“Well, that settles it, dunnit.” P.C. Northcott removed his helmet with a flourish and dropped it on the nearest chair. “You’ve gone and done it this time, Mrs. B. You’ve got yourself one of them serial killers, that’s what.”
Standing in front of the dying fire in the library, Cecily eyed the constable with frosty disdain. “I hardly think that any of this can be attributed to anything I might have done.”
Northcott looked flustered as he stammered, “Oh, no, no, m’m. I wasn’t blaming you, of course. I was merely pointing out that you have a very large problem on your hands.”
“So I’ve noticed. The point is, what are you going to do about it?”
The constable stuck his stubby fingers into the top pocket of his tunic and pulled out a tattered notebook. He took a great deal of time flipping through it before he found a clean page. Then he fished in his pocket again and pulled out a short pencil. After examining it for a moment or two, he licked the point of it and poised it over the page. “Now, Mrs. B., tell me exactly what you saw in that room.”
Cecily clenched her fingers. Where the devil was Baxter? He was so much better than her at intimidating this irritating man. “Sam, I have already told you what I saw. You were in the Danvilles’ suite. You saw it for yourself.”
“Yes, m’m. You’re quite right. I did. Just in case the evidence had been tampered with, however, I need to know what it was you saw when you first entered the room, so that I can compare it to the scene as I saw it.” He licked the pencil again and began scribbling. “But first, let us begin with the body of Mrs. Danville. You say it was hanging from the rafters over the stage.”
“I’ve already told you everything I saw.” Cecily made a supreme effort to keep her voice down. “Meanwhile, a dangerous killer is somewhere in or near this hotel, most likely looking for his next victim.”
“I am fully aware of that possibility, Mrs. B.” His pencil crawled across the page. “ ’ Owever, it h’is my duty to write down all pertinent information from the witnesses as soon as possible.” He squinted at the notebook and held it a little farther away. “You’d be surprised how much people forget after the shock wears off.”
To Cecily’s immense relief, the door opened and Baxter strode in, his features carved in stone. “What are you still doing in here, man? Why aren’t you out there looking for this beastly brute?”
The constable snapped his notebook shut and tucked it in his pocket. After stowing the pencil, he looked at Baxter as if he were a particularly nasty insect. “Not that it’s any of your business, sir, but my hands are tied at this moment.”
Baxter’s eyes turned icy. “Then I suggest you untie them, unless you want another body on your hands.”
Northcott drew himself up a half inch. “It is my considered opinion,” he said, turning his back on Baxter and addressing Cecily instead, “that as I aforementioned, there is a mass murderer afoot somewhere around here.”
Baxter snorted most unbecomingly. “Why didn’t we think of that?”
“Sam,” Cecily said, ignoring her husband’s churlish behavior, “we really need to look for this man now. This moment.”
“Yes, well, as I’m trying to establish, I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Northcott puffed out his chest and rocked back on his heels. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if this murderer is the Mayfair Murderer that Scotland Yard is after. That is a top priority case and calls for a fully fledged investigation by Inspector Cranshaw. He would not thank me for messing about with his case. Oh, no.”
Cecily couldn’t suppress a shiver at the mention of the inspector’s name. “Nonsense. I don’t believe it is a serial killer at all. I’ve been giving this whole situation some thought, and I happen to believe that this all started with Ellie. I believe Charlie saw who killed her and had to be silenced.”
Northcott smiled, in an indulgent manner that had Cecily seething. “It’s obvious, Mrs. B., that you have no h’experience with such matters. This has all the marks of a serial killer. After all, there are four people dead now, and there’s the writing on the wall. That’s the killer’s way of leaving his signature, so to speak.”
“If that is so, then why didn’t he leave his signature with the first three bodies? For that matter, why would he kill both men and women?”
Northcott frowned. “I can’t see what that has to do with anything.”
Baxter, who until now had kept remarkable control of his temper, suddenly uttered a mild curse and strode forward. “How you can be so dense and remain in the constabulary is beyond me,” he snapped. “What my wife is trying to say is that a serial killer’s victims all share a common trait of some kind. The serial killer usually has an image in mind, connected to someone or something that has deeply and adversely affected him in some way. That’s why he kills. He’s ridding himself of that perceived evil over and over again.”
It was obvious to Cecily, judging from the constable’s expression, that he had understood not one word of her husband’s comments. Again he addressed Cecily, with a somewhat desperate look that suggested he was losing his authority and couldn’t wait to get out of there. “In any case,” he announced, “I can’t do h’any more until I have reported to the inspector and received his instructions on how to proceed next.”
“Then I suggest you do that right now.” Baxter strode to the door and flung it open. “You can use the telephone in Mrs. Baxter’s office.”
“I can’t do that.” Northcott picked up his helmet and tucked it under his arm.
Baxter roared again. “In God’s name, why not?”
“Because,” Northcott said, moving warily toward the door, “the inspector is on holiday in France. He won’t be back until after the New Year.”
Cecily relaxed her shoulders in relief.
Baxter, however, was not in the least thrilled. “Well, good heavens, man, there has to be someone taking his place while he’s away?”
Northcott, having reached the door, edged around him. “Yes, sir, there is. But Inspector Cranshaw is most particular about his cases, and he wouldn’t thank me for handing it over to someone else. Oh, no, sir. We shall just have to wait until he returns.”
Baxter looked ready to explode into tiny pieces. “And what, pray, are we supposed to do about this dangerous killer in our midst?”
“Well, I suggest you all lock your doors at night.” Northcott nodded at Cecily. “Goodnight, m’m. I will be contacting you just as soon as I’ve heard from the inspector.” He exited, leaving Baxter purple in the face.
“One of these days,” he said, through gritted teeth, “I’m going to take great pleasure in throttling the life out of that idiot.”
“Don’t say that!” Cecily shuddered again. “Not even in jest.”
“Who’s jesting?” Baxter came up to the fireplace, rubbing his hands. Holding them out to the dying embers, he added, “Did you show him that note?”
Cecily gave a guilty start. “No, I didn’t. In all the upheaval, I completely forgot about it.” Seeing Baxter’s skeptical frown, she added, “Since you brought it up, I really didn’t appreciate you telling Kevin about it. Or, for that matter, your tone of voice when you mentioned it.”
Baxter sighed. “My apologies. I was out of sorts.”
“We are all out of sorts, but I manage to remain reasonably civil.”
His expression softened. “You are quite right, my dear. I’m sorry.” He sighed again. “I seem to be apologizing a lot lately.”
“Yes, you do.” She eyed him warily. “Are you ready to tell me what it is you have been keeping from me?”
He put an arm about her shoulders and gave her a light squeeze. “All in good time. Right now we have more than enough to worry about. I must say, I am greatly concerned about that note. I really do think we should have given it to Northcott, if only to escape the inspector’s wrath should he find out we kept it from the constable.”
Appeased by the hug, Cecily leaned into him. “Sam would most likely lose it before it got to Cranshaw. In any case, even if I had given it to him, it wouldn’t have changed anything. He would still have insisted on contacting the inspector first.”
Baxter sighed. “You’re right, I suppose. How that man can call himself a policeman, I don’t know.”
“I do think he’s rather out of his depth this time.”
“He’s always out of his depth, which is the reason my wife takes extreme risks to ferret out these criminals.”
“I’m being very careful, dear.”
“That was before these other two deaths.”
“I’ll still be careful.” She moved closer to the fire. “I take it you no longer believe this is the work of the Mayfair Murderer, either.”
“I don’t know that I ever thought so. I do know that if the chap in room nine wrote the note that Pansy found, he was either clairvoyant or he’s the one who stabbed that poor chap in the neck. Just as he said he would.”
“There is a problem with that theory.”
“How so?”
“The note said he would leave by the window. To do that he would have to leap four floors to the ground.”
Baxter pursed his lips. “Unless he had a ladder.”
“That’s a possibility.” She frowned. “I’ll have Clive take a look under the window tomorrow. Though I still can’t believe a murderer would be foolish enough to write down his plans to kill someone and leave them lying around for anyone to see.”
Baxter studied her face. “You don’t believe this Mortimer chap is the killer.”
“I didn’t say that. I just can’t imagine why he would kill two members of our staff, and then two guests who have absolutely nothing in common with them.”
“The murders certainly don’t appear to be connected in any way.”
Cecily sighed. “Well, there is the kissing bough and that message on the wall. I happen to know that all four victims at some point in time kissed under that bough. As far as I can see, that’s the only connection. Maybe our killer has something against people kissing in public.”
“It’s certainly a consideration. Though again, why didn’t he leave that message with the other bodies?”
“Exactly, which leads me to believe that the message was an afterthought, most likely to throw everyone off track and make it look as if it was the work of the Mayfair Murderer.”
“Clever.” Baxter frowned. “And utterly cold-blooded. Killing innocent people just to throw the constables off the scent? Diabolical.”
Remembering something, Cecily murmured, “I found something else outside the Danvilles’ door.”
Baxter frowned. “And you neglected to mention it?”
“I forgot about it until now.”
“What is it?”
“A lady’s handkerchief.” She was about to tell him about Madeline’s prediction, but thought better of it. Baxter had no time for what he called Madeline’s hocus-pocus. She pushed her fingers into her sleeve and, after a moment of hunting, pulled out the handkerchief. “Look, it has the initials R.M. embroidered on it. Who do we know with those initials?”
Baxter frowned in concentration, then after a moment or two, shook his head. “The only one whose last name starts with M is Mortimer. It could belong to his wife.”
“Exactly what I was thinking. Though why he would carry around one of his wife’s handkerchiefs is beyond me. I must admit, though, he is beginning to look most suspicious. I suppose I should have mentioned all this to Sam Northcott, though he still would have done nothing until his dratted inspector gets back to town.”
“We shall just have to try and keep an eye on the chap until this is over. I’ll have the footmen keep watch on him from now on.”
“As if they don’t have enough to do.” Cecily sighed. “Has Kevin finished his examinations?”
“Yes. He promised he’d ring tomorrow. He was anxious to get his wife and baby home. The baby was making a horrible noise.” He glanced at her. “Are you certain you want the child in the library during the carol singing ceremony? I can’t imagine how anyone can possibly sing carols with that racket going on.”
“Madeline wants to be there. She’s going to be here all day anyway. She’s coming in the morning to bring fresh greens for the ballroom decorations, and she has offered to help us get ready for the ceremony. So she’ll stay here the rest of the day and Kevin will meet her here tomorrow evening.” Cecily headed for the door. “We could certainly use her help, and if that means I have to spend the evening keeping a baby quiet, well, it won’t be the first time.”
He wore such a soulful expression she felt a pang of remorse, though she wasn’t sure why. She paused, looking up at him when he reached her side. “What is it, dear? What did I say?”
“Nothing.” To her pleasant surprise he bent his head and kissed her. “It’s just that I wish we could have had a child of our own.”
She smiled, touched by the sentiment. “We have two wonderful godchildren,” she reminded him. “And they will be home tomorrow, so I hope you have finished all your Christmas shopping.”
He patted her on the shoulder, then opened the door for her. “You know I always leave it until the last minute. After all, that’s why we have Christmas Eve, is it not?”
Cecily shook her head. “You men are incorrigible.”
“Which is precisely why you adore us. Come now, let us get to bed. You have a long day tomorrow, and something tells me it won’t be a pleasant one.”
“Indeed. Four families devastated by loss at Christmastime. How awful. I suppose there’s little hope of keeping all this from the rest of the guests.”
“Unlikely. We shall just have to reassure them as best we can.”
“The only way to do that is to find the killer.” Cecily sighed. “And every moment that feat seems to get farther out of reach.” She led the way down the hallway, deep in thought. If her theory about the killer proved correct, the best way to prevent more murders would be to advertise the fact that the Mayfair Murderer was responsible, thus leading the killer to believe his ruse had worked, and therefore there would be no need for any more deaths.
The problem with that line of thought was that everyone in the building would think a serial killer was on the loose and they could well be the next victims.
It seemed that whichever way she turned, she was doomed. Christmas Eve was tomorrow. All she could do was see that her guests had the best Christmas she could give them, and hope with all her heart that there would be no more of these ghastly murders.
“So, Gertie,” Pansy said, as she stacked the last dish on the pile in the cupboard, “where are you and Dan going tomorrow afternoon?”
Gertie took her time answering. The truth was, she wasn’t looking forward to her meeting with Dan as much as she usually did. She had the feeling that they were reaching some kind of turning point in their relationship, and she had the distinct impression that it wasn’t going to be in her favor.
She fervently hoped she was wrong, but if she wasn’t, she prayed it would happen after the New Year, just in case Dan was planning to break it off and leave her down in the dumps all over Christmas. She’d have to pretend to be happy and cheerful, so as not to spoil everything for the twins.
Sighing, she pulled the plug in the sink and watched the gray soapy water disappear down the drain. How she missed her babies. Though they weren’t babies anymore. They were growing so fast she probably wouldn’t recognize them when they got back tomorrow.
“Gertie? Are you all right?”
Hearing Pansy’s worried voice, Gertie snapped up her head. “’Course I’m all right. I was just thinking about my twins, wasn’t I. They’ll be home tomorrow night, just in time for the carol singing ceremony. They’ve always loved that.”
“Is Dan coming? Like he did last year?”
Gertie’s stomach seemed to drop at the mention of Dan’s name. “I expect he will. I haven’t asked him yet.”
Pansy got a funny look on her face. “Why not?”
Gertie shrugged. “I dunno. I just didn’t think about it until now.”
“Well, you’d better hurry up. You’ll have to ask him tomorrow when you see him.”
“Yeah, I will.” Gertie wiped her hands on a towel. “I think-” She broke off as the kitchen door flew open and Samuel rushed in, eyes wide and hair mussed. “Gawd, Samuel. What the bloody hell happened to you?”
Pansy let out a cry of dismay and rushed over to him. “Are you all right, Samuel? Are you hurt?”
Samuel shook his head and sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs. He started to speak, then shook his head again and sank back.
Gertie stared at him a moment longer then said sharply, “Pansy! Go and get the brandy from the pantry.”
She reached for a brandy snifter from the cupboard and set it on the table.
“What’s up then, mate? Seen a ghost or something?” Gertie asked him.
“Something,” Samuel muttered, as Pansy rushed back with the bottle.
Gertie poured a generous amount in the glass and put it in Samuel’s shaking hand.
“Mrs. Chubb will be cross you helped yourself to that,” Pansy said, watching Samuel sip at the spirits.
“It’s an emergency.” Gertie put the stopper back in the bottle. “That’s what it’s for-emergencies.”
Pansy sat down on the chair next to Samuel. “Oh, I thought it was to keep Michel from attacking everyone with a carving knife.”
Samuel choked on the brandy, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Don’t say that! Don’t ever say that!”
Pansy looked startled, then offended. “I was just trying to cheer you up with a joke, that’s all.”
She looked about to cry, and Samuel muttered something under his breath, then leaned forward to cover her hand with his. “Sorry, luv, but if you’d seen what I’ve seen you wouldn’t make jokes like that, I promise you.”
Pansy snatched her hand away. “Whatcha mean?”
Gertie felt cold all over. “Tell us, Samuel. Not someone else killed, is it?”
She felt for the edge of the table for support when Samuel nodded, while Pansy let out a shriek. “It’s that Mayfair Murderer! That man in room nine. I told you it was him! Why won’t anyone listen to me?”
Samuel grabbed her flailing hand and held on to it. “We don’t know that yet,” he said, sounding dreadfully tired.
“Yes we do!” Pansy tugged on his hand so hard the brandy he held in the other hand spilled in his lap. “He wrote a note about it. I gave it to madam but she didn’t do nothing about it and he’s still lurking about in his room waiting to kill anybody what walks by, I know it.”
Samuel stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
Pansy seemed beyond words so Gertie butted in. “Pansy found a note in his room and it said he was going to stab someone in the neck while they were asleep.”
Samuel’s eyes widened even more. “That’s exactly what he did,” he said, his voice hushed.
“See? See? I told you!”
Pansy’s voice had risen to a shriek again and Samuel held out his glass. “Here. You’d better take some of this.”
Gertie stepped forward. “Never mind that. Who the heck got killed?”
Pansy swallowed the brandy and coughed. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“It’s the Danvilles, poor devils,” Samuel muttered.
Pansy whimpered, while Gertie stared at him in horror. “The honeymoon couple? Both of them?”
In a tired voice, Samuel described the scene in the ballroom and in the Danvilles’ suite. “Horrible,” he said, when he was finished. “It felt like dead bodies all over the place.”
Pansy’s whimpering got louder.
“What’s madam doing about it?” Gertie demanded, feeling like crying herself. “I’ve got my twins coming home tomorrow night. I don’t want them here if there’s a madman running around stabbing people.”
Samuel squared his shoulders and stood up. “I’m sure madam will do her best to find out who did this. She’s really good at ferreting out murderers.”
“Well,” Gertie muttered, reaching for another brandy glass, “I hope she bloody well hurries up or we’ll all end up dead.” She winced as Pansy howled. “It’s all right, I didn’t mean it. I was just joking.”
“It’s no joking matter,” Samuel said, frowning. He pulled Pansy toward him and put his arm around her. “It’s all right, luv. I’ll take care of you. Nothing’s going to happen to you while I’m here.”
Pansy snuggled up to him and Gertie felt a pang of envy. She and Dan had been like that once. What had happened to them? When did things start going wrong? Picking up the bottle, she poured brandy into the glass. Maybe it was time she had a real heart to heart with Dan. Tomorrow. That’s what she’d do. Maybe if she told him a lunatic was running around carving up people he’d want to take care of her, like Samuel and Pansy.
Her lips curved in a bitter smile. Fat bloody hope of that. Closing her eyes, she shot the entire glass of brandy down her throat.