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“MAX!” VERA SHOUTED while Rosemary gaped at the man standing in front of her. His presence in Cyprus was so unexpected she was struck dumb. Her heart thumped in her chest, and all the feelings she’d been pushing down came back to bubble up into her throat. “What are you doing here?” Vera demanded.
“I heard you’d landed yourselves some more trouble.” It sounded like a reprimand without any real heat behind it. His eyes remained locked on Rosemary’s. “I didn’t realize it had come to fisticuffs. Arguing over a man, it sounded like.”
His gaze flicked between Rosemary and Desmond, a neutral expression hiding the angst beneath. He’d worried her affections would be won during the trip out of London, and now it looked as if his worst fear might have come true.
To Rosemary, it appeared as though he couldn’t care less, and her heart sank unexpectedly. Vera probably would have seen behind Max’s mask if she hadn’t been busy watching Frederick’s reaction to his comment. Frederick, in turn, avoided her gaze along with his feelings. All five of them were drowning in subtext, including Desmond, who was the only one not thrilled about Detective Inspector Maximilian Whittington’s arrival in Cyprus.
Finally, Vera came to her senses and answered Max’s open-ended question. “That woman has been fawning all over every man who crosses her path, and she’s engaged to a man even more promiscuous than she is. It’s despicable. I simply put her in her place.”
It hadn’t looked simple to Max, and he also noted that the woman to whom Vera referred had managed to get in a few jabs of her own. “Rose,” he said, looking at her expectantly, as she’d yet to utter a word.
“I’m just so shocked to see you here,” she said, finally recovering her sensibilities. “It’s wonderful, really.” She gave him a somewhat awkward kiss on the cheek and then resorted to small talk. “What room are you staying in?”
“A few down from Frederick and Desmond, according to the receptionist,” Max replied. “Would you like to get a drink and have a chat before we all retire for the evening?”
Rosemary agreed, ignored the brow wiggle Vera aimed in her direction, and followed him into the lounge after bidding goodnight to her brother and a sullen Desmond.
Once Rosemary and Max settled in to a dimly lit corner table, the tension began to drain away, allowing the pair to return to their normal rhythm.
“Are you all right?” Max asked now that they were alone.
With a nod and a sigh, Rosemary replied, “I’m fine, but trouble and tragedy seem to follow me everywhere lately. This time, it happened to someone I actually knew and cared about. Cecily was a wonderful woman and a great friend to my mother. It’s more than a pity. It’s an injustice I intend to rectify.” Her jaw set determinedly, turning her face into a fierce mask that Max couldn’t help but admire.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Rose. I got on the train as soon as I received word from the local police.”
“And your mother? Is she angry that you left just as she was moving into her flat?” She’d met Max’s mother once before and come away with the distinct impression the woman didn’t care for her. She could only imagine what Mrs. Whittington would think about her son running off to Cyprus to her aid.
Max kept his face neutral. “Mother is just fine, especially considering she’s currently on a trip with a group of her lady friends. She didn’t spend more than two nights in her new home before running off to Bath. It seems she has embraced her retirement and is taking to the waters for her health. That is a direct quote.”
“I suppose she knows what’s best,” Rosemary smiled.
“What is your take on this murder? Do you have a suspect?” Max asked.
Rosemary scrunched her nose and said, “Several. That’s the problem. Very few of her employees cared for Cecily, and they all seem to have cause to want her out of the picture. I’ve got a line on a couple of the guests; a man named Richard Wright, who has been pushing for her to persuade the owners of the hotel to sell. I certainly wouldn’t put it past him to resort to violence, but all I’ve seen him do so far is make petty complaints and issue empty threats.”
Max nodded as if he knew the type.
“Then there’s the woman Vera just put in her place. She also seems to have detested Cecily, though for what reason I’m not certain. Geneviève Chevalier is engaged to a man named Benjamin Marlowe, and he’s a shady character if I ever met one. What either of their motives might be, I haven’t a clue. There’s very little hard evidence pointing in any definitive direction, save the threatening letters we found in Cecily’s handbag.” Rosemary explained what the letters contained while Max listened. “They were typed with no signature, and I’ve been unable to track down the machine on which they were made. Basically, I’m at a dead end.”
“You look exhausted.” Max rubbed at his chin, and Rosemary heard the scrape of whiskers against his fingers. She looked at him more closely and saw the fatigue that hovered over his own features even as he worried about her.
“Dear Max, that is surely a case of the pot calling out the kettle on account of its color. You look like you haven’t slept for days.”
“The fastest way from London is to travel with freight, or as freight, I suppose. Not much luxury to be had, but plenty of speed. I don’t know if I’ve caught up with myself yet.”
But he’d come for her, and Rosemary found herself incredibly touched by the gesture. Enough that she nearly kissed him but caught herself in time to avoid being made the fool.
“Why don’t we reconvene in the morning and figure out where to go from there?” If Max was aware of her impulse, he never let on. “I’d hoped you’d find some peace on this holiday, Rose.”
“I have, Max, found some in the midst of all this. Now that you’re here, well, I have to say I’m feeling much better.”
She didn’t tell him her heart had been going pitter-pat ever since he’d arrived. She didn’t say any of the things she wanted to say and neither did he, but he walked with her towards the lobby, a protective hand on her back.
Rosemary was surprised to see Gloria standing behind the reception desk, looking even more sour than usual. “Are you all settled in, Mr. Whittington?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at him while staunchly avoiding Rosemary’s gaze.
“Yes, thank you,” Max said, not taking his own eyes off Rosemary.
“You don’t usually work evenings,” Rosemary commented, unwilling to allow the impertinent girl to disregard her. She was surprised to see Gloria back behind the desk after having spent most of the evening guzzling cocktails and flirting shamelessly.
Gloria raised her eyes up towards the ceiling. “I do since I had to give Margaret a night off and dock her pay. It is my job to fill in when I am needed.”
“Really? She seemed like a good girl.” Rosemary’s stomach churned, hoping she and Vera weren’t the cause of someone losing their job.
“Yes, well, good employees don’t allow keys to go missing from the office during their shift.”
Rosemary’s heart sank, her suspicion confirmed. As disgusted as she was that Gloria would talk that way in front of guests, she wasn’t shocked. If Cecily’s uncle didn’t find another decent manager to run the hotel, she had a feeling Richard Wright might be correct in his estimation that the Aphrodite was in trouble.
“You’ll have to take the stairs,” Gloria said as they turned to leave. “The lift isn’t available at the moment.”
Rosemary dreaded the thought of walking up three flights but quickly resigned herself to the task. To her surprise, someone was rummaging around in the supply cupboard where Cecily had died, and when Richard Wright’s head popped out from behind the door, she wondered if her thoughts had summoned the man.
“Oh, hello there,” he said, somewhat guiltily. “I’m just looking for some fresh towels since the maid doesn’t seem intent on bringing me any. The door was open,” he explained even though neither of them had asked.
“All right,” Rosemary replied. “Have a good night.”
“I’m certain I will now that I’ve taken matters into my own hands,” Wright said.
Arriving back at the suite, Rosemary found Vera exactly where she expected her friend would be: sprawled across the sofa with a drink in her hand waiting to hear what had transpired with Max.
“Spill,” Vera ordered and raised the tumbler to her lips.
It wasn’t spite, exactly, that made Rosemary hesitate, more the need for a moment to ponder. “Where’s Anna?” she stalled.
“She’s out with the friends she’s made since we got here. I told you that situation was going to get worse before it got better,” Vera said, echoing her previous statement regarding Anna. “You need to watch that girl, or she’ll get herself into trouble.”
Not the level-headed, somewhat timid girl, Rosemary knew. Anna wasn’t possessed of an intrepid soul, but of the type of personality to sit on the sidelines and watch others commit daring deeds.
“That reminds me,” Rosemary said. “I think Anna has set her sights on that assistant manager chap, Walter.” She explained how she’d seen Anna looking at him the morning after Cecily’s murder.
“She aims too high. A man of his station would never go for a common maid,” Vera said. Her eyes widened when she realized how insulting her comment was, and she shook her head emphatically. “Not, mind you that he could do any better than our Anna. I only meant, from his perspective, she wouldn’t be a fitting choice for anything but a minor dalliance.” The possibility of which Vera had warned Rosemary since they’d arrived.
“Walter is the type of man who worries more about how his actions are perceived than how they are intended. He’d consider his status and whatnot to be of more import than Anna’s tender heart. He’d sooner go for one of those diamond-encrusted heiresses that would never look twice at him.”
Wincing, Vera drained her glass and ignored the pang of remorse when she realized she was one of those diamond-encrusted heiresses, regardless of whether or not she’d ever acted like one.
Rosemary’s heart thudded in her chest as a new thought occurred to her. “You’re right, Vera. I hadn’t considered until just now—”
“That I might be right about something?” Vera asked sharply. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”
“What? Oh, no, Vera, that’s not what I meant. The interaction between Charlotte and Benjamin Marlowe has been bothering me. It seemed strange that a man whose fiancée looks like Geneviève does would want to flirt with a girl like Charlotte.”
Rising, Rosemary went to the bar cart and poured gin into the bottom of a tumbler. Taking a sip for fortitude, she added, “You must admit, she’s rather too plain for Benjamin’s seeming tastes, though saying so right out makes me feel uncharitable. However, it’s just as you said—he would never go for a common maid.”
“It does seem strange, though what his behavior towards Charlotte implies, I couldn’t guess,” Vera replied.
Rosemary rested her chin in her hand and stared off into the distance. “It implies they have some sort of connection of which we’re unaware. Or, she was telling the truth when she said he was simply lodging a complaint.” She shook her head emphatically. “No, that can’t be right. Charlotte was lying about something, of that I’m positive. I thought it might have to do with Cecily’s murder, but perhaps not.”
“It’s a line to tug.” Vera dismissed the subject and moved on to the one that had her most curious. “For now, I want to tug on the Max line. What happened between the two of you? He couldn’t take his eyes off you, you know.” Vera’s words brought a blush to Rosemary’s cheeks.
She brushed aside Vera’s comment. “We talked mostly about the investigation. I filled him in on what’s happened so far, but he was tired from traveling, and we decided to discuss it again in the morning. Did you know he came here on a freighter or possibly a series of them?”
Vera took in that piece of news without so much as a flicker of surprise. “If he thought you were in danger, I’ve no doubt the man would sprout wings and fly.”
“Don’t be silly.” Rosemary fluttered a hand at Vera and rose to put her tumbler back on the cart.
“Don’t be naive,” Vera countered, and then gave in. “It has been one more long day in the midst of many. Let’s get some sleep, shall we, and maybe we’ll be more clear-headed in the morning?”
