Read Online Murder Most Convenient: A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery by Robert Colton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Colton
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eyes nearly leapt from my head when I looked out the window and saw you driving…” She saw the expression on my face and fell silent.
“A Christian woman shouldn’t know the word that I think that woman is,” I admitted.
“Joan? Why, what did she do?” Lucy asked.
“She drank herself stupid.” I would not repeat what she said about Randolph. I softened my pitch and said, “I was surprised that Ruth went into town.”
Lucy’s eyes opened wide. “So was I, except it was all planned out. Before Joan went off to the stables, I heard something said like, ʻBest to do it now, while Phyllis is out of pocket for a change.ʼ I’m just not sure what the it was?”
“Where did she go?”
“An alteration lady. Henderson placed a dress box in the trunk in the back of the car. I was dropped off at the book seller’s, and Ruth said she’d only be a few minutes,” Lucy said, thrilled with the scant bit of mystery.
“Did you see the dress?” I asked.
“No, nor was it brought in from the motorcar when we returned. I think she had a fitting and left the dress with the seamstress.”
I repeated what Lucy had heard, “While Phyllis was out of pocket.”
Shortly after this discussion, a little pinch-faced maid rapped at my door and said that we were welcome to take tea when we pleased, and that we would be alone. The rest of the family was, as she put it, occupied.
Crossing through the foyer, Henderson called to me and said, “Mrs. Stayton, I directed that the tea be placed in the library rather than the drawing room; this seemed more in keeping with the mood you desire.”
Lucy and I nibbled at the little sandwiches and made many notes in our journals. She asked me, “Do you have some phrase that Miss X will be known for?”
“The only thing that comes to mind is, ʻI rather think that I’ve stepped in it.ʼ”
Lucy clapped her hands together and giggled her sweet English laughter.
An instant later, Phyllis slinked into the room, smoke trailing behind her. “Well, that explains the laughter; you two are all alone.”
I wouldn’t attempt to make excuses for the people she knew all too well. “We are stitching together my plot. I have given some thought to your suggestion of a hopeful lover turned murderer.”
Phyllis said, “Why must they be a murderer? Why not let them fail at the crime? Then your sleuth can catch them on their second attempt—quite the heroine she would be.”
Lucy poured a cup of tea for Phyllis and said, “Oh, how clever.”
“Yes, I do like the idea.” I looked into Phyllis’s pleased eyes after she had sat down near me. “You really don’t mind that I use your suggestion?”
She sipped from her cup and told me, “I shall consider it my gift to the world of literature.”
Phyllis went on and made several more splendid suggestions. Lucy and I took detailed notes.
Dinner was, I should say, strained. Joan was absent. Randolph remarked that she had a headache from being outdoors for too much of the day, and there was a mumble of assent from Ruth.
Phyllis sent word that she’d eaten too much at tea and would skip dinner. This seemed odd because I didn’t recall seeing her eat a single scone or deviled egg. She had just sipped her tea and smoked cigarette after cigarette while she kindled the fire of my literary imagination.
I had wanted to ask her if there had ever been a man she’d loved so much she thought of ending his life had he refused to fall to Cupid’s arrow. Of course, I held my tongue.
As the dinner conversation remained somewhat placid, I thought to myself that perhaps they’d made an arrangement among themselves to be agreeable and suffer through the next few days of my stay without the constant bickering.
If so, Joan’s absences would make an easy start. Randolph would need to watch his quips, while Nicholas and Ruth were both
“A Christian woman shouldn’t know the word that I think that woman is,” I admitted.
“Joan? Why, what did she do?” Lucy asked.
“She drank herself stupid.” I would not repeat what she said about Randolph. I softened my pitch and said, “I was surprised that Ruth went into town.”
Lucy’s eyes opened wide. “So was I, except it was all planned out. Before Joan went off to the stables, I heard something said like, ʻBest to do it now, while Phyllis is out of pocket for a change.ʼ I’m just not sure what the it was?”
“Where did she go?”
“An alteration lady. Henderson placed a dress box in the trunk in the back of the car. I was dropped off at the book seller’s, and Ruth said she’d only be a few minutes,” Lucy said, thrilled with the scant bit of mystery.
“Did you see the dress?” I asked.
“No, nor was it brought in from the motorcar when we returned. I think she had a fitting and left the dress with the seamstress.”
I repeated what Lucy had heard, “While Phyllis was out of pocket.”
Shortly after this discussion, a little pinch-faced maid rapped at my door and said that we were welcome to take tea when we pleased, and that we would be alone. The rest of the family was, as she put it, occupied.
Crossing through the foyer, Henderson called to me and said, “Mrs. Stayton, I directed that the tea be placed in the library rather than the drawing room; this seemed more in keeping with the mood you desire.”
Lucy and I nibbled at the little sandwiches and made many notes in our journals. She asked me, “Do you have some phrase that Miss X will be known for?”
“The only thing that comes to mind is, ʻI rather think that I’ve stepped in it.ʼ”
Lucy clapped her hands together and giggled her sweet English laughter.
An instant later, Phyllis slinked into the room, smoke trailing behind her. “Well, that explains the laughter; you two are all alone.”
I wouldn’t attempt to make excuses for the people she knew all too well. “We are stitching together my plot. I have given some thought to your suggestion of a hopeful lover turned murderer.”
Phyllis said, “Why must they be a murderer? Why not let them fail at the crime? Then your sleuth can catch them on their second attempt—quite the heroine she would be.”
Lucy poured a cup of tea for Phyllis and said, “Oh, how clever.”
“Yes, I do like the idea.” I looked into Phyllis’s pleased eyes after she had sat down near me. “You really don’t mind that I use your suggestion?”
She sipped from her cup and told me, “I shall consider it my gift to the world of literature.”
Phyllis went on and made several more splendid suggestions. Lucy and I took detailed notes.
Dinner was, I should say, strained. Joan was absent. Randolph remarked that she had a headache from being outdoors for too much of the day, and there was a mumble of assent from Ruth.
Phyllis sent word that she’d eaten too much at tea and would skip dinner. This seemed odd because I didn’t recall seeing her eat a single scone or deviled egg. She had just sipped her tea and smoked cigarette after cigarette while she kindled the fire of my literary imagination.
I had wanted to ask her if there had ever been a man she’d loved so much she thought of ending his life had he refused to fall to Cupid’s arrow. Of course, I held my tongue.
As the dinner conversation remained somewhat placid, I thought to myself that perhaps they’d made an arrangement among themselves to be agreeable and suffer through the next few days of my stay without the constant bickering.
If so, Joan’s absences would make an easy start. Randolph would need to watch his quips, while Nicholas and Ruth were both
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