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“WHAT ARE YOU DOING here, Max? Have you taken on a sudden yearning to settle in the country?” Of anyone she knew, Max would be the last person she might expect to leave London for the simpler life.
His laugh rolled out rich and deep. “Never. I’ve only come on a temporary basis while the local inspector takes a short leave of absence. It’s a matter of sheer luck to run into you in such an unlikely place.”
Sobering, Max dipped his head. “How have you been getting along, Rose?”
Eyes boring into hers as if to discern whether she offered complete honesty, he shifted from one foot to the other. He would have liked to take her into his arms and offer whatever comfort he could, but could not seem to command his body to cooperate with his wishes.
Rosemary sincerely wished people would stop asking her how she was doing, and if it had been anyone else, she might have given the standard, rehearsed answer. But this was Max, and so she told the truth.
“In some ways, I’m feeling a bit better. In others, a bit worse. I think that’s just how these things work, don’t you?”
Max nodded in agreement. “Yes, I believe you’ve hit the nail directly on the head, as usual.” He sat down on one of the sofas and Rosemary followed suit. “Now, tell me why you’re here and exactly what happened. All the details you can remember, you never know—”
“What might be important. Yes, I understand how these things work,” Rosemary cut in wryly. “I may as well start at the beginning.” She explained yet again how Grace had found the death threat in Mr. Barton’s study, but did not divulge that Grace had been seeking out Andrew in his professional capacity when she’d arrived at Rosemary’s townhouse. It was true she had known Grace from school, and allowing Max to believe she had merely been helping out a friend was a lot less dangerous than letting him know she’d intended to play the role of sleuth.
“I couldn’t turn down someone in such need, and so I enlisted Vera’s help, and traveled to Pardington to see if there was any merit in Grace’s concerns. You would have been my first call if I had discovered any solid evidence. But then, we found Mr. Cuthburt—” Rosemary realized she’d been rambling and cut herself short.
“That’s a fascinating story, Rose, and though I wish you had called upon me immediately, I’m glad you were at the scene. At least I know I’ll get one truthful account of the goings-on here. Please, continue.” Max looked as though he wanted to say more, but continued jotting things down in the little notebook he’d pulled from his breast pocket.
To cover a moment of chagrin over offering a mildly deceptive story, Rosemary stood, crossed the room to the drinks trolley in the corner, and poured herself a brandy. “Would you like something?” she asked, feeling no remorse for helping herself, considering the circumstances.
Max shook his head. “On duty.”
“Of course.”
Sticking to the salient points, Rosemary launched into her recital. “Vera and I arrived at about eight thirty. The victim—Mr. Cuthburt—exited from a room leading into the entrance hall. He and the butler, Geoffrey, exchanged words, and then we were ushered into the ballroom. Grace introduced us to several people, including Mr. and Mrs. Barton. I can’t say Mr. Barton made the most favorable impression on me, and just between the two of us, the possibility of him having enemies came as no shock after meeting him.”
Allowing her disdain for the man to show did not mean she wished him to die.
While he continued to take notes, she told Max about the people she had met: Mrs. Barton, who held the unenviable title of wife to Grace’s father; Arthur Abbot, who had been an insufferable bore, but overall quite jolly; the beautiful and enigmatic Marjorie Ainsworth, with her sights set on Teddy and then Frederick; and finally, Herbert Lock—a man who Rosemary confessed she disliked even more than Mr. Barton.
“There was violence in him, Max. Truly, there is another side to that simpering excuse for a man. One who would not hesitate to lay his hands on Grace, or any other woman, I assume. Unfortunately, he also wanted Mr. Barton’s money, and as far as I’m concerned, that puts him out of the running as a viable suspect.” Rosemary had to admit it would be nice and tidy if Herbert Lock were the murderer, but she couldn't see him killing the fatted calf.
Max raised an eyebrow. “Explain your reasoning, won’t you?”
“Obviously, him killing Mr. Barton would put paid to his plans entirely. Anyone with eyes can see Grace doesn’t want to marry Herbert, but she would out of a sense of duty to her father.”
Lifting the glass, Rosemary let another sip of the smooth brandy slide down and warm her insides.
“Only after the marriage, perhaps, would it have been beneficial to have Mr. Barton out of the picture, but not before. Granted, I do not take Herbert for the most intelligent chap, but he’s been duplicitous enough to convince Mr. Barton to consider letting him marry his daughter when more suitable men have vied for the privilege, so he must have more than just fluff between his ears.”
A frown marred his brow as Max considered all the information Rosemary had given him.
“All this and you’ve only been in the house for a matter of hours.” He shook his head, but a small grin played across his lips. “I can’t say I like the idea of you being involved in a murder, but you do have a knack for ferreting out the deepest and darkest secrets.”
After Andrew had given up his post as inspector, he had regaled Max with tales from private practice, many of them centered around Rosemary’s deductive skills. Looking at his notes, Max concluded Andrew had not exaggerated when he’d extolled the virtues of his wife.
Rosemary dismissed the praise. “It’s merely a matter of being observant.”
Shrewd as she might be, Max’s conscience would not allow the wife of a good friend to stand in the path of danger.
“Rosemary, I appreciate your insights into the matter, but I have to ask you to take a step back and let me handle the case from here on in.”
When she didn’t answer, Max continued, “You were at the scene of the crime, as were several members of your family. My job will require me to question everyone, and until I can clear them from the suspect pool, they will be under investigation the same as everyone else involved.”
He cleared his throat and offered an apology. “Despite our personal connection, or rather because of it, I can’t be seen to play favorites.”
“Nor would I expect you to.” Rosemary allowed the slightest chill to enter her tone. “Do your worst; my family will stand the test.”
The breadth and depth of Max’s feelings towards her, should Rosemary have been allowed to know them, would have shocked her senseless. Bringing up the matter felt too much like picking at an open wound, and he would rather reach his bare hands into a pot of boiling water than cause her any more pain than she had already endured.
“Max,” Rosemary said, mimicking his earlier tone, “I appreciate your concern, but I am already involved, and if you think for one second I have any intention of walking away from this case while my family is under scrutiny, you are sorely mistaken. Now, I still have the rest of my official statement to give, so I suggest we adjourn to the scene of the murder where I will show you exactly how we found the body.”
As far as Max was concerned, the conversation was far from over, but he clamped his jaw shut and followed Rosemary to the door without another word.
