by Emily Queen
“I believe I’ve been humiliated enough for one afternoon,” Desmond said wryly. “How about a walk down by the river?”
Rosemary pretended to consider. “I suppose that would be nice,” she agreed when his face began to fall. “I know how much you enjoy feeding the ducks.”
Desmond put a friendly hand on the small of her back as he guided her towards the shore, and it sent a thrill up her spine. She didn’t know whether it was Desmond himself, or the mere touch of a man after so many months of being alone that had her breath hitching in her throat. Either way, she felt a twinge of guilt even though she knew it was absurd. It wasn’t as though she was cheating on Andrew, but it almost felt as though that were the case.
His light conversation put her at ease, and by the time they returned to the picnic blanket, the tension she’d been carrying in her shoulders was a distant memory.
Several hours later, after the four friends had lounged beneath the large oak tree to their heart’s content, it was almost as if none of the unpleasantness of the last few days had even happened.
“I suppose we ought to get back to the real world, hadn’t we?” Rose mused, reluctant to return to the townhouse and even more anxious for their real holiday to begin.
Vera groaned. “Just a little while longer?” she said, and pouted in Rosemary’s direction.
Rose returned to her prone positioned and crossed her ankles. “All right, you talked me into it.”
Chapter 14
Wadsworth knocked gently on Rosemary’s bedroom door, rousing her from a dream about the beaches of Cyprus, and she answered with a hint of annoyance. “Yes, what is it?”
“Inspector Whittington is here to see you. Shall I inform him that you’re otherwise occupied?”
Rosemary woke fully with a start. “No, tell him I’ll be right down.” She dressed, fixed her hair and makeup, and hurried down to meet Max in the parlor a record ten minutes later—a feat which Vera would chide her for performing.
Max couldn’t deny that he had been pleased when Rosemary called and informed him that she wouldn’t be leaving on the afternoon train after all. As much as he knew she could probably use a break from the bustle of London, he didn’t relish the idea of her on holiday with that Desmond character. Not, he admitted, that he had any idea what kind of man Desmond really was, but the way he looked at Rosemary was enough to set Max’s blood on boil. Too familiar and far too appreciative were Desmond’s glances.
By the time he had arrived at number 8 Park Road, a realization had dawned on him; her call had nothing to do with social niceties, and everything to do with the supposed murder that had taken place next door. His mood turned stormy, though it didn’t escape his attention that he had no right to be upset.
When she entered the room, he noted that she’d got some sun since the last time he’d seen her and marveled again at how easily those blue eyes of hers could pierce through to the heart of a man.
Of course, he couldn’t say as much to her, because that might violate the nature of their relationship. What he enjoyed with Rosemary could only be termed a friendship, even though his heart ached for her—had always ached for her.
Rosemary belonged to Andrew, and Max was the kind of man who would never poach from a friend. Then Andrew had died, and it felt like a betrayal when hope flared to life.
For love of Andrew, Max had kept his thoughts and feelings to himself, pushed them deep down and swore they’d never see the light of day. He missed Andrew more than he could express, and couldn’t imagine how profound was Rosemary’s loss. These were the thoughts that had swirled around in his head for the last year, voiding the promise he’d made to himself over and over again.
Still, he felt the nature of their relationship had undergone a change in the last few weeks. Max had always been a peripheral figure in Rose’s life, but when she involved herself in the murder at Barton Manor, he couldn’t help himself from becoming an overprotective oaf.
He suspected Rosemary had enough people in her life who cared overly much and cursed himself every time one of their encounters turned into an argument. On the other hand, he also enjoyed the fiery way she reacted to such behavior, which presented Max with a bit of a conundrum.
“Hello, Rose,” he greeted her, trying to keep his voice from betraying the emotions roiling beneath the surface. “I was surprised when you rang and said you weren’t leaving for your holiday just yet. Would that have anything to do with the story circling the papers?”
Rose sighed and raised an eyebrow. “You already know the answer to that question. I feel an obligation to the Redberrys for some ungodly reason, and now I’m mired in the mystery of it all.”
“You don’t have to be. You could just as easily walk away, go on holiday, and forget the whole thing ever happened.” Max realized he was going round in circles. Just when he thought he wanted her to stay, he changed his mind and decided she’d be better off far away from this mess.
“They’ve asked for my help, Max.” Rosemary was at the edge of her patience. “Martin and Abigail are my next-door neighbors. Do you have any idea how awkward it would be if I declined? I still have to live here, you know.”
“Just how much do you know about Dr. Redberry? Since you’re such good neighbors and all,” he couldn’t help but ask.
Rosemary glowered at him. “I didn’t say we were the best of friends. I can’t tell for certain what type of man Martin is. He’s displayed behavior of a somewhat questionable nature, but as to his guilt or innocence, I can only go by my instincts. If the papers are to be believed, it wasn’t an equipment malfunction, and that means someone killed Claude Segal. Are the papers to be believed?”
Max settled into one of the tufted armchairs positioned behind him, crossed his fingers in his lap, and raised an eyebrow at Rosemary. “Yes and no. More no than yes.”
“Thank you,” Rose said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she took a spot across from Max. “That makes everything perfectly clear. You told me, did you not that the ruling would come back as death by misadventure. Has that changed over the course of a day?”
“What I mean is, it’s been determined that the valve from Dr. Redberry’s nitrous oxide tank was in proper working order. However, that information hasn’t been released to the press. At least, not officially. Furthermore, Dr. Redberry won’t be arrested, and he won’t be charged with murder.”
Rose gawked at Max. “Well, that’s good news then, I suppose, so why do you have that look on your face?”
“Because, Rose, on the face of it, there is evidence which points directly at the good dentist. Doesn’t it seem strange that the police would stop investigating, particularly a case that has already been made as public as this one?”
She thought about that for a moment and agreed. “Yes, it does seem strange. Why don’t you explain to me what’s going on here.”
Max contemplated whether to tell her the truth while he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and sent a cloud of fragrant smoke into the air.
“You must have heard the rumors that have been circling since the war ended?” It wasn’t really a question; she already knew the answer. After all, Rosemary had been married to a former police officer, and what he was preparing to reveal had greatly impacted Andrew’s decision to break away from the organization.
She nodded, and he continued. “Half the conspiracy theorists in this town believe the police force is filled with crooked cops—officers who used the turbulence of war to better their financial position, move up the ranks, or both. They’re not entirely wrong about that, I’m sorry to say. Andrew figured it out long before I did. I still maintain a high level of respect for the law and those of its enforcers who are on the level. I don’t blame Andrew for cutting himself loose. He had a wife and plans for a family, and he wasn’t going to risk getting caught up in dirty politics or putting you at risk.”
Rosemary allowed Max’s statement to sink in, the implications making her head hurt. Max was trying to protect her
against more than just the possibility that Claude Segal’s death might be murder. She knew, of course, what Andrew’s reasons for leaving the force had been. They’d discussed it, though admittedly, not at any length. At Andrew’s insistence, she’d accepted what little he had revealed and trusted that he had his reasons. Now, Max was taking the same stance, and it only proved that Andrew had made the right decision when he turned his back on what should have been an illustrious career.
“Do you have any idea who Claude Segal was, Rosemary?” Max asked quietly.
“Well, no, I suppose not,” she replied uneasily.
“He was a notorious kingpin in the underground gambling market, with connections both below and above-board.”
She connected the dots easily enough. “He had one of your officers on the take.”
Max nodded. “At least one, including my Chief Inspector. That’s what I’ve gathered based on the direction this investigation is taking. Or rather, lack of investigation. Those of us who take pride in our jobs—we who did not allow the tragedies of war to sway us—have been trying to eradicate the crooked amongst us, but it’s been a long, hard road, and we’ve not managed to clear the treachery just yet. The roots of corruption run deep, and in the course of investigating Segal’s death, things will come to light that some would rather leave buried. Technically, the case is closed, and whether he’s guilty or not, Martin won’t be arrested,” Max reiterated. “That doesn’t sit well with me because I’d prefer to know the truth of the matter, but there are others who have too much to lose. There’s only so much I can do without putting myself in the crossfire.”
What a hornet’s nest she’d stirred up. Rosemary considered her options and thought about backing away from the Redberrys, leaving for her holiday, and hoping things had returned to normal before she returned.
In other words, taking the easy way out. From what Max was saying, the world might be a better place without this particular victim in it, and perhaps some form of justice already had been served. Except he’d been murdered, and Rosemary could not abide the idea of vigilante justice. It bothered her to admit it, and she wouldn’t say as much to Max, but it was time to explore the possibility that Martin or Abigail might be guilty.
“Who do you think did it, Max? It doesn’t sound as though you stand by the theory that Claude Segal’s death was an unfortunate accident.”
Max considered a moment. “I don’t really believe in unfortunate accidents. Oh, I know they do happen, of course, but not too often. If your dentist friend knew anything at all about Mr. Segal or had any connection to him outside a professional relationship, I’d be willing to bet he had reason to want the man dead.”
“You think Martin owed him money?”
“I think it’s highly likely,” Max stated. “However, I will admit I might be somewhat jaded. My line of work doesn’t exactly lend itself towards a propensity for believing people tell the truth more than half the time.”
“Your theory would explain why he took the appointment,” Rosemary mused, “given how tired he was after the evening at the theater. Martin expressed his intention to spend his lunch break taking a nap, but when Mr. Segal called, he changed his plans.”
“On the other hand, Martin might simply have been reluctant to lose business. Owing money to Claude Segal doesn’t make him a murderer.” Max sighed. “It matters little, anyway. He’s not going to be convicted, but I confess I’d like to know the truth of the matter.” He ran a hand through his hair, obviously irritated. “Maybe I ought to hang up my hat as well. Put a stop to the sale of the house, move to the country with Mother, and forget about all of this.”
Rosemary eyed him speculatively. “If that were what you truly wanted, I would agree and help you pack. However, it’s not what you want. You love your work and city life, and you won’t be happy anywhere else.”
“You’re right, of course, not that it matters. If I push this case, I’ll be forced out, possibly violently. If I let them sweep it under the rug, I might as well turn in my badge. I’d be just as bad as the rest of them.”
Max was forgetting one thing: his ace in the hole. Rosemary cocked an eyebrow at him and smiled. “Why don’t you let me work my magic? Before you shoot me down, just think about it. I won’t even have to put myself in harm’s way. Let me play the wide-eyed ingenue, ask a few questions. I’ve learned a thing or two about acting recently, and I might just have a talent for it. If the truth comes out, the police will have no choice but to prosecute the real killer. If it’s Martin, so be it; justice will have been served, and that’s all I care about. If certain facts come out in the process, it’s icing on the cake. Furthermore,”—Rosemary held up a hand to indicate Max shouldn’t interrupt just yet, and he shut his mouth with a snap—“your name won’t be associated with any of it. Your comrades aren’t going to come to my house and try to shut me up, are they?”
“No,” Max admitted. “They’d be more subtle than that. It’s more about taking bribes, hiding evidence and turning the other cheek. It’s easier to do that in this situation than to dig into Claude’s background. It isn’t as though he was the only one running the show.”
“Then let me help. Let the bad eggs cover up whatever they want to regarding their connection to Claude Segal and the motive for murdering him—which, by the way, could be entirely personal and have nothing whatsoever to do with his criminal dealings. The suspect pool is quite shallow; it shouldn’t take much to figure out which of them did it. Honestly, it’s absurd.”
Max knew he was unlikely to change her mind, so he determined to watch over Rose. Andrew would expect no less.
Chapter 15
“Would you look at this?” Vera tossed the latest edition of the paper on the table and planted her hands on her hips. “Has that worm nothing else to write about?”
“Grint, I presume. What’s he on about this time?” Freddie reached for the paper just as Rosemary snatched it and read off the headline.
“Killer dentist scrapes the teeth of justice. Honestly, the man should be sacked for writing such drivel, let alone the utter lack of provable fact.” Quickly scanning the article, Rose huffed. “He appears to be grasping at straws. Anyone with eyes can see that by the amount of sheer speculation he puts forth.”
“Let me see.” Freddie pulled the paper away from his sister and then whistled through his teeth as he read. “Who could blame Martin for putting the gas to the rogue. Grint credits the poor sod with half the deadly sins against man and nature, then turns around and roasts Martin on the same spit. The way he tells it, the two men were mortal enemies, and the police are moments away from making an arrest.”
Des read over Freddie’s shoulder. “Good thing you’re not letting our Rosie meet the man alone. I, for one, will feel better knowing she’s protected.”
“Heaven’s sake, Des. He’s only a reporter. What’s the worst he could do to her?” Vera scoffed and then found herself on the receiving end of a scorching retort.
“Write a story that paints her a Jezebel, and smears her reputation from pillar to post for starters. I know that wouldn’t give you much pause, Vera, but Rose might prefer not to have her good name sullied.”
Vera regarded Desmond from under a sardonically raised eyebrow. “Don’t hold back, Desmond, do tell me exactly what it is you think of me.”
To his credit, Desmond blinked and his face reddened as he realized the depth of the insult he’d offered. He looked for support, but Freddie grinned and shook his head.
“You dug the hole, my friend; you’ll have to claw your own way out of it. Rosemary and I have a meeting to prepare for.” Freddie ushered his sister from the room.
***
Having Frederick at her side was a new feeling for Rosemary. It wasn’t as though they weren’t close; in fact, they were as connected as a brother and sister could be, but since Andrew’s death, Frederick had taken to treating her with kid gloves. She was grateful for the reprieve and opted to treat the interrogation of Mr. N
athan Grint as an adventure despite the gravity of the situation that had predicated it.
“I feel like we’re going undercover,” Rosemary said with a grin that reminded Frederick of her younger, more carefree self. “I’m glad you’re here, though I don’t think Vera would echo that sentiment. She feels entitled to participate in any activity that involves playing pretend.”
“She’s quite adept at it; I’ll give her that,” Frederick allowed. “I never quite know what to expect out of Vera, though you’d think I ought to considering the length of time we’ve been acquainted. The two of you were always quite a handful.”
Rosemary swatted her brother on the arm and then linked hers with his as they trekked up the high street towards the London Herald office. “I was nothing but sunshine and roses, and you know it. I believe I more than lived up to my name.”
Frederick harrumphed but didn’t argue. He was thrilled to see some of the life come back into his sister’s eyes and refused to say anything that might turn them back to the dull gray of recent months.
“Of course, Rosie, of course.” His words held enough brotherly sarcasm for Rose to know he wasn’t going to allow her complete freedom regardless of his worry over her mental state, and the thought made her feel a little better—a little more normal.
“We won’t have to lie about anything,” Rosemary said. “We’ll present ourselves as brother and sister, and I am Martin Redberry’s neighbor, after all. He just won’t realize we’re the ones pumping him for information until it’s too late.”
Mr. Grint had been quite keen to pin her down for an exclusive interview once she made the offer. In her experience, reporters were ruthless in their pursuit of a story, and she already knew he fit the description, simply based on his disregard for Martin’s reputation without any actual evidence of the dentist’s guilt.
Andrew had encouraged his wife to focus on facts, to view any puzzle shrewdly, to employ logical methods while searching for patterns. Because he was a man who also respected such things, he taught her to trust her intuition and never to discount her convictions as flights of fancy.