by R. J. Koreto
“Very good,” said Alice coolly, and Mrs. Cowles turned on her heel and left.
“Does your aunt mind us all here?” asked Philly.
Alice just gave her a cheeky smile. “Oh, no. Her concern is not that you’re here; it’s why you’re all here. But don’t worry—I have several hours to think of a reasonable explanation. Meanwhile, Abraham, that is a lovely motorcar you have, but I assume something that large is your father’s. Were you planning to buy your own? Mr. Carlyle knows everything about motorcars, so be sure to take his advice about any purchase. Mrs. Carlyle, I know your people are from Ireland. I know little about Irish cooking, but would you be so good as to discuss it with Mariah, who is an absolute marvel in the kitchen.”
That got everyone talking, which pleased Alice. I leaned over to her. “Whoever marries you is going to have his hands full, but he is going to get a great political hostess.” It’s rare to see Alice blush, but she did then.
* * *
For a woman built like a longshoreman, Dulcie had a nice light touch with pancakes, and everyone enjoyed them as they spoke. When the breakfast wound down, Alice stood and clapped her hands. “We’ve all been fed and have had a chance to meet each other. Now to the reason you’re all here. As we all know, Lynley Brackton was murdered at the Rutledge ball a few days ago. What you may not know, however, is that Mr. Brackton was not the intended target, but rather it was his wife, Victoria.” Eyes got wide at that. “Furthermore, we suspect that Mrs. Linde was Mr. Brackton’s mistress and was carrying his child.”
That got a reaction. Mariah just grinned slyly, but Cathleen and Philly turned red.
“Miss Roosevelt … there are ladies here,” ventured Abraham.
“I’m a lady. And this is business. Everyone in this room has a stake in finding his killer. Come with me to the parlor.” We all got up and followed her.
The formal parlor was nowhere near as big as the ballroom in the Rutledge house, but Alice had set it up the same way for her purposes. At some point, she had gotten the maids to quietly set up a long table in the middle of the room with a punch bowl and glasses but without that punch I had heard so much about. The table was about fifteen feet long, as long as the one at the Rutledge house.
“One thing we know for sure,” Alice said. “At some point, someone broke into the Rutledge greenhouse, stole a poisonous plant, and slipped it into Victoria Brackton’s drink. She gave it to her husband, who drank it and died. Something was wrong; something was seen but didn’t make any sense at the time. We will see what it is. Mariah, Philly, and Mr. St. Clair—you stand over here. Mariah, you get to be me. Philly, you have an easy job just being yourself. Mr. St. Clair will play Simon Rutledge.
“On this side, Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle get to play Mr. and Mrs. Brackton. Stand here, both of you. Abraham, my apologies, but we’re shy one woman. You will be a stand-in for Delilah Linde.”
He chuckled. “Happy to serve.”
“Good. And as it was dim in the room, I’m closing the drapes.” Alice quickly put the room into shadow. Then she viewed the two little groups from several angles. “Mariah—as me—face Simon Rutledge. Philly, you had your back to the wall but were half facing me, away from the punch bowl and not looking at the other side of the table. You, Mr. St. Clair, can see over our heads toward the punch bowl and beyond to the end of the table … that’s right … wait, we all had glasses.” She fetched the glasses and handed them around.
I could see the little knot where “Mr. and Mrs. Brackton” and “Mrs. Linde” were standing in their own little group. Alice angled them so “Mrs. Linde” was my mirror image, standing so she could view us, while “the Bracktons” were angled away, so I could only see half their backs.
“Notice I haven’t given ‘Mr. Brackton’ a glass. He had finished his punch earlier. Mrs. Brackton had a glass, though. She then gave it to her husband. Good. Now let me have a look from every angle.” She walked around all of us and seemed satisfied. “Can we try it again if Mr. and Mrs. Brackton each had their own glasses?” We did, and Alice shook her head. “No, that’s not right. You tend to remember hands, and looking at it now, I would’ve remembered if each had a separate glass. Also, I didn’t see anyone else breaking into the discussion, so unless one of the maids or waiters—”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Roosevelt,” said Cathleen a little hesitatingly. “But we were told not to bother the people by the punch bowl. While passing around other refreshments, we were told the guests by the bowl were already helping themselves and to not create a crowd near there. So I don’t think it was any of the maids or waiters joining them. There were no servants there, I’m sure.”
“Thank you!” said Alice. “These are the kinds of things the police don’t find out. They wouldn’t have thought to ask, and no one wants to talk with them, anyway. Very good.” Cathleen seemed pleased with that, and I saw Peter wink at his wife. “So it’s just us then. Now, what did Simon Rutledge see but not realize he had seen?” Alice stepped by me. “Go ahead; pretend you’re drinking. Mrs. Carlyle, speak with your husband and hand him your glass. That’s what happened with the Bracktons.” We all did as asked, and Alice watched … and then frowned.
“Philly, do you remember if Delilah Linde was drinking? She had a glass of mineral water, we’ve been told, to settle her stomach. What if the poisoning had something to do with that? Do you remember the glass?”
“I can’t recall,” said Philly. “You sort of assumed it. During the evening, everyone came to take one glass of the punch, and then they moved on. If she had punch or mineral water … I can’t really remember.”
“But everyone makes a face when they drink that god-awful punch,” Alice said. “I don’t remember noticing Delilah. Anyway, we helped ourselves to punch and stepped away from the bowl to give others a chance—if they wanted to—and walked to the ends to talk, and that way we could leave our empty glasses on the table before moving to another part of the room.” She paused. “Her hair. Philly, remember that Delilah’s hair was rather elaborately styled? She seemed self-conscious about it.”
“Yes. Being here like this makes me remember. She was occasionally touching it to make sure it was in place—both sides.”
“Which she couldn’t do if she had a glass of punch or mineral water in her hand. Is that what your father saw, Philly? That someone was bothering to stay and chat by the punch bowl when they weren’t actually drinking anything? Victoria Brackton seemed to remember her with mineral water. Unless she was mistaken or lying. But that seems too subtle. I’m here now and trying to remember your father. It’s easier that everyone is in the same position.” She stood next to Mariah, who was playing Alice. “Yes, it was just like this. He seemed almost worried. No, not worried. Appalled. Are we sure Delilah didn’t have a glass? Mrs. Carlyle, what happened to glasses left on the table?”
“The waiters took them away to the kitchen, where they were washed and dried and then put out again for any other guests,” answered Cathleen. “But the waiters wouldn’t have done it unless the glasses were clearly left there, not while guests were still standing by them.”
“The police said only Brackton’s glass was left there, and it was smashed,” I said.
“Good. Then Delilah wasn’t drinking. She was at the punch table and wasn’t drinking. Why?”
“To kill Mrs. Brackton?” asked Philly. “Why? And if my father saw, why didn’t he say anything?”
“I don’t see why Delilah was having a talk with with the father of her child and his wife,” said Alice. “Why commit a murder right then? If anything, it’s Victoria who should’ve been trying to kill Delilah. And even if Delilah was a murderess, we can’t forget she was a murder victim, too. Also, if someone was trying to kill her for revenge, she’d be smart enough to be on the lookout for that, not fall for the same murder she had planned herself.”
Alice lapsed into thought again. “Delilah. Did she just want to be near Lynley? Was that what this was about? She simply wanted to be nea
r her lover?” Abraham blushed again. “One glass. Victoria changes her mind and gives it to her husband, who dies right there. A quick error, a terrified wife who’s threatened again, and a murdered mistress. Let’s do this again … We need to time this. Abraham, do you have a pocket watch with a second hand?”
“Of course,” he said and handed over a beautiful gold watch. Alice timed our interaction, and we ran through it twice more, timing it with both groups talking and Alice watching, watching “Brackton” drinking the poisoned drink and “Rutledge” watching him. When did Rutledge actually see anything?
“Alice, are you sure my father saw something before Mr. Brackton got sick? Maybe he was just concerned that Lynley Brackton was looking unwell. You said there were signs of the poisoning,” said Philly.
Alice nodded absently. “Or maybe he was concerned Mrs. Linde was looking unwell. We knew she had some digestive upsets, and they say these are common for women who are expecting a child. Is that what someone noticed? Mr. St. Clair, look worried.”
“That’s easy. I spend half my time with you looking worried.” Everyone found that funny except Alice.
“Be serious. Yes, that’s your worried face. But I think Mr. Rutledge was beyond worried. He was horrified. And who the hell is surprised when someone gets sick from overeating or overdrinking at a New York debutante ball? If Mr. Rutledge was horrified, perhaps it was because he saw a poisoning.”
“Why would my father suspect someone had poisoned Brackton? Especially if, as we know now, Mrs. Brackton was the target?”
“That’s a good question. Everyone hated Brackton. Maybe Mr. Rutledge was looking and thinking someone finally did it. Anyway, running it like this, I think you’re right, Philly, about the time. It wasn’t what happened in advance. It’s what happened at the moment. I saw your father looking upset. But this is working. It’s hard to remember how long you were doing something at a party, but when we time it, it helps us recall how long we were talking and at what point in the conversation Mr. Rutledge looked up. I think we have it now. Mr. St. Clair, you have a perfectly clear view of the other side of the table, correct? Good. And Philly, having timed this, are we in agreement that your father’s look was timed with Lynley Brackton looking sick?”
“As much as possible. When we recreate it like this, it makes sense. I don’t think we could see it at the time, but now I’m realizing that if my father had looked concerned earlier, we’d have seen it.”
“Yes. And we’d have noticed it and looked over at Lynley right away. We didn’t. By the time we noticed your father and looked at Lynley, he was already looking sick. Mrs. Carlyle, the glasses, if I remember, were hooked on the edge of the punch bowl, right? We all just took them and helped ourselves.”
“Yes. We had our instructions most strictly at the start. Whoever brought the clean cups from the kitchen placed them one by one on the rim. The guests ladled their own punch into whichever glass they picked.”
“So let’s look at our assumptions. One, someone poisoned Mrs. Brackton’s glass between the time she filled it and when she joined her husband and Mrs. Linde because otherwise it would’ve been noticed. Two, Mr. Rutledge saw nothing overt because he would’ve said something.”
“Miss Alice, what did Mr. Rutledge see?” I asked.
Alice smiled. “That’s what’s interesting. That’s why he was surprised. He didn’t see a blessed thing.”
CHAPTER 32
Alice shook her head but didn’t seem upset. “Ladies and gentlemen, you have been immensely helpful. This is what has been bothering me all along—how someone could’ve poisoned the cup without being noticed. And now I see they couldn’t have. It’s a negative result, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t useful. I now know what could not have happened. You have all been patient, and I’m glad we could have breakfast together, and now we’re done.”
Everyone looked at one another. “Have you reached any conclusions, Alice?” asked Abraham.
“Yes. That this is far more complicated that I realized. I thought this was a simple case, but it involves additional motives, competing motives, and will require more research. What we did today is eliminate the impossible, and that was essential. I will let you know when I know more.”
I thought I was the only one there who wasn’t fooled. Alice knew something, had concluded something. She was too pleased with herself, too smug. She just didn’t want to say it in front of everyone.
“Well, then,” said Abraham. “I think I speak for everyone here when I say we are happy we could help in the absence of any official police conclusions.” Everyone nodded.
“As I said earlier, you all have a stake in this, so I will keep you informed. But I’m optimistic.” If anyone poked around further, they’d find out about the XVII, which Philly didn’t know her father belonged to. They’d find out about Philly’s relationship with Abraham. And Peter was still the suspect of choice if no one else was picked up.
We saw everyone to the door. “Don’t worry—I’m going to work this all out,” Alice told the two couples, and they seemed cheered at that. Alice’s optimism is infectious, just like her father’s. I met Peter’s eyes—he had the most to lose here—and gave him a strong handshake.
Mariah hung back for a few moments when the others left. “Thanks, Alice. This was fun. But you aren’t fooling me, and I don’t think you fooled my brother. You found out something important. You know who did it, don’t you?”
Alice looked proud of herself. She seems to value Mariah’s opinion. “‘Who’ wasn’t the really important question. It’s about why. Now that I know that, I think I’m well on my way.”
Mariah laughed. “All right, be proud. You’ve earned it. But don’t be arrogant. You’re crossing someone ruthless and desperate.”
She turned to go, but then Alice laid a hand on her arm. “Mariah, could you stay for a few more minutes? I have something to ask you, and you’re the only one who can help me.”
Mariah looked surprised. “Sure, hon. I’m curious, though. I can’t imagine what it is, unless you want cooking lessons.”
Alice shook her head. “No. It’s marriage. I want you to tell me about marriage. You’re the only friend I have who’s been married. I can hardly ask my father or aunt something like this.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “This one would be useless.”
Mariah laughed. “I don’t suppose we can call on Joey as an expert. So what’s this about, Alice? Thinking of getting hitched? You’re a little young, but it you’ve found the right man, I wish you luck.”
“No, I have no intention of getting married anytime soon,” said Alice quite forcefully. “But I need to understand marriage. For all the politics and secret society nonsense we’ve seen, I think this is very personal. Two married couples, the Lindes and the Bracktons. It’s really all about them; everything else is window dressing—I think. Come, let’s sit down in the breakfast room. I’ve had too much coffee, but perhaps I can persuade Dulcie to make us a pot of tea.”
A few minutes later, we were sitting in the breakfast room with a hot pot of tea.
“Here is my problem,” said Alice. “First, I understand Delilah Linde. She made a hasty decision to marry a man for his money and then found herself unable to live up to it. She had an affair with an awful man. Very well. It was dishonorable, but not everyone can live up to the ideal.”
“You’re a hard girl,” said Mariah.
Alice looked at her and blinked. She didn’t like criticism but accepted it from Mariah because she respected her.
“Things change. You make the best bargain you can. You make a promise. But you’re not a very romantic girl, are you, Alice?” said Mariah.
“I … I don’t think that I am, no. Everyone says I’m outrageous, and I suppose I am, but that’s not the same as being romantic. Delilah Linde was romantic. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I never met Delilah Linde. But who was this man she was having an affair with, and why was he so awful? I bet he was charming.�
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“That’s what my aunt said. Having made a bad decision on her marriage, Delilah made another one by falling for someone who couldn’t give her what she needed, either. That seems … foolish.”
Mariah laughed at that. “Yes, Alice. Very foolish.”
Alice didn’t laugh in return, just thought about that very carefully. “How foolish? Foolish enough to kill someone?”
Like me, Mariah has seen a lot and done a lot, so it took a lot to rattle her, but at that, she spilled half her tea into the saucer.
“Dear God, Alice. Women do foolish things, but you have to be desperately in love to kill. I don’t know all the details here, and it’s fine if you don’t want to tell me. But was Delilah desperately in love with this man she was having an affair with?”
“I didn’t know either of them. Since they’re both dead, there’s no way to figure it out. Do women kill the wives of their lovers?”
“Women are practical. Even if they’re foolish. Unless she was absolutely insane, she’d have to know that even if her lover was free, she was still married. She’d have to kill her husband, too.”
“But she didn’t. She died herself. Who could’ve killed her? Why? Would a married woman kill her lover because he refused to leave his wife for her?”
“Again, not if she was married herself. Do you think she was planning to kill his wife and then her own husband?”
“Perhaps. But then she was killed. And everyone says Delilah was sweet and simple. I don’t see her doing that. It’s so frustrating.” She folded her arms and frowned. “But the other couple. The Bracktons. Lynley treated Victoria horribly, cheated on, her humiliated her. Had affairs with low women, I’m sure. Could she be a killer? But all this is talk because I am sure after our reenactment that Simon Rutledge saw it all. Why is he keeping quiet? And who is still threatening Victoria? It could’ve been Delilah, who might’ve had a motive to threaten her lover’s wife—but she was already dead.” She paused. “Mariah, when there is great love, is there also great hate?”