And Then They Were Doomed

by Elizabeth Kane Buzzelli

  “Ah, but think about it,” Nigel said. “Wouldn’t you imagine the group of murderers would have told him the girl’s name before they killed him? What good is revenge if the murderer doesn’t know who you are? Or why he is being murdered?”

  Aaron shrugged again, looking impatient. “Christie left that out, didn’t she? Guess the man never knew for sure why he was being stabbed. Seems like a terrible surprise for the poor fellow. He’s got my sympathy.”

  He laughed.

  “Sympathy? Really?” Anna’s disgust thickened her voice.

  “Maybe it was just that one girl. And he had to do it because she hounded him or tried to hurt his reputation.”

  “Professor.” Gewel tried to get a hold on her group.

  “Let me finish my points, young woman. I find this to be an important point in the Christie study.”

  Nigel interrupted. “Wouldn’t you say that only the first to stab or poison or whatever else they did to Ratchett could be the murderer? So there is no such thing as a group murder. It would be an impossibility.”

  “That’s one of my points.” Gewel clapped her hands. “So, no one ever knows who the real murderer is.”

  “But think a minute,” Anthony said, getting to his feet. “What if the first to plunge the knife in didn’t kill the man? What if it took until the fifth person before the victim died? Then who can call the first to stick the knife in the killer, when it wasn’t until the fifth that the man died? And if the victim took his last breath then, is the fifth the only killer? Who knows when life really leaves the body? First the brain, then the body—bit by bit.”

  Aaron thought awhile. “I see what you mean. I do see what you mean. But I would say, in the eyes of the law, they are all equally guilty, had equal intent.”

  “But that would only be if the law ever found out there was a plan in place,” Gewel said.

  “Oh, I’m certain someone would brag or talk in their sleep. They’d be discovered. I’m sure of that.” Aaron was proud of his point.

  Zoe watched Aaron’s face. Smug. Secure in his rightness.

  “Really? I have a feeling a group could plan a perfect murder—witnesses and all—and never get caught,” Anthony said.

  “Well, we better hope so, or Christie never could have written that awful book and gotten away with it, could she?” Aaron turned to laugh with the others. No one laughed back.

  In the quiet that followed, Aaron chuckled to himself from time to time. “Group murder.” He laughed again. “Another Christie screw-up. No such thing.”

  After minutes more of quiet, Betty asked, her pointed eyebrows going up, “By the way, Aaron, I read in your bio that you’ve worked in other universities around the country. Always a Christie expert?”

  “Two or three. Only two or three.” He spread his hands. “If one wants to get ahead, you know, you have to take new positions offered. And yes. Always a Christie expert, though I’m moving on now.”

  “Was it hard to leave your old universities?” Anna asked.

  “No. Not really.” He frowned at her. “Why do you ask?”

  “Not even the University of Michigan? I’d stay if I could get a job teaching there. I’d stay for life.”

  “Anyway, we were talking about Murder on the Orient Express,” Gewel tried her best to tame her audience.

  Anthony stood up. “Hey, it stinks in here. Who hid the sausage?”

  Gewel pinched her nose. “Is that really sausage?” she asked those around her. “Smells like blood to me.”

  Chapter 52

  Zoe hurried out to the damp woods and tried to dig a hole for the sausages with a spoon she’d filched from the table. When she couldn’t dig far into the hard-packed wet sand, she spread the sausages over the ground, where she didn’t think Emily or Bella would find them.

  Before returning to the house, she stood at the edge of the forest, watching the lighted windows of the lodge. On the second floor, in a room facing the woods, Anthony and Gewel were seated on something she couldn’t see. Their heads were together once again in serious and intense conversation.

  Through another window she saw Anna sitting at a desk, the lamp on the desk penning shadows across her face. She didn’t move or seem to write. She stared at the wall in front of her.

  Only one other room at the front of the lodge was occupied. Aaron stood at that window, looking out at the sky, cloudy though the moon showed through from time to time—long beams of light fell around him. He lifted his fists and shook them at the sky. He held them there, then held his head and and rocked it back and forth. His face was grotesque.

  She stepped back in among the trees when he looked down to where she stood.

  He saw her. He watched her, then turned away from the window, going back into the room, where she couldn’t see him.

  She packed her suitcase, then took out clothes for the morning, laying them carefully on the bed, spreading her hands across them, ironing out the wrinkles.

  They would gather downstairs at ten. One last event to be gotten through before they could leave. By now they all detested each other. Gewel and Anthony were traitors. The others had shown their nastier sides. Probably she had too.

  She pulled out the notebook of letters and names she’d worked on before

  There were the first initials: L L A M B A G A N B E.

  The word jumped out at her: LAMB.

  Mary had a little Lamb. She liked the way the syllables bounced in her mouth. Of course—Angela Lamb. Who else could this monstrous thing be about?

  Ding-ding, ding, ding ding-ding ding.

  She crossed those initials off the list. That left A N G E L A. And a leftover B.

  Last initials: A J G R B K S T P W B.

  One vowel to work with, but nothing. The message of the names was Angela Lamb. The message was the murder of a young woman who was dearly loved.

  Mary and Harley Lamb’s child.

  Ding-ding, ding, ding ding-ding ding.

  Chapter 53

  At ten, Zoe sat alone in the reception room, waiting for something to happen as she got madder. She was tired of all of them and their haphazard plans. She wanted to go to bed, get up in the morning, give an amazingly short talk, and bust out of there.

  At ten minutes after ten, she slid from the sofa to the floor and went to knock on the kitchen door.

  Emily sat alone at the table, hands clasped in front of her. She looked up, her face a sick gray color.

  Zoe opened her mouth to ask a question. But couldn’t.

  Emily’s eyes were red and tired, as if she’d been crying. For the first time, Emily Brent looked old.

  “The games are beginning, Miss Zoe. You mustn’t miss them.”

  “It’s after ten, There’s no one anywhere. They must have changed plans. I’m going to bed. I have a long drive tomorrow and—”

  “If you go to bed, they’ll only come get you.” Emily almost smiled. “You can’t miss the games.”

  Zoe saw the shoulders trying to push against the chair and the smile that didn’t make it. She looked into Emily’s eyes and took a step backward, away from her, into the hall. She let the door swing shut.

  She went back to sit near the fireplace until, one by one, the others appeared, headed toward the room at the end of that hall. No one acknowledged her as they went by. They didn’t acknowledge each other.

  She followed them to the Michigan Room. The chairs had been gathered away from the oval table where they sat for the webinar.

  Anthony and Gewel stood together at the head of the room. They looked up as she took a seat but seemed to see through her.

  Betty Bertram was in a front seat, a stack of papers in her lap. She turned each time someone walked in, as if noting them in her head, then looked at Gewel and back down to her papers that she straightened in her lap, then straightened again until the next person came in and found a seat.

  No one sat near anyone else, not even when a chair had to be pulled away from the others. The last to enter we
re Aaron and Nigel, together, then Anna and Bella.

  With people in place, Gewel gave a nod to Anthony.

  He began. “My dear wife, Gewel—as you all may have guessed by now from our riotous ribaldry in my room—will take up murder. Though first I’d like to tell you we’ve been married eight years. A seven-year-old and a five-year-old at home. Many surprises here at Netherworld. But now, old, new, maybe solved, maybe not, I bring you murder. You are to solve it—if you can, with enough proof for the police to look into. You win by solving a murder. You win by being the first.”

  He looked from Gewel to Betty, sitting with her thin shoulders up to her ears. “So, let us begin.”

  Zoe waved her hand in the air, “I have one,” she called out, though she was lying. “In case you need another. All of you knowing so much about murder, and all—I have an old case for you.”

  Gewel’s eyebrows rose. “Really? A case you know of? Based on a real murder?”

  She had no idea about what she’d make up, so Zoe had to think fast. “One I’ve been thinking about since I’ve been channeling Agatha Christie.”

  “But I have a list.” Gewel held a list in the air. “I didn’t hear anything from you.”

  “Let her give hers.” Anna turned to give Zoe one of her taut smiles. “She gets to grade some of us tomorrow. I say let’s not piss her off.”

  There was laughter and agreement.

  Gewel added Zoe’s name to her list. “Would you wait until we’ve done the—”

  “Of course. I know how to wait my turn.”

  Anthony nodded but didn’t smile. “Let’s see how we do with ours first, all right? What we have may be enough.”

  She nodded, happy that she was irritating him.

  “This is a very odd case.” Gewel looked from face to face. “A murder in Toledo, Ohio, that so far hasn’t been solved. Please tell us what you think about the case—any clues you can find. Solve it, if you can. And then guess whether it’s a real case and whether we have enough to place a call to the Toledo Police Department.

  “Nineteen-ninety,” she read. “What I have is a woman with two children, married. Lived in Toledo, Ohio, but her husband lived in Flint, Michigan … er …”

  She frowned, then looked back at her notes. “That’s because he had to take a job in Flint during some bad times. The woman in Toledo was found dead in bed one morning. Nine AM. Her eldest son Ronald, age sixteen, found her after calling through the bedroom door and getting no answer from his mother.

  “Er … yes … then he called his younger sister, Joannie, thirteen, and then his baby brother, Todd, eight. Ronald called the police. No one went in the room, and nothing in there was touched. Her husband was contacted while he was at work in Flint. He drove right home.

  “At first they thought it was a natural death. But the autopsy showed she’d been poisoned. Arsenic was found in her system. A good deal of arsenic.”

  “How about her hair? Any sign of arsenic in the hair shaft, showing different times and amounts of the poison given?” Zoe called out. “And is there a reason we aren’t told her name?”

  Emily answered for Gewel. “There were traces in the hair shaft, but nothing steady that should have killed her. And her name was Evelyn. Evelyn Bowlder.”

  “That’s significant,” Zoe said.

  Gewel nodded. “I guess so.”

  “Was she a gardener?” Nigel asked. “Gardeners get arsenic in their systems from those sprays they use. Arsenic comes from drinking water or living near a smelting plant—even living at the site of an old gun range or living downhill from a cemetery.”

  “Then the rest of the family would’ve been poisoned,” Anna said. “I’d look at those children. Bet they did it together. A little poison at a time. Were the children charged?”

  Gewel shook her head. “No reason to. Nothing found in the house.”

  “Humph. Should’ve been. They’re the ones who killed their mother, all right.”

  “Any traces of arsenic found in the house or garage?” Zoe asked.

  Gewel shook her head. “Nothing. And police couldn’t find any fingerprints that shouldn’t have been there. Had to have been someone inside the house, but who?”

  “The husband, I’ll bet,” Betty piped up. “He didn’t have to be there to kill her. Could have left a drink for one of the kids to give her. Maybe he used poison at that job in Flint. What was it?”

  Gewel read over her notes then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You should,” Aaron spoke up. “We can’t make decisions on such slim information.”

  Gewel made a face and ignored him. She looked around to her audience. “Any other ideas?”

  “Hmm. I say suicide.” Anna was firm.

  Gewel shook her head. “No glass beside her bed. Nor anywhere in the room.”

  Anna raised her hand but didn’t wait to be called on. “The glass could have been put in the dishwasher. Was it filled with dirty or clean dishes? And the kids might have wanted to cover up what she did. Can’t blame them.”

  Gewel shook her head. “No dishwasher in the house. The thirteen-year-old girl did the dishes by hand at night. No dirty dishes on the counter. Of course, any of them could have washed an extra glass.”

  “I’ll bet anything the older brother and sister did it together.” Anna now said. “Sixteen and thirteen. Sounds as if they had a lot of responsibility around that place. There are cruel mothers, you know.”

  “What?’ Pileser raised his voice. “And so, they forced the woman to drink arsenic? God! What an idea!”

  “Maybe ya need more information,” Bella, quiet until now, suggested.

  Zoe asked, “What did she do for a living, our dead lady?”

  “Er … let me see.” Gewel ran her finger down the page. “She worked for a taxidermist.”

  “Hmm …” Zoe thought hard. “Did she ever take her work home with her?” she asked.

  “Once in a while. She wanted to learn the trade. Maybe have her own shop one day. The shop owner she worked for let her remount old heads for experience.”

  “Had she worked on any recently?” Zoe asked.

  “Yes. A few were found in a workroom in her house. She redid the heads to learn, not with any idea of saving them.”

  “What about the man she worked for? He have any reason to kill her?” Aaron Kennedy called out.

  Gewel shook her head. “An elderly man who was happy to teach her how to stuff and mount specimens.’

  “That’s it.” Zoe sat back and crossed her arms over her breasts. “I win. Real case. Clear as the nose on your face. I say the case was never solved because it was an accidental death.”

  Gewel held up a hand. “Well, Zoe, we might have known. I have to give it to you. This is certainly a real case. Happened right up in Copper Harbor, not Toledo. Police never found the murderer.”

  “Of course not. Nobody killed her.’

  “Suicide was ruled out.”

  “Good thing.” Zoe slid off her chair to stand with her butt against it.

  “What does that mean?” Aaron demanded, frowning hard around at Zoe.

  “Accident. Accidental death. Nobody’s fault. Ignorance is all. Ignorance kills a lot of people.”

  Pileser laughed out loud. “Ah, dear Miss Zola. Arsenic isn’t something people play with, you know. She would have to go out and actually buy some, which she couldn’t do anyway. Today it’s used in very few products, and then not enough to poison anyone. I see you’re tying the death to taxidermy, but the elderly man she works for was still alive. Apparently, there isn’t a great threat there.”

  “Ah, Dr. Pileser,” Zoe began, her voice showing how much she was enjoying herself, “if she was learning taxidermy and working with old mounts, she was taking her life in her hands. Arsenic was used in taxidermy up until the last twenty or thirty years. It kept the mounted animals free of insects. Did a good job and killed a number of people. Thing is, taxidermists have now learned—some from bad experience—that y
ou don’t fool with old mounts. Better to leave them alone than to redo, for fear of arsenic poisoning. Killed more than one thrifty trophy owner who tried to do a remount himself.”

  Zoe looked from face to face, all turned her way. “Accident. Very sad for her.”

  “How old is this case?” she asked Betty.

  “Twenty-nine years.”

  There was an intake of breath.

  “Anyone else in that family die from arsenic poisoning?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I hope you call the Copper Harbor Police and tell them the death was an accident.”

  “I will. I certainly … will.”

  Zoe, satisfied, leaned back, and relaxed.

  Gewel, clearly thrown by Zoe’s easy solve, looked down at the next sheets of paper Betty handed to her. “We have more, but we could stop here. Seems too easy.”

  Anna harrumphed and shook her head. “No, you don’t. Give us our turn at this game. What else do you have?” She turned to face Anthony. “Don’t you agree, Anthony? That one was too easy.”

  He spread his hands wide and shook his head. “That was pretty spectacular. I don’t know if I can beat …”

  Anna waved at him and turned back to demand Gewel give them another try.

  “There’s one here …” She read over the case. “Okay. Here we go: a man was murdered in his own house. Attacked while sleeping. Killed with a hatchet. Quite vicious.”

  Gewel looked up.

  “So? That’s it?” someone asked.

  Anna fired off the usual questions. “What was he like? What did he do for a living? Married? Where was his wife at the time? Did he have children? What was their relationship like?”

  “Who were his friends? Anyone dislike him? And if so, why?” Nigel jumped in.

  “Rather stiff man. Not warm and friendly. What did he do? Hmm, I don’t really know.” Gewel looked to Anthony for help.

  “I think he was a businessman. And friends?” Anthony thought. “No, I don’t think so. Wife was there, but also dead. Two children, both daughters.”

  “Was one daughter much older?” Pileser asked.

  Gewel nodded.

  “Has the possibility of incest being the underlying cause for his death been suggested?” Zoe asked.