The

French Maid

Murder

Anisa Claire West

This is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, places, and events depicted in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any similarity to actual people, either living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

Prologue

Newport, Rhode Island

The Milton Mansion

“Follow me. The dead body is this way,” Roberta Milton the mansion matriarch instructed nonchalantly.

Trailing the flawlessly coiffed redhead down an ornate marble floored hallway, I tried to brace myself for the grotesque sight awaiting me. Even though I had been with the police force for a decade, I invariably became unraveled when dealing with death. And this case would be my nerve-wracking début as co-lead investigator. Gulping in a deep breath, I wore a mask of indifference as the lady of the house led me into a spacious den. Distastefully, I glanced around at the hunting prize heads proudly hung on the walls. Emotionlessly, as though she were a docent giving a tour of an art museum, Roberta Milton pointed to a body curled up on the floor next to a vacuum cleaner.

“There she is. Poor Fifi,” Roberta mused, dotting invisible tears from her hazel eyes.

Clad in a French maid uniform complete with a lacy white apron, black high heel shoes, and an upswept chignon, the victim appeared no older than 40 or so. I bowed my head sadly, willing myself to stay professional and not let my soft heart melt into a puddle at the victim’s feet. A summer breeze swayed in from the veranda, turning my attention to the magnificent ocean views outside the mansion. The Milton family was like a dynasty in Newport, famous for their wealth inherited from a successful wine making business. Their opulent oceanfront estate was located a short walking distance from the historical Breakers mansion where the Vanderbilts had resided during the Gilded Age. It seemed incongruous for such a tragedy to befall the Miltons’ perfect snow globe world.

“Fifi LeChou was pronounced dead 10 minutes ago,” a burly paramedic announced gravely. “Right before you got here, Detective Langford. We couldn’t revive her.”

I nodded curtly, visually inspecting the body and finding no signs of blood or trauma. “When did you find her?” I asked Lady Milton.

“Right before I called the ambulance of course,” she replied with a hint of defensiveness.

“Was she dead when you found her?” I continued.

“Dead as a doornail,” Lady Milton sighed as I flinched at the crass metaphor.

“How do you know that she was dead?” I challenged.

“Because she wasn’t moving!” Lady Milton replied as though I was a complete moron.

“Did you touch her?” I probed.

“Heavens no!” She shivered violently.

“How do you think she died?” I quizzed her.

“Well, it looks like she was electrocuted by the vacuum cleaner. The thing must have short circuited somehow,” Lady Milton theorized, pointing to the vacuum hose that the corpse was strategically gripping.

“Yes, that is what it looks like,” I said meaningfully. “But there are other possible explanations for how she died.”

“Such as?” Lady Milton asked haughtily.

“Such as murder,” I stated emphatically as Lady Milton’s eyes became glassy with fear and her breath shallow as salt water washed upon the shore.

Chapter 1

That Same Day

The Investigation Heats Up…

“We need to start our crime scene interviews,” Max Larken, my newly assigned partner asserted. “You and I should interview everyone separately and then switch, okay?” A five-year veteran of the homicide investigation unit, Max knew the ropes far better than I did as a rookie detective. We had been like passing ships as colleagues all these years and had never worked in tandem until now.

“Okay, sure. Who should I start with?” I asked as Max ran a hand through his tousled blond hair. At 36, he was one of my younger colleagues and also one of the less chauvinistic. Accustomed to being treated as inferior by my predominantly male co-workers, I already enjoyed working with Max who was in the driver’s seat but respected me.

“I think you should start with Rhettthebutler.” The words escaped Max’s lips in a rapid incoherent flurry.

“Huh? Rhett Butler?” I giggled. “Does Scarlet O’Hara live here too?”

His ice blue eyes warmed as he replied, “No, Luna. I said Rhett the butler. His last name is Wagon,” Max deliberately enunciated. “We’re not on the set of Gone with the Wind.” Max chuckled as I bristled, feeling silly.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you right. Okay, I’ll interview Rhett and who are you going to question?”

“I’ll start with Lady Milton,” he decided.

“She’s acting very suspicious,” I whispered. “No emotions at all and she’s the one who found the body.”

“Duly noted,” Max clipped. “Now let’s get started. We’ll compare notes later.”

I nodded and took off in search of the servant quarters and Rhett the butler. With such a large household including both family and staff, the murder investigation could prove to be complicated. I sighed inwardly, knowing I had my work cut out for me. On the bright side, if I swiftly solved this case, I would earn prestige and esteem from my macho colleagues. They would be forced to view me as a formidable equal rather than a girly girl Barbie cop.

I popped my head into the kitchen and approached a plump male chef. “Excuse me? Do you know where I could find Rhett?”

“He’s in his room, I think. In the attic, last door on the left,” the chef explained, adjusting his hat and whisking a bowl of fragrant citrus mousse.

Resolving to return to the kitchen and interview the cook later on, I ducked my head as I ascended the narrow stairway to the attic. Stuffy and claustrophobic, the attic space contained a surprising number of doors. I instantly felt sad for the servants, wondering how they lived in the windowless cage. Finding the last door on the left, I knocked briskly.

A man opened the door while I was still knocking. “Yes?” He stared at me curiously.

“Are you Rhett Wagon?” I inquired.

“Yes.” His tone was robotic. Extra long and lanky, Rhett reminded me of Shaggy from Scooby Doo…in black tie apparel. “I was just about to change out of my uniform and take my lunch break.”

“Well if you could spare a few moments, I’d really appreciate it. My name is Detective Luna Langford and I need to ask you a few questions about your colleague.”

“Which one?” Rhett asked blankly.

“Fifi,” I replied in confusion. “Are you aware that she was found dead in the den this afternoon?”

The stricken look on the man’s face clearly communicated that he had no idea the maid had died. “D-d-dead?” He stammered, grabbing hold of the wall for support.

“Yes, unfortunately. I’m sorry to be the one to break the news to you,” I said sincerely as Rhett trembled with shock. “If you can collect yourself for just a few minutes, you could really help the investigation.”

“I’ll t-t-try,” he stuttered, an errant tear appearing in the corner of his eye.

“How long have you worked with Fifi?” I questioned.

“Only a few months. She started working here in the spring,” Rhett said with a mild convulsion that I hoped wouldn’t turn into a full-fledged seizure.

“What can you tell me about Fifi? What kind of person was she?”

“Very sweet,” he replied immediately. “She was really excited to be here from France. She said she liked living in Rhode Island very much.”

“Were you close to her?”

“Not really. We chatted sometimes…when Lady Milton wasn’t breathing down our necks,” he said as I noted the bitterness in his voice.

“Okay. Take me through your day today. What did you do, starting from the moment you woke up?” I queried in an attempt to establish an alibi for the butler.

Suddenly alarmed, the butler gripped the wall a little tighter until his knuckles turned white. “Why are you asking me what I did today? Are you saying that Fifi was murdered?”

“I’m saying that this investigation is very much in its early stages and we’re not leaving any stone unturned. Now go ahead, tell me about your day in detail.”

The butler’s breath trembled as he spoke. “Uh, well, I woke up around 6 and headed straight for the kitchen to help the chef, Gregory. I prepared some salads and cold appetizers, things like that. Lady Milton was supposed to have a meeting for her book club this afternoon and she wanted plenty of food.”

“So you were with Gregory all morning? Until now? Was anyone else with you?” I asked.

“Yes, Laurelle was with us. She was making soup.”

“Who’s Laurelle?”

“Laurelle Castinette. She’s another French maid,” Rhett replied on a shaky sigh, obviously deeply affected by the news of Fifi’s death.

“And where is Laurelle right now?” I prodded.

“I think she went to the beach for her lunch break. She likes to have picnics on the sand. The sea air helps ease all the stress we have here.” Distinct bitterness returned to the butler’s hollow voice.

“You don’t seem to be very happy working here,” I observed, employing my psychological training and trying to make the interrogation conversational. “Why do you stay if it’s so stressful?”

“Because I have two sons to pay child support for! And eventually send to college! I’m up to my ears in bills but not up to my ears in cash flow,” Rhett gritted as I favored him with a sympathetic look. Red flags were popping up everywhere in my head, but I maintained my approachable demeanor.

“I understand. Times are tough,” I mused.

“Do you have children?”

I bristled, taking aback by the intrusive question. “No,” I replied tersely. “But back to you, Mr. Wagon. What else can you tell me about your relationship with the victim? Did you ever have any altercations with her?”

“Altercations? Are you kidding? I told you that I’ve only been working with Fifi for a few months and we got along,” he replied, crossing his arms across his narrow chest in a classic gesture of self-protection.

“Just asking,” I murmured. “No need to get upset. Do you know of anyone in the household that Fifi didn’t get along with?” I asked.

“Do I have to answer that question? I mean, I’m not required to, right?”

“No, but is there a reason why you don’t want to answer my question?” I asked as a whole football field of red flags now rose in my mind. Clearly, there was someone whom Fifi LeChou didn’t get along with, but for some reason Rhett was unwilling to divulge that potentially crucial information.

“I’m done being grilled. I’m taking my lunch break now,” Rhett stated, disappearing down the hall as I stood in the doorway of his chamber.

Wishing I had a search warrant for the butler’s room, I sighed and moved on to my next interviewee: Chef Gregory. I headed towards the stairwell with my mind absorbed in 1,000 thoughts. Without warning, I bumped into a muscular, unyielding body. Mortified, I realized that I was pressed up against Max in the cramped space. Clearing his throat, he quickly dodged past me up the stairs.

Standing at the top of the staircase, he mumbled, “Sorry, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. That was my fault. My interview with the butler just gave me a lot of food for thought,” I confided.

“Really? He’s the one I was about to go interview now. Is he in his room?” Max asked.

“No, he just went downstairs for his lunch break. Didn’t you pass him on your way up here?”

“No, I didn’t. That’s strange,” Max shrugged.

“It’s very strange,” I emphasized. “He was literally here a few seconds ago. I don’t see how you could have missed him.”

“Well, he’s a thin, wiry guy. I guess he’s faster than me.” Max laughed it off, but I was unsettled by the butler’s inexplicable vanishing. “Who were you on your way to see now?”

“Chef Gregory,” I replied. “How did your interview with Lady Milton go?”

“Not well. The woman is hiding something, but I’m not sure what yet. I’m itching to question her husband, but she says that Sir Milton is in a business meeting right now and won’t be back until tonight.”

“This is going to be a long day,” I said with a smidgen of weariness. “Maybe even an all-nighter.”

“I’ll grab you a cup of coffee later,” Max promised with a wink. “Your favorite: double cappuccino with extra foam and a sugar cane stick.”

“Thanks,” I said gratefully. “Maybe you should make it a whole thermos!”

He chuckled and turned around, following me down the stairs. “I’m going back to take another look at the body. Meet me in the den after you question Chef Gregory,” Max directed as we split off in opposite directions.

Weaving my way through the labyrinth of a mansion, I stopped in the open doorway of the kitchen. Chef Gregory was molding the citrus mousse and polishing it with a shiny glaze. Like Rhett, he seemed oblivious to the fact that one of his colleagues had just been found dead. New alarm bells went off in my head as I wondered why no one knew about Fifi’s sudden demise. Was everyone simply acting like they didn’t know? Or were they truly in the dark? Lady Milton should have been appropriately shocked and horrified to find Fifi’s lifeless body in the den. Wouldn’t her scream have pierced the air and echoed through the household? The mansion was vast, so it was plausible that a scream from the den wouldn’t travel to the countless other rooms. It was also feasible that Lady Milton didn’t scream at all, either because she wasn’t horrified…or she wasn’t shocked…

With these questions swarming like buzzards in my brain, I took a deep breath and addressed the chef. “Do you have a moment?” I asked politely.

“You again, lady?” Chef Gregory grumbled, glancing up from his mousse. “Are you trying to get a job here?”

“No, I already have a job. Homicide investigator. Detective Luna Langford,” I briskly introduced myself as the chef became instantly flustered.

“Homicide? Huh?” He grunted like a Neanderthal.

“Yes, that’s correct. Your colleague, Fifi LeChou, was found dead here and I…”

“Dead? Fifi? Is this some kind of prank?” Chef Gregory eyed me incredulously.

“Unfortunately, it’s not. I need to ask you a few questions regarding Fifi and what you knew about her.”

“I don’t know anything!” He said quickly.

“Oh, but I’m sure that’s not true. Fifi worked here for a few months, didn’t she?”

“I don’t know anything!” Chef Gregory repeated in a visible panic as I arched one very suspicious eyebrow.

Before I could delve deeper into my questioning, the acrid smell of smoke assaulted my senses. Sniffing around, I wondered if something was burning in the kitchen. But the smell was coming from elsewhere in the mansion. A moment later, the shrill sound of a fire alarm infiltrated the mansion, followed by a distinct female scream and furiously pounding footsteps.

Chapter 2

Eyes bloodshot from terror, Lady Milton came barreling into the kitchen screaming at the top of her lungs. “Fire!” She shrieked.

“Where’s the fire?” I demanded.

“In my bedroom! A candle fell…”

“Okay, let’s evacuate,” I directed, reaching for my cell phone to call the fire department.

I waited for the entire staff and all the household members to evacuate before I shuffled outside with Max close behind me. “Is this for real?” He whispered.

“Something’s very fishy,” I whispered back. “Feels like a clever diversion to me.”

“Yeah, and how coincidental that the fire is in Lady Milton’s bedroom! We need to get that woman down to the station for a formal interrogation ASAP!” Max raised his voice, but with all the frantic running and loud chaos, no one paid attention.

“Agreed,” I stated simply.

We stood on the impeccably manicured front lawn as blaring fire trucks swiftly arrived on the scene. Max debriefed the firefighters as they dashed into the mansion with their heavy gear in tow. I glanced over at Chef Gregory who was listlessly shifting his hands in his pockets and walking away from the property.

“Something’s up with that guy,” I commented, pointing to the nervous cook. “He clammed up the minute I asked him about Fifi.”

“The whole household’s acting suspicious!” Max exclaimed with frustration. “And we haven’t gotten halfway down the list of people who need to be questioned.”

“I know. I’m wondering if there could have been some sort of group conspiracy against that maid,” I theorized as Max shook his head in disagreement.

“That’s a little out there, don’t you think?”

“Maybe, but these people are out there too!” I retorted with a semi-grin.

“True, but why would they all want to kill her? She was just a maid,” Max mused.

“Do you have a better explanation, partner?” I challenged.

“Not right now,” he admitted.

“Then don’t knock my ideas,” I smirked as he chuckled.

Across the lawn, Lady Milton was making a ridiculous spectacle of herself, flailing about and wailing to no one in particular. “What is happening to my life? First I lose my maid and now my bedroom? Are the cosmos completely against me?”

I snickered disdainfully at her self-absorbed chatter. “Lovely woman,” I muttered sarcastically.

“She’s spoiled rotten,” Max replied. “She’s been married to Sir Milton for 30 years and hasn’t had to lift a finger in all that time.”

“Got it. So a chipped fingernail would be apocalyptic in her little warped world,” I piggy-backed.

“Exactly. She’s used to having everything her way. Especially since she and Sir Milton are empty nesters now. Their kids are out of the house and she has all day to go to the spa or eat bon-bons or watch grass grow or whatever the lazy bum does!” Max barked.

“How do you know so much about this family?” I asked curiously.

“Before I worked in the homicide unit, I did some fraud investigations. Sir Milton was suspected of some dirty dealings, but I was never able to prove anything, so he was never charged,” Max explained.

“What kind of dirty dealings?”

“Tax evasion, money laundering, the usual,” Max supplied.

“Do you think he was guilty?”

“Guilty as sin. But the facts just weren’t there. No prosecutor in his right mind would have taken the case on,” Max answered.

I nodded my understanding then glanced over at the sidewalk where an attractive brunette was strolling towards the mansion. Dressed in a sheer cover-up sarong, she carried a wet beach towel in her hands. “I wonder if that’s the other maid,” I murmured. “Rhett said she was at the beach.”

“Only one way to find out,” Max asserted, already walking towards the seemingly carefree woman.

I followed my partner and assumed the lead in questioning before Max could talk. “Detective Luna Langford here and this is my partner, Max Larken. Do you work for the Miltons?” I asked firmly.

“Yes,” the woman replied shyly, clutching the beach towel to her chest.

“Are you Laurelle?” I continued.

“Yes, I am Laurelle,” she confirmed with a light French accent. “Why are these fire trucks here?”

“There was a fire in Lady Milton’s bedroom, but that’s not the worst of it,” I grimly previewed.

“How do you know Fifi LeChou?” Max smoothly picked up before Laurelle had a chance to react.

“Why? Is something wrong with Fifi?” Laurelle demanded in a panic.

“Fifi was found dead a short while ago,” I revealed as Laurelle squeaked out a horrified gasp.

“Dead? Oh no! It is not true! Is it true?” Laurelle’s bottom lip quivered and she seemed on the verge of a torrent of tears.

“It is true,” I replied somberly.

“How did you know her?” Max repeated.

“We worked together of course! And we were friends!” Laurelle replied as her eyes hazed.

“Did you come to the United States together?” I inquired.

“No, we are not even from the same part of France. I am from Normandy and Fifi is…was…from Marseille.”

“How long have you been employed by the Milton household?” Max asked.

“Almost two years. Fifi was new, but we became friends so fast…” Laurelle broke off on a raw note of emotion.

“Did you go to the beach alone today?” I inquired, gesturing towards her plush oversized towel.

“Yes, I did. Why?”

“Just establishing your whereabouts,” I replied casually. “What were you doing before you went to the beach?”

“Making a pot of broccoli cheddar soup,” she replied as I made a mental note that her story corroborated with Rhett’s.

“Thank you. That’s all the questions we have right now. Just be aware that you may be asked to come down to the police station at some point,” I said as she nodded shakily.

Max and I circled the perimeter of the property to inspect the fire damage. The firefighters seemed to have contained the bedroom blaze as smoke was floating away with the August breeze. “Should we inspect the body?” I suggested.

“Yes, let’s just make sure the fire team gives the all clear,” Max replied.

A moment later a firefighter stepped onto the veranda and wiped his brow. Turning towards us, he gave a thumbs up to indicate it was safe to enter the mansion. Max and I met the hero on the veranda and shook his hand in a gesture of appreciation.

“Do we need to launch an arson investigation?” Max asked.

Built like the Jolly Green Giant, the firefighter replied, “It looks like the fire was accidental. Just a fallen candle. But under the circumstances, you might want to consider the possibility of arson.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely as the firefighter wiped his sweaty brow.

“Let’s go inside,” Max said.

We made our way into the den where the body had been covered with a white sheet but not yet moved. “Time to take some pictures,” I said with an involuntary shiver.

“I already took pictures,” Max protested.

“Can’t hurt to have more,” I reasoned.

Max pulled back the sheet as I retrieved a police camera from my purse and snapped shots from various angles. “There really are no markings on her body anywhere.”

“That’s what I thought when I did the initial inspection,” Max sighed. “Who knows? She could have had a pre-existing heart condition that no one knew about.”

“Possibly,” I allowed. “Or maybe she really was electrocuted like Lady Milton suggested.”

Moving away from the body, I inspected the vacuum cleaner, carefully turning it off before I plugged it back into the wall. The contraption switched on normally without any evidence of having short circuited. “Okay, scratch that theory. I don’t think the victim was electrocuted.”

“We’ll need an electrical expert to make the final determination,” Max informed. “The vacuum cleaner will need to be removed along with the body.”

“Right,” I replied automatically, still scanning the scene for any clue as to how the woman met her demise.

“This one has got me stumped,” Max admitted helplessly.

“Wait a second…” I said excitedly as a clue finally appeared.

“What?” Max asked urgently as I pointed to the victim’s slender neck.

Kneeling on the floor, I observed a faint, almost invisible, bruise on the front of the victim’s neck. “That’s either from someone’s hand pressing into her neck or from some sort of ligature. Cause of death? Strangulation!” I declared.

Chapter 3

Max knelt down next to me and closely examined the minuscule spot I had located on the victim’s neck. His breath was warm and fluttering in stark contrast to the stony lifelessness of the corpse. I steadied the camera in my hands, zoomed in on the telltale bruise, and took a shot. Then I zoomed out and took a series of photographs of the injury from kneeling and standing angles.

“Good call, Langford,” he marveled, patting me on the back like I was one of his buddies down at the precinct. His flirtatious behavior sometimes irked me, but for some reason, his platonic attitude bothered me even more.

“Thanks Larken,” I muttered. “So I guess the next step is for the body to be driven to the coroner. From there, the medical examiner can determine whether it was someone’s hands or a ligature that cut off Fifi’s airways.”

“Correct. The autopsy will also test for fingerprints on the body,” Max added.

“Who would be foolish enough to strangle a victim with bare hands?” I scoffed doubtfully.

“You’d be surprised. Criminals aren’t always smart. Haven’t you ever watched Cops?” He smirked.

“Not recently,” I replied seriously as my eyes roamed to the vacuum cleaner. “Look at that hose. Seems like the perfect murder weapon to me.”

“You could be right again,” Max said with astonishment. “The hose doesn’t have any groove marks in it. The material is smooth, which could explain why the victim’s neck shows almost no sign of strangulation.”

I nodded, rising to my feet and feeling a wave of nausea sweep over me. “I need a break. Mind if I go grab a cup of coffee and clear my head?”

“I was going to get you some coffee,” Max said playfully.

“I know.” I smiled wanly. “I just need a little fresh air. I’ll be back in 20 minutes, 30 tops, okay?”

“You’re the boss,” he joked.

“Watch it or I won’t bring you back your favorite coffee,” I warned facetiously.

“And what would that be?” Max tested me.

“Basic black.” I grinned. “No frills.”

“Ah, you know me too well, Langford, and we’ve only been partners for a week. Pretty soon you’ll know my favorite meal too.”

Our lighthearted exchange was abruptly interrupted as a heavyset man plowed through the veranda whistling a tune. Quickly, Max and I blockaded the den so the man wouldn’t get shocked into a heart attack to see a dead body. “Sir Milton,” Max said knowingly as the man nearly jumped out of his skin. At least 90% bald, Sir Milton sported a scant wraparound hairdo that created a toilet seat effect on the top of his head. I tried not to giggle at the absurd sight.

“Larken,” Sir Milton grumbled. “What are you doing in my home?”

“Waiting for you,” was my partner’s cagey reply.

“Why?” The man of the house asked skeptically.

“One of your staff was found dead today. I suppose your wife hasn’t informed you?” Max guessed.

“No, she hasn’t.” Sir Milton’s dry lips straightened in a frown.

“Oh Howard! There you are!” Lady Milton exclaimed, appearing out of nowhere.

“Roberta, would you mind telling me what’s going on? What are these people doing in my home?” Sir Milton demanded.

“Fifi’s dead,” Lady Milton announced in the exact same monotone she had used with me. No regret. No sadness. Nothing.

Already possessing a pasty complexion, Howard turned downright ghostly as his wife conveyed the news. He parted his lips to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. Sternly, he stared his wife down until she uncomfortably looked away. The tension between the spouses was palpable.

Breaking his gloomy silence, Sir Milton made a garbled noise in his throat before asserting, “I was in a business meeting since early this morning. You can check with my secretary or any one of the investors who was present at the meeting.”

“We certainly will,” Max said suspiciously. “Any reason why you feel the need to provide an alibi? We didn’t ask you for one.”

“Do you have a search warrant for my home?” Sir Milton roared. “Because if not then I want you both GONE!”

“Sir Milton, a young woman was found dead on your property today. We have every legal right to be here and investigate the scene,” I told him stiffly.

“The scene? Where did it happen? In my entire home? In every single room? No, you have no right to search the individual rooms. Which room did the murder occur in?” Sir Milton demanded as I winced and locked eyes with Max. Again, the millionaire had incriminated himself. What made him so sure that Fifi’s death was a homicide?

“In the event we obtain a search warrant for the individual rooms, we will be back. I assure you. For now, we’re going to finish up the first phase of our investigation in the den. No one is to use that room until the investigation is complete. Do you understand?” Max asked austerely as Sir Milton glowered ferociously.

“Go ahead, finish up,” he gritted impatiently.

“By the way, if you have any contact information for Fifi’s family, I’d appreciate if you would hand it over.” I turned towards Lady Milton as she wore an indecipherable poker face.

“She never spoke of her family. I don’t know anything about the woman except that she came from Marseille,” Lady Milton replied as Max cocked a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Are you telling me that you didn’t conduct any background check on the maid prior to hiring her? Didn’t you find her through some sort of agency?” Max questioned incredulously.

“We imported her from France,” Lady Milton replied crisply.

“Imported her? Like a case of wine?” I interjected sarcastically.

“She came highly recommended by one of my business associates in the south of France,” Sir Milton said tightly. “There was no need for any background check or other rigmarole.”

“Um, excuse me, Lady?” Chef Gregory appeared tentatively in the corridor. In his meaty hands he held a sheet of loose leaf paper.

“Yes?” Lady Milton replied distractedly. “What do you want Gregory?”

“Rhett left this note for you in the kitchen,” the chef answered, placing the paper in Lady Milton’s hands.

Pensively, she scanned the sheet of paper until her expression changed into a definitive frown. “That little weasel!” She cried.

“What does it say, Roberta?” Sir Milton prompted.

“Rhett quit! Just like that! Ugh, whatever happened to giving two weeks’ notice? That rodent didn’t even give two minutes!” She ranted as Sir Milton rolled his eyes.

“We’ll survive,” he mumbled.

“This is too much! First I lose my maid and now my butler! In the same day?!” Lady Milton complained theatrically as I wanted to gag.

“Yeah, life is hard, ain’t it, Lady?” I muttered sarcastically. In my career, I had worked tirelessly to rise in the ranks. I had made countless sacrifices as a police officer, including my non-existent love life, and Lady Milton didn’t even have to make her bed! Steeling myself not to let my personal opinions shade my professional demeanor, I reflected on Rhett’s ill-timed resignation. The wiry man had disappeared like a phantom and his motives were highly suspect.

“So Rhett just left all his belongings in his room?” Max asked doubtfully. “He just took off? Just like that?” He snapped his fingers to illustrate.

“Rhett didn’t have any belongings,” Lady Milton claimed. “He just had his uniform and maybe a book or two that he kept in his room. Everything else in that room belongs to me…I mean us,” she quickly corrected herself as her husband’s eyes flashed with unconcealed malice.

“That makes sense,” I mused. “He was living in a furnished room and he didn’t need to have a wardrobe outside of his uniform. But do you have any idea what would make him leave so suddenly?”

“Yes! He hates me!” Lady Milton whined.

I smirked sardonically, knowing those sentiments to be true. Rhett hadn’t pretended to be a satisfied employee during my brief interrogation. He had openly expressed his bitterness towards his employer. Still, I had to attribute the butler’s abrupt departure to more than a horrible boss; his quitting had to be somehow linked to Fifi’s death.

“Come on, Luna,” Max said in a low voice. “Let’s finish up here and figure out our game plan.”

“Game plan,” Sir Milton snorted with disgust.

“Watch yourself, Howie,” Max warned. “You’re talking to a pair of police officers, not your domestic staff.”

Sir Milton didn’t budge an inch, standing erect and arrogant like an overweight peacock. Lady Milton kept her eyes averted from her husband, balling one hand into a fist and crumpling Rhett’s resignation letter. “Not so fast,” I intervened. “I’m going to need to confiscate that letter.”

“Why? Do you think Rhett killed Fifi? Maybe he did!” Lady Milton handed me the crumpled note.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I think I need to lie down,” she replied with exaggerated fatigue. “That is, if my bedroom hasn’t burnt to ashes!”

“What are you babbling about?” Sir Milton snapped.

“There was a minor fire in your master bedroom,” I informed. “The firefighters quickly contained it and I don’t think much damage has been done.”

“How did the fire start?” Sir Milton demanded angrily.

“One of Lady Milton’s candles…” I began but the matriarch cut me off.

“We don’t know,” she said quickly.

“But you said…” I started again before being rudely interrupted.

“I said nothing!” Lady Milton shrugged with a falsetto laugh.

“You don’t light candles during the day,” Sir Milton said accusingly as his wife shot him an intensely meaningful look that instantly silenced him.

“This house contains a lot of secrets,” Max said with conviction. “And my partner and I are going to uncover every last one of them!”

***

Over a foamy double cappuccino and a jet black cup of java, Max and I sorted through the day’s evidence. The hour was close to midnight and the police crew was down to a skeleton staff. Suppressing a yawn, I knew that sleep would be unlikely that night. I couldn’t get any rest until we at least made some progress with the maddeningly complex case.

“I wish we had the autopsy report in hand right now,” I commented.

“So do I. But it’s wishful thinking, Luna. We can ask the medical examiner to expedite it, though.” Max downed the last drop of coffee and poured himself a refill.

“Definitely. And we should start running some background checks on everyone in that house,” I advised.

“Yeah, including the victim,” Max said firmly.

“Really?”

“Standard practice, you know that, Luna…” Max’s voice faded out on a breathy laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I asked blankly.

“Nothing…it’s just…your name.” He couldn’t resist another chord of laughter.

“My name is funny?” I questioned, mildly insulted.

“In a good way,” he assured me. “I’ve always wondered how you got the name Luna.”

I sighed and told him the story. “Luna means ‘moon’ in Italian. My mother is Italian…”

“So she wanted to give you an Italian name?” Max conjectured.

“Not exactly. I was born during a new moon on a really freezing winter night. My mother said the night was so cold and dark until the moment I was born. Then, she felt like a radiant light as bright as a full moon had come into her life. So she named me Luna,” I explained, feeling my cheeks go red with embarrassment at the sentimental tale.

But Max appeared charmed. “That’s a sweet story. About a sweet lady.”

Ignoring his compliment, I joked, “And how did you get the name Max? Is it short for Maximilian? Like the bossy emperor Maximilian?”

“No,” Max smiled easily. “It’s short for Maxwell. Like the smooth R&B singer Maxwell,” he boasted.

“He was just a kid when you were born! You weren’t named after him!” I giggled.

“No, but I think the name fits.” He winked at me. “I do like to sing.”

“You do?” I asked with surprise.

“I’m a shower crooner for now, but hey if those whole cop thing doesn’t work out…” Max laughed heartily.

“Then maybe you’ll move from the shower to a cruise ship?” I teased.

“Hey, thanks a lot!” He said playfully. “What about you? Do you have any hidden dreams or talents?”

I paused thoughtfully and patted my thick honey colored bun. Stuck in unisex garb all day and night at work, I deliberately kept my hair at an ultra long waist length. The updo style I maintained at work was a leftover relic from my childhood as a ballet dancer. “I wanted to be a ballerina when I was little,” I revealed self-consciously. “But what little girl doesn’t dream of being a ballerina, right?”

“I bet you would have made an amazing dancer,” Max praised.

I blushed and shrugged. “Maybe. I danced all the way through my teen years until freshman year in college. One class in criminal justice and I was hooked. I decided to become a police officer right then and there. Is that how it was for you?”

“Not exactly. I always wanted to be a private investigator and strike out on my own. But police work seemed like the more practical route,” Max said with a touch of regret.

“Well, it’s not too late to be a P.I. How many homicide cases will you have under your belt after this one?” I asked.

“A lot,” Max answered vaguely as though he had slipped into a daydream. “Speaking of which, we should get back to work.” He put on a pair of reading glasses and opened up a file folder.

Sitting up straighter in my chair, I picked up another folder and busied myself with the contents. The tangent had left me flustered and confused. Max and I had worked together for so many years and never spoken about our personal lives…but we hadn’t worked this closely before. Refocusing my energy towards the case, I skimmed a document on Sir Howard Milton, gasping with shock at the information exposed.

Chapter 4

“Max? Have you looked at this?” I asked frantically.

“Hmm? Looked at what?”

“This rap sheet on Howard Milton!” I exclaimed, passing him the document across the desk.

Max glanced at the paper and chuckled. “That’s not a rap sheet. Those are my notes. All the crimes Milton has been accused of but not charged with,” he explained as my heart rate slowed to normal.

“Still, this is a lot of dirt on one man,” I remarked, amazed by the variety of accusations that ranged from embezzlement to fraud.

“Believe me I know. Like I said before, in my gut I know the guy is guilty of all those crimes. But hunches won’t get you in front of a judge. Suspicious behavior and a bad attitude aren’t crimes.”

“If they were, then we could have arrested everyone in that mansion today! Including that butler. That guy literally vanished into thin air. Poof!”

“Yeah, he’s a wild card. We need to find out where he went,” Max said.

“I’m on it. I’m going to run everyone’s name through the database right now and see who comes out tainted,” I said eagerly.

Rhett Wagon was the first person of interest I searched for and his record…or lack thereof…left me speechless. “This guy is clean as a whistle. Not even a traffic violation!”

“That’s probably because he doesn’t have a car!” Max chuckled.

I dug a little deeper into Wagon’s personal history and found nothing of note. “The man is 43 years old. One divorce and some child support that he pays as required. No bankruptcies. Employed by the Miltons for nearly two decades. This man has been living an upstanding life.” I was genuinely surprised at my findings.

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean he’s out of the picture as a suspect,” Max protested.

“But he doesn’t fit the profile,” I insisted. “You know it’s usually a career criminal who commits murder at some point. Either that or someone who had a very personal vendetta against the victim and was enraged by lust or jealousy,” I argued.

“Or someone with undiagnosed mental illness,” Max added. “There was something off about that guy. We both noticed it.”

I shook my head in disagreement. “No, he doesn’t fit the mental illness profile either. He held down the same job for almost 20 years! He’s stable. Maybe he really did just get sick of being shackled to Lady Milton’s every whim and a murder in the household was the last straw for him.”

“Maybe, but we still need to question him again. We can make some calls to local motels or even the YMCA and see if he’s staying there. On his budget, he couldn’t have gone far,” Max deduced.

“Right. We also need to get in touch with the French police ASAP and see if we can get some records on Fifi LeChou and the other maid, Laurelle Castinette,” I said authoritatively. “And we also have to make an effort to reach out to the victim’s family since Lady Milton was no help with that.”

“Good thinking. It could take a while to obtain those records from Europe, so that should be the first order of business tonight. Correction: finishing this delicious coffee is the first order of business.” Max’s face lit up with a smile and his eyes creased charmingly in the corners. But I tried not to notice.

Burying my face in my cappuccino, I delved into the international detective work. “I’ve never worked with the French police before, have you?”

“No, but there’s a first time for everything.” Max rubbed his hands together keenly.

The next several hours passed in a whirlwind as I reached out via email to both the Normandy and Marseille police departments. My guess was that both maids’ criminal histories would be clean, but the police departments could still help us access the ladies’ public records. Max polished off a third cup of coffee as he pored over documents pertaining to Sir Milton’s business dealings. It was well past 3 am when we finally decided to call it a night.

“Any more work at this point would be redundant,” I yawned. “My eyes can’t read anymore and my brain can’t think anymore.”

“Definitely. Let’s get some shut-eye,” Max replied with a mighty yawn of his own.

“And I vote for a 10 am start time tomorrow.” I smiled impishly, prepared to sleep in whether Max agreed or not.

“No arguments here!” He stretched and rose from his chair. “Ah, did you hear that crack?”

“Was that your back?” I asked.

“Yeah, we’ve been sitting way too long.” Max fumbled around in his pocket and produced a car key. “Good work today, Luna. I think this is going to be a beautiful partnership.”

“So do I.” Consciously, I tried not to hear any undertones in his statement, but deep inside my heart read between the lines.

Accompanying me to my car, Max gave me a long, intense look. He inclined his head ever so slightly and then walked in the other direction without uttering another word. Even though my eyes were so tired they could barely focus, I still stared after him for a heartbeat or two before driving home to my empty apartment.

***

“It’s 10:03 Luna. You really are a slacker!” Max teased with a crooked grin as I walked into the precinct.

“I needed three extra minutes of sleep,” I joked.

“Looks like those three minutes of beauty sleep really did the trick,” he said huskily.

“I didn’t say beauty sleep…” I murmured as Max looked me square in the eyes. All his innuendo was making me nervous…and excited.

“Come on, Langford, let’s go bug the medical examiner and see if he’ll do the autopsy this morning.” Max slipped seamlessly back into work mode.

“Good idea. If we hover over him all morning, he won’t be able to say no!”

“You know what? On second thought, why don’t we split up?” Max suggested as I scrunched my nose in disapproval. The words ‘split up’ had a terrible ring coming from his mouth.

“Why?” I asked, feeling unreasonably disappointed.

“So that you can go over to the Milton mansion and do a second round of interviews. It’ll save us some time. Plus, the morgue is no place for a lady like you to be going.”

I chortled. “That’s sweet, Max, but I’m a homicide detective now. I’m sure I’ll have to go there at some point.”

“Not as long as I’m your partner,” he reprised chivalrously.

“You know, I’ve never been one for special treatment. I don’t need it and I don’t like it.” I set the record straight, recalling how my weapons trainer had treated me like a loose cannon when I learned how to shoot a gun at the police academy. The memory of his condescending treatment still made me flinch with anger.

“And I respect that. Okay, look at it this way. The medical examiner knows me personally, so I’ll probably be more effective getting an expedited report from him. And you’ll be more effective questioning the Miltons since old Howie hates me so much,” Max persuaded.

“Well-balanced argument, Larken. Are you sure you’re not a lawyer too?” I grinned.

“A singing lawyer on a Caribbean cruise ship,” Max joked as I rolled my eyes humorously.

“Okay, enough funny business. Let’s get this day started. See you at the mansion later?”

“As soon as I can get there,” Max promised.

The day was sticky and humid, but as I drove closer to the Milton estate, a delicious sea breeze undulated through the air. With the windows rolled all the way down, I let the breeze toss a few tendrils of hair out of my bun. As I drove, a fleeting image of Max’s brilliant smile wafted through my mind. Defiantly, I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself not to fantasize about my colleague. Falling for my partner would do nothing to propel my career. If anything, it could send my career crashing to the ground.

Smoothly wrapping my car around a corner, I arrived on the quaint cul-de-sac where the mansion was situated. I smirked to myself, wondering what sort of histrionics Lady Milton would pull when she saw me again. I was about as welcome in her house as black mold. To my surprise, an ambulance was parked directly in front of the mansion. I squinted then blinked in disbelief as two paramedics lifted Sir Milton’s motionless body onto a stretcher.

Chapter 5

Clamoring out of the car, I tripped over the curb as I rushed to see what had happened. My mind raced with morbid scenarios. Was Sir Milton dead? Had Lady Milton killed both her husband and the French maid? As I inched closer to the scene, I tried to get a good look at Sir Milton, but the paramedics were blocking my view.

“Is he okay? What happened?” I asked frantically, recognizing one of the paramedics as Dane, an old-timer with the crew.

“Oh hey, Luna. We’re not sure. Need to get him to the hospital, stat!” Dane said distractedly.

“But he’s alive?” I stole a look over Dane’s shoulder and couldn’t discern any movement in the portly man’s body.

“He’s breathing, but he seems to be just hanging on. Could be a heart attack,” Dane guessed. “Okay, load him up! One, two, three!”

The paramedics lifted the stretcher into the ambulance as the driver switched on the emergency sirens. “Is anyone going to ride with him? Like his wife?” I wondered aloud.

“Doesn’t look that way,” Dane replied with a shrug. “Take care, Luna.”

The rear doors to the ambulance slammed shut as I walked in a daze to the mansion. Why hadn’t Lady Milton accompanied her husband to the emergency room? Perhaps she was just a cold crustacean of a woman who didn’t feel remorse over her employee’s untimely death or her husband’s possible heart attack.

I tapped the brass knocker three times against the front door. My knocks went unanswered for a full minute until delicate footsteps pattered in my direction. “Bonjour Detective,” Laurelle greeted as she opened the door. “Are you here to speak with Lady Milton again?”

“To start with,” I replied. “I may need to speak with you as well.”

“D’accord. I am ironing right now. And I am also answering the door as you can see. No more butler!” She threw her hands up in the air in a gesture of mock exasperation.

“Do you by any chance know where Rhett might be staying?”

“No, I did not talk to Rhett very much. Fifi was closer to him,” Laurelle informed as I raised an eyebrow.

“Really? Rhett didn’t say they were close,” I said suspiciously.

“Eh bien, I mean close compared to Rhett and me. I try to do my work and mind my business. But Fifi liked to talk.”

“Is that right?” I muttered, absorbing the fascinating tidbit. I definitely needed to speak further with Laurelle. She clearly had more helpful knowledge than she realized. But first, I had to wake the beast: Roberta Milton.

“Is Lady Milton home?” I asked.

“Yes, she is in the living room with a book,” Laurelle replied. “Come with me.”

As we strolled into the living room, Lady Milton glanced up, tearing her spectacles off her face and throwing them on a velour sofa. “Laurelle!” She scolded. “I told you to tell the detectives I’m not home!”

“Oh, sorry. I thought you meant just the man. What is his name?” Laurelle asked sheepishly.

“Detective Larken,” I supplied, regarding Lady Milton as though she were a bizarre character in The Twilight Zone. “Are you aware that your husband was just rushed to the hospital?”

“Yes,” she clipped uncaringly. “So?”

“Aren’t you concerned?”

“Yes, I’m concerned about finishing this novel for my book club,” she said snootily. “I don’t have time to go to the hospital and hold Howard’s hand.”

“But he may have had a heart attack!” I said harshly.

“And it wouldn’t be his first. The man is addicted to butter. Oh and he loves his ribeye steaks. That’s not my fault,” she said defensively. Turning towards Laurelle, she snapped, “Why are you still standing there? You have twice as much ironing to do today without Fifi here! Go on!”

Hunching her shoulders, Laurelle disappeared down the corridor as I gawked at Lady Milton, thoroughly appalled. “I need to have a word with you,” I said tightly.

“Did you obtain a search warrant yet?” She inquired coolly.

“Not yet…”

“Then I can simply ask you to leave, can’t I?”

“You could, but it would be in your best interest to cooperate and let me stay,” I said edgily.

“That sounded like a threat. Was that a threat?”

“No, it was the truth,” I stated matter-of-factly. Lady Milton fixed me with a sour stare, but she didn’t ask me to leave. Seizing the opportunity, I remarked, “You seem very unaffected by the events of the past 24 hours. And I’m just wondering why.”

“This is how I deal with my problems. Calm, cool, and collected,” she said, glowering at me more fiercely as though daring me to question her.

“So then you are upset about Fifi’s death?” I supposed. “You just don’t show your feelings outwardly, right?”

“Right,” Lady Milton replied breezily, reaching for her book.

“Lady Chatterley’s Lover,” I read the title aloud. “D.H. Lawrence. I think I read that book in college.”

“It’s a classic,” she said tersely. “But don’t try to drag me into small talk. I’d like to get this little meeting over as quickly as possible. My book club will be here soon. They couldn’t come yesterday because of the fire if you recall.”

“Yes, I do recall,” I drawled in a patronizing tone. “Speaking of that fire, I can’t help but also recall what your husband said.”

“What did he say?”

“That you don’t usually light candles during the day.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s not home during the day,” Lady Milton retorted.

“He was home just now,” I pointed out.

“Getting ready for a meeting,” she quickly countered. “He started having chest pains as he was putting on his necktie.”

“Okay, Lady Milton. I’ll let you get back to your reading. For now.” I turned in the direction of the servant quarters.

Lady Milton buried her nose in the book and heaved a frustrated woe-is-me sigh. I rolled my eyes and roamed the hallways until I arrived in the kitchen. Chef Gregory was chatting animatedly with Laurelle as he prepared a platter of finger sandwiches. “Knock knock,” I said lightly.

Chef Gregory looked up from his chopping board and frowned while Laurelle greeted me with a genial smile. “Are you finished talking to the Lady?” She asked.

“For now,” I replied. “I’m trying to track down your former co-worker, Rhett. Do you have any idea where he might be staying, Gregory?”

“I don’t know anything,” he grunted like a caveman as I wondered if there were any other words in his vocabulary.

“He doesn’t like the tenth degree,” Laurelle explained softly as my eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Tenth degree? Oh you mean the third degree,” I pointed out her linguistic faux pas. “But I wasn’t giving him the third degree. I was just asking a simple question.”

“You know how chefs are temperamental,” she giggled. “Hotter than the oven!”

Before I could respond to the maid’s silly comment, my cell phone beeped with a new text message. I quickly checked my phone and read the urgent message from Max.

We’re in! Autopsy complete. Search warrant secured. Meet you at the mansion in 15. Time to yank some skeletons out of those swanky closets…

Chapter 6

Chef Gregory practically danced a jig when I told him I was stepping outside for a moment. All my police experience, not to mention feminine intuition and common sense, screamed at me that the man had a huge skeleton to unearth from his closet. Standing on the front lawn, I waited no more than five minutes before Max pulled up in his unmarked police cruiser.

“You’re George Jetson today,” I quipped as he walked towards me.

“Time is of the essence,” he replied. “Always is in a homicide investigation. Fortunately, the medical examiner started the autopsy yesterday and the results were pretty straightforward.” He handed me a sealed manila envelope.

“Was I right?” I asked expectantly as I unsealed the envelope.

“100%,” Max replied proudly. “As you can see from the report, no fingerprints were found on the victim’s skin or clothing. The ligature was confirmed to be the hose of the vacuum cleaner just like you suspected.”

“And there was no short circuit in that vacuum, right? Is that what the electrician discovered?”

“Correct,” Max confirmed. “So this is good news and bad news.”

“Good news because now we can search the whole property and bad news…”

“Because there’s no forensic evidence,” Max finished glumly. “And the eyewitness accounts we’ve received so far have ranged from laughable to non-existent.”

“It’s going to be another caffeinated day…and night,” I sighed, massaging my temples.

“Yup. So fill me in. What did I miss this morning?”

“For starters, you missed old Howie being carted off to the ER!”

“What?!” Max rasped.

“It’s true. And Lady Milton was stiff as a log. That woman is so hard-hearted, I don’t think she’d cry if an orphanage full of children sang lullabies to her!” I shook my head with dismay.

“Unbelievable,” Max muttered. “What’s his prognosis?”

“Not sure. The paramedic suggested it could be a heart attack.”

“Looks like we’re going to need to swing down to the hospital after we search the mansion,” Max concluded.

“Yes we are. So how do you want to do this? Separately?”

“Separately to start with, then we’ll compare notes and do a second search together in case we missed anything the first time.” Max laid out the plan.

“Should we call for back-up?” I asked.

“Already have. Two police officers are on their way to assist with the search.”

“Perfect. Let’s get started. The look on Lady Milton’s face is going to be priceless. She thinks she’s having a book club meeting today!” I snorted with laughter.

“Slight change of plans,” Max smirked.

In the midst of my discussion with Max, I hadn’t noticed the cherry red Mercedes that had parked in the driveway. “Book club member?” I ventured with a chuckle.

“Let’s find out,” Max winked as we strode inside.

Emerging in the doorway of Lady Milton’s pastel shaded sitting room, I cleared my throat. “Sorry to crash this little party, but we have a search to conduct.”

“Still here?” Lady Milton murmured as though the sight of me bored her to death.

“With a search warrant,” Max clarified, holding up the official document for Roberta Milton’s perusal.

Bolting out of her chaise lounge, Lady Milton snatched the document from my partner and read it voraciously. “How did you get this so fast?” She demanded.

“I’m not obliged to answer your questions, Lady Milton. Now if you’d step aside, please, we’d like to get started. You don’t want to hinder our investigation, trust me,” Max said with false intimacy.

“What’s going on, Roberta?” A Chanel-clad woman asked, presumably emerging from the powder room.

“Nothing. Let’s go have a glass of wine in the game room, Priscilla. We are allowed to have a glass of wine, aren’t we?” Lady Milton asked coldly as Max and I nodded in unison.

Flouncing out of the room with her designer book club buddy, Lady Milton left Max and me reeling from her rudeness. “Sweet as candy, isn’t she?” I said playfully.

“Sweet as raw Brussels sprouts,” Max piggybacked as we shared a brief laugh before tackling opposite sides of the mansion.

“I’ve got dibs on servant quarters,” I called over my shoulder, itching to explore the room Rhett had left behind.

“You got it,” Max said as our back-up cops entered through the front door. “I’ll go debrief them. Meet me in the garden in an hour.”

Passing the kitchen on my way to the servant floor, I peeked inside and saw Gregory sticking toothpicks into finger sandwiches. Laurelle was tossing a Caesar salad in a giant metal bowl. Neither one noticed me as I glided down the hall and up the stairs. Once I reached the top of the stairs, I removed my shoes, not wanting the domestics downstairs to hear me. If they knew I was about to search their chambers, they might try to dash upstairs and remove possibly valuable evidence before I could access it.

The door to Rhett’s room was closed. I sucked in a breath as I fisted the doorknob, hoping that there wouldn’t be a lock to hinder me. Fortunately, the doorknob turned easily and I stepped inside. Neatly folded on the twin bed was a pair of blue plaid pajamas. Conspicuously missing from the environment was any sign of the butler’s uniform.

“He must have run out of here still wearing his uniform,” I murmured to myself. “When he disappeared…”

I opened the closet, finding a bare bones space that housed little more than a handful of British spy novels and some old copies of Mad Magazine. “Boyish taste for a grown man in his 40’s,” I muttered.

Rhett’s wardrobe chest was even more barren, containing nothing more than a freshly pressed uniform which I assumed to be a duplicate for hygiene purposes. Disappointed, I got down on my knees and stuck my head under the bed. Nothing but dust bunnies stared back at me. Standing up, I placed my hands on my hips and looked around the tiny room. I couldn’t believe that the butler’s chamber didn’t contain a single juicy secret…but that didn’t mean Rhett himself was devoid of scandalous information.

“I’ve got to find this guy!” I blurted out impatiently.

Zipping my lips, I tiptoed into the next room that had a decidedly masculine theme. A chocolate toned comforter was draped over the bed while photographs of legendary football players covered the walls. A white chef’s hat hung loosely over the bed’s headboard. “Gregory’s room,” I deduced in a whisper.

“What are you doing in my room?” A deep, violated voice inquired.

Nearly leaping out of my skin, I clasped a hand over my heart and whirled around. Chef Gregory’s frame loomed enormously over me in the doorway. Instinctively, I patted my hidden holster where my firearm was ready to protect me.

“The police department has obtained a search warrant for the entire property,” I stated, fighting off tremors in my voice. “I have every legal right to be in your room right now.”

“Why did you pick my room to search?” Gregory asked darkly.

“I’m searching every room in the mansion. Your room is not being singled out, I assure you.”

“I told you that I don’t know anything…”

“Yes! I did hear you the first hundred times!” I exclaimed in exasperation. “You’re not doing yourself any favors by repeating those words.”

“What does that mean?” Gregory seemed severely offended.

“Listen, I don’t have time to chit-chat. I’m conducting a homicide investigation and I would strongly suggest that you refrain from impeding my search,” I warned with as much stern formality as I could muster.

To my surprise, Gregory backed away slightly from the doorway. “I didn’t do anything, I swear,” he said, looking me dead in the eyes.

“For your sake, I hope that’s true,” I replied frankly.

He gave me a strange, unreadable look as he finally left the room. I held my breath until I heard his heavy footsteps retreating down the stairs. Involuntarily, I shuddered, feeling like taking a hot shower after dealing with the disturbingly quirky man. I didn’t want to succumb to weakness and fear, but I only did a quick scan of the room before moving on to Laurelle’s quarters. Let Max do a more thorough inspection. Being in Chef Gregory’s bedroom made me nauseous.

In contrast to Gregory’s unwelcoming chamber, Laurelle’s bedroom was a portrait of soft femininity. Decorative pillows in shades of lavender and lily were strewn over an immaculate daybed. Heart shaped bottles of perfume brightened up a plain mahogany nightstand. The room had a pleasant aroma of cinnamon potpourri and French parfum. Feeling my jitters dissipate, I opened the nightstand drawer and rummaged through the contents. As my hand closed around a bottle of facial moisturizer, the door slammed shut behind me. I froze in place as the sound of a key twisting in a lock made my heart palpitate forcefully against my sternum.

Chapter 7

My shock quickly transformed into fury at being held hostage. “Who locked me in here? What kind of game is this?” I shouted indignantly, pounding my fists against the door. “I’m a police officer! There are serious consequences for hindering an investigation!” I yelled.

I stomped my feet obnoxiously on the floor, hoping that Max or one of the other officers downstairs would hear me. The servant quarters were so isolated from the rest of the household that I didn’t think they would be able to hear my cries. As I jumped up and down, creating as much noise as I could, I gripped my cell phone and placed a call to Max. Within a minute, I heard footsteps racing upstairs.

“Max, is that you?” I called hopefully.

“Luna, where are you?” The rich timber of Max’s voice instantly reassured me.

“In Laurelle’s room. Somebody locked me in!”

Max followed my voice and shook the doorknob violently. When the door didn’t budge, he swore under his breath. “I really don’t want to shoot this door open. Let me try to jimmy it open…hang on a sec.”

My nerves calmed as I trustingly waited for Max to unlock the door. Ever police officer has had to jimmy a car or residential door open at some point. Figuring out how to free me shouldn’t be too difficult for my seasoned partner.

“Got it!” He said triumphantly, swinging the door open and gazing at me, concerned.

“Thanks Max,” I exhaled. “I think Chef Gregory locked me in here, but I don’t know why.”

“Why do you think it was the chef?” Max asked.

I filled Max in on my confrontation with the monosyllabic barbarian, also sharing my general impressions of his character. “We need to delve deeper into his past,” I advised.

“Well, we already ran background checks on everyone in this household, but I guess we could try again,” Max said doubtfully.

“I know it’s a long shot that we’ll find something, but we do have to try.” I hurried out of the room, avid for clean air. “I’m going to step outside for a few minutes.”

“I’m coming with you,” Max said, following me downstairs and out onto the front lawn. “Let’s take a walk.” Whipping his phone out, he started rapidly typing. “I’m texting the rest of the crew to find out who locked you in that room.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling foolish. “I think I overreacted. Jumping up and down on the floor like that!”

“Are you kidding? You did exactly what you needed to do. What’s wrong, Luna?” He asked, perceiving the faraway look on my face.

Walking towards the ocean, I relished the breeze that kissed my face. Sighing with the breeze, I replied, “I’m wondering if I’m cut out for this job. I mean, I practically burst into tears when I first saw the body! Can I really handle this?”

“You’ve been a cop for ten years! What are you talking about?”

“A cop, yes. But not a homicide detective. This is a whole different ball game. Being a regular cop seems like child’s play compared to this job.” I slouched my shoulders as defeat weaved its way into my body language.

“Listen, this job isn’t easy. And it isn’t for everyone. But you got the promotion for a reason, Luna. Your promotion was a vote of confidence from the chief. He knows you can do this and I know you can…”

“That’s sweet, but you don’t have to give me a pep talk,” I said, staring out at a cluster of jagged cliffs.

Max’s gaze followed mine as he took my hand and pointed towards the cliffs. Goose bumps rose on my skin at the unexpected contact. “See those cliffs? Being a homicide detective can be that rocky. But see that shoreline?” Max gestured towards gently lapping waves cascading onto the sand. “That’s the kind of peace you can bring to victims’ families. It’s all worth it for giving them that peace of mind and bringing their loved one’s killer to justice. There’s no feeling like it in the world.”

Max’s words had profoundly moved me, and I found myself incapable of uttering a response. Instead of trying to speak, I merely nodded and thanked him silently through the warm glow in my eyes. He smiled, knowing he had reached me.

“Should we go get some lunch? Or coffee?” His eyes glimmered at the mention of his beloved coffee.

“No, let’s get back to work,” I replied, feeling rejuvenated from the beachfront stroll. “This was just what I needed to clear my head. Let’s go bring some peace back to shore.” Even if we never identified Fifi’s family, I knew that I would never find any personal peace until I solved her murder.

***

Max had eventually persuaded me to refuel with a comfort food lunch of tuna melt sandwich with salty potato chips and pickle on the side. An indulgent vanilla milkshake to wash it all down had proved to be the perfect antidote to my stress. Revived and ready to continue the investigation, I charged back into the mansion and claimed the ground floor level for my next phase. Lady Milton was sulking in the corner, cooling herself with a wooden Oriental-style fan. Predictably, she scowled at me as I staked out her turf.

“You’re not going to be here past sunset, are you?” She asked miserably.

“Why? Planning to visit your husband in the hospital and don’t want to leave your castle in the hands of us peasants?” I said sarcastically.

“I don’t need to visit Howard. He’s doing fine,” she replied with a distinct note of disappointment in her voice.

“Oh really? Did you check on him?”

“No, his doctor called and says he just needs a little bed rest. High blood pressure, not another heart attack. He’ll be home tomorrow.” She sounded downright crestfallen at her spouse’s encouraging prognosis.

“Well, that’s good news,” I mumbled, cutting off the conversation and heading towards the den.

Max was already snooping in the large, drafty room when I arrived. “Hey Luna. Feeling better after all that grub?”

“Much better. Aren’t you supposed to be tackling the servant quarters now?”

He grinned at me. “Sorry, I’m on your territory now, aren’t I? I’ll go upstairs and you see what you can find here. So far, this day has been nothing more than a wild goose chase, though.”

“I know. Either these people have hidden their secrets very well or we’re barking up the wrong tree,” I mused.

“All the more reason to find Rhett tonight,” Max said. “Let’s make that a priority. We can always come back again tomorrow and do a second round of searching.”

“Okay, so let’s try to finish up in the next few hours?” I estimated as Max nodded.

“Yes. Then it’s off to all the seedy motels and shabby YMCA’s in the area.”

“Sounds fun!” I said with irony.

“Almost too much fun! It should be illegal!” He cackled as I replied with a giggle.

“Good luck,” I offered as he walked out of the room.

“Thanks. I think we’re both going to need it,” he quipped.

Three hours later, I had searched, dug, pondered, analyzed, theorized, conjectured, and ruminated until I thought my brain would go numb. And not a single nugget had resulted from my detailed inquest. One look at Max’s face as we reunited on the front lawn and I knew that his search had been just as fruitless.

“Empty-handed,” He muttered, cupping his palms open to demonstrate.

“Same here,” I agreed gloomily.

“I did get to question Chef Gregory, though. He wouldn’t admit to locking you in the room. In fact, he wouldn’t say much at all.”

“He’s a man of few words,” I said derisively. “Let’s go find Rhett now. We can surprise everyone at the mansion tomorrow bright and early. They’ll all be half conscious if we show up around 5 am.”

“Why not 4 am? We can pull an all-nighter,” Max persuaded.

“Yeah, I think that’s the only way. I won’t be able to sleep tonight unless we at least make some headway in this maddening case.”

“Me neither,” Max concurred.

Riding together in the “company car,” we kept small talk to a minimum and focused on the monumental task at hand. Tracking down Rhett Wagon was somewhat similar to pulling a needle from a haystack. “Rhode Island is the smallest state in the country,” I grumbled as we combed through an extensive list of motels. “This should be easier.”

“Well, at least we know where not to look,” Max said optimistically. “There aren’t any motels in the Miltons’ posh neighborhood.”

“Or even anywhere close,” I said with a spark of hope. “All there is around here are seafood restaurants and exclusive golf clubs.”

“Why don’t we just randomly start calling motels in surrounding towns and ask them to check their registry? It would be ridiculous for us to visit every motel.”

“Okay, we’ll both call. You take the first half of the alphabet and I’ll take the second half.”

I lost count of the hours---and the motels---as we meticulously phoned every possible lead. My voice was hoarse by the time we decided to broaden our range to a 50 mile radius. Reasoning that the wayward butler could have taken a bus out of town, we zeroed in on the capital city of Providence, which offered numerous cheap places to stay.

“Eureka!” I shouted triumphantly as I disconnected my umpteenth call.

“You found him?” Max asked breathlessly. “Don’t toy with me, Luna!”

“He’s in Providence at the Blue Shade Inn!” I announced excitedly as Max threw the car into reverse and headed towards the highway.

“Awesome!” Max exclaimed on a rush of adrenaline.

Located 30 miles northwest of Newport, the city of Providence was congested with traffic and people. On our way to the motel, we passed some of the city’s iconic schools like Ivy League Brown University and the esteemed Rhode Island School of Design. My career kept me trapped in Newport most of the time, so even this little escapade was a welcome change of pace. Providence didn’t have the shimmering coastline and stately mansions of Newport, but it had something even better: Rhett Wagon served to us on a silver platter.

We stormed the Blue Shade Inn, flashing our badges at the front desk as the clerk on duty divulged Rhett’s room number. “Let’s take the stairs,” I suggested. “We can’t risk any technical problems with the elevator.”

“Definitely,” Max agreed as we climbed to the fourth floor.

Knocking insistently on room 406, we waited with racing pulses for our person of interest to open the door. Within seconds, Rhett surfaced at the door, appearing not the least bit surprised to see us. Unshaven, the former butler was dressed in a Hard Rock Café tee-shirt and a pair of baggy cargo pants that emphasized his leanness.

“Detective Luna Langford, Homicide Unit. And my partner, Max Larken.” We presented our badges as a formality.

A peculiar smirk painted Rhett’s lips. “I remember. It was only yesterday.”

“We need to have a word with you…” I started.

“I know. I was kind of hoping you would find me,” Rhett said as my eyes bulged.

“Why?” I asked inquisitively as my heart pounded. Was he getting ready to confess? A guilty conscience could work wonders towards extracting a confession from a criminal, but it was a rare gift that police officers almost never received.

“You know, I was going to head up to Canada. Get a change of scenery,” he said dreamily, evading my question. “But I decided to stay in Rhode Island just a little longer. It was like there was a magnet keeping me stuck here.”

“What would you like to tell us, Rhett? Go ahead,” I coaxed gently, desperate for him to speak before he changed his mind.

“I know something,” he said in a low voice. “That’s why I walked out on the Miltons yesterday. I couldn’t keep the secret any longer. Not after Fifi died.”

Again, the man’s words astounded me. It didn’t sound at all like Rhett was the perpetrator but that he knew who was. “What secret?” I prompted.

Rhett heaved a ragged sigh. “Sir Milton and Fifi were having an affair.”

“Having an affair?” Max echoed as my jaw dropped. “Are you sure?”

“Oh yeah. I’m very sure. The whole mansion knew about it. Including Lady Milton. That’s why I ran away. I couldn’t stay and keep the secret any longer, but I also didn’t want to get involved. I don’t need this stress in my life.”

“No one needs this stress in their lives, but it’s your duty as an upstanding citizen to share what information you know,” I coached diplomatically. “And now you’ve done that duty.”

“Am I going to get in trouble? Are you going to arrest me for not telling you this information yesterday?” Rhett asked nervously.

“No. But we’re not done questioning you yet. Who do you think killed Fifi?” I queried even though the answer was crystal clear.

“Isn’t it obvious? It had to be Lady Milton!” Rhett claimed as I nodded.

“One other question: how did you get downstairs so quickly after our interview yesterday? You seemed to disappear into thin air,” I probed as the smirk resurfaced on his lips.

“I guess you haven’t found the secret passageway yet,” he said with a fiendish glimmer in his eyes.

Chapter 8

“Secret passageway?” I breathed incredulously.

“Yeah. The help isn’t supposed to know about it, but we all do. It leads to a cellar where Sir Milton keeps his most expensive vintages. He’s got wines in there that are worth thousands. But I didn’t take any, I swear!” Rhett hastily added.

“Why did you use the secret passageway? Why didn’t you just take the regular stairs?” I asked suspiciously.

“Because I wanted to get away from you,” Rhett said sheepishly. “You made me so nervous with all your questions, Detective.”

“I barely had a chance to ask you anything,” I argued. “You’ve given us some very valuable information tonight. Is there anything you left out?”

“Now would be the time to tell us,” Max said firmly.

“No, that’s all. I swear I don’t know anything else. Besides, if I wanted to hide from you, don’t you think I would have checked into this motel using a fake name? I used my real name!” He looked at us unblinkingly.

I couldn’t argue with that bit of logic but I still wouldn’t let him off the hook. “You do realize that if you’re lying about any of this information that the truth will come out and you’ll be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, right?” I said harshly.

“Yes, but why would I lie?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I feigned naïveté. “Perhaps to protect yourself?”

“Protect myself from what?” Rhett asked blankly.

“To throw us off course and place the burden on someone else,” Max clarified. “It’s a common tactic among criminals.”

“You mean make up a story about an affair because I’m the one who killed Fifi? That’s nuts!” Rhett finally caught on.

“Oh, but it isn’t,” I protested. “As Detective Larken said, it’s a common strategy but not a successful one in the end.”

“The affair was real! Didn’t you notice how Lady Milton reacted to Fifi’s death? She didn’t give a hoot about it!” Rhett said as I was forced to acknowledge the truth of his words.

“Okay, Mr. Wagon, and you do also realize that now you’re going to be required to give a formal statement at the police station, right? And that this statement will be given under strict oath?” I asked warily.

“I’ll give whatever statement you want. As long as you don’t arrest me for anything!”

“You seem awfully worried about getting arrested,” Max observed. “Are you sure there’s not something else you’d like to tell us?”

“No,” Rhett replied stonily as it became immediately clear that he had shut down and wouldn’t share any other information.

“Okay, well we’re going back to Newport now to continue our investigation. Why don’t you come with us and we’ll drop you off at the station to give your formal statement?” Max invited as though Rhett had a choice in the matter.

“Sure. I guess it beats taking the bus there,” Rhett mumbled.

Darkness had fallen by the time we reached Newport with our witness in tow. Depositing him at the police station for further questioning, Max and I rushed to get back to the mansion.

“This might be even better than going at the crack of dawn. They probably aren’t expecting to see us again tonight,” I pointed out.

“Probably not. But here we come!”

“I don’t know what to do first,” I struggled as Max parked outside the mansion and turned the headlights off to be discreet. “Question Lady Milton or find the secret passageway?”

“We have to pounce on our suspect. We can’t give her any more time to think or plan or falsify her reaction. If we had known about this affair sooner, we could have questioned her more aggressively from the start. After all, she was the one who found the victim and reported the death. That has never sat well with me.”

“Me neither. Let’s pounce!” I envisioned us as sleek leopards in the night, sprinting across untamed land to capture our helpless prey.

We knocked loudly on the front door as lights flickered on throughout the mansion. Running feet and incensed voices bespoke of the fact that the entire household had been ambushed. I blinked disbelievingly as a disheveled Lady Milton ripped the door open and faced me down with blazing eyes.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” She screamed, appearing wild-eyed like a zombie mutant.

“Thank you. So kind of you to invite us in on short notice,” I said sarcastically as her lips curled into a snarl.

“We can do this at the door or we can do this inside like civilized people,” Max said. “Either way, we’re coming inside at some point.”

Audaciously, Lady Milton left us standing at the front door as she marched down the hallway. Determinedly we followed her, shutting the door behind us and finding the enraged madam in the sitting room, pouring a glass full of red wine.

“We don’t drink on the job, but thanks for asking,” Max quipped as her snarl intensified.

“Let’s just cut to the chase. How long have you known about your husband’s affair with Fifi LeChou?” I interrogated as she took a big gulp of wine.

“All along,” she said carelessly. “It wasn’t his first affair and it won’t be his last.”

Her reaction caught me completely off guard. I had expected Lady Milton to stutter her way through a response, swearing up and down that she didn’t know about the affair. But she was readily admitting her knowledge which made me question whether she really was the guilty party. But I was far from finished with my questions.

“So you knew about the affair? And did it upset you?” I prodded.

“Please! I don’t care what that man does. We don’t even sleep in the same bedroom anymore,” Lady Milton revealed candidly.

Frowning thoughtfully, Max jumped in. “So you’re saying that you weren’t the least bit angry that your husband was carrying on with a woman 20 years younger than you? It didn’t irk you at all?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Lady Milton replied, sipping her wine like it was medicine. “My question is how did you know about it? Did you interview my husband from his hospital bed?”

“We can’t expose our sources. Let’s just say that the affair is common knowledge at this point,” I said carefully to protect Rhett’s identity.

“Oh, it certainly is. My husband is anything but discreet.” She laughed bitterly.

“So it does upset you a tad?” I provoked.

“He upsets me a great deal! I can’t stand the man. If there was anyone in this house I would want to kill, it would be him! But did the affair upset me? No. Not one iota. But I’ve already told you that several times.” Lady Milton regarded us condescendingly as though we needed to take a crash course in Police Interrogation 101. What she didn’t understand is that drilling the same questions over and over again was a method employed to break suspects down and make them confess.

“Did you kill Fifi LeChou?” Max asked outright.

“No, I did not kill Fifi LeChou.” She enunciated each word with razor-sharp precision.

“Do you think your husband killed her?” I asked.

“No, she was his new plaything. They had only been romping around for a few months. He wanted to keep her. Besides, my husband isn’t a violent man. He’s a soft-bellied teddy bear,” she said with certainty.

“Then who do you think killed Fifi?” I challenged.

Setting her glass of wine down on a coaster, Lady Milton licked her lips and said in a low intimate voice. “If you really want to know, I’ll tell you. It was Rhett.”

Chapter 9

“Why Rhett? What motive would he have?” Max forced Lady Milton to support her bold accusation.

“Rhett was attracted to Fifi. When she first started working here, Rhett couldn’t take his eyes off of her. I think it upset him very much when she started canoodling with Howard. As a butler, Rhett felt so inferior. He had nothing to offer Fifi.”

“And what was your husband offering Fifi? Other than an illicit affair?” I inquired brusquely.

“He gave her a little more cash on the side, I’m sure. Probably shared some of our pricey vintages with her. She was from France, after all, so I’m sure she had quite an affinity for fine wine. And my husband has a collection to rival any in France.”

“And you think this was enough motive for murder?” Max questioned skeptically. “The butler had a little puppy love crush on the maid, couldn’t have her, and killed her? I’m not buying it.”

“Well, you asked my opinion and there you have it. It wasn’t for sale, so you don’t need to buy it,” Lady Milton bristled.

“Another question. If you’re so miserable with your husband, then why do you stay with him?” I dug deeper to access the woman’s psyche.

“I’m not that miserable with him. We lead separate lives. He has his business and his French maids and I have my book club and tennis dates. It’s not so bad, really. Besides, I don’t want to break up my finances….er, I mean my family,” she swiftly corrected herself, but the Freudian slip had already exposed her real feelings.

I looked over at Max as he cocked his head towards the servant quarters. Yes, it was high time we discovered the secret passageway. The conversation with Lady Milton was rapidly turning into a botched therapy session.

“We’ll be doing some more searching, now,” I informed. “You may not want to go back to sleep yet because we’ll probably need to speak with you again at some point tonight.”

“Peachy!” Lady Milton crowed as she polished off her wine and poured a second glass all the way to the rim.

Leaving the lush to her own devices, Max and I swept out of the room without another word. As we approached the staircase leading to the servant quarters, the sound of hostile voices carried into the hallway. I craned my neck to listen and easily identified Laurelle’s French accent mingled with Chef Gregory’s barbarian monotone.

“I wonder what they’re arguing about,” I whispered to Max.

“Strange,” he remarked. “Let’s have another talk with those two right after we check out this secret passageway.”

The staircase coiled like a cobra to attic level and I had no idea how to access the invisible passageway. “We should have asked Rhett for more specifics,” I noted.

“Too late for that,” Max answered. “Let’s just feel our way around.”

Our hands brushed against one another as we stroked the wood panels of the walls. The paneling felt hollow, as though there were a whole other world located just beyond it. Gregory and Laurelle continued their heated argument upstairs, although I couldn’t decipher exactly what they were saying. Their voices were blatantly quarrelsome but muffled.

Losing my footing on the base of the staircase, I toppled over into Max’s arms as he caught and held me solidly in his grip. “Easy there, Luna. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I whispered, already starting to pull away.

Before I could extradite myself from the entanglement of Max’s embrace, I lost my balance again and fell forward. My entire body weight pressed against his chest, creating a domino effect and an unexpected opening to the secret passageway.

“Whoa!” Max grunted as his back inadvertently unsealed the hidden doorway.

Together, we fell through the hollow wooden door and into a musty crawl space. “This can’t be what Rhett was talking about!” I muttered, coughing from the dusty atmosphere.

“This is like some kind of dungeon! Did he trick us?” Max wondered aloud as I rubbed my eyes and tried to adjust to the darkness.

As my eyes shifted into focus, I could see another set of stairs leading to a spacious, unfurnished loft. Grabbing Max’s hand, I wobbled to my feet and staggered towards the loft. From the bottom of the stairwell, I could see countless bottles of wine stored horizontally with alphabetical tags categorizing them. We dashed to the top of the stairs, briefly inspecting the wine bottles and then deepening our search with a thorough perusal of every square foot of the space.

“Look over there,” Max said. “It’s another door. It looks like it leads to the outside.”

I glanced up at the glass-paned door that reflected slices of moonlight from the night sky. “That must be how Rhett got out of here! I guess it would be a little faster than walking through the entire mansion, but not much.”

Max nodded his assent as he scanned the bottles of wine and gave a low whistle. “Man, these wines would impress Dom Pérignon himself! Old Howie has good taste. I can say that for him.”

“Max!” I hissed. “Who cares about the wine? We need to keep searching!”

“I know. I’m acting like a kid in a candy shop. But seriously, Luna, these are the Corvettes and Rolls Royces of grape right here!”

I giggled at Max’s boyish enthusiasm. “If we solve this case tonight, I’ll go out and buy you a nice bottle of wine, how about that?”

“Deal!” He said impishly.

Playfully rolling my eyes, I pushed past Max to the top of the loft. The space was empty except for one glaringly obvious deviation: a wide open safe! “Max, come up here,” I said anxiously.

“What did you find?” He asked, practically flying to where I stood.

“Just look,” I urged as we peered inside the safe.

Dozens of packets of bank-wrapped cash were piled in the safe along with one conspicuously torn open stack that was half depleted. “I bet Rhett stole some money before he left,” I guessed. “That’s why he came in here. Not because it was a fast getaway!”

“And he was so sloppy that he left the safe wide open,” Max chuckled without mirth.

“But how did he know the combo to the safe? Who told him?” I wondered aloud.

“Maybe Fifi knew the combination,” Max deduced. “Howie might have shared it with her as a perk for passion.”

A feeling of dread washed over my entire body as I mumbled, “Maybe there was a price on Fifi’s head. Maybe she was murdered for this money!”

Chapter 10

Max regarded me as though I had just discovered the eighth wonder of the world. Slowly, he drawled, “Keep talking, Luna. Lay out your theory.”

“Rhett wasn’t the only member of the staff to know about this secret passageway. He told us that everyone on the staff knew about it.” I paused and inhaled a sharp breath. “My gut is telling me that either Gregory or Laurelle is the culprit. I’m just not sure which one.”

“Bomb sniffing dogs follow their noses to solve crimes, but we as cops have to follow our guts,” Max said with conviction. “I’m with you, Luna.”

I smiled, elated that my male partner was practically gift wrapping the case and tying it up with a bow for me to unveil. Maybe I can do this job after all! “Okay, Max. Let me go upstairs and see what those two are arguing about. You stay on my tail in case I need back-up.”

Wiggling my way through the crawl space, I shimmied out of the secret doorway and mounted the stairs. A peculiar silence had fallen over the servant quarters as I wondered whether Gregory and Laurelle had gone to sleep. Ever so quietly, I passed Gregory’s chamber, surprised to see the door ajar. Peering inside, I noted an empty room with a perfectly made bed. Where was Gregory?

Grabbing my cell phone, I punched in a quick text to Max. Is Gregory in the kitchen? Go check and let me know.

A few moments later, Max texted back that the kitchen was dark and empty. I stood in Gregory’s room with my hands framing my hips. Where could he be? Popping my head outside the door, I glanced down the hall and saw that the door to Laurelle’s bedroom was tightly closed. Was it possible that Gregory and Laurelle were together in her bedroom? Gregory was such an unappealing man, to say it nicely. If I were a cruel person, I would be blunt and call the man a moronic gorilla. It was baffling to imagine what an alluring young woman like Laurelle would want with a baboon like Gregory.

Gathering my courage, I walked down the hall and knocked on Laurelle’s door. She took her time in answering my knocks, finally emerging in front of me in a cotton tee-shirt and skimpy boy shorts. “Oui, Detective? What now?” She feigned boredom à la Lady Milton.

As I was about to respond, I noticed a hairy pair of tree trunk thick legs sticking out from her feminine bedspread. If Gregory had been trying to camouflage himself, he had done a horrendous job. “Um, who’s your guest over there?” I asked innocently.

Laurelle looked over at the bed and promptly lost her temper. “Gregory! You big goon! She can see you!”

“Yes, I certainly can. Why did you feel the need to hide him?”

“Because Lady Milton does not like the staff to be romantic,” Laurelle replied, tucking her chin into her chest as though she felt tremendous shame.

“Is that right? Yes, I’m sure she especially didn’t like her husband to be romantic with the staff, but that’s another story.” As I spoke, I sent an SOS text message to Max to hurry upstairs so we could interrogate the suspicious pair separately.

At my side in record time, Max suggested, “I’ll have a word with Laurelle.” Addressing the giant lug in bed, Max hollered, “Get up, man! It’s not bedtime. Detective Langford needs to speak to you.”

Donning nothing but a shockingly red pair of boxer shorts, Gregory lunged out of bed. “Put some clothes on, man!” Max ordered. “You’re making everyone sick!”

Gregory clumsily threw on a tank top and a pair of sweat pants before pounding into the hallway. I followed him and shut Laurelle’s door behind us. “Why don’t we have a word in the kitchen? It will be more private there.”

Mutely, Gregory descended the staircase and switched on the kitchen lights. “I don’t know anything,” he groused as he poured himself a glass of ice water.

“None for me?” I said sarcastically, pointing to the water pitcher. “And really, don’t you have any other lines? Is that what you use to pick up the ladies?” I mocked him as he gave me a hard murderous stare. “I guess it worked with Laurelle. How long have you two been having private sleepovers?”

“None of your business,” Gregory said obstinately.

“Now, I’m going out on a limb here,” I ventured as my sarcasm became more wicked. “But I’m going to guess that you know quite a bit. No, actually, I’m going to place all my money on the fact that you know everything. I don’t know if you killed Fifi yourself, but I’m convinced that you know who did. Talk to me, Gregory. Unless you want to continue this little chat down at the police station.”

“I don’t know…”

“Spare me!” I shrieked. “A broken record from 1947 wouldn’t be as repetitive as you!”

Gregory fidgeted in place, taking an enormous gulp of water, and then hiccupping loudly. Several minutes passed before his nervous hiccupping was under control. All the while, I patiently waited for my suspect to speak. “I’ve got all night,” I said. “You can fix yourself a seven course meal and I’ll still be here until you talk.”

The chef slapped his hand over the granite countertop but said nothing. He looked around the room as though trying to find a way to escape. His breath was expelled in audible spurts that betrayed his increasing anxiety.

Knowing that I was starting to break him down, I switched tactics to keep the suspect on his hairy toes. “Gregory, you have family somewhere, right?” I asked rhetorically. “There are people who love you in this world. And there are people who loved Fifi too. She was young. She didn’t deserve to be strangled to death. Search inside your heart. Tap into your conscience. Talk to me,” I urged in an intimate tone.

“I have a sister in Connecticut,” he muttered as I tilted my head to one side compassionately.

“Really? Are you close to her?”

“I only see her once a year,” he replied mechanically.

“But you love her?”

“Yeah. And her kids. I have two nieces,” he revealed as I kept playing the role of casual confidante.

“How old are they?” I asked softly.

“I don’t remember…maybe about 10 and 12 now. I don’t know,” he said with audible sadness.

“What can you tell me about Laurelle?” I seamlessly switched gears. “Other than the fact that she’s from Normandy…”

Gregory wrinkled his pug nose in confusion. “She’s not from Normandy. She’s from Marseille…” As soon as he spoke the words, his countenance became agitated again and he let out another belting hiccup.

Every muscle in my body tensed as I tried to manipulate my fragile informant. One misstep and he would refuse to say anything else. “Did she come to the United States with Fifi? Did they know each other?”

“If I don’t tell you what I know, could I go to jail?” He asked fearfully.

“Yes, you could. And if you are protecting Laurelle, I’d say she’s really not worth it. She didn’t treat you very nicely just now.”

“She’s so pretty…” Gregory said helplessly.

“Pretty poison,” I corrected. “Talk to me. I don’t want to see you in jail.”

“Fifi and Laurelle came from France together,” he confirmed. “They were friends.”

“What else? What about the secret passageway?”

“You know about that?” Gregory marveled as he hunched his shoulders in defeat. “Laurelle told me that her and Fifi were going to steal all the money from the safe and go back to France. Laurelle promised to take me with her too!”

Gregory’s story was slightly disjointed, but I was catching on. “Did Laurelle get greedy and want to keep all the money for herself rather than share it 50/50 with Fifi?” I guessed.

“Yeah, she wanted all the money. But I didn’t know she was going to kill Fifi!” Gregory outed his lover as I heaved a shallow but satisfied breath. “Laurelle told me that something bad was going to happen and when the police come I should just say that I don’t know anything. Laurelle said if I tell the police then she won’t be with me anymore and she won’t take me to France.”

“So basically, she blackmailed you?”

“I guess so.”

“Did she actually confess the murder to you?”

“Yeah, just before when we were arguing upstairs. I already knew she did it. I’m not stupid,” he said defensively. “So she told me everything about the vacuum cleaner…”

Before Gregory could continue his confession, Laurelle came flying down the stairs and swooped into the kitchen. “Do not listen to this idiot!” She screamed.

Max swiftly arrived in the kitchen as Laurelle fixed Gregory with a lethal stare. “Why did you run away from me during our questioning?” My partner asked knowingly.

“Laurelle, it’s too late,” I said grimly. “You can’t blame Gregory. You can only blame yourself. You already lied to police when you said you worked here for two years and were from Normandy…”

“I am from Normandy! Gregory is the one who is lying!” She insisted.

“My partner and I have already sought out your public records from France. If you are from Marseille, which I believe you are, we will find out very shortly,” I informed as she appeared momentarily deflated.

“Gregory did it!” She accused pathetically.

“Don’t use this man as your scapegoat,” I said disdainfully. “Take responsibility. Or don’t.” I shrugged lightly. “Either way, we’ve got a limousine outside waiting to take you to the ball.”

“Limousine?” She murmured.

“Police humor,” I said with a grin.

“You cannot take me anywhere!” Laurelle protested.

“If we search your room again, will we find bundles of cash?” I asked as her eyes roved nervously. “That’s what I thought. You should have run while you still had the chance. But I’m sure glad you didn’t.”

“That’s why I locked you in Laurelle’s room,” Gregory confessed sheepishly. “I wanted to keep you there so you would find the money.”

“And that was a good way to stay out of trouble with Laurelle, wasn’t it?” I assumed. “She didn’t have to know that you locked me in there.” I had underestimated Chef Gregory; he wasn’t stupid at all. At worst, he was just a fool for love like we all are at one point or another.

“Smart of you to leave some of the money in the safe,” Max observed, turning towards Laurelle. “You thought your theft would go unnoticed if you didn’t empty out the safe, didn’t you?” Max guessed shrewdly.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Laurelle said sullenly.

But I persisted, “And I guess you had enough time to take a quick break from stirring that broccoli cheddar soup and go kill Fifi? She was easy prey, wasn’t she? She probably didn’t even hear you come into the room with the vacuum cleaner on.”

Cornered and defenseless, Laurelle surrendered and accepted the fate of her “limo ride.” As our back-up officers arrested her on suspicion of second degree murder, she cried out, “I have a plane ticket to France! My flight leaves tomorrow! You cannot stop me! And Gregory, you cannot go without me! I bought that ticket for you!”

“You bought it with stolen money!” Gregory reminded.

Laurelle’s outburst filled me with gratitude that we had arrested her in the nick of time. As the cops brought Laurelle to her new “mansion,” Max and I stole a few peaceful moments in his car. Neither of us spoke as we mentally processed the triumphant fact that we had solved Fifi LeChou’s murder as a cohesive team.

“I guess I have to buy you a bottle of wine now, don’t I?” My eyes and tone flirted with my partner.

“No, Luna. Why don’t you let me buy you a glass of wine and some dinner while we’re at it?” He offered invitingly.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” I asked coquettishly, all my inhibitions fading away from the victory of my first homicide solve.

“Yes, I am. And don’t say no. Maybe it’s against the rules, but it’s not against the law!”

***

Epilogue

Two Weeks Later

Newport, Rhode Island

Two Cups of Coffee & a Fifth Date

Summer was cooling as August chilled into September, but my fresh romance was in the beginning of a balmy spring. Max and I had been keeping our blossoming relationship a secret from our colleagues and superiors. And I didn’t feel the least bit guilty. Now that we had unearthed all the skeletons in the Milton mansion, our hush-hush relationship felt harmless, cozy, and absolutely delicious. As we gazed into each other’s eyes and sipped our coffee, I silently reflected on the gratifying resolution of the Fifi LeChou homicide case.

For starters, Laurelle had bitterly confessed to strangling Fifi. She cited Gregory as a co-conspirator, but we knew her tale to be a bold-faced lie designed to take some of the pressure off of her sorry self. No charges were pending against Gregory as we granted him immunity in the case in exchange for his future testimony against Laurelle. Gregory had promptly resigned from his post at the Milton mansion and made use of his plane ticket to France.

Rhett had also slipped under the radar as we decided not to pursue any theft charges against the former butler. His cooperation in the case had won him a second chance to explore the vast terrain of Canada. Last I had heard, Rhett was on a tour bus headed north to Niagara Falls.

We had finally located some of Fifi’s family in Marseille. Her parents were deceased, which spared us the grueling task of informing them of their daughter’s homicide. Fifi did, however, have a younger brother, Claude, who was devastated upon learning the news of his sister’s death. Claude wasn’t the least bit shocked to learn that Laurelle was the culprit. The grieving brother claimed that Laurelle had always harbored envy towards Fifi throughout the course of their decades-long friendship.

As for the fire that had burned in Lady Milton’s bedroom, our arson investigators suspected a deliberate blaze but couldn’t prove it. My theory is that Lady Milton dropped the candle on purpose in order to destroy some damning documents related to her husband’s fraudulent business practices. As far as I knew, the pair was still living in a complete lack of domestic bliss and remained clever enough to evade formal charges. But their joint misery was punishment enough; their mansion was a gold-encrusted prison that neither one could escape. And they were coping without a servant staff as no one wanted to work for them since a cold-blooded murder had occurred under their roof. Ah, justice.

“Let’s go to the beach later,” Max suggested sweetly. “There’s going to be a full moon tonight, Luna.”

“Is there?” I sighed contentedly.

“Yes. But just like your mother, I have more than enough light from you.” He smiled, stealing a kiss across the table. “And I know your light will shine for us to solve our next case.”

In that moment, I felt more luminous than I ever had in my 32 years. My reflection through Max’s eyes was a radiant one and I was confident that I could light our way through even the darkest investigation. My doubts about my chosen career path had retreated into the distance even though the rocky cliffs would surely remain. Ballerina? No. I was exactly where I needed to be and who I needed to be as Detective Luna Langford.

***

*BONUS SECTION*

10 FROU FROU FRENCH RECIPES

TURN THE PAGE AND

PICK YOUR FAVORITE FRENCH INDULGENCE!

Recipe #1

Tarte aux Poires

(Pear Tart)

PASTRY:
1 cup flour
1 tsp. salt
6 tbsp. butter
2 tbsp. vegetable shortening

FILLING:
2 lbs. pears, peeled, cored, halved
Juice of 1 lemon
1¼ cups sugar
6 tbsp. butter

½ cup sliced almonds (optional)

In a bowl, combine flour and salt, then rub butter and shortening into flour. Sprinkle 3 tbsp. ice water into flour mixture and knead until dough forms. Wrap dough in plastic and refrigerate. Preheat oven to 425.Place pears on a cutting board. Cut each one into 4 slices, leaving stem end attached. Place in a bowl, toss with lemon juice and ¼ cup of sugar, and set aside. Melt butter in a skillet over medium heat. Add remaining 1 cup sugar (and, optionally, the almonds) stirring until golden brown and caramelized. Remove skillet from heat. Stir to cool.  Drain pears and place in skillet with caramelized sugar. Roll out dough into a 10" round. Place dough on top of pears. Press edges down and cut four breathing holes in center. Bake for 25 minutes. Remove skillet from oven. Transfer juices to a saucepan and reduce over high heat until thick. Spoon reduced caramelized juices over the pears. Serve warm with vanilla sorbet.  Comfort food from France!

Recipe #2

Gâteau au Mousse de la Framboise

(Raspberry Mousse Cake)

CAKE:
1 tbsp. butter
4 eggs, separated
½ cup sugar
7 tbsp. flour
1¼ tsp. vanilla extract

MOUSSE FILLING: 
9 cups fresh raspberries
¾ cup sugar
1 package plain gelatin
2 cups heavy cream

Cake: Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Butter a pan and line bottom with buttered parchment. Whisk egg yolks and sugar in a bowl. Beat in flour until mixture is smooth. Add vanilla and set aside. Whisk egg whites in a bowl until stiff peaks form, then fold whites into yolk mixture. Pour into pan and bake until brown for 30 minutes. Set aside to cool. Filling: Put raspberries, sugar, and 1 cup water into a saucepan. Simmer over medium heat until sugar dissolves. Press through a sieve set over a bowl to catch purée. Return purée to pan and set over low heat. Sprinkle gelatin in ¼ cup cold water, set aside until softened, then add to purée in pan, stirring until dissolved. Whip cream in a large bowl until soft peaks form. Fold purée into cream. Unmold cake and discard parchment. Slice cake in half, then return cake bottom to pan. Pour in filling, then replace cake top. Cover with plastic; refrigerate overnight.  Serve cool with your choice of fruit sauce (strawberry sauce is recommended).  So indulgent!

Recipe #3

Beignets

(Sweet Fritters)

½ cup butter

1 cup water

¼ teaspoon salt

1 cup flour

4 eggs (organic, cage-free)

Vegetable oil (for frying)

3 tablespoons powdered sugar

Chocolate sauce (optional)

In a saucepan, melt butter in water. Add salt and flour, and stir until batter is formed. Beat in eggs until the batter is smooth. Heat oil to 375 degrees. Fry rounded teaspoons of dough until golden brown on each side. Drain on a dish towel. Serve warm, dusted with powdered sugar (drizzling of chocolate sauce optional!)

Recipe #4

Tarte au Citron

(Lemon Tart)

PASTRY

1 1/4 cups flour

2 tablespoons sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

7 tablespoons butter

3 tablespoons cold water

LEMON FILLING

8 tablespoons butter

1/4 cup crème fraîche

2 eggs (organic, cage-free)

3 egg yolks

2/3 cup fresh lemon juice

2/3 cup sugar

4 teaspoons lemon zest

Pastry: (You can skip this part if you’d like to use a pre-made pastry shell). In a bowl, mix the flour, sugar, and salt. Cut the butter into tiny pieces and mix in. Sprinkle the cold water onto the mixture and toss until it forms a ball. Separate the dough into two balls, flatten, plastic wrap, and chill for 3 hours. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Roll and trim the dough to make a circle. Fit the circle into the pan. Line the dough with pie weights and bake for 15 minutes. Remove the pie weights and bake the shell for an additional 5 minutes. Set aside the pastry shell to cool. Lemon Filling: In a saucepan, stir 8 tablespoons butter and crème fraîche. Set aside.  In a separate pan, whisk the eggs, egg yolks, and sugar. Stir the lemon juice into the mixture and cook for 3 minutes. Add the lemon zest and butter-crème fraîche mixture to the eggs and cook for another 3 minutes. Pour lemon filling into the pastry shell and bake for 30 minutes, until golden brown. Allow the tart to cool. Serve chilled with a few bursts of whipped cream. Très refreshing!

Recipe #5

Petits Pains au Chocolat

(Mini Chocolate Breads)

2 sheets frozen puff pastry, thawed, cut into squares

1 egg beaten with 1 tablespoon water (for glaze)

4 bars French or Swiss dark chocolate, cut into pieces

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Line baking sheet with parchment paper. Brush top of each puff pastry square with egg glaze. Place 1 chocolate piece on edge of 1 pastry square. Roll up dough tightly, enclosing chocolate. Repeat with remaining pastry and chocolate. Place pastry rolls on baking sheet. Brush tops of pastry rolls with egg glaze. Sprinkle with sugar. Bake until pastries are golden brown for 15 minutes. Serve warm.  Makes a very special breakfast!

Recipe #6

Mousse à L’Orange

(Orange Mousse)

3 cups whipping cream

2 cup orange juice

1 orange peel

6 egg yolks

1/3 cup sugar

1/3 cup flour

1/3 cup unflavored gelatin

1 tablespoon pear liqueur

5 cups Italian meringue

Cannoli shells (optional)

Soak gelatin in cold water. Bring whipping cream and orange juice to boiling point. Combine the egg yolks and sugar, and whisk until thick.  Add the flour.

Pour the cream onto the egg, sugar and flour mix. Add the pear liqueur and gelatin. Mix pastry cream and Italian meringue. Arrange and let the mousse set in the fridge. Serve chilled in glass bowls with spoons; or fill cannoli shells and make an elegant finger dessert.

Recipe #7

Crêpes au Chocolat avec Grand Marnier

(Chocolate Crepes with Grand Marnier)

2 cups milk

1 1/2 cups flour

1/2 cup cocoa powder

6 tablespoons powdered sugar

2 large eggs (organic, cage-free)

2 tablespoons butter, melted

2 teaspoons Grand Marnier

1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/4 teaspoon salt

Can of whipped cream

Whisk all ingredients until batter is smooth. Refrigerate for 20 minutes. Melt a little butter in a skillet over low heat. Add 3 tablespoons of batter to the pan and swirl so the chocolate makes a free form pattern. Cook crepe for 1 minute until golden. Flip the crepe. Cook for 1 minute and transfer crepe to a plate. Repeat with the remaining batter.  Serve your crepes warm with a dollop of whipped cream.  Dessert doesn’t get more elegant than this!

Recipe #8

Tarte aux Fraises

(Strawberry Tart)

1 baked pastry shell

1 1/4 cups pastry cream

1 pound fresh strawberries, sliced

1/4 cup strawberry jam

1 tablespoon lemon juice

Spread the pastry cream across the bottom of the pastry shell. Arrange the strawberries in an attractive pattern over the pastry cream. Heat the jam with lemon juice until boiling. Apply the strawberry glaze over strawberries (with a pastry brush if you have one).Refrigerate the tart for a few hours before serving. Serve and enjoy your delectable French creation!

Recipe #9

Crème Brûlée

6 egg yolks

2 ½ cup heavy cream

6 tablespoons white sugar

2 tablespoons brown sugar

½ teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Beat egg yolks, 4 tablespoons white sugar and vanilla extract in a bowl. Pour cream into a saucepan and stir over low heat until almost boiling. Remove cream from heat. Stir cream into egg yolk mixture; beat. Pour cream mixture into the top of a double boiler. Stir over simmering water for 3 minutes. Remove mixture from heat and pour into an oven-safe dish. Bake for 30 minutes. Remove from oven and cool. Refrigerate overnight. Next Day: Preheat oven to broil. In a bowl combine remaining 2 tablespoons white sugar and brown sugar. Sift evenly over custard. Place dish under broiler until sugar melts. Remove from heat and cool. Refrigerate until custard is set. A hard sugar shell should be covering the custard.  Serve warm or cool, depending upon taste.  Get a spoon and dig in!

Recipe #10

Gâteau au Chocolat

(Chocolate Cake)

1 package of your favorite chocolate cake mix

14 oz sweetened condensed milk

2 squares unsweetened chocolate, melted

½ cup water

1 package of your favorite chocolate pudding mix

1 cup whipped heavy cream

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Prepare and bake cake mix for two layers.

Cool and remove from pans. In a bowl, mix sweetened condensed milk and melted chocolate. Stir in the water, then instant pudding. Chill for 30 minutes.

Remove the chocolate mixture from the refrigerator and stir. Fold in whipped cream and return to the refrigerator for another hour. Place one layer of cake onto a serving plate. Top with 1 1/2 cups of mousse, then cover with remaining cake layer.

Frost with remaining mousse and refrigerate. Garnish with fresh strawberries, raspberries, or chocolate shavings. Serve and savor!

WHILE YOU’RE DIGGING YOUR FORK INTO A FRENCH CONFECTION,

TURN THE PAGE

FOR SPECIAL PREVIEWS…

Special Preview of Anisa Claire West’s

THE SCARLET SUIT MURDER

Prologue

Midnight Flight to Paris

Somewhere Over the Atlantic Ocean…

Blackness enshrouded the jetliner as it cruised incognito over the chilly waters of the Atlantic Ocean.  Passengers leaned back against sanitized pillows and tried to catch a wink or two of sleep.  Along with the other scarlet-clad stewardesses, I prepared breakfast trays with cartons of orange juice, crumbly croissants, and packets of whipped butter.  By the time we landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport, rays of sunlight would be shimmering over Paris.

My feet ached from the high heels I had been wearing for the past five hours since the flight departed from New York.  Ignoring the blistering pain, I adjusted my beret, wondering how many more transatlantic flights I could endure.  Working as a flight attendant for Paris Rouge Airlines had initially seemed so glamorous.  For a small town girl from the mountains of Pennsylvania, it had been the opportunity of a lifetime.  But after three years of smiling my way through jet lag and coddling disgruntled passengers, I was ready to turn in my little red uniform and run back to the peaceful Pocono Mountains I had once called home.

“I really don’t feel well,” Robin, one of the other fed up flight attendants whispered to me.

“Do you need some aspirin? I think I have some in my purse,” I offered compassionately. 

Wobbling on her feet, she pressed her hand into a wall to steady herself.  “That’s okay, Natalie.  I don’t have a headache.  I just feel kind of dizzy.” Perspiring, Robin swept away moist strawberry blond bangs from her forehead. 

“It must be the altitude,” Christine, the lead stewardess, surmised.  In her late thirties, the Dallas native was a full decade older than most of the stewardesses and famous for her no-nonsense attitude.  “Either that or we’ve been booking you girls for too many long flights lately.”

“We’re all definitely overworked,” I asserted. “But we’re used to the altitude.” I looked at Robin with concern, wrapping an arm around her slender frame to support her as she swayed.

“I need to sit down.  Or lie down,” Robin said, clutching a hand to her gut as though she felt nauseous.

“Go ahead.  I’ll take care of breakfast with Natalie,” Christine said firmly.  “You better go straight to your apartment as soon as we land in Paris.”

“I will, believe me,” Robin said weakly.

Adjusting the lapels of my form-fitting jacket, I prepared to stroll the aisles and ask the same questions 300 times: Coffee or tea? Milk and sugar? Marmalade or grape jam? Blah, blah, blah!

My mind was elsewhere, someplace off in the smoky clouds, as I served breakfast to the cranky customers.  I wondered how much worse it would be to work for an “ordinary” airline.  Paris Rouge prided itself on being a first class air carrier, paying meticulous attention to every detail of the customer experience right down to the fashionable uniforms the stewardesses had to wear.  And yes, they called us stewardesses.  In our tidy scarlet suits and stilettos, our purpose was to return passengers to a bygone era of flying, a time when traveling by air was a luxurious and enviable experience. 

“Do you have any extra butter? These croissants are very dry,” a male passenger grumbled, raking his eyes unabashedly up and down my body.

I wanted to smear the butter all over his leering face, knowing that he was only asking for an extra supply in order to get an eyeful of me.  “Of course, sir.  Here you go.” With a stiff smile, I handed him three more packets of butter.  Go have yourself a heart attack.

The passengers became progressively crankier as I reached the rear of the plane.  One man even slapped his hand impatiently on his empty fold-out tray as I paused for a five second conversation with another passenger.  Dreamily, I thought of Stavros, the Greek musician I had met on my last flight from New York.  Once I arrived in Paris, I would take a taxi with Robin to the apartment we shared, hopefully get a few hours of sleep, and then meet Stavros for dinner at Le Jules Verne, a dazzling restaurant atop the Eiffel Tower.  Sigh.  If only life had a fast forward button.

Finally, the last breakfast tray had been served, which meant it was already time to clean up.  Starting all over again at the front of the plane, I transformed into the best dressed janitor in the world, collecting crumpled napkins and other offensive trash.  At the tail end of the nasty task, our pilot Charles announced that the plane was making its initial descent into Paris.  I scurried to the stewardess section of the plane, buckling my seatbelt and preparing for landing. 

Robin’s freckled face was drained of her usual vibrant color as sweat continued to drip down her face.  Gloomily, I wondered if there was some sort of virus going around.  It wouldn’t be the first time the crew had gotten sick on a flight and spread the illness.

“Are you okay, Robin? Do you need some water?” I asked soothingly.

Feebly, she waved her hand at me.  “No, I don’t need anything.  Except a doctor! I think I’m about to pass out!”

The Scarlet Suit Murder - Kindle edition by Anisa Claire West. Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

Special Preview of Anisa Claire West’s

CAKE BATTERED

Prologue

John F. Kennedy International Airport

Impatiently waiting for a gate…

“That flight was a total nightmare!” My new husband grumbled as I rubbed my temples in a weary circular motion. “Turbulence from start to finish! And now they’re holding us hostage on the runway. This is JFK! Why can’t they just get us a gate?”

“Calm down, honey,” I placated, refraining from reminding him that our entire honeymoon had been a nightmare.

First, our romantic penthouse suite in Montego Bay had been given to another couple, downgrading us to a noisy room right above the hotel bar and directly underneath a room full of frat boys. Then, the sky had gushed fountains of rain every day of our Jamaican getaway. As Murphy’s Law would have it, the sun only made an appearance as the taxi whisked us away to the airport for our flight home. And now the catastrophic rains had followed us to New York, causing us to fidget wildly as we remained trapped in our smelly coach seats.

“We should have just stayed home, Val! At least we wouldn’t have lost so much money paying the staff to run the bakery.”

“Enough, Dale!” I hissed, my emerald eyes flashing angrily. “There’s no point in complaining. Let’s just focus on getting back to our apartment and getting some sleep. We have to be up at 4:00 am, you know.”

“Don’t remind me,” Dale retorted bitterly as I rolled my eyes.

One week into marriage and our two years of dating seemed like a once upon a time fairy tale. I snorted, recalling how naïvely excited we had been to open our bakery six months ago. We were so googly eyed over each other at the time that we had actually thought it would be a brilliant idea to spend 24 hours a day fused at the hip. Biting my lower lip with a combination of amusement and exasperation, I remembered how the name of our cake shop had evolved:

Newly engaged, we had just unpacked the last cardboard box in our minuscule studio in Greenwich Village. The 300 square foot coat closet of an apartment had clearly been constructed for Lilliputians, but I was in no position to complain. I had recently been laid off from my corporate catering gig, and Dale was between jobs too. The timing had seemed perfect to partner and open a trendy little bakery. As Dale and I had flattened boxes for recycling, we brainstormed a recipe book’s worth of ideas for our venture.

“What do you think we should call the place, honey? And don’t say Chocolate Chip n’ Dale’s again, please! We want this to be a family atmosphere!” Dale had laughed as he claimed a corner of the apartment for his prized baseball glove collection.

“Right, and those guys are probably about 100 now anyway! So, I was thinking how everyone’s always telling us we’d be a power couple if we went into business together…you have the accounting background, and I have the culinary skills,” I had mused before smacking my forehead with a light bulb idea. “Ok, tell me if this is too cutesy or lame, but how about naming our bakery Powder Couple Cakes? You get it? Instead of power couple, it would be powder couple, as in baking powder or powdered sugar…”

Dale had chuckled and held up a large hand like a stop sign. “Oh, seriously, I get it, Val. You don’t have to beat me over the head with it.”

If only I had known at the time how uncanny and ominous his words really were. Throughout our foolishly, deliriously happy dating days, I had always been waiting for the other shoe to drop. But I never would have guessed that instead of the proverbial shoe, it would be a bundt cake pan to drop and crash down on our lives like 50 pounds of unshelled walnuts…

Cake Battered - Kindle edition by Anisa Claire West. Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

Dear Reader:

Thank you for reading The French Maid Murder.  I hope you enjoyed reading about Luna’s sleuthing and relationship with Max!  I welcome your feedback and make an effort to personally respond to every email I receive.  Write to me at anisaclairewest@yahoo.com.

Happy Reading!

Cordially,

Anisa Claire West

Titles Available by Anisa Claire West

COZY MYSTERY

& ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

A Fashion Felon in Rome

A Pastry Thief in Paris

Cake Battered

Cappuccino Twist

Champagne Deception

Cookie Dough Crook

Cupcake Shop Clues

Dark Chocolate Murder

Deep Dish Lies

Hotcake Homicide

Hot Fudge Fraud

Northern Moonlight

The French Maid Murder

The Scarlet Suit Murder

Vexed in Venice

Wild Autumn

FANTASY

Silver Goddess Series:

Island Tango, Book 1

Orca Dance, Book 2

Leopard Rhythm, Book 3

Mermaid Gold, Book 4

HISTORICAL ROMANCE

Eternal Melody

ANTHOLOGIES

Chocolate Covered Crimes

Deadly Bites

Exotic Daydream

Fashionable Crimes

Passion’s Raindrops

Silver Goddess

Sweet as Pie Crimes

Tasty Crimes

About the Author

Anisa Claire West graduated with honors from Yale University and also holds a Master of Arts degree in Literature and Teaching.  Learning about cultures is Anisa’s passion, and she has studied more than half a dozen languages including French, Arabic, and Italian.  A certified yoga instructor, Anisa embraces mind-body fitness, animal advocacy, and a compassionate lifestyle.  She also enjoys all kinds of desserts and has sampled more than a few of the French recipes included in this book!