The French Maid Murder Read online

  The

  French Maid

  Murder

  Anisa Claire West

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events depicted in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, either living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

  Prologue

  Newport, Rhode Island

  The Milton Mansion

  “Follow me. The dead body is this way,” Roberta Milton the mansion matriarch instructed nonchalantly.

  Trailing the flawlessly coiffed redhead down an ornate marble floored hallway, I tried to brace myself for the grotesque sight awaiting me. Even though I had been with the police force for a decade, I invariably became unraveled when dealing with death. And this case would be my nerve-wracking début as co-lead investigator. Gulping in a deep breath, I wore a mask of indifference as the lady of the house led me into a spacious den. Distastefully, I glanced around at the hunting prize heads proudly hung on the walls. Emotionlessly, as though she were a docent giving a tour of an art museum, Roberta Milton pointed to a body curled up on the floor next to a vacuum cleaner.

  “There she is. Poor Fifi,” Roberta mused, dotting invisible tears from her hazel eyes.

  Clad in a French maid uniform complete with a lacy white apron, black high heel shoes, and an upswept chignon, the victim appeared no older than 40 or so. I bowed my head sadly, willing myself to stay professional and not let my soft heart melt into a puddle at the victim’s feet. A summer breeze swayed in from the veranda, turning my attention to the magnificent ocean views outside the mansion. The Milton family was like a dynasty in Newport, famous for their wealth inherited from a successful wine making business. Their opulent oceanfront estate was located a short walking distance from the historical Breakers mansion where the Vanderbilts had resided during the Gilded Age. It seemed incongruous for such a tragedy to befall the Miltons’ perfect snow globe world.

  “Fifi LeChou was pronounced dead 10 minutes ago,” a burly paramedic announced gravely. “Right before you got here, Detective Langford. We couldn’t revive her.”

  I nodded curtly, visually inspecting the body and finding no signs of blood or trauma. “When did you find her?” I asked Lady Milton.

  “Right before I called the ambulance of course,” she replied with a hint of defensiveness.

  “Was she dead when you found her?” I continued.

  “Dead as a doornail,” Lady Milton sighed as I flinched at the crass metaphor.

  “How do you know that she was dead?” I challenged.

  “Because she wasn’t moving!” Lady Milton replied as though I was a complete moron.

  “Did you touch her?” I probed.

  “Heavens no!” She shivered violently.

  “How do you think she died?” I quizzed her.

  “Well, it looks like she was electrocuted by the vacuum cleaner. The thing must have short circuited somehow,” Lady Milton theorized, pointing to the vacuum hose that the corpse was strategically gripping.

  “Yes, that is what it looks like,” I said meaningfully. “But there are other possible explanations for how she died.”

  “Such as?” Lady Milton asked haughtily.

  “Such as murder,” I stated emphatically as Lady Milton’s eyes became glassy with fear and her breath shallow as salt water washed upon the shore.

  Chapter 1

  That Same Day

  The Investigation Heats Up…

  “We need to start our crime scene interviews,” Max Larken, my newly assigned partner asserted. “You and I should interview everyone separately and then switch, okay?” A five-year veteran of the homicide investigation unit, Max knew the ropes far better than I did as a rookie detective. We had been like passing ships as colleagues all these years and had never worked in tandem until now.

  “Okay, sure. Who should I start with?” I asked as Max ran a hand through his tousled blond hair. At 36, he was one of my younger colleagues and also one of the less chauvinistic. Accustomed to being treated as inferior by my predominantly male co-workers, I already enjoyed working with Max who was in the driver’s seat but respected me.

  “I think you should start with Rhettthebutler.” The words escaped Max’s lips in a rapid incoherent flurry.

  “Huh? Rhett Butler?” I giggled. “Does Scarlet O’Hara live here too?”

  His ice blue eyes warmed as he replied, “No, Luna. I said Rhett the butler. His last name is Wagon,” Max deliberately enunciated. “We’re not on the set of Gone with the Wind.” Max chuckled as I bristled, feeling silly.

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you right. Okay, I’ll interview Rhett and who are you going to question?”

  “I’ll start with Lady Milton,” he decided.

  “She’s acting very suspicious,” I whispered. “No emotions at all and she’s the one who found the body.”

  “Duly noted,” Max clipped. “Now let’s get started. We’ll compare notes later.”

  I nodded and took off in search of the servant quarters and Rhett the butler. With such a large household including both family and staff, the murder investigation could prove to be complicated. I sighed inwardly, knowing I had my work cut out for me. On the bright side, if I swiftly solved this case, I would earn prestige and esteem from my macho colleagues. They would be forced to view me as a formidable equal rather than a girly girl Barbie cop.

  I popped my head into the kitchen and approached a plump male chef. “Excuse me? Do you know where I could find Rhett?”

  “He’s in his room, I think. In the attic, last door on the left,” the chef explained, adjusting his hat and whisking a bowl of fragrant citrus mousse.

  Resolving to return to the kitchen and interview the cook later on, I ducked my head as I ascended the narrow stairway to the attic. Stuffy and claustrophobic, the attic space contained a surprising number of doors. I instantly felt sad for the servants, wondering how they lived in the windowless cage. Finding the last door on the left, I knocked briskly.

  A man opened the door while I was still knocking. “Yes?” He stared at me curiously.

  “Are you Rhett Wagon?” I inquired.

  “Yes.” His tone was robotic. Extra long and lanky, Rhett reminded me of Shaggy from Scooby Doo…in black tie apparel. “I was just about to change out of my uniform and take my lunch break.”

  “Well if you could spare a few moments, I’d really appreciate it. My name is Detective Luna Langford and I need to ask you a few questions about your colleague.”

  “Which one?” Rhett asked blankly.

  “Fifi,” I replied in confusion. “Are you aware that she was found dead in the den this afternoon?”

  The stricken look on the man’s face clearly communicated that he had no idea the maid had died. “D-d-dead?” He stammered, grabbing hold of the wall for support.

  “Yes, unfortunately. I’m sorry to be the one to break the news to you,” I said sincerely as Rhett trembled with shock. “If you can collect yourself for just a few minutes, you could really help the investigation.”

  “I’ll t-t-try,” he stuttered, an errant tear appearing in the corner of his eye.

  “How long have you worked with Fifi?” I questioned.

  “Only a few months. She started working here in the spring,” Rhett said with a mild convulsion that I hoped wouldn’t turn into a full-fledged seizure.

  “What can you tell me about Fifi? What kind of person was she?”

  “Very sweet,” he replied immediately. “She was really excited to be here from France. She said she liked living in Rhode Island very much.”

  “Were you close to her?”

  “Not really. We chatted sometimes�
�when Lady Milton wasn’t breathing down our necks,” he said as I noted the bitterness in his voice.

  “Okay. Take me through your day today. What did you do, starting from the moment you woke up?” I queried in an attempt to establish an alibi for the butler.

  Suddenly alarmed, the butler gripped the wall a little tighter until his knuckles turned white. “Why are you asking me what I did today? Are you saying that Fifi was murdered?”

  “I’m saying that this investigation is very much in its early stages and we’re not leaving any stone unturned. Now go ahead, tell me about your day in detail.”

  The butler’s breath trembled as he spoke. “Uh, well, I woke up around 6 and headed straight for the kitchen to help the chef, Gregory. I prepared some salads and cold appetizers, things like that. Lady Milton was supposed to have a meeting for her book club this afternoon and she wanted plenty of food.”

  “So you were with Gregory all morning? Until now? Was anyone else with you?” I asked.

  “Yes, Laurelle was with us. She was making soup.”

  “Who’s Laurelle?”

  “Laurelle Castinette. She’s another French maid,” Rhett replied on a shaky sigh, obviously deeply affected by the news of Fifi’s death.

  “And where is Laurelle right now?” I prodded.

  “I think she went to the beach for her lunch break. She likes to have picnics on the sand. The sea air helps ease all the stress we have here.” Distinct bitterness returned to the butler’s hollow voice.

  “You don’t seem to be very happy working here,” I observed, employing my psychological training and trying to make the interrogation conversational. “Why do you stay if it’s so stressful?”

  “Because I have two sons to pay child support for! And eventually send to college! I’m up to my ears in bills but not up to my ears in cash flow,” Rhett gritted as I favored him with a sympathetic look. Red flags were popping up everywhere in my head, but I maintained my approachable demeanor.

  “I understand. Times are tough,” I mused.

  “Do you have children?”

  I bristled, taking aback by the intrusive question. “No,” I replied tersely. “But back to you, Mr. Wagon. What else can you tell me about your relationship with the victim? Did you ever have any altercations with her?”

  “Altercations? Are you kidding? I told you that I’ve only been working with Fifi for a few months and we got along,” he replied, crossing his arms across his narrow chest in a classic gesture of self-protection.

  “Just asking,” I murmured. “No need to get upset. Do you know of anyone in the household that Fifi didn’t get along with?” I asked.

  “Do I have to answer that question? I mean, I’m not required to, right?”

  “No, but is there a reason why you don’t want to answer my question?” I asked as a whole football field of red flags now rose in my mind. Clearly, there was someone whom Fifi LeChou didn’t get along with, but for some reason Rhett was unwilling to divulge that potentially crucial information.

  “I’m done being grilled. I’m taking my lunch break now,” Rhett stated, disappearing down the hall as I stood in the doorway of his chamber.

  Wishing I had a search warrant for the butler’s room, I sighed and moved on to my next interviewee: Chef Gregory. I headed towards the stairwell with my mind absorbed in 1,000 thoughts. Without warning, I bumped into a muscular, unyielding body. Mortified, I realized that I was pressed up against Max in the cramped space. Clearing his throat, he quickly dodged past me up the stairs.

  Standing at the top of the staircase, he mumbled, “Sorry, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. That was my fault. My interview with the butler just gave me a lot of food for thought,” I confided.

  “Really? He’s the one I was about to go interview now. Is he in his room?” Max asked.

  “No, he just went downstairs for his lunch break. Didn’t you pass him on your way up here?”

  “No, I didn’t. That’s strange,” Max shrugged.

  “It’s very strange,” I emphasized. “He was literally here a few seconds ago. I don’t see how you could have missed him.”

  “Well, he’s a thin, wiry guy. I guess he’s faster than me.” Max laughed it off, but I was unsettled by the butler’s inexplicable vanishing. “Who were you on your way to see now?”

  “Chef Gregory,” I replied. “How did your interview with Lady Milton go?”

  “Not well. The woman is hiding something, but I’m not sure what yet. I’m itching to question her husband, but she says that Sir Milton is in a business meeting right now and won’t be back until tonight.”

  “This is going to be a long day,” I said with a smidgen of weariness. “Maybe even an all-nighter.”

  “I’ll grab you a cup of coffee later,” Max promised with a wink. “Your favorite: double cappuccino with extra foam and a sugar cane stick.”

  “Thanks,” I said gratefully. “Maybe you should make it a whole thermos!”

  He chuckled and turned around, following me down the stairs. “I’m going back to take another look at the body. Meet me in the den after you question Chef Gregory,” Max directed as we split off in opposite directions.

  Weaving my way through the labyrinth of a mansion, I stopped in the open doorway of the kitchen. Chef Gregory was molding the citrus mousse and polishing it with a shiny glaze. Like Rhett, he seemed oblivious to the fact that one of his colleagues had just been found dead. New alarm bells went off in my head as I wondered why no one knew about Fifi’s sudden demise. Was everyone simply acting like they didn’t know? Or were they truly in the dark? Lady Milton should have been appropriately shocked and horrified to find Fifi’s lifeless body in the den. Wouldn’t her scream have pierced the air and echoed through the household? The mansion was vast, so it was plausible that a scream from the den wouldn’t travel to the countless other rooms. It was also feasible that Lady Milton didn’t scream at all, either because she wasn’t horrified…or she wasn’t shocked…

  With these questions swarming like buzzards in my brain, I took a deep breath and addressed the chef. “Do you have a moment?” I asked politely.

  “You again, lady?” Chef Gregory grumbled, glancing up from his mousse. “Are you trying to get a job here?”

  “No, I already have a job. Homicide investigator. Detective Luna Langford,” I briskly introduced myself as the chef became instantly flustered.

  “Homicide? Huh?” He grunted like a Neanderthal.

  “Yes, that’s correct. Your colleague, Fifi LeChou, was found dead here and I…”

  “Dead? Fifi? Is this some kind of prank?” Chef Gregory eyed me incredulously.

  “Unfortunately, it’s not. I need to ask you a few questions regarding Fifi and what you knew about her.”

  “I don’t know anything!” He said quickly.

  “Oh, but I’m sure that’s not true. Fifi worked here for a few months, didn’t she?”

  “I don’t know anything!” Chef Gregory repeated in a visible panic as I arched one very suspicious eyebrow.

  Before I could delve deeper into my questioning, the acrid smell of smoke assaulted my senses. Sniffing around, I wondered if something was burning in the kitchen. But the smell was coming from elsewhere in the mansion. A moment later, the shrill sound of a fire alarm infiltrated the mansion, followed by a distinct female scream and furiously pounding footsteps.

  Chapter 2

  Eyes bloodshot from terror, Lady Milton came barreling into the kitchen screaming at the top of her lungs. “Fire!” She shrieked.

  “Where’s the fire?” I demanded.

  “In my bedroom! A candle fell…”

  “Okay, let’s evacuate,” I directed, reaching for my cell phone to call the fire department.

  I waited for the entire staff and all the household members to evacuate before I shuffled outside with Max close behind me. “Is this for real?” He whispered.

  “Something’s very fishy,” I whispered back. “Feels like a clev
er diversion to me.”

  “Yeah, and how coincidental that the fire is in Lady Milton’s bedroom! We need to get that woman down to the station for a formal interrogation ASAP!” Max raised his voice, but with all the frantic running and loud chaos, no one paid attention.

  “Agreed,” I stated simply.

  We stood on the impeccably manicured front lawn as blaring fire trucks swiftly arrived on the scene. Max debriefed the firefighters as they dashed into the mansion with their heavy gear in tow. I glanced over at Chef Gregory who was listlessly shifting his hands in his pockets and walking away from the property.

  “Something’s up with that guy,” I commented, pointing to the nervous cook. “He clammed up the minute I asked him about Fifi.”

  “The whole household’s acting suspicious!” Max exclaimed with frustration. “And we haven’t gotten halfway down the list of people who need to be questioned.”

  “I know. I’m wondering if there could have been some sort of group conspiracy against that maid,” I theorized as Max shook his head in disagreement.

  “That’s a little out there, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe, but these people are out there too!” I retorted with a semi-grin.

  “True, but why would they all want to kill her? She was just a maid,” Max mused.

  “Do you have a better explanation, partner?” I challenged.

  “Not right now,” he admitted.

  “Then don’t knock my ideas,” I smirked as he chuckled.

  Across the lawn, Lady Milton was making a ridiculous spectacle of herself, flailing about and wailing to no one in particular. “What is happening to my life? First I lose my maid and now my bedroom? Are the cosmos completely against me?”

  I snickered disdainfully at her self-absorbed chatter. “Lovely woman,” I muttered sarcastically.

  “She’s spoiled rotten,” Max replied. “She’s been married to Sir Milton for 30 years and hasn’t had to lift a finger in all that time.”

  “Got it. So a chipped fingernail would be apocalyptic in her little warped world,” I piggy-backed.