Mistletoe and Mayhem Read online

  “We won’t be able to keep this quiet,” Baxter said, his voice grim.

  “Perhaps not.” Cecily glanced up again with a shudder. “But we can try, at least for now.” She pushed her way through the group of girls to Phoebe’s side.

  Phoebe was struggling to sit up, one hand holding on to her hat, which had somehow remained stuck to her head. It was a little lopsided, but with great presence of mind, she shoved it back into place. “What happened?”

  “You fainted when you saw the body,” Dora said helpfully.

  Some of the girls whimpered, and Cecily said quickly, “All of you, go back to the dressing room and get out of your costumes. What you see up there is just a dummy. The object of a bad joke, nothing more.”

  Dora peered up, squinting against light from the gas lamps. “It looks real to me.”

  “Yes, well, whoever did it was very clever.” Cecily gave the woman a forced smile. “Since Mrs. Fortescue is feeling a little under the weather, would you please take charge of the dance troupe? Perhaps you could make sure that they all get dressed and go home?”

  Dora gave the body a second look, then shrugged. “All right, everybody, get a move on. Let’s get out of here. I’m hungry.”

  To Cecily’s relief the dancers moved off, some still glancing up at the figure above their heads. She waited until both the stage and the ballroom had emptied out, except for Madeline, who stood out front, rocking Angelina back and forth in her arms.

  Just as Cecily was about to ask the whereabouts of Kevin, the doctor strode onto the stage. He took one look at the rafters and shook his head. “This is getting to be too much,” he muttered.

  Cecily heartily endorsed that sentiment. She signaled to the footman, who still held on to the curtain ropes. “Find Samuel and ask him to go up there with you and bring that poor woman down.”

  The young man gave her a nod, finally let go of the ropes, and disappeared. Baxter started pacing back and forth, while Kevin gazed up at the body. “Do you know who she is?”

  Cecily felt perilously close to tears, and had to swallow hard before answering. “Her name is Caroline Danville. She was here on her honeymoon.” She reached for Baxter’s hand to steady herself. “Someone will have to tell her husband.”

  Kevin looked around. “So where is he? Why wasn’t he with her?”

  Cecily looked down at Madeline, who had seated herself in the front row. She was looking down at her baby, whispering something to her.

  “He could be looking for her,” Cecily said. “I’ll see if I can find him. First, though, I’ll take Madeline up to the suite. She can wait for you there.”

  Kevin gave her a nod of approval. “That would be best. Thank you, Cecily. By the way, has anyone sent for P.C. Northcott?”

  “Not yet.” Cecily sighed. “He won’t be pleased to have his Christmas interrupted again.”

  “Not to mention ours,” Baxter put in. “When the blazes is this going to stop? It’s obvious Northcott’s theory is shot to shreds. Someone out there is going around killing people willy-nilly, and somebody has to stop him.” He glared at Cecily. “You have to give that note to Northcott now.”

  Kevin raised his eyebrows. “Note?”

  “Yes,” Cecily said hastily. “I’ll tell you about it later.” She gave Baxter a reproachful look. There had been absolutely no need for him to reprimand her, especially in front of the doctor. In any case, she had specifically asked him not to mention the note. She would have words with him about it later.

  She turned back to Kevin. “Right now I really should find Mr. Danville and inform him of his wife’s death. It’s not something I look forward to, I promise you.”

  Her husband at least had the grace to look repentant. “If you would rather I-”

  “No, thank you. As manager of this establishment, I should take care of it.”

  “And as a woman, you will do a much better job,” Kevin said gently.

  She flashed him a smile of gratitude.

  Just then, a shout from above them lifted their heads. Samuel peered down at them, his face a white blob among the dark shadows. “We’re getting ready to lower her down now,” he called out.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Kevin said. “Perhaps you’d like to ring the constabulary, old boy?”

  Baxter gave him a stiff nod.

  “Use my office,” Cecily told him. “It will be more private than the foyer.”

  “I had intended to, of course,” he said, looking offended. “I’m not completely obtuse.”

  “My apologies.” She felt even more like crying. It wasn’t often she was at odds with her husband, and it pained her greatly when they were.

  She hurried ahead of him, unwilling to exchange any more words with him until they were alone. Madeline looked up as she reached her. “That poor child.”

  “Yes.” Cecily swallowed hard. “All of them. So young. Such a tragedy.”

  Madeline stood, and Angelina whimpered. “Don’t blame yourself, Cecily. It has nothing to do with you. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it.”

  She shouldn’t be surprised that Madeline had read her mind. “I can’t help feeling I should have done more before this. Maybe I could have done something…”

  Madeline shook her head. “No, Cecily. There was nothing. Please believe me.” She pushed the baby toward her. “Here, hold her. She will help ease your mind.”

  Cecily took the child, who had begun to fuss, and rocked her. She had forgotten how comforting it was to hold a tiny, warm body close to her. She walked toward the door with Madeline at her side. Passing under the kissing bough, she dropped a kiss on the baby’s forehead.

  Madeline’s gasp startled her. “No! Don’t do that!”

  Clutching Angelina tighter to her bosom, Cecily cried out, “What? What is it? What do you see?”

  Madeline’s face was a mask of fear. She snatched the baby from Cecily’s arms and bent over her as if to shield her from some unspeakable horror. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t know. Just a… feeling… I don’t know.”

  Cecily saw Baxter heading their way and grabbed Madeline’s arm. “Come. Let us go to the suite. You can rest there until you feel better.”

  Madeline merely nodded, her lips clamped shut as if she were afraid to speak. Carrying Angelina, she climbed the stairs behind Cecily without saying a word.

  A small group of guests stood on the first landing, whispering among each other. When they caught sight of Cecily they stopped talking, and nodded and smiled instead as she and Madeline passed them by.

  A small child broke free of the group and ran over to them. “Oh, is that a baby? A real live baby? Let me see! Let me see!”

  “Adelaide!” The male voice thundered across the landing and the child shrank back. Turning, she ran back to her father, who took her hand and led her away, with her brother trailing along behind.

  Cecily felt sorry for the little girl. Obviously, Lord Millshire was a strict parent. She couldn’t imagine Kevin shouting at his child like that.

  Opening the door to her suite, she ushered Madeline and the baby inside. “Wait in here for me. I’m going to see if Mr. Danville is in his room. If not, I’ll send a footman to look for him. Then I’ll come back here.”

  Madeline nodded, though Cecily couldn’t be sure if her friend had really heard the words. She seemed preoccupied, worried. Her obvious distress intensified Cecily’s apprehension as she closed the door and started back down the corridor.

  The Danvilles’ suite was on the same floor, and Cecily saw no one in the hallway as she approached the door. Just before she reached it she saw something white lying on the carpet. She bent over to pick it up, and saw it was a woman’s lace-edged handkerchief.

  Initials had been embroidered in one corner. An R and an M. Madeline’s words came back to her. A small lace-edged handkerchief, belonging to a lady.

  Frowning, Cecily tucked it into her sleeve and tapped lightly with her knuckles on the door panel.
When there was no response, she turned to leave, then paused. Perhaps he was asleep, having grown tired of waiting for his wife to return. She rapped harder. To her surprise, the door inched open.

  Worried now, she put her mouth up to the gap. “Mr. Danville? Are you in there?”

  Nothing but silence greeted her.

  She hesitated, heart beginning to pound. Something was wrong. She could feel it, like an ugly sense of evil, reaching out to her.

  Carefully, she pushed the door open. “Mr. Danville?”

  Inside the room, light from an oil lamp flickered across the wall opposite. Cecily caught her breath, prickles of ice attacking her spine. Across the rose-patterned wallpaper she could see letters scribbled in red.

  She pushed the door open wider and stepped into the room, her gaze pinned on the message scrawled on the wall. ALL WHO KISS BENEATH THE BOUGH WILL NOT LIVE TO KISS AGAIN.

  She caught her breath, and turned to leave. As she did so, her glance fell on the bed. Her shocked cry seemed to echo around the silent room.

  He was sprawled on his back, his eyes wide open. His neck had been cruelly slashed. She had found Mr. Danville too late to save him. The killer had struck again.

  CHAPTER 15

  “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 j
esting?” 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.”