Rosemary Lillywhite stood, removed a handkerchief from her pocket, and wiped the sweat from her brow before resuming her efforts to dislodge a trunk from the recesses of the attic. London had been exceptionally balmy that year, and all the heat had risen to the townhouse’s top floor to create a miserably sweltering experience. She could hear Wadsworth pacing from the level below, and when he called out to her for the fifth time since the beginning of her expedition, she could barely contain her irritation.

“I’m quite all right,” Rosemary reassured the butler, poking her head out of the stairwell to prove she was still in one piece.

That his mistress insisted upon tending to the heavy lifting galled, but he knew from experience that once she got an idea into her head, she wouldn’t budge no matter how reasonable the argument presented to her.

“It’s my duty,” Rosemary huffed. “I won’t hear any more about it! Now go on, and leave me be.” Her tone brooked no refusal.

With a sigh, Wadsworth meandered back down the corridor towards the stairs to the ground floor but refused to descend them until he was certain Rosemary truly needed no assistance. She knew the creak of every floorboard in the place and could tell he was still keeping a close watch, but she allowed him to stand guard without further argument.

“He means well,” she muttered to herself, “but I’m perfectly capable of sorting through a few dusty old trunks.”

Though Rosemary’s tendency towards independence was one of her defining traits, in this case, it was less about stubbornness and more about a sense of obligation. After her husband Andrew passed away unexpectedly a little more than a year before, she hadn’t the heart to attend to the distribution and disposal of his belongings.

To make room for an art studio, she’d moved the furniture around in the office where he’d worked as a private detective, but Rosemary had disposed of nothing even there. Now, it was time for a bigger change, and it simply wouldn’t feel right for anyone else to complete the task.

When a commotion sounded from the ground floor, Wadsworth hesitated before descending the stairs to find Rosemary’s brother, Frederick, and her best friend, Vera Blackburn, on the doorstep. The pair had recently become inseparable, much to Rosemary’s delight and Vera’s surprise. After welcoming them into the entrance hall, Wadsworth appealed to the one person he knew might persuade Rosemary to leave her post.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Woolridge,” he said politely and turned to Vera. “Perhaps you could fetch the mistress from the attic. She’s insisted upon sorting through Mr. Andrew’s trunks, and—”

“And she won’t let you lend a hand of assistance,” Vera finished the sentence for him with a wry smile. “That sounds just like Rosemary. I’ll see to it.” With that, she marched up the stairs leaving Frederick behind.

“Rosie, dear, did you forget you invited us for tea?” Vera asked when she laid eyes on her friend. “Why don’t you come down from there? You look a fright!”

“Thank you ever so much,” Rosemary retorted, her voice muffled due to the fact that she’d resumed her thorough search of the trunk, and her head had nearly disappeared into its depths. When she pulled it back out again, her hair crackled with static electricity and stuck up in every direction.

Holding back a giggle, Vera helped her friend off the floor and gently guided her down the stairs. “This can wait, can’t it? I’m starved, and your brother is probably already pilfering gin from your drinks cart. The fact that it’s not yet noon doesn’t appear to have occurred to him,” Vera said, a note of amusement in her voice. “He’s taking full advantage of the bank holiday weekend.”

Rosemary’s mouth tipped into an affectionate smile. “That sounds like Frederick,” she said as she and Vera, arms linked, walked into the dining room where tea had already been laid out.

“What exactly sounds like me?” Frederick asked, raising a glass of clear liquid to his lips with a mischievous smile. The lock of golden ringlet that usually dangled into his face had been trimmed into submission, but he brushed at the spot anyway out of habit. Eyes the same blue as Rosemary’s twinkled when his gaze landed on Vera, and the look that passed between the new couple made her sublimely happy and a tiny bit sad at the same time.

“Oh, we were just discussing your finer points, dear brother,” Rosemary said affectionately. “Sobriety not being among them.”

Frederick shrugged, drained the glass, and winked at his sister. “Sobriety is for the horses. Now, let’s get down to the business of this weekend. I’m due back to work in a few days, and I’d like to return with some happy and, with any luck, scandalous memories. There must be a party brewing somewhere in London that would fit the bill.”

“Oh!” Vera said, then spun on her heel and strode back to the entrance hall, returning a few moments later with her handbag. “I’ve got six tickets to an art opening. My understudy in the play, Daisy, has some pieces on display, and she said it’s sure to be a swell affair. She’s been through some hard times, and I’d like to support her. Do you think Max would enjoy something like that? Perhaps we could ask Abigail and Martin if they want the last two tickets.”

Rosemary noted how Frederick’s nose scrunched and how he made certain Vera didn’t catch the slip. She doubted an art gallery opening was what he’d had in mind when he suggested a wild party, but he was bright enough to realize he’d better go along with whatever the women suggested.

“I had lunch with Abigail yesterday,” Rosemary said, “and she’s simply dying to get out of the house for an evening. I suspect she’s quite lonely. Ever since the murder investigation was closed, Martin has seen a marked increase in business. It seems people are more intrigued than concerned over the Killer Dentist of Park Road.”

When Rosemary had solved the murder and cleared Martin’s name, she hadn’t expected to make friends in the process, but a good friend indeed Abigail had proved herself to be.

“And Max?” Vera pressed.

The thought of the handsome detective inspector Max Whittington brought a smile to Rosemary’s face. After solving yet another murder, they had shared one perfect kiss, and she was still flying high from the experience.

“I don’t think it will be difficult to persuade him, assuming he’s free. He’s been swamped with cases, and we haven’t had a chance to see much of one another since we returned to London. This would be our first official date.”

“Something tells me Max will make certain he’s free for you, Rosie. He’s besotted, don’t you think, Freddie?” Vera demanded.

“Not as besotted as I am with you, darling,” Frederick replied smoothly. Rosemary had to give him credit for understanding exactly what made a woman tick. Of course, he’d had plenty of practice before the realization that Vera was the one, and it helped that as Rosemary’s oldest friend, the two had grown up together. Their sense of familiarity was equally comforting and disconcerting at this early stage of their romance.

Vera’s mother had always had a soft spot for Frederick and thoroughly approved of him for her daughter. For once, however, Lorraine hadn’t been a force of influence on Evelyn Woolridge. Convincing Rosemary and Frederick’s mother to accept the match turned into a nightmare of biblical proportions. All was well now, though, and it seemed a ray of hope had chased away most of the darkness in which Rosemary had been mired since Andrew’s death.

A date with Max might help blow away the last of the cobwebs.

Of course, she’d always remember the love she shared with Andrew, but life was too short to allow the loss to become crippling. He’d want her to move on—though whether he’d be thrilled that the object of her affection was his closest mate, she couldn’t say and had decided to dispense with the question altogether.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Frederick said when the doorbell chimed, and the detective inspector in question strode into the room. He shook Max’s hand and clapped him on the back. “Good to see you, my friend.”

Max returned the handshake and the greeting, all the while his eyes flicking to Rosemary’s. “I see the whole gang’s here,” he quipped. “Should I be worried?”

Rosemary allowed him to take her hand in his for a fleeting moment, and her heart fluttered.

“All’s well here, Inspector,” Frederick replied, though Max’s question hadn’t been meant for him to answer. “Simply smashing, actually, though I fear we’ve been roped into a dreadfully boring evening of artistic pomp and circumstance.”

At Max’s questioning look, Rosemary explained. “We’ve got tickets to an art opening tomorrow night. Are you, by some chance, free?” she asked coyly.

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Max said, flushing. “That’s why I’m here, though I didn’t intend to invite you out on a date with your brother and Vera watching.”

Frederick let out a guffaw. “You might as well get used to it.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Max replied with a rueful grin. “As long as dinner is part of the plan. I’ll make reservations and meet you lot here tomorrow evening.” He bade them all goodbye and left the townhouse with a spring in his step.

“It’s settled, then,” Vera exclaimed when he was gone. “Now, we must shop!”

Shopping was Vera’s solution for everything, though, in this instance, Rosemary was more than happy to oblige.