Immediately several of Emily’s team called out ‘Angels!’ but Cruella shook her head. Emily said, ‘Heaven?’ and Cruella nodded with a smile. Her team erupted in guesses involving the word ‘heaven’. ‘Heavens to Betsy!’ ‘Heaven Is for Real!’ ‘Heaven Can Wait!’ ‘Heaven in Your Arms!’ ‘Heaven’s Gate!’ and finally, ‘The Five People You Meet in Heaven!’
‘No, no,’ Devon said. ‘“Heaven” has to be the first word of the phrase.’
Cruella, still smiling, shook her head and closed the double doors. They would have to wait for the next word.
The others milled about in and out of the library, presumably going to visit the restroom, which Emily did herself at one point. After a few minutes Katie came in with a tray, on which she collected a full bottle of sherry, the amaretto, and a glass from the bar shelf. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked Emily. ‘Cruella said she needs these for the charade.’
Emily shrugged. Presumably Marguerite had OK’d this idea, and she was the guardian of the amaretto. For herself, Emily didn’t mind sharing.
A couple of minutes later, as Emily was thinking surely the gong would sound at any moment, the lights suddenly blinked out. Emily’s hands went cold. A power outage would be a natural consequence of the current storm, and she’d been prepared, both mentally and practically, for it to happen. But that it should occur right now, in the midst of what already seemed the perfect setting for a country-house murder, was ominous at best.
She felt her way to the mantel, lit a candle, and took it into the hall, calling out to everyone not to worry, they were well supplied for emergencies. Then a bright flashlight bobbed down the stairs, followed by Luke’s voice. ‘Likely a general outage, but I’m gonna check the circuit breakers just in case,’ he said to her in a low voice as he passed.
Emily followed him to the control panel in the tiny office next to the vestibule. When Luke trained his light on the circuit breakers, every single one of them showed red. ‘Somebody’s idea of a joke,’ he growled as he flipped them back on. ‘And I bet I know whose. What the hell is she up to now?’
Her sense of foreboding only intensified by this discovery, Emily turned to the guests, who were milling anxiously about the hall, and put on a reassuring smile. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ she said. ‘These old houses – this kind of thing happens from time to time.’ Though it had never happened before. The wiring of Windy Corner was fully up to date.
Cruella’s disembodied voice floated down from the upper half of the staircase. ‘We’re ready for the second scene. Team, you know your places.’ Marguerite led their group into the parlor. Luke brought up the rear with a look toward Emily that said, I don’t know what Cruella’s up to, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.
Emily’s group took up their chairs in the library, looking flustered. In a moment the doors opened to show the parlor in its normal state and the team, minus their leader, in their ordinary clothing, milling about. Puzzled, Emily watched as Cruella entered from the hall wearing a flaming red wig arranged in an exaggeration of Emily’s own typical high bun. She had on an outfit that must have dated from the earliest days of Windy Corner – a tweed suit cut in Edwardian style with a lace-collared blouse. The jacket strained across Cruella’s lumpy form so that Emily was afraid a button would pop off and hit someone in the eye. The suit looked so much like something from Emily’s own closet that she started, but the color was wrong – she didn’t own anything blue. The bright peacock of the jacket against the scarlet wig dazzled her and made her blink.
Emily looked sideways at her silent teammates, who all, except Wanda, were fidgeting in their chairs and shooting her uncomfortable glances. Clearly, they all thought as she did – Cruella’s getup was a nasty, tasteless parody of Emily herself – but no one wanted to say it. Wanda, apparently, either didn’t know Emily well enough to perceive the parody or didn’t mind seeing her mocked.
‘Windy Corner?’ Olivia said in a small voice.
‘Parlor?’ Ian suggested.
‘Party?’ Devon put in.
Grinning snidely, Cruella moved to the side table that held the drinks tray. With exaggerated movements she twisted the square top off the bottle of amaretto, filled the sherry glass almost to the brim, and brought it to her lips.
She drained the glass in a gulp – a feat possible only for a seasoned drinker – and set it down, smacking her lips. Then she turned to mingle with the other performers, who were pretending to talk among themselves.
Oscar suggested, ‘Amaretto? Drinks? Bar?’ but Cruella only snorted.
‘Guests?’ Olivia put in and was met with a sneer.
Finally Emily said, ‘Obviously, it’s me. Emily.’ Cruella bared her teeth in a malicious grin and circled her hands to signify, Take it further.
‘Emily Brontë?’ ‘Emily Dickinson?’ ‘Emily of New Moon?’ the others chimed in.
‘No,’ said Emily. ‘We have to combine it with “heaven”, remember?’
All furrowed their brows in concentration. ‘I can’t think of a single thing with both “heaven” and “Emily”,’ Ian said at last.
Then Devon sat forward in his chair. ‘I know! Emily’s our hostess, yes? It’s “heavenly host”!’
Cruella gave an exaggerated bow. ‘Your turn,’ she said to Devon in a croaky voice, then coughed several times.
‘Serve her right if she’s not feeling well,’ Oscar whispered, echoing Emily’s thoughts, ‘the way she guzzled that amaretto.’
Emily nodded, surprised Marguerite would agree to such a demonstration. Perhaps she hadn’t been fully informed of the plan.
Since only Cruella needed to change, the others went into the library as Emily’s team headed upstairs. They heard Cruella coughing her way up ahead of them. ‘I hope she doesn’t have anything contagious,’ Emily said in a low voice to Oscar. ‘I’d hate to have everyone iced in and sick.’
Luke threw himself into a chair by the library fire, away from the rest of the group, as they waited for Devon’s team to prepare their charade. He was disgusted with himself for having allowed that farce to play out. When Cruella first suggested the phrase ‘heavenly host’ and how they’d depict it, he’d felt sour enough at Emily to think it would serve her right to be made fun of like that. But when he saw Cruella in that ridiculous wig, saw the way she disrespected the woman who’d been gracious enough to take her in, disruptive as she was, when she had no business at all to be there – well, it made him sick. Emily could never deserve that.
He worked himself up to give Cruella a piece of his mind. But when he stood and turned to face the rest of the group, she still wasn’t there. She must have had plenty of time to change by now. He frowned, wondering if he ought to go and check on her – she hadn’t looked too well when she went up to her room.
The gong sounded and Cruella still did not appear. The game wouldn’t be fair if his team lacked its leader. Not that he cared about winning at this point, but it was second nature to him to ensure fair play. He told Katie to ask Emily’s team to wait a minute while he fetched Cruella.
He took the stairs two at a time and strode to the back of the house to pound on the door of the Dostoevsky room. ‘Cruella? We’re ready to start.’
He heard an odd, strangled noise from inside and tried the door. It was locked.
He pounded again. ‘Cruella? You OK?’
Again the strangled noise. Something was definitely wrong in there. For a split second he weighed his duty against Emily’s anger at having one of her doors broken down. Hell, things could hardly get any worse between them, and doors could be fixed. He kicked at the lock once, twice, a third time, and it finally gave.
The scene that met his eyes and nose brought every sordid story associated with a garret to life. Cruella lay on the floor in a pool of vomit, unconscious and gasping for breath. Her face was heavily flushed.
This was no ordinary tummy bug or reaction to too much rich food and drink. He whipped out his cell phone and called Dr Sam Griffit
hs. ‘Sam? How fast can you get here? I think somebody’s been poisoned.’
ELEVEN
‘On my way,’ Sam said. ‘Symptoms?’
‘Unconscious, flushed, gasping for breath. Been vomiting.’
‘Pulse?’
Luke knelt, wishing he had a free hand to hold a handkerchief over his nose, and felt for a pulse in Cruella’s neck. Her hands were covered in vomit.
‘Fast and shallow.’
‘Diarrhea?’
‘Not as far as I can tell.’ Thank God for small favors.
‘Could be any number of things. Not much you can do by way of first aid. Better call an ambulance. I’ll probably get there faster, though.’
Luke swore. Cruella’s breathing grew more labored as they spoke.
‘Any idea how the patient was poisoned?’ Sam asked. The sounds of doors closing, a car starting up came through the line.
‘Only thing she had the rest of us didn’t, far as I know, was some amaretto. Full glass of it in one gulp.’
‘How long ago?’
He checked his watch, which wasn’t helpful since he hadn’t noted the time during or after the charade. ‘Maybe twenty minutes?’
‘Full stomach?’
‘Pretty much. Dinner finished about an hour and a half ago. She ate a lot.’
‘Should help, but still. Time I get there could be too late. Why the hell didn’t you call sooner?’
‘Didn’t know she was sick. She was up here in her own room away from everybody else.’
Sam’s voice went small and quiet. ‘Not Emily?’
‘No. God, no. One of the writers.’ The thought of Emily lying there in such a state sent ice cubes running through his blood.
At that moment Cruella exhaled one long, raspy breath and then went silent. ‘Hang on, might be too late already.’ He felt her pulse again. Nothing. ‘She’s gone.’
‘I won’t hurry, then.’ Sam spoke dryly. ‘Still want me to examine the body?’
‘Please. No way anybody’s getting here from Tillamook tonight.’
‘Right. Be there with my ME hat on as soon as I safely can.’
Luke hung up and stood, contemplating the inert form on the floor. He felt a spasm of pity for this woman; no matter how big a nuisance she was, nobody deserved to die like that. But pity gave way to annoyance. She’d been a nuisance in life, and now she’d be a nuisance in death. Nothing like a murder investigation to top off everybody’s Christmas.
Emily was going to love this.
With the rest of her team, Emily milled around the parlor, wondering what the holdup was. For the umpteenth time she hiked the shoulder of her makeshift toga back into place. Not really a toga, but none of them knew the proper name for the ancient Greek garments they had attempted to imitate using the same sheets Cruella’s angels had worn. All the garments were floor-length except Oscar’s, which Devon had chopped off above his knees. Oscar was supposed to represent Hercules. Their charade was ‘Hercule Poirot’.
Oscar made a rather ridiculous Hercules, being academically pale and flabby, but the diminutive Devon would have been even worse, and he insisted that Ian, whose build was a bit more appropriate, was too old to be convincing – which Ian had accepted with a remarkably good grace. Perhaps he wasn’t eager to exhibit his elderly knees. Emily couldn’t help wishing they’d had Luke on their team. He was a bit old for Hercules too, but at least he was strong and fit. And she wouldn’t mind seeing what he looked like in a tunic.
As her musings reached that point, the hall door opened and Luke came in. Devon was about to protest when Luke held up his hand with a face that brooked no argument. Emily recognized that look and quailed. What had happened to make Luke turn sheriff all of a sudden?
‘Folks, I’m sorry, but the game is off. Cruella was sicker than we thought. As a matter of fact, she’s dead.’
Emily’s hand flew to her throat. Please God, not another murder. ‘Did she have a heart attack?’
A shadow of compassion crossed Luke’s stern features as he turned to her. ‘’Fraid not. Looks like she may have been poisoned.’
Emily groped for a chair and fell into it, conscious of blood rushing away from her head. Devon sprang toward the liquor table as if to pour her a restorative sherry, but Luke stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t touch that table. It could contain evidence. In fact, we’d all better get out of this room until we have a better idea what happened.’
Luke opened the library doors and repeated his announcement to the team assembled there. ‘I need everybody to stay in here for the time being.’ He took Jamie’s arm and positioned him in front of the cabinet Katie had taken the drinks from. ‘I’m deputizing you till Pete and Heather can get here. Stand right there and make sure nobody touches any of this.’ He strode to the hall door and called, ‘Katie? Come in here, would you?’
Katie came in, and Luke closed the door behind her. Then he skimmed his eyes over the group as if doing a quick head count. ‘Right. Now. We need to go over everything that’s happened from dinner on.’ He turned to Katie. ‘Far as I noticed, Cruella didn’t eat or drink anything at dinner the rest of us didn’t. That right?’
‘I … I think so. I certainly didn’t give her anything different.’
Emily gathered her wits. ‘Could she have had an allergic reaction to something we all ate?’
‘That’ll be for Sam to say, but I doubt it. Not the right symptoms.’ Luke turned a beetled brow around the room. ‘Anybody else feeling ill at all? Even a little bit?’
Dustin muttered, ‘Not since breakfast.’
Ian cleared his throat. ‘Merely a bit of indigestion. The dinner was delicious, but my doctor would have had ten fits if he’d seen me eat it.’
‘We’ll have the doc check you out when she gets here. Let me know in the meantime if you feel worse.’
Ian nodded, looking slightly green, and lowered himself into a chair. He took a small amber prescription bottle from his pocket and swallowed a tablet.
‘Nobody else?’ Heads shook all around. ‘Right. Working assumption is it wasn’t anything in the dinner, then. Not that you would’ve been responsible if it had been, Katie. We know Cruella tampered with the pudding, got that ring in there somehow. Somebody could’ve tampered with something else just as easily.’
‘Or added something to her food or wine after they were served,’ Emily put in.
Luke glanced at her. ‘Right. Who was sitting next to her?’
‘I was on her right,’ Marguerite said. ‘But I did not poison her. Though, in my opinion, she deserved it.’
‘Let’s stick to the facts, please, Marguerite. Who was on her left?’
‘I was,’ said Hilary in his typical dry tone. ‘But I didn’t poison her either.’
‘Seeing as how neither of you had met her before the last few days, I can’t see what motive you could’ve had anyway.’ To Katie: ‘I suppose all the dishes have been washed by now?’
‘I’m afraid so. The dishwasher’s finishing up, and I did all the crystal by hand. Except I hadn’t gotten to the glasses in the parlor yet.’
‘Good. Leave them right where they are. Now, did anybody see Cruella eat or drink anything between dinner and the second scene of the charade?’
Head shakes and murmured ‘no’s all around. Luke turned to Marguerite. ‘Was she ever out of your sight during that time?’
‘She went into the salle de bain to change for the second scene. Then she went downstairs before I realized she was ready. I believe she deliberately – how you say? – gave me the slip.’
Luke asked the group, ‘How did that tray of drinks get into the parlor?’
Katie answered, ‘I took it. Cruella asked me to.’
‘When was that?’
‘Right before the lights went out. I mean, they went out right after I took the tray in, while I was on my way back to the kitchen.’
Emily caught Luke’s eye. Anyone in the house could have snuck into the parlor while the lights
were out and poisoned the amaretto – either the bottle or the glass. She’d never get to drink that amaretto now.
Luke asked Katie, ‘Did you take a close look at the glass when you put it on the tray?’
‘No. It was upside down on the shelf, so I knew it had to be clean.’
That ruled out poison put into the glass before it was taken to the parlor. And that would have been foolish on the poisoner’s part, anyway – he or she would have had no way of knowing which glass would be chosen.
‘What about the amaretto bottle? Did you see if it had been opened?’
‘It looked full, but I didn’t notice whether the seal was broken. With that big lid it’s kind of hard to tell.’
So it was possible the whole bottle had been poisoned. That is, assuming they were dealing with poison at all.
And that meant it was possible the poison was meant for Emily. But all these people were either friends or virtual strangers – not enemies. Who would want to poison her? No, she was being silly. Cruella must have been the target. That woman was practically begging to be murdered.
Luke must have had the same thoughts, but he didn’t voice them. Difficult as it was to believe, one of the thirteen people in this room was most likely guilty of murder. He wouldn’t dare give too much away.
He paced in a small circle, one hand at the back of his neck, the other at his belt. He’d taken off the jacket and tie Emily had insisted he wear for dinner. In a white dress shirt and gray slacks, he was neither the casual Luke she was used to in off-hours nor the uniformed on-duty Luke. With his distant, official attitude, he almost seemed like a stranger.
He stopped, facing her. ‘Did you all stay here in the library while you were waiting for the charades?’
‘No, people were in and out. I think dinner had caught up with most of us.’
‘So you couldn’t say if anyone was alone in here at any time?’
‘Not for sure, no. There were others here when I left and when I came back in, but I can’t swear to in between.’
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