the chief inspector will approve.”

  “And am I to be a part of it?”

  “I suppose I must allow it or you’ll force yourself into the middle of it. And I’d rather have control over your actions.”

  Lola patted his hand. “You keep telling yourself that is a possibility.”

  Miss Edie chuckled.

  “You aren’t helping, Aunt.”

  “The plan?” Lola prompted.

  “First, I need to telephone Sir Caldwell about dinner arrangements,” Arthur said as he rose. “I will need you to telephone Gordie,” he added to Lola.

  She was surprised. “Gordie Canfield?”

  “You know another?”

  She could have kicked herself. “What am I telephoning him about?”

  “Requesting his presence at dinner this evening.” Arthur crossed to the telephone table.

  “Is that part of the plan?”

  He glanced at her but said nothing.

  Lola sat back, considering. Dinner. Gordie. Sir Caldwell. Arrangements.

  She grinned.

  “Which restaurant in the hotel should I tell him to meet us?” she asked as Arthur waited for the connection.

  Arthur gave her another look. This time, she saw admiration. “The Empire.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I don’t agree with this plan of Arthur’s. It is too dangerous.”

  “Not a bit, Mother.” Lola scrubbed her face with the borrowed wash cloth to remove the last of her makeup then turned to check her reflection in Miss Edie’s guest bathroom. “Marilyn has proved herself intelligent enough to plan ahead, and she overheard us speaking of dinner when we were at tea. No doubt she’s trying to learn if we’re taking it here or elsewhere.”

  “Which is why Arthur made such a fuss on the phone with the host at the Empire for a reservation for tonight,” her mother said, catching on. “It will become hotel gossip that you are in too fragile a state to take dinner outside the hotel.”

  “And that I’ll be easy to find this evening. We both know how quickly gossip spreads.”

  Her mother shook her head. “You both truly believe this woman would kill to reclaim Gordie?”

  “Nothing else fits all the evidence.”

  Her mother faced Lola. “Promise you will never be so foolish over a man.”

  “Such as to go against my parents’ wishes, elope with a Texan, and hie off to America with him to raise cattle on the high plains?”

  “Yes, that would be ideal.” Her mother smirked.

  “I’m far more practical than all that,” Lola told her, laughing. “I come by that from Papa.”

  “Yes, you do.” Her mother took the wash cloth and wiped the last traces of makeup from Lola. “That should do.
Miss Edie is waiting.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Choose a gown for tonight. I’m not sure I have the proper sort to wear for catching a murderer, however.”

  Lola chuckled. “It’s too bad that my personal stylist isn’t here. I’m sure she could have instructed you.”

  “Personal stylist?”

  “Vera.”

  “Ah. Perhaps I should hire her.”

  “Best do so quickly. She’s contemplating a career as a mystery writer.” Lola hesitated. “What will you tell Sir Caldwell?”

  Her mother leaned against the marble counter and gave Lola an appraising look. “If I can teach you only one lesson on being a successful wife, Lola Lucille, let it be this. Never ask for permission. Ask for forgiveness instead.”

  Lola laughed.

  “Miss Edie is ready for you,” Eugenie called from the bathroom doorway.

  Lola nodded to her. “I’d best not keep her waiting.”

  Her mother kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.” She paused. “Perhaps I’ll make reservations for tomorrow at the Tea Rose. In case we fail tonight and need to give her another chance to poison you.”

  Lola sighed. “Point taken, Mama. I’ll be careful.”

  As her mother left the penthouse, Lola joined Miss Edie in her boudoir.

  “Sit,” Miss Edie commanded, and Lola slid onto the scroll-work iron chair with its silk and velvet seat. Miss Edie chose a tin of makeup and eyed Lola critically.

  “Where did you learn this?” Lola asked as the elderly woman began applying makeup.

  Miss Edie smiled a secretive smile. It bore a strong resemblance to Arthur’s.

  “You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

  “And ruin your enjoyment of ferreting out secrets? I would never dream of it.”

  Lola grinned.

  “Do hold still, Lola.”

  With a few creative strokes of a brush, Miss Edie gave Lola’s eyes a lightly bruised look, as though she hadn’t enough sleep. She powdered Lola’s face with a much paler powder than Lola usually used, followed by a brighter rouge, and finished with pale lipstick.

  It was a striking image. Lola turned her head to examine the effect. “Do you think she’ll believe it?”

  “Of course she will. It is what she will be looking for.”

  “Signs that I’m ill.”

  “Indeed.” Miss Edie brought out a powder closer to what Lola usually wore and dabbed it sparingly, then stepped back to study her work. “I believe that will serve. What dress will you be wearing?”

  “I’d thought my blue fringe, but now I believe the wine drop-waist would be better. The darker color will bring out the paleness.”

  “I would prefer to see the dress myself, but for today, I will allow it to go sight unseen.”

  Lola drew back. “I am capable of choosing stylish fashion.”

  “As you say, my dear.”

  Lola wasn’t certain if Miss Edie was being serious or not. She thought not. She stood. “I’d best go. There is still my hair to think of.”

  “Do not over-iron it,” Miss Edie warned. “Unkempt curls will add to the overall facade.”

  Lola pouted. “You do realize what you are asking, I hope.” She flipped one of her tamed curls. “These are harder to wrangle than a half-broke horse.” She couldn’t hide her grin at the look on Miss Edie’s face.

  “Go,” Miss Edie commanded, “before you plague me with more of your Texas wit.”

  Lola curtsied, blew a kiss, and left Miss Edie’s boudoir. She remembered before she reached the penthouse door, and the officer once more guarding it, to move slower and act sickly. He opened the door for her without word and without much of a look, either.

  It was so tempting to try to shock him, but Lola restrained herself. She was supposed to be sick, after all. And Sir Winston had asked that she not bait the officers.

  Once she’d reached the suite, she took care with her dressing. Her mother watched as she carefully slipped into the wine-colored dress.

  “I’m having second thoughts,” her mother said.

  “I’m absolutely not.”

  “What if she attacks you?”

  “I can wrestle a calf to the ground, Mama. I think I can take her.”

  “That isn’t amusing, Lola.”

  Lola paused in her hair-styling to face her mother. “Arthur will be there. And so will Gordie and Sir Caldwell and you. Plus Arthur is placing a few officers in the lobby. I’m hardly facing her alone.”

  “What if she attempts to get you alone?”

  Lola didn’t answer at once. She returned to her styling, trying to allow her curly hair some freedom without it taking over her entire head.

  “Lola?”

  “I will remain within sight if she wants to speak with me alone, but I honestly don’t see why she would. She’s more likely to want to speak with Gordie alone. If she’s even there.”

  “You don’t think she’ll come?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know,” Lola confessed. “I can only say what I think she might do based on what I’ve seen so far.”

  “Lola, I trust your judge in character.”

  She preened. “I am an—”

  “There’s no need to say it.” Her mother drew herself up with a sigh. “Very well. But do take care, dear. I’d be lost without you.”

  Lola crossed to her mother and planted a kiss on her cheek. “I have no intentions of coming to harm and every intention of exposing her.”

  “Are you certain she killed Herr Prinz?”

  Lola hesitated, then spoke with certainty. “Yes, I am.”

  “She can’t believe it will gain Gordie’s affections. Why do it?”

  Lola recalled something Gaspard had said. “Love. Too much of it could be a dangerous thing, couldn’t it?”

  “Yes. It can change the course of person’s life, sometimes without their realizing it’s happened.”

  Lola and her mother exchanged glances. They were no longer speaking of Marilyn.

  She smoothed her hands down her dress. “Only one more thing to do and we’re ready.” She telephoned Gordie from her room. “I hope you will be joining me tonight?” she asked after he answered.

  “Lola?”

  “Yes. Were you expecting another young woman to call?” Even as she asked, she hoped the answer was no.

  She heard him chuckle. “No. Though I confess that I tend to answer the telephone with some trepidation.”

  “Yes, well, do say you will come tonight.”

  “To the Portage Club?”

  “Dinner first. I’m not feeling my best, but I cannot stay inside this room any longer without going mad.”

  Gordie didn’t answer at once. Lola fretted, twining the telephone cord in her fingers.

  “Gordie?”

  “What is going on, Lola?”

  She sighed. “Truly, I am asking you to join us for dinner.”

  “Us?”

  “I’m meeting Arthur and a few others.” She didn’t like omitting who else would be present but confessing that her mother was one of them might make him hesitate. “I thought you and he should have a more pleasant introduction.”

  Gordie chuckled without humor. “Our first was less than ideal. This is important to you?”

  “It is.” She put as much emphasis in the words as she could.

  “All right. I’ll come.”

  “Oh, good. Will you meet me at the Punch Bowl first?”

  “Are you certain you’re up to it? You mentioned feeling unwell.”

  “I don’t think a cocktail will do me any harm.” Lola winced when she realized what she’d said. “I cannot promise dancing tonight, however, but I will attempt to be pleasant company.”

  “I can’t see how you could be anything but pleasant, Lola,” he told her, and she heard the fondness in his voice. She could think of nothing to say in response.

  “You haven’t by chance spoken to Marilyn lately, have you?” she finally asked, effec
tively spoiling the moment. “Or seen her?”

  “Why?” Gordie’s tone was sharp with alarm.

  “I ran into her at the Tea Rose earlier today and she seemed quite changed. I was simply curious if matters had changed between you.” Once again, she hoped he would say no.

  “Not a bit. I haven’t spoken to her since when you were present. Maybe this means she’s moved on.” He sounded relieved.

  “Perhaps. I’ll be at the Punch Bowl at half past six. Can I expect you then?”

  He chuckled. “I’ll be there. I haven’t much else to occupy my time.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t mean that you are a last resort by any means—”

  She laughed. “I’m quite secure in my own worth, thank you very much.”

  “As well you should be. But we’ll talk about it later. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Excellent!”

  Lola returned the earpiece to its cradle, glanced at her mother, and stood. “I should go catch the lift. I want everyone to see me at my weakest self.” She let her shoulders slump as she crossed the room with hesitant steps.

  “Don’t lay it on too thick, Lola.”

  Lola straightened. Her mother kissed her cheek as she passed. “Be careful, dear.”

  “I will.” Lola didn’t think her mother quite believed her. Given her history, she couldn’t blame her.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Henry opened the lift gate for her. “Miss Lola.” He paused. “Are you well? You’re looking a bit peaked.”

  “I’m well enough for a bit of jazz and cocktails,” she assured him as she entered the lift.

  “Portage Club?”

  “Punch Bowl. Then dinner. Then the Portage Club.”

  He put the lift in motion. “You should take it easy tonight, miss, what with not feeling well. It would be terrible to see you take a turn.”

  “You are sweet, Henry. By the way, has the detective inspector spoken to you about the night Herr Prinz died?”

  Henry nodded, glancing at her. “I had a couple long chats with the chief inspector.” His tone was far too bland.

  “I gather they weren’t enjoyable.”

  “I got the feeling he was trying to pin me to the murder. All I did was take the man up and down the lift, and the last time I did, the blighter was cursing at me in German and looked like he was going to sick up in my lift. I’m the one what’s got to clean up that mess.”