Mrs Lillywhite Investigates Box Set

by Emily Queen

  “Just a minute,” Rosemary called, attempting to keep her voice even. She rose and splashed water on her face in a vain attempt at cleaning herself up before opening the door. She had never been so glad to see Vera’s face in all her life and allowed herself to be gathered into her friend’s outstretched arms.

  “Are you all right? That receptionist called up to the suite and told me what happened. Fred and Des are on their way down. I told Anna to stay behind. She doesn’t need to be involved in this,” Vera said, her voice shaking. She’d wanted to ask straight away what had happened, but since a part of her didn’t really want to know, she waited until Rosemary had collected herself.

  “You’re quite right about Anna,” Rosemary agreed. “It’s Cecily. She’s been killed.” It was all she could say, and it was enough.

  Vera turned pale. “Oh, no. Murdered?”

  “Yes, I’m positive.”

  “Then, we’ll have to take the case, won’t we?”

  Rosemary sighed. “I highly doubt the local police will appreciate a couple of women butting into their work, regardless of how successful we’ve been in the past. However, Cecily was my mother’s dearest friend—and after meeting her, I’ve developed a soft spot for her as well. If there’s anything we can do, of course, we will. Let’s just keep quiet about this. I certainly hope Frederick hasn’t been bragging about our involvement in murder investigations.”

  “I have not as yet been provided with the opportunity to brag overmuch about anything, dear sister,” Frederick’s voice was low in Rosemary’s ear, and she felt his hand wrap protectively over her shoulder. She turned and buried her head in his chest.

  “It’s Cecily,” she said again, wishing it weren’t true.

  Her brother swallowed hard and cursed but didn’t let her go. “I’m sorry, Rosie. Truly. Now, what are we going to do about it?”

  “I’m so sorry, too, Rose,” Desmond finally spoke from where his arm was wrapped around Vera’s shoulders in a similarly comforting fashion. She was already sick of hearing those words but appreciated the effort just the same. “You’ve suffered quite a shock. Why don’t we take you back to your suite?” he suggested gently.

  Rose pushed away from Freddie and shook her head. “No, not yet. I’ll have to speak to the police, and I want to check on Charlotte.”

  She wanted to do more than that; she wanted to observe the reactions of the rest of the staff because it seemed to her that one of them would be the most likely culprit. Often, the murderer couldn’t help but show up at the scene of the crime, likely from the need to watch the proceedings whether with vile pleasure or in an attempt to allay suspicion. “The girl would have found the body herself if I hadn’t been there. I believe the towel cupboard was her next stop.”

  “You don’t think that young little maid could have killed Cecily, do you?” Vera asked in a high-pitched, incredulous tone.

  Rosemary shook her head. “No, not really. However, I honestly couldn’t say what she’s capable of. If she didn’t do it, she’s suffered quite a shock. Charlotte wasn’t the only one of the staff who had reason to resent Cecily’s iron fist, that’s for certain.”

  And while Rosemary did suspect that whoever had killed Cecily likely worked at the Aphrodite, she couldn’t help but remember the look of sheer loathing on Geneviève’s face the night before.

  Chapter 7

  Several hours later, Rosemary found herself sitting in what must have been Cecily’s office, being grilled by an uptight, quite British policeman by the name of Inspector Boothe.

  “Where exactly were you yesterday evening between the hours of ten o’clock and midnight?” he asked Rosemary. She didn’t particularly care for the way he spoke to her, as if she were the prime suspect in Cecily’s death, but she knew he was only doing his job. She had, after all, found the body, but it was exasperating to know he should have been focusing his attention elsewhere.

  Pushing grief aside, Rosemary replied, “I had dinner with my traveling companions and two other guests. Geneviève Chevalier and Benjamin Marlowe. None of us left the group alone, and the waiter can attest to our presence. We finished eating at around nine o’clock, and I went to my suite with my friend, Vera Blackburn, who is staying with me. We had a few drinks but stayed in our room for the rest of the night.” She’d answered his next two questions before he could even ask them, which seemed to do less to clear her from suspicion than she’d hoped.

  He peered at her from beneath raised eyebrows. Rosemary could tell the expression was habitual, because his forehead remained crinkled even after his features settled back to their normal configuration.

  “We’ll certainly follow up on that,” was all he said before continuing to put her through the third degree. “When was the last time you saw Miss DeVant alive?”

  Rosemary was quick to answer, and when she did, there was sorrow in her voice. “She was standing behind the reception desk when we left the restaurant. We had a brief conversation before going to our suite.”

  “About what, exactly, did you converse?” the inspector asked next, firing more questions before she had a chance to respond. “Did you know the victim personally? I was under the impression you’re a tourist only here for a short holiday.”

  With an effort, Rosemary answered calmly. “I didn’t know Cecily well, but she is—was—an old friend of my mother’s. She was from London, as I’m sure you’re aware, as am I. She was dealing with a difficult guest, Mr. Richard Wright, who insisted upon lodging several complaints. It seems he’s notorious for doing so, as we’ve heard him raise his voice more than once during our short stay.”

  Boothe made a sound somewhere between a snort and a harrumph. “Quite so, quite so.”

  “Another guest jumped in to defend Mr. Wright. Geneviève Chevalier made no bones about her poor opinion of Miss DeVant and treated her most disrespectfully.” The possibility of another suspect occurred to Rosemary. “You might want to speak to Gloria, who works at the front desk. Cecily called her competence into question in front of guests.”

  “Not that I owe you any explanation, but I’ve already spoken to Miss Chevalier and her companion, who state they were together all night.”

  “I’m sure they were.”

  The inspector ignored her comment and instead kept pressing. “What did you do after you found Miss DeVant’s body?”

  At his words, the vision of Cecily on the floor sprang back up behind her eyes. She willed herself not to cry and made sure her voice was even when she replied, “I screamed. I screamed, and that’s when Gloria came running. One of the maids, Charlotte is her name, was busy filling her cart from one of the other cupboards.” She explained how Gloria had told Charlotte not to come close, and how she’d examined the scene and checked for the murder weapon.

  “Just what exactly made you assume murder? After all, her death could have been accidental. Perhaps there wasn’t a weapon at all. Perhaps Miss DeVant fell and hit her head on something inside the cupboard.” Rose could tell he was trying to get her goat, and it irked.

  “Are you saying you think she fell backwards, hit her head hard enough to cause a mortal injury, then closed the door behind herself? Furthermore, I surveyed the area and found nothing that could have caused that type of wound. She was lying on her side, giving me a clear view. I didn’t touch the body or anything else, for that matter.”

  Inspector Boothe raised an eyebrow, “How very convenient.”

  Rosemary raised her eyebrow in return. “I think helpful is the word you’re looking for, Inspector.” As soon as the words left her lips, Rosemary wished she hadn’t uttered them, but something about the man sitting before her made her feel like a child who’d been called to the headmaster’s office.

  “You may want to censor yourself here in Cyprus, Mrs. Lillywhite. This isn’t London, and your insolence won’t be tolerated. No matter how many murders you’ve helped solve back in England. Yes, I’ve already made inquiries, and according to a Detective Inspector Maximili
an Whittington, you’re quite the amateur sleuth.” There was no question this time, just a statement of the facts that Rosemary couldn’t—and wouldn’t—refute.

  She kept her mouth set in a thin line and bit back an uncharitable word or two. All the while, her stomach fluttered at the mention of Max. Wishing vehemently that he were here instead of the man sitting before her, Rosemary fought the urge to defend herself and failed.

  “I have been unfortunate enough to have become involved in two cases, and fortunate enough to have identified the murderer in both instances. I’d say I’m more of an asset than a liability, wouldn’t you, Inspector?”

  “That remains to be seen,” he countered. “For now, you’re not to leave the hotel area and certainly not to return to London until all inquiries have been made. You’re dismissed,” he said as if she were one of his deputies.

  With all the dignity she could muster, Rosemary exited the office. Outside the door, she ran into Charlotte, who was pacing restlessly while waiting for her turn to be questioned. She appeared positively petrified, so Rosemary stopped to see if there was anything she could do to help.

  “Are you all right, Charlotte?” she asked, placing a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  “Yes. I mean, no, of course not. How could I be?” Charlotte said, her eyes ringed with red. “Miss DeVant was…” her voice became thick, and she trailed off. Rose wasn’t upset that she didn’t finish her sentence; the last thing she wanted to hear was another stab at the dead woman’s character. Charlotte continued once she’d collected herself. “She didn’t deserve to die like that. Nobody does. And to think, we were all tucked into our beds while it was happening.” She shivered at the thought, her gaze not quite meeting Rosemary’s eyes as she stared off into the distance.

  Rose nodded in agreement, attempting to provide comfort, but all she could think was that clearly, not everyone was tucked into their bed during Cecily’s murder.

  “Char,” a girl she’d not yet been introduced to tapped Charlotte on the shoulder. She was dressed in a receptionist’s uniform, and wore a fretful expression.

  Charlotte jumped, startled again, and bit back a scream. Instead, she caught her breath and pursed her lips at the other girl. “Margaret, you scared the daylights out of me. I’m afraid my nerves are simply shot today.”

  “I’m sorry, I thought you’d like to know that Gloria said you could be dismissed after you speak to the inspector,” Margaret explained. She looked to be about the same age as Charlotte; hardly more than a girl, but with a professional demeanor that suggested she had much more work experience.

  Charlotte appeared skeptical. “Really?” she asked. “That’s quite nice of her, isn’t it? If somewhat out of character.” She opened her mouth once more, but shut it abruptly, perhaps to avoid saying something uncharitable about Gloria. It seemed Cecily wasn’t the only one who had earned a reputation for being a pill.

  Margaret raised an eyebrow, and nodded, “Take the reprieve and be grateful for it. You’ll likely never be offered another.”

  With a nod, Charlotte agreed, “I believe you might be right about that.”

  Chapter 8

  “That horrid man actually suspects I’m the one who killed Cecily,” Rosemary ranted once she’d been reunited with her brother and her friends. They’d taken seats out on the terrace, far away from prying ears, to discuss how to proceed.

  “Is that what he said to you?” Desmond boomed, far louder than he’d intended.

  “Not in so many words,” Rose said, placing a quelling hand on his arm. “But he did command me to not leave the hotel property. I suppose that means we won’t be taking your hike in the hills anytime soon.”

  “To hell with the hike, Rose. This is ludicrous, and I’ve half a mind to—” Des’s voice took on a menacing tone.

  “You and me both,” Frederick enthusiastically agreed.

  “You’ll not do anything, my dears. It will all be sorted out in due time. I didn’t kill her, and there are far more interesting suspects than me.” For some reason, their exuberance took some of the steam out of her own irritation.

  Vera sipped her orange juice—sans alcohol, for once—and directed a glare towards the general area of the hotel. “He looked like a bloody bulldog—the inspector, I mean, and I always put stock in first impressions. That means it’s up to us to figure out who really did it. For goodness sake, Rosemary. When did you become a magnet for murder?”

  “I’ve been asking myself that very same question since the moment I turned on the cupboard light and saw poor Cecily lying there. It hasn’t really sunk in yet that she’s dead. She had so much life left in her; so much spunk. I admired her, just as Mother said I would. It’s a tragedy is what it is, and I’ve had just about enough tragedy to last three lifetimes. That inspector can suspect me all he wants. I’ll make him look a right fool by the time I’m done.” Rosemary sat back, took a swig of the brandy Frederick had placed in front of her, and finally noticed the gaping expressions on her friends’ faces.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing, Rosie,” Vera said with a grin, “it’s simply been ages since you’ve worked up a good angry fit. I think you’re finally coming out of your funk.”

  Rosemary didn’t think ‘funk’ was the word she’d use to describe mourning her dead husband, but then Vera had never been one to mince words.

  “It’s a good thing, Rose. We’re all fired up over this one. Cecily wasn’t some gambling kingpin or war profiteer like our last two victims. She was a spitfire of a woman, and we all adored her at first sight. I can’t believe whoever did this had a valid reason. It feels petty and tragic. Although I will admit, we didn’t know her that well.”

  Frederick grimaced. “No, perhaps not, but I believe you’re on the right track. What do you think, Rose?”

  “I think our friend had quite a few enemies, and we’re going to have to weed through them all if we want to figure out who had it in for her bad enough to kill her. The staff is our first priority. Something about that maid, Charlotte, strikes me as off. Anna thinks so, too. She was on the spot when I found Cecily, but the murder occurred last night, giving her plenty of time to clean up and compose herself. We need to find out more about her, and also Gloria the receptionist. Cecily did, after all, threaten her position. Furthermore, we can’t ignore the fact that it could have been any one of the guests. I’m inclined to point the finger at Geneviève Chevalier or that terrible fiancé of hers, Benjamin Marlowe. The way she looked at Cecily last night, it couldn’t have only had to do with Richard Wright’s complaints.”

  Vera’s eyes lit up. “And what about him? He’s been hounding poor Cecily night and day. I heard he’s been here for near on a month, and all he does is complain. She was in his room yesterday evening, and she was none too thrilled when she left.” She explained about how Cecily had come into their suite for a drink. “If you ask me, Wright’s the one we should focus on.”

  “I think Rose is right about this maid,” Frederick said, ignoring Vera’s comment and causing her to glare at him through slitted lids. He didn’t attempt to defend Geneviève or Benjamin, and the oversight probably had more to do with self-preservation than a belief that either of them was involved. For some reason, Freddie always had a soft spot for disreputable characters like the betrothed couple. “Honestly,” he continued, still talking about Charlotte. “I’ve never had such terrible service, even at less reputable establishments. Perhaps she was holding something over Cecily’s head, and that’s how she’s kept her job.”

  “Cecily ran the tightest ship I’ve ever seen, so what sort of blackmail could some poor little maid possibly have had on her?” Vera retorted. “And haven’t you noticed they’re quite understaffed? That’s probably why she keeps her job.” Rosemary and Desmond exchanged a look across the table. Now was not the time for another bout of bickering.

  Frederick ignored Vera’s defense of Charlotte and snorted, “how should I know what her motive might be
? Isn’t that what investigations are for? We poke around, figure it out.”

  “I’m still not convinced,” Rosemary interjected. “It would have taken a man—or perhaps a woman in a serious rage—to have committed the crime. I’m not sure that little maid would have been capable of delivering such a blow.”

  “People have a way of surprising you, Rose,” Frederick replied, “especially if they’ve been pushed close enough to their limit to take another person’s life. Add in the effects of a heightened state, and Charlotte could have performed the act. It may be unlikely, but isn’t that always the way in the murder mysteries? It’s the one you least expect.”

  When Frederick got his hackles up about something, there was little to be done to deter him. “Why don’t the two of you”—she glanced at Desmond— “follow your own lead then, and we’ll follow ours.” Her bald statement made Vera’s lips lift into a smile.

  “That sounds like a lovely idea to me.” Vera agreed. “I’d bet a thousand pounds we’ll figure out who the murderer is before the two of you do.”

  “Oh, I’d take that bet,” Frederick said, squaring off with her.

  Desmond appeared less than impressed with the plan. Considering he had barely said a word, and certainly hadn’t agreed with Frederick, the apathy didn’t come as much of a surprise to Rosemary. She cast him a pleading look, to which he acquiesced, nodding to indicate he’d act as babysitter for Frederick.

  “Then it’s settled, but we’re not placing bets on who will avenge the death of a woman we admired. It’s distasteful,” Rosemary reprimanded. “Honestly, the two of you!”

  Freddie and Vera had the decency to look chagrined, and they both mumbled an apology, unwilling to risk having Rose’s wrath turned upon them.

  Chapter 9

  The sea swallowed the last pink and glowing rim of the sun as Rosemary stood on her balcony and watched, her heart heavy with sorrow over Cecily’s loss. She’d have to wire her mother and break the bad news, but that was a chore for the next day.