“That’s exactly the word to describe it: preposterous!” she boomed.
“You’re preaching to the choir, Gloria,” he commiserated. “I know those rumors are ridiculous, but the townspeople seem to take such pleasure in them, and the more ludicrous, the better. I think it gives them something to do.”
“Well, they should find another pastime,” she judged.
“They should, but there’s not much to do in Ridgebury—that’s why they still talk about you. After all, you moved out almost five years ago and they continue to circulate the same old stories about the suicide and murder, and the divorce and the ring.”
“The ring?” she questioned.
“Yes, didn’t I mention that one?” he asked absentmindedly. “They think you stole that ring from you husband’s collection. The one that belonged to umm . . .” he snapped his fingers as if trying to recall the name.
“Madame Du Barry?”
“Yes, that’s it. Rumor has it that the ring was the most valuable item in Henry’s estate, and when you found out it was willed to his brother, you took it out of the safe, hid it away, and then reported it missing.”
“If that’s true, then I would have to be the greatest magician in the world. The police and the insurance company investigators scoured everywhere and found nothing. Besides, why would I steal a ring I couldn’t possibly sell? It wouldn’t be very smart of me, would it?”
“No, it wouldn’t. But the ring was never found. Where do you think it went?”
She waved her hand. “As I told the police, Henry probably misplaced it. He was always losing things.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” he granted.
“Of course it is! Now, if you don’t mind I’ve had enough talk of gossip, though it is nice to know I have someone in Ridgebury to defend me,” she smiled generously at Creighton. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put Mal upstairs for his own good.”
Marjorie spoke up. “Gloria, I just love the way you’ve decorated. Do you mind if I come with you so you can give me just a quick walk-through of the place?”
“Certainly not. Come along,” she beckoned.
Marjorie handed her champagne glass to Creighton and followed Gloria across the dance floor, leaving Creighton and Philips alone.
“You’ll have to excuse Gloria for coming on a little strong,” Philips appealed. “She’s in a terrible stew; the company was just audited today.”
“You don’t say? Well, she needn’t worry too much about it. It’s quite a regular occurrence. Does she have an accountant or business manager to help her?”
“I’m her business manager.”
“Ah, then I’d say she’s in very good hands.”
Philips was aporetic. “I don’t know about that.”
“What do you have to worry about? You’ve kept up with the taxes, haven’t you?”
“Well, yes.”
“And it’s not like you’ve been embezzling.”
Philips snapped to life. “Embezzling? Who said anything about embezzling? Is this another one of those rumors you’ve been hearing?”
“Settle down, old boy,” Creighton chuckled. “I was merely trying to lighten your mood with a little joke. No reason to get uptight.”
Philips sounded a high-pitched, nervy laugh. “A joke. Yes, I’m sorry. I guess I’m a bit wound up myself.”
“I’ll say. Why don’t you go get yourself a drink, Philips? That should loosen you up.”
“Yes, yes. I think I will,” he agreed. “A drink will do the trick.” He walked off toward the bar, and then glanced behind him. “Will you join me?”
“No, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll sit this one out.”
“Okay, I’ll catch you later.”
“So long.” Creighton sat down at an empty table near the entrance to the ballroom, drank the last remaining sips of his champagne, then proceeded on to Marjorie’s glass. There was no need to continue his conversation with Philips; the accountant’s reaction told Creighton all he needed to know. Now only two questions remained on his mind. Who killed Henry Van Allen and Victor Bartorelli? And what was Marjorie doing taking a house tour with Gloria?
TWENTY
Marjorie accompanied Gloria upstairs to the master bedroom where, with a pat on the head, they confined Mal for the evening. With the matter of the dog disposed of, they toured the remaining rooms in the upper level, pausing in each doorway just long enough for Gloria to briefly describe the space, and for Marjorie to rejoin with an appropriate comment.
What Marjorie had hoped to unearth from this excursion, she hadn’t the faintest idea. A souvenir photograph of the killings? A smoking gun? A diary left open to the page where she confesses her guilt? No, if there were any ‘clues’ to be found, they would not be in plain sight, not in this house, where secrets were hidden away from prying eyes. For everything in Gloria’s universe, right down to her mien and décor, was very carefully arranged to be stylish, sleek, attractive, and coldly impersonal. Marjorie didn’t condone adultery, but it was little wonder that Henry sought affection elsewhere.
She followed Gloria downstairs to the billiard and morning rooms, growing increasingly weary of her role as sightseer. Each room was more of the same: the same bichrome palette, the same geometric shapes, and the same aseptic arrangements of objects. The only thing keeping Marjorie from yawning was the search for new ways to praise Gloria’s decorating techniques; the final room on the tour, however, gave her new cause to stay awake. Again, it was done in the art deco style, and contained only a squarish sofa and a black lacquer writing desk, the front of which faced the door.
“And this is the study,” Gloria announced. “I usually take my breakfast there, on that sofa. Then later in the morning I move to the desk to take care of my personal correspond—” Her voice faltered as her gaze came to rest upon the top center drawer of the desk, which had not been closed completely. “Excuse me one moment.” She stepped into the hallway and summoned the butler from his station by the front door; Marjorie strained to listen to their conversation.
“Has anyone been in the study tonight?”
“Yes, madam. Mr. Philips was working in here while you dressed for the party.”
“Mr. Philips, you say? Go get Mr. Philips and tell him I wish to see him immediately.”
“Very well, madam.” The butler headed off for the ballroom and Gloria returned to the study, fidgeting with her hair. “Men! They never put things back the way they find them.”
“I hear that complaint from a lot of women,” Marjorie said casually.
Philips appeared in the doorway. “You wanted me?”
“Yes,” Gloria glared. “I did.”
The couple looked at Marjorie in unison.
“I think that’s my cue to leave. Thank you for the tour, Gloria. You have a lovely home.” She left through the open door, but lingered outside to listen to the beginning of their conversation.
“You left the desk drawer unlocked,” Gloria denounced Philips. “And with all these people in the house. How could you be so careless?”
“You’re overreacting, Gloria. Who’s going to look in your desk?”
“You never know who’s lurking about,” she warned. “Now give me your key.”
Gloria’s comment about lurking made Marjorie feel a bit self-conscious. She slipped into the crowd standing in the foyer and hurried back to the ballroom.
Creighton was settling back to enjoy a generous portion of food from the buffet when Marjorie arrived, out of breath and obviously excited. “Perfect timing,” he hailed as she approached. “I fixed you a plate. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Thanks.” She sat down beside him, and he pushed one of the dishes in front of her. “There’s something in the study,” she exclaimed.
He stared at her over his forkful of smoked salmon. “Something? You’re a little old for the ghost and goblin bit, aren’t you?”
“Not that sort of something. Something that Gloria a
nd Roger want to hide.” She described Gloria’s reaction to the open desk drawer.
“What do you think is in there?” Creighton asked.
Marjorie took a paté-laden cracker in her fingers and munched on it. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
He took a cracker from his own plate and chewed it, deep in thought. “You say Philips was in there tonight, before the party?”
She wiped her hands on the dinner napkin in her lap. “That’s what the butler told Gloria.”
“The company’s books were audited today.”
“You’re thinking of the embezzlement angle again,” she surmised, cutting a wedge of semisoft cheese into thirds with the edge of her fork.
“Oh, Philips is guilty of embezzlement, all right. I got that much just from talking to him.” He snatched a third of the freshly cut cheese with his fork and consumed it in one bite.
“Why, did he confess to you?”
“I’m not a priest, Marjorie.” He placed his fork on the table and dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “Let’s just say that Philips could never earn his money playing cards.”
“The proverbial poker face, or lack thereof,” she commented.
“I tell you Marjorie, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guiltier man.”
She stopped eating. “I believe you, Creighton, but the police can’t arrest Philips based on your observations. They need proof.”
“I know. We’ve got to find out what’s in that desk,” he concluded.
“But how? The drawer is locked.”
“We’ll have to find a way to open it.”
“I’d be more than happy to supply you with a hairpin, but I haven’t any.”
“I wasn’t suggesting we pick the lock, I was suggesting we use the key.”
“But Roger Philips has the key.”
“Then we’ll just have to try and get it.”
“But it’s on his person,” she explained.
“There has to be some way to get it,” he mused. “I know. You could get him to dance with you. While you’re dancing, make light-hearted conversation. Tell some jokes and stories, and then, when you have successfully diverted his attention, you reach down and—”
“No,” she interrupted before he could divulge the rest of his plan. “Not even for the sake of sweet justice am I going to stick my hand in a man’s trouser pocket.”
“You’re right. I was out of line.”
“I’ll say you were.”
He apologized and again reflected upon the situation. “What about Gloria?”
“Gloria’s his fiancée. She might be able to get away with reaching into Philips’ pocket, but I don’t see where that would help us.”
“It wouldn’t.” He rolled his eyes. “What I meant is it’s her desk, therefore she would have the key to the drawer.”
“Oh, yes. That makes sense, but we’d still have to get the key from Gloria.”
“Easy enough,” he raised his arm and summoned Doris.
“You’re sending Doris to get the key?” Marjorie asked incredulously.
“No, just wait.”
The young woman hurried to their table, her tray still stocked with glasses of champagne. Creighton helped himself and Marjorie to another glass. “Doris, where does Mrs. Van Allen keep her keys when she’s not using them?”
“Upstairs, in her room,” she stated artlessly.
“Where in her room?”
“In her vanity table. Bottom right-hand drawer.” She frowned. “Why?”
“I think it’s in your best interest if I don’t tell you,” Creighton explained. “This way if you’re ever asked, you can honestly say you knew nothing about it.”
Doris sighed dreamily. “You are the sweetest person.”
“Not really. Now, you’d better run along before someone gets suspicious. And remember, we never had this conversation.” He winked at her. “Right?”
“Right.” She winked back, and went on to ply her liquor on the next table.
“How can you be so sure Gloria doesn’t have her key with her?” Marjorie asked.
“Because if she did have her key, she wouldn’t have asked Philips for his.”
She nodded. “So you’re planning to sneak upstairs and steal the key.”
“Not quite,” he answered haltingly. “I was planning on someone sneaking upstairs, but it wasn’t me; it was you.”
“Me? Why me?”
“You got the tour of the house, so you know where to find Gloria’s bedroom. If I went upstairs, I might get lost.”
She couldn’t argue with such logic. She could, however, try to persuade Creighton to join her in the mission. “I’m afraid to go by myself. What if someone catches me? I could never come up with a plausible explanation for being in Gloria’s bedroom.”
“Then we’ll have to provide you with one before you go.”
“I could never say it convincingly, like you do.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a much better liar than I am.”
“Thank you.” His eyes narrowed. “I think.”
“Then we’ll do this together. Agreed?”
He sighed, wearily. “Anything for you, Marjorie.”
Her smile was fleeting. “I just realized something. How are we going to get upstairs without Gloria’s butler seeing us?”
“He won’t be there all night,” Creighton reasoned. “Once all the guests have arrived, he’ll find something else to do.”
“When do you think that will be?”
He pulled his sleeve back and glanced at his watch. “It’s ten minutes to nine. Most everyone who’s supposed to be here is probably here already, so I’d say he’ll be packing it in soon.”
“And what do we do in the meantime? Sit here and twiddle our thumbs?”
He took on the tone of an old schoolmaster. “Miss McClelland, do you mean to tell me that you’re bored? Here, with beautiful music, delicious food, and a copious amount of champagne?”
“No, but we’re not here to enjoy ourselves. We’re here to work.”
“We are working, but don’t forget, we’re here under the guise of being party guests, and party guests enjoy themselves.”
She pulled a face. “You’re right, we would stick out like sore thumbs if we sat here all night. It would also make our absence more obvious when we finally do sneak away.”
“That’s the girl.” Creighton stood up and took Marjorie by the hand. “Let’s try and blend in.”
Amid the strains of “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You,” they joined the other couples on the dance floor. “How’s this for blending?” Marjorie asked.
He pulled her closer as they swayed to and fro. “Very nice.”
“Good, then no one would suspect that we’re working with the police.”
“Not unless they overhear you.”
She lowered her voice. “Oops! I guess I shouldn’t talk too much, especially when we’re around so many people.”
“You can talk, just not about policemen or the case.”
“Okay. Since we’re trying to blend in, what do people at these functions talk about while they’re dancing?”
“I usually don’t dance, so I couldn’t say for sure, but I would guess it depends on the couple. For example, if we were a young couple in love, I would probably lean forward, like this.” He demonstrated by bringing his head close to hers. “And whisper in your ear.”
She pulled away. “Yes, well, that doesn’t apply to us, does it? So what do the other couples discuss?”
He shrugged. “Small talk, probably. There’s the economy. “
“Which stinks,” she commented.
“Current events.”
“Been very quiet lately.”
“The weather.”
“It’s stopped raining. Thank goodness.”
“Gossip.”
“The only juicy gossip I know involves our hostess and that would rather defeat the purpose of this little exercise.”
“Well,
I’m fresh out of ideas. Perhaps you can come up with a new topic of conversation.”
“Yes, I think I can.”
“I’m afraid to ask. What is it?”
She turned her emerald eyes upward to meet his. “Sharon,” she said with a grin upon her lips. “Tell me, do you really think of Sharon as—what was the term Mr. Schutt used—oh, yes, ‘womanhood’s fairest flower?’”
Creighton looked away, over the top of her head. “She’s a very nice girl,” he stated blandly.
Marjorie would not be put off. “That wasn’t my question.”
“No,” he agreed, his eyes reuniting with hers, “it wasn’t. Your question was impolite.”
“So that’s why you refuse to answer? Because I’m being rude?”
He dipped her, abruptly, and leaning over her, replied, “No, I refuse to answer because it’s none of your business.”
He righted her again. “True,” she admitted, “it isn’t any of my business, but the question still gnaws at me.”
He was staring at her quite intently. “Why? Are you jealous?”
“Certainly not,” she nearly shouted.
“Then it sounds like you’re suffering from a case of wounded pride.”
“Wounded pride? What do you mean by that?”
“What I mean is that you’re the type of woman who’s used to having men cater to her.”
“That’s not true.”
“It isn’t? The only child of a spouseless father. I’m sure you were the center of his universe.”
“That was a long time ago. Things have changed.”
“Have they? Are you going to tell me you didn’t notice the heads turning as you entered the room? Why, I’ll give you my handkerchief right now. Let it drop to the floor and tell me if a half-dozen men don’t clamor to pick it up for you.” The song ended and the orchestra segued seamlessly into “Please.” Creighton and Marjorie paused a moment, then continued dancing.
“No, Marjorie, you didn’t ask your question out of curiosity. It rankles you that I might find Sharon more attractive than you. Which raises an interesting question: if I did behave like those other men, if I were to fall all over myself just be near you, if I pushed Sharon aside and devoted my heart to only you, would I, as the song says, stand a ghost of a chance?”
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