She gave him an unhappy look. “You think that London is free from crime?”
“Of course not. But if we’re living in a decent neighborhood there’s much less chance of it being committed right under our noses.”
Cecily stretched out her legs and regarded the toes of her shoes peeking out from under her skirt. “I used to be so good at solving these puzzles. I must be getting old. I don’t seem to be getting anywhere with Ian’s murder, and now we have something else to worry about.”
“We’ll have to make sure that everyone locks their doors.” Baxter folded his newspaper and stood up. “I’ll arrange for a thorough search of the staff rooms.”
Cecily looked up in alarm. “Oh, I really don’t want to do that. Besides, it could be any of the staff who don’t live in. We hire all this extra help at Christmas and we really don’t know any of them very well. Take that Sidney Barrett, for instance. There’s something about him I just don’t like.”
“Barrett? What about him?”
“I don’t know.” Cecily thought about it. “For one thing, he thinks he’s a lady’s man. I’ve seen him pestering one of the maids, and Gertie has complained about him. I warned him to leave the girls alone. I’d get rid of him if we weren’t so busy.”
“Well, he won’t be here for much longer. Only until the guests leave after New Year’s Day.”
“Then there’s Mabel.” Cecily shook her head. “I feel sorry for that girl but she’s really not a very good worker. I won’t be sorry to see her leave, either.”
“She’ll be gone in a week or two. Then you won’t have to worry about her anymore.”
“Not only that, I found out that Gloria lied about the night Ian was killed, and I need to talk to her about that. I just can’t seem to make any headway on this dratted murder.”
Baxter walked over to her and took her hand. “Poor Cecily. This is turning out to be a trying time for you. I meant what I said, you know. Maybe it’s time we started thinking about going back to London.”
She looked up at him. “You know how I feel about that. The Pennyfoot is our home, the staff is our family. With my sons abroad I have no other family here. I’ll be too lonely in London. We tried it once and I was miserable.”
Baxter sighed and lifted her fingers to his lips. “Yes, I suppose you were. But all the upheaval and misadventures are not exactly making you happy, either.”
She smiled. “They are keeping me alive. In London I was merely existing. Besides, in spite of everything, I do enjoy the challenge.”
He let go of her hand and walked back to his chair. Sitting down, he murmured, “I confess, Cecily, there are times when I just don’t understand you.”
“Perhaps that’s just as well.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
She laughed. “Only that it makes things interesting, don’t you think?”
He grunted a reply, then retreated behind his newspaper.
Cecily remained silent for a moment, wondering if she should tell him about her encounter with Archie Parker. The more she talked to that odd little man, the more strangely he acted. If it wasn’t for a complete lack of motive, she might have suspected him of killing Ian.
Impatient with herself, she shook her head. She had reached the point where she suspected everyone she met of being a murderer. Yet none of her suspects had convinced her that any one of them was a killer. Perhaps she hadn’t, yet, met the real murderer. It could be someone totally unconnected to the Pennyfoot. One of Ian’s unsavory companions, perhaps.
Still there was the matter of the candlestick, taken from the hallstand and left in Gertie’s room. That suggested an intimate knowledge of the country club.
What she really needed to do, she decided, was find out if anyone else in the Pennyfoot had a motive to attack Ian. How she would go about it would take some thought, and judging from the silence from behind her husband’s newspaper, she had plenty of time to do that.
“What’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve swallowed a bowl of lemons.”
Gertie lifted her head and frowned at Mrs. Chubb. The housekeeper stood on the other side of the kitchen table, busily kneading pastry for the Cornish pasties.
Wary of Michel stirring his vegetable soup at the stove, Gertie murmured, “I was just wondering if I should tell madam something, that’s all.”
“Tell her what?”
Gertie went on folding the serviette, fitted it into a silver holder, then laid it on top of the neat pile on the tray at her side. “Tell her about Sid Barrett.”
Knowing she had aroused Mrs. Chubb’s curiosity, Gertie waited.
Sure enough, after a long pause, the housekeeper raised her voice. “Gertie, I’m going to need some more lard from the pantry.”
“Right away, Mrs. Chubb.” Gertie dropped the next serviette and headed for the pantry.
Seconds later, Mrs. Chubb appeared in the doorway. “What’s taking you so long?” she demanded loudly, then stepped inside and closed the door. Lowering her voice, she muttered, “All right, now what’s all this about Sid Barrett?”
Rapidly Gertie relayed most of what Sid had said to her earlier. “Then Clive came along and chased the bugger off,” she said, when she was done. “That man always manages to turn up at the right time.”
“Doesn’t he, though.” Mrs. Chubb shook her head. “I don’t like the sound of this at all, Gertie. I never did like that Sid. Always hanging around the women he is, and now he’s making a real nuisance of himself. I think we should tell madam about it. I’ll run up and have a word with her just as soon as I finish rolling out the pastry for Michel.”
“Which,” Michel said from the doorway, “I hope will be in the next moment or two, so I still have the time to bake the pasties for supper.”
Gertie jumped, and Mrs. Chubb looked guilty. “I’ll be right there,” she said, and gave Gertie a warning glance before hurrying out of the pantry.
Gertie didn’t need the warning. The golden rule in the Pennyfoot was to keep one’s mouth shut. She knew better than to spread gossip about someone on the staff, or worse, a guest. It was one thing madam was stern about. But something still worried her about the incident. Something she hadn’t told Mrs. Chubb. She shouldn’t have told Sid about Gloria, because now he was probably going to pester her, too.
Gertie rubbed her forehead. Maybe she should warn Gloria, since it was her fault Sid found out about her.
Thinking about her run-in with Sid reminded her of how Clive had looked when he’d dragged Sid back by his throat.
She hadn’t mentioned that to Mrs. Chubb, either. It frightened her to think of Clive being capable of murder. She’d always thought of him as a gentle giant. Her and the twins’ protector. Yet that glimpse of him that afternoon had revealed another side of him.
It wasn’t the first time. She’d seen him wrestle with Ian once before, when Ian had tried to kidnap Lillian. For a few minutes Clive had turned into someone she didn’t know. Could he have fought with Ian again, and killed him this time? If so, he had done so to protect her. She was sure of that.
On the other hand, that would mean that he was the one that put the candlestick under her bed to make it look like she did it. No, she couldn’t believe that. She wouldn’t believe that. She’d already done that with Dan, suspected him for all the wrong reasons. She wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
Returning to her task, she put her problems out of her mind for the time being. She had too much to think about, what with fretting about Dan, getting supper out for the guests, and seeing to her twins. She’d worry about Gloria later.
The next hour or so passed in a rush as Gertie and the rest of the maids scrambled to serve supper to the hungry guests. It was the night before Christmas Eve, and everyone was in a merry mood. The dining room rang with laughter and noisy chatter, and there was more than one guest who enjoyed one too many glasses of sherry and had to be guided out the door.