Agatha takes this as her cue. “Onlytogethercan we assess Louis’s statements. I would propose we tackle this the same way we map out the resolutions to our mysteries. We may not be real detectives, but no one can match us for solving puzzles.”
Even though Agatha and I hadn’t planned this, we seem to be of like mind. She gestures toward me to continue. “Let’s start from the beginning.”
Ngaio groans good-naturedly. “Not your timeline again.”
Margery and Agatha chuckle, and even Emma joins in. Ngaio and Emma haven’t apologized to each other, but the laughter seems a sign of thawing. So I take no umbrage at the mocking of my beloved timeline.
“No timeline, although I do reserve the right to bring it out in the future,” I announce with a smile. “By ‘start from the beginning,’ I mean something different. I’d like us to consider how we solve our mysteries—as writers.”
“Don’t we have more urgent matters to attend to than nattering on about our writing processes?” Ngaio challenges me in that same supercilious tone she’d used with Emma. Hasn’t she learned that she doesn’t have to be so combative or demeaning with us? That it can lead to tension that needn’t exist?
I ignore her. We can withstand no more distractions at this juncture.
“We have gotten quite far pretending to be detectives. Astonishingly far, in fact. But I think we will get no further without accessing our true talents. And tomorrow morning, at my flat, we will convene to resolve this plot as neatly as we resolve our own mysteries.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
APRIL 16, 1931
LONDON,ENGLAND
The Queens escort me to the front door of my flat and wait in the hallway until I give them the all clear. But I do not hear the clack of their retreating high heels until my lock gives a metallic clang. I breathe a sigh of relief at the caretaking of my friends. After the assault on the street, the invasion of my Boulogne hotel room, and the threatening note—although only Agatha knows about that—I can no longer pretend that I’m safe. And yet I’ve decided to plow forward, regardless of the damage that could be done to my reputation and John’s. I cannot let fear deter me from the righteous path.
Agatha helped me see my strength and purpose. Has it only been seven hours ago that she arrived at my flat in her evening dress?Oh, dear,I think, staring around at the trail of clothes, the plate of half-eaten biscuits, the scattered-about glasses of watered-down whiskey and cups of tea. My stomach churns at the sight of it.What a shambles she observed,I think. Although I suppose she’s seen my biggest mess of all and remains my friend. It is a wonder.
Before I even remove my evening dress, I begin cleaning. The Queens will be arriving back here at nine o’clock sharp, and I don’t want them thinking me slovenly. Dirty clothes in the hamper, plates and glasses soaking in the sink, tabletops and counters wiped clean, I am just about to start sweeping when I hear a noise. It sounds remarkably like the clink of my front-door lock.
For what feels like the millionth time, I’m considering my options. It is then I hear Mac’s Scottish brogue. “Hello, wife!! Are you about?”
How relieved and delighted I am to see him. I race toward him, wrapping my arms around him before he even has a chance to take off his hat and coat. “I’m chuffed, Dorothy. From the state of our goodbyes at Ivy’s, I hadn’t expected this warm a welcome.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling happily.
“I missed you. The days at Ivy’s were long,” I murmur, “as has every day been since I saw you last, in truth.”
“The healing took a dark turn? Ivy’s reports weren’t that gloomy, and I heard you had visitors,” he says, and his expression shows real concern. I hadn’t realized that he and Ivy had been in contact; I’m touched.
Pulling away ever so slightly, Mac slides his arms out of his coat and hangs it up. As he removes his hat, running a hand through his hair, I reply. “Healing meant I couldn’t write, and I know you understand how frustrating that can be,” I say, and he nods sympathetically. I dip a toe in turbulent waters and add, “Although having John around was certainly restorative.”
“I bet it was. He’s a good lad,” he says amiably enough. Then with an expectant half smile, he suggests, “Perhaps we could have him for a week over the summer holidays.”
“Oh, Mac!” I throw my arms around him again. “Really? That would mean the world to me.”
“Really,” he says in that brogue I adore. He leans down for a deep kiss that takes my breath away.
As I lead him toward the sofa, he asks, “How about your friends? Ivy mentioned your gang came calling. The Queens?”
“Yes, my new Queens of Crime group made the trip, which was quite lovely of them. Although there was an element of work to it.…” I trail off. Is this the moment to bring up our investigation of the May Daniels case?
He takes the bait. “Work? Are you collaborating on a book? Thatcould be good fun.” Mac’s eyes sparkle at the mention of this group undertaking.
“We may in the future. But we’ve actually been working on the May Daniels case.”
“May Daniels?” he asks, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“The very same. When I told the Queens about our assignment, they were intrigued. May’s disappearance in the Gare Centrale washroom is the perfect locked-room mystery,” I say, giving Mac a quick once-over to see how all this registers.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right.”
Promising,I think, then continue. “They wanted to try their hand at solving it. And so we’ve been tackling it on and off ever since. They even dragged me to Boulogne a few days ago.”
