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ONCE IN THE ENTRANCE hall, Vera stamped her foot. “Rosemary Esther Lillywhite, what in heaven’s name has come over you?” she demanded. “You’re acting certifiably insane!”
“Father just gave me a signal. I think he knows more than he’s letting on because I’m getting the distinct impression he wants us to listen in on his and Mother’s interrogation. Well, interrogation might not be the most apt description, but you know what I mean! Follow me.” Rosemary didn’t have to pull Vera along anymore; the prospect quite intrigued her.
“What makes you think he wants you to eavesdrop?” Vera asked.
“Because don't you remember when we were children, one of his favorite misquotes trotted out whenever we hid in dark corners? Something about prying ears being one of the devil’s playthings. He knows he will likely remember only a quarter of what Max says, and I believe he’s more aware of my crime-solving history than he has ever let on. Just call it intuition, if you must, but I want to know exactly what’s being said behind that door and, what's more, how it’s being said. I may believe Max Whittington’s intentions are noble, but I have been wrong before.” Rosemary waited a beat. “On occasion.”
That said, she marched into the parlor, which was situated directly below her father’s study, closed the door, and grabbed a chair. “Help me move this. Quickly,” she implored Vera.
Once she had positioned the chair where she wanted it, Rosemary kicked off her shoes, climbed onto the seat, and reached up to slowly open the air grate that connected to a spot underneath her father’s desk. Max’s voice drifted down, quiet but still audible enough for the pair to hear the conversation.
“—your son, Frederick.” She heard him say, and her blood ran cold as ice.
“You cannot possibly believe Frederick had anything to do with this. He barely knows the Bartons, and he doesn’t have a connection with the dead man.” Cecil Woolridge spoke the words Rosemary knew both he and her mother were thinking.
“I have a witness that puts him in the proximity of the crime around the time it occurred,” Max replied on a sigh. A sigh that told Rosemary he would rather be anywhere else, talking to anyone else, and she softened towards him infinitesimally.
“My personal feelings aside, I must follow through with every available lead. Please understand Frederick is not the only suspect, and there’s only circumstantial evidence against him. All that must happen now is for me to talk with your son. I promise to do my due diligence and not jump to any conclusions as long as you all cooperate. Do you know where he is?”
Mr. Woolridge cleared his throat loudly. “We will pass the message along to Frederick, and I am sure he will contact you as soon as he’s able. Is there anything else?” Rosemary couldn’t imagine Max hadn’t noticed that her father didn’t answer his question regarding Frederick’s whereabouts, but he didn’t press the issue.
“Yes, actually. It’s come to my attention that you invested or had an intent to invest in one of Mr. Barton’s business ventures. Can you tell me anything about that?”
“Of course, of course. I laid down a small amount of money to Mr. Barton as a show of good faith. In fact, Mr. Cuthburt was the one who convinced me Barton & Co. was a sound investment. As yet, however, I have been ill-inclined to invest further,” Cecil said succinctly.
Max paused, “And may I inquire as to the reason for your caution?”
“There have been rumors that the business is not entirely on the up-and-up. As such, I felt it pertinent to weigh my options and gather more information before committing any further funds,” Mr. Woolridge explained.
“Hmm, very astute of you,” Max said. “One can’t be too careful, especially considering recent circumstances. Keeping distance between yourself and the Bartons would serve you well at this juncture.”
“So it seems,” Mr. Woolridge said thoughtfully.
The sound of a chair being pushed back alerted Rosemary that the conversation was quickly coming to a close. “One more thing,” Max said. “Did either of you notice anything unusual concerning Grace Barton last night at the party? Were you aware of her absence during the window of time between eleven-thirty and midnight?”
This time it was Mrs. Woolridge who answered. “I saw her step out onto the balcony after Mr. Cuthburt’s speech and reenter with Rosemary a short time later. After that, the antics of Lorraine Blackburn distracted me, and I did not notice Grace’s movements. I doubt my husband will have paid much attention. His mind has a tendency to wander.”
“My wife is correct. I’m afraid I was pulled into a long conversation regarding golf and then waylaid by Mr. Abbot, who waxed lyrical about his recent art acquisition for close to an hour. I managed to extricate myself when he said he needed to attend to a personal medical matter.”
“All right then, Mr. and Mrs. Woolridge. Thank you for your time,” Max said sincerely. Rosemary heard him walking towards the door and climbed down from the chair upon which she was perched.
Vera and Rosemary exited the parlor just as Mr. Woolridge led Max back down the stairs to the entrance hall. The knowing look her father gave her assured her she had been correct in the assumption that his intention had been for her to listen through the grate.
“If you have any more questions, please do not hesitate to return, Inspector,” Mr. Woolridge said, clapping Max on the back. “The sooner you and your men can clear up this mess, the better.”
“I agree, sir,” Max said. He nodded to Mrs. Woolridge and waited for them to return to the dining room before turning to Rosemary. “I would like a private moment before I take my leave if you don’t object.”
“No objections here,” Vera answered for Rosemary while she waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Fortunately, her back was to Max, and he didn’t witness the gesture. “Anyway, I think I need another slice of toast. Ta-ta.”
