No Clue at the Inn (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery Book 13) (22 page)

"I know, madam, but I'm getting bored sitting around doing nothing, and it will take my mind off things."

"I could help, too." Gertie jumped to her feet. "It'll be fun. Really, m'm. Just like old times."

"But what about the babies?" Cecily nodded in the direction of the bed where the twins lay sleeping peacefully.

"Daisy could take care of them. She asked me if she could anyway. She said she misses them."

Mrs. Chubb nodded. "It will do us both good, madam, and it will only be for a short while anyway. We'd really like to help out."

"Yeah, m'm, really," Gertie said earnestly. "Please let us do it."

"Well, if you're sure . . . "

Gertie's whoop of delight woke up the twins and they sat up, sleepily demanding something to eat.

"I'll go down there right away," Mrs. Chubb said, "just as soon as I can find an apron. Gertie, you talk to Daisy, and if she says it's all right, come down as soon as you can."

"Yes, Mrs. Chubb." Gertie headed for the door.

"And Gertie?"

She paused, looking back at the other woman.

"You should be able to find a uniform to fit you in the laundry room. Make sure you look neat and tidy. We want to set a good example to the rest of the staff."

"Yes, Mrs. Chubb." There was just a hint of irony in her voice as she rushed out of the room.

Cecily hid a smile. It was amazing to see the transformation in the two women. Up until this moment they had behaved more like mother and daughter, but now Mrs. Chubb was in charge again, and Gertie was once more relegated to the role of chief housemaid. Gertie was right. It was just like old times.

Cecily was on her way down the stairs to inform Baxter of the new arrangements with his staff when she heard the commotion in the lobby. At first she thought Colonel Fortescue had returned, but then she saw Raymond talking excitedly to the tall, stern figure of Sir John Gilroy.

Lady Lucille was at his side, leaning heavily on his arm, her face covered by a delicately embroidered handkerchief into which she loudly sobbed. She seemed not to
notice Cecily, who had hurried over to them with a feeling of deep foreboding.

"Is something wrong?" she asked as Raymond turned his impassioned gaze in her direction.

"There's been an accident," he said, speaking so fast his words tumbled over each other. "The motor car went right off the cliffs. Landed upside down on the rocks, it did."

"Oh, my." Cecily's hand strayed to her throat. "I hope it wasn't one of ours."

"What the devil is all this racket about?" a deep voice demanded.

Cecily turned to see Baxter striding toward them, having apparently been disturbed by all the noise.

Lady Lucille was still weeping profusely, moaning something over and over that Cecily couldn't understand.

Raymond started chattering again, while Sir John remained silent, his jaw set in a grim line.

"Slow down, Raymond," Baxter said irritably. "Tell us exactly what happened."

"I was on me way into the town," Raymond said, his voice still trembling with agitation. He gulped several times, then continued, "I was going to Abbitsons to get some more chickens for the dinner tonight. I saw this motor car in front of me and it were going really fast, at least twenty miles an hour I reckon. Then he went over the top of the hill and started down the other side. Never made the first bend. Sailed right off the cliff, he did."

Lady Lucille wailed louder, and Sir John put his arm around her. "My wife needs to lie down. This has been a great shock. I need to inform . . . though God knows how . . . excuse me."

Cecily's sense of dread intensified. "Of course. Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

He barely acknowledged her offer with a slight inclination of his head before helping his wife up the stairs.

Apparently Baxter had come to a similar conclusion as he demanded sharply, "Raymond, did you recognize anyone in the automobile?"

Raymond nodded. "Not right away, though I went for help when I saw him disappear over the cliff. The noise was something awful. It were right across from Jim Biscott's farm. Jim climbed down with me to see if the driver were all right." Raymond gulped again. "One look at him and we knew he was a stiffun."

"Oh, dear." Cecily clutched Baxter's sleeve. "Who was it, Raymond?"

"One of them Bencher blokes," Raymond said unsteadily. "I'm not sure, but I think his name were Peebles. Yeah, that's it. Roger Peebles."

CHAPTER

16

"Unbelievable," Baxter said, closing the door to his office sometime later. "We arrive back at the Pennyfoot after a two-year absence and in less than a week we have two deaths on our hands."

"Three, if you count Barry Wrotham." Cecily seated herself on her favorite chair and watched her husband take his usual place behind his desk.

"Well, Wrotham's death happened before we arrived. And at least two of them were accidents." He leaned back in his chair and passed a hand over his hair. "I suppose we should be thankful for small mercies."

"I'm not so sure of that."

He stared at her, his eyes wary. "What does that mean?"

"It means that I'm not convinced that the other two deaths were accidents."

He groaned. "I thought we'd pretty much established that Wrotham fell into the well."

"In view of what has transpired this day, I'm beginning to have second thoughts about that."

"What does Jeanette's unfortunate end or Peebles's accident have to do with Wrotham?"

"Suppose that Peebles's death wasn't an accident."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Are you saying that Peebles deliberately drove his car over the cliff? I know people sometimes become depressed at Christmastime, but Peebles didn't strike me as the sort to do himself in."

"No, I'm not saying that." Cecily sighed. "I went to offer my condolences to Mrs. Peebles. She was quite distraught, of course, poor woman. She did, however, tell me that Peebles had been extremely irritable and short with her lately. Apparently they had a quarrel earlier this afternoon, and he left here in a great hurry without telling her where he was going. According to Mrs. Peebles, his behavior recently has been quite out of character."

"Well, then, there you are. He went out in a fit of temper and drove too fast. The road over Putney Downs has some very sharp bends. It was never meant for motor cars. That's the trouble with them. If you don't treat them with respect, they can cause all kinds of problems. If you ask me—"

"I think Roger Peebles was murdered," Cecily said deliberately.

Baxter shut his mouth with a snap, then after a moment said in an unsettling quiet tone, "Just how do you come to that conclusion?"

Cecily leaned forward. "I think he knew who killed Jeanette. Whoever is the murderer had to get rid of Peebles because he could identify him."

Baxter's frown was formidable. "This morning you were accusing Peebles of killing the maid. Now you're saying someone else killed her? How many more of our guests are you planning to accuse of murder?"

"I'm not accusing anyone just yet."

"I'm glad to hear it. I—"

The jangling of the telephone interrupted him. He lifted the receiver from its stand and said cautiously into it, "The Pennyfoot Country Club. Hugh Baxter speaking." He listened for a moment then added, "Thank you, operator. Please put him through." Glancing at Cecily he whispered, "Northcott. I—" Once more he broke off, listened, then said irritably, "Go on, I'm listening." Another pause, then he added, "And what about the girl?"

Cecily watched his face closely, and saw relief creep into his eyes. Muttering his thanks, he replaced the receiver and looked at her. "I was right," he announced. "Northcott has completed his investigation and has ruled Peebles's death an accident. As for the death of our maid, he believes, as I do, that she was killed while attempting to sell the pearls she had stolen. Probably trying to extort too much money from the wrong person. They are currently questioning people in the village in the hopes of tracking down the culprit."

"But—"

He raised his hand. "I suggest we cease concerning ourselves about a nonexistent murderer among our guests and concentrate on the task we came down here to do, which is
to conduct a successful Christmas Season at the Pennyfoot."

His pompous attitude infuriated her, but she curbed her resentment. It was pointless to argue when she had no proof to offer. All she had at that moment were suppositions and she knew better than to rely on such nebulous reasoning.

Rising to her feet, she murmured, "Very well. I shall go to the kitchen and see how things are faring under the new management."

"I think that's a very good idea."

After closing the door rather sharply behind her, she uttered a low growl of frustration. Her instincts told her that the deaths were connected in some way. Somehow she had to find out what that connection was, and who had reason to kill three people. And she knew just where to start.

She made her way to the foyer, but instead of going down to the kitchen, she climbed the stairs to the third floor.

As luck would have it, she found Samuel resting in his room. He opened the door with a book in his hand which, he explained, was helping him with his studies of mechanics.

"That's exactly what I came to talk to you about." Cecily glanced down the hall. "May I come in for just a moment?"

"Of course, m'm." He looked mystified, but stepped back to allow her to enter. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he beckoned a little self-consciously at the lone armchair in his room. "If you'd care to sit, m'm?"

"I won't take up more than a moment of your time," Cecily said, declining his invitation. "I need you to do something for me, if you will. Something that will have to be done with great discretion."

Samuel immediately looked interested. He threw his book on the bed. "Anything for you, m'm. You know you can always rely on me."

"Thank you, Samuel." Cecily lowered her voice. "I assume you have heard about the accident this afternoon."

Samuel nodded. "Moira told me. She was all upset about what happened to her friend, and now this. It took me a while to calm her down."

Cecily looked at him in surprise. "I wasn't aware you were acquainted with Moira."

He grinned. "Well, I wasn't when I came down here, if you know what I mean, m'm. But what with Doris not being around much anymore, well, a bloke has to take his chances where he can, so to speak."

"Oh." Cecily cleared her throat. "Yes, I see. Well, it's nice that Moira has a friend who can cheer her up. I'm afraid Jeanette's death has been a terrible shock for her."

"That it has, m'm. But I think she's getting over it a little now."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. Now, about this little task I have for you." She quickly explained, and as she expected, Samuel was eager to help.

"I must ask you to keep all this in complete confidence for now," she said as she was leaving. "I don't have to tell you what this would mean if word got out."

"You can trust me to keep me mouth shut, m'm," Samuel promised her. "It wouldn't be the first time I had to keep a secret."

She smiled. "No, indeed, Samuel."

"Quite like old times, it is, m'm."

She was still smiling as she left, wondering how many times she would hear that phrase before this Christmas was over.

As she made her way down the hallway, she caught sight of Amelia Chatsworth ushering a weeping Gretchen Peebles into her room. Cecily waited until the door had closed behind the two women, then cautiously approached the Peebleses' suite. This was as good a time as any to put the second part of her plan into action.

After pausing to make certain she was unobserved, Cecily tried the door handle, uttering a little hiss of satisfaction when the door opened. This would save her the trouble of returning to her room for the set of master keys Baxter kept there.

She slipped inside the room and closed the door. The suite was in great disarray, with clothes strewn haphazardly across the bed and shoes lying on the floor. In the middle of the room a trunk stood with its lid open. Apparently Gretchen Peebles planned to return to London. Cecily could only hope the rest of the group wouldn't return with her.

Moving about the room, she opened drawers, then carefully closed them again. She wasn't really sure what she was looking for, except for the vague hope that she might find something that would point to where Peebles was heading in such a hurry that afternoon.

She opened the wardrobe and peered inside. Two men's day suits and an evening suit hung next to several gowns. Quickly Cecily searched the pockets of the suits, trying to ignore her voice of conscience that told her she was behaving like a common thief.

The pockets were empty, and she was about to close the door again when she caught sight of a shoe box on the upper shelf. It rattled when she shook it, and, intrigued now, she took it down and opened the lid.

Inside were several gambling chips, larger and a different design than those belonging to the Pennyfoot. A scrap of paper had been tucked underneath them, and she drew it out. Placing the box on the floor of the wardrobe, she unfolded the slip of paper.

It was an IOU in the sum of two thousand pounds. Printed across the top of the paper was a peculiar name.
Cureagambler
. The scrawl at the bottom was difficult to make out, but it could have been Peebles's signature. If so, then Roger Peebles was a lot more than a social gambler. What's more, he owed someone a very large sum of money.

She studied the printed heading again. Such an odd name.
Cureagambler
. She frowned. Spread apart, the words could read,
Cure a gambler
. Well, by the looks of it, Peebles certainly needed to be cured. Perhaps that was it. An organization that helped gamblers give up their addiction. Now, maybe if—

The sound of voices in the hallway outside startled her. After a moment's hesitation, she stuffed the note into her sleeve, then hastily replaced the box on the shelf before quietly closing the wardrobe door.

She had a nasty moment when she thought that one of the voices might be Gretchen Peebles returning to her room, but then the chattering guests passed by. After waiting another tense moment or two, Cecily slowly opened the door and peered through the crack. Once more
the hallway appeared to be deserted. Holding her breath, she slipped out into the corridor and closed the door.