Murder of the Mysterious Maid Read online

  The cab stopped in front of the hotel and Will hopped down first, turning back to help me step down. While he paid the driver, I gaped at the building in front of us. The Grand Hotel was the most glamorous place I’d ever seen. Grandmother would have approved of its stately charm and Victorian luxury.

  We walked inside, past uniformed porters, marble floors, and carved columns. Everything in the lobby was gilded that could be. The rugs on the floor were plush and tasteful. A string quartet played in the corner just loudly enough to reach everyone in the large space without hindering conversations. Everyone in sight was well dressed and walking or sitting as though they were on display.

  “Welcome to the Grand Hotel,” the man behind the marble check in desk purred. “How may we help you?”

  I paused. We weren’t technically with the police, so it felt false to suggest that we were. However, this man had no reason to help us if we didn’t have the backing of law enforcement.

  “We’d like to speak with the manager about a woman who might have worked here recently,” I said carefully.

  The man blinked at me. “Our manager is very busy at the moment. May I ask to what this is in reference?”

  “A housemaid was murdered in Brinkman and we have reason to believe that she might have been employed here in the past. We’re trying to help the police find her family.” Will’s fib was so smooth and his countenance so sincere that I marveled.

  “Ah, how tragic. If you’ll wait, I’ll find someone to take you to Mr. Davies’ office.” The man indicated a pair of red velvet chairs and Will and I dutifully took our seats.

  “Good thinking,” I said under my breath.

  “Thank you,” he winked.

  We were kept for ten minutes before a man in a discreet suit arrived to escort us down the hall behind the counter. This was the part of the hotel that visitors did not see. It was much more simply decorated, though nothing was worn or dirty. Clearly, even the hidden areas were treated with great care at this elegant establishment.

  This man knocked quietly on a door and was instructed to enter. We were introduced to Mr. Davies who was the hotel manager. He was round, well groomed, and self-important.

  “I was told that you are inquiring about a maid who was killed elsewhere?” He stressed the last word as though making quite certain that we knew that murders didn’t happen in his hotel.

  I explained the bare facts as well as why we had reason to believe Flora had worked here.

  “I shall need to speak to the head of housekeeping. She handles all the hiring of maids.” Mr. Davies turned to his telephone and picked up the receiver. “Joan, I need to speak with Mrs. Leo.” He paused then asked the woman to come to his office immediately.

  Within only a few minutes, there was another quiet knock and in came a no-nonsense woman in a plain black dress.

  “This is our head housekeeper, Mrs. Leo.” Mr. Davies introduced us while the woman stood expectantly.

  “We’re wondering if you had a maid by the name of Flora Dobson working here within the past year.” I took a breath, trying to remember how to describe the girl. I’d never seen her myself, but I’d seen Cal’s notepad and read her description.

  But before I could rattle off what I knew, the housekeeper shook her head. “No, we’ve never had a girl here by that name.”

  “She might have used another name. We believe that she was in some sort of trouble,” Will explained.

  “She was five feet, five inches tall. She had brown hair and brown eyes.” Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t much to go on.

  “That describes a dozen maids we have working here right now,” Mrs. Leo scoffed.

  “And you’ve had no one named Flora or Dobson?” I pressed.

  Mrs. Leo thought that over. “No. We had girl named Dora, but she was short and had black hair. No one by the name of Dobson.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Leo, that will be all.” Mr. Davies dismissed her and the housekeeper nodded briskly and marched off to her next task.

  I could tell from Will’s posture that he was as disappointed as I was. This was not the news we had hoped for. Really, those matches could have come from anyone. Someone could have left them in a pub or given them to her on a train. We’d been silly to come this far and for nothing.

  My eyes fell on a matchbook lying on Mr. Davies’ desk. They had neat, black lettering on a blue background. I leaned forward. “That matchbook is different from the one I saw. The other was in script on a red background.”

  Mr. Davies’ eyes fell onto the book and he nodded. “We changed our matchbooks two months ago. We started putting the new ones in the guests’ rooms and the staff have been using the old ones.”

  “A guest?” Will sat up, stunned.

  Chapter Fourteen

  We hadn’t considered that she might have been a guest. Gloria’s words about the hotel being too expensive had pushed the idea right out of my mind. How could Flora have been a guest? I tried to remind myself that a guest might have given the book to her and she might not have stayed here herself, but my excitement was rising.

  “Could she have been a guest?” I asked. “Did a woman named Flora Dobson stay here within the past few months?”

  “My dear, that would take some time to discover. We have a hundred rooms. We would need to look through our guest registries in order to find that information.” Mr. Davies looked as though I was asking him to do something he would avoid at all costs if he could.

  “We’d be happy to help,” I offered.

  The manager cleared his throat and straightened his already-straight blotter. “We pride ourselves on being discreet, Miss Lunceford. Our registry is private.”

  If he refused to help us, our slim hope would grow even slimmer.

  “She might have used a different name,” Will admitted.

  Mr. Davies nodded condescendingly. He had no desire to go to all the work of tracking down a woman who might or might not have stayed in his hotel and might or might not have used her own name. I couldn’t really blame him.

  Suddenly, though, his face grew thoughtful. “Perhaps,” he began tantalizingly and then trailed off.

  I leaned forward. “Yes?”

  His face cleared and he said, “There was a woman staying here by the name of Flora Dilmount. It would have been, let’s see, in early May. She matches your description, I do believe.”

  It seemed too good to believe. Could we have found her?

  “Why did you remember this woman?” Will asked and I found myself nodding. I hadn’t thought of it, but Will was right to point out that it was odd. Surely the hotel had hundreds of guests a week.

  “We had an unfortunate incident with this particular woman. Mrs. Dilmount was suspected of burglary. We had to contact the police. There had been a string of small thefts from guests’ rooms and a maid discovered some of the stolen items in this woman’s bedroom. We also found a maid’s uniform there, which explains how she was getting into the other guests’ rooms. However, before the police arrived, Mrs. Dilmount disappeared.” He looked very sour about the entire thing. I wondered if he was angrier that someone had dared to break the law in his hotel or that she had escaped justice.

  “She was a thief?” I repeated. “And you called her ‘Mrs.’ Dilmount. She was married?”

  “That is how she registered herself. I don’t believe her husband stayed with her at any point. She was here for two weeks. The exact two weeks of all the burglaries, I might add. We have no doubt that she was the one behind it.”

  This was very interesting and we would need to give it some thought. Was it possible that these two women were one and the same? If she was, could we prove it? For now, we had to collect every bit of information we could.

  “I don’t suppose you have a forwarding address for her?” I asked.

  “No, we do not. She only wrote that she was from New York City when she signed the guest book.”

  “That’s not helpful at all,” Will sighed.

  Mr.
Davies tapped his nose. “She did receive a steady stream of letters while she was here. It’s possible that we have one that arrived after her sudden departure.” He rose to his feet and waddled from the room.

  Will and I just looked at each other with wide eyes, too excited over this discovery for small talk. I was dying to discuss the implications with him, but this was not the place. Once we started, we’d have trouble stopping until we’d explored all the possibilities.

  A young man in the neat red suit of the porters came in carrying a crate full of mail. He placed it on the desk as Mr. Davies returned, puffing from the exertion of walking down the hall. The manager settled himself back into his chair with a groan of relief.

  “I’m embarrassed to show you how much mail we have that has yet to be returned. My secretary took ill four weeks ago and I have yet to replace him. Dealing with the mail from guests who have left is low on our list of priorities, I’m sorry to say. It’s possible that there’s a letter addressed to Mrs. Dilmount somewhere in that box.”

  I jumped to my feet and began to flip through the envelopes without bothering to ask permission. This could be the best clue we’d found so far. The room was almost silent as I read each name carefully, then pushed it aside. Will might have been holding his breath, though Mr. Davies was still breathing heavily. In fact, this was the quietest and most still I’d ever seen my friend.

  And then, there it was. “Mrs. F. Dilmount,” I cried in triumph, holding the envelope in my gloved hands.

  Will was on his feet. “Is there a return address?”

  I turned the envelope over and read the back. “Number seven Grace Church Street, Brinkman, Illinois.”

  Will shouted with excitement and hugged me. This was what we’d been hoping for! This letter linked the thief, Flora Dilmount, to Brinkman and, therefore, to the maid, Flora Dobson.

  We thanked Mr. Davies profusely and made our way back to the train station. Once we were settled in seats away from anyone else, our words spilled out.

  “She was a thief!” I cried. “She was a guest at the hotel and was stealing from other guests.”

  “And she was disguising herself as a maid,” Will crowed. “It all fits.”

  “I can hardly believe we found this clue. If you hadn’t suggested talking to Gloria again, we never would have known to come here.”

  Will looked modest. “You’re the one who spotted the matchbook and noticed that it had changed. We wouldn’t have learned she was a guest without that particular piece of evidence.”

  I smiled out the window, feeling as though I might fly all the way home. “Why would she go to work at the Dennis’ house? She was only pretending to be a maid at the Grand Hotel.”

  “Maybe she was pretending to be a maid at the Dennises.”

  “Why would she do that?” I asked, almost able to feel the gears turning in my mind. “Was she hiding from the law there? Or hiding from someone else?”

  Will tapped his knee, jostling it rhythmically as the train picked up speed. “That doesn’t quite fit. On the one hand, she was an accomplished thief. Wouldn’t she go somewhere that she could ply her trade? A single-family home isn’t the type of place where she could do that.”

  I nodded as I thought that over. “You’re right. She was a thief. Could she have been trying to rob the Dennis house? There have been a number of burglaries in the area.”

  We sat and considered this.

  “I don’t know,” Will finally said. “A man was the burglar in our case. No one robbed the Dennises. They haven’t reported so much as a snuff box missing, have they?”

  “No,” I frowned. “Not a thing. Did you hire anyone new just before your burglary?”

  “I doubt it. We don’t keep live-in help anymore. Just a few people to help during the day. I don’t remember any new faces.” Will shook his head as he tried to remember. “I’m sure Mother would have been complaining loudly if she’d had to hire a new cook or laundress.”

  I pulled the letter out of my pocket, running my fingers over every inch of it. “Do you know this address? Grace Church Street?”

  “I seem to recall that it’s near the railroad. I’m not certain, but the name makes me think of older, rundown houses. If I’ve been there, it was a long time ago and I didn’t pay much attention.”

  “Could it be a boardinghouse?”

  He shrugged. “It might be. It would be a shabby one if it is.”

  I bit my lip and stared at the envelope, willing it to give up its secrets. “Will, do you think we should open it? Or just give it to the police?”

  “Don’t be daft,” Will gaped at me. “Open it! My curiosity will strangle me long before the police make public what’s inside.”

  “It’s against the law to open another person’s mail,” I moaned.

  Will grabbed the letter and pulled a pocket knife from his pocket. Before I had time to react, he flicked open the blade and sliced the top of the envelope open. “There. It was open when we found it.”

  But it hadn’t been. This was definitely wrong. I chewed on my lip in indecision. Then Cal’s face swam into my mind and I frowned. He would disapprove. Well, if there was ever a reason to do something, that was it. Cal’s good opinion of me meant nothing anymore and I found myself enjoying the idea of doing something to irritate him.

  I pulled out the single sheet and read it out loud. “’Dear Flora, It’s been cold lately here. How is the weather where you are? Mother said to tell you that she’d love to have you for a visit soon. Just let us know when to meet the train. Sincerely, Donald.’” My hands dropped into my lap. “It might mean nothing.”

  “It might mean a great deal.” Will moved to the bench next to me and leaned over the note. “He talks about the weather, saying it’s cold where he is.”

  “Why does that matter?” I wondered.

  “Well, the letter was written in May. It wasn’t cold in Brinkman. We had a lovely month. It might be a code for something. Perhaps a way of saying whether or not the police suspect them. She could write back that it was cold and windy or growing warmer.”

  It made sense, but was it a code? We didn’t really know. I read the rest of the letter again. “If it is a code, then the part about his mother might mean that Flora was to join them in Brinkman when she needed to leave Chicago.”

  “Now you’ve got it,” Will grinned.

  “But we don’t know if that’s what this means. It might just be talking about the weather and a visit. This Donald might just be bad at writing interesting letters.” I folded it and returned it to its home. “Either way, this letter links the two women and now we have an address. That’s much more than we had yesterday at this time.”

  “Are you going to tell the police?” Will elbowed me.

  I frowned. “I’ll have to. There’s no way Father would forgive me for going to this address myself. I can get away with going to the Grand Hotel because it was such a poor clue. I can’t keep this letter secret for long without getting into a heap of trouble.”

  And, of course, Cal came for supper that night. Gone were the days when I relished announcing what I’d learned in the hopes that he would be impressed at my sleuthing skills. I dreaded having to hear him or Father lecture me on why I should keep my nose out of the case. If Cal grew superior, I was afraid I’d lose my temper.

  “How was your jaunt into Chicago?” Father asked as soon as we’d sat down.

  I took a deep breath. It was the perfect opening. “I must be honest with you, Father. Will and I went to town to follow a clue.” I held my hands up to stop both of the men from chastising me. “It was a very obscure clue. We knew it was unlikely that it would produce anything. If we’d had more confidence in it, we would have turned it directly over to the police.”

  I explained about the matchbox and was relieved when Father admitted that he wouldn’t have thought much of it. “That’s what we thought,” I said. “Still, we decided to go and ask, knowing that it was unlikely to produce anything helpful.”


  I took a sip of water before describing what had happened at the hotel. Then I produced the letter and passed it over to Father, completely ignoring Cal’s outstretched hand. He read it quickly and gave it to his protege. Scolding myself for it, I waited with bated breath as Cal skimmed the note and frowned.

  “It might be important, but it might not,” he hedged.

  “Will noted that May was quite warm here. He thought it sounded as though the mention of cold weather might mean something else entirely.” I sipped at my water glass, trying not to watch for a reaction at the mention of Will.

  Father harrumphed. “What do you think, Cal?”

  The detective eyed me carefully, then tossed the letter on the table. “I don’t know that this is the same woman.”

  I balked.

  Cal raised an eyebrow and explained. “She has a different name and was a guest, not a maid, at the Grand Hotel. Having a letter from Brinkman doesn’t mean that she must be Flora Dobson. In fact, it’s a bit farfetched. I don’t know that a judge would even allow such an argument.”

  I wanted to scream. We’d done what the police couldn’t do! We’d found where Flora had been before coming to Brinkman. We’d found the proof that Flora Dilmount had a connection in this town. We’d found out that she was a thief. And now Cal wanted to throw away all of that because we hadn’t found enough evidence. Would Will and I have to solve this entire case before the fools in the police department would listen?

  I felt Father’s eyes on my face as I struggled to contain my outrage. He coughed a little and said, “Send a man to Chicago to ask about this Mrs. Dilmount. And visit the address on the letter. Let’s follow every lead. Goodness knows, we have precious few of them in this case.”

  I threw Father a grateful smile. He had been the one I wanted to impress in the first place. It was his good opinion I sought, not Calvin Lloyd’s. If this wretched case did nothing other than show Father that I could carry on conversations about his police work, that was enough. In that moment, I washed my hands of the investigation. I’d had enough.