Page 10 of Murder at the Dinner Party
“I understand. But do try.”
She escorted me to the front door of the service area. As we passed the kitchen, I spotted Mrs. Cook standing with hands on her hips as she studied a recipe book, while Birdy licked a wooden spoon behind her back. Betty the maid sat hunched over her sewing at the table again, a cup of tea within arm’s reach. She looked up as we passed. The tea had done little to return the color to her cheeks.
I thanked Mrs. Turner at the door, then climbed the steps to the pavement. I was just adjusting my hat and gloves when a familiar voice greeted me.
“If it isn’t the greatest female sleuth in the city. Nay, the country. Perhaps even the world!”
My heart leapt into my throat, but I knew if I hesitated, it would open a crack through which all the emotions I’d bottled up over the last two weeks could escape. And I didnotwant him to see that the kiss had rattled me. “You mean greatest sleuth, female or otherwise. Hello, Harry. How have you been?”
“Fine, although I could be dead for all you care.”
“I would have heard if you were. Don’t worry, I’d have come to your funeral and cried.”
“Sobbing or merely a few silent tears slipping down your cheeks?”
“The latter. I’m an ugly sobber. Besides, silent tears are both beautifulandintriguing.”
He grinned. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you.” I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed his company until seeing him standing there on the steps of the neighbor’s townhouse, looking like he belonged here, in one of the city’s most exclusive streets. It was that innate confidence he had, the effortless charisma, that made him fit in everywhere. The handsome face and broad shoulders helped, of course.
He joined me on the pavement. “What are you doing here?”
I nodded at the Campbells’ front door. “The butler died. It was deemed natural causes, but the housekeeper has her doubts. She thinks he was poisoned. She mentioned her doubts to her sister, who happens to be the hotel’s housekeeper, and she suggested I look into it.”
“Are they paying you?”
“Yes.” I didn’t mention it wasn’t much. I wasn’t sure why.
We both started walking without either of us suggesting we continue on. It seemed we needed to go in the same direction, so it made sense to walk together. To avoid a small puddle, I stepped to the side, bumping him. I quickly put distance between us again. To distract from my reddening face, I tugged on the hem of my waistcoat, smoothed the fabric over my middle, then touched my hat to ensure it was still in place.
Harry laughed softly. He seemed quite unaffected by our meeting after more than two weeks without a word passing between us. Whereas I couldn’t look at him without thinking of the kiss we’d shared last time, he was his usual unruffled self. It was annoying, not to mention a little deflating. While I’d purposely avoided him, it hadn’t been easy. I’d told myself it was the right thing to do, the best thing, despite going against my instincts. He, on the other hand, seemed to take it in his stride. I supposed he was more experienced at kissing than me, but it would have been nice if he felt as tortured as I did about what to do next.
“Tell me about your investigation,” he said. “If you want to, that is. I won’t help you unless you ask.”
“Why wouldn’t I want your help? Your insights are valuable.”
“Then it’ll be my pleasure to be a sounding board for the world’s greatest detective, female or otherwise.”
I would have jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow if I wasn’t afraid of getting too close to him again. I entered into comfortably familiar territory by telling him what I’d learned so far about Mr. Hardy’s demise, and why Mrs. Turner thought he’d been murdered.
He listened without interruption and didn’t respond immediately. We’d come to an intersection and needed to cross the street. The sweeper spotted us and, sensing a tip, hurriedly cleared away the horse manure to create a wide enough path for us. The lad doffed his cap as we passed and Harry dropped a coin into it.
“Have a good day, sir, miss.”
On the other side of the street, we continued walking in the direction of the hotel. It was a warm day and I was a little thirsty, which probably meant Harry was, too. Should I invite him in? Would he accept, given my uncle had vowed that Harry could never step foot in the hotel again? Where would we go if he did accept?
“The evidence for murder is flimsy,” Harry finally said.
“I’m inclined to believe it was natural causes, after all, and the housekeeper says she’ll be satisfied with that verdict. She wants to assuage the fears of the rest of the staff, either by catching a murderer or assuring them no murder took place.”
“They’ll be suspects if it was murder.”
I proceeded to give him my opinion of each member of staff, even though he hadn’t asked. It seemed natural to confide in him.
By the time I finished, we were on Piccadilly, almost at the hotel. I realized there was something I hadn’t asked him yet. “Why were you calling on the Campbells’ neighbor?”
“I had a telephone call from the occupant this morning. She’s a regular client who asks me to investigate one thing or another from time to time. That was my fifth visit to her house.”
