Baxter reached the door of the office and paused. “I wanted you to hear their story.”
Cecily looked at him in bewilderment. “To hear whose story?”
His face seemed carved in stone and she realized that anger seethed behind that stoic mask. “Those blasted waiters you hired. I wanted you to hear their explanation.”
Still fumbling in the dark, Cecily waited for him to open the door, then walked into the room.
Kevin Prestwick sat with one hip perched on the edge of Cecily’s desk. He gave her a faint smile of apology. “Sorry about this, Cecily. Baxter thought you should be here.”
Sprawled on the two chairs, Reggie and Lawrence looked up at her with identical expressions of bored indifference.
“On your feet, both of you!” Baxter roared. “Have you no manners?”
Both men got lazily to their feet and moved to the wall, where they leaned their backs, their arms folded across their chests.
They really do look remarkably alike, Cecily thought. Another part of her mind wondered what they could have done to arouse Baxter’s wrath and why he was so insistent on her hearing about it from them.
Having closed the door, Baxter advanced on the two men. “I want you to tell Mrs. Baxter exactly what you were doing when Prestwick and I met up with you just now.”
The men exchanged sheepish glances, but neither of them answered.
“You have exactly ten seconds,” Baxter said pleasantly, “before I start pounding the words out of you both.”
Cecily made a small sound of protest, which Baxter ignored. Instead he started counting to ten.
Cecily glanced at Prestwick, who looked extremely worried. And so he should. Having seen Baxter’s temper at its worst, Cecily knew quite well what her husband was capable of doing to those two men if they didn’t respond.
Fortunately for them, Reggie spoke up. “We were removing the grandfather clock from the lobby,” he said sullenly.
Cecily gasped. “That clock has been in my family for generations. It’s in a very delicate state. If anything has happened to it I shall be devastated.”
“Fortunately for these two,” Baxter said grimly, “the clock appears to be unharmed.”
Cecily let out a sigh of relief. “Why?” she demanded. “Why did you do this? Am I correct in assuming you were responsible for everything else that was transferred from its rightful place?”
“Including expensive armchairs that were damaged by the mud,” Baxter put in.
Reggie glanced at his brother. “We were paid to do it,” he said, when Lawrence merely shrugged.
“By whom?”
“Lester Hardcastle.”
Cecily looked at Baxter for help, but he shook his head, apparently as confused as she was.
“Who in damnation is Lester Hardcastle?” he demanded.
“He owns the Bayview, across the downs.”
“Good Lord.” Cecily sat down on one of the vacated chairs. “He was trying to shut down the competition.”
“It wasn’t our fault,” Lawrence said, speaking for the first time. “It was our job. Lester said to make it seem that the hotel was haunted, so we started moving things around and spreading rumors about ghosts.”
Cecily stared at him. “Were you also responsible for dangling that scarecrow over the balcony seats?”
Lawrence nodded, actually having the audacity to smile. “That was Reggie’s idea. You see, we heard them talking in the kitchen about a clown ghost. So we decided to make our own clown ghost, just to help things along and make it seem real. We fixed up a rope over the chandelier, then Reggie went down to the ballroom to make sure everyone noticed it, while I tugged on the rope and made it look like it was floating.” He nudged his brother in the side. “Clever, that.”
“I’ll give you blasted clever, you hooligans!” Baxter yelled, raising his fist.
Lawrence pressed back against the wall.
“We were only following orders,” Reggie said, with a nervous glance at his brother. “We didn’t mean any real harm.”
“Except for trying to frighten our guests into leaving and destroying our business, you mean?” Cecily shook her head. “How could you. I consider the people who work for me to be part of my family. I trusted you both enough to include you in that circle. I’m deeply hurt and disappointed that you betrayed me in this despicable manner.”
The two men looked at each other. “Sorry,” Lawrence mumbled.
“You will be sorry by the time I’ve finished with you,” Baxter said, taking a step toward them.
Both men shrank even farther back in alarm.
“Baxter.” Cecily got to her feet. “As they said, no real harm has been done. If we find any damage, of course, then we shall expect reimbursement from you both. As for now, you are free to go.”
The relief on the two men’s faces almost made her smile. “I want you to give Mr. Hardcastle a message,” she added.
Lawrence nodded. “Anything you say, Mrs. Baxter.”
“I want you to tell your employer that his nasty little plan was doomed to fail from the start. The Pennyfoot’s guests are loyal to the core, and are not easily hoodwinked.”
Again Lawrence nodded. “Yes, m’m.”
“I don’t know what sort of people frequent the Bayview,” Cecily continued. “But unless Mr. Hardcastle puts his energies into creating a hotel in keeping with our envious reputation, instead of trying to ruin his competition, he will lose all of his guests to the Pennyfoot eventually. I can promise him that.”
“Thank you, m’m.” Lawrence glanced at Baxter. “No hard feelings, I hope, sir?”
Baxter’s mouth thinned. “Get out of here before I thrash you both.”
Reggie hurried to the door with Lawrence hot on his heels. Just before the door closed, Lawrence stuck his head around it. “I can tell you one thing,” he said, “we thought there really was a ghost when we saw that clown hanging around. We’re not the only ones who are causing trouble in this hotel.”
He started to withdraw his head, until Cecily called out sharply, “Just a minute! Where did you see this clown?”
Lawrence thought for a moment. “On the first floor. Outside room number twelve. He had his hand up to knock on the door, but then when he saw us, he ran off.”
“When was this?”
“This morning. First thing. We didn’t think anyone was up, yet. Gave us both a shock, I can tell you.”
Cecily stared at him. “Thank you, Lawrence.”
The young man lifted his hand in a salute then closed the door.
“That must have been Barlow,” Baxter said. “Room twelve.” He leaned over the desk and flipped open the register. His voice rose in surprise. “That’s Jeremy Westhaven’s room.”
Cecily moved over to the desk and started searching through a pile of invoices.
Kevin jumped to his feet. “We’d better get that body out of here before people start moving around.”
“Just a minute.” Cecily found what she was looking for and pounced on the newspaper cutting. She scanned the lines while the two men watched her, both of them obviously impatient.
“Ah, here it is.” She read it through twice, then lifted her head. “Felicity Rotheringham left a note for Mr. Westhaven, explaining that her innocence had been stolen in an attack by the Balloon Man while walking on the sands late at night. She couldn’t face the shame. That was the reason she took her own life.”
“Great heavens,” Baxter muttered. “I’d forgotten that part. I knew it had something to do with balloons.”
“There may be more than one man selling balloons on the sands,” Cecily said quietly. “But only one, as far as I know, who was stabbed to death.”
“Sid Porter.” Baxter looked dazed. “So that’s why Westhaven came down here. Not to mourn his lost love, but to avenge her death.”
“Well, we don’t know anything for certain, of course. I remember Gertie saying Mr. Westhaven hated balloons, but that doesn’t make him a killer.” Cecily moved to the door. “It does make him a viable suspect with a strong motive, however. The fact that Mr. Barlow apparently intended to visit him this morning also implicates him. I think I should have a word with Mr. Westhaven right away.”
“Not without me.” Baxter moved quickly to her side.
“You have a body to remove,” Cecily told him. “That can’t wait any longer. At the moment I just want to make sure Mr. Westhaven hasn’t left the hotel. If he has, we shall have to refer him to the inspector. On the other hand, if he has stayed to avoid arousing suspicion, we can both confront him in the morning.”
“Very well.” Baxter narrowed his eyes. “I must ask for your promise, Cecily, that you won’t attempt to question the man tonight.”
“You have it.” She shivered. “Rest assured, I have no desire to be alone with a man who has no reservations about taking so many lives.”
“Right. Then come along, Prestwick. Let’s get that body out of here while we can be reasonably sure no one will see us.” Baxter opened the door for Cecily to pass through.
“You go along,” she told him. “I want to read this article again.”
He gave her one long look of warning then left with Kevin.
She read through the account again of Felicity’s tragic death then folded the paper and tucked it in the pocket of her skirt. Now that she had time to think about it, Jeremy Westhaven seemed the logical suspect for the murders. He certainly had a strong motive—revenge on the man who had destroyed his intended wife’s life.
She had only one reservation—the improbable connection between Jeremy and Ned Barlow. They certainly didn’t move in the same circles. So how would Ned Barlow suspect Jeremy of Sid’s murder?
That was something she’d have to work out later, she decided. Right now it was important to find out if her suspect remained in the hotel.
After pocketing the spare ring of room keys, she left the office and hurried back to the library. Most people’s attention was on the quartet, who was playing a spirited version of “We Three Kings,” gamely accompanied by several discordant voices.
A quick glance around assured her that Jeremy Westhaven was not present, and she closed the door. After searching the lounge and bar without seeing him, she came to the conclusion that he had retired to his room.
Crossing the empty lobby, she noted that Philip had also retired for the night. Voices of the singers echoed up the stairs as she climbed them to the first floor.
She rehearsed the excuse she would use when Jeremy opened the door. She would inquire after his health, since he hadn’t attended the ceremony in the library, and would ask him if he needed anything brought up from the kitchen.
After tapping several times without a response, she felt secure enough to unlock the door and open it. One peek should be sufficient to know if he had left the room permanently.
Slowly she pushed the door open, braced to close it again should she see him asleep on his bed. Unable to see anything in the darkened room, she ventured farther inside. Light from the gas lamps in the hallway spilled far enough for her to see the dresser strewn with toilet articles—a comb, a brush, a razor. Evidently Mr. Westhaven had not left the hotel.
Opening the door wider, she saw the bed still neatly made up. The room was empty. She was about to close the door again when an idea occurred to her. As long as she was in his room, she might as well take advantage of his absence and make a swift search. Just in case she could find something incriminating that would hasten the inspector’s investigation.
Quickly she made her way to the dresser and reached for the matchbox. Fumbling in the dark, she found a match and struck it, then removed the cover of the gas lamp. She touched the flame to the wick, and soft light flooded the room.
She started with the dresser drawers but could find nothing that might connect Jeremy to any of the dead men. She had the same lack of success with the wardrobe, and the empty suitcases stacked beside it.
Quickly she crossed the room to the bed and opened the drawer of the small chest. The garish cover of a penny dreadful depicting a knife dripping with blood stared up at her. She picked it up and flipped through the pages. Apparently Jeremy Westhaven had a taste for tawdry crime novels.
Putting the book back again she closed the drawer. Unfortunately, if Ned Barlow had been killed early that morning, the maids would have cleaned the room.
She gazed thoughtfully at the bed. Of course, since the occupant of the room intended to be there for a few more days, the maid would not have been as diligent as she might have been had the room been prepared for a new guest.
Throwing back the eiderdown, Cecily dropped to her knees, lowered the lamp and peered underneath the bed. The flickering light glinted on something shiny on the far side. Grunting with the exertion, she rose and walked to the other side of the bed.
Once more she knelt down and peered underneath. Stretching out her hand, her fingers closed around the small round shiny object. She heard a faint tinkling as she drew it toward her and her pulse leapt in anticipation.
Standing up, she held the lamp so that the light fell across her open palm. Sitting in the middle of it was a tiny bell. Just like the bells on Ned Barlow’s clown suit.
Gertie hated it whenever she had to go down to the wine cellar at night. The damp cold chilled her bones, and the cobwebs clung to her face if she didn’t look where she was going. She had to light a lamp to see down there, and the shadows bounced all over the walls, like someone was creeping after her.
Tonight, for some reason, she felt even more fearful than usual. If it had been anyone else other than Jeremy Westhaven wanting a bottle of wine, she’d have told him the wine cellar was closed for the night.
She wished now she’d told Jeremy that. He’d had too much to drink, anyway. Still, he did say he would drink it in his room so he could just lie down and sleep it off. That made her feel a little better.
She crossed the courtyard, shivering as the cold wind whipped around her shoulders. She should be in the warm library now, by the fire, enjoying all the food and drinks. Christmas was the only time the staff was allowed to mingle with the guests. Then again, if Jeremy wasn’t going to be there, she didn’t mind if she went or not. She had no voice for singing. It would be nice to hear Doris sing again, though.
Thinking about the singer brought back memories of the days when Doris and Daisy were maids at the Pennyfoot. Gertie smiled to herself as she paused in front of the cellar door. Doris was such a cowardly thing, no one would have dreamed she’d end up on the stage.
Thrusting the key in the padlock, Gertie gave it a turn. She had to wriggle it about a bit before the dratted thing turned and the lock snapped open. Reaching inside, she lifted the lamp from its hook on the wall and fished in her pocket for the matches.
The wind blew the first one out, and she stepped inside the door for shelter as she lit another match. This time the wick caught and held, sending a shaft of light down the narrow cellar stairs.
Holding the lamp high, Gertie began inching down, feeling for each step with her foot. She’d fallen down there once and made sure to be careful ever since.
She let out her breath in relief when she reached the floor. The racks of wine spread out all around her, the bottles lying on their sides. The Beaujolais was on the right, at the back of the cellar. She started forward, her nerves jumping as the shadows danced along the wall beside her.
She just hoped Jeremy Westhaven would be happy she’d gone to all this trouble for him. Not that he’d notice that much, seeing as how he was halfway drunk.
She shivered again, remembering the strange look in his eyes when he’d said those weird words. She’d been talking about the nasty things that had been happening that week. What with Roland dying and Father Christmas and then the clown. What was it Jeremy had said? Three poor souls on a dead man’s chest.
It reminded her of something she’d read somewhere, only it wasn’t three souls. Yes, that was it. It was fifteen men. Not three.
She tried to ignore the buzz of warning in her head as she hunted for the Beaujoulais. There had been three murders. But Jeremy couldn’t have known that. Ah, there was the Beaujolais. Thank goodness. Now get it and bloody get out of there.
As she reached for it, Jeremy’s words repeated in her head. Three poor souls on a dead man’s chest. But he couldn’t have been talking about the murders. Not unless he’d seen the clown for himself.
She straightened up, the bottle in her hand. As she did so, one of the shadows detached itself from the wall and moved toward her. As she stared into Jeremy Westhaven’s glittering eyes, she suddenly realized how he knew there were three dead bodies.