Page 71 of Murder on the Brighton Express
It was the best we could do, but felt woefully inadequate given our main suspect could already be beyond reach.
We parted, with Harry heading for a railway station to catch a train to Ealing, and me walking back to the Mayfair Hotel. I couldn’t stop thinking about Harry’s theory that something was amiss. West had no reason to kill Ruth.Beecroftdid. Yet we’d found the journal at West’s place. Was Beecroft trying to implicate West? If so, he must have assumed we would find out about West’s past and look there.
I was so distracted by my thoughts that I barely registered that Frank wasn’t manning the door until it closed behind me. His shift must have finished. Goliath’s, too, as he was nowhere in sight. Peter was still on duty, however, as was Mr. Hobart. The manager handed something to a couple I recognized as having arrived the day before from Russia. They thanked Mr. Hobart for finding them tickets to a popular play. The lady even called him a miracle-worker considering the production was due to start soon.
I smiled to myself. Harry and I had overlooked one of our greatest assets.
When the guests departed, I approached Mr. Hobart. “Please, please tell me you can get tickets for tonight’s production at the Laneway Theater.”
“Beecroft’s latest? Of course. How many do you need?”
I could have hugged him. “Two.”
His lips curved into a slow smile. “Is the second ticket for Harry?”
Oh dear. He was making an assumption that everyone who saw Harry and I together at the theater would make. It wasn’t an assumption I wanted made. “Can you get me four tickets?”
Mr. Hobart’s smile slipped a little. “Of course, Miss Fox.”
“Are my cousins in the hotel, do you know?”
“I believe so. Shall I send the tickets up to your suite?”
“Thank you. Oh, and can you also telephone your brother? Harry is heading there now. If you could pass on a message, telling him I’ll leave his ticket at the box office.”
Mr. Hobart performed a shallow bow.
“You’re a marvel,” I said.
I took the stairs to the fourth floor and knocked on Flossy’s door. When she answered, I told her to dress for the theater.
“But I’ve sent my maid away,” she whined.
“I’ll help you dress and you can help me. I’ll return in a few minutes. I have to find Floyd.”
She pulled a face. “Is he coming with us?”
“We need a chaperone, and I don’t think your mother is up to it.”
“Can’t you be my chaperone? You’re old enough and…” She waved off what she was about to say.
“No one is interested in a bluestocking who has been on the shelf as long as I have?”
Flossy bit the inside of her lip and gave a little shrug.
If I wanted to find a husband, I would have been offended. Instead, I laughed. “You need a chaperone because I might not be with you the entire time. Floyd will do nicely.”
“Why?”
“Because he—” I cut myself off before I blurted out that he would keep my secret if I kept his. Flossy would insist on knowing what those secrets were. “Because he’s family,” I said instead.
I found Floyd in his suite with Harmony. She sat at the desk, a ledger open in front of her. Floyd lounged on the sofa, yawning. Harmony looked relieved to see me.
“I’m sorry for interrupting your meeting,” I said.
Floyd sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. “You haven’t.”
“She has,” Harmony corrected him. “But you might be able to help us, Cleo. Mr. Bainbridge is refusing to speak to Mrs. Hessing about the supplier problem, and the wedding is tomorrow!”
