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WITH PASSAGE OUT OF London booked for the weekend, it turned out Rosemary and company had no hope of exiting the city and embarking upon their long-awaited holiday. Instead, they spent Saturday being carefully watched by a nervous Wadsworth, until Rosemary had finally had enough. She slipped out somewhere around midday, hailed a cab, and found herself pulling up to Max’s mother’s cottage before she even realized that was where she’d directed the driver to take her.
In the few days since she’d first viewed the property—the few days that had seemed to last at least a month—the men Max had hired for the renovation had been busy. Some of the overgrown planting beds were now empty of weeds and filled with soil. Rosemary assumed Max had left them that way so that his mother could bring some of the flowers from her country home and replant them here. She appreciated the thoughtful sentiment and felt her heart warm to see Max was the type of man who would consider his mother’s feelings in ways both small and large.
Being Saturday, the workers were nowhere to be found, and the house was quiet. Rosemary almost asked the cab to turn around and take her home, but then remembered where the key was hidden. She paid her fare, and once the car had turned the corner, she circled around the back of the house, retrieved the key, and slid it into the lock. There was no denying she was overstepping boundaries, but Rosemary shrugged off the concern and entered anyway.
Inside, the transformation was even more pronounced. Rosemary spun around, goggling at the difference a few days of hard labor could make. Max had instructed the workers to whitewash the paneling, and that alone was enough to turn the front rooms from dark and drab to light and airy. The top portion of the walls had been covered with a muted, flowered paper in greens, pinks, and yellows, and the shelves Rosemary had proposed to surround the picture window had been installed. She could imagine what it would look like furnished and filled with potted plants.
The kitchen, which had been equally outdated as the sitting rooms, now featured a new icebox and range, but the farmhouse-style sink had been preserved and cleaned. Once the now-sanded floors gleamed under a fresh coat of varnish, the place would be nearly ready for Max’s mother to move in.
Rosemary was poised to wander down the corridor towards the bedrooms when a noise behind her had her nearly jumping out of her skin.
“I could arrest you for trespassing, you know,” Max said wryly as Rosemary whirled around to face him.
She blushed and stuttered, “I’m sorry, I know I’m intruding. I simply had to get out of the house for a while, and I ended up here. Everything looks wonderful.” She smiled and made Max’s heart melt; not much of a feat, considering it was already the consistency of warm chocolate just from seeing her there.
His feet felt rooted to the floor even though all he wanted to do was cross the distance between them and take her in his arms. The last time he had experienced the feeling, it hadn’t worked out the way he’d hoped, and so Max hung back, loathing himself for lacking the strength to act on his desires.
“You do seem to have a knack for being in places you shouldn’t,” he said instead.
Rosemary grinned. “I can assure you that your opinion is shared by my friends and my brother, though of course, Frederick was chomping at the bit to see a little action when we realized Abigail was in danger. What will happen to Marianna now?” she asked, her expression changing into one of consternation.
“She’s been admitted to the psychiatric ward, and I believe that’s where she’ll stay for a very long time. Most likely, she’ll be sentenced to death, which is no less than she deserves. Two counts of murder and one attempted.” Max shook his head.
“I simply can’t fathom what would drive a person to do such a thing.”
“That’s because you have a good heart, Rosemary. It’s not a condition all people share, unfortunately.” No, there weren’t many women like Rosemary, of that he was certain.
She ignored the compliment even though it brought the color back to her cheeks. “You’ve done a lovely job here, Max. Your mother will be pleased, won’t she?”
“Yes, it would be lovely if she were,” he sighed, “however, I’m not positive it will be enough to soften the blow of losing the cottage garden and all the memories of Father. Life doesn’t always seem fair, does it?”
“No, it certainly doesn’t,” Rosemary agreed. “You’re thinking about having to leave London, aren’t you? And just as your mother arrives. The timing is unfortunate.”
Max thought that unfortunate timing was and would always be a thorn in his side. “Come on, why don’t you let me take you home?” he said, afraid being alone in a room with her for too much longer might altogether dissolve his resolve to keep things between them platonic.
“All right, Rosie, spill,” Vera demanded once the pair were settled into Rosemary’s bedroom that evening. She’d managed to ply her friend with cocktails in the hopes of gleaning some details of Rosemary’s afternoon spent with Max. “You didn’t leave with Max, but you returned home with him. How did that happen?”
Vera looked as though she was on the proverbial edge of her seat, and if she hadn’t just been to the hairdresser for a trim and a manicure, she might have bitten her nails down to the quick.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Rosemary said, hiding a tiny smile.
“You might be able to act well enough to wrestle information out of a suspect, but I’ve known you far too long, Rosie dear, and I can tell when you’re lying. Now, out with it.”
Rosemary grinned and flipped over onto her stomach with her feet in the air. She felt like a teenager, and not only because Vera’s presence reminded her of simpler times.
“All right, fine. You’re going to get it out of me eventually. It might as well be on my own terms. There’s something about Max that makes me feel as though everything is going to be all right. He’s thoughtful and caring, and even when he’s doing his annoying best to protect me, I know it isn’t because he believes I’m incapable like most men do. He gives me the butterflies, I’ll admit.”
“I knew it!” Vera exclaimed, having had her suspicions confirmed.
“No! That’s the problem. It can never be. Even if I were ready to think about another man—which I’m not, by the way—it can’t be Max. He would be a reminder of Andrew, always.”
Vera sighed. It wasn’t as though she couldn’t understand Rosemary’s trepidation. In fact, she knew exactly how her friend felt. Lionel, her first true love, had been Rosemary’s brother, and when he’d died, there was a part of her which never wanted to lay eyes on any of the Woolridges again—particularly Frederick, who looked so much like Lionel it made her heart hurt.
“You were with Andrew for how many years, Rosie?” she asked, quietly and carefully, hoping to avoid a land mine of emotion. “Five?”
“You know you’re right, Vera.”
“And how many more years do you expect to live? A good many, I presume,” Vera continued.
“Yes, Vera,” Rosemary agreed. “I see where you’re going.”
“You will move on, I promise.” Vera had no hard evidence to back up the statement but kept holding on to the adage that time heals all wounds. “Most likely, when you least expect it,” she murmured thoughtfully.
Rosemary fell asleep wondering if Desmond had been right about Vera’s attraction to Frederick all along. Unfortunately, her dreams included Max as well as Andrew, the two of them dueling for her affections. Finally, just as the sun was coming up, she decided she wasn’t going to get another wink of sleep anyway and rose to prowl through the silent and peaceful house.
Finding Desmond also up and about only added to her confusion. Here was a man whom she had adored as a child and fantasized about as a teenager. A man who had only been upstaged by the love of her life, and who now appeared to hold some fondness for her. It was precisely what she’d wanted all those years ago.
Except now, she was conflicted by her feelings for Max. To have gone from entirely closed to the prospect of new love to having two men vying for her affection had thrown Rosemary. She needed more time to figure out what she was feeling, and yet everything was happening so fast it made her head spin. Shaking her head to dislodge the heavy thoughts, she turned to Desmond and pasted a smile on her face.
“Good morning, Des,” Rosemary said cheerily. “I thought I was the only one who couldn’t sleep.”
“I slept perfectly fine, thank you. I have always been an early riser. I only need about four hours of sleep to feel rested,” he replied. “Plus, this way I don’t have to fight anyone for the Sunday paper.”
She held her hands up in surrender. “It’s all yours.”
While Desmond went to the front doorstep to fetch the paper, Rosemary retreated to the kitchen to fix a pot of tea. When she came back into the dining room with a full tray, it was to find Desmond standing there with his eyes glued to the front page. “Rose,” he said, his voice filled with concern. “Look at this.”
Setting the tray down, she strode over to him and peered over his shoulder. There on the front page, was another article regarding the killer dentist on Park Road. The byline read ‘Story by Nathan Grint’, and had Rosemary fuming.
“This is outrageous,” she said, grabbing the paper from Desmond’s hands and nearly tearing it to bits in the process. “Dr. Redberry has been exonerated for the murder of Claude Segal, the man found dead in his chair earlier this week,” Rosemary read. “Thanks to his nurse, who confessed to the crime after being arrested on Friday evening. Sources state that Marianna Lancaster, alias Polly Calahan, also confessed her undying love for Dr. Redberry and that she committed the crime to protect the dentist.”
Rosemary threw the paper onto the table and began to rant. “What sources is he talking about? We were the only ones there, and none of us would give Nathan Grint the time of day, much less an exclusive.” She picked it back up and continued reading. “According to the London branch of the CID, Claude Segal had agreed to come forward as a witness against Martin Redberry, accusing him of running an illegal gambling ring in the city’s underbelly.”
“Whoever leaked this information is trying to pin Claude Segal’s crimes on Martin, and they’re also connected with the police. We need to call Max.”
Desmond steamed up at the mention of the inspector, as he’d had just about enough of Max Whittington to last a lifetime. He couldn’t deny that Rosemary was right, so he pushed his jealousy aside and nodded in agreement.
“What’s the commotion?” a disheveled Frederick asked, entering the dining room ahead of a sleepy-lookingVera and pouring himself a cup of tea while waiting for an answer to his question.
Rosemary and Desmond filled them both in and handed the paper around. “Someone wants Martin to take the fall for Claude Segal’s gambling ring, and Nathan Grint is the one who wrote the story.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Frederick commented between sips. “That man is a snake if I ever saw one. The way he ogled Rosemary, I wanted to punch him square in the face. Although, based on what she did to Martin the other day, my sister can probably take care of herself well enough.”
“This isn’t funny, Freddie. We agreed to help the Redberrys, even putting off our holiday to do so. And now it seems we’ve done more harm than good. If we had just kept our noses out of it, eventually things would have died down.”
“Except,” Vera interjected, “there would be a murderous psychopath working next door, and Abigail would be dead.”
Rosemary couldn’t deny that was true and decided it was best not to dwell on what might have been. “The article goes on to state that the police are investigating Martin, and to assure the public that he will be held accountable for his crimes. We’re going to have a lynch mob on our hands if we don’t do something, quickly.”
“Then that’s exactly what we’ll do,” Vera declared.
