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CECILY’S BODY WOULD be shipped back to England, and the scheduled day dawned bright and sunny, just as every other day on the island had. The atmosphere dismayed Rosemary, who felt the drear and drizzle of London more appropriate weather to mourn the dead.
“This is an odd occasion. Should I be wearing a dress fit for a funeral? I didn’t bring anything suitably somber.” Vera assessed her wardrobe while Anna admired the black silk kimono Vera had been wearing the night before.
“And whose fault is that?” Rosemary said, somewhat sharply. “You took everything that would have been acceptable out of my case before we left. Would it have killed you to leave well enough alone?” She felt terrible as soon as the words left her lips, and even worse when Vera’s face fell.
“I’m sorry,” Rosemary said, sighing and touching her friend’s hand lightly. “I’m a bit distraught, and honestly, I don’t think Cecily would care what we wore, so long as we’re there to bid her goodbye.”
The response satisfied Vera, who patted Rosemary’s arm. “It’s all right, Rosie. I know how hard this must be on you, feeling as if you are obliged to accompany Cecily home, and yet needing to stay and solve the mystery.” She didn’t have to mention that ever since Andrew had passed away, every death of someone close to her affected Rosemary deeply, and that alone was enough to bring on a dreary mood.
Still, Vera thought, it had been two days now, and she’d have to find a way to shift Rosemary out of the doldrums before the sadness became a habit. She noticed Anna fingering the kimono and said gently, “You can borrow that if you like, though I’m not certain it’s appropriate for today.”
“Thank you, Miss Vera, it’s lovely,” Anna said, though the thought didn’t seem to cheer her.
“What’s the matter, dear?” Rosemary asked. “Are you nervous about today? You won’t have to see the body, you know.”
“Really?” she brightened.
“Really. It’s not a funeral, we’re just accompanying her coffin to the ship. You don’t have to go if you’d prefer not to.”
Anna considered. “I didn’t know Miss DeVant all that well, and to be honest, I’ve been dreading the thought. You won’t mind?”
“Of course not,” Rosemary said.
Anna thanked her and tottered off to her own room holding the prized kimono.
“You’re being quite lenient with her,” Vera commented, but Rosemary had already slipped into the loo to finish dressing. Under her breath, Vera muttered, “I do hope she’s being careful.”
A half-hour later, in the most somber outfits they could find, the two women descended to the reception area where Frederick and Desmond waited in silence. Rosemary gratefully took her brother’s outstretched arm and allowed him to lead her to the bus parked outside.
As more and more people lined the road to say goodbye, it became clear that during her short time in Cyprus, Cecily DeVant had touched a great many lives. Not only did all off-duty staff appear, but so did some of the guests, along with a host of people from the village who wished to pay their respects.
The ride back to the ship was somber, which would have infuriated the woman it was intended to honor. When Cecily’s coffin was carried belowdecks, Rosemary breathed a sigh of relief. The worst part was over; now came the memorial, which was to be held back at the hotel.
“Mrs. Lillywhite!” Gloria flagged Rosemary down as soon as she walked back into the lobby. “I have a telegram for you.” She handed over an envelope, which Rosemary pocketed after giving Frederick a pointed look.
“It’s from Mother and Father,” she said, to which he nodded. The foursome found a quiet corner and Rosemary ripped open the envelope and read the contents aloud.
“Devastated. Stop. Stay. Stop. Investigate. Stop. Love Mother. Stop.”
A woman of few words, Evelyn got her point across.
Frederick raised an eyebrow. “It seems they’re coming around, doesn’t it?” he asked. “Who would have thought Mother of all people would want you involved in a murder investigation?”
“I’m not surprised at all,” Vera replied. “I believe your mother is far more progressive than she’d like to admit.”
Coming from Vera, who had never got along well with Evelyn Woolridge, it was a high compliment.
Rosemary snorted. “I think you’re the first person to ever call our mother progressive, that’s for certain. At least we know they’re supporting us, though I imagine it’s more that Mother is grieving and angry.”
“Mother did always speak so highly of Cecily. I’m certain it was a blow to hear she’s gone,” Frederick agreed. “Now, let’s just get through this afternoon. I fear it’s going to be a long one.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Desmond and caused Rosemary’s hackles to rise.
“What are the two of you planning?” she asked, not certain if she really wanted to know the answer.
“None of your business, sister dear,” was all he would say on the subject. Desmond merely shrugged, but a smile played around his lips. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have some sleuthing to do.”
With that, he and Desmond took themselves off to chase down their own theory of the crime. Smiling wryly, Rosemary watched them go. With their heads together as they conspired, Desmond’s dark against Frederick’s fair color, they reminded her of the young boys she remembered so full of mischief.
Rosemary and Vera settled in to a table at the far corner of the lounge, one that boasted a vantage point that allowed them to observe the entire room and also make a hasty escape should one become necessary. Getting caught up in idle conversation with, say, one of the old biddies was not something either of the women wanted to endure. If Vera had to hear another word about rheumatism, her head would explode.
She peered at Richard Wright, who sat alone, his eyes on the door, watching like a hawk in much the same manner as Rosemary.
“You do realize, don’t you, that Cecily’s killer is among us at this very moment.” The quiver of anger in Rosemary’s voice sent a shiver over Vera’s skin. “And I haven’t a clue who it is.”
“If you ask me, it’s that Geneviève woman,” Vera said, glaring at the subject of her ire from across the room. It was an abrupt change from her previous conviction that Richard Wright was the culprit, and Rosemary had a feeling she knew exactly why the French fiancée was on Vera’s mind.
“Why? Because she’d have liked to take Freddie for a spin if he’d been willing?” Rosemary’s eyes traveled to where Geneviève sat alone, her eyes trained on something else entirely: Benjamin leaning down to talk with Charlotte, who sat at another table. He smiled that smile of his that made Rosemary sick to her stomach, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“Nothing of the sort,” Vera said indignantly, bringing Rosemary back to their conversation with a start. “Freddie is free to demean himself however he pleases. Why should I care if his tastes run to rhinestones instead of diamonds?”
Why indeed? Rosemary thought, but she let Vera think she was fooled. “I’m sorry this hasn’t been the holiday you expected. Days under the sun, nights of jazz and dancing. So much for romance on the Isle of Love.”
Vera heaved a sigh. “I can have romance every night of the bloody week if I want it. Have done, really.” Another sigh. “I think I’m getting old, Rosie. I’m losing my taste for the scandalous life. Living for the flutter and flash is losing its appeal.”
Sagely, Rosemary only nodded, for until Vera figured the truth out for herself, she’d bite the head off anyone who ventured to point out she might be ready to think about settling down.
“It’s these men today, Rosie, make no mistake. They’re merely boys playing at the game of—”
A commotion interrupted Vera mid-sentence. An angry male voice rose and drew everyone’s attention. Rosemary turned just in time to see Benjamin, back at his own table, slamming his fist down hard enough to make the cutlery jump. Geneviève started, and Rosemary watched in fascination as she smoothed the hint of fear from her face and replaced her expression with one of bored disinterest.
“I wonder what that was all about.” Vera slid her tumbler back and forth on the table.
Rosemary shrugged. “I only caught a word or two. Probably just a little touch of jealousy on Geneviève’s part, but I must admit I find it easier now to imagine him picking up a weapon and bashing Cecily over the head.”
“Speaking of,” Frederick said, appearing as if from nowhere and pulling out a chair. “Boothe says the murder weapon was probably a brass doorstop. You’ve seen them: they’re shaped like a pineapple, and there’s one in every room, so he’s got men going door to door looking for one with bloodstains on it. He’s certain he’s going to catch his killer within the hour.”
Tipping her glass, Rosemary sipped and hoped Frederick was right. She didn’t care who caught Cecily’s killer as long as justice was served.
Inspector Boothe stood alone near the lounge entrance, watching the gathering with flat, expressionless eyes. From time to time, one of his men would return with information, and from what Rosemary could tell, things weren’t going to plan. With each short conversation, Boothe’s brows furrowed a bit more.
“Where’s Des?” Vera noticed the absence first. It had been the three of them more often than four, so Rosemary hadn’t even thought of him. Whether that boded ill for their burgeoning relationship, or if she was simply distracted with grief, Rosemary wasn’t certain. What she did know was that she would not be rushed, and if Desmond couldn’t understand her position, that was answer enough.
“Stopped to talk to one of the constables,” Frederick explained. “Should be along once he’s finished pumping the fellow for inside information about the case.”
“No, no, no!” Another angry outburst near the kitchen door drew everyone’s attention to Benny. “This is all wrong. It’s all wrong.”
As best anyone could tell, since Benny capered in front of the buffet fairly blocking the view, someone had laid out the service differently than was Cecily’s preferred arrangement, and Benny wasn’t having it. His voice rose higher until Walter appeared and told him to hush up.
With a great deal of patience, Walter listened to Benny, whose face was flushed and sweaty in his earnest attempt to set things to rights. Rosemary found herself surprised by the patient way Walter calmed and diffused the situation.
Instead of chastising the younger man, he called one of the waitstaff over for a short conversation that resulted in the service being reset. Calmer now, Benny subsided and went off to do whatever it was that he did when there was no luggage to carry about.
Focused on Benny, Rosemary hadn’t noticed that Desmond had finally joined the group. When she turned back and his eye caught hers, she blushed and looked away. Eventually, she would have to smooth things over with Desmond, but now was not the time. Besides, Desmond had news.
“There’s been a theft of money. Boothe thinks he’s found the motive for Cecily’s death.”
“Do tell, old chap,” Frederick urged. “Sounds like we’re one up on the girls, eh?”
“I had it from one of the constables that the little maid told him a sum of money had gone missing from Cecily’s desk drawer a week, maybe two weeks back. Cecily called all the staff in, lined them up, and gave a speech.”
In triumph, Desmond snatched up Vera’s drink and drained it off before telling the rest of his story. “The upshot of it all was that she would let the matter lie for one week, and at the end of that time, if the money found its way back into the drawer, that would be the end of it.”
“And was it? The end, I mean. Did the money come back?” Vera wanted to know, but Desmond clammed up as Walter approached the table.
“I just wanted to apologize on Benny’s behalf. The boy is quite upset. He didn’t mean anything.”
Amid a chorus of reassurance that they’d suffered no ill will from the outburst, Walter asked after Anna. When Rosemary merely shrugged, he left to continue on his way towards the reception desk where he seemed to spend much of his time, flirting.
By then, Boothe had gone, and one of the guests started a trend by standing up to speak a few words about the dear departed. For the next hour, guests and staff alike shared memories and stories that Rosemary would take back to her mother to help assuage the grief, for they portrayed Cecily as a woman of many facets. One who was kind yet firm, strict yet willing to help anyone in need.
Tears flowed as freely as the booze at the bar, and the mood at the end was one of both joy and sadness, but then, Rosemary thought, life is like that on the best of days.
