Free Murder at Beechwood by Alyssa Maxwell Page A

here.” She pulled a fan from her purse and snapped it open. With a start I recognized the lace pattern.
    â€œThat’s a lovely item.” I tried to sound impressed yet casual. “It reminds me of the purse Daphne carried last night. The lace is from Brussels, I believe?”
    â€œCorrect again, Miss Cross.” Her lips flattened to a thin line.
    â€œA gift from your husband?”
    Suddenly she snapped the fan closed and thrust it in my direction. “Here. You may have it. I believe it would suit you well, Miss Cross.”
    â€œOh, Mrs. Monroe, I couldn’t . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
    â€œNonsense, I insist. I could always have another made.” She pressed the fan into my hand and strode away in the direction Daphne had gone.
    I stared down at the ivory lace shot through with golden thread. Surely this could not have been a valued gift or Mrs. Monroe would not have parted with it so indifferently.
    Yet another woman with a reason to scorn Virgil Monroe?
    I found Grace some minutes later. She wasn’t engaged in any of the lawn sports or chatting at one of the tables, but stood alone beneath her parasol near the base of the lawn, looking out past the Cliff Walk at the ocean. The skies overhead were clear, but steely clouds banked low on the horizon.
    â€œShouldn’t they have been here already?” she murmured as I moved beside her.
    â€œDo you mean the sailboats?” Four buoys had been placed in the water, marking the turns the boats would take on a course that kept them always visible to those watching from the cliffs.
    â€œYes, Neily’s in his uncle William’s ketch. Oh, Emma, I wish he wasn’t. Racing can be dangerous.”
    â€œDon’t worry. Neily’s quite a good sailor. All the Vanderbilt men are good sailors.” I touched her shoulder, prompting her to cease her probing of the empty waves. “Grace, what can you tell me about the Monroes?”
    â€œThe Monroes? If you mean Virgil and Eudora . . .” She compressed her lips and glanced over her shoulder at the party behind us. “My sister, May, tells me all is not happy there.”
    â€œI thought not. Do you know why?”
    â€œIndeed, I do.” She inched closer and lowered her voice, not that there was anyone close enough to overhear. “There are whispers that he wants to leave her.”
    â€œYou mean a divorce?”
    â€œShh!” Grace cast another backward look across the lawns. “But yes. Up until two or three years ago it would have been unheard of, but ever since last year when your aunt Alva and uncle William divorced . . . well . . . it’s not such an outlandish idea anymore, is it? Not the scandal it once was.”
    It took me a moment to come to grips with the fact that my own relatives had wrought such a drastic change in society. But given my aunt Alva’s stormy disposition and her insistence on having her way, I shouldn’t have been surprised.
    This development concerning the Monroes shouldn’t have surprised me either. Daphne, Lawrence, Eudora . . . even Virgil’s younger brother, Wyatt, exhibited sure signs that all was not well within the family.
    â€œDo you know which is officially seeking the divorce?” In Aunt Alva’s and Uncle William’s case, the sentiments had been mutual, but Uncle William had allowed Aunt Alva to initiate the proceedings. It had been the gentlemanly thing to do.
    Grace shook her head. “I only know as much as I do because May’s housekeeper is the sister of the Monroes’ housekeeper in New York.” Her face suddenly became animated and she raised a hand to point. “There they are!”
    To the south, four sets of tiny, gleaming triangles bobbed over the waves. The party behind us saw them, too, and shouts went up. People pushed closer to the Cliff Walk, and numbers—in dollars and cents—were called back and forth as wagers were made.
    As two