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

flew as the flames leapt in protest.
    Satisfied, she slammed the doors shut and went in hunt of the chef’s best brandy. She knew all the hiding places and found the half-empty bottle just as the kettle began to sing. Before long she had two steaming cups of tea, one of them fortified with a strong dose of cognac.
    Returning to the sitting room, she found Phoebe staring into space, her hat a trifle lopsided, her hands beating a ceaseless tattoo on the arms of the chair.
    Thoroughly alarmed, Mrs. Chubb held the cup and saucer in front of Phoebe’s face. “Here, duck, swallow this. You’ll feel much better when you’ve drunk it.”
    To her relief Phoebe came out of her trance and took the cup. After stirring the tea with a shaky hand, she took a sip. Then another. After a moment the frozen look thawed from her face, and a glow of appreciation crept over it.
    She finished the tea with a gulp and set the cup and saucer down. “That was good, Altheda. Very good indeed. I feel much better. Thank you.”
    “My pleasure, dear,” Mrs. Chubb assured her. “Now, how about telling me what’s happened to get you in such a state.”
    Phoebe did, in graphic detail, with Mrs. Chubb hanging hungrily on every word.
    “Go on!” Mrs. Chubb exclaimed when Phoebe had struggled to the end of her horrific tale. “Lady Eleanor. Well, I never.”
    Phoebe, warmed to a pleasant state of drowsiness by the brandy, nodded. Usually a lady of her background would notbe exchanging confidences with a mere housekeeper, but Phoebe’s sensibilities had gone through some drastic changes. Mrs. Chubb, or Altheda, as Phoebe called her in private, had been there when she’d badly needed a friend. And Phoebe never forgot a kindness. Or a slight for that matter.
    “It was simply awful, I tell you,” she said, hunting for her handkerchief in her soiled handbag. “Oh, my, I shall have nightmares for weeks.”
    “Yes, I’m sure you will.” Mrs. Chubb looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. “So what are you going to do about Henry, then?”
    Phoebe blinked. “Henry?” She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “Henry! I’d forgotten about him in all this distress. He’s still out there somewhere. Oh, Altheda, whatever shall I do?”

CHAPTER
     
    6
     
    “I just can’t imagine how Henry managed to escape,” Phoebe said, picking up her cup to examine it, as if she hoped to find more brandy in it.
    “Well, I can tell you that.” Mrs. Chubb rubbed her palms together, wishing she could repeat the sensational story to the ladies at the next church social. They’d be all agog, they would, and she’d be the center of attention.
    They were always asking her about the goings-on at the Pennyfoot. Most of the time she’d had to keep her mouth shut. There were some things that she wouldn’t tell her own mother.
    She did wonder how madam was going to keep this one a secret. A death wasn’t exactly the same thing as what went on behind the closed doors of the boudoirs. Maybe she’d get the chance to tell about it after all.
    She started when Phoebe said, “So, please, do tell me. I would really like to know.”
    “It was Ethel. Countess Duxbury spilt a cup of tea all over the bed linens, and Ethel went to fetch clean ones. She was on her way out, and she says the snake lifted his head from the basket.”
    Mrs. Chubb chuckled. “What she meant was she got curious and peeked inside the basket to see what was there. She saw what was there all right. Shouldn’t laugh, poor lamb, got such a fright, she did. Thought she was seeing things. She must have run out and left the door open. Never said a word until she overheard John say as how he’d been looking for a snake.”
    Phoebe moaned. “Oh, dear, I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”
    “Well, duck, I should think you’ll have to find him, won’t you? I mean, we can’t have a dirty great python slithering all over the place, can we? Wouldn’t look good for the hotel, now, would