Mischief in St. Tropez

by C. G Oster

  “Bollocks,” Duckie said.

  People started leaving, finding a place to put their glasses down and headed to the door. Cars were already roaring to life outside, as they made their escape.

  “We should go,” Duckie said. “Where’s Margot?”

  “You can’t go,” Dory said, still holding onto Livinia by the arms as if she’d escape the moment she let go. “You found the body, you need to stay.”

  Livinia’s expression turned to full-on pouting. “I can’t.”

  “You have to. You found the body,” Dory repeated.

  “I didn’t murder him.”

  “So don’t make it look like it by scarpering.”

  To her credit, Livinia seemed to accept this, but with that acceptance, she now looked faint, as if the shock was catching up with her. Duckie came to her aid and they walked over to a seat.

  A few people were still milling about, but from the window, Dory could see a string of car headlights making their way down the mountainside like a sparkling necklace in the darkness.

  Couples stood near each other with their arms wrapped around them. A man who had to be the resident butler was trying to take control, and he was flustered, completely unsure what to do.

  “Did you call the police?” Dory asked.

  The man nodded. “I called them and they said they’d be here in ten minutes.”

  “Right,” Dory said. It was clear where the body was. Down a hallway, a crowd had gathered, all staring down. “We need to clear the area.”

  The butler still looked confused, too flustered to do anything useful, so Dory walked over to where the crowd was.

  “We should probably let the police do their job,” she said. “Perhaps we should close the doors until they get here.” A couple of people were staring absently at her, as if they didn’t understand what she was saying. “Which means you should leave now,” she said in a harsher voice. The terseness seemed to motivate the people to move. A voice of authority got through even if it came from her. “Off you go,” she continued, eyeing everyone who hadn’t gotten the message, until they all left.

  A man was crouched next to the body. “You, too,” she said and the man eyed her with offense for a moment, before acknowledging that she was right.

  The dead man lay on his back, his eyes staring at the ceiling. It was such an unnatural look that goosebumps crawled up Dory’s skin. There was clearly blood on the side of his head, and it was the man she had seen Livinia dancing with before, except his mask wasn’t on. He was clearly a handsome man, even in death.

  Refusing to look more, she grabbed the edges of the double doors and closed what looked like a study. Now, like everyone else, she didn’t know what to do with herself. It felt wrong shutting him away to be there alone and discarded. Everything about this felt wrong. It was wrong. A man had lost his life, and by the look of his wound, it hadn’t been an accident. He’d been murdered mere yards away from the party.

  Chapter 5

  T he house stood in utter silence while they waited for the police. Another couple decided it was time to go and quietly slipped away. In rushed voices, they spoke to the butler as they left, then their car was clearly heard as they backed up before rushing down the driveway.

  Livinia was sitting against the wall, leaning against Duckie’s shoulder, while Dory stood in the center of the room, unsure what else to do. One man—clearly drunk—was pouring himself another generous portion of champagne from a discarded bottle.

  No one spoke again and from somewhere, Dory heard the ticking of a clock.

  How long was it going to take for the police to arrive?

  Eventually a car snaked up the side of the mountain and Dory felt relief, as if release from this awkwardness was pending.

  Car doors slammed outside and then a man appeared, marching straight into the room in a beige uniform with a pistol holstered at his side, secured with a leather strap crossed his chest. He wore a bored and unhappy expression, showing that he really didn’t want to deal with hysterical Brits and their problems.

  His gaze traveled across the room, noting the people there. Again, the butler assumed that it was his role to try to deal with this, but the inspector dismissed him with a terse look and the butler visibly deflated.

  In the exchange, the inspector had learned where the problem was and walked over to the hallway that led to the study. He opened the doors and stepped inside.

  Another policeman stood at the main doors, eyeing them all suspiciously. Everyone else shifted uncomfortably, feeling like naughty school children about to be told off.

  Richard appeared, wearing his black tails and holding a small sandwich in his hand. His eyes shifted to Livinia sitting with Duckie and then further, finding Dory. Instead of joining Livinia, he decided to join Dory.

  “I hadn’t realized you were here,” Dory said.

  “I came late. Missed the party, but caught the main event.”

  Dory didn’t like how casually he said it.

  “Do you think someone snuck in the window and killed him?” he asked.

  With a snort, Dory looked away. “The window was closed.” In her experience, it was rarely strangers that snuck in and performed some horrid misdeed, even though it was what people liked to assume. No one automatically thought that someone among their friends and acquaintances was a murderer.

  “Seems like a dire sort of chap, doesn’t he?”

  “Drecsay?” Dory asked, recalling the name Livinia had used. Dory had never seen him before tonight, or noticed him if she had.

  “No, the policeman.”

  “Technically, I believe he’s a gendarmerie instead of a policeman, but either way, he isn’t here to make friends,” Dory said dismissively. “He needs to suspect everyone.”

  “Ohh, I’ve never been a suspect before. Have you?”

  “No,” Dory admitted.

  “Nothing to put a dampener on a party like a murder,” Richard chuckled. “Poor Elsbeth. She had such high hopes for this party. Well, it truly will be the most notorious party of the season. Not quite how she anticipated, no doubt.”

  “Did you know the man?”

  “Drecsay? I suppose. Everyone knows Drecsay. Been around for ages. Handsome bugger. Ladies like him.” Richard took a bite of his sandwich and chewed. Well, he was certainly not one to faint with shock. In fact, he seemed completely unperturbed by the events. “I don’t suppose we can leave.”

  “By the look of the man at the door, I don’t think any of us are leaving until they’ve done what they want.”

  Richard checked his wrist watch.

  “Somewhere you need to be?”

  “No, not particularly.”

  “Who was he, this Drecsay?”

  “Well,” Richard started as if he was about to embark on a rambling story. “Hungarian baron from what I understand—if you believe what he said, because you never know about some of these foreign aristocrats, do you? Poor as a church mouse. You know the type, likes to mingle where the rich ladies are. Flatters them with charm and compliments. They lap it up, of course. The place is filthy with them. He has some rooms at one of the hotels in Nice, I believe.”

  And that had been who Livinia had been dancing with. Is that what he’d done to Livinia, charmed her? She was, after all, a wealthy heiress. If this man was the type that Richard painted, then he could well have been seeking an improvement in his position through the association. Dory sighed. Surely Livinia wasn’t stupid enough to fall for such a man, was she? At times Dory felt like the ugly stepsister to Cinderella, provided Cinderella was resoundingly vacant and a bit of an idiot, chasing after some wildly inappropriate prince. Technically, it was Lady Pettifer’s job to keep Livinia out of trouble, but it was Dory’s too by extension.

  The policeman appeared. “And who is this man?” he said with a flourish of his hand toward the study.

  The butler stepped forward. “His name is Baron Dominik Drecsay. I am sure he has a string of middle names, but I do not k
now them.”

  The inspector turned to the butler without expression, then nodded to the policeman by the door, who promptly scribbled it down in his notebook.

  “And everyone who was here at the time has left,” the inspector continued.

  “Yes,” said the butler with a blush. “Mostly.” Now a blushing butler was a rare sight in Dory’s book, but then there had been admonishment in the inspector’s statement.

  “Who discovered the body?”

  Everyone turned to Livinia, who still clung to Duckie for support. With raised eyebrows, the inspector walked over. Livinia looked up at him with large, wounded eyes. Dory had to stop herself from rolling hers.

  “Who are you, and what were the circumstances in which you found him?”

  “Well,” Livinia said. “I am Livinia Fellingworth, daughter of Lord Wallisford. I had been in the bathroom and I was walking past.”

  “But the bathroom is nowhere near the study.”

  The wounded expression fleeted from Livinia’s eyes. She didn’t like being challenged, and she certainly didn’t like admitting that she had been seeking out the company of Baron Drecsay in the isolation of the study. It wasn’t seemly.

  “Like I said,” she said in a sterner voice. “I was walking past and he was simply laying there. Bloody.”

  “And the door was open?”

  “A little.”

  The inspector looked down his nose at her. Clearly, the man didn’t believe her story, or at least the embellishments.

  “And this man was your lover?”

  “What? No!” Livinia said with deep offense.

  “He is a handsome man. It is understandable if you were sneaking off for a rendezvous in a more private place.”

  “Absolutely not,” Livina said sternly, but she was unable to hide the blush on her cheeks.

  “And before you found him in the library? Where did you see him?”

  Livinia’s mouth drew tight. “On the dance floor.”

  “You were dancing, yes?”

  “Yes,” Livinia said through gritted teeth.

  The inspector was eyeing her now and Dory knew he was wondering if she had murdered him in some jealous tiff. Absolutely not, Dory thought. For all of Livinia’s shortcomings, she didn’t feel any emotion deeply enough to drive her to murder.

  “I didn’t really know him,” Livinia filled in as the silence stretched. “The evening has been quite a shock. Can we go now?”

  “And where do you live, Mademoiselle Fellingworth?” Her name sounded like an insult in the French accent. Dory wasn’t sure if it was intended that way or not.

  “Saint Tropez. Ville Beaulieu.”

  A short grunt escaped the inspector. Seemingly, he wasn’t pleased with this. Probably because it was quite some way from this man’s office, which Dory guessed was in Cannes.

  Then he turned his attention to the rest of the people present, asking who they were, where they had been during the party and the discovery, how they knew the deceased and where they lived. Also if they knew of any enemies the man had. After, they could all go home.

  Dory could hear the man request the guest list for the party. He had a big task ahead of him, because it had been large, and someone at the party had murdered this man. The thought made her shudder—someone stalking around the house with such ill intent.

  The air was cool as they walked out of the house. Dory had no idea what time it was, but it was late.

  “Are you coming home, Livinia?” Dory asked as they stood outside in the darkness. It was too dark to see Livinia’s facial expressions. Her whole face had a blue quality from the moonlight.

  “I think I will, actually,” she said to Dory’s surprise. It seemed there was something that could quell her social yearnings.

  “Alright, let’s go,” Dory said and they found their car, which had been standing on its own as everyone else had left. Now there was sufficient space to maneuver as they got in and turned around to leave. The engine whined on the way down the hill and luckily, the moonlight was enough to see the road beyond the short reach of the headlights.

  Quiet contemplation seemed to be Livinia’s current disposition. It had been quite a shocking night for her, Dory supposed.

  “Were you in love with this man?” Dory asked after a while.

  “No, of course not,” Livinia replied. Her voice sounded thin and distant, so Dory wasn’t sure whether she was telling the truth or not.

  It hit Dory how incredible this all was. A man had been murdered right there when they were all chatting and drinking champagne. How in the world could something like that happen?

  “Do you have any idea who killed him?” Dory asked.

  “What I said was true. I didn’t really know him that well. I didn’t know of any enemies as such. He was just someone around, you know? No one particularly hated him; he was a charming man.”

  Charming didn’t automatically mean no one hated him, but Dory wasn’t sure it was the time to point that out.

  Chapter 6

  D ory was exhausted the next day. Sleep had eluded her and her mind had repeatedly turned over every detail from the night before. And still, she couldn’t believe someone had murdered that poor man. He couldn’t be more than thirty. His whole life was ahead of him and it had been snuffed out—for apparently no reason at all.

  There was a reason, though. No one was bludgeoned at a party for absolutely no reason. Someone hated this man enough to kill him. Then again, murder wasn’t always about hate. Lady Wallisford hadn’t hated when she’d killed. In her mind, she’d been protecting her family. Murder could be cold and calculating.

  Turning herself over, Dory tried fruitlessly to fall off to sleep, but the sun was up and the birds were chirping. Perhaps it was time to give up and embrace a day of sluggish exhaustion. With heavy legs, she dragged herself out of bed and dressed. Dark shadows were pronounced under her eyes. Brilliant. She looked like a train wreck.

  The house was mostly quiet when she went downstairs, although she could hear the tinkling of cutlery. Lady Pettifer was up and breakfasting when Dory walked into the dining room.

  “My dear,” Lady Pettifer said. “By the look of you, it must have been a long night.”

  “Not in the way you think. There was an incident at the party which ended it early. A man—someone Livinia knows, and was dancing with, in fact—ended up bludgeoned in the study.”

  Deep concern marred Lady Pettifer’s face. “I hope he’s alright.”

  Dory shook her head, hating that she had to be the one relaying these events.

  “Who?” Lady Pettifer demanded.

  “Some Baron Drecsay, a Hungarian.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “I don’t either, but Livinia does—did—and according to Richard, he might not be the type of man she should be spending time with.”

  “Not if he runs around being murdered. How awful.” Lady Pettifer shuddered and Beauty jumped up into her lap. “I suppose the police will let the Hungarian ambassador know.”

  “That seems logical.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, and Mr. Fernley placed down a plate of eggs and toast in front of Dory. “Thank you,” she mumbled, completely unable to gather her appetite, but she ate to be agreeable. “I am sure the inspector will come around and question Livinia more at some point.”

  Picking up her coffee cup, Lady Pettifer absently drank and returned it. “What sort of man was he?”

  “Well, according to Richard, he was poor and maybe even dependent on the more wealthy ladies of the area.”

  Lady Pettifer winced. “Still, that doesn’t really lend itself to murder, does it? Who would kill a man like that?”

  Someone like Lady Wallisford, Dory thought, chewing her toast and looking away. “Maybe he had garnered the attention of some woman and her family objected.”

  “Hardly cause for murder,” Lady Pettifer said. “Then again, people murder for all sorts of reasons, don’t they? I don’t like that
Livinia is caught up in all this.”

  “No,” Dory agreed. With her own eyes, she had already seen that inspector consider whether Livinia was the murderer. There was a good chance he would continue with that line of questioning.

  “Bludgeoned, you said?” Lady Pettifer asked after a while. “That most certainly has to be a man. I’m not sure a women could bludgeon a man to death.” Dory wasn’t sure if that was true, but she wasn’t an expert.

  “I didn’t get a close look, but I don’t think he was hit repeatedly. At least not from what I could see. There could have been injuries that I couldn’t see. I didn’t get a chance to study him. There was a marble clock nearby him on the floor, and I am almost certain that was the weapon.”

  “Anyone could have walked in, whacked him on the head, and slipped out again. How many people were at this party?”

  “It seemed like two hundred.”

  She winced and a silence prevailed again. It was utterly silent upstairs, too. No music was playing, so Livinia was asleep.

  “Had Livinia been carrying on with this man?” Lady Pettifer asked.

  Dory could only shrug. “I hope not. They had been dancing together, and—she says otherwise—but she was meeting him in the study, where she found him dead.”

  “Poor Livinia. She must be distraught. She wasn’t built for such knocks. Too high-strung.”

  As if awakened by people speaking about her, the music started playing upstairs.

  “It seems she’s awake,” Lady Pettifer said. “I hope she isn’t too distraught. I haven’t heard her mention this man before, so who can say what kind of relationship she had with him.”

  Livinia eventually appeared down on the patio wearing sunglasses. Her hair had been quickly brushed and she wore a white shirt and shorts. For the terrible night, she looked fresh. “God, I’m parched,” she said and sat down. She reached for the jug of orange juice and poured herself a helping.

  “I’m sorry to hear about the dreadful events last night.”

  Livinia shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t make heads or tails of it. Who could possibly hate Drecsay enough to do that to him? You don’t suppose it was an accident?”