5 Check-Out Time (3 page)

She shuddered, blew her nose again, and added bitterly, “Besides, I’d left him just a few moments before his death. I intended to take Stanley to see the Punch-and-Judy show on the sands. The show had been canceled, however, due to the performer’s illness, and Stanley and I returned to the hotel to find … this …” Once more she succumbed to her tears.

Cecily waited until the sobbing had subsided before asking, “Did you husband appear normal when you left him this afternoon?”

Lavinia took a while to answer. When she did, it was with a strange inflection in her voice that quickened Cecily’s pulse. “As a matter of fact,” she said slowly, “he was acting rather strangely. That was the main reason I returned immediately to the hotel.”

“Strangely?” Cecily leaned forward, intent on the answer. “In what way?”

Lavinia shrugged her slim shoulders. “It’s difficult to describe. He seemed distant, uncertain of what he was doing. He moved very slowly, as if he had trouble controlling his actions, and when he looked at me he didn’t seem to see me or hear what I said, yet he answered me quite lucidly when I spoke to him.”

“Did you ask him if he was feeling unwell?”

Lavinia nodded. “He said he felt quite well. Never better, he told me.” She paused, frowning. “In fact, he said that he was invincible and capable of doing anything he set his mind to do. It’s all a matter of control, he said.”

“And that was unusual?”

“Most unusual. My husband was the kind of man who questioned his every action, weighed every decision. He was not a man of confidence by any means.”

Cecily hesitated, but the question was important. “Was he by any chance concerned about financial problems?”

Again Lavinia bristled with indignation. “My husband was a wealthy man, Mrs. Sinclair. If he had any problems at all, I can promise you lack of money wasn’t one of them. And even if it were, Richard was not the kind of man to take his own life. He was too God-fearing to do such a thing.”

“I’m quite sure you are right,” Cecily hastened to say. “But I should mention that these are the kind of questions the police constable will be asking when he gets here.”

Lavinia groaned. “Oh, dear Lord, I don’t think I can face such an ordeal. Can’t you tell him I am too ill to answer his questions? I certainly don’t feel well at all.”

“I’m afraid he might insist. It’s a normal part of the procedure at times like this.” Cecily rose, giving the other woman a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure he will be as brief as possible. There’s just one more question I have, if you will permit me?”

“What is it?” Lavinia said wearily.

“I was just wondering if perhaps Sir Richard could have taken a wager of some kind. Some people will do outrageous acts in order to win a wager.”

Lavinia violently shook her head. “Not my husband, Mrs. Sinclair. Richard was a strong man in many ways, but he would never have risked his life for a mere wager. He was too afraid of dying.”

Cecily’s response was forestalled by a firm tap on the door. Lavinia lifted her handkerchief to her face, muttering, “Oh, I hope it’s not the constable. I don’t want to see anyone while I am looking like this.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Cecily rose and opened the door.

Baxter stood there, concern written all over his face. “I do beg your pardon for the interruption, madam, but the police constable is here and wishes to speak with you.”

“Thank you, Baxter. And Dr. Prestwick? Has he also arrived?”

“Not yet, madam.”

Cecily looked back at Lavinia, who sat huddled in her chair, a picture of abject misery. “I have to leave,” Cecily said, wishing there was more she could do for the stricken woman. “But I will send Dr. Prestwick up with one of the maids when he arrives. I’m sure he’ll be able to prescribe something that will make you feel more comfortable before talking to the constable.”

Lavinia nodded speechlessly, waving a hand in dismissal.

Quietly Cecily closed the door behind her, then looked up at Baxter. “You are not going to like this one little bit, Baxter,” she said softly, “but I have a feeling in my bones that all is not as it appears.”

Baxter’s frown creased his forehead. “I do trust, madam, that you will not undertake any more investigations into circumstances that are none of your business.”

“As I’ve told you many times,” Cecily said firmly, “the hotel is my business. So is anything that happens under its roof.”

Baxter lifted his gaze to the ceiling and groaned. “And that, madam, is what I dread hearing the most. At least this time we can be reasonably sure that it isn’t murder.”

Cecily’s smile felt a little strained. “Can we, Baxter?” she said softly. “Can we, indeed?”

CHAPTER
3

Police Constable Northcott stood in front of the marble fireplace in the library, his hands clasped behind his back as he rocked slowly back and forth. His small brown eyes roamed around the room, over the tall shelves of books, across the French windows, up and down the oak paneling, settling anywhere but on Cecily’s face.

“Per’aps you could fill me in on all the pertinent details, then, ma’am,” he said, his deep voice pronouncing every word as if it were a precious command from the Almighty.

Cecily did so, as briefly as possible. She was interrupted more than once by the constable, who appeared to have a great deal of trouble keeping pace with her as he laboriously scribbled down notes on a dog-eared notepad.

When she described the little dance that Sir Richard
Malton had executed, the constable glanced up at her for a second before switching his gaze back to his report.

Baxter, as usual, stood stiffly at attention, his scorn for the police officer only too plain on his face. Remembering what he had told her about his relationship with Northcott, Cecily felt a moment of sympathy.

It couldn’t be easy for Baxter, having to associate with the man who had stolen away his only love. Although it had happened many years ago, Baxter made it obvious that he had never forgiven the constable.

Cecily had often wondered how any woman could have chosen P.C. Northcott over Baxter. The policeman was several inches shorter than her manager. In fact, he was at least two inches shorter than she. While it was entirely possible that he had not yet acquired his protruding belly when he courted the young lady, Cecily could not imagine even a much younger P.C. Northcott being considered attractive.

His bulbous nose dominated his face, and the police helmet perched atop a mound of bushy brown hair gave him a somewhat comical air. Even the luxurious mustache, waxed to extend beyond his ruddy cheeks, failed to add even a hint of charm.

Baxter, on the other hand, with his strong features enhanced by crisp dark hair with its silver wings, and a physique that must make any man envious, was a striking figure. Even if he was past forty.

Unexpectedly Baxter’s gaze met hers, momentarily unsettling her. She was thankful when P.C. Northcott cleared his throat, thus capturing her attention.

“Yes, well, a very h’unfortunate tragedy, ma’am, seeing as ’ow it took place on your property, like. Most h’unfotrunate, I must say.” He closed his notebook with a loud snap that brought forth an audible sigh from Baxter. “I ’ave h’examined the body, and no doubt you will be pleased to hear that the corpse ’as been removed to the proper vicinity. I will report my findings to my superior, Inspector Cranshaw.
Though it’s an open-and-shut case, I would venture to say. Most definitely a suicide, by my reckoning.”

Cecily nodded, her expression deadpan. “I am inclined to agree with you, Constable. I feel deeply sorry for the widow. It must be twice as hard to bear, knowing her husband took his own life.”

Baxter made a small sound in the back of his throat, but she ignored him. “I expect you will want a word with her?” she blithely continued. “I must warn you, Lady Lavinia knows very little about the circumstances. She was out of the hotel at the time the tragedy happened. I’m afraid she will have nothing to add to my testimony.”

The constable shook his head. “I won’t disturb the bereaved widow at this time. I shall refer the case to the h’inspector, who will no doubt wish to question everyone involved in the situation.”

Cecily exchanged a resigned glance with Baxter. She had expected as much, but heartily wished it could have been avoided. The inspector was a dour man, who possessed all the charm of an ill-tempered skunk. He made it clear he considered Cecily a willful busybody who was doing her best to disrupt the constabulary of the entire south of England.

“Will that be necessary, do you think?” she murmured, clinging to a last faint hope. “You said yourself it was a simple case of suicide, and I have told you all the details as we know them.”

P.C. Northcott drew in a breath and expanded his chest like a winter robin. “Yes, well, I’m sure you are aware, ma’am, in a case like this we have to h’explore every avenue. Although I am positive the h’inspector will agree with my findings, he will want to make his own investigation, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” Baxter echoed dryly.

P.C. Northcott shot him a suspicious glance, but Baxter’s face remained impervious.

“Well, if he must, he must,” Cecily said hastily. “I shall
make every effort to accommodate him, and I will see that my staff are available for questioning. As for Lady Lavinia, I’m not sure when she plans to return to London. Perhaps I should suggest she stay until the inspector has conducted his investigation?”

“I would be most grateful, Mrs. Sinclair. Thank you.” Northcott glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I must be off now, ma’am. It’s a long ride back to the village on my bicycle. Gives one quite an appetite, that it does.”

He slapped his belly with the flat of his hand, causing Baxter’s eyebrows to arch with indignation.

Acknowledging the broad hint, Cecily smiled. “Perhaps you would care to stop by the kitchen on your way out, Constable,” she said pleasantly. “I’m sure Mrs. Chubb would be happy to offer you some refreshment to help you on your way.”

The constable touched the narrow brim of his helmet. “Thank you, Mrs. Sinclair. Much obliged, I’m sure.” He edged toward the door and opened it. “I do hope this tragic h’incident will not disrupt your guests. If I may say so, you have had more than your fair share of ill luck in the past.”

“We have indeed, Constable. Thank you for your concern.”

The constable nodded. “And how is young Mr. Sinclair faring at the George and Dragon?”

Baxter cleared his throat, managing to sound threatening.

“Michael is doing very well, thank you,” Cecily said, sending a warning look at her manager. “His father would have been so proud of him. It is really sad that James could not be here to enjoy his son living so close by.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure you are enjoying that very great pleasure. It must be most comforting.” P.C. Northcott nodded his head several times then backed out through the door and closed it.

Baxter let out an explosive sound of outrage. “The gall of that pompous ape!”

“Why, Baxter,” Cecily murmured, “that is a little strong,
don’t you think?” She watched a deep red hue creep slowly up his neck.

“Please excuse me, madam, but I become concerned when you allow too many liberties from people of lesser station. Mr. James would be most distressed.”

“Oh, piffle, Baxter. Stan Northcott was simply being polite, that’s all. I imagine that Michael’s homecoming must have raised quite an amount of speculation. Especially since the George and Dragon is the focal point of the village. People are bound to be curious.”

“That’s as may be. It does not, however, give a mere policeman the right to act so chummily with a lady of the house. ‘Most comforting,’ indeed. What, may I ask, does he suppose you have been doing all the time your sons were in the tropics?”

Somewhat taken aback by this uncharacteristic outburst, Cecily said quietly, “What every mother does when she has sons in the military. Wait for them to come home. I only wish Andrew could have come home with Michael.”

She was happy to see a sheepish expression flit across Baxter’s face. “I do beg your pardon, madam,” he said, his voice a trifle stiff. “My concern is unwarranted, I can see. Please excuse my comments.”

Cecily smiled and reached out to pat his arm. “Thank you, Bax. I do appreciate your concern. But as I’ve told you before, society is not what it used to be. We are rapidly changing our ways and relaxing our standards of protocol.”

“Thanks to that pretentious gadabout on the throne.”

She drew back, pretending to be shocked. “Why, Baxter! That amounts to treason. I thought you were an avid Royalist.”

“I was once, before the Prince of Wales inherited the crown. It was a sad loss for the country when Queen Victoria, God rest her soul, was laid to rest.” He laid a hand on his chest and gazed up at the ceiling.

Cecily burst out laughing. “Baxter, you are an unabashed fraud. Why don’t you just admit that this attitude of yours
came about simply because you cannot abide P.C. Northcott and would find fault with him were he to lay down his life for me?”

Baxter growled in his throat. “That pretentious idiot wouldn’t lay down his coat for you, much less his life.”

“But you would, no doubt?”

She’d meant to tease him, but the gaze he concentrated on her face disturbed her, and her smile faltered.

“Yes, madam, I most certainly would trade my life for yours. I sincerely trust that you are assured of that.”

She made an attempt to make light of his softly spoken words. “I am quite sure that the promise you made to my husband will be honored. I certainly hope that you are never forced to the extreme of risking your life for mine.”

“I echo your sentiments, madam.” For a moment his intent gaze engrossed her, then he cleared his throat, stretching his neck against his stiff white collar. “Speaking along those lines, I feel I must warn you.”

“Warn me?” She found it uncommonly difficult to recover her composure. A little annoyed at him for causing that effect on her, she added a little sharply, “What is it you are afraid I shall do now?”

“I heard you agree with Northcott that the death of Sir Richard appeared to be suicide. Earlier you expressed doubts as to that conclusion, which leads me to suspect you intend to conduct your own investigation. Am I correct?”

“I have very little to base any assumptions on at present.”

“I have known you to base assumptions on far less, if I might say so.” He rocked forward on his toes and looked down his nose at her. “I trust you do remember the strong chiding you receive from Inspector Cranshaw every time you interfere in police business?”

She sighed and lifted her gaze to the crystal chandelier above the table. “How could I possibly forget? It was for that precise reason that I agreed so readily with P.C. Northcott that Sir Richard committed suicide. I was hoping to avoid a confrontation with the inspector.”

“Might I suggest that you allow the police to conduct their own investigation? Then you won’t have a confrontation at all.”

She looked back at him and shook her head. “Baxter, I don’t think I have to remind you that we have had more than one police investigation here at the hotel. You are also well aware of the reason so many of the aristocrats choose our hotel over the larger ones in Wellercombe.”

“I am indeed, madam. Due to your insistence that the staff turn a blind eye to their nefarious deeds, these shallow, self-centered wastrels are free to gamble and drink the night away to their hearts’ content. That’s if they’re not cavorting in the boudoirs with someone else’s spouse.”

Cecily cocked an eyebrow at him. “Those self-centered wastrels help to pay the bills, Baxter, as you well know. Without their business I would not be able to keep up the payments on the loans. And I’m very much afraid that if we get too many more visits from Inspector Cranshaw, our customers will feel their privacy is threatened.”

“I understand your concern, but a police investigation seems unavoidable when there is a death. Especially one of such bizarre circumstances.”

“I agree, Baxter, which is why I must try to find out more about the situation before the inspector arrives to form his own conclusions. If my suspicions are correct, this is no suicide. Nor do I believe it to be an accident. If I can present Inspector Cranshaw with a solved case, so to speak, then he will have no need to question anyone.”

There followed a long pause while Baxter appeared to digest this argument. “And I take it that you expect me to assist you in your investigation?” he enquired at last.

Cecily gave him her best smile. “That would be most comforting, Baxter. I should sorely miss your help if it were not there.” She got up and moved over to touch his arm. “There have been many times when I could not have done it without you.”

He avoided her gaze, but a faint flush brushed his cheeks.
“I’m not sure I should feel pleased about that. I feel I am only encouraging you in your perilous escapades.”

“You know very well that I should continue without you,” Cecily said, this time earning a cool look. Baxter’s light gray eyes could convey a frigid blast now and again.

“In that case, madam, perhaps you should tell me why it is you are so certain Sir Richard’s death was neither an accident nor suicide.”

“I had a brief conversation with his widow.” She repeated Lady Lavinia’s account of her husband’s rather odd behavior that morning. “She was adamant that her husband had no reason to take his own life,” Cecily added as Baxter listened attentively. “She was just as positive about her assertion that, given her husband’s personality, he would not have attempted something as foolhardy as balancing on a railing.”

“From what I know of Sir Richard, I have to agree with her on that point.”

“Neither was he drinking, according to his wife. In fact, Lady Lavinia was quite offended that I mentioned the possibility.” Cecily gazed up at the portrait of her own dead husband. “She assured me that he was incapable of consuming liquor. I found it touching that she so passionately jumped to his defense.”

“I am quite sure you would have done the same thing, madam, had it been your husband.”

Cecily gazed at the painted face of James for a long moment. “I would indeed. James and I had something very special. It saddens me a great deal to see that same devotion in the eyes of a new widow. I know how very painful and lonely these next months will be for Lady Lavinia.”

Baxter’s voice sounded gruff when he answered. “Yes, madam. I fear you know only too well.”

Summoning a smile, Cecily turned to look at him. “It does get easier, Baxter. Time takes care of a good many things.”

He didn’t answer, but she saw sympathy in his eyes as he
looked at her. Feeling a need to break the tension that still seemed to hover between them, she said brightly, “I think I will pay a visit to Michael this evening. I want to see for myself how he is faring as an innkeeper.”