Murder Most Malicious by Alyssa Maxwell Page A

know what order they were placed in?”
    â€œWhy, I believe they were switched around multiple times,” Mrs. Sanders said, “as members of the family placed their gifts inside. There’s hardly any way of knowing which boxes sat where on the shelves at any particular time.”
    â€œThere must be some way to figure out why some and not others.” Eva let her chin sink into her palm.
    â€œThere is,” Mr. Phelps said flatly. “By allowing the inspector and his assistant to do their job and staying out of their way. And by not pestering the rest of us with silly questions.”
    Her mouth dropped open on a huff. Of all the rude, condescending . . . She counted to ten to regain her calm, and immediately noticed Connie trembling and breathing so rapidly Eva feared she would hyperventilate.
    â€œConnie, are you all right?” she whispered across the table.
    Connie stared back like a startled doe before abruptly pushing to her feet. The talking around the table ceased and all eyes turned to her.
    â€œIs something wrong?” Mrs. Sanders asked with a perplexed frown.
    â€œN-no, ma’am. I . . . I need to use the water closet.”
    â€œGo on, then.”
    Connie hurried off. Eva watched her go, wondering. Then she, too, vacated her chair. “She didn’t look well. I’m going to go see if she’s all right.”
    â€œI think that’s a good idea.” Mrs. Sanders’s mouth flattened a moment; then she added, “She’s a nervous sort, that one. I don’t wonder this has upset her.”
    Eva knocked on the door of the water closet. When no answer came, she knocked again. “Connie? It’s Eva. Are you all right, dear?” More silence. “Are you ill?”
    Not a sound came from within. Had the girl passed out? Both puzzled and mildly alarmed, Eva tried the latch. It moved easily beneath her thumb and the door opened into the tiny and quite vacant room.
    â€œThat’s odd.” Listening, she heard the murmur of voices from the servants’ hall, and the continued banging and clanking from Dora in the scullery, but no sound of Connie’s voice. Down the narrow corridor, dusty shafts of light poked through the window in the courtyard door. She hesitated, doubting the day had gotten any warmer. Still, she didn’t stop to don one of the cloaks hanging on pegs near the door. The sooner she found Connie, the better.
    It didn’t take long. Connie stood beside the coal chute, although standing was something of an exaggeration since the girl had her arms wrapped around her middle as she leaned, half-bent at the waist, against the stones of the house.
    Eva wrapped her arms around herself, too, in an effort to stave off her shivering. “Connie, what on earth are you doing out here? Dear, what is it?”
    Connie lurched upright, seeming ready to bolt away. Merely a response to being caught unawares, Eva reasoned, but she stepped into her path anyway, ready to catch her if necessary.
    â€œIt’s nothing, Miss Huntford. I . . . I just . . . needed some air.”
    Eva eyed her suspiciously. “Well, now you’ve had it. Let’s go back inside, shall we?”
    Connie made no move to go.
    â€œSurely you don’t intend holding up the wall all afternoon.”
    â€œI . . . no, miss. I . . .”
    â€œConnie, come now. Something is terribly wrong and . . .” She thought back to the moment Connie had transformed from merely nervous, to use Mrs. Sanders’s word, to out and out panicked. For surely it had been panic that made the girl lie about needing to use the water closet and instead brave the chilling temperatures.
    Vernon. And Nick. Yes, it had been the announcement that the missing cleaver had been found in their shared bedroom that drove Connie into the cold.
    â€œYou’re worried about Vernon and Mr. Hensley, yes?”
    â€œI . . . well . . .” She fidgeted with her apron, her cap, a