Mrs Lillywhite Investigates Box Set

by Emily Queen

  “Yes, Miss, something feels rather off, doesn’t it? Though I suppose that’s to be expected,” Anna replied, looking around.

  “Certainly,” Rose murmured as she surveyed the room. She had no idea who would have been put in charge in Cecily’s stead, despite Walter and Gloria’s musings, and vehemently hoped it was neither of them. Whoever it was seemed to have instructed the staff to act as though their manager hadn’t been bludgeoned to death the day before, but the pasted-on smiles couldn’t quite cover the maudlin mood roiling beneath the surface.

  Anna nearly tripped over a case that had been placed haphazardly in front of the reception desk, and it took a strong arm from Rosemary to keep the girl from toppling over. Margaret, stationed behind the desk, started.

  “Oh, blimey!” Anna said as she righted herself. “What on earth?”

  “Miss, I’m so sorry,” Benny’s voice came from around the corner of the half-loaded cart and was full of contrition. When he came into view, Rosemary noticed his eyes were red and his face carried blotchy shadows. She bit back the sharp reprimand that flirted with the tip of her tongue.

  “Benny, you simply must be more careful.” Margaret spoke the words Rosemary hadn’t had the heart to say.

  Benny shot her a contrite look and continued to prattle apologies. Rose let him do so until he ran out of steam and fell silent.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, feeling silly for even asking when it was clear he wasn’t.

  Benny’s lip trembled in time with his hands. “Course not. I know it was you who found her. Know you saw what that monster did to her. To poor Miss DeVant.”

  Rose wanted to reach out and comfort him in some small way, but it wouldn’t have been appropriate, and so she didn’t. “I didn’t realize you two were close,” she said instead. “It doesn’t seem as though she was well-liked around here.” If she was going to be handed a rod and a lure, she wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to fish for information.

  “Wasn’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “But we got on better than most. All Miss DeVant wanted was for us all to represent the Aphrodite to the highest standard.” The statement sounded out of character for Benny, but exactly like something Cecily would have said. At least one of her employees had taken her expectations to heart. Margaret listened with veiled interest, but Rosemary saw her mouth quirk at Benny’s rehearsed comment.

  His eyes widened as though some thought had just occurred to him for the first time. “You don’t think it could have been one of us who killed her, do you?”

  Rosemary was at a loss as to how to answer the question. On the one hand, Benny seemed harmless and in real distress over Cecily’s death. On the other, she couldn’t help but hear Gloria’s words from the night before; Ben was in quite a state. Could be he had another violent episode. Either way, it wouldn’t do to sound any alarm bells, and she wasn’t sure she could trust him to be discreet.

  “I wouldn’t know,” was all she decided to say on the subject. “But I do know you’re right about whoever did this being a monster.” She searched his face for any indication that beneath the gentle exterior lay a person capable of murder. “We have to trust that the police will figure it out, and at the very least, the killer will get what he or she deserves.”

  “They’re going to ask us all questions, aren’t they?” he asked, turning pale. “I got nothing to tell them, I don’t. Was in my cabin all night. In my cabin,” he repeated. “You think they’ll make me go to the police station?”

  “I doubt it,” Rosemary assured him. “If they haven’t asked to speak to you yet, they likely won’t, and if they do, I expect they’ll do it here, at the hotel.”

  The thought seemed to cheer Benny somewhat, and he thanked Rosemary but said he had to get back to work.

  “Odd duck, that one,” Anna said once he’d taken his leave.

  “You aren’t kidding.” The comment came from Margaret, who began to lean towards Rosemary conspiratorially. Before she could say more, Richard Wright approached the counter and captured her attention with his latest bout of complaints.

  “That maid of yours is entirely incompetent. You should see the state of my room, and nobody has been by to fix the squeaky door I told you about two days ago.” He appeared to have more to say, but Margaret interrupted him.

  “We’ve had a bit of trouble here, Mr. Wright, as I’m sure you’re aware. Your squeaky door hasn’t been tops on our list of priorities, as again, I’m sure you can understand.” Her tone was far harsher than she might have dared two days earlier with Cecily peeking around corners and assessing the hospitality of her staff.

  “Yes, yes, it’s a tragedy.” He stroked his chin, looking for all the world as if he couldn’t care one bit. “However, the world doesn’t stop turning, and your business doesn’t stop running. In fact, it’s all the more reason to invite the owner of this establishment to consider my client’s offer to buy him out. After all, if service continues to go downhill, as I expect it will even further now that Miss DeVant is no longer at the helm, they’ll have to sell eventually and at a much lower price.”

  And there it was, his ulterior motive. Rosemary had known the complaints were pointless—a means to an end. She’d seen this kind of estate con before, some old case of Andrew’s she didn’t have time to dredge from her memory, but Richard Wright ticked all the boxes. He was smarmy, he had his sights set on a bigger prize, and he didn’t appear to have a scruple to call his own.

  In Rosemary’s book, that made him a suspect in her murder. Get Cecily out of the way in a manner bound to create a scandal and leave the hotel ripe for the taking. At least, in Wright’s mind. She doubted Cecily’s uncle would kowtow to that kind of pressure, but what did she know about him? Enough to know he’d not only trusted a woman to run his hotel but kept it in the family by putting her in charge, which eased some of Rose’s concerns. She wasn’t sure why it mattered to her, but she suspected it was because the Aphrodite had mattered to Cecily, and Cecily had mattered to her mother. She didn’t want to see the place sold to the highest bidder, and she certainly didn’t want to see Richard Wright get away with murder.

  “Oh, blimey!” Rosemary said suddenly, in an echo of Anna’s earlier exclamation. The maid’s wide eyes turned on her mistress who normally spoke more circumspectly. “What is it, Miss Rose?”

  “Mother. I meant to send news of Cecily’s death today. She’ll be crushed, and when she does find out, I won’t be there to comfort her.”

  “No, you’ll be here, solving the crime of her dear friend’s death,” Anna said in a soothing voice. “It’s worth more, Miss, as I’m sure Mrs. Woolridge would agree.”

  Rosemary considered that. “Yes, you’re probably right, but I’m just sick about it…I meant to see about sending her a telegram, but then the Inspector confined me to the hotel.” She trailed off, and then realized her concern was unwarranted. “They’ve contacted Max. I trust he’s informed Mother, and I suspect I’ll be receiving a telegram before too long, begging me to return to London.” She sighed. “I’ll deal with that later. For now, let’s get something to eat. Perhaps by the time we’re done, the rest of the layabouts we’re traveling with will have woken up.”

  “Perhaps,” Anna said, but she sounded doubtful, and when she headed towards the table her mistress normally chose, she was surprised when Rose forcefully directed her towards another, less central selection. One far away from the three old biddies who seemed to pop up at every turn.

  “I’m sorry, Anna, but I cannot bring myself to listen to another argument over knitting patterns or weights of worsted right now. Nor can I bother myself to discuss Vera in all her glory while she lies snoring upstairs. We’ll sit over in the corner, shall we?”

  “By all means, Miss.”

  They ate in companionable silence, observing the whirl of activity around them. The hotel seemed to attract a particular brand of clientele—none of it local. Hardly anyone appeared to be visiting Cyprus for business reasons, excep
ting Mr. Wright, as Rosemary had just learned. Most seemed intent on pleasure and jazz of an evening. While the beach seemed teemed with children, there were few in the lounge at such an early hour. Instead, couples dotted the room, leaning over tables and staring into one another’s eyes. It was enough to make Rosemary want to sick up.

  “Why don’t we go check on Vera?” Anna suggested, her eyes on something across the room. When Rosemary turned to look, it was to discover that Walter, who leaned against the reception desk talking to Margaret, was the one bringing a blush to Anna’s face.

  “Yes, let’s,” Rosemary agreed, her eyes narrowing speculatively. Her gaze turned to Anna and stayed there until the pair was safely in the lift. Benny closed the door with a “hello again, Misses,” and cranked the lever. He appeared to be feeling marginally better than he had earlier but didn’t make conversation as they ascended to their floor.

  As the lift door opened, so did Benjamin and Geneviève’s suite door. Charlotte, her eyes filled with tears, slipped out, holding her right wrist with some delicacy.

  “Are you all right?” Rosemary asked, attempting to catch the girl’s arm as she hurried past. It seemed she’d asked that question more times lately than she could count.

  Charlotte blinked, wouldn’t meet her gaze, and said, “Yes, Miss, I’m fine. Simply banged my wrist on one of the end tables. Benny, can you take me downstairs?” she asked and stepped into the lift.

  “Course,” Rose heard Benny say as he closed the door.

  Anna appeared somewhat concerned but shrugged and had turned towards their suite door when Benjamin himself came out of his room with a stormy expression on his face. He didn’t stop to make advances on Rosemary or even say hello; barely even glanced in her direction before whipping into the stairwell and descending loudly.

  “What do you suppose that was all about?” Rosemary asked.

  “She probably did a horrendous job on his room this morning,” Anna replied. “She’s terribly green, you know. She’s hardly been here a month. I’m not sure how she managed to secure the position in the first place, an upscale establishment like this.” It was so similar to Frederick’s comment regarding his suspicions of Charlotte that it gave Rose a start.

  “I asked her where she’d been employed before coming to Cyprus, and she was awfully dodgy about it,” Anna continued. Rose absorbed the information, all the while vowing not to discount Charlotte as a suspect, and also not to let Freddie know his theory might actually hold water.

  Chapter 12

  Vera was just beginning to stir when Anna and her mistress reentered the suite. Rosemary jumped onto the bed to rouse her friend, a returned favor for all of the times she had been on the receiving end of such a display.

  “Get up, get up, get up,” Rosemary chanted at her friend, receiving a cold look from Vera as she sat up and tried to smooth down her disheveled hair.

  “What exactly have I ever done to you, besides be a good friend?” Vera asked with a glare.

  “Just get up,” Rosemary said and walked back into the sitting room. She could hear Vera grumbling while she readied herself.

  The sun had risen, bright and hot, begging for the people of Cyprus to come and lounge on sandy beaches or dip their toes in the clear, cerulean water. It would have been easy for Rosemary to allow herself to descend into a maudlin mood, despite the breathtaking surroundings. She was broken up about what had happened to Cecily, but she knew she had to keep her spirits up if she wanted to exact justice on whoever had killed her mother’s dear friend. And so, she instructed Anna to pack her and Vera’s beach things.

  “Anna, where is my sun hat?” she asked after scouring the wardrobe and coming up empty-handed.

  Always with an answer to that type of question at the ready, Anna pointed to a low bureau situated along one wall of the sitting room. “I thought that the best place to keep all the things most easily forgotten.”

  Rosemary opened the top drawer, and sure enough, there was the missing hat. She removed it and began to shut the drawer when she noticed something else laying at the bottom.

  “Anna,” she said as she picked up a familiar-looking envelope clutch. She racked her brain for where she’d seen it before, and then suddenly remembered that Cecily had brought it into the suite with her the afternoon she died. “How did this end up in here?”

  “Oh,” Anna explained, “I’d forgotten. I found that on one of the end tables the other day. I didn’t recognize it as either of yours. Did you buy it here on the island?”

  Rosemary shook her head. “No, it belonged to Cecily. She left it there the evening…well, the evening she died.”

  Anna watched as Rosemary chewed her lip while attempting to make a decision. “I don’t think Miss DeVant would mind if you looked inside,” she said quietly.

  Rose sighed. “Yes, you’re probably right, Anna, and unfortunately, she isn’t here any longer to have an opinion on the subject.” With a shake of her head she opened the thin purse and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Letters, to be more precise, as she realized what she was holding.

  “Oh, no,” Rosemary said as she began to read.

  Vera poked her head out of the bedroom door, “What on earth is going on?” she asked.

  “We found Cecily’s handbag, and it’s filled to the brim with threatening letters. You underestimated me, but I know things about you. Give me what I want or else. That sort of thing,” Rosemary explained, her eyes still on the pages.

  “Let me see,” Vera said, coming to look over Rosemary’s shoulder. “They’re typed, which means you won’t be able to work your magic on the handwriting.” As an artist, Rosemary had a knack for such things, but Vera was wrong. That skill could still help her this time. Just as the hand fell into a rhythm with writing to create similar loops and whorls, a typist used patterns in tapping the keys, so that some letters might be darker than the rest. Moreover, with consistent use, worn strikers might jig to the left or right, to create a unique signature.

  “Whoever wrote these was smart, I’ll give them that. There are no envelopes either. No return address,” Rosemary noted. “No way to tell where they came from.”

  Vera grimaced but then brightened. “They do, however, seem to clarify the motive for her murder. Obviously, it was about blackmail,” Vera said proudly, though her grin quickly turned into a scowl. “Drat, that’s a point in your brother’s favor.”

  Rosemary wasn’t sure she fully agreed. “Perhaps. Love certainly doesn’t seem to have anything to do with it. Revenge, possibly, but I rather think you’re right. Someone wanted money, or perhaps leverage.”

  “You don’t think Freddie’s cockamamie idea about Charlotte having something on Cecily could actually be right?” Vera exclaimed.

  Considering, Rosemary shook her head, “No, not really. She’s new, she’s inexperienced, and yet somehow, she managed to find enough evidence against Cecily to warrant a threat of this nature? Only to keep a job for which she clearly isn’t suited?” Rose waved the letters around. “I don’t think so.”

  “Besides, she certainly doesn’t have enough clout to follow through if the threats didn’t goad Cecily into giving in to the demands. There’s only one person I can think of who fits the bill: Richard Wright.”

  After handing the rest of the letters to Vera to read, Rose settled on the settee, all thoughts of the beach having flown for the moment. When Vera joined her, Rose passed the letters over, then pressed her fingers over her mouth while she thought through everything she knew about the man. She compared him to some of the bad actors she had run across while working cases with Andrew. The more she thought, the more he seemed to fit the profile.

  “This has him written all over it. He’s in the hotel, so he could have slipped these letters under Cecily’s door. It explains why there’s no return address. He’s obviously invested a lot of time into whatever scam it is he’s running here if he’s been here as long as Cecily said he has. Maybe he was getting anxious, worrying it might have al
l been for nothing.”

  Vera practically tossed herself down next to Rosemary and continued to scan through the letters with a frown marring her pretty features. “What kind of scam do you suspect him of running?”

  “Get them to sell at a low price, then flip it to another buyer, perhaps,” Rosemary postulated. “There’s money to be made here; scads of it. Whatever his end game is, it has something to do with getting his hands on this property.”

  “It does seem to add up, but we’ll need proof. The typewriter! Unless he sneaked into the office to write those letters, right under Cecily’s nose, it would have to be in his room. But how would we get in there…” Vera had taken Rosemary’s suggestion with gusto, and now was off and running with it.

  Her heart pumping at the thought of nailing Richard Wright to the wall, Rosemary began to pace. “We could sneak the key out of the office and check. It wouldn’t take much. A couple of distractions, perhaps. You’re always a champ when it comes to that. Fancy a reconnaissance trip downstairs?”

  Vera gestured to her disheveled appearance. “Sure, just let me make myself presentable.” She hurried into the bathroom while Rosemary continued to sift through the letters.

  “Should we tell Freddie and Des what we’re up to?” Vera’s voice carried from the other room.

  At the mention of Desmond, Rosemary realized she’d committed the number one best friend gaffe. “No,” she answered definitively. “Things are somewhat awkward right now after he kissed me last night.” She let the statement fall out of her mouth casually and waited for the fallout.

  Vera’s face appeared in the doorway, half her hair combed and her eyes the size of golf balls. “Excuse me? Desmond kissed you? Well, the old boy has more guts than I gave him credit for. How was it? When was it? Why didn’t you tell me before?” The questions flew at Rosemary like shrapnel.

  “Which do you want to know first?” she asked, winking at Anna, who was just as avid with curiosity but too polite to question her mistress the way Vera had.