Murder at Rough Point Read Online Free Page B

Consuelo, gone away and unlikely to return to Newport anytime soon; Cousin Neily—dear Neily—also out of the country indefinitely; and his sister, Gertrude, had left as well, having married Harry Whitney in August. My childhood home on the Point had been sold—to a man who, despite my every resolve, held a significant part of my heart, and now he was gone as well with no definite plans of returning. Then there was Uncle Cornelius, victim of a stroke during the summer, from which he might never fully recover. On top of all that, I barely saw my brother Brady these days, working as he was in New York City at the offices of the New York Central Railroad.
    Was I about to lose another piece of my world? I tapped my pencil on the open page before me, so hard the point splintered and a tiny shard of lead went flying toward the hearth. “Is that everyone?”
    Another question answered my own as a gentleman I hadn’t seen previously strolled in from the Great Hall. With one hand in the pocket of his smoking jacket and the other held dramatically out to his side with the fingers curled upward, he spoke in a heavy French accent. “ Quoi , Mademoiselle Cross? Has no one told you?”

Chapter 2
    I knew Miss Marcus and Mrs. Wharton had been withholding something. A suspicion began to take root. “Tell me what? Is there something else I should know?”
    Mrs. Wharton was on her feet in an instant. “Miss Cross, this is Monsieur Claude Baptiste. He is a stage director. Claude, come and greet Miss Cross properly. She’ll be spending a good deal of time here with us over the next two weeks.”
    â€œ Oui, très bien .” He crossed to me and with a little bow, took my hand and raised it to his lips. “A pleasure, mademoiselle.” He didn’t hold me in his attentions for long, for presently he addressed the other two women. “Have either of you seen Vasili?”
    â€œHe just passed through a moment ago,” Miss Marcus told him. Her eyes narrowed and that catlike smile flashed again. “With Niccolo. Didn’t you pass them along the way?”
    â€œ Non ,” came his stiff reply.
    â€œCheck the billiard room,” Mrs. Wharton suggested brightly. The Frenchman nodded and went on his way.
    I longed to demand what that had been about—why the exchange left me feeling puzzled and uneasy. But it wasn’t my place to question these people about their private affairs. That would have been overstepping my professional boundaries. As if she heard my silent musings, Mrs. Wharton once more sat beside me and placed her hand on my own, as if she and I were fast friends, confidantes.
    â€œI’ve just had the most splendid idea. Instead of you traveling back and forth every day to check up on our progress, why don’t you stay on? You can dash home now and pack a bag, and this way you can truly immerse yourself in our artistic world, so to speak.”
    It didn’t take a genius to recognize her effort to distract me. “Mrs. Wharton, please, what is this secret—”
    Her hand tightened around mine. “All in good time, my dear. Please trust me. Yes, there is still a surprise or two—” She broke off and darted a quick glance at Miss Marcus. “But I can promise you, all will be revealed. Now, will you stay?”
    â€œI have responsibilities at home, and there is my job . . .”
    â€œNonsense. If you’re needed at home, you can be there in a matter of minutes. I believe the telephone wires have been extended to Gull Manor?” When I nodded she raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment of my rapidly dwindling protests. “As far as your job is concerned, the Season is over, Miss Cross. Surely you’ll miss no urgent soirees in the next two weeks.”
    â€œI suppose not.”
    â€œGood. Then do stay. We’ll have more chance to become better acquainted, and I’ll have ample opportunity to run my ideas by