Valentine's Madness: A 1920s Historical Mystery Anthology by Beth Byers & Pamela Welsh & Bettie Jane & Carolyn L. Dean & Emily Queen

Author:Beth Byers & Pamela Welsh & Bettie Jane & Carolyn L. Dean & Emily Queen [Byers, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-02-10T06:00:00+00:00

THE END

If you enjoyed this mystery, you can pursue the series by clicking here.

The Case of the Misdelivered Valentine

By Emily Queen

This story serves as a prelude to The Case at Barton Manor in the Lillywhite Mysteries series.

Chapter One

Rosemary Lillywhite, draped across her settee in a deceptively languid pose, put her glass down on the end table and stubbed out the cigarette from which she had taken a single drag. The taste of tobacco coated her mouth, and she scrunched her nose in distaste. The scent was what reminded her of Andrew, anyway, and the positively acrid taste had done nothing to improve her mental state.

Rosemary had been dreading Valentine's Day ever since her maudlin mood ruined Christmas and turned New Year's Eve into a personal pity party rather than a celebration of new beginnings. Thankfully, this holiday would not inspire a spate of invitations to be regretfully declined.

Enduring such events as a widow brought on sympathetic stares from everyone who knew she'd lost her husband, not to mention platitudes offered by well-wishers who didn't understand how their condolences only made her plight all the more vivid. Instead of soothing the passing of time and the pain of growing older without the man with whom she'd expected to experience all the gifts life had to offer, their comments made barricading herself at home and avoiding all contact with the outside world a much more enticing prospect.

Valentine’s Day, above all others, inspired within her a dread she could not ignore. Each year of her five with Andrew, Rosemary’s front table bloomed with a big bouquet of beautiful roses—red for love, of course—tokens from her doting husband to exemplify how much she was adored. This year, there would be no roses, save for the white ones she'd draped across his headstone. White for purity, white for remembrance.

Rosemary sighed and took up the glass again to consider the inch of gin. Roses to remember, alcohol to forget. She raised the drink to her lips, then set it down with a click and another sigh as a thumping sound echoed from the front entrance through the nearby door to the parlor where she was unhappily ensconced.

“Bother,” she muttered, and a moment later, she heard a familiar voice muffled by the wavy glass.

"Rosie, open up, I say.” More knocking. “Where are you?"

Rather than answer, Rosemary closed her eyes and vehemently hoped her friend would just go away—a fanciful wish, as giving up simply wasn't in Vera's repertoire.

A few seconds later, the last remnants of her wish disappeared as quickly as the tendrils of smoke from the cigarette, as Vera threw open the parlor door and squinted into the darkness.

“If you wanted to keep me out, you should not have given me a spare key.” Vera said, brandishing the offending object, then tucked it carefully into her clutch. The rolling of her eyes annoyed Rosemary, who now huddled on the settee, her hair a wild mess around her face and her eyes red-rimmed from crying,

“A mistake I intend to rectify the moment my vision returns.

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