Eve waved her hand in a move-along gesture. Her plate of food that Michèle had readied, still sitting untouched in front of her.
Nana grimaced and continued.
“Simza’s health suffered in ’65 when she got pregnant with a second child at the age of forty-five, and she was essentially bedridden. Since there was young Mikhail to be considered, Ion hired a widowed governess to look after him. You can probably tell where this story is going.”
Eve, seated at the far end of the table, leaned forward and mumbled, “Mr. Vianu couldn’t keep his snake in the grass and so he and the governess had an affair.”
Michèle hushed her and motioned for her to eat.
Eve pressed a hand to her mouth and turned away with a giggle. “Sorry, see why I needed the Pringles.”
“Oh, will you shut up about your Pringles? They don’t seem to be helping.” Michèle whispered.
Nana glared at the two and then shouted. “Remy!”
Joelle’s husband, responding to his cue, quickly appeared at Nana’s side. “Yes, Madam?”
“Could you bring in a coffee? Apparently, our wise fortune teller couldn’t predict two martinis were too many.”
Michèle snorted with laughter.
Mallory tried not to add to the laughter. She didn’t want to encourage the evil twins, but when Michele started chortling, she couldn’t help herself.
The butler nodded and then quickly disappeared from the room.
“Now, where was I.” Nana cleared her throat. “Ion hired a governess named Roberta, and although there was no proof—”
“Oh, come on, Simza was no dummy,” Eve heckled as she drained her wine glass, and bit the end off her bread like a starving caveman. “She was a Cohalyi wife-witch, for heaven’s sake.” She mumbled through the soggy mouthful.
“What’s a Cohalyi wife-witch?” Harley asked.
Eve was now busy inhaling her goulash so Mallory answered for her. “It’s a Hungarian term for wise women or charming woman,” she clarified. “They’re trained by their mothers in medicine and magic.”
Nana opened her mouth to continue the story.
Eve held up her hand. “Blah. Blah. Blah. Just let me tell it.” She waved her fork around like Harry Potter with a wand. “According to the story, Ion fell in love with the governess. By the time Simza was ready to give birth, he and the Mrs. were barely speaking.” Michelle yanked the fork from Eve’s hand and set it on the table. Eve didn’t miss a beat. “Simza was basically confined to her room thanks to her condition, but mark my words, she heard about the happenings from her trusted maid. Homes with servants have always had eyes and ears everywhere. Isn’t that right?” She said, elbowing Bronson as he attempted to set down her coffee.
Bronson huffed and backed away. Coffee now marring the tablecloth.
“She heard it all, how Ion had moved the widowed governess and the governess’s son into the turret room. How he even had his own secret passage built to get there undetected,” Eve slurred.
“We don’t know that the affair was real, Eve,” Mallory corrected.
Eve crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at her. “Zip it, Malhala. You’re killing my buzz.” She took a gulp of her coffee and went on. “One day Simza saw the governess, and told her in front of everyone that if anything happened to her, she would return and avenge her death exactly one year later.” Eve nodded to Nana to tell her part of the tale.
Nana continued. “The following month, during childbirth,” Nana paused with a severe look at Eve, “she passed away. It is said that the governess, Roberta, was the one attending her, it was suspected that she let her die on purpose.”
Eve nodded in satisfaction.
“Of course, there was an investigation, but they found no evidence of foul play. Many women still died during childbirth even in the ‘60s.”
“Why would Simza allow the governess to attend to her if she was indeed her husband’s lover?” Kaden asked, his voice pitched in disgust.
“Calm down, Detective Uptight. It’s just a story.” Eve waved her hand dismissively. “It’s not like we’re trying to solve the case now.”
Kaden raised his eyebrows at Eve.
Eve ignored him and took over the story once again. “Since then, rumors have flown and people say the ghost of the governess looks out the upper window of the turret room. Some people have seen her wandering the halls and climbing the stairs. oooooOOOOOooooo.” She waved her hands and laughed.
“But why would Roberta’s ghost be walking the halls if it was Simza who was murdered?” Penny asked.
Eve held her gaze. “Patience, Trubble, we’re getting there. Besides, ghosts can do anything they want—it’s one of the perks of being a ghost.”
“I hadn’t realized there were perks,” Penny said.
Nana cleared her throat and glowered at them both.
Eve resumed her tale. “In a rare turn of events, Roberta died about a year later. She fell down the staircase in the secret passage—the very one that Ion had built just for their rendezvous. Some say it was the ghost of Simza who pushed her. Ion never got over the double loss of his wife and his mistress.”
“Alleged Mistress,” Nana interjected.
“What happened to the son?” Kaden asked.
Eve smirked. “Oh, poor Mikhail. He grew up and had his own problems. After all, he married Nana—”
Nana silenced Eve with a look.
Penny, Mallory and Danior all burst out laughing at once.
Michèle shook her head, “Oh, Eve. I think he meant the other son. The son of the widowed governess.”
Just then Joelle entered the room and rang a little bell. “Well, what do you all think? Shall we move onto dessert?”
Instantly, the heady, bittersweet aroma of chocolate filled the dining room as Bronson, Emilion and the manor’s chef Nataliya carried in a three-layer high cake all decked out with gooey cream eggs and lit up with birthday candles.
The room broke into song and afterward Bronson cut and served up wedges, while the table anticipated the rich, chocolate confection they were about to experience.
“I think this calls for a cup of tea,” Joelle said as she moved around the table filling cups.
Holding her plate in front of her nose, Mallory deeply inhaled the cake’s rich chocolate fragrance before popping the first piece into her mouth.
“Mmmmmm.” She rolled her eyes. “That is soooo good.”
“Delicious,” agreed Danior, as she dragged her finger through the icing, and then licked it. “I must have more birthdays. I love eating something that I didn’t bake myself.”
By the time the plates were being scraped clean, Nana was clinking her fork off her glass.
“Claire!” Nana spoke forcefully. Mallory, who was seated to her right, and staring at the handsome man in the magician’s cloak at the end of the table, remembered she was Claire and jumped. Nana smirked and went on, “I’m on a mission to uncover the truth, and one of you can help me find it.” Nana nodded gravely at her own statement. “Now, I’ve told you the story of how my mother-in-law, Simza, was murdered, but there was another murder in my family. My daughter, Jili died during the trapeze act one year ago today.” she continued in a deeply dramatic voice. She lifted her glass and took a swallow, “Someone tampered with her equipment.”
“Jili?” Eve, seated at the far end of the table, leaned forward and mumbled.
Michèle hushed her.
“Every one of you was working the day Jili was murdered. One of you bore a grudge, one of you did it and one of you or all of you knows who. So, I offer a reward—my prized million-dollar coin to whoever tells me who tampered with the equipment.”
The room gasped.
“Remy, could you come here?”
Bronson quickly appeared at Nana’s side. “Yes, Madam?”
“Bring Claire Jili’s hamsa necklace, if you please. If the guests won’t talk, then we’ll just have to summon our Jili and ask her ourselves. And bring some more
wine. That tea has left me much too sober.”
“Hear, hear,” Eve giggled.
The butler nodded and then quickly disappeared from the room.
“Now, if someone could please turn down the lights, we can commence with the séance.”
Joelle nodded her head, and the lights were instantly dimmed. Striking a match, Mallory lit the three white candles sitting in front of her. The wicks sparked to life, and she gazed into the faces of the others sitting around the table.
Bronson returned and whispered in Nana’s ear.
“Missing?” Nana muttered.
Bronson whispered some more and then left the room.
Nana leaned into Mallory, “Carry on without the necklace.”
Mallory nodded. Then clasping the hands of Nana and Danior, who were sitting beside her, she projected her voice. “Please, do as I do, and take your neighbor’s hand.”
The words rolled off her tongue. She’d done this before. Although communication with the spirits had started as a spiel for their clients during the themed events, more recently she’d done it in a serious capacity.
“Visiting the spirit world is never easy. The other side is a shifting landscape of light and dark, where time moves forward and backward, and can sometimes stand still. Fierce battles between the forces of good and evil are constantly being waged, with the fate of our world hanging in the balance. One of us could get hurt if we’re not careful. So, follow my instructions, or we all pay the price.”
Heads nodded and Mallory fought to keep her face serious.
“I will now attempt to make contact with the spirit world. Jili? Are you here? We know you have suffered a great injustice and we want to bring your killer to light.” She shut her eyes and recited the remaining words from her script.
“Do you see her?” Nana asked, squeezing Mallory’s hand.
Mallory suddenly felt unwell. A strange sensation was coming over her and she had to fight to remain conscious. “Something terrible has just occurred.” She eeked out the words, tittering on the edge of darkness. This had never happened to her before. She squeezed Nana’s hand to let her know something was up, but her strength had all but left her. “Someone is dying.”
“Who is it? Is it my dear Jili? Who tampered with her equipment?”
“No. I’m here in the manor. It’s not Jili. It’s a woman.”
“How? What is happening to her?” Nana asked.
“She’s gasping for breath. She can’t breathe.”
“Is it some type of attack?”
“I’m not sure. I think so. There’s a killer above me.”
A strangled cry erupted from the head of the table snapping Mallory out of her trance. What had just happened? Mallory felt severely discombobulated.
Every eye was on Nana, who clutched her throat. She stood up suddenly, causing the glass of sherry to tip over and spill onto the table. With a gasp, Nana fell back into her chair and collapsed. A well-timed gong subdued the drama, and it was during this lull that the lights went out. Then an angry shout erupted from one of the dining room guests. It was followed a second later by several loud and colorful insults.
The light returned and Nana’s head lolled forward onto her chest, her hand twitching ever so slightly.
Harley began to clap, but stopped when it became apparent no one was going to join in.
Bronson reacted first. He ran up to Nana and laid his fingers across her neck.
Michèle threw out her hand, knocking several glasses over in the process. “Don’t touch her!”
Startled, Bronson dropped his hand. “I was just going to check for her pulse.”
Michèle pulled her crystal necklace from her purse and stood up. “I’m the healer. I’ll do that.”
Bronson took a step back to let Michèle attend to Nana. Michèle knelt next to the chair. She checked Nana’s pulse before standing and pulling back the woman’s eyelids. With a deep breath, she took a step back. She ran a shaking hand over her pale face. “She’s… dead,” she said slightly breathlessly. “I can’t believe it. My patient is really dead.” She backed up until she was standing against the wall.
Worried by the horrified expression on Michèle’s face, Mallory glanced at Danior and back at Nana. Then she leaned forward and lifted Nana’s chin. She could feel the portraits of her Vianu ancestors watching her from within their gilt frames as she lifted her aunt’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Nana? Can you hear me?”
She motioned to Danior, who already had her cell phone out when Mallory noticed Nana lift one eyelid before quickly closing it. Amused with herself for falling for Michèle’s over-the-top reaction, Mallory sat back and hid her smile with her hand. “Yep, Madam Murter is dead, all right.”
9
W ith everyone absorbed in the finer finger-pointing element of the game, Mallory stole the opportunity to move into the next room where the handsome magician was perusing her family’s oil paintings. She cleared her throat, and he jumped slightly in surprise before smiling down at her.
“Oh, there you are,” Mallory said with a grin.
His eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”
Mallory chuckled at his obvious confusion. “You’re Hugh, the magician, right? Sorry, the escape artist. My bio says that your character and mine are old lovers—at least we were before you dropped me for Madam Murter.”
The man’s face suddenly lit up. “Oh, yes, of course. Sorry about that. I got here late and I haven’t studied the bio yet.” He looked back up at the portrait. “I was just admiring this painting.” He leaned forward and touched the brass plaque embedded into the frame.
“Are you a painter—I mean in real life?” Mallory asked.
“Hardly. No, I couldn’t even stay inside the lines of a coloring book if I tried. You?”
“No, my mother was, though.”
“I’m a professor. I simply happened to notice that the woman in this painting is named Jili. That’s the name of the murder victim in the game, isn’t it? I thought maybe it was a clue.” He glanced at the portrait, then back to Mallory. “You know, you look like her.”
“Ah, you noticed,” she said.
“The eyes.”
“The painting is not a prop. I am the great-granddaughter of Simza Vianu and the daughter of Jili and Marco. I run the manor with my Nana.”
His brows furrowed. “You mean to tell me that story wasn’t just part of the game? Why ever would you…?”
“Morbid, isn’t it?”
“Yes, no, I mean, I don’t mean to judge. I just don’t know how you could handle…”
“It’s okay. The Vianu’s are a different breed. We are morbid. Death is just another state for us, maybe because we can communicate with them.”
The man’s eyes widened.
Mallory wondered if she should just stop speaking altogether but rambling was so much easier. “Also, it’s not all true. My mother wasn’t a trapeze artist.” Clasping her hands behind her back, Mallory turned away from the portrait and strolled to the other side of the room. She stopped in front of another portrait and tilted her head. “This is my mother and father. They played in a traveling band. Now, there’s a story worthy of a mystery game.”
The man walked over to where she was standing and looked up at the plaque. “What do you mean?”
Mallory paused, “Nothing. Sorry, I didn’t mean to speak aloud. They’re both deceased.” Technically only her father was deceased. Her mother was only missing, but she was assumed dead. They just hadn’t found her body. Mallory didn’t really feel like laying that sort of baggage on the poor guy.
“It must have been difficult to lose them both. How old were you?”
“Claire, Hugh! Could everyone please join us in the foyer so we can commence with the second act of the evening?” Bronson called.
“I was young. We should probably go,” Mallory said, leaning back away from the portrait. “I’m Mallory, by the way.”
The man hesitated for a moment, like he wasn’
t sure about breaking the rules, then he relaxed, “Daemon Wraith.”
10
J oelle placed her hands on her hips as she addressed everyone assembled in the foyer. “Madam Murter told me that if anything should happen to her, we should look for a diary to solve the case. She’s listed all of the clues she comprised and believes we can figure it out together.” Joelle paused, “whomever brings her daughter’s killer to justice will receive the prized million-dollar coin lost to the manor in the 1960s. The clue to the location of the coin is also listed in the diary. I suggest we search the house. Now, there are seventeen of us—”
“Sixteen,” Harley said, “Lana has a headache.”
Bronson scowled. “You mean Mrs. Board has a headache. Fine, sixteen of us. So, I figure we’ll break into groups and begin a search for her diary.”
Harley, excited by the prospect, eagerly raised his hand. “I’ll take the turret room. Anyone want to join me?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Eve suggestively.
Eve shrugged. “Sure, why not? But don’t forget, I have a switchblade, so no funny business.”
“Don’t listen to her; she also has a condom,” Michèle added dryly.
“That’s not for me! You know I have a latex allergy.”
“Not to mention the lack of a uterus.” Michèle snickered at her own zinger. Reaching out a hand to steady herself against Eve’s shoulder as she tried to reign it in.
Bronson shook his head, the sisters apparently being too much for him. “That was entirely too much information. Lise and Kaden can go with you,” Bronson said.
Daemon raised his hand. “I’ll take the wine cellar.”
“Oh, I like vino. Me too,” Vee piped up quickly, much to Mallory’s chagrin.
“The wine cellar is off limits,” Bronson said gruffly.
Mallory hid a smile at Vee’s disappointment. She seemed a little too eager to be alone with Daemon and, given his athletic physique, Mallory couldn’t blame her.
“All right,” Daemon said, “Can we search this floor?”
Bronson nodded. “Yes. You can search the second floor as well. Naturally, the guest bedrooms are out of bounds, unless you’re with the guest and they approve. We suggest you cover the parlor, the study and the attic.”
Gypsies, Traps & Missing Thieves Page 5