by Emily Queen
Allowing her disdain for the man to show did not mean she wished him to die.
While he continued to take notes, she told Max about the people she had met: Mrs. Barton, who held the unenviable title of wife to Grace’s father; Arthur Abbot, who had been an insufferable bore, but overall quite jolly; the beautiful and enigmatic Marjorie Ainsworth, with her sights set on Teddy and then Frederick; and finally, Herbert Lock—a man whom Rosemary confessed she disliked even more than Mr. Barton.
“There was violence in him, Max. Truly, there is another side to that simpering excuse for a man. One that would not hesitate to lay his hands on Grace, or any other woman, I assume. Unfortunately, he also wanted Mr. Barton’s money, and as far as I’m concerned, that puts him out of the running as a viable suspect.” Rosemary had to admit it would be nice and tidy if Herbert Lock was the murderer, but she couldn’t see him killing the fatted calf.
Max raised an eyebrow. “Explain your reasoning won’t you?”
“Obviously, him killing Mr. Barton would put paid to his plans entirely. Anyone with eyes can see Grace doesn’t want to marry Herbert, but she would out of a sense of duty to her father.”
Lifting the glass, Rosemary let another sip of the smooth brandy slide down and warm her insides.
“Only after the marriage, perhaps, would it have been beneficial to have Mr. Barton out of the picture, but not before. Granted, I do not take Herbert for the most intelligent chap, but he’s been duplicitous enough to convince Mr. Barton to consider letting him marry his daughter when more suitable men have vied for the privilege, so he must have more than just fluff between his ears.”
A frown marred his brow as Max considered all the information Rosemary had given him.
“All this and you’ve only been in the house for a matter of hours.” He shook his head, but a small grin played across his lips. “I can’t say I like the idea of you being involved in a murder, but you do have a knack for ferreting out the deepest and darkest secrets.”
After Andrew had given up his post as Inspector, he had regaled Max with tales from the private sector, many of them centered around Rosemary’s deductive skills. Looking at his notes, Max concluded Andrew had not exaggerated when he extolled the virtues of his wife.
Rosemary dismissed the praise. “It is merely a matter of being observant.”
Shrewd as she might be, Max’s conscience would not allow the wife of a good friend to stand in the path of danger.
“Rose, I appreciate your insights into the matter, but I have to ask you to take a step back and let me handle the case from here on out.”
When she merely raised an eyebrow, Max continued, “You were at the scene of the crime, as were several members of your family. My job will require me to question everyone, and until I can clear them from the suspect pool, they will be under investigation the same as everyone else involved.”
He cleared his throat and offered an apology. “Despite our personal connection, or rather because of it, I can’t be seen to play favorites.”
“Nor would I expect you to.” Rosemary allowed the slightest chill to enter her tone. “Do your worst; my family will stand the test.”
The breadth and depth of Max’s feelings towards her, should Rosemary be allowed to know them, would have shocked her senseless. Bringing up the matter felt too much like picking at an open wound, and he would rather reach his bare hands into a pot of boiling water than cause her any more pain than she had already endured.
“Max,” Rosemary said, mimicking his earlier tone, “I appreciate your concern, but I am already involved and if you think for one second I have any intention of walking away from this case while my family is under scrutiny, you are sorely mistaken. Now, I still have the rest of my official statement to give, so I suggest we adjourn to the scene of the murder where I will show you exactly how we found the body.”
As far as Max was concerned, the conversation was far from over, but he clamped his jaw shut and followed Rosemary to the door without another word.
Chapter Ten
Rosemary wanted to squirm under Max’s gaze as she led him to the room where, less than an hour prior, she had found a dead body.
“You needn’t stare at me as though I’m made of glass and you’re expecting me to break at any moment.” Amusement seemed inappropriate given the circumstances in which she found herself, but really, the man was the living limit. “I promise not to succumb to a case of the vapors or fall into a faint at your feet.”
While not previously so intimately acquainted with death as she was on this occasion, Rosemary had dealt with the harsh realities before. Looking down at the slumped body, she felt both saddened and sympathetic at the evidence of a life cut short. She allowed those feelings to guide her through the unpleasant task of revisiting the crime scene, knowing that the images would remain etched into her memory for years to come.
“Give us a few moments, Officer Stalwart,” Max instructed the constable stationed inside the door as he poked his head into the study, “but stay close. Nobody gets in here without my express permission.”
The aptly named Officer Stalwart, with his thick, rope-like arms, appeared as though he’d enjoy nothing more than to be called upon for a task involving necessary force. He nodded once and positioned himself on the other side of the door with a formidable expression on his face lest anyone unauthorized for entry attempt to gain access.
Rosemary entered the room just as she had before. “Grace was the first to walk inside. She stood just there, and when she stopped short, I came up hard against her back. It wasn’t until I came around and saw the expression of sheer horror on her face that I knew something terrible had happened.”
She repeated her steps from before.
“Mr. Cuthburt sat slumped over in the chair, although based on his hair color, and due to the angle, for a moment we thought it was Mr. Barton who had been shot.” Rosemary retraced her steps and came to stand in front of the body. “We approached and realized our mistake. It was clear that Mr. Cuthburt was deceased, so I refrained from touching the body at all. I can vouch for Grace as well.”
“Is that all?” Max asked, his face a mask and his tone light. Rosemary recognized the tactic, as it had been one Andrew frequently employed.
She looked him square in the eyes and replied, “Yes, that is all. We touched nothing save the doorknob on our way in and again on our way out.”
Max appeared to accept her answer for the truth it was and allowed his shoulders to relax slightly. “All right then. Now, I need you to tell me if anything here looks any different than it did when you found the body.”
Rosemary appraised the area behind the desk within a matter of seconds, the mental photograph she had taken earlier still swimming vividly behind her cornflower blue eyes.
The jumble of papers, the empty bin, the spatter of blood. Everything looked the same.
“Nothing has been touched or, if it has, everything has been set back to exactly where it was before. Do you suspect that the scene has been tampered with?”
“I suspect that something—besides the obvious dead man—is amiss. Before I allowed anyone to sweep the area, I thought it best to eliminate the possibility that someone contaminated the scene after you and Grace found the body.”
Understanding, Rosemary nodded. “You wanted to determine whether it was the murderer—or perhaps Mr. Cuthburt himself—who rifled through the contents of Mr. Barton’s desk.”
The conclusion seemed more than obvious to Rosemary, and she was getting a bit frustrated with Max’s continued attempts to test her mettle—and her intelligence. She had always felt respected by her husband’s former partner, and now she wondered if she had been mistaken. Still, Rosemary called upon a deep reservoir of patience and maintained her composure.
She did, however, allow a few choice words to roll through her head while Max assessed her further.
“Yes, that is exactly what I would like to discern,” Max replied evenly. “Along wit
h the current whereabouts of the letter Grace described. You never actually saw said the letter, did you?” He asked.
“No, but Grace indicated it was in one of the desk drawers. After we found the body, all thought of looking for it went straight out the window.”
Max’s brow furrowed, and he pulled a pair of gloves out of the depths of his jacket pocket, put them on, and began carefully searching through each of the desk drawers. “Now, technically, you ought not be present for this search, Rosemary, so I have to ask for your full cooperation and discretion,” Max warned. “Not that I expect any less,” he rushed to say after her composure finally broke and she directed a scathing glare in his direction.
This Max and the one with whom she’d spoken upon his arrival seemed two sides of a coin. This Max was all business.
He hadn’t wanted to anger her, not really, and he respected that she could remain calm even while observing the worst of what one human being could do to another. But he also found Rosemary interesting when she was right and fully riled up.
Max continued his search and finally returned each of the drawers to their original positions. “Whatever was here,” he said, “is here no longer. Which means either Grace was mistaken, though that seems unlikely, or the letter was indeed removed. I’ll need to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Barton, as well as Grace, to see if someone moved it prior to the party. It is also possible the letter has nothing at all to do with the murder and is simply a coincidence.”
The expression on his face told Rosemary he didn’t really believe that, and it made her feel better to know he would continue to investigate every lead there was to follow.
“I suppose there’s no way to keep Grace out of it,” Rosemary mused. “Mr. Barton is still unaware she found that letter, and I don’t believe she needs to endure any more stress right now. He will be angry, I am sure, despite the gravity of the situation.”
“I will do my best,” Max promised. “But understand that everyone who attended the party, including Grace, is still under suspicion. Anyone present at the time could have followed Mr. Cuthburt up the stairs and shot him before he had a chance to defend himself.”
“It could just as easily have been a woman, is what you are implying. You are correct in that, Max. What I would like to know is what the man was doing sitting in Mr. Barton’s chair. The last time I saw him, he was toasting the happy couple. Like I told you downstairs, I wasn’t paying much attention after that, and my eyes were mostly on Mr. Barton, considering he was the one I thought to be in danger. Also, the two men wore nearly identical suits, which made identifying their movements even more difficult.” Rosemary was regretting having come to Barton Manor at all.
If Max harbored similar thoughts, he wisely kept them to himself.
“I will take it from here, Rose. We don’t know if the murderer was shooting for Mr. Cuthburt or Mr. Barton, and regardless, he or she is still out there. If Mr. Barton was indeed the intended victim, and Cuthburt’s death was a mistake, the murderer could strike again. I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”
Rosemary steadied herself with a deep breath and then said with a mischievous glint in her eye, “If I’m a suspect, I assume I am expected not to leave town. That is what you said, isn’t it? That everyone at the party is a suspect and will need to answer questions. My family lives a few miles away, and I have just decided that a little time at Woolridge House is exactly what the doctor ordered. I appreciate your concern, Max, but I will stand with my family until all of them are cleared.”
“No one is above suspicion, Rose. You know that. Your family attended this party, which means they’re connected to the Bartons at the least. I’ll do my best, as I said before, but I can’t let personal relationships stand in the way of this investigation.” Max’s eyes searched Rosemary’s face, his own a blank mask. He’d landed in an unenviable situation and now he was stuck between duty and friendship.
She softened, understanding the conundrum he was in, held his gaze, and nodded once to let him know she understood.
Rosemary would have liked to have left Max overseeing the processing of the crime scene and taken the opportunity to meander through Barton Manor on her way back to the drawing room where her family, Vera, and the Bartons were waiting, but he insisted on walking her downstairs.
“Wait here while I check in with my officers,” Max commanded, leaving Rosemary in the hallway where she had stood at the start of the night. Her gaze turned towards the door from which she had seen the now-deceased Mr. Cuthburt duck out shortly after her arrival.
She peeked into the open door of the ballroom and noted that most of the guests had been sent on their way, their statements recorded and logged.
Along with a handful of the village residents, Marjorie and Herbert were still present, as was Mr. Abbot and his doctor, and Mrs. Blackburn’s unmistakable voice drifted to her as well. Vera would be inside and chomping at the bit to hear every tiny detail, but she would have to wait.
Rosemary knew Max would go over each statement with a fine-tooth comb and wondered what sort of secrets and lies he would uncover.
No matter, she thought to herself; I have my own ways of obtaining information, and they’re far more entertaining than sitting behind a desk reading only the bits people want you to know.
Max was standing in a group with two other officers, but he kept one eye on Rosemary, giving her no choice but to leave her exploration of the mystery door for another time. A moment later, he was at her side again, leading her back to the front of the house.
Chapter Eleven
During their absence, Mr. Barton appeared to have consumed several more glasses of whiskey, enough that he tottered when Rose and Max reentered the drawing room.
“What is the meaning of this?” he blustered. “How dare you keep us cooped up in here? I will be speaking to your superiors about the conduct of their employees, I can promise you that. None of us left the ballroom all night if what you are trying to imply is that it was a Barton who committed this crime. Ernest is—was—my dear friend and a valued business associate. By Jove, he was the children’s godfather. I demand you take your leave and allow my family to get some much-needed rest.”
His eyes drooped, his speech was whiskey-slurred, and Rosemary had to once again call upon her patience to keep herself quiet. Having searched the ballroom for, and been unable to locate, Mr. Barton on at least one occasion, she knew his alibi for a falsehood. Not to mention those he had tried to provide the rest of the family.
After his run-in with Marjorie Ainsworth, Teddy had retreated to who-knew-where. For that matter, Grace herself had been absent for a portion of the evening both during and prior to the altercation with Herbert Lock.
An unpleasant thought occurred to Rosemary, and her gaze swept across the room to Grace, whose face still carried the haunted expression she had worn since finding the body. Rosemary leaned a little closer to Vera, who stood at her elbow and placed a comforting hand on her friend’s back, watching avidly while Max’s jaw clenched in frustration.
As expected, Vera nearly vibrated with suppressed emotions.
“Mr. Barton, sir, I know this situation is difficult for you and your family, but your safety is my number one priority—” He had not the chance to say anything more, because at that moment the door burst open and in walked Lorraine Blackburn, looking no worse for the wear after the events of the evening. Her cherry-red lipstick wasn’t even a little smudged, and not one blond hair was out of place.
She paused in the doorway as if the assemblage of people in the room had gathered expressly for her arrival, and Rosemary was sure the pose she struck had been rehearsed in front of the many mirrors lining the walls of the Blackburn estate.
“Vera, my love, there you are. The very handsome gentlemen in uniform refused to let me leave the ballroom. They kept us all caged in as if we were animals. Considering the circumstances, one cannot blame them for their caution; however, I hardly think I’m a viable suspect and
would have rather been allowed to check on my daughter.”
Lorraine’s gaze caught the sharp look Max had thrown her way when she mentioned his men, and she threw her head back in inappropriate laughter. “I didn’t mean to offend, Inspector…”
“Inspector Whittington. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said, holding out his hand for hers as manners dictated he must.
“Lorraine Blackburn, and the pleasure is all mine,” she purred, prompting Vera to stiffen slightly. No matter how many such displays to which Vera was exposed, Rosemary knew her friend never ceased to be amazed at Lorraine’s need to be the center of attention.
Casting a glance at Evelyn, Rosemary felt thankful for the grace her own mother showed under pressure.
“She’s got nerve, your mother,” Rose whispered to Vera. “It’s no wonder where you get your spunk.”
“Shut up, Rosie,” Vera whispered back, but there was a note of amusement in her voice that let Rosemary know she was more embarrassed than angry, and resigned nonetheless.
“Evelyn dear,” Lorraine turned and focused her attention on her dear friend, giving Max a full view of her rather spectacular rear end as she turned her back on him. It had been said by many an admiring man that the ravages of time had little luck depleting Lorraine’s good looks, and the assessment was a fair one.
The overused compliment often followed the sentiment that she and her daughter looked more like sisters than mother and daughter. “Haven’t they already grilled you to within an inch of your life? Why on earth have you not been allowed to return home? Or are you simply soaking in the intrigue and enjoying yourself as I am?”
While Rosemary adored Lorraine, if primarily for having bestowed Vera upon the planet, she refused to distort her view of the woman through rose-colored lenses. Putting Evelyn on the spot like that was something Lorraine did far too often, and now was not the time for such behavior.