Mrs Lillywhite Investigates Box Set

by Emily Queen

  A ghost of a smile crossed Marianna’s face. “It was easy. I was the one who was here when they set up the tank. There was an extra key, and I took it thinking Martin might lose the original. He’s surprisingly forgetful, you know. He would have thought she took her own life, and eventually, he would have realized he loved me. It would have all worked out just like I planned.” She resumed singing, all the fight gone out of her, and Rosemary correctly judged that Marianna would go with the police quietly.

  Rose’s eyes slid towards the exam room door and then to Wadsworth.

  “Go, I’ve got her,” he assured Rose, and she retreated down the hallway with Vera on her heels.

  She was pleasantly surprised to find Abigail stirring when she poked her head around the exam-room door casing.

  “She’s sedated, but she’s alive. The nozzle for the nitrous oxide tank must have malfunctioned because Polly had turned it up to full blast. If it had been working properly, my wife would have been dead long before we got here.”

  ***

  It only took a scant few minutes and a packet of smelling salts to rouse Abigail from her stupor. Adrenaline kicked in as she came to, and she began to scream.

  “Hush, dear, everything is all right,” Martin attempted to soothe her.

  “But Polly! She tried to kill me. She kept going on and on about how you two were going to be together,” she sobbed into her husband’s chest.

  Martin stroked Abigail’s back and repeated himself until she calmed down. “Everything is all right now, everything is all right.”

  By the time Max arrived, Marianna was ready to turn herself over without a fight, and Abigail was over her hysterics. He stepped into the room in time to hear Martin say to Frederick, “Your sister has quite the backhand. If I were you, I’d avoid making her angry.”

  “I always do,” Frederick replied, looking at Rose with pride.

  “What’s all this?” Max asked, ignoring the scene laid out before him and moving closer to Rosemary.

  “Max! We got her,” Rosemary explained, stopping herself before she ran to him and threw herself into his arms.

  Abigail stood with the help of her husband, her knees shaking. “they saved my life. That crazy wench called me down here and then started spouting off about how she and my husband were planning on riding off into the sunset together. I tried to get to the door, but she grabbed me from behind and clamped a hand over my mouth until I passed out. The whole time, she wouldn’t stop talking about Martin and how she’d do anything for him. It was terrible!”

  It was all the poor woman could manage, so Max sent her off with Martin. “Call a doctor, she’ll need to be checked over. I’ll be by in the morning to take an official statement. For now, she needs medical attention and then a lot of rest.”

  There wasn’t time for more pleasantries as Max had a job to do, but he pulled Rose aside for a moment before getting on with the task of arresting Marianna.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.

  Rosemary sighed. “I’m getting really tired of people feeling as though they have to ask me that. However, in this case, I suppose it’s warranted. I’m just fine, Max. Thrilled beyond belief that this whole thing is over and I can get back to my life.”

  If only she’d known how far from the truth that statement was, Rosemary might have collected her bags right then and run off to Cyprus on the evening train.

  Chapter 21

  With passage out of London booked for the weekend, it turned out Rosemary and company had no hope of exiting the city and embarking upon their long-awaited holiday. Instead, they spent Saturday being carefully watched by a nervous Wadsworth, until Rosemary had finally had enough. She slipped out somewhere around midday, hailed a cab, and found herself pulling up to Max’s mother’s cottage before she even realized that’s where she’d directed the driver to take her.

  In the few days since she’d first viewed the property—the few days that had seemed to last at least a month—the men Max had hired for the renovation had been busy. Some of the overgrown planting beds were now empty of weeds and filled with soil. Rosemary assumed Max had left them that way so that his mother could bring some of the flowers from her country home and replant them here. She appreciated the thoughtful sentiment and felt her heart warm to see Max was the type of man who would consider his mother’s feelings in ways both small and large.

  Being Saturday, the workers were nowhere to be found, and the house was quiet. Rosemary almost asked the cab to turn around and take her home, but then remembered where the key was hidden. She paid her fare, and once the car had turned the corner, she circled around the back of the house, retrieved the key, and slid it into the lock. There was no denying she was overstepping boundaries, but Rose shrugged off the concern and entered anyway.

  Inside, the transformation was even more pronounced. Rosemary spun around, goggling at the difference a few days of hard labor could make. Max had instructed the workers to whitewash the paneling, and that alone was enough to turn the front rooms from dark and drab to light and airy. The top portion of the walls had been covered with a muted flowered paper in greens, pinks, and yellows, and the shelves Rose had proposed to surround the picture window had been installed. She could imagine what it would look like furnished and filled with potted plants.

  The kitchen, which had been equally as outdated as the sitting rooms, now featured a new icebox and range, but the farmhouse-style sink had been preserved and cleaned. Once the now-sanded floors gleamed under a fresh coat of varnish, the place would be nearly ready for Max’s mother to move in.

  Rose was poised to wander down the hallway towards the bedrooms when a noise behind her had her nearly jumping out of her skin.

  “I could arrest you for trespassing, you know,” Max said wryly as Rose whirled around to face him.

  She blushed and stuttered, “I’m sorry, I know I’m intruding. I simply had to get out of the house for a while, and I ended up here. Everything looks wonderful.” She smiled and made Max’s heart melt; not much of a feat, considering it was already the consistency of warm chocolate just from seeing her there.

  His feet felt rooted to the floor even though all he wanted to do was cross the distance between them and take her in his arms. The last time he had experienced the feeling, it hadn’t worked out the way he’d hoped, and so Max hung back, loathing himself for lacking the strength to act on his desires.

  “You do seem to have a knack for being in places you shouldn’t,” he said instead.

  Rosemary grinned. “I can assure you that your opinion is shared by my friends and my brother, though of course, Frederick was chomping at the bit to see a little action when we realized Abigail was in danger. What will happen to Marianna now?” she asked, her expression changing into one of consternation.

  “She’s been admitted to the psychiatric ward, and I believe that’s where she’ll stay for a very long time. Most likely, she’ll be sentenced to death, which is no less than she deserves. Two counts of murder and one attempted.” Max shook his head.

  “I simply can’t fathom what would drive a person to do such a thing.”

  “That’s because you have a good heart, Rose. It’s not a condition all people share, unfortunately.” No, there weren’t many women like Rosemary, of that he was certain.

  She ignored the compliment even though it brought the color back to her cheeks. “You’ve done a lovely job here, Max. Your mother will be pleased, won’t she?”

  “Yes, it would be lovely if she were,” he sighed, “however, I’m not positive it will be enough to soften the blow of losing the cottage garden and all the memories of Father. Life doesn’t always seem fair, does it?”

  “No, it certainly doesn’t,” Rosemary agreed. “You’re thinking about having to leave London, aren’t you? And just as your mother arrives. The timing is unfortunate.”

  Max thought that unfortunate timing was and would always be a thorn in his side. “Come on
, why don’t you let me take you home?” he said, afraid being alone in a room with her for too much longer might altogether dissolve his resolve to keep things between them platonic.

  ***

  “All right, Rosie, spill,” Vera demanded once the pair were settled into Rosemary’s bedroom that evening. She’d managed to ply her friend with cocktails in the hopes of gleaning some details of Rose’s afternoon spent with Max. “You didn’t leave with Max, but you returned home with him. How did that happen?”

  Vera looked as though she was on the proverbial edge of her seat, and if she hadn’t just been to the hairdresser for a trim and a manicure, she might have bitten her nails down to the quick.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Rose said, hiding a tiny smile.

  “You might be able to act well enough to wrestle information out of a suspect, but I’ve known you far too long, Rosie dear, and I can tell when you’re lying. Now, out with it.”

  Rosemary grinned and flipped over onto her stomach with her feet in the air. She felt like a teenager, and not only because Vera’s presence reminded her of simpler times.

  “All right, fine. You’re going to get it out of me eventually. It might as well be on my own terms. There’s something about Max that makes me feel as though everything is going to be all right. He’s thoughtful and caring, and even when he’s doing his annoying best to protect me, I know it isn’t because he believes I’m incapable like most men do. He gives me the butterflies, I’ll admit.”

  “I knew it!” Vera exclaimed, having had her suspicions confirmed.

  “No! That’s the problem. It can never be. Even if I were ready to think about another man—which I’m not, by the way—it can’t be Max. He would be a reminder of Andrew, always.”

  Vera sighed. It wasn’t as though she couldn’t understand Rosemary’s trepidation. In fact, she knew exactly how her friend felt. Lionel, her first true love, had been Rosemary’s brother, and when he died, there was a part of her who never wanted to lay eyes on any of the Woolridges again—particularly Frederick, who looked so much like Lionel it made her heart hurt.

  “You were with Andrew for how many years, Rose?” she asked, quietly and carefully, hoping to avoid a land mine of emotion. “Five?”

  “You know you’re right, Vera.”

  “And how many more years do you expect to live? A good many, I presume,” Vera continued.

  “Yes, Vera,” Rose agreed. “I see where you’re going.”

  “You will move on, I promise.” Vera had no hard evidence to back up the statement but kept holding onto the adage that time heals all wounds. “Most likely, when you least expect it,” she murmured thoughtfully.

  Rosemary fell asleep wondering if Desmond had been right about Vera’s attraction to Frederick all along. Unfortunately, her dreams included Max as well as Andrew, the two of them dueling for her affections. Finally, just as the sun was coming up, she decided she wasn’t going to get another wink of sleep anyway and rose to prowl through the silent and peaceful house.

  Finding Desmond also up and about only added to her confusion. Here was a man whom she had adored as a child and fantasized about as a teenager. A man who had only been upstaged by the love of her life, and who now, appeared to hold some fondness for her. It was precisely what she’d wanted all those years ago.

  Except, now, she was conflicted by her feelings for Max. To have gone from entirely closed to the prospect of new love to having two men vying for her affection had thrown Rosemary. She needed more time to figure out what she was feeling, and yet everything was happening so fast it made her head spin. Shaking her head to dislodge the heavy thoughts, she turned to Desmond and pasted a smile on her face.

  “Good morning, Des,” Rose said cheerily. “I thought I was the only one who couldn’t sleep.”

  “I slept perfectly fine, thank you. I have always been an early riser. I only need about four hours of sleep to feel rested,” he replied. “Plus, this way I don’t have to fight anyone for the Sunday paper.”

  She held her hands up in surrender. “It’s all yours.”

  While Desmond went to the front stoop to fetch the paper, Rosemary retreated to the kitchen to fix a pot of tea. When she came back into the dining room with a full tray, it was to find Desmond standing there with his eyes glued to the front page. “Rose,” he said, his voice filled with concern. “Look at this.”

  Setting the tray down, she strode over to him and peered over his shoulder. There, on the front page, was another article regarding the killer dentist on Park Road. The byline read ‘story by Nathan Grint’, and had Rosemary fuming.

  “This is outrageous,” she said, grabbing the paper from Desmond’s hands and nearly tearing it to bits in the process. “Dr. Redberry has been exonerated for the murder of Claude Segal, the man found dead in his chair earlier this week,” Rose read. “Thanks to his nurse, who confessed to the crime after being arrested Friday evening. Sources state that Marianna Lancaster, alias Polly Calahan, also confessed her undying love for Dr. Redberry and that she committed the crime to protect the dentist.”

  Rose threw the paper onto the table and began to rant. “What sources is he talking about? We were the only ones there, and none of us would give Nathan Grint the time of day, much less an exclusive.” She picked it back up and continued reading. “According to the London branch of the CID, Claude Segal had agreed to come forward as a witness against Martin Redberry, accusing him of running an illegal gambling ring in the city’s underbelly.”

  “Whoever leaked this information is trying to pin Claude Segal’s crimes on Martin, and they’re also connected to the police. We need to call Max.”

  Desmond steamed up at the mention of the inspector, as he’d had just about enough of Max Whittington to last a lifetime. He couldn’t deny that Rosemary was right, so he pushed his jealousy aside and nodded in agreement.

  “What’s the commotion?” a disheveled Frederick asked, entering the dining room ahead of a sleepy looking Vera and pouring himself a cup of tea while waiting for an answer to his question.

  Rosemary and Desmond filled them both in and handed the paper around. “Someone wants Martin to take the fall for Claude Segal’s gambling ring, and Nathan Grint is the one who wrote the story.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised,” Frederick commented between sips. “That man is a snake if I ever saw one. The way he ogled Rosemary, I wanted to punch him square in the face. Although, based on what she did to Martin the other day, my sister can probably take care of herself well enough.”

  “This isn’t funny, Freddie. We agreed to help the Redberrys, even put off our holiday to do so. And now it seems we’ve done more harm than good. If we had just kept our noses out of it, eventually things would have died down.”

  “Except,” Vera interjected, “there would be a murderous psychopath working next door, and Abigail would be dead.”

  Rosemary couldn’t deny that was true and decided it was best not to dwell on what might have been. “The article goes on to state that the police are investigating Martin, and to assure the public that he will be held accountable for his crimes. We’re going to have a lynch mob on our hands if we don’t do something, quickly.”

  “Then that’s exactly what we’ll do,” Vera declared.

  Chapter 22

  “And here we find ourselves again, sitting around discussing the state of my reputation.” Martin shook his head and looked around Rosemary’s sitting room, his gaze finally landing on his wife. “I’m so sorry, Abigail. I got us into this mess. It’s all my fault!”

  Abigail locked eyes with Rosemary before turning to her husband, and what Rose saw there was a thin coat of compassion that, to Martin, who desperately needed to accept it, completely concealed the emotions lurking underneath. Rosemary almost felt sorry for him, because she suspected Abigail’s irritation and anger might hibernate, lying in wait for a moment when reminding him of his sins would prove most beneficial for his wife.

  It was nothi
ng less than he deserved. However, what he did not deserve was the reputation the deplorable Nathan Grint’s article had foisted onto him, and for that, Rosemary wanted someone to pay, and dearly.

  “I know you’re sorry, Martin,” Abigail said a touch more harshly than she’d intended, “but we don’t have time for apologies right now. We have to figure out what to do.”

  “And what do you suggest, Abigail?” Martin barked. Having received the hint that she wasn’t pleased with him, he allowed his frayed nerves to push him out of contrite and into agitated.

  Abigail, proving wrong Rosemary’s assumption of her patience, wound up a saucy response and let it loose while Frederick leaned forward in his chair, taking in the scene as though he were back in the stalls at the Globe. “Now I have to figure out how to get you out of this mess, do I?”

  Martin’s face turned the color of ripe eggplant, but before he could open his mouth, Rosemary shouted, “That’s enough! You two are worse than children, and we simply do not have time for your bickering. Abigail, he made a mistake—a great many mistakes from the sounds of it—but if you don’t want him to go to jail for a crime he didn’t commit, it’s imperative that you let go of the anger.”

  Rosemary turned to Martin. “And you have no choice but to understand that your wife feels betrayed and that she’s angry with you. It’s going to take her more than an afternoon and an ‘I’m sorry’ for her to forgive you. However, all of that is going to have to wait. We have more important things to concern ourselves with right now, such as your freedom and your reputation.”

  Properly chagrined, the couple ceased arguing and didn’t say another word until the doorbell rang and Wadsworth ushered Max into the room.

  Rosemary wasted no time with pleasantries and got straight to the point. “Max, thank goodness you’re here. Perhaps you can enlighten us as to how Nathan Grint acquired a detailed description of Marianna’s confession.”