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

kill someone.”
      I heard a match strike, and after a pause, the inspector asked, “Does it take a smart person to commit a murder?”
       Ruth replied, “I suppose it doesn’t, just a smart person to get away with one.”
      “Thank you for your help. That will be all for now.”
       Ruth mumbled something as I heard the chairs moving. Then, the inspector made another statement. “You didn’t happen to see my matches that I left here last night?”
      “Matches?” she replied, sounding annoyed by the question.
       “Yes, in a box from the Hotel Cote d’ Azur.”
       “No, but I would think an inspector should be able to find them,” she retorted in an ugly voice.
       I heard movement in the kitchen. The little door didn’t slide open, so it meant that the cook was preparing lunch, and I was trapped.
       Several minutes passed before I heard Nicholas’s voice. “You seem to have done a damn fine job of upsetting my wife, if that was your intent.”
       They settled at the table, and the inspector replied, “My apologies,” in a way that sounded as if he’d been told that a great many times.
       “Well, let’s get on with it. Phyllis worked for me during the war; I’m sure you already know that. She handled my correspondence, and kept me in the know, as they say.”
       “Yes, your wife mentioned something like that,” replied the inspector.
       “Right. Well, there was more to it than she knew. I’ll make no bones about it, when the war seemed to be a sure thing, I bought into a munitions company. I went off to the war, found myself in Africa, a miserable place.
      “While I was there, Phyllis got wind of something, and she wrote me a letter. One of my partners was acting rather dubiously. With her help, I sidestepped what would have been rather an embarrassment.”
      “So you were in her debt?” asked the inspector.
      “That makes it sound like I owed her something. She had done me a favor; I didn’t want to see her sacked when I sold out of the company. Oh, we called her Ruth’s secretary, but she was more than that. Phyllis wrote my letters, kept files, rang up appointments, all sorts of things.”
      “How does this play into Miss Masterson’s death?”
      Nicholas responded boldly, “It doesn’t. I just figured you’d have questions. My brother made an ugly accusation once, that there was something between Phyllis and me, and well, there wasn’t. She looked out for my best interests when I couldn’t.”
      The inspector made what was surely meant to be an infuriating reply. “Yes, I see.”   
       Sounding very hostile, Nicholas said, “That American is the culprit. The daffy thing is obsessed with murder; it's all she talks about. Ask her! You go ask her about her husband's death, there is a reason it's a bloody secret, I tell you.”
      “I peg your pardon?”
       Nicholas went on, “My cousin’s boy, he died mysteriously. They didn’t tell us what happened to him. At the funeral, all I heard was the term, an unfortunate accident. Would someone like to describe a bloody accident that isn’t a misfortune?”
       “Right. You’re saying you haven’t a clue to what happened to him?”
      In a voice unlike my picture of mild-mannered Nicholas, he snarled, “Not a clue.”
       There was a bit of silence, and then the inspector asked, “Speaking of accidents, were you injured in the war?”
      “No,” Nicholas snapped.
      “I noticed your limp and thought perhaps…”
       Nicholas gave a little grunt. “Oh, just an automobile accident.” He then lowered his pitch, “Now, listen to me, none of us had reason to kill Phyllis; for Christ's sake, she was terminally ill.”
       “And you are convinced that Mrs. Xavier struck Phyllis at the back of the head with the candelabra.”
       “Who else?” Nicholas responded.
      “What about this Lucy person?”
      “Ms. Wallace? She hasn't the wherewithal to commit murder.