Read Online Murder Most Posh: A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery by Robert Colton - Free Book Online Page B

have seen what happened,” said Lucy in a hushed tone.
       “What did I miss?”
       “We were in the ballroom, dancing, and that blonde woman appeared, dressed like a Ziegfeld Follies showgirl. She stepped up to Mr. Farquhar and the countess during a waltz and attempted to cut in. She and the countess exchanged words, and then the countess slapped Mr. Farquhar.”
       I reached for my notebook and jotted down several thoughts as I mumbled, “Shocking, absolutely shocking.” 
       The neighboring room fell silent, and we heard the door leading to the hallway slam shut once more.
       Yara and Lucy described what had been a lovely evening until the spectacle occurred, and then, like children up past their bedtimes, they both went off to sleep.
       I remained awake for a little while longer, thinking about Mathew Farquhar’s blonde-headed woman. It seemed that she had certainly created a distraction.
     
     
       I had dozed off on the divan in the parlor, my notebook still in my hand, when I heard a strange noise from the hall. Dressed in a robe, I went to the door and peered outside.
       Mathew stood just behind two brawny members of the crew, and he was saying, “She’s put something heavy in front of the door.”
       The men rammed their shoulders to the obstacle, but it didn’t open. I poked my head out farther and said, “Do either of you have a passkey? You could go through our promenade to theirs if you can unlock the door.”
       Startled, Mathew looked at me and said, “I hadn’t thought of that.” The quiver in his voice told me that this was a lie.
       One of the crewmen replied in a cockney accent, “Good thinking, ma’am. I’ve got a master key. That is, if it works on these here parlor suites. If you pardon?”
       I let the men pass by me, and we all walked to the promenade. Rather noticeably, Mathew trailed behind. The master key did indeed work, and the crewmen proceeded to open the door into the couple’s sitting room.
       Reluctantly, Mathew went inside as the two men remained on the deck. “Dominika?” he called out, hesitantly. He then turned back and called for me.
       “Yes, Mr. Farquhar?”
       “I don’t think she’s in here,” he told me.
       I passed by the curious crewmen and entered the suite. The cabin was decorated much like ours. There was a single lamp on, illuminating the room, and I noticed an envelope leaning against it.
       “Dominika,” he called again, very much for show.
       I pointed at the letter that he was trying very hard to ignore. As he extended his hand to pick up the envelope, I saw that he was shaking. He tore it open and quickly read the letter.
       “Dear God!” he blasphemed. “It’s a suicide note.”
       He thrust the piece of parchment into my hands. I read it, though not as quickly as he. In a melodramatic fashion, it described a life of emptiness, self-loathing, and pain. The message ended with the words, I cannot go on.
       I gave the letter back to Mathew, then turned to the crewmen. “Search the promenades; she may not yet have thrown herself overboard!”
       Mathew watched the men rush toward the door where a chair had been leaned on two legs and shoved under the crystal handle.
       “How did she get out of the room?” Mathew asked me.
         I decided to play along. “I’ll show you.”
      He followed me back to the private promenade, and once inside, he pointed to the windows, “But they are all sealed; they cannot be opened.”
       “You are correct, Mr. Farquhar,” I agreed. “This way.” We walked back through our promenade, and then I gently placed my hand on the door that connected to the Emersons’ private deck, and with ease, it swung open.
       Mathew looked inside, and we both saw that the door on the end of the Emersons’ promenade, which joined the public deck, was wide open.
       By this time, Lucy and Yara, both in dressing gowns, were peering out at us.