“Because of other evidence. The love note, for instance.”
“Love note?” I repeat.
“J.D. was having an affair with that pretty, young secretary of his, Serena Sharpe,” Beulah says.
“He was not,” I reply, but I feel another nudge under the table.
“Molly’s right,” Detective Stark adds. “Turns out that note was from someone else in this hotel.”
“Look, not every KultureVulture item has a clear provenance, but let me assure you that J.D. was a fraud,” Beulah says. “His cue cards from the day of the big event prove it.”
“So you have his cue cards?”
“I do,” Beulah says. “I bought them alongside everything else.”
“You knew we were conducting a murder investigation, but you never thought to hand over those cards?” Stark says.
Beulah snorts. “Some investigation. You don’t know a thing about the man. J. D. Grimthorpe had a closet full of secrets.”
“Secrets?” Stark says. “Such as?”
“Did you know that at one point in his life, he was a raging alcoholic?” Beulah offers. “I tracked down employees who used to work for him—security guards, gardeners, and a maid. They were all fired. According to the maid, J.D.’s wife was a tyrant and he himself was not who he appeared to be. The maid accused him of getting handsy, then got fired for speaking up. He didn’t dare lay a hand on me, though.” Beulah picks more cat hair off her bosom and sends it flying.
“So you met him?” I ask. “You met J.D. in person?”
“Yes, I did. Right outside his hotel room. Lesson learned: beware of meeting your idols. They don’t always live up to expectations.”
“His books were powerful,” Stark says, “and yet he was kind of weak, wasn’t he?”
“He was,” Beulah says. “Liver and kidney damage from years of alcohol abuse.”
“So you were aware of that as well,” Stark says.
“Of course. Like I said, J.D. was my life’s work.”
Just then, Lily and Angela appear at the entrance of the tearoom. They wheel a tea cart toward the table. Angela is wringing her hands on her apron, her eyes flitting about the room. Lily’s shoulders are back, her head held higher than I’ve ever seen before. For once, she doesn’t look skittish at all.
“My apologies for the interruption,” Lily says, her voice resonant, a clarion bell.
We all turn her way.
“Angela and I were instructed to bring in this tea cart,” she explains. “It’s complimentary, for Mr. Grimthorpe’s number-one fan.” She pauses and executes the most perfect curtsy I have ever seen.
“That’s very thoughtful,” says Beulah.
“You’re not wearing your pin,” Angela notes, pointing to the spot on Beulah’s sweater where her #1 Fan pin used to be.
“I lost it,” Beulah explains.
“That’s funny,” says Angela. “I thought I saw you take it off the other day at the Social. You tossed it on the table and left it behind.”
“Must’ve been someone else,” Beulah insists. “No one can tell us LAMBS apart. It’s rather insulting.”
Lily picks up the teapot from the cart and pours steaming tea into a Regency Grand cup. She places it in front of Beulah. “How do you take your tea, Ms. Barnes?” she asks.
“Four lumps of sugar,” Beulah replies. “Bit of a sweet tooth.”
“Ah yes,” says Lily. “You take your tea the same way Mr. Grimthorpe did.”
“No,” Beulah replies. “J.D. took his with honey, not sugar. Always honey. Loads of it.”
And there it is—another telling detail, which Lily set her up to reveal. A Mona Lisa smile edges onto Lily’s lips as she ladles four sugar cubes into Beulah’s cup. She stirs the tea with a Regency Grand silver spoon, which makes a pleasing tinkling sound against the porcelain cup.
“Thank you,” Beulah says when Lily passes her the cup.
Just then, three undercover officers appear in the doorway. One of them holds a plain banker’s box.
Beulah is taking a sip of tea but stops mid-sip. “What are they doing here?” she asks.
“Extra security,” Detective Stark replies. “We can’t be too careful with delinquents running loose in the hotel. Please excuse me a moment,” Detective Stark says as she walks over to the men. They exchange a few words and pass her the banker’s box. Stark walks back to the table with it, putting it down in front of Beulah. She removes the cardboard lid. Inside is an ordinary stainless-steel spoon and beside it, a silver Regency Grand honey pot in a red satin case.
“Can you explain this, Beulah?” Stark asks as she looks from the objects in the box to Beulah’s slack-jawed face.
“Were you in my room? Why were you touching my things?”
“Why were you keeping these items in your room?” Stark asks.
“For goodness’ sake. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”
“But this spoon is no ordinary spoon, Beulah. It’s a murder weapon. And so is that silver honey pot,” Stark says. “You added a key ingredient to it before Mr. Grimthorpe’s big announcement, didn’t you? You contaminated it with antifreeze, and because you knew about Grimthorpe’s sweet tooth, you realized he’d never detect the taste in his tea. You also knew it would kill him quickly, what with the liver and kidney damage he’d sustained as an alcoholic.”
“This is preposterous. Why would I poison my idol?” Beulah asks.
“Because he rejected you,” I say. “Which meant your life’s work was for naught.”
“You’re accusing the wrong person. You should talk to her. She’s the one who served him the tea!” Beulah says as she points a pudgy finger at Lily.
“Oh no,” says Lily. “The maid is not to blame. Not this time.”
“Unbelievable,” says Angela. “How can you live with yourself, Beulah?”
“You took a plot point right from one of his books—killing a bitter villain with a cup of sweetness. Isn’t that right, Beulah?” I say.
Beulah’s fury is mounting, and she turns on me without warning. “You! You pretend to be an investigator, but I don’t believe it. You’re just a maid. You killed him. You and that quiet one are in cahoots! This place is teeming with lowlifes who’ll stop at nothing for their personal gain, including selling a dead guest’s trash just to make a buck!”
Detective Stark stands. “That’s enough, Beulah Barnes. The game is up. You’re under arrest,” she says as the undercover officers rush forward to handcuff Beulah. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. And bloody hell, silence really is your best option right now because you most certainly have said too much.”
“Said too much? I haven’t said nearly enough!” Beulah shouts as she struggles against the men holding her by her handcuffed wrists and escorting her to the exit. “And it’s still your word against mine!”
“Your ‘word’ has been recorded, Beulah,” Angela says as Lily picks up a napkin from the tea cart to reveal Angela’s cellphone underneath, the live voice memo recording.
“You’re not to go back in my hotel room!” Beulah shrieks. “That’s an invasion of privacy! I’ll sue the Regency Grand!”
“Stop talking,” Stark says. “You’re digging yourself deeper.”
As Beulah disappears down the corridor, it occurs to me that her true nature has just been revealed—because digging deeper is exactly what rats do.
Chapter 27
We continue to hear Beulah’s protests as Stark’s men drag her toward the lobby.
Finally, the room is quiet.
We all turn to Lily, her Mona Lisa smile still blooming on her face.
“Was that your idea, to bring in the tea cart?” Detective Stark asks.
Lily nods.