Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,23

a hard smile, revealing crooked front teeth.

“Perhaps with a little less ferocity, however.” I winked at Goliath and he chuckled. Frank continued with his forced smile as I passed him and entered the hotel.

Aunt Lilian was fully rested by the time we sat down to luncheon. Uncle Ronald managed to join us after all, and we enjoyed a feast of turkey, ham, and mince pies in the dining room, along with the hotel guests. The pop of Christmas crackers, chatter and laughter seemed out of place considering a murder had taken place overnight just upstairs.

Indeed, it was the strangest Christmas day I’d ever experienced. I hadn’t gone to church as I usually would in the morning, and my family spent much of the luncheon exchanging pleasantries with guests rather than each other. They even sought out particular guests between courses. The only times all five of us sat together was to eat, and even then their attention often diverted to one neighboring table or another as if deciding who they’d speak to next. It lacked the intimacy and warmth I was used to. I’d never missed my grandparents more, and my parents too.

I retired to my suite after luncheon and was reading a book when Harmony sought me out. I needed little convincing to go with her to the staff parlor where Danny the footman waited. Apparently she suggested he tell me everything he’d told the inspector. When I asked her why, she merely said she suspected I would put in a good word for him.

“I collected her chocolate pot and cup from the kitchen, same as every other night,” Danny said.

Like all the footmen and waiters I’d seen in the hotel, he was handsome and young. But Danny’s youthful good looks were marred by an anxious frown. He hadn’t been arrested, thankfully, but he’d been ordered not to work, and a constable stood outside the parlor door. Danny was essentially a prisoner in the hotel.

“How did you know it was Mrs. Warrick’s pot of chocolate?” I asked. “I assume there are pots of chocolate going from the kitchen up to the guests all the time of an evening.”

“From the label.”

I gave him a blank look.

“Mrs. Warrick’s hot chocolate is a regular order,” he explained. “She doesn’t have to call down to the kitchen. Regular orders get made as necessary and a footman collects them. The chef writes the guest’s name and room number on a label and leaves it with the tray. There were only three of us footman working last night, and we’re always coming and going. I saw the pot and cup when I entered the kitchen, read the label, and took it up to Mrs. Warrick.”

“And she was definitely alive when you delivered it?”

“Yes! She scolded me for being late, but I swear I wasn’t. Ugly old bat.” He all but spat the words. “I placed the tray on the table and asked her if she required anything else. She didn’t even answer me. She just kept complaining that I was late with the hot chocolate. She was alive the whole time, I swear to you.” He lowered his head and dragged a hand through already ragged hair. “The detective mustn’t believe me or he wouldn’t be asking everyone where they were before eleven, which is when I saw her. He’s even asking what everyone was doing in the late afternoon! Why? Can’t he check if she ate dinner in the dining room or in her own room?”

Harmony squeezed his shoulder. “It’s all right, Danny. We believe you, and Miss Fox is going to help the police find who really did it.”

I blinked at her. “I don’t—”

“Thank you, Miss Fox.” Danny gave me a wobbly smile. “It means a lot to me to have one of the Bainbridges on my side.”

“I’m sure they’re all on your side, Danny,” I said. “Everyone wants to find the truth. Nobody wants a murderer roaming around the hotel.” The thought chilled me. My words weren’t empty ones. I did want to find the real killer. Like Harmony, I didn’t think Danny was the type.

But as Detective Inspector Hobart said, killers did not have a type. Anyone was capable of murder, and poison was the weapon of choice for absentee murderers.

“Mr. Hobart and Mr. Armitage believe you’re innocent,” Harmony assured Danny. “Mr. Hobart told us so this morning, in the dining room, when we gathered to be interviewed by his brother the detective.”

“Thanks, Harmony.” Danny glanced at the door. “The sooner