Murder Most Posh: A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery by Robert Colton Read Free Book Online Page A

Manor.”
       “Murder?” exclaimed the countess.
       Rather excited, Mathew said, “Yes, the culprit was hanged—he was the family butler, wasn’t he?”
       Mrs. Beaumont gave a mighty chuckle. “The butler did it! What a cliché!”
       Lucy chimed in, “He was so polite, too, very pleasant—I never would have imagined he was a coldblooded murder.”
       The countess’s eyes swung toward her husband, and she remarked, “No one can ever understand mind of killer.”
       Mathew gave her a nervous smile, seemingly perplexed by the comment.
       Maxie Beaumont grew tired of being ignored and remarked, “I too have been in the papers.” She raised her thick hands into the air and clenched them. “They called me Maxie ʻGrip ’ Beaumont!”
       Mathew and his wife looked at the hefty woman with curious expressions. Taking the greatest of joy, she retold her story of the Tatiana’s sinking. At the conclusion, she suggested to the countess, “Heed my warning, and keep your jewels with you; if the ship goes down, you don’t want them locked in the purser’s safe.”
       The countess took a moment to survey the many bobbles on Mrs. Beaumont and remarked, with a sneer, “Such shame.”

Chapter Four
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    After Lucy bade me goodnight, I slipped out to our private promenade. It had been a long evening, and rather taxing. It would be a lie to say I enjoyed the company of our neighbors, and we still had so many days at sea with them.
       The little promenade was closed in; still, the sound of the sea penetrated the sealed glass windows. It was a beautiful, tranquil sound. My thoughts quieted as I looked to the distant horizon. Starlight glistened and reflected from the moving ocean before turning into the blackness of night. In that visible and still unseen void was Heaven. Xavier was there, just out of my sight, just beyond my reach, but he was there. As far away as this place was, my heart was very near his; his presence surrounded me, just like the night sky.
       Attuned to the sea, to the night, I felt the discomfort of the evening fall away. At peace, growing tired, I was about to leave the serenity of the promenade when I heard the neighboring cabin door open. The sound was to my left, and a column of light appeared in the window of the door that separated our private decks. A man’s figure passed through. It was not Michael Emerson, but his brother, Rory.
       Though a full-grown man, he smiled at me in a rather childlike fashion. I smiled back as he peered through the window and looked me first up and then down; his eyes seemed to linger at the decking beneath me.
       His brother’s voice called out, “Rory, don’t be peeking into the ladies’ balcony. They might see you. Do you want to get in trouble again?”
       Rory turned back and rushed inside the cabin. In an instant, he was gone, as swiftly as the peace and serenity I had just experienced.
     
        The following morning, I woke early. Sitting up in bed, I reached for my little notebook and jotted down a few random thoughts.
       Maxie Beaumont presented me with the perfect character for my next whodunit. In fiction, she would need to be sympathetic, to win the heart of the reader. This would take some work. In my story, her constant mention of the loss of her jewelry on board a doomed ship would gain the attention of a cat burglar. As this heroine would warn others about keeping valuables in the ship’s safe, it would become known that her own jewels were an easy target, kept in her stateroom.
       I would need to devise a clever thief: someone acting out a part, perhaps portraying herself as a wealthy countess who would be above suspicion, or a young man who appeared not all there in the head, but was, in fact, a diabolical criminal. I thought of Michael’s words to his brother the night before, “They might see you; you don’t want to get in trouble—again.”
       Putting my