Free Room With a Clue (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery) by Kate Kingsbury Page B

Lady Eleanor here in the room while she resumed the search for the dog.” He raised his hand again to the door. “If you will excuse me, this has all been rather a shock.”
    “Of course. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Danbury. If there’s anything I can do?”
    “Nothing, thank you.” He opened the door, and she turned to go.
    Then, on an afterthought, she asked, “Was Lady Eleanor, by chance, depressed about something?”
    Robert Danbury’s dark eyebrows arched. “Depressed? My wife had absolutely no reason to be depressed. She had everything she wanted—money, friends, a loving husband—no, Mrs. Sinclair, my wife was not depressed. She did not throw herself from the roof of this hotel, if that is what you inferred. Rest assured of that. It was an accident, pure and simple, and I would hope you will not raise a question about that.”
    Cecily nodded dutifully. “Of course, Mr. Danbury. I apologize if I have caused you added distress.”
    He stared at her for a moment longer, as if trying to guage whatever lurked in her mind, then he closed the door with a sharp snap.
    Wincing, Cecily headed back down the hall, intending to talk to Daphne Morris. She met Phoebe at the head of the stairs, who puffed and panted, holding her sides to regain her breath.
    She’d changed her clothes and now wore an elegant evening dress in sky-blue. The material had an attractive cut pile of dark blue and white chrysanthemums, and her matching hat swept low across her face. The crown was hidden under layers of blue and white silk roses, with yards of white chiffon veiling.
    In her usual daytime dress of a crisp white shirt and black skirt, Cecily felt quite dowdy in comparison.
    Phoebe’s fortunes had changed considerably for the worst since her husband’s accident had left her widowed. The family of the Honorable Sedgeley Carter-Holmes had disowned the unfortunate woman and her son, having always regarded her as beneath Sedgeley’s station, and Phoebe had been left with little more than her personal belongings.
    She had kept the beautiful gowns and jewels, however, refusing to sell them no matter how impoverished she might become. Phoebe had never forgotten her brief period as an aristocrat and had taken great pains to maintain her figure in order to keep up appearances.
    Eyeing Phoebe’s wasplike waist, which appeared to cut her in half between her bulging bosom and padded hips, Cecily knew just how tight the older woman had pulled the laces of her corset.
    Cecily was often tempted to throw out the detestable things. If she had her way, no woman would have to force her body into the uncomfortable contraptions. As it was, she could hardly wait to be in the privacy of her room where she could slip out of her own corset and breathe easily again.
    Phoebe held up her hand in a plea as she struggled for breath. “Wait … Cecily. Something … must tell you.”
    Cecily waited, hoping Phoebe wanted to tell her she’d found Henry.
    Phoebe waved her hand at the end of the hall. “Henry,” she gasped.
    “You found him?”
    The other woman shook her head. “I think he’s in the hotel somewhere. Overturned plant pot.”
    Cecily looked down the hall but could see nothing. “Where?”
    “No.” Phoebe dragged in some more air.
    It was no wonder she couldn’t breathe, Cecily thought irritably. That dress was so tight it looked ready to burst a seam.
    “Altheda cleaned it up,” Phoebe managed painfully. “But I think Henry might have knocked it over.”
    Cecily finally understood. “Oh, Lord. Which plant pot?”
    “The one at the end of the hall. By the foot of the roofstaircase.” She looked startled, as if realizing something for the first time. “Cecily! You don’t think he’s on the roof, do you?”
    Cecily wanted to think no such thing. And she certainly didn’t need Phoebe fluttering around up there. “No I don’t see how he could get up there. I’m sure it’s just coincidence. I’ll look around, though,