And Then They Were Doomed
Page 19
The room didn’t smell of food this time. The air was stuffy, filled with the stink of mold. Copper pieces on the walls glittered in the low light. They looked, to Zoe, tarnished and old. Nothing was new here, nor seemed of much value. She was getting the feeling of the rooms as settings, something from a much larger stage.
Everyone was quiet as Bella walked in from behind them and went to the front. She wore a white robe that hung straight to the floor, hobbling her. The white turban on her head slipped as she walked, to be caught and pushed back into place.
At a break in the circle, she pulled an old chair around to face her audience. She sat down with a rustle of satin and a grunt.
She arranged her robe, tucking her feet in her everyday loafers under it, and looked out, toward the ceiling.
Anthony stood, half-falling over. He giggled and threw his hands into the air. “Could we get started? Our Gewel has the rules Bella demands we follow.”
He bowed to Gewel.
She stood, smiling at her audience.
“Bella asks that we hold hands until the séance is over. She will be contacting a dead spirit and no one must talk or move. When the spirit is here, you may ask a question in a low voice, then wait for the complete answer. Otherwise keep silent until the trance is over.”
She nodded when she stopped talking, emphasizing the rules.
Zoe didn’t dare look at anyone. She would be rolling on the floor, laughing. She was holding Betty’s hand on one side. Anna’s on the other.
“I hope ya listen to Gewel, here.” Bella frowned from face to face. “Ya must be silent. If Agatha Christie’s going to come tonight, it will be through me and me alone. When yer sure she’s here, ya can ask all the questions unless I pass out from da strain. Then da séance is over.”
“Can I record what Agatha says?” Betty asked.
“Heavens no! She’s a spirit. Who knows if her voice will even record? Sometimes, ya know, it’s just for the ears of the listeners.”
She looked around the room. “Okay? That’s it? You all hold hands. Now I’m taking myself into a trance. I’ll be calling out to Agatha Christie, the way ya asked me to. I’ll keep asking her a question. Mary gave me some suggestions—what to ask. When you hear her answer, you’ll know she’s taken over my body.”
Nobody moved.
Bella talked to herself, in a very low voice, which, after ten minutes or so, began to change, got higher, and slowed.
“So are ya here with us, Agatha?”
For a long time nothing happened. There were squeaks and grunts and other uncomfortable noises until a high, nasal voice said, “Well? What do you people want from me? I’m very busy, as you might imagine.”
The voice wasn’t Bella’s. The accent was upper-class British, with the faintest touch of disdain to it. And maybe a bit of frustration and anger underneath.
“Dame Agatha?”
Somebody spoke but Zoe didn’t recognize the voice.
Zoe opened one eye. All she could see was Bella, nothing or no one else.
“Nobody’s to look at me, do you hear? There, you. If you can’t follow the rules, I suggest you leave the rest of us alone.”
Zoe swallowed hard and shut both eyes as tight as she could get them.
“Now, just so you all know I’m not without contact,” Dame Agatha said. “I’ve followed the terrible things you’re doing at this uncivilized place.”
There was an imperial sniff and a moment of quiet.
Along the circle of seats there was nervous movement.
“Especially you. What’s your name? Nigel somebody. I’ve been insulted and maligned and have been thinking about contacting my solicitor, but I don’t know where he’s gotten to.
“I would have expected a much better greeting here, in America, where my work is very popular. So, what I’d like to ask—no, demand—is that you stop this insult, talking about me with so little knowledge, and go back to your homes. Or …”
“Or what, Ms. Christie?” Zoe spoke up. She opened her eyes and was determined to keep them that way.
Bella’s outraged face was gray, and haughty. “Mallowan. My married name is Mallowan now. Or I will see to it that every one of you is made into a public fool. And stop your attempts to learn my secrets. You can’t.”
Agatha was quiet. And then came a deep sigh.
“My disappearance was manufactured by me. I believe you all believe that fact. I needed to rest after what my husband did to me. I knew I would be found before long, and what better way to shame him than by having his craven cruelty exposed to the world. I am not now, nor have I ever have been, a weak woman. Sometimes not even a very nice one.”
There was an even deeper sigh. “There, that should be enough for the pack of you. I don’t have the strength to stay here very long. But, if I don’t hear you’ve stopped this silly business you’ve engaged in and disperse, I will be back. Especially tomorrow afternoon, for Professor Kennedy’s webinar talk.”
“Sir?” Bella’s blinded eyes sought out Aaron Kennedy. “I will take it as a personal attack if you make things up about me. Don’t think I haven’t heard you. “The Aging of Agatha!” Indeed! And other things you’ve said. You don’t think me perceptive? Because of my Tommy and Tuppence novels? And might I ask, sir, which novels of yours I might read that I can laugh at? Oh, I’ll bet they’re in a drawer. Bundles of them. All unpublished. What is it in you that makes you think your non-talent superior to my enormous outlay of stories? Come, sir. Tell me what you’ve added to the world?”
Aaron didn’t laugh or answer. He slid down in his seat, unclenched Anthony’s and Nigel’s hands from his, folded his arms across his chest, and glared at Bella Webb.
Bella breathed very fast and dipped her head low, almost to her lap.
Betty cried, “Not yet! I have questions.”
No one moved. No one leaped to help Bella. No one said a word until Bella righted herself, white turban hanging to one side, and blinked many times, looking from one person to another in the room.
“Well?” she asked. “Did anythin’ happen?”
There was nervous laughter.
“Yes, Bella.” Gewel was on her feet, her hands on Bella’s shoulders. “Quite a bit. She doesn’t like what we’ve been doing here. Maybe it’s time to stop and let everyone go home.”
“Ridiculous!” Emily stood. “Two more talks to go. Professor Kennedy tomorrow and then Zoe Zola. We’ve looked forward to what both would say about Agatha and about what’s been learned here this week. We can’t stop now.”
“We can, Emily. And we should.” Zoe called out.
“Nonsense.” Emily turned to the seated people. “We want to hear Professor Kennedy, don’t we? Our webinarians want to hear him. After all, they paid.”
Zoe watched as Anthony put his arm around Gewel’s shoulders and pulled her close. She watched as Aaron Kennedy examined his nails and looked at no one. She saw Nigel searching for a face turned his way so he could complain about Agatha’s solicitor coming after him.
They all sat still as Emily helped Bella from her chair and out of the room.
Chapter 45
Dinner, afterward, wasn’t quiet.
Anthony was in rare form—or still half-drunk from the cocktail hour. He greeted everyone with a kiss on the cheek, even Aaron and Nigel, who pushed him away and wiped their faces.
No one mentioned the séance at first. It was after they’d eaten and pushed back their plates that Aaron Kennedy looked from face to face around him and began to laugh.
“Well, isn’t our Bella something? What a show! Even I began to believe her for a bit. And I half-expected it—Bella’s attack. The perfect target because I don’t particularly like her backwoods cuisine, and I’ve let her know. What you all witnessed was a powerless woman’s revenge.” He threw his head back and laughed.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Gewel said.
“Me either,” Anthony agreed. “Sounded exactly as I expected her to sound.”
The argument picked up speed until Aaron was laughing hard, and the others were angry. Bella cleared the table without a word to anyone. She shuffled in and out, not looking left or right, nor standing up for herself.
Gewel stood, hands balanced on the table. “Please. Please. We are here until Thursday. “Today was to be fun. Tonight you may all watch the movie, if that’s what you want to do. Tomorrow Aaron will deliver his talk. Which, I’m sure, we’re all looking forward to …”
“Except our dear Agatha,” Nigel called out.
“And tomorrow night,” Gewel said, ignoring him, “we’ll play Anthony’s game of murder. Does everyone agree to go along with the rest of our plan?”
Nigel grumbled. Aaron frowned. Betty sat up to hear better. Anna looked perturbed, and then fierce.
“I don’t care what the rest of you think,” Anna said. “Agatha was here today. I felt her. She’s been with me over and over since I got here. Her books have been moved around in my room. Even this morning, I noticed she’d opened Five Little Pigs and left it like that. I’m sure she wanted to talk to us.”
“And I’ve felt her during our webinar,” Betty said. “Not in a good way, either.”
“I wanted to ask her about those two missing figures. One of the figures had his hand to his throat. And what else?” Gewel turned to Anthony for help. “And this weather. Was she responsible?”
No one was really missing, Zoe knew. She wanted to tell them but didn’t. When she thought about seeing the two of them at that cabin, she wondered if she’d been hysterical. Maybe there’d been no one there at all. She was beginning to doubt everything she saw and heard.
Mary Reid was smiling. “It had to be one of Agatha’s little jokes.”
“But whatever it was, I’m ready to move on.” Anthony was back at Gewel’s side. “An interesting addendum to our event. Maybe tomorrow we will solve a few old cases together. That should make the Christie Society happy.”
“Ah, no. We’re still doing that?” Aaron groused.
Anna shook her head. “How about you, Zoe?”
Zoe had no real opinion—an old movie or a game. Both seemed like good ways to pass the time they had left.
Gewel raised her hand, wiggling her fingers for attention. “As Anthony told us, tomorrow night is ours. It’s what we know best. You have to admit, we’re all pretty adept at murder.”
“Personally,” Pileser said on his way from the room, “I think the only murders not solvable in this day of DNA and cutting-edge forensics are those where good luck intervened for the murderer.”
Kennedy said, “Ah, but, Nigel, you’re discounting the superior mind.”
He threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Never discount genius. There’ll always be people—men and maybe a few women—able to outfox the police and any investigator he comes up against. Like so much in life, nothing is ever completely equal.”
Anthony put his hands in the air. “Ladies and gentlemen, Anna Tow has asked to say one thing before we go up to rest.”
They stopped to listen.
“I’ve got something on my chest,” she said, following this with a sniff. “I just wanted to say that I don’t like the way Professors Kennedy and Pileser attack everybody, especially the women. Like we don’t know what we’re talking about.”
Anthony put a hand on Anna’s back. She elbowed him away and had a few more words for the two professors who were snickering, trying to cover their smiles and then outbursts of laughter.
Anna put her hand up again. “Okay. You two can laugh, but I’ve said what I wanted to say.”
The end of her long nose was red. Her thin lips were drawn into a childish line that might signal tears.
“Okay.” She went down the hall, stopping to turn to the two men and flip them a finger, making them bend over with laughter.
* * *
Zoe was still laughing later as she straightened her pile of research and made notes for her talk on Thursday. What was she going to say? Nothing new here—well, some things. A few observations on similarities in Agatha’s books, places she used, and how the sadness of her life set up some of her characters. She’d noted those facts. Aaron would probably go for the jugular in his talk—poor Agatha. She almost wished Agatha had been real. Then she could protect herself. Maybe, in a magnificent display of supernatural fireworks, she could smite the man and send them all home in a flash.
Two webinars to go: Aaron Kennedy’s and hers. And then a plane, boat, or automobile out of here.
She wondered who Gewel Sharp could really be, other than a very smart woman. Her name was stuck in her brain. Nagged at her.
She sat back in the chair, drew a writing pad close, and let her mind range over the people she’d been thrown with for the last few days. Starting with Gewel.
Gewel Sharp. Gewel Sharp. For Gewel … a sapphire, opal, topaz, emerald, ruby.
Ruby. Ruby The name stuck. And sharp—Keene? Ruby Keene. The Body in the Library. The dancer murdered and left in a quarry while another young girl was murdered and her body left in the library at Gosington Hall.
She slouched down in her chair and smiled at her own genius.
No such human being as Gewel Sharp. That little dance of hers was a clue to her name. Why? Only a joke? Everyone here a joke, but her?
She rubbed at her eyes. She rubbed at her forehead. She thought about Fida, the one who helped her make sense of her thoughts. Zoe missed her.
In a few minutes she was in bed and fast asleep.
Part 6
Wednesday
Chapter 46
At breakfast, nobody mentioned that Mary wasn’t at her place. Her plate sat in front of her usual chair, untouched. Bella didn’t pick it up, nor clear it at the end of the meal. It sat there like a memory marker: the place where Mary used to sit.
Zoe said nothing about Mary, pretending along with the rest of them. She had no appetite for the thick bacon and fried eggs. No appetite for talk about the weather. Not even for how they were going to get out of there the next day.
Even with the sun finally coming out, everyone seemed tired. There were wide yawns, a lot of whispering to the person close by, and a lot of food removed, uneaten, from the table.
One by one, people excused themselves and went out to the reception room to find a partner for a card game or more coffee.
She stayed where she was, sipping her coffee and watching the others leave. She waited until Bella was back to gather the dirty dishes and hover over Mary’s place setting, not moving the plate, glass, utensils, or napkin.
“Where’s Mary?” Zoe asked, then asked again when Bella pretended not to hear her.
“Sick,” Bella said. “Can’t come out of her room.”
Zoe didn’t say a word. She was beyond treating anything here as normal. If they wanted Mary to disappear, then let them do it. She was probably at that cabin with the others. Nothing to worry about. As long as she could get away after her talk in the morning.
“I wanted to talk to her about the plans for tomorrow. Is the bridge fixed? How does she want to get us out of here?”
“I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure she’s got ya taken care of. We’re all leavin’, ya know.”
“But I’d like to be sure.”
Bella shrugged and left the room with the dirty tablecloth gathered in both her hands.
Bella was back with a new tablecloth. “What do you want from a sick woman?” The woman’s eyebrows shot up when Zoe asked again.
“She’s not here, is she?”
“Don’t know.” Bella set the wilting flowers back at the center of the table. “But I know you though—ya won’t leave it alone. All I can say is Mary asked to be given time to herself. Just leave her in peace.”
* * *
Mary’s room was on the same side of the hall as Zoe�
�s, down farther, beyond the shared bathroom. It wouldn’t hurt, she told herself standing in the hall, to knock and make sure she was all right.
She stood listening to low voices coming from Anthony’s room and figured Gewel was in there with him. The woman wasn’t exactly a kid—somewhere in her early thirties, if she had to guess. Old enough to know better.
She listened at what she thought was Mary’s door; she’d seen her come out of this one from time to time.
Not a sound. Maybe she was sleeping and wouldn’t be too happy to see Zoe’s smiling face.
Zoe knocked anyway. She had the excuse that she was worried Mary was unhappy about what happened downstairs.
No answer. Room 208. It had to be Mary’s. After this, the empty rooms began.
She knocked again, the knock hollow and loud in the long hallway.
Nothing.
Zoe turned the knob and opened the door, being very quiet.
The bed was made. Everything here was as it had been on the first day in Zoe’s room. Same indeterminate blue walls; small, dark metal bed covered with an oft-washed white-going-to-gray chenille bedspread; same bedside table and goose-necked lamp with a pull-chain. But all of it as if it had never been touched.
She stood in the middle of the room and looked around. No personal things on the chest or bedside table. Nothing on the desk. Nothing draped over the bed. Maybe, when she got sick, she’d packed to leave.
But nothing in the closet, not even a suitcase, not one piece of clothing hanging on one hanger. No one was staying here. When she ran her finger over the back of one of the chairs, it was dusty. There were cobwebs stretched across the upper glass of the window.
She’d seen Mary going into this room. How could she not have stayed here?
She backed out and closed the door behind her. There was no one to ask. She wouldn’t get the truth from any of them.
Two people had disappeared but were staying in that cabin. Maybe they were prisoners. She shouldn’t have run.
What was she going to do about what she knew?
Another one gone—or never there.