Christmas is Murder (15 page)

As Rex passed the
honeymoon suite on his way back from Mrs. Smithings’ rooms, Yvette slipped out the door.

“Charley’s out like a light,” she whispered. “How late were you up talking?”

“All night.”

She drew him away from the suite. “Did you and Charley have a heart to heart?”

“I suppose so. I remember telling him some of my foolish dreams, at any rate.”

“Did he—did he mention anything in particular? I mean, about us?”

Rex knew better than to volunteer information.

“Oh, I might as well tell you,” she blurted. “We’re going to have a baby.”

“Congratulations.”

“Charley’s not happy about it. He’s trying to put a brave face on it now, but he was really angry when he found out. I wasn’t as careful as I should have been.”

“It takes two to tango. If he was that concerned about a baby, he could have taken precautions himself.”

Yvette’s face cleared. “You’re right. You know, when I first saw you, I thought you were a bit of a fuddy-duddy. But you’re not like that at all.”

“A fuddy-duddy? I’ll have to change my image. I’ve already been called a prude this morning.”

Yvette giggled as they started down the stairs. “I can’t wait to get home to my mum’s to break the news. I just know she’s going to be thrilled to death. Oh,” the young woman exclaimed, pausing on the step, “I suppose we can’t say things like that any more. It does sound so flip when you think about it.”

“Aye, but the situation should be resolved shortly.”

When they reached the dining room, Patrick was still at breakfast. Anthony had joined him.

“Morning, morning,” the interior designer said. “Where are Helen and Charley?”

“Helen will be down in a minute,” Rex replied as Yvette filled her plate at the buffet. “Charley’s still asleep.”

“We all survived the night then,” Anthony remarked. “And hopefully, we’ll make it through the day. I’m avoiding anything that remotely smells of almonds.”

Mrs. Bellows entered the room and placed a dish on a heating tray. “Just in time for your porridge,” she told Rex.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bellows.” He ladled the steaming oatmeal into a bowl. “Would you be kind enough to ask the rest of the staff to join the guests in the drawing room at nine thirty?”

She cast him a wary glance. “Right you are, Mr. Graves.”

“What’s happening at nine thirty?” Anthony asked as the cook left.

“The villain will be unmasked,” Patrick said.

“Really?” Anthony turned to Rex. “Who?”

“Wait and see.”

Yvette stared at the cooked breakfast in front of her. “I don’t think I can eat this.” Upturning her chair in her haste, she ran out of the room.

“What’s the matter with her?”

“She’s pregnant.”

“Ah.” Anthony spread marmalade on his wheat toast. “I thought it might be nerves. I’m pretty shaken up myself. After the fire last night, I wouldn’t have slept two winks if Patrick hadn’t given me some of his Valerian.”

“And two shots of brandy,” Patrick added.

Anthony shook his head. “I don’t know how I got through that bottle so quickly. It was half full just the other day.”

Rex drew his own conclusions from that, but said nothing. All would be revealed soon enough.

___

Hands clasped behind his back, Rex stood by the mantelpiece in the drawing room, trying to anticipate every eventuality that might arise from his revelations. There was no easy way to approach this, he decided.

Patrick and Anthony arrived first.

“Nine twenty,” Anthony said, glancing at his watch. “We thought we’d bag the best seats. Where should we sit?”

Rex swept his hand around the room. “Anywhere you wish.”

Anthony selected his favorite armchair by the fire and crossed his legs, rubbing his obsidian ring in circular motions. Patrick went to open a window and stood there smoking. Helen entered with her knitting and settled herself on a sofa without a word. The click of needles distracted Rex from his thoughts. Yvette dragged a bleary-eyed Charley into the room. He must have slept in his clothes, judging by their crumpled appearance.

Charley collapsed into the loveseat. “I feel like death warmed up,” he moaned. “I don’t think port agrees with me.”

“I’ll bring you a cup of coffee,” Yvette said soothingly.

Mrs. Bellows and Rosie appeared.

“Come on in,” Rex said. “There’s plenty of room on the sofa.”

They sat opposite Helen. He had never before seen Mrs. Bellows without her apron. She wore a dark blue dress and looked about the room expectantly. Nobody spoke. Clifford shuffled in next with the puppy, which bounded up to Rex with little whines of excitement. Rosie fed it a sugar lump and it settled down at her feet.

“Are we all here?” Mrs. Smithings demanded, making her entrance in black crepe, the signature pearls at her throat.

“We’re just waiting for Yvette.”

The newlywed came in soon after and handed Charley his coffee. She sat down beside him, hands twitching in the lap of her jeans.

Rex surveyed the room, feeling more exposed than at court where he could hide behind the costume, props, and setting that lent his performance a theatrical air, and where the audience judged him solely on the merits of his prosecutorial skills. The faces that gazed up at him now were no less curious and intense than those in a jury box.

As he cleared his throat in preparation for his speech, he tried not to look at Mrs. Smithings, who was no doubt scrutinizing him with a critical eye. “I have called you all here to review the sinister events of the past few days—”

“Before we commence, Reginald, I want to present you with your gift,” Mrs. Smithings said. “It is, after all, Christmas Day and you have worked very hard in trying to solve this case.”

“Er, thank you, Mrs. Smithings,” he said, breaking his concentration and accepting a long object wrapped in red and green paper.

“It was Rodney’s hunting rifle,” she said as he tore off the wrapping. “I would like you to have it.”

“I don’t know what to say.” He truly didn’t—the thought of all the defenseless creatures Rodney had killed with this gun was abhorrent, yet how could he refuse?

“Looks like a Holland & Holland double rifle, late 1800s,” Anthony observed. “May I see?”

Rex handed it over to him. “I didn’t check to see if it was loaded,” he said, turning to Mrs. Smithings.

“Of course it’s not.”

Anthony held it in both hands, examining it every which way. “A beautiful piece—mint condition. Just look at this exquisite walnut wood engraved with the ‘Royal’ scroll.”

“It belonged to Rodney’s great-grandfather. My son took the very best care of it, and it shoots true.”

“Thank you again, Mrs. Smithings,” Rex said. “I will treasure it. Now then, not to postpone the proceedings further, I shall give a brief review of the facts for the benefit of those who may not be entirely familiar with them.” He lifted one finger. “First, on December twenty-second, Henry Lawdry died in this room. Sodium cyanide poisoning was found in his iced almond tart—”

A few gasps escaped in the room.

“… though death by cyanide has yet to be corroborated by a medical examination. Second, on December twenty-third, Miriam Greenbaum fell to her death in the cellar. We can assume the murder weapon to be the silver candlestick. There would be no reason otherwise to wipe it clean of prints. Third, on December twenty-fourth, Wanda Martyr was found suffocated in her bed.”

A stifled exclamation from Mrs. Bellows ensued.

“The attempt to burn Mr. Lawdry’s body late last night also points to foul play,” Rex went on. “Yet I could find no motive for his murder beyond an antique cameo brooch that he allegedly gave to Yvette Perkins and which Wanda Martyr claimed as her due. Following motive, we look at means and opportunity. Almost anyone present in this room had the means and opportunity to poison the almond tart presumed to have killed Mr. Lawdry. The question is, how did it find its way onto his plate?

“Anthony was the first to serve himself tea the afternoon Lawdry died. According to the cook, he was in and out of the kitchen. He could have doctored the tart. The next day, when Ms. Greenbaum entered the kitchen, he was already there, candlestick at hand.”

“You’re out of your mind!” Anthony declared, his face an angry shade of puce.

Rex continued undeterred. “Wanda found out from Anthony that Yvette had the brooch. She may have suspected Yvette of Lawdry’s murder, perhaps in collusion with her husband, who after all has medical knowledge and could have introduced the hypothesis of cyanide to cover up the real cause of death. Since Charley was not in the room when Lawdry died, he was never suspected. I might add that Charley was a firefighter, and thus has professional knowledge of fires. And nobody knows for sure where the couple was when Ms. Greenbaum met her end on the cellar floor.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” the Cockney asked, jolted into an upright position on the loveseat. “How would we have entered Wanda’s room?”

Rex ignored the questions. “Patrick was possibly the last person to see Wanda alive. He argued with her in her room and could have taken the master key she stole from Rosie, returning the next morning. He was the first to reach Lawdry when the old man had his attack. And his matches were found in the deceased’s room after the fire …”

Patrick threw his cigarette butt out the window in a gesture of disdain. “You’re going to accuse Helen next. She had access to Wanda’s room through the adjoining door and could have killed her just before she went to the village with you—perfect alibi. And she could just as easily have murdered Miriam after she followed her out of the dining room.”

Helen looked anxiously at Rex.

“Aye, Patrick, what you say is logical enough. Now let’s consider the staff. Mrs. Bellows prepared the almond tarts; in fact, they were her own recipe. She could have spiked one of them. We only have her word for it that she was powdering her nose when Ms. Greenbaum went into the kitchen. Sandy Bellows is not only a trained nurse with pharmaceutical experience, but a woman of considerable strength who could have suffocated Wanda Martyr without any difficulty at all.”

Rex swung toward the cook on the sofa and found her gazing up at him quite impassively. Next, he turned his attention to the odd-job man cringing against the far wall. “Clifford helped Mrs. Bellows out in the kitchen. Perhaps it was not cyanide that killed Mr. Lawdry, but rat poison. Clifford was in the vicinity when Ms. Greenbaum went to fetch the dog from the cellar. He was suspected of pushing his wife to her death ten years ago. And he went up to the attic for ski equipment at around the time Wanda Martyr was murdered.”

Rex put up a hand before Clifford could protest. “These are plausible arguments, but when considering all three murders with regard to any of the aforementioned suspects, none are satisfactory. Only two people working in tandem could have committed all four crimes, including setting fire to Mr. Lawdry’s corpse.

“The burning of the body brought me back to the burning of the manuscript. Whereas the burning of the body appeared to be an attempt to conceal evidence, the burning of the manuscript spelt rage. Who would have been most enraged by a biography on President Bush? It was only when I studied Patrick’s sketch that my suspicion was confirmed: Henry was not the intended victim, but Miriam Greenbaum all along.”

“How d’you make that out?” Patrick asked.

“Miriam was the only guest to drink coffee at teatime. A single plate was set out beside the carafe. It would be natural for Miriam to take that plate—but the doddery old Mr. Lawdry served himself first, not realizing his error until he sat down and tasted the coffee. By then, it was too late. He had already taken the almond tart put aside for Miriam on the coffee tray.

“Usually in a case we ask ourselves, ‘Who had most to gain?’ In this
case, we should ask ourselves, ‘Who had the most to lose?’ In fact, who
had
lost the most?” Rex let the weight of his words sink in as his eyes circled the hushed audience.

“Are you going to keep us in suspense much longer?” Anthony demanded.

Rex gave a dramatic pause. “I put it to you that Mrs. Smithings laced the tart with cyanide and instructed Rosie to put it on Ms. Greenbaum’s plate—”