*
The next day I downloaded and printed out invitations, which I sent to every book club member and spouse, as well as to Lowell, his in-laws, and Brian Donovan. Since I didn’t have Brian’s address, I sent his invitation to the police precinct. He was one of the first to email back his response.
I’ll be there, Miss Marple. Let’s see what your little plan uncovers.
The days passed quickly. July turned into August, and the sun set earlier and earlier. There was a definite chill in the night air that hinted at autumn. I managed to write three entire chapters, then decided I was heading in the wrong direction so I dropped the last one. Very slow progress. Lorrie called a few times to discuss my fall schedule, as did two of my closest colleagues back from their vacations abroad. In three weeks’ time, Michele and Eric would be arriving to dismantle the house. I had to find a new place to live.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Gray skies threatened rain the day of reckoning. I didn’t much care because I’d planned to hold the meeting and the cocktail party indoors. Brian’s suggestion. This way, he pointed out, the perp had less opportunity for shenanigans. I followed his instructions and locked away all solvents and cleaning fluids in the garage.
The doorbell starting ringing at ten a.m. as my guests came by to drop off their goodies. The first to arrive was Sam Blessing. The bag he held was so large, it hid his face from view.
“Ruth thought you could use an assortment of chips and dips." He grinned, his eyes twinkling with kindness. “She's made her special mushroom and cheese appetizers. Wouldn’t even let me taste one.”
She wouldn’t let him taste one? My pulse rate accelerated twenty beats faster. Did that mean—? Of course not. I refused to consider for one moment that Ruth planned to poison the lot of us.
Todd stopped by next, looking handsome in a three-piece suit. “Mom thought you’d like these mini franks she serves at all our parties." He glanced down at his clothes, and laughed self-consciously. “Gotta run. They expect me at the firm where I’ll be working in September, but I told them I have to leave early for an important appointment." He grinned. “I wouldn’t miss this meeting for the world.”
Minutes later, Hal drove up. First, he lugged a case of wine into the house, then several large bottles of soda. He followed this with boxes of frozen mini quiches, spinach pies, and burritos.
“Thanks!" I exclaimed. “We’ve enough for a feast.”
“I’m not done,” he said, panting from the exertion. He returned to the car for a huge bowl of fruit, followed by a cake and two pies.
When his hands were free, I threw my arms around him and hugged tight. “I’m glad you’ll be here for Act Two, at least.”
Hal nodded solemnly. “Rosie and I hope you know what you’re doing. And that your plan works. We can’t wait for this killer to be caught so we can move on with our lives.”
After lunch, I dragged the dining room chairs into the living room and arranged them in a circle. I gathered up the paper goods and plastic cups I’d bought for the last meeting and took out the large coffee maker. I poured a package of mixed nuts into one of Sylvia’s crystal candy dishes, filled another with dried fruit, and a third with tortilla chips. Since everyone would be staying for the cocktail party afterward, I decided to hold off on the liquor and food until then. Soda and seltzer would be available, along with a pitcher of iced tea.
At three o’clock I plopped down on the living room sofa, having nothing to do for the next hour and a half. A wave of panic washed over me. What had I set into play? Soon the house would be overrun with people. While I knew each of my guests, had visited their homes and eaten at their tables, one of them was a murderer who had already taken a pot shot at me.
The phone rang, sending me leaping to my feet. I dashed into the kitchen, where I’d left my cell phone.
“Hello, Lexie. Brian.”
“Hi.”
“All set for tonight?”
I gulped. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“The thing is, I’ll be late. I’m running around, checking out some important leads on a case. I may not make the meeting.”
“Oh, Brian.”
He laughed. How I longed to smack him for being amused at my expense. “Don’t take it like the kiss of death.”
Kiss? Death? Interesting choice of words. “I was counting on your being here. Just in case...”
“Don’t worry. Nothing will happen with all your friends around you.”
“Yeah. Sure. My good Old Cadfield friends.”
“In the meantime, I’ll give you something to think about. Your pal, Lowell Hartman, is currently unemployed.”
I gasped. “You’re kidding! Since when?”
“As of yesterday. The senior partners held a meeting and gave him the boot." Brian chuckled. “The word is Hartman’s been stretching the meaning of the law for some of his criminally-minded clients. Not a popular position to take in a conservative firm like his.”
“But Lowell’s so high-minded about upholding the law! He started out as a public defender.”
“And moved on." Brian guffawed. “Don’t be naive, Lexie. He’s no angel. You told me yourself he tries to make every female he talks to.”
“Not every woman,” I said stiffly.
Another guffaw of laughter. “Sorry if I hit a nerve. Gotta go. See you later."
I called Rosie to find out what she knew about Lowell’s losing his job. She wasn’t home. I dialed Al’s number and got his voice mail, which meant he was tied up with a client. My tension ratcheted up at the thought of carrying out the evening’s program without Brian. My nerves twitched. I needed to speak to someone. Who else could I call?
I ran down my list of non-Cadfield friends, most of whom I hadn’t spoken to in weeks, then decided not to call any of them. They couldn’t possibly understand what I’d been living through this summer, or how I both dreaded and looked forward to the final event.
Maybe someone else would be murdered.
Maybe this time the victim would be me!
I did a great job of scaring myself and driving up my heart rate. Calm down, Lexie Girl, I told myself, using my dad’s favorite nickname. You can do this! Brian will get here in time for the party. You’ll expose the murderer, then all will be right in Old Cadfield. Relax! Use whatever brings you serenity.
Wine and books brought me serenity, along with a hot male in bed.
Lacking the third element of the trinity, I poured a hefty drink from one of Hal’s bottles of chardonnay and reached for A Murder Is Announced. Loving literature as I did, I often reread my favorite books, as well as those I’d assigned to my students. If a book was truly worth its weight in salt, a second, even a third reading revealed a greater understanding of the author’s intention regarding theme, plot, and the characters’ interactions.
Which was why I believed that understanding Dame Agatha’s mysteries would help me unmask the Old Cadfield murderer. It was a matter of focusing on the details in the novels, then analyzing everything that had occurred the nights Sylvia and Anne were murdered. Knowing their histories, understanding their relationships with the people involved would lead me to the truth and expose the killer tonight.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“What’s he doing at our meeting?”
I ignored Marcie’s finger pointing at Brian, who’d managed to arrive on time, after all, and met her gaze as calmly as I could muster.
“Detective Donovan’s a big Agatha Christie fan. He asked if he could join us tonight—as a private citizen and not in his professional capacity.”
Ruth tsk-tsked. “You really should have checked with us first, Lexie.”
“I meant to,” I said, going for heartfelt and sincere, “but I was so busy with my preparations for the party, it simply slipped my mind." I glanced at Brain, just out of earshot. “Shall I ask him to leave?”
“Of course not!” Rosie said firmly. “We’re not inhospitable barbarians! Let Detective Donovan stay."
She gave Ruth a cool appraising look. “Unless you’re afraid you’ll let something slip during our discussion.”
“Don’t be silly,” Ruth laughed, but her eyes were cold with disapproval. “Detective Donovan is welcome to join us.”
The others arrived in twos and threes, chatting as they found seats in the living room. I waited while they delved into the snack dishes before I began.
“The convoluted plot of A Murder Is Announced is driven by events that occurred in the murderer’s past.”
Heads bobbed in agreement.
“The book opens with various Chipping Cleghorn residents reading a newspaper article announcing a murder will take place at a local manor house at a specific time and date.”
Another quick check of my audience’s interest level. Al winked. On the sofa, Ginger and Todd were too busy making goo-goo eyes at each other to take in one word I’d said. The others looked suitably engrossed, except for Brian, who gave me a wise-assed smirk. I suddenly knew the kind of student he’d been and was grateful I’d never had him in any of my classes.
I cleared my throat. “Convinced this is a performance of some sort, the neighbors show up at Little Paddocks. At the appointed time, all lights go out, shots ring out, and a young man is dead on the floor. From the angle of the shots, it is assumed that the murderer was after Letitia Blacklock, the owner of Little Paddocks. The police and Miss Marple, who is godmother to the vicar’s wife, investigate.
“It turns out the murdered man is Swiss and was hired to play act this role.”
Time for group participation. “Bunny, Letitia’s old school friend, lives with her. Who are the other people who also live in Little Paddocks?" I grinned. “A hint. They’re all young.”
Marcie waved her hand. “There’s the explosive foreign cook, and the widow working as a farm laborer. She turns out to be half of the mysterious Pip and Emma duo.”
“Very good. Ginger?”
“Patrick and Julia live there, too. They claim to be sibs and distant relations of Letitia Blacklock. But they’re really a couple.”
“To clarify,” Todd interrupted, “Patrick is who he claims to be, though Julia’s really Emma, the other half of ‘Pip and Emma’.”
“Who are?” I asked
Ruth explained. “Heirs to the fortune Letitia Blacklock is determined to hold on to.”
“Yes." I went on to elaborate. “Pip and Emma are twins who weren’t raised together and therefore don’t know each other’s identity until just before the final scene. They will inherit a fortune if Letitia Blacklock were to die.”
“The real Letitia is dead—of natural causes,” Ginger slipped in. “Her sister Charlotte took her place some years ago in order to inherit the manor house from Letitia’s boss.”
Todd put his hand over her mouth and continued. “When the boss’s sickly wife dies, which will be soon, Charlotte—who’s pretending to be Letitia—is to inherit a fortune, the fortune that Pip and Emma should inherit if both the wife and Letitia are dead.”
I grinned. “I’m glad you’re getting the details down pat. Now, where does the Swiss young man come in? Why does Charlotte stage his murder?”
Ruth raised her hand. “He recognized her as someone who had been at the Swiss spa where he’d worked years ago. Letitia had accompanied Charlotte to Switzerland so Charlotte could have surgery. Being a con man, he asks Charlotte for money. She gives him some. He asks for more. Charlotte thinks he knows her true identity and is blackmailing her, though this isn’t the case.”
Delighted by their comprehensive answers, I asked, “How does Charlotte make everyone believe she’s the intended victim?”
Paulette volunteered. “I’m not sure how she did it, but she arranged for a bullet to graze her ear.”
“Not a bullet,” Marcie corrected, ever the teacher. “She nicked herself. Miss Marple thought she did that with nail scissors.”
“A case of premeditated murder, if I ever saw one,” Brian murmured.
Heads turned to stare at him. His silence had lulled the others into forgetting his presence. Now they appeared apprehensive to discover he was still in the room.
I went on. “Charlotte planned the young man’s murder down to the very last detail.”
Sylvia’s death, on the other hand, wasn’t premeditated. Her murderer had lashed out, choosing the closest weapon at hand—poisonous water—which she poured into Sylvia's iced tea. However, Anne’s murder was deliberate and premeditated.
I gave a start. Could Anne have been the intended victim all along? I shook my head in frustration. No, that wouldn’t explain why Gerda was killed. Or the incident at the gala.
“Lexie?”
I looked up, into Rosie’s concerned face.
“Sorry. To continue. What about the other two people Charlotte murders—Bunny, her old schoolmate, and a neighbor who’d been present when the young Swiss was shot?”
Rosie spoke up. “She kills them both to cover up her true identity so she can inherit her boss’s fortune. Charlotte kills poor Bunny, of whom she’s fond, because the woman’s growing senile. Bunny’s supposed to keep Charlotte’s secret, but she calls her Lotty instead of Letty. Lotty is Charlotte’s nickname.”
“And the neighbor?”
Ruth raised her hand. “Her housemate questions her until the woman realizes the only person who could have shot the young man was their hostess.”
“Only” Ginger cut in, “her housemate is called away before the woman reveals the murderer, and she’s murdered.”
“How did Charlotte manage to be Johnny-on-the-Spot?” Al asked with a wink. "Was she hiding in the bushes?"
I laughed. “We’ll call that literary license. As is the fact that Miss Marple just happens to be staying at the spa where the young Swiss worked." I picked up my copy of A Murder Is Announced.
“Jane Marple appears in half as many novels as Hercule Poirot, but we remember her as well. Here’s how Dame Agatha describes her: ‘She was far more benignant than he had imagined and a good deal older. Indeed, she seemed very old. She had snow-white hair and a pink, crinkled face and very soft, innocent blue eyes, and she was heavily enmeshed in fleecy wool. Wool round her shoulders in the form of a lacy cape and wool that she was knitting, and which turned out to be a baby’s shawl.’”
I looked up. “Quite the deceptive appearance because Jane Marple is as sharp as they come. She knows her fellow humans are capable of the most heinous crimes. She recognizes character types, often comparing the villains she encounters to residents of her village, St. Mary Mead. She’s an admitted snoop, extremely observant, and not above playing a trick to flush out a murderer."
I smiled, making eye contact with every member of my attentive audience. “What trick does Miss Marple play on Charlotte?”
Several hands flew into the air. I called on Paulette.
“When everyone’s together, Miss Marple pretends to be Bunny’s ghost and says ‘Lotty, don’t do it,’ and scares her half to death.”
“Very good, I commended her. “While Jane Marple’s often ingratiating, sneaky, and downright nosy, both readers and Christie herself like her better than Hercule Poirot.”
We chatted a bit more, and then I called for a ten-minute break. Al made a beeline in my direction, but I held up my palm to indicate I couldn’t talk, and headed for the bathroom. Our discussion had set off alarms in my brain, and I needed to recap what I’d learned.
I ran through the old professorial “compare and contrast” between the novel we’d just discussed and the real life murders. Like the first murder in the book, every suspect had been at Rosie’s house the night Sylvia was murdered: the book club members, Hal, Lowell, and even Adele had stopped by. However, there were huge differences. Unlike the carefully staged first murder in A Murder Is Announced, Sylvia had been poisoned with whatever was available. Charlotte goes on to kill two more people to protect her false identity that will bring her a large fortune.
The Old Cadfield murderer killed three
women, too. But I had no idea what Sylvia, Gerda, and Anne shared in common. As for motive, the police never did unearth a motive regarding Sylvia’s murder. Maybe she wasn’t the intended victim, as Brian once suggested. Was Gerda the intended victim? Could be, since she was killed next.
Then why was Anne murdered? I couldn't find a pattern anywhere.
Powerful emotions drove people to murder. Which, whether I wanted to or not, forced me to reconsider Paulette. She must have been furious that Lowell had driven Anne, his former girlfriend, to the barbecue while forgetting the sweater she’d asked for.
Had Paulette known about the affair the night Sylvia was killed?
Of course she did! According to Lowell, Paulette had gotten pregnant because of the affair. I grimaced. And Paulette was loopy enough to have set the poisoned iced tea in front of Sylvia instead of Anne.
There was Marcie to consider. She was an embittered soul with grievances against Anne dating back to their school days.
Maybe Marcie resented Anne for getting Lowell back.
Maybe she'd meant to make Anne sick, but the glasses of iced tea got mixed up on the table.
Maybe—
The bathroom door rattled. “Is anyone in there?”
“Be right out,” I called, my train of thought completely shot. Minutes later I was back in the living room, resuming my role as facilitator.
“In The A.B.C Murders, also known as The Alphabet Murders, a murderer kills four people and convinces an innocent man that he’s committed the murders in order to inherit his brother’s fortune.”
Ruth smiled. “Another convoluted plot, as unrealistic as they come, but I couldn’t put the book down.”
I smiled back as I wondered if Ruth had killed Sylvia. How badly had she wanted to co-chair this year’s gala event? I shook my head to eradicate the ugly possibility. Then I told myself to get real. Even a country mouse like Miss Marple knew that all sorts of people murdered for a variety of reasons. I felt a quiver of excitement as a new idea emerged! Maybe there were two murderers! One killed Sylvia and Gerda, and the other killed Anne.
Murder a la Christie (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 1) Page 22