Death Wears a Mask by Ashley Weaver

reservations. “I’ll do what I can.”
    â€œBless you,” she said, rising from her seat. I rose with her, and this time she did embrace me, pressing me tightly against her ample bosom. She released me and turned to Milo, whom I suspected she would have enjoyed embracing as well, and settled for squeezing his hands warmly.
    â€œI shall be busy with arrangements. The police say we may be unable to bury James until next Monday, a week from today. Will you come and have tea with me next Wednesday?”
    â€œYes, that should be all right.”
    â€œExcellent. A week should be ample time for you to gather evidence. I shall see you then.” And with that she swept out of the room and was gone before I could have Winnelda show her out.
    After the front door had closed, I turned to look at Milo, who had resumed his seat and was placidly eating a watercress sandwich.
    â€œWhat do you make of that?” I asked him.
    â€œVery interesting,” he said, though one certainly couldn’t have determined his interest from his tone.
    â€œI don’t know what to think,” I said, still looking at the door through which Mrs. Barrington had departed. “I’m not certain how I feel about being involved in another murder investigation.”
    â€œYou like it,” Milo said.
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œYou like the idea of plunging headfirst into this tangle. In fact, I’d hazard a guess that you’re thrilled at the prospect.”
    I was incensed at this assumption, whether or not it was true. “Whatever gave you such an absurd idea?”
    â€œWhen you poured your tea after she told you about the murder, your hands were perfectly steady. It didn’t upset you in the slightest.”
    â€œThat’s nonsense.”
    He sat back in his chair and scrutinized me. “And now your eyes are unnaturally bright, like liquid silver.”
    â€œOh, don’t be ridiculous,” I huffed.
    â€œCome now, darling, you may as well admit it.”
    The buzzer rang again, sparing me the necessity of having to answer his ludicrous accusations. “Mrs. Barrington must have thought of something else,” I said.
    However, it was not Mrs. Barrington who entered the room behind Winnelda, but an enormous basket of red roses, from under which the delivery boy was attempting to refrain from knocking into anything of value.
    â€œJust set them there,” I told him, surprised. Winnelda steered him to a corner. The bouquet was nearly as tall as the boy himself. Milo tipped him, and Winnelda ushered him out before hurrying back into the room.
    â€œAren’t they lovely, madam,” she said with delight. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”
    â€œYes, they’re very lovely,” I said, as I made my way carefully to the flowers and plucked out the card. My humblest apologies and sincerest wishes for your speedy recovery, it read. The night was an utter failure, but I promise to make it up to you. —Dunmore
    â€œFrom the viscount,” I said.
    â€œOh! How very thoughtful of him!” Winnelda cried. “He’s such a gentleman, isn’t he, madam?”
    â€œâ€˜Gentleman’ is not the word I would use,” Milo remarked over his teacup.
    â€œHe wishes me a speedy recovery.”
    â€œYes, I’m sure he does.”
    Ignoring his tone, I turned to Winnelda. “Will you get some water for them?”
    â€œYes, madam.”
    She went to the kitchen, and I turned back to Milo. Of course he would sneer at the flowers. Not only did he have general objections to Lord Dunmore, but extravagant floral arrangements weren’t much in Milo’s style. I, on the other hand, thought it was quite a sweet gesture. I didn’t share Milo’s concerns. Lord Dunmore was something of a flirt, perhaps, but there was nothing serious in his attentions. He certainly had no cause to believe that I would be receptive