Queen of Hearts

by Rhys Bowen

  “So maybe you guys could start patrolling the grounds now,” the sheriff said.

  “In the dark? What could we see in the dark?” one of the groundsmen demanded. “Someone hears us coming and slips behind a tree or a rock. It’s impossible.”

  “Then we’ll get dogs brought in in the morning, wild animals or not,” the sheriff said. “My men will be arriving soon with the medical examiner, and then we’ll do a complete search of the house for clues. And in the meantime I’ll be questioning each of you in turn in the library.”

  “In the library?” Mrs. Goldman demanded. “But my husband’s body is still there. Surely that’s not appropriate and most insensitive.”

  “They can move the curtains around the body if you do not wish to look at him,” Juan said. “But I think you will not wish to interview me. I was not there. I left after dinner.”

  “I told you. Nobody is touching anything,” the sheriff boomed. “And I want to speak to everybody.”

  “Then why do you want us in the library, if we’re not supposed to touch anything?” Barbara said in a testy voice. “Won’t that risk contaminating the crime scene?”

  It was clear we were all getting tired and feeling the strain.

  “I have my reasons,” the sheriff said. “And since you all were in that room this evening at some point, then it would be natural to find your prints there anyway, wouldn’t it?”

  I realized then what his reasons were. He wanted to see how we reacted to trying to speak normally in the presence of Mr. Goldman’s body. Perhaps he hoped that the killer would show signs of uneasiness under the strain. But from my experience killers can remain completely cool in such circumstances, can lie without batting an eyelid. That’s why they kill in the first place—that have the sort of personality that spurs them to take risks the rest of us couldn’t imagine.

  “Let’s start with the widow,” Sheriff Billings said. “And the rest of you stay put. Nobody is to move from this room.”

  “You want us to stay here?” one of the groundsmen asked, looking at his colleague.

  “I’ll want to speak with the employees separately. Go and round up your pals and the household servants and I’ll be speaking to you shortly.”

  “In here? In the house?” He looked at us uneasily.

  “Better make it the kitchen. And perhaps someone could put on a pot of coffee. I’ve been on the job since seven this morning,” the sheriff said. After they had gone out of the front door, muttering to each other in Spanish, the sheriff turned to Mrs. Goldman. “Come along, Mrs. Goldman. Follow me.”

  We watched them walk away, Mrs. Goldman walking as if she were a zombie. Barbara Kindell stood up as if to follow and assist her friend, but then sat down again. “It’s not right to put her through this after she’s just lost her husband,” she said. “That man is a bully and a brute. His wife may be a big fan of mine, but that won’t stop me from telling it like it is in my column this Sunday. And on my radio show too.”

  “I suppose he’s just trying to do his job,” Darcy said. “He wants to catch us with our guard down to see if anyone cracks under the pressure of being in a room with the body.”

  “I shall find it horrible,” Stella said. “It’s a sadistic thing to do, that brute grilling us with questions when he knows that poor Cy is lying there.”

  “It will not bother me,” Juan said. “I have nothing to hide and I have seen bodies before. In Spain we are used to death in the bullring.”

  “That’s also horrible,” Stella said. “I went to a bullfight once with Cy and swore I’d never go again. Spain is such a cruel country.”

  “Oh and America is not?” Juan demanded. “Here you shoot each other with guns, no? Al Capone and the gangsters? At least in Spain we fight with honor.”

  “Easy, old man.” Craig put a hand on Juan’s shoulder.

  “What should I do, miss?” Queenie shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Should I go up to your room and wait for you?” She had been standing away from the group, half in the foyer as if she didn’t know where she belonged.

  “The sheriff said that nobody should leave and I presume that includes you,” I replied. “You’d better find a chair and come and join us.” I was still feeling ambivalent about her arrival. In a way I suppose that I had grown fond of her and was glad to have her back, but I wasn’t ready to forgive her deserting the ship at the first opportunity.

  Belinda moved closer to me on the sofa. “I’m freezing,” she said. “I didn’t get a chance to dry off properly. And I really wish I hadn’t come here.”

  “Your own fault,” I said.

  “I know. Stupid, really. I do these impulsive things, hoping that something good will come out of them, but it never does. I went down to Kingsdowne Place when you were staying with the Eynsfords and look what happened there. The problem is that you are a disaster magnet, Georgie. I should learn to stay well away from you.”

  By now I was also tired and grouchy and I’d had enough for one evening. “Face it, Belinda, you don’t come to see me. You come because you hope to take advantage of people I know.”

  One of the good things about Belinda is that she is frightfully easygoing. She nodded. “You’re right. I’m a horrid, shallow person and I only think about myself. But I have to add that my actions are born partly out of desperation. It’s not easy trying to survive with little money in this world.”

  “I’m certainly aware of that,” I said, “but I would never land myself on people claiming to be something I’m not, in the hope of snagging myself a rich man.”

  “No, of course you wouldn’t. You have Queen Victoria’s blood running through your veins. You are eminently respectable and moral. You’ll marry and have oodles of children and live in a drafty old country house and be supremely happy. I like the good things in life, unfortunately.”

  I glanced across at Darcy. He caught my gaze and winked, making me feel so much better. This might be a horrible situation but I was in the same room as a man who loved me and whom I hoped to marry someday. Poor Belinda looked for love in all the wrong places and while she lived a glamorous life from time to time, she had no security. I patted her hand. “Your turn will come, I’m sure.”

  “I’m not so sure anymore. Craig Hart invites me for a skinny dip and then rejects me? There must be something wrong with me. I’m getting old and haggard and unattractive.”

  “Belinda, you’re twenty-three and devastatingly beautiful. In fact if you wanted to stay on here and make a career in films, I’m sure you could.”

  The flicker of a smile crossed her face. “Do you really think so? You’re very kind, Georgie. A sweet person. You deserve happiness.”

  I leaned closer. “And when we’re alone I’ll tell you something else that will make you feel better,” I whispered.

  “Oh God. I wish he’d hurry up,” Mummy said in her stage voice that echoed around the cavernous rooms. “All I want right now is my bed. And to be back in Germany with Max or at my villa in Lugano. Or my dear little place in Nice. Or at Brown’s Hotel in London. Anywhere but here. This was such a stupid idea in the first place. And a ridiculous movie. Bloody Mary and the Virgin Queen fighting over King Philip of Spain—I ask you.”

  Silence fell again.

  “I don’t know about anyone else but I’m going to have another drink,” Charlie said. He went over to the drinks table and sloshed cognac into a glass. We looked up as Mrs. Goldman returned and sank onto the sofa next to Barbara. She pushed an imaginary strand of hair back from her face, even though her hairstyle and makeup were still immaculate.

  “So many stupid questions,” she said. “So unnecessary. Somehow he latched on to the fact that we didn’t live together. As if that gave me a motive for murder. Trying to put words in my mouth. I told him that life suited us perfectly the way things were but he wouldn’t give up.”

  �
�Here, you need this more than me, Helen.” Charlie handed her his drink. “Get that by you.”

  “I don’t normally, but right now I really do need one,” she said and took a big gulp. “He wants Stella next,” she said and there was a glint of malicious glee in her eyes. I suspected she’d taken delight in giving Stella an excellent motive for his murder. Stella looked pale but regal and resolute as she walked from the room. I watched her go, still wondering. Darcy obviously still had reason to suspect her or he’d never have come here. And she had left the room to order another pot of coffee. How long had she been gone? Long enough to sneak into the library and bludgeon her lover to death? And then make off with one candlestick? I shook my head. This made no sense to me. If she wanted to steal the candlesticks she had ample opportunity. Presumably she knew the combination to Mr. Goldman’s safe. She could drive up alone whenever she wanted. And as for killing him in such a brutal manner—there was no reason that I could see. They had been very chummy on the ship. She was still the star of his pictures. They had driven to the castle in the same car. And she didn’t seem the volatile type. But then who else in this room would have wanted Cy Goldman dead—apart from his wife?

  I looked around them, one by one.

  “Do you want me to go up to your room, miss, and get your nightclothes ready?” Queenie asked.

  “I don’t think you can do that,” I said. “We’re not staying in the house. We’re all in bungalows dotted around the grounds.”

  “Well, I expect I can find the right one if you show me where it is,” Queenie said. “Someone will have a torch, won’t they?”

  “Queenie, we’re a long way from the house and the grounds are full of wild animals,” I said.

  “Go on.” She nudged me. “You’re pulling my leg.”

  “I’m certainly not,” I said. “Mr. Goldman imported exotic animals for his park—giraffes, zebras, and God knows what else.”

  “Cor blimey,” she said. “And to think I was trying to get in through that gate. I might have come face-to-face with an elephant. So what do you want me to do? It don’t feel right for me to sit here among your lot.”

  “I suppose you’d better join the other servants in the kitchen,” I said.

  “And how do I find where the kitchen is in this ’ouse of ’orrors?” she demanded. “I’ll be bound to get lost and meet a boa constrictor or something.”

  I looked up and saw one of the groundsmen still lingering near the front door. I beckoned him over. “Could you possibly drive my maid over to the cottage where I’m staying?” I asked. “She’s afraid to walk on her own in the dark.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Follow me, miss.”

  Queenie gave me a pleased grin. He was rather good-looking in a Latin way. I watched her go then saw my mother and Belinda watching me.

  “You really are too soft,” Mummy said. “You should have refused to take her back.”

  “Mummy, I could hardly leave her to fend for herself in California, could I? I brought her out here, and hopefully she’s learned her lesson.”

  Mummy sighed and got up. “I think I need another drink, Charlie darling.”

  “Of course you do. We all need a little something right now to cheer us up, don’t we?”

  “I know what might cheer me up.” She walked slowly over to him and I watched him watching her. I had a feeling that she wouldn’t be spending the rest of the night in our bungalow, if we were ever released to go to bed. And again I marveled that I could be her daughter. Perhaps I had been switched at birth with Belinda.

  I realized that I could do with a drink too, but Mummy and Charlie were now being horribly chummy at the drinks table and I dared not interrupt. So I was glad when we heard the sound of heavy footsteps outside and then rapping on the front door.

  Ronnie went to answer it and several men entered the hallway. They looked to me like a gang of desperadoes who might have come to raid the bank in any Wild Western film. “Where’s the sheriff?” one of them asked. “We got word of a body being found here?” He was unshaven, wearing a sweaty shirt and a cowboy hat he hadn’t bothered to remove.

  “The sheriff is in the library where the body is also located,” Ronnie said. “Are you one of the deputies?”

  “No, I’m the doctor,” the scruffy individual said. “The deputies came to get me when I’d just returned from a horseback ride. So take me to him. I’m dog tired and want to get home.”

  After prim and fastidious English doctors, I didn’t put much faith in this one. It was interesting to observe that under the thin veneer of glamour in Beverly Hills this was still the untamed West. The deputies moved into the front hall, looking around with awe as if they’d suddenly found themselves on a strange planet. We turned at the sound of tapping feet and Stella came across the hall, followed by the sheriff. She made a beeline for the cocktails.

  “Odious man,” she muttered. “One minute he’s asking me personal questions about my relationship with Cy and the next he’s asking for my autograph for his wife.”

  “So you finally got here,” the sheriff said as he joined his men. “What news on the fire?”

  “Won’t be contained for a few days at least,” one said. “They’ve got fire crews come in from all over the place but it’s moving so damned fast they can’t stop it.”

  “Right. Nothing more we can do there anyway. In the hands of the fire marshal now,” he grunted in his deep, gravelly voice. “Doc’s with the body now. I need you boys to do a thorough search of this house. And did one of you bring a fingerprinting kit?”

  “Out in the truck, Sheriff.”

  “Then go get it. We’ve got us one fine bloody print that should make it easy to identify our killer.”

  One of them slouched out again, walking with that strange rolling gait that comes from a life in the saddle.

  “So what are we supposed to be looking for?” another of them asked.

  “Clues, boys, clues. Any more fingerprints—oh, and a golden candlestick covered with precious stones. Not too easy to hide, I’d have thought.”

  “Surely nobody would be stupid enough to hide the candlestick in the house,” Belinda whispered to me. “But then I can’t think that anyone would be stupid enough to steal the candlestick in the first place. Certainly not one of us. And if I were trying to steal it and Mr. Goldman caught me at it, I’d bluff my way out, saying I wanted to take a closer look in good light. I wouldn’t bash him over the head.”

  “I know,” I said. “That’s why I think it has to be an outsider. One of us would have a good excuse for being in the library and wouldn’t have panicked if we’d been caught with the candlestick.”

  “I wish we could go to bed,” Belinda muttered. “I am incredibly tired. Of course I could have livened up no end if there had been a good reason to stay awake. But alas, I seem to have lost my sex appeal.”

  I had just decided to spill the beans to her when we heard running footsteps on the gallery up above and then someone yelled, “Sheriff. Up here.”

  The big man took the stairs with surprising grace. Then we heard him say, “Well, I’ll be . . .”

  He returned to the head of the stairs. “Okay, who is currently sleeping in this room to the left at the top of the stairs?”

  “That’s my room, Sheriff,” Stella said coldly.

  “Then perhaps you’d like to come up here, Miss Brightwell,” he said. His eyes had a triumphant gleam to them.

  “Oh really,” she said. “What have they found now? My frilly underpants from Paris?”

  “Oh, no. Much more interesting than that,” he said.

  Stella stalked across the foyer and up the stairs. “Mrs. Goldman was right when she said we should try to bring in detectives from Los Angeles,” she said. “Your incompetent louts are keeping us awake for nothing.”

  “Incompetent louts?” the sheriff demanded. �
��You counted on us being really stupid, did you? Or you’d have found a better hiding place for this.”

  There was a scream. Darcy was up the stairs in an instant. So were Craig and Ronnie, followed closely by me. We clustered at the doorway of a bedroom that would have been right at home in Castle Rannoch—huge four-poster bed, tapestries on the walls, old chests, candlesticks . . . and one candlestick, more beautiful than the rest, lying in the middle of Stella’s bed.

  Chapter 24

  Stella was standing there, her mouth open, pointing at it. “How did it get there?” she demanded.

  “That’s what we’d like to know, Miss Brightwell,” the sheriff said.

  “Someone must have put it there,” Stella said, sounding angry now. “Someone is trying to frame me.”

  “Oh yeah?” The sheriff was still gloating. “Or maybe you killed your lover and decided to take one of the candlesticks as a little souvenir. Only the body was found quicker than you’d hoped and you had nowhere to hide it properly. So your bed seemed a fairly safe place—unless you decided to invite someone else to join you tonight.”

  “How dare you!” Stella said. “In case you’ve forgotten, I am a famous actress. I could afford to buy my own candlestick if I wanted one. If I’d asked Cy for it, he’d have probably given it to me as a present. He adored me. I adored him. And if that old cow had given him the divorce he wanted, we’d have been married by now.”

  “But she didn’t, did she?” the sheriff said. “Perhaps you just found out he never planned to divorce his wife. Perhaps he was about to ditch you and move on to someone new and you didn’t like that.”

  “So I hit him over the head with his own candlestick?” she snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous. I abhor violence, Sheriff.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough, Miss Brightwell,” he said. “When my man has had a good look at that fingerprint. If I were you I’d pack some clothes. You may be on your way to jail before the night is over.”