by Beth Byers
Just as Edwina opened her mouth to tell the smug officer exactly what she thought of his pompous instructions, her father grabbed her arm and gave it a hard tug toward the end of the hallway. “Time to go, Edwina,” he declared, steel in his voice. He pretended not to notice the glare she gave him as she followed along, stomping down the hall in her high heels. By the time they got to the parlor she had cooled down a bit. It wasn’t the first time a man had pooh-poohed her opinion, but any time something like that happened it made her blood boil.
“Time for bed, Edwina,” her father pronounced. “There’s nothing you can do now, and this whole business is no place for a lady.”
Edwina’s mother was standing at the front door, wearing a hangdog expression and shaking hands with guests who were being ushered out by the servants. Amelia Eaton Winterwood had done her best to keep the family scandal-free and to represent them as solid members of the Gold Coast society, and all that was collapsing before her eyes. The news of what had been found, or rather, who had been found dead at the Winterwood Valentine’s party would be the hottest gossip on the street the next day, and more than one couple rushed home to phone their friends and tell them about the excitement. Hopkins had already turned away two eager reporters who had lobbied to get in the house and see the body for themselves.
“Maybe the police would have a smaller pool of suspects if you hadn’t invited some of the shadier members of society,” she commented to her father, and she could instantly tell that he didn’t take it well.
“That will do, Edwina Grace.” Once they’d walked into the family’s small parlor and out of sight of the last few stragglers from the party, he headed straight for a stylish carved sideboard by the back wall. Bending over, he opened a small door and retrieved a crystal decanter and two glasses.
“Your mother and I have reasons we invite the people we do.” He poured about two inches of amber liquid in one glass, then turned around and looked at Edwina. “It protects all of us if we keep all factions happy. There are lots of ways to survive, and not having enemies is one of them. You’re grown up now, and you need to learn the way the world actually works.” He seemed to be considering something, then poured the same amount of liquor in the second glass. He held it out, and as she took it he clinked his crystal tumbler into hers.
“To survival,” he intoned before taking a deep swallow.
Edwina watched him with somber eyes, then finally held her glass up in her own version of a toast.
“And here’s to all the good guys in the world who try to do more than survive.”
Chapter Six
Agnes carefully put her pool cue back in the rack, then slid into the open chair at the gaming table. “Okay, let’s talk about the really important thing that’s going on here.”
“What important thing?” Edwina said with a yawn. She’d been glad Preston and Agnes had stayed behind when the rest of the guests had left. It was almost two in the morning when they’d quietly headed to the billiards room to speak privately. Maybe she wouldn’t have a hangover the next day, but the odds of her showing up bright and cheery for her early morning meeting with the car show committee were getting worse and worse. She needed some time to think about everything that had happened, and to talk with someone who wasn’t in her family or law enforcement.
Preston seemed to ignore Edwina’s question. He laid a conciliatory hand on top of Agnes’ and leaned across the tabletop. “Are you all right? Death can be a terrible shock, can’t it? Life is so short.”
Edwina ducked her chin down to hide a knowing smile. She’d been suspicious Preston had had his eye on Agnes for some time, and tonight when she’d seen how he acted around Agnes it had confirmed her observations. She’d known Preston for four years, after her mother had introduced them. Amelia had done her best to make sure Edwina was suitably groomed. She also told her headstrong daughter all about the excellent financial future he had in store for him. In all the time Edwina had known Preston, she’d repeatedly seen her shy friend fumble with talking to any girl who caught his interest, so the thought of him wanting to woo wild Agnes was an interesting development.
Agnes looked at him as if he’d suddenly lost his mind, then reared her head back in surprise and quickly retrieved her hand. “Nothing as dreary as that. I was thinking about how we’re going to get a decent driver for the races coming up this summer. Calvin was an absolute pig, but he was the best driver I’ve ever seen, and George would say the same thing.”
Edwina grimaced. “Nice to see you have your priorities straight, Agnes. A man died here tonight, and whoever killed him was there at the party. Isn’t that more important than winning races?”
Pouting a bit, Agnes apparently disagreed. “Look, I’m not trying to speak ill of the dead, but” —she shrugged— “he was a bit of a cad, so I’m not going to cry big crocodile tears about his winning personality. The truth is, betting on the right racecar can mean the difference between me being able to buy a fur stole or just a pack of Wrigley’s.” She rolled her eyes toward Edwina. “Not all of us have the resources you do at home, you know.”
Maybe Agnes hadn’t meant her words to hurt, but they still did. Agnes’ family had gone through some financial losses in the past couple of years, even as they tried to keep up appearances. Also, it was a sore point with Edwina that she had to rely on her parents’ money. Her time working in George’s garage was for fun and to help him as he struggled with the new business, not for cash. She’d been hoping that once word got out about how good his garage was he’d do better financially.
She got up and poured herself another drink at a small cabinet nearby, then stood looking at a large painting of some ancient great-something-odd grandfather with a goatee and a sour expression.
Preston interrupted her thoughts. “Where is old George, anyway?” he asked. “I thought he’d be here.”
Edwina shrugged. “Busy. He left early and said he’ll call us tomorrow.”
Making a sound of disgust, Preston rose to refresh his own drink. “I swear, George isn’t nearly as much fun lately as he was before. Ever since he started that garage it seems to eat up his time and his money. I hardly see him anymore, unless I go down there to visit him.”
Agnes waved her empty glass at Preston with a charming smile, silently requesting a refill, which he hurried to pour for her. “You’re absolutely correct. He’s so serious lately. Arrives late with a torn tux and leaves early, which is just bad form. I hate to say it, but he’s becoming a bit of a bore.”
Edwina’s reputation for being fiercely loyal to her friends was well-founded, and she shook her head adamantly. “Don’t either of you say a word against my buddy Georgie. I think he’s a peach and won’t stand for it.”
Agnes took a long, slow swig of her drink, then swirled the liquor around in the bottom. “Fine. He’s a friend of mine, too.” Her eyebrows pulled together in sudden concern. “I’m just worried about him. That’s all.”
Edwina shut the front door with a hard shove and locked it, making sure it couldn’t possibly blow inward from the blustery winds raging around the estate outside. The last police car had finally left, with one squat detective making sure to tell them he’d be back mid-morning to see things in the daylight, and that they shouldn’t let anyone use the back hallway.
Preston had offered Agnes a lift home, and she’d gratefully accepted, apparently not noticing the delighted expression Preston was wearing as he settled her fox fur coat around her shoulders and ushered her outside.
Guests gone and police departed, the Winterwood home seemed deserted, with small pools of light from little lamps placed strategically in case someone got up in the middle of the night.
Edwina yawned as she clicked off one of the table lamps, and headed toward bed. Her thoughts were a jumble of everything that had happened that night: the party, the dancing, the murder. She was pondering Calvin Blue’s death and who might have been the murderer when she heard a slight sound deep in the shadows of the r
oom.
Turning her head, she just caught a glimpse of Petunia, still wearing her waitress outfit, locked in a passionate embrace with a tall man in a tuxedo. She was standing on her tiptoes, her arms locked around his neck as he bent down to kiss her. Her eyes were shut as she kissed him back in a way that suggested it wasn’t the first time she’d had her lips pressed against his.
Edwina’s eyes widened, then she gave a small cough.
The couple instantly jumped apart, faces guilty, lipstick smeared. Edwina could feel the anger rise in her as she put her hands on her hips and faced them both.
“Petunia, don’t you think it’s time you go to bed?” She paused. “By yourself?”
“Um, um…I’m sorry, Miss,” Petunia stammered, looking horrified, and scurried out of the room at a near-run.
“And you,” Edwina said, her voice nearly a hiss as she looked at the young man, “if Mother finds out you’ve asked her to hire your girlfriend as one of the maids, Graham, you’re going to find your allowance cut off without a penny. I’d think twice about who I was playing around with, if I were you.”
Graham’s expression changed from guilt to a cold, hard stare. “It’s none of your business, Eddie, and you know it. It’s no use telling Mother. I’ll do what I like with who I like, and no one can stop me.”
“You know she’s told us time and time again the help shouldn’t be mingling with the guests or family except in a professional manner. She’d fire anyone on the staff in a heartbeat if she thought they didn’t follow that rule.” She crossed her arms in front of her and fixed her brother with a hard glare. “Whatever you two were doing in here, it certainly didn’t look professional to me.”
“Go jump in a lake,” Graham replied smugly as he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his mouth. “We can talk about this tomorrow, but just the two of us, okay? Let’s leave the folks out of it.”
Edwina gritted her teeth. It was late, she was exhausted, and there was no way she was going to win a fight with Graham in the middle of the night.
“Fine. See you tomorrow.”
Stomping up the stairs to her room, Edwina took a few long, cool breaths to try to tamp down the anger she still felt. Being a little sister in the Winterwood household was bad enough, but having a brother who seemed to get away with doing whatever he pleased made it much worse.
Hopefully, she was so exhausted she could sleep and put the whole day out of her mind for a few hours.
Chapter Seven
The next morning was a bit of a blur. Edwina was awakened right on time by Dorothy, the maid, who refused to go away until after Edwina had hurled a pillow at her, growling at the thought of having to get up and be presentable. It took her a while to get dressed and groomed, and she barely made it to the car show meeting on time. Normally, she was full of insight and opinions about the car show and how it should be run, but this time she sat quietly, trying to suppress the yawns that kept wanting to appear.
Thank heaven for make-up, she thought as she listened to Albert Bachman drone on and on about vendor stalls. At least I can hide the big dark bags under my eyes from lack of sleep.
Thrilled to have the meeting over, she drove home as quickly as she could. As she pulled up by the front gate she was surprised to see two large men in bulky overcoats sitting beside the stone pillars. When she stopped to see who they were they peered at her and quickly waved her through.
Guards, she thought. My father’s hired guards to watch who comes and goes.
It was a first.
Two police cars were parked right in front of the main door. The squat detective from the night before was leaning against the side of the house, out of the wind, smoking a cigarette.
Edwina pulled her car into the carriage house and parked in her designated spot, then turned the car off. As she was getting out Mr. Edmondson hurried over.
“Oh, you’ve missed a whole circus this morning, Miss,” he said, holding the car door open as she got out.
“Police?”
He nodded. “And the press. Mr. Winterwood sent them packing as soon as they showed up.”
Edwina sighed. “So, that explains the goons at the gate. Where did he find them?”
“I don’t have a clue,” Mr. Edmondson said, “but I do know I wouldn’t want to meet either one of them in a dark alley late at night. They look like hard men to me.”
“Have they made any progress in the investigation?” she asked, walking toward the door to the house, but Edmondson shook his head.
“From what I can gather, they said there were too many people at the party for them to be able to do a thorough investigation. Apparently, the gentleman who died also was not a popular person, and he had a lot of enemies.”
“Truer words,” she said, and Mr. Edmondson’s face was suddenly serious.
“Your mother’s been in her room all morning, Miss,” he said. “Apparently, she’s quite upset by the whole affair.”
Edwina mentally winced, knowing what she’d encounter when he went inside. The last thing she needed was to hear her mother complaining about her reputation and what the ladies in her committees and social clubs would think of the Winterwood Murder.
After wishing Mr. Edmondson a good day, she walked into the house and stopped just inside the door. Listening for any clues as to where people were, she tiptoed around through the dining room and quietly opened the door to the kitchen.
At last, peace, and maybe some breakfast.
“Are you hiding, too?”
Edwina jumped at the sharp voice behind her, and then had to laugh. Turning around, she wasn’t surprised to see Mrs. Wallach at the counter, grating white cheese and watching her intently with a small smile.
“Okay, yes, I am,” Edwina confessed. “You caught me. Can I hide with you in here? And do you have any leftovers? I skipped breakfast.”
“Dorothy told me. She said she had to practically drag you out of bed this morning,” Mrs. Wallach said, wiping her hands on her apron and waddling toward the drainboard. “I figured you’d come back home hungry, so I made you a toffee apple cake. Will that do?”
Edwina gave a happy sigh. “Mrs. Wallach, you are an angel from heaven. I’ll get a plate.”
“Oh, my. That cake was amazing, Mrs. Wallach.” Edwina gave a sigh of absolute happiness. After everything that had happened, sometimes something as simple as a gooey dessert, still warm and topped with homemade caramel, made everything seem all right. Sitting in the rich warmth of the kitchen, the investigation of Calvin Blue’s murder seemed miles away. “You really are a wonder. I think after a big piece of this I might actually go back to bed and try to get a nap.”
The cook chuckled, obviously pleased with the compliment. “Well, it’s just nice to be able to bake again, that’s all I can say. I was getting really tired of depending on Petunia and Colton to do everything for me while I healed up. It made me feel useless, and that’s a terrible feeling.”
Edwina pushed her empty plate away. “You are far from useless. I swear, you could win a prize for this cake.”
Mrs. Wallach waddled over to the huge stove and gave a grunt of effort as she hefted a large stewpot off the front burner. Carefully carrying it over to the wooden chopping block, she set it on the edge of the nearby table. Edwina watched her pull a huge wooden spoon out of the nearby drawer and use it to fish around in the pot, her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth with concentration and effort. At last, she pulled a whole chicken out, impaled on the wooden spoon as she let clear liquid drain away.
“What are you making?” Edwina asked. She definitely wasn’t a cook by any stretch of the imagination, but she was always curious about how things came together. It seemed like magic that someone could be presented with a pile of seemingly unrelated ingredients and be able to create something so delicious that people smacked their lips and demanded more.
“Just brining some roasting hens for tomorrow’s lunch. The brine’s done its work already. I thought I’d get a jump on t
omorrow’s menu and halve the chickens tonight so I can get them in the oven nice and early.”
With expert skill, Mrs. Wallach slapped the wet bird down on the butcher block and positioned it in a well-used indentation on the surface. Satisfied it was placed where it should be, she bent down and reached under the table, finally extracting a large cleaver.
As soon as the cook lifted the cleaver over her head and then dropped it down toward the waiting chicken carcass, Edwina had a strange moment of clarity.
First chop completed, Mrs. Wallach gave a satisfied smile. “Just a couple more, and I’ll be done,” she said, but as she lifted the cleaver again Edwina interrupted her.
“Mrs. Wallach, I do have a quick question,” she said. Even as the words came out of her mouth, she could feel adrenaline suddenly pouring into her entire body. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
She had to be wrong. She just had to be.
But she asked the question anyway.
“You mentioned that Calvin Blue gave you the nickname One-Armed Wallach.”
“Yes, the jerk.” Mrs. Wallach set the point of her knife down on the cutting block and looked confused.
“Well, I’m just wondering something. You work all day in the kitchen and don’t really associate with anyone outside of here, at least as far as I know. You just go straight home to your cats.”
Mrs. Wallach was silent, watching her.
Edwina locked eyes with her. “So, how would he know you well enough to give you a nickname? Why would he even be speaking that much with you?”
She asked the question, but Edwina was pretty sure she already knew the answer.
“But he did know you, didn’t he? You even told us why, when Petunia was so upset last night at the party. You knew he made high-interest loans to people.”
“So, what if I did know him? That’s not a crime is it?” Mrs. Wallach’s eyes were flat disks of anger.