Free Murder in a Good Cause by Medora Sale

and clearly, “You two won’t succeed in this. I’m going to make sure of it.” One pair of footsteps clicked angrily away down the uncarpeted hall; another swept a couple of steps into the room where Harriet still sat in front of the photo albums. It was the dark young woman who was obviously Clara’s daughter. Her cheeks were scarlet and her lips tight, but as soon as she saw Harriet, an automatic smile of welcome flashed across her face. “Excuse me,” she said. “I didn’t realize there was anyone in here. I am Veronika von Hohenkammer,” and she approached, hand outstretched, graciousness intact.
    â€œI was just looking at some pictures of your mother and her grandchildren,” Harriet said, taking the proffered hand and feeling, irrationally, that she had an obligation to explain why she was hiding around the corner, listening to a quarrel in the hall.
    â€œAha,” Nikki replied brightly, “you have fallen victim to Mamma’s pride in her grandchildren. On behalf of the family, I apologize. They are really quite awful kids, you know, spoiled and horrid, but Mamma can see no flaws in them. She’ll be devastated if you don’t tell her that they are the most beautiful children you ever saw.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” said Harriet, “I will. I’m Harriet Jeffries, by the way. The person responsible for that,” she added by way of justifying her presence, pointing to a sixteen-by-twenty black-and-white print of the staircase hanging on the wall.
    â€œAh,” said Veronika. “The photographer. My cousin Klaus is very interested in meeting you. Did you enjoy the reading?” she asked.
    â€œI was overwhelmed by the Shakespeare,” she said. “The German passages went by me, I’m afraid. I don’t understand the language as well as your mother thinks I do,” she added, not quite truthfully. The taut expression on Nikki’s face relaxed suddenly, and the social temperature in the room rose by several degrees.
    â€œYes, Mamma’s pretty extraordinary, isn’t she?” her daughter remarked as she dropped into a comfortable chair.
    â€œI’m impressed with your English,” said Harriet. “I wish my German were half as good.”
    â€œOh, well, Papa insisted that we both go to English schools and learn the language properly. I didn’t care for it at the time,” she said, “but, as usual, he was right. And now I’m grateful that he did.” Suddenly, the door across the hall from the study opened, and a man in evening dress with two bottles of wine tucked neatly under his arms walked in.
    He nodded in the direction of the two women. “Hello, Frank,” said Veronika casually. “Keeping the party oiled?” She leaned forward to peer at the partially obscured labels. “I hope that stuff isn’t too good. The drinkers are at the point where they couldn’t tell the difference. But there’s no point in bringing it in here. Miss Jeffries and I are not that desperate for booze. Take it to the bartender.” Harriet noticed his cheeks whiten as the girl continued to speak. “Have you met Frank Whitelaw, Miss Jeffries? He’s my mother’s man of business, as they used to say.” Now the contempt in her voice was impossible to miss.
    â€œMiss Jeffries and I met when she was photographing the house,” said Whitelaw stiffly. Trying to lump me in with the servant class, thought Harriet with amusement. For company.
    â€œHow nice,” said Nikki, and leapt to her feet. “But, Miss Jeffries, Klaus is dying to meet you, and here I am, keeping you to myself. Now, don’t move. I’ll be back with him in a second.” She left the room without a glance at Frank Whitelaw.
    â€œI’m afraid I should go as well,” said Whitelaw. “To deliver the wine to the bartender.” There was considerable irritation in his