Faked to Death

by Dean James

  “I could suggest at least one candidate for that position.” I scowled in Nina’s direction, and she affected not to notice me, being heavily involved in a conversation with Ashford Dunn.

  “I doubt we need to imagine what those two have spent the afternoon doing,” Giles said, snickering.

  “Tut, tut, Giles,” I said, “keep your mind out of the gutter.”

  He laughed heartily at that, and I couldn’t resist joining him. Almost as if he knew our laughter was directed at him, Dunn stared hard at us, then pointedly turned his back to us.

  “Simon!” Isabella Veryan called to me, and Giles and I sauntered over to join her. She patted the sofa next to her, and I sank down beside her. Giles moved off toward the tea tray after I indicated that I cared for nothing.

  “How are you, Isabella? How was your session with Detective Inspector Chase?”

  “What a charming and perspicacious young man!” Isabella practically purred with satisfaction. “He appeared far more interested in discussing my work than in asking me questions about the unfortunate events here. He complimented me, and quite handsomely, on the accuracy of my depiction of police methods in my books.”

  Knowing Robin as I did, I had no doubt he was sincere in his appreciation of Isabella Veryan’s literary efforts, but I also figured he had, without Isabella’s realizing he was doing so, questioned her adeptly about her movements. She was a shrewd old girl, but Robin had charmed her so effectively she probably hadn’t noticed what he was really after.

  “Yes, he’s very charming and very, very intelligent,” I acknowledged. “He will soon sort out this whole mess, I’m sure.”

  “I doubt he’ll have to look very far,” Isabella said. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at someone across the room. I followed her gaze, and she had fixed upon Nina and young Dunn.

  “You think Nina is responsible?”

  Isabella suddenly became fascinated by the pleats in her sensible tweed skirt. “Nina can be a remarkably effective agent, don’t you think, Simon?”

  “Yes,” I said, “but before the last day or so, I had no idea what some of her methods were.”

  “Nina is not always ethical.”

  “Apparently not. Though I’m just now coming to realize that, Isabella. Perhaps you were more aware of that than I, before now?”

  At last she gave over playing with her skirt and looked me in the eyes. “For a long time, Simon, I simply closed my eyes and let Nina have her way. After all, my books were selling well. Selling better and better with each new book, and Nina had a lot to do with that. She was most aggressive in dealing with my longtime publishers and getting them to market my books much more effectively. I had no complaints on that score, though I sometimes found Nina’s notions of appropriate publicity a bit... odd, shall we say?”

  “I have not sought out the spotlight, and I know Nina has chafed at that,” I said. “But in the last year or two, you’ve been much in the public eye, haven’t you?”

  Isabella nodded.

  “No doubt you have found that exhausting,” I said when she made no further comment. “All those public appearances must take a toll on one’s energy, not to mention the fact that it eats away at one’s writing time.” I forbore to add the words particularly for someone of your age.

  “Exactly!” The word burst from Isabella’s lips. “I tried, again and again, to explain to Nina how wearing I found all these dog-and-pony shows she insisted that I do, and she kept insisting that they were necessary if I wanted to keep selling books like I had begun to do. If I wanted a better advance for the next book, and so on, then I would have to agree to do what the publisher wanted, and keep my name before the reading public. Not only here in England, but in the United States and on the Continent as well.”

  “Would your sales really suffer that much if you simply put your foot down and stayed home?”

  Isabella sighed heavily. “I would like to think not, but how can one judge that? For many years I made a respectable, if not luxurious, living with my work. Then, about five years ago, my sales suddenly took off, and I made the bestseller lists for the first time. Ever since then, there has been increased pressure to sell more and more.”

  I was struck by a sudden idea. “When did Nina become your agent?”

  Isabella looked away. “About seven years ago.”

  “And before that time,” I hazarded a guess, “you rarely made public appearances, didn’t attend mystery conventions, talk much to the press, and so on.”

  She shook her head. “I lived the way I preferred: quietly. I was able to devote myself to my writing.”

  “But that wasn’t enough for Nina.”

  “No, she told me from the beginning, when I first signed with her, that she thought I wasn’t selling up to my potential, and that she could make me wealthy.”

  “And so you signed with her?” I regarded her quizzically. Something about all this wasn’t quite adding up.

  Isabella shifted uncomfortably, once again avoiding looking at me. “I did.”

  “Something about what she was offering must have appealed to you, then.”

  Isabella had begun to look as if she deeply regretted calling me over for this little tete-a-tete. “I suppose all writers must long for more recognition, bigger sales, and all that.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. I didn’t write simply for my own amusement, nor did Isabella. All writers want an audience, the bigger the better. Any writer who tells you he doesn’t want to be a bestseller is lying.

  Isabella, however, was lying about something. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something had made her quite uncomfortable. Otherwise she wouldn’t have attempted to evade me with such a cliche.

  “I simply detest being in the spotlight,” Isabella said unexpectedly. “Unlike some.”

  I followed her gaze, and she was once again regarding Nina and Dunn with loathing.

  “Yes, our Mr. Dunn seems quite happy as the focus of attention.”

  “Perhaps he believes his handsome face and toothsome smile make up for the fact that he can’t write.” The venom in Isabella’s voice surprised me.

  “I’ll admit that I did try to read one of his books, but I found it not to my taste.”

  “Nina had the nerve to ask me to write a blurb for him!” Isabella was nearly bouncing on the sofa, she was so agitated. “I read as much of his swill as I could force myself to, but it makes John Grisham look like a Nobel laureate.”

  I laughed. “That doesn’t mean it won’t sell, and sell big.”

  Isabella shuddered. “Unfortunately not I had the truly delightful experience of seeing my name and his on the same bestseller list. For his second book, and my twentieth!”

  “Whatever her faults, Nina does have an eye for what will sell.”

  “I’m not gainsaying that, Simon,” Isabella muttered. “But I despise having to be associated with that talentless hack!”

  “Going off about young Dunn again, eh, Isabella?” George Austen-Hare clumped to a stop in front of the sofa we occupied. Despite the fact that he was standing and I was seated, our eyes were almost on a level. I had to tilt my head only slightly to look up into his face. He was grinning.

  “Told you, old girl, to ignore the blighter. Twenty years from now, whom do you think they’ll still be reading?” He slurped noisily at his tea. “You and me, m’dear, not that young wanker. No matter how pretty he is.”

  “If I’m still around in twenty years, George, dear, and not totally gaga, perhaps I’ll take comfort in that fact.” Isabella had collected herself enough to smile at Austen-Hare.

  “You’ll see old bones yet, Isabella.” Austen-Hare smiled back seraphically.

  “Dear George,” Isabella said. “Thank heavens for good friends like you.”

  He harrumphed into his tea, embarrassed by Isabella’s fond tone. “Pity that urn fell on the wrong head.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Austen-Hare nodded in Nina’s direction. “S
hould have been that witch. Dunno how she’s escaped being murdered this long.”

  “George! You really shouldn’t say such things!” I couldn’t quite buy the tone of outrage in Isabella’s voice. I already knew she hated and feared Nina, but I was curious why Austen-Hare also loathed her.

  Before I could question either of them further, squeals of outrage erupted across the room. Startled, we turned as one to look.

  Patty Anne Putney had knocked Nina to the floor and was busily pounding her head against the carpet, while Mr. Murbles lay nearby, his head neatly separated from the rest of his small body.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Everyone in the room had frozen in place, watching the fight. Nina attempted to retaliate by gouging at Patty Anne’s eyes, but Patty Anne kept dodging Nina’s hands, all the while pounding Nina’s head up and down. Then the room surged into motion as Giles and the butler, Dingleby, ran forward to separate the two women. Everyone else, myself included, got up from our seats and converged around the battle scene.

  Giles had grabbed Nina, pulling her up off the floor, and Dingleby held Patty Anne. Both women were struggling to break free to go at it again, but Giles and the butler were taller and much stronger than either of them, and they held fast to their separate combatants.

  “Nina! Patricia Anne!” Lady Hermione’s voice cut through the babble, and suddenly quiet reigned. I took an involuntary step backward.

  “What is the meaning of this outrageous behavior?” Lady Hermione now stood between the two women, and at her signal, Giles and Dingleby released them.

  “Why have you subjected us all to such a vulgar display?” Lady Hermione addressed this question to Nina, but Patty Anne Putney answered.

  “Murderer! That’s what you are! Look at what you’ve done!” She pointed at the floor, where poor, decapitated Mr. Murbles lay, his head several inches from his plush little body. A bit of stuffing extruded from the neck.

  “Nina, how could you do such a vicious thing?” Lady Hermione said, her voice thick with disgust, as Dexter Harbaugh came forward to clasp a sobbing Patty Anne in his arms. He stroked her hair and murmured in her ear in an attempt to comfort her.

  Nina massaged the back of her head with one hand. “I’m going to bring charges against that lunatic,” she said, her voice low and angry. Ashford Dunn was attempting to comfort her, but she waved him away. He retreated a few paces and pouted.

  “Answer my question, Nina!” Lady Hermione took a step closer to Nina.

  “Honestly, Hermione,” she said. “I simply did what all of us have been longing to do. I was tired of pretending to talk to that absurd stuffed animal of hers, and I snapped. Before I knew it, the thing was in my hands and I had ripped its head off. Then she went berserk and attacked me!”

  “How could you do such a thing to her, you cow?” Dexter Harbaugh made as if to approach Nina, but Lady Hermione held up a hand. I recalled having heard Harbaugh himself threaten Mr. Murbles yesterday, but now that he was playing the role of sensitive and supportive man, I supposed he had forgotten that little lapse.

  “Watch out for that spider, Dexter!” Nina said, raising her voice a bit and pointing somewhere behind Harbaugh.

  Startled, Harbaugh released Patty Anne Putney and whirled around. “Where?” His voice had risen at least an octave.

  “My mistake.” Nina grinned evilly as Harbaugh turned back to face her, a murderous glint in his eyes.

  “You bloody cow,” he said.

  “Isn’t it nice, Nina,” I said, “to have all the members of your little fan club all together like this?” Giles quickly smothered a laugh, while the eyes of the company turned to me. I smiled.

  Lady Hermione ignored me. “Nina, I’m appalled at your behavior. You will leave this house at once! ”

  “I’m afraid, Lady Hermione,” said Robin Chase, “that I must overrule you in that request.”

  Unnoticed by the rest of us, Dingleby had slipped away to summon the police.

  “Must she really stay here, Detective Inspector?” Lady Hermione had steel in her voice.

  Robin was a match for her. “It would be much more convenient, ma’am.”

  “As you wish.” Lady Hermione turned back to Nina. “But as soon as the detective inspector allows it, Nina, I want you to leave.”

  “Don’t worry, Hermione, dear,” Nina cooed, “I won’t stay a minute longer than I’m forced to.” She smoothed down her dress. “Detective Inspector, I’d like to speak with you about pressing charges for assault.”

  “Certainly, Miss Yaknova,” Robin said. “I’ll speak with you now, and then with Miss Putney, if I may.”

  He inclined his head toward Patty Anne. She sniffed and nodded, her sobs having ceased.

  Robin led Nina from the room as the rest of us watched in silence. Glowering at us all, Ashford Dunn followed them from the room, like a little boy who knows he’s no longer welcome at the party.

  Dexter Harbaugh had picked up Mr. Murbles from the floor and was cuddling the stuffed bunny, its head jammed back in place, in his arms. Patty Anne smiled tremulous thanks for his solicitude.

  “If you’ll permit me, Dexter,” Lady Hermione said, “one of the maids is quite adept at, er, repairs of this nature.” She held out her hands, and Harbaugh gratefully dumped both pieces of Mr. Murbles into them. “My dear, don’t worry, he’ll be good as new, and very soon.” She waited a moment for Patty Anne’s nod of permission, then sailed from the room, bearing her wounded charge. The few remaining conference attendees trailed after her, leaving just six of us in the room.

  Isabella Veryan approached Patty Anne and placed a consoling arm around her shoulders. She drew her toward a sofa while instructing Dexter Harbaugh quietly to fetch a cup of hot, sweet tea.

  “My dear, I know this was a terrible shock to you,” Isabella said, making Patty Anne comfortable beside her. “But what on earth precipitated such an act? I know Nina is very temperamental, but I’ve never seen her behave like this.”

  Patty Anne’s tearstained face took on a mutinous look. “I’d really prefer not to discuss it, Isabella, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Isabella patted her hand, then released it as Harbaugh approached with the tea. She waited while Patty Anne had a moment to sip at the tea; then she persisted gently. “I know it’s distressing for you, my dear, but surely you can understand why we’re all so concerned.”

  Patty Anne appealed to Dexter Harbaugh with her eyes, and he nodded.

  “Very well, then,” Patty Anne said. “If you must know, Nina was bullying me. She wanted me to sign with her again, after I had fired her a few months ago. I told her there was no way I would ever work with her again. Mr. Murbles...” and here she threatened to break down again. She took a deep breath and gained control of herself before continuing. “Mr. Murbles and I both despise her and her shabby methods. I told her so, in no uncertain terms, and that’s when ... that’s when...” Her lip trembled, and she could speak no further.

  “We quite understand, my dear,” Isabella said soothingly. She looked at George Austen-Hare for a moment, then sought out Dexter Harbaugh. “We all know Nina only too well. You need explain no further.”

  I wanted to stamp my foot in frustration. The four of them were privy to something about Nina that I didn’t know. They had all been clients of hers longer than I, and they had all been bigger sellers than I, at least until very recently. What had Nina done to them to deserve such rancor on their part?

  Perhaps more important, what had Nina been planning to do to me?

  If I knew the answer to that, I reasoned, I might be closer to knowing who had murdered Wanda Harper, and why. Somehow, I figured, the two must be connected.

  “Woman ought to be struck off, or some such,” Harbaugh commented, watching Patty Anne through narrowed eyes. She offered yet another tremulous smile to his gruff words. I had begun to see her appeal to a man like Dexter Harbaugh, who despised her weakness at the same time he craved it.

  “Yes, after what I
’ve seen this weekend, it’s truly amazing to me that Nina keeps any clients whatsoever,” I said, glancing from face to face to gauge the effects of my words. “I certainly won’t have anything more to do with her after this weekend. She’s fired, and that’s that. I can’t imagine that any of you would continue to retain her after the way she’s behaved here this weekend.”

  Isabella shifted uncomfortably on the sofa beside Patty Anne. She did not meet my eyes as she responded to my challenge. “Simon, dear boy, I’m afraid that ending a business relationship with Nina is not so simple as you might imagine.”

  “Yes, I know that she’ll retain rights to income on certain titles, ones for which she negotiated contracts and so on, but that doesn’t mean one is tied to her forever.”

  George Austen-Hare, who had been unaccountably silent for some time, started sputtering and coughing. We all turned to him to see what was the matter. His face had turned an alarming shade of red, and at first I thought he had swallowed something the wrong way and might be choking.

  Then I realized he was laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  It took him a moment, but George mastered himself long enough to sputter, “The only way to get rid of Nina is to kill her.” Then he dissolved into laughter once more, sounding more and more hysterical. Dexter Harbaugh approached him and thumped him hard on the back several times, and George finally subsided.

  After that, one could have heard the proverbial pin drop in the room.

  Isabella Veryan gazed knowingly at Dexter Harbaugh, who regarded her without blinking. Then one eyebrow arched slightly, and Isabella nodded once, decisively, in return.

  “Simon, dear, if you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to talk to you.” Isabella glanced meaningfully in Giles’s direction.

  I took the hint. “Giles, if you wouldn’t mind, could you go and continue that research we were talking about earlier?” I wouldn’t have minded having Giles hear whatever they were about to tell me, but if it made them more comfortable to talk to me alone, then I’d play along.