Murder Most Convenient: A Mrs. Xavier Stayton Mystery by Robert Colton Page A

When he sold off his percentage, we hired her,” she replied stiffly.
      “So you’ve known her for longer than these past eight years?”
      “No, I hadn’t met her. While my husband was away in the war, she was his secretary in London. He realized that she’d be sacked with his departure…”
       “What type of company was he a part of?”
      I did not hear Ruth’s reply; my heartbeat doubled as the door to the pantry from the kitchen edged open. To my relief, it was Lucy. She handed me a note and then crept away as quickly as she had appeared.
      I read her hurriedly scribbled note. Thus far, Lucy had learned that Phyllis had once been very friendly with the domestic help, more one of them than part of the family. After the fall, this changed. She had become demanding of them while she convalesced and had made an enemy of the former butler, whom Henderson had replaced. This was all told by the gardener.
      Putting my ear back to the door, I heard the inspector ask, “And how long did the doctor tell you she had left?”
      Ruth’s voice was very soft when she replied, “He’d said six months, at the longest.”
      “So she had maybe two, three months…”
       “I doubt even that long. She had been resistant to go on morphine; she was dealing with the pain as best as she could. Still, she was getting weaker and weaker, and she hardly ate. Just the other day, I had the dress she is to be buried in sent for alterations.”
      I understood now why the secretive errand had been done while Phyllis was occupied.   
      The inspector paused for a moment before changing the line of his questioning. “Your brother-in-law, how is it that he and his wife live with you?”
       “Nicky and Randolph are most loyal to each other. Randolph found himself in hard times after the war. I suppose even beforehand. Their father left them debt, not money. As the older brother, Randolph did his best to pay his father’s notes; it left him in a bad way. The family home was sold for a song during the July Crisis—Randolph has always been one to say dark little things that he believes to be humorous. He called the selling of the estate his July Crisis.”
       “You all get along?”
      Ruth’s tone was questionable. “As well as two brothers and their wives might under one roof.”
      “And how is that?” the inspector prodded.
      “I think Randolph tires of living with his younger brother; it does raise an eyebrow or two among our social circle,” she said, as if the inspector needed to be reminded of the class distinction between him and her.
      “You get on well with your sister-in-law.”
      There was a long pause, too long. “We have found our way. During the war, she lived with her mother and step-father, dreadful people. At first, she seemed happy to be here, perhaps somewhat humbled. Then she started to resent us.” There was another pause, and I wished that I could have seen the expression on her face. “That all changed. When she and Randolph returned from their holiday, just shortly before Phyllis’s accident, she was different.”
       “How so?”
      “Pleasant, almost grateful, she was charming as she had been when she and Randolph first married,” Ruth replied in a faraway voice. After a pause, she said rather sharply, “I don’t see what this has to do with Phyllis’s death.”
       Responding to her statement, the inspector asked, “You and the deceased were close friends, as I understand. Tell me, who would have reason to harm her?”
      “No one!” Ruth blurted out. Calming herself, she went on, “At least, no sane person. Isn’t it obvious who did this?”
      “No, who did this?” the inspector asked, slowly.
       “That dammed American,” Ruth told the man.
       “What of her friend, Miss Wallace?”
      Ruth responded, “She’s a pretty little flower who sprang from a weed. I doubt she has the smarts to get out of the way from a moving car, let alone