No Clue at the Inn (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery Book 13) (31 page)

"Because," she said as they walked briskly through the rose garden, "we are on our way to confront a particularly devious murderer."

CHAPTER

22

Cecily refused to answer Baxter's questions as he followed her up the stairs. She didn't want to argue with him again, as she knew he surely would do if she told him of her suspicions.

The smell of smoke clung to everything, overwhelming the fragrance of the pine that had pleased her so much. "We must open every window in the entire place," she told him as they reached the first landing. "Just as soon as possible. I want to smell Christmas again."

"I'll see to it," he promised her. "But right now I need to know where—" He broke off as she paused in front of the Gilroys' suite. "Sir John? Surely you don't suspect him of murder? This is ridiculous . . . "

"Shh!" She put a finger over his lips. "Just listen and
observe. I promise you, everything will be very clear in just a few moments." Without giving him time to argue further, she tapped on the door.

At first there was no answer to her summons, and she rapped again, louder this time.

"He is most likely in the card room—" Baxter began, but then the door opened a mere crack.

Lady Lucille's voice sounded muffled when she said, "Who is it?"

Cecily unceremoniously pushed the door open. "It is I, Lady Lucille."

The other woman fell back, her hand covering her mouth. Her eyes were wide with shock and disbelief, giving Cecily a grim sense of satisfaction.

"Mon Dieu!"
Lucille muttered. "You are alive. I thought . . . I was told . . . " She recovered quickly. "I am so happy to see you are unhurt,
madame
. I heard about the fire. My husband . . . he came to me and demanded that we leave, but by the time we reached the ground floor, the fire had been put out. Such a shame to spoil the Christmas,
non?"

Without answering her, Cecily barged into the room.

Lucille took several steps backward. "My husband is not here,
madame
. As you can see. He went back to the card room to finish his game."

Baxter hovered anxiously in the doorway. "Well, as long as he's not here, Cecily?"

"I'm not here to see Sir John." Cecily advanced on the cowering woman. "I believe Lady Lucille knows quite well why I am here."

Lucille violently shook her head.
"Non, non, je ne sais pas!"

"Then I shall enlighten you." Cecily gestured at Baxter. "Perhaps it would be better if you came inside and closed the door."

Obviously reluctant, he did what she asked. "Cecily, if you are mistaken—"

"I am not mistaken, I promise you." Cecily faced Lucille again. "You lit the candles on the Christmas tree, knowing I went there to meet your husband. You were afraid of what I might tell him. You took the key from the reception desk and locked the library door behind me, then you jammed the French windows with your cane."

"I certainly did not,
madame
. How dare you accuse me—"

"You killed Jeanette, did you not?"

Again the violent shake of the head.
"Non, non, madame
. You are mistaken. I know not what you mean."

"I think you do." With a swift movement, Cecily reached out and dragged back a portion of Lucille's hair to reveal a deep scratch gouged into the woman's forehead. "An unusual style, Lady Lucille, but most assuredly not from Paris. I remember seeing an article in a magazine just a few days ago. The French have been cutting their hair quite short all year. You combed your hair in that peculiar style to hide the scratch that Jeanette gave you when you fought with her."

"I did no such thing! I—"

"You took the knife from the kitchen and went to meet her in the equipment shed, where you cut her throat."

Lucille whimpered, and drew back. "I do not understand why you are saying these dreadful things to me," she whispered.

"Yes, you do." Cecily advanced on her, heedless of Baxter's muttered warning.

"S'il vous plaît, madame,"
Lucille pleaded, her hand at her throat. "I did not—"

"That's how you caught Jeanette's cold," Cecily went on ruthlessly. "And it's my guess that you didn't turn your ankle on the stairs, but that your ankle was injured when you struggled with Jeanette. I also believe that you pushed Barry Wrotham down the well. He was going to tell your husband about your association with him."

"Non!"

"As for Roger Peebles, he must have found out about Barry Wrotham. Did he threaten to tell Sir John, too? Is that why you killed him?"

"I did not kill him!" Lucille whirled on her. "It was Lionel. He did something to the brakes, I don't know what . . ."

Cecily withdrew the hand she'd kept hidden behind her back until now. "This is part of your cane, Lady Lucille. I recognized it. I'm giving it to the inspector when he arrives, which should be any minute now. You will go to prison for the murder of Jeanette and Barry Wrotham."

"Ah, Barry.
Mon amour."
Lucille sank onto a chair, weeping profusely.

After a moment's hesitation, Baxter stepped forward and offered her his handkerchief.

She took it, and blew her nose. Then, between sobs, she said brokenly, "I never meant to hurt Barry. I loved him. He made me feel like a beautiful woman again. I was devastated when he died."

Cecily sat down opposite her and said, more gently now, "Tell me what happened."

Lucille gulped. "I know it would only be a matter of time before someone found out. It matters not, for nothing has been the same since Barry died. I care not if I go to prison, or if they hang me. I am dead inside without my Barry."

Cecily could almost feel sorry for her. "Then why did you kill him?"

Lucille sniffed, blew her nose again, then said softly, "It was an accident. We spent some wonderful afternoons in the farmhouse. It was all so cozy, so romantic. We had champagne, and sometimes I felt a little foolish,
oui?
Perhaps a little sorry for myself. One afternoon I told Barry that John spends all his time with his gambling houses, and never has time for me. I told him how he cares more for his partners than he does for his wife." She shook her head. "It was stupid, I know. It was supposed to always remain a secret. But I never imagined for a moment that Barry would use what I said against John."

"So Barry threatened to disclose Sir John's business dealings with Cureagambler."

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "How did you know that name? How did you find out?"

"Never mind," Cecily said brusquely. "Go on with the story."

"Ah well, a few days after I told him, he said he had the money to start a new life. He wanted to buy a farm in Cornwall. He wanted me to run away with him. I could not do that. I loved him,
oui
, but I could not possibly live in a farmhouse cleaning the pigsty and cooking the meals. I told him I wanted everything to stay the same, but then
he became angry. He left me alone, saying he was going to ruin my husband, so that John would not have the money to keep me in fine things. I ran after him. I begged him not to do it. He would not listen. I became angry myself. In my temper, I pushed him. So!" She lifted her palms and pushed them out in front of her. "He fell back against the well, he stumbled . . . and fell in . . . "

She began weeping again, and Cecily waited for her to control herself before saying, "And Jeanette found out what happened?"

Lucille shook her head. "No, she did not find out. She thought it was Roger who killed Barry."

Cecily frowned. "Why did she think that?"

Lucille dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose again. "After I told Barry about the gambling houses, he looked for . . . how you say? Ah, yes . . . evidence . . . to prove that John and the others had the gambling houses. He searched Roger's room and found papers, but Roger surprised him and caught him. Roger said he would call the police, but Barry told him he will tell everyone about the gambling houses and all of them would lose their seats on the Bench. He asked for money to keep quiet. Lots of money. So he could buy the farmhouse."

"I see," Cecily said slowly. "Then Barry was blackmailing Roger Peebles."

"That is what you call it,
oui
. But Jeanette, she must have been in the next room, listening. Because when Barry died, Jeanette went to Roger and said she would tell the police all about Cureagambler, and that he was giving Barry money to keep it quiet. She said she knew he had killed Barry and he would be arrested for murder unless he gave her the money."

"She wanted the money to have the pearls restrung," Cecily murmured.

Lucille looked puzzled.
"Pardon?"

Cecily shook her head. "Never mind. But that doesn't explain why you had to kill Jeanette."

Lucille sat silent for a long moment, then in a voice heavy with weariness, she said, "Roger came to our suite. He was looking for John. He said he wanted to borrow money to keep Jeanette quiet about the gambling houses. He told me everything that happened. I was afraid. If he talked to John, he would find out about my rendevous with Barry and I could not allow it." She held her hands up in appeal. "What was I to do? If John knew I betrayed him, he would desert me. I would have nothing."

"So you killed Jeanette."

Lucille worried at her lip with her small, even teeth. "Roger made the appointment to meet Jeanette in the shed. I told him not to worry. I would talk to John and he would take care of everything." Tears started spilling down her cheeks. "I took the knife when no one was looking . . . I just wanted to frighten the girl, that is all. But she fought with me. I was afraid she would kill me . . . I had . . . to stop her. I raised the knife and . . . "

Cecily waited for her sobs to subside, then said gently, "That's why Roger Peebles had to die."

Lucille gulped and nodded. "It is wintertime. I did not think anyone would go into the shed until the spring. By then no one would know what happened or who killed her. But when she was found, Roger came to me. He was very upset. He thought John killed the maid and he told me he was going to see the constables that afternoon and tell them everything. I warned him he would lose everything as well,
but he would not listen. He kept saying he would not be a part of murder."

"So you persuaded Lionel Fitzhammer to sabotage the brakes of his car," Cecily said, understanding at last.

Lucille nodded. She sent a quick, embarrassed glance at Baxter, then said in a low voice, "Lionel . . . he wanted . . . favors from me for a very long time. I told him Roger, he killed Jeanette and he deserved to die. I made him see we could not tell the constables, because everyone would know about Cureagambler. I promised him . . . just one night . . . in return. He was so besotted he agreed." She shuddered. "Thank heavens I have not yet had to fulfill that promise."

Baxter cleared his throat, and Cecily got to her feet. "It appears very likely you never will," she said. "I must ask you to remain here until the inspector arrives. Mr. Baxter will stand guard outside, just in case you should decide to leave without permission."

Lucille's misery was plain on her face when she looked up. "I am going nowhere, Mrs. Baxter. My life, it was over when Barry fell down the well. I knew it from that moment. I just did not want to believe it."

"I'm so sorry." Cecily nodded at Baxter, who opened the door for her, then followed her into the hallway. "It is better that you stay here," she told him. "Just in case, though I don't think she's going anywhere."

"You sounded genuine when you said you were sorry."

She sighed. "I do feel sorry for her. Everything that happened was because she made the mistake of falling in love with the wrong man. And even
that
wouldn't have happened if Sir John had paid less attention to his business interests and more to his wife."

Baxter caught her hand. "You could have died in that
library. I swear to you, Cecily, I will never neglect you for my business. Never."

She smiled sweetly at him. "Of course you won't, my dear Hugh. Because, quite simply, I won't allow it." She sailed off, preventing him from delivering the retort that was obviously hovering on his lips.

She had barely descended the stairs before P.C. Northcott arrived. He marched into the foyer, helmet slightly askew, notebook under his arm, and his chest puffed out with assumed importance.

"Mrs. Baxter," he announced the moment he caught sight of her. "I h'understand you 'ave h'apprehended one of your guests on suspicion of murder, is that right?"

"Not on suspicion, Sam," Cecily murmured. "I have a full confession. I trust the inspector is on his way?"

"Inspector Cranshaw has informed me he will arrive here within the hour. He asked me to keep an eye on things until he arrives."

"Well, the lady in question is confined to her suite." Cecily glanced at the grandfather clock. "As of now, her husband is unaware that she is being apprehended. I think perhaps you should inform him. You will find him in the card room."

Northcott seemed put out. "Well, as long as you have things under control so to speak, Mrs. B., I wonder if you might inform the gentleman. Ladies always do a better job of such delicate matters, that's what I always say."

Cecily sighed. "Very well. I left Baxter outside Lady Lucille's room to keep an eye on her. I'd be obliged if you would take his place and release him to get back to work. In the meantime I must hire someone to make repairs to the damaged rooms."

"Yes, I heard about the fire." Northcott rubbed his nose with the back of his fingers. "Nasty business that. Glad to see you're all right, Mrs. Baxter. So, it were one of them toffs, eh? And a lady, too. Would never have guessed that one. Not in a hundred years. You did it again, Mrs. B. The inspector will be pleased the case is solved." He leaned forward and added in a loud whisper, "I'd be much obliged if you'd put in a good word for me when you talk to him. Maybe tell him I gave you the idea, like?"

"I'll put in a good word for you," Cecily said, "if you promise never to call me 'Mrs. B.' again."

"Right you are. Sorry, m'm." He touched the rim of his helmet with his fingers. "Better get on with it, then. I'm hoping I'll have time for a quick visit to the kitchen. Got me mouth all ready for one of them mince pies, I have. I haven't had me elevenses yet, and I'm feeling a bit peckish, if you know what I mean."