Murder Most Convenient: A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery (10 page)

   I was startled by my epiphany. I reached into my handbag and found my little silver snuff box. With shaking hands, I took a clove and placed it on my tongue. As I replaced my sentimental item, my fingers touched something rough.

  “I knew this trip was a mistake; they dislike us so,” said Mother Stayton.

  “Why is that?” asked ever-curious Lucy.

  “A failed business venture during the war. I hate to mention it.” However, she had our ear and loved to share a bit of gossip, so she continued, “My husband was convinced by his cousins to put out some money and buy into a munitions company before the start of The Great War. He partnered with them, and it turned out they were cheats.

  “Nicholas was smart; he folded when he found out that his brother had taken on an unsavory silent partner of his own to redistribute some faulty weapons.

  “Once Mr. Stayton put the pieces together, he paid back the cousinsʼ money and simply folded the business; he was ashamed of what they’d done. It was a great financial loss to us.

  “Strangely, shortly before his death, he received an extortion letter. I had forgotten all about it,” Mother Stayton concluded, a little surprised by the omission from her memory.

  “Extortion!” I exclaimed, as Lucy clapped her hands in shock.

   “I forgot all about it, yes. The letter had threatened to expose the misdeeds that had been committed. My husband wouldn’t be bullied. Rather than paying the price demanded, he left his own letter in the assigned place; he explained that he had nothing to hide.”

  Lucy remarked, “How brave.”

  Mother Stayton smiled. “He figured the threat came from Randolph’s henchman; the man would have to expose himself to prove his claim.”

   Lucy asked, “What happened?”

   “Nothing. Well, my poor dear husband died six weeks later.” Mother Stayton gave a little pout.

   “So there were four people who knew about these misdeeds,” Lucy began.

  “No, five knew—Phyllis.” I reached into my purse and plucked the matchbox that I had found.

   Mother Stayton, who did not understand the significance, remarked, “The Hotel Cote d’ Azur; you two had such a lovely time in Monte Carlo. Now
there
is the setting for a thrilling book.”

   I tapped at the glass separating us from the driver and called out, “Turn back!”      

Chapter Eleven

“Henderson, call the entire household to the library. Please tell them that Inspector Fowler wishes to speak to them,” I said as I passed through the door.

  “
Yes, Mrs. Xavier,” he answered with a bow, before colliding with Lucy. “My pardon, Miss Wallace.”

  She cocked her head to one side and smiled kindly. “My fault.”

   As he turned to close the door, I imagined he was surprised to see Mother Stayton sitting in the back of the sedan, taking a swig of whiskey from her flask.

   Lucy and I sped toward the dining room, and the inspector and his minion stepped out of the chamber; the handsome man couldn't help but smile.

   “
You've had a change of heart?”

   “No, I've solved the case.” Hearing Joan's irritated voice from the top of the stairs, I took the inspector by the elbow and pushed him back out of sight.

   
Hurriedly, I explained my reckoning. The man wasn't convinced; still, he ordered his junior officer to take the back stairs and check out my hypothesis, Lucy on his tail.

   Once alone, he said, “What you are asking of me is damned unorthodox. This isn't one of the books you write.”

  “
Actually, I've never written a book. I'm still working on the first draft of my manuscript—and I realize now, there are many plot holes.”

   Though not as dashing as my Xavier, the inspector did have a handsome smile. He gazed at me for a moment, a moment that was a little too long. I realized that I was this man’s type of girl. Pretty enough in my own right, but I was not a Hollywood starlet out of his reach. His attraction to me was a weakness. He’d hurt me, too; he’d seen me cry, and this gave me the leverage I needed. Against his better judgment, he’d already made up his mind. “What if you are wrong?”

   “I’m not.” I said this like the leading lady who had started off shy and unsure, but had weathered both a struggle with a greater force, and a struggle with herself.

   From the dining room, we listened to them all file into the library, the scene of the crime. We waited a moment and then joined them. The inspector entered the elegant chamber first, and for a moment, I went unseen.

  Nicholas’s voice thundered, “What’s this about?”

   Then Joan spoke after laying eyes on me. “I thought she was gone; the guilty person run off.”

  Lucy appeared from the other door beside the fireplace and gave me a nod before slipping away again.

   The inspector shook his head. “I don’t believe she’s the guilty person, Mrs. Joan.”

   Joan crossed the room and poured herself a drink from the bar cart. Everyone else sat down; Nate reclined at Ruth’s feet.

  Nicholas grunted and said, “Come to the point; if one of us killed Phyllis, then drag her away.”

   Both Ruth and Joan exclaimed, “Her!”

  Randolph giggled and said, “My money is on the dog.”

   The servants, all standing at attention, watched the farce nervously.

   “I shall come to the point, Mr. Stayton. Tell me, how long have you been paying a blackmailer?” asked the inspector.

  “How dare you ask such a thing?” Nicholas replied.

   “You sold off a great deal of valuables recently.” The inspector pointed toward the other rooms. “You masked this by redecorating, but you came out the better.”

   “What of it?” Nicholas retorted.

   “Why did you need the funds?”

  “I have a son at Eton, and I’m paying my nephew’s way as well. Times are hard; I am sure you know that, Inspector.”

  “Oh, yes, I do. I’m busiest during hard times.”

   Nicholas let out a sigh of exasperation. “I wasn’t being blackmailed. My wife and I have also spent a great deal of money on Miss Masterson’s various doctors.”

  The inspector nodded slowly. “Yes, she had done you favor, and you were in her debt.”

   “I don’t care for the inference.”

  “I’m sure.” The inspector paused, then, dropping his pitch, he said, “She knew quite a lot about your business, all the shady dealings with those Canadian rifles.”

   “I’ve explained that—”

   “What the devil is he talking about?” Ruth’s shrill voice startled Nate.

  “Had she fallen down the stairs, and died, that secret would have been safely kept—” the inspector began to say.

   Nicholas leapt to his feet, sending the dog scampering across the room. “Damn you! Damn you, I had nothing to do with her fall. It was an accident!”

   “I don’t think so, Mr. Stayton. It was the first attempt on her life, a failed attempt on her life as parodied in Mrs. Xavier’s manuscript.”

   Ruth stood. She clasped her husband’s arm and bit back at the inspector, “My Nicholas had nothing to do with her fall!”

   The inspector shook his head. “No, ma’am, that's not true. He pushed her down the stairs. She lived, and he made a bargain with the devil—”

   Randolph finally came to his younger brother’s defense. “Balderdash! You have been reading too many of those tiresome whodunits yourself. Why would my brother kill a woman who was dying?”

   “She had a change of heart. A deathbed confession was to come. Phyllis could no longer be trusted to take her knowledge to the grave,” the inspector railed.

  Nicholas dropped to the couch. “No,” he said dumbly.

   The inspector replied, “Yes, a judge will see through all your protests, and you’ll hang for this…”

   Ruth clutched at her blouse and groaned. “My husband didn’t push Phyllis. She wasn’t blackmailing him!”

   The inspector shook his head, but said nothing.

  Ruth stifled a sob. “He wasn’t anywhere near Phyllis or the stairs; we’d had a fight, a violent fight, and he was locked in our room.”

    “What was the fight over, Ruth?” the inspector baited the woman.

   “I was mad at Nicky!” she said, her face red.

  “Why!” the inspector demanded.

  She looked to her husband and said, “He smelled of a woman’s perfume, and he refused to explain himself.”

  All eyes were on Ruth, and she fell silent and trembled.

  The inspector asked Nicholas, “You were locked in your room, while your wife was in a rage and Miss Masterson was injured?”

  Nicholas reeled toward the woman and bellowed, “You didn’t!”

 
“I smelled the scent on her, and I lost my temper. It was an accident…an accident…” Ruth broke down, sobbing.

  Nicholas stood like a statue, dumbfounded. He was unable to reach out to his wife, despite her need.

   Randolph and Joan remained silent, cautiously watching the drama, as did the domestics.

  
It had been obvious to me that Nicholas hadn’t known that Phyllis’s fall wasn’t an accident or he never would have made the tasteless little joke about them both being cripples.

  Ruth began to babble. “Phyllis pleaded with me to believe her. She’d never do anything to harm me, she told me over and over. But I was sure I had smelled perfume on Nicky—I was sure.” Ruth choked on her saliva. After catching her breath, she said, “Even after I had hurt her, she promised she hadn’t betrayed me.” Ruth reached out to her husband. “She kept my secret.”

   At last, Nicholas took his wife’s hand and pulled her to his side; he then lifted his other hand and pointed to Joan. “She kept her secret as well.”

   Randolph took a nervous step forward, and his wife held out her arm, as if to block his way.

   “Careful, little brother.” Randolph’s words carried little weight.

   Nicholas looked to his wife and said, “I should have told you when you confronted me…it was Joan’s perfume.”

  “Served the bitch right for sneaking into my room. I tossed out a brand new bottle of Coco’s best when I figured out what had happened.”

  “Joan!” Randolph actually attempted to cup his wife’s mouth with his hand.

   She shoved him away. “I’d lost my hold over Randolph. I thought perhaps Nicky might prefer a livelier partner than his cold reptile of a wife.”

   Randolph clutched at Joan’s arm. “You’ve said enough!”

   The hot-tempered woman continued in her diatribe to the inspector. “I tried to seduce him, but he was a coward. He shrank from the challenge, but what of it? I’ll tell you right now, I didn’t kill Phyllis, so don’t start with your accusations.”

   At last, I spoke, “You had every reason to. Not only did Phyllis know why Nicholas smelled of perfume, and who the scent had belonged to, she knew you tried to run him down with your car.”

   I heard the maids gasp. Joan’s skin flushed.

   The inspector chided me, “I’ll take it from here, Mrs. Xavier.”

   I bowed my head in deference to him and stepped back beside Henderson. Ever so excited, my heart raced.

  “Mr. Nicholas, can you confirm this accusation that your sister-in-law is the person who attempted to run you down?”

   Nicholas’s mouth moved, but nothing came out; he tried again, and faintly, came the word, “Yes.”

   Joan ripped her arm away from her husband and swallowed what remained of her drink.

    Nicholas admitted, “She followed me into town and waited for me outside of the pub.  She’d had quite a bit to drink. I told her it was no good, nothing was going to happen between us. I left her, started to go to car, and then she came bowling toward me. I managed to get out of the way, except for my foot.”

   Shocked by this, Ruth asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I couldn’t have; we would have had to put her out. What would Randolph have done, forced to choose us or her?” Nicholas shrugged. “The following day, I sat Joan down, and we came to an understanding. The incident was put aside for the sake of the family.”

  “My noble little brother always at my rescue, bloody fool,” Randolph remarked rather meekly, despite his choice of scornful words.

  “You had every reason to kill Miss Masterson.” The inspector directed this statement to Joan.

   She barked her ugly laugh. “You just told Nicky that a moment ago.”

  “You’ve proven yourself capable of attempted murder,” the inspector remarked.

   Ruth put a finger in the air and said in a frail voice, “A spurned lover attempts to kill the man who refused her…that was the stupid point of the book.”

   I couldn’t help myself. “The plot device was Phyllis’s idea. Acting it out in front of you all was her idea too.”

   Ruth’s voice became more forceful. “She was going to expose you at last, in her own way, but you stopped that from happening.”

   “Don’t be an idiot,” Joan hissed back.

   Ruth rushed toward the woman, clenching her fists to strike. The brothers rushed forward before the confrontation could begin.

   Randolph shouted at the inspector, “This is madness! Look what you’ve done.”

   “What
he’s
done?” shrieked Ruth. “Joan has caused this all. It’s because of her that I pushed Phyllis down the staircase. She tried to kill Nicky…she’s the Devil incarnate!”

  Joan’s answer of laughter didn’t sound so smug, but rather frightened. She managed some sarcasm as she scoffed, “After the inspector left last night, I thought we all agreed to blame the American; how quickly you all turn on a woman.”

   The inspector flashed me a brief glance. I took a nervous breath and reached into the handbag that I clutched.

  Pulling out the cigarette holder that Xavier had given me, I smashed a fag into the seldom-used item with shaking hands. Then I leaned into Henderson, who was watching the family he served fall apart. Noticing my actions, he patted down his pockets and pulled out a box of matches.

   He struck one against the box. He was just about to pass the lit object closer to me when his eyes caught the printing. A tremor ran through him, and I stepped back, fearful he might burn my face.

   The inspector reeled around. “Is that my box of matches, old man?”

  “No,” said Henderson, his face contorted. “They’re Miss Lucy’s.”

  “Oh, how is it you have them?” asked the inspector; his tone was very even, almost gentle.

  Henderson’s eyes darted from side to side. He stammered for a moment before replying, “Miss Lucy brushed into me, entering the door. She must have put them in my pocket.”

   “Why?”

   “How would I know? Obviously, Mrs. Xavier put her up to the act to incriminate me,” he rebutted.

   The inspector narrowed his eyes. “And how would a box of matches from the Hotel
Cote d’ Azur incriminate you?”