Lady Rample Spies a Clue by Shéa MacLeod

Author:Shéa MacLeod
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: British mystery, international mystery and crime, romance mystery, female protagonist, murder, london, england, british detective
Publisher: Sunwalker Press
Published: 2018-04-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Miss Semple draped herself across the divan cushions and waited expectantly while I mixed two Aviation cocktails, carefully measuring out the costly crème de violette. I handed her one, then took the comfy chair across from her.

“Miss Semple—”

“Call me Julia.”

“Julia then. And I’m Ophelia.”

“What a lovely name,” she said, taking a sip of her cocktail. “Very Shakespearean.”

“Isn’t it just. Are you friends with my cousin-in-law?”

She blinked, ridiculously long lashes brushing perfectly powdered porcelain cheek. Her lashes had to be false. Had to be. “Cousin-in-law?”

“Binky.”

“Oh! Lord Rample. He’s your cousin?”

“In-law. The cousin of my late husband.”

“I thought perhaps you were Lord Rample’s mother,” she said innocently.

I have never in my life wanted to strangle someone so much. Julia and I were of an age—mid-30s, give or take—and if anything, I looked younger. Extra padding will do that. But I bit my tongue. Bees with honey. And Julia Semple certainly had a stinger.

“Not quite,” I managed to bite out. “He’s actually older than I by a good four years.”

She widened her eyes. “How astonishing.”

I wondered if Aunt Butty had brought any laxative with her and if she would let me borrow some to put in this Semple woman’s tea. “I’m sure. So... how long have you known Binky?”

“I only met him here for the first time.” She took a sip of her cocktail and made an approving hum. My estimation of her went up slightly. “I believe Harry knows him.”

Harry deVane didn’t know Binky. He knew Aunt Butty. And somehow Binky had wormed his way to an invite based on his vague relation to her. The thought irked me.

“Frankly, I don’t know why he came,” Julia continued. “Claims the whole thing is an awful bore. He’s not wrong. Dashedly dull. But one doesn’t say that, does one.”

So why did he worm an invite then? Curious. “If it’s so dull, why did you come?” I asked.

“Harry, of course. He’s worth simply millions. And, of course, I have the most awfully mad crush on him,” she added quickly.

Crush on his aforementioned millions, more like. We chatted inanely about various people we knew and events we had attended, but the minute my glass was drained, I made my excuses and escaped. Now to find Binky.

He was hiding in the library. Not because he was a great reader. He was listening to the radio and pounding down a bottle of whiskey he’d liberated from Harry’s cellar.

“There you are,” I said, shutting the door behind me.

He frowned. “What do you want?” His tone was querulous and his words slightly slurred. If the bottle was anything to go by, he was well on his way to raging drunk.

“Why are you here, Binky?”

“I’m drinking, obviously.” He waved a glass at me, nearly sloshing the contents onto his jacket.

“No, I mean here, at this house. At this party.”

“Oh, that...Harry begged me to come.”

“Don’t lie, Binky. It doesn’t become you. I know you used Aunt Butty’s name to finagle yourself an invite. Why?”

“If you must know, I had business to attend to in this part of the country.

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