Grabbing her toiletries case, she gave a sharp twist to her bathroom door, which didn’t budge. “Oh, come on, don’t stick on me!” She twisted and rattled the knob. “Well, now we know why you were scheduled to be redone.” She restrained her impulse to give the door a parting kick and settled for freshening her make-up in the mirror over her dressing table before making her entrance into the parlor.
Richard was ready, but at least he wasn’t looking at his watch. “Richard, I’ll have to use your washroom; the door to mine’s stuck.”
She was so intent on beating his deadline, she hardly gave him a glance as she hurried across the swirly gray carpet. But ninety seconds later, when she emerged, rubbing in the last drops of her hand cream, she stopped, speechless, before the sight of Richard in a tuxedo. Her first thought was, He doesn’t look boring in that.
“I trust this is what I was supposed to wear tonight?” He adjusted his black bow tie.
“Yes, well done.” She still stared at him. “I’ve never seen you in anything but tweeds and sweaters…absolutely stunning,” she finished almost under her breath.
“I don’t suppose you’re stunned enough to accept my hand in marriage?” He said it lightly and her negative reply was equally light, but the fact that she knew he meant it made her pause. Dear God, don’t let me hurt him.
Ever since Richard had joined the faculty at Rocky Mountain three years ago, shortly after his wife’s death, everyone on the campus had hinted that the results would be inevitable. Certainly, Elizabeth admitted, she and Richard worked together perfectly…and there was no one she admired more…and he had so many of the qualities she would want in a husband…but the fact remained that he didn’t do anything for her. She didn’t require swooning in his presence, or losing her appetite, or waking in the middle of the night with his name on her lips, or any other such fictional nonsense. But there should be some quickening of the pulses when he came into the room, shouldn’t there? Some longing to have him put his arms around her, some vision of doing something with him besides discussing literature and curriculum.
Although tonight, she thought as she preceded him out the door, he did make me catch my breath.
They stopped at a table in one of the small sitting rooms near the dining parlor to receive their team assignments. These were the people with whom they would be working all week to solve the mystery. “You’ll be with Blithe Spirit,” the girl behind the table said as she handed them name badges with line drawings of the characters from the Noel Coward play. “All the teams are named for hit plays of the thirties,” she went on. “The maître d’ will show you to your table…you always eat with your group.” They turned to go. “And good luck,” the girl added.
Although the room had been expanded to several times its original size, Elizabeth had no trouble feeling she really was in a Jacobean dining room on an elegant country estate in England. As the waiter led them across the parquet floor, she admired the rich wooden paneling on the walls and the ornately molded plaster ceiling. There were just three empty seats at the large round table near the great, copper-hooded, stone fireplace.
“Oh, good; when we saw you come in we hoped you’d be in our group,” a bright-eyed young woman greeted them. “We love your costumes.”
Smiling, Richard and Elizabeth sat at the table and introduced themselves to their teammates. The buzz in the room indicated that everyone at the other tables was doing the same. The friendly young lady who had greeted them introduced herself as Irene North, an aspiring actress who had many bit roles in well-known television programs to her credit. She then presented her gray-haired father, Benton, a Hollywood attorney. Next to him were Helen and Bill Johnson, from Phoenix, who had their teenage children Cathy and Evan with them. “What a fun thing to do for a family vacation!” The whole family beamed in agreement with Elizabeth’s comment. Next to Richard was a stunning single woman whose sleek black hair reflected lights from the fireplace as she introduced herself as Anita Crocker.
“I wonder which celebrity we’ll get?” Irene indicated four men and three women in vintage dress circulating among the tables in the roles of host and hostess.
“I’ve never been to one of these mystery weeks,” Elizabeth said. “Does anyone know how it works?”
“See the tall man in the white dinner jacket?” Irene directed Elizabeth’s gaze to a bald man with wire-rimmed glasses. He was talking to a team several tables to their right. “That’s Weldon Stark. He wrote the scenario and will be calling the shots all week.”
Elizabeth turned in her chair. “Oh, so that’s Weldon Stark. Have you read any of his books?”
“No, but I’ve seen the three that were made into movies,” Irene said.
“I read The Cold Corpse,” Evan Johnson said. “It was awesome; lots of blood.” His sister made a face at him, which undoubtedly was his aim.
“Have you come to one of these weeks before?” Elizabeth asked Irene.
“No, but I’ve read a lot about them. Tonight they act out the murder for us, then we have all week to interview the suspects and look for clues. When we think we have it solved, we work out a skit to present on Sunday morning. The winning team gets to come back next year.”
“Yeah, and we’re going to win!” Everyone at the table agreed enthusiastically with Evan’s confident proclamation.
Elizabeth was suddenly aware of the gold-jacketed waiter standing by to take her order, so she picked up her menu hurriedly. The ornate crest of Kilcliffe Manor House, their fictional residence headed the heavy card stock proclaiming their dinner choices. “I’ll have the cold entree—avocado filled with lobster, shrimp, and crab…”
Elizabeth’s voice trailed off as their host celebrity approached. After three attempts from the waiter Elizabeth realized he was still waiting for her to state her preference of vegetables. “Oh, er—asparagus, please.” The waiter moved down the table, leaving her in oblivious to everything except the man making his way around their table.
To Elizabeth’s mind it was as if her favorite novels had fallen open at her feet and the characters of Albert Campion, Roderick Alleyn, and Lord Peter Wimsey had stepped full-blown from their pages all in one glorious person. Even if she hadn’t been completely infatuated with the fictional heroes upon whom he was modeling his characterization, Elizabeth would have been captivated by Sir Gavin Kendall. His blond, aristocratic Anglo-Saxon looks; the perfectly tailored evening clothes on his tall frame; his easy, flawless manners as he greeted each one at their table…everything about the man seemed to be the total embodiment of all her dreams.
Elizabeth was last to receive his greetings. “I say, it’s most frightfully nice to meet you.” Holding his eyepiece in his left hand, he extended his right to Elizabeth. As his blue eyes met hers and his long fingers closed over her hand, her heart gave a lurch and she knew…
She hadn’t been wrong to hold out for an experience more stirring than she’d had with Richard or any other man she had ever dated. She had gained something of a reputation for being “picky” or even “cold”, but in her heart she had always known there was something more. There had to be. And here it was. All the things the poets had written through all the ages were true: her heart thumped, her knees felt weak, her lungs forgot to breathe.
She had found the man she’d been waiting for. And, oh, it had been worth the wait.
Chapter 2
A few minutes later
After what seemed like an eternity, Elizabeth’s heart left her throat so she could speak. “Thank you, Sir Gavin—or should we call you Lord Peter?”
“Oh, Gavin, please.” He pulled out the empty chair next to Elizabeth’s and folded himself into it. “The Wimsey/Poirot bit’s just to get me into the role-playing thing. Actually, the chap I play is named Linden Leigh. It should be listed on your program.”
Glad for something to do with her hands, Elizabeth turned to the back of the printed sheet while reminding herself to breathe. “Oh, yes, here’s the whole cast. And on
e of you did it?”
“Ah, yes, murder most foul, to be enacted before your very eyes tonight.”
While Sir Gavin discussed the roast beef with the waiter, Elizabeth studied the cast of suspects: Sir Linden Leigh, a British mystery writer; Gloria Glitz, a glamorous actress; Nigel Cass, a well-known theatrical agent; Brian Rielly, an international playboy; Suzanna Sweetly, a supporting actress; and Millie Maeda, companion and maid to Miss Glitz.
“Have any ideas?” Gavin returned his attention to Elizabeth.
She laughed. “How can I? I don’t even know who the victim is yet. Do you know?”
“Oh, yes. The cast assembled yesterday for rehearsal and full instructions.”
“Stark’s famous for his intricate plots in his books. I suppose this will be that way, too.”
Gavin raised one eyebrow. “The most comfort I can give you is my assurance that it’s somewhat less complicated than the Talmud.”
The throaty, masculine laughter on her right reminded Elizabeth that there were others at the table. “Oh, Sir Gavin, my colleague, Dr. Richard Spenser, is looking forward to talking with you this week…”
She turned the two men over to each other, happy to let them talk around her—Dante on her right, Wimsey on her left. It was a conversation she would normally have been thrilled to join, but now she needed the time to think. Unfortunately, thinking seemed to be the one thing she was incapable of doing. What was it people always said of Lord Peter? The essence of the English gentleman? Well, here he was—not in the pages of a book, but sitting beside her, in flesh and blood, eating roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.
“Excuse me, please. We’re sorry to interrupt, but we wondered if we might take your pictures?” Two women from a nearby table stood before them clutching their cameras. “Your costumes are the best in the room.”
The request seemed to include the three of them, so obligingly, Richard and Gavin stood—with Elizabeth in the middle—and posed and smiled and said “Thank you” and “You’re welcome” about six times.
The last bites of the velvety chocolate mousse cakes served at each table had barely had time to slide down the throats of the satisfied guests when Weldon Stark went to the microphone. He welcomed the company of international super sleuths assembled at Kilcliffe Manor House to solve the questions surrounding the death of one of England’s most glamorous ladies. “While our cast is assembling to reenact the crime for you,” he said, indicating the formally laid dinner table on a raised dais at the front of the room, “I want to give the proper credit due to my friend Sir Gavin Kendall for the crime’s inception.” Gavin, walking toward the platform with the other cast members, gave a jaunty wave in response.
“Two years ago I was in London researching the background for a book, and Sir Gavin took me to dinner at his club. Over some excellent brandy we began trading mystery plot ideas. I will admit that each plot seemed to improve with each brandy…” The audience laughed, and Stark continued, “What you are about to witness tonight, ladies and gentlemen, is ‘Death by Candlelight,’ as conceived by Sir Gavin Kendall and a bottle and a half of brandy, as adapted by Weldon Stark.”
The audience applauded as a spotlight was turned on the stage set table. Elizabeth reached for her notepad and pen, as the others were doing. It would be essential to catch all the details of what they were about to see in order to solve the mystery.
Weldon Stark narrated: “It is March 15, 1933, and the Ides of March are upon the elegant, but faded, Yorkshire estate of theatrical agent Nigel Cass. It is there that he is hosting a weekend party to celebrate the engagement of the glamorous actress Gloria Glitz to peer of the realm and best-selling mystery writer Sir Linden Leigh.”
Nigel entered the stage, escorting a stunning blond. She wore a clinging gold dress, which revealed a back bared to below the waistline when she turned to greet her fiancé with a kiss.
“A violent spring storm has swept across the moor, cutting off electricity and phone service, and isolating the mansion and its inhabitants.” The thunder produced by the technicians was made even more realistic by the actual rain cascading down the windows of the dining room.
At the entrance of a maid wearing a black dress and white ruffled apron and cap, Stark continued, “Millie Maeda, Gloria’s maid and companion, will have to wait on the table tonight because the other servants were stranded in town when the storm broke unexpectedly.”
Millie announced the entrance of the remaining guests: “Miss Suzanna Sweetly and Mister Brian Rielly.” The platinum Suzanna in a pale blue chiffon gown was moonlight eclipsed by the golden sun that was Gloria Glitz. Susie’s companion, in a ruffled evening shirt and continental hairstyle, kissed the ladies’ hands and bowed to the men before the guests moved to the table. Nigel, as host, sat at the head with Gloria, the guest of honor, on his right, and Suzanna to his left. Sir Linden sat next to Gloria; Brian next to Suzanna.
Elizabeth made a quick sketch of the table, noting the placement of each guest. True to the title of the play, candles blazed brightly from two large candelabra on the table. She couldn't help wondering if a candlestick was to be the weapon of choice. Colonel Mustard, in the Parlour, with a candlestick. She had always loved playing Clue.
As soon as the guests were seated, Nigel stood, holding the glass of champagne Millie had just served, and offered the toast. “My friends, we are here to celebrate the happy event of the engagement of Miss Gloria Glitz and Sir Linden Leigh, two of the brightest lights of the London social world. Long may they shine together.” Sir Linden smiled at his betrothed and absentmindedly ran his finger around the rim of his wine glass during the speech. “To the happy pair!” Nigel finished.
With cries of “Hear, hear!” and “The happy pair!” Susie and Brian drank while Gloria and Linden rose to acknowledge the toast.
“And to our friends.” Linden returned the toast and raised his glass.
“Our friends,” Gloria agreed. They each put their glasses to their lips, then, linking arms, took a sip from each other’s glass.
In a rush of excitement, Suzanna jumped from her chair and ran to embrace Gloria. “I’m so happy for you, darling!” And for just an instant Susie’s hand paused above Gloria’s water goblet.
The company returned to their seats, and Millie served the Almond Cream soup that had been waiting in a tureen on the sideboard. Brian was the last to be served. Just as Millie reached over his shoulder with the round, flat soup plate, he turned and bumped her, sending the thick creamy liquid down the front of his ruffled shirt. Susie gave a cry of dismay and Millie said over and over, her cockney accent thicker than the soup, “I’m ever so sorry, sir. Reelly I am, ever so sorry.”
In the scramble of solicitude over Brian’s shirt, Brian exchanged napkins with Gloria. To add to the general confusion, Linden, in handing his napkin across to Brian, tipped over his champagne glass. “Millie, clear this away and bring me a fresh drink!” Linden barked. Millie, glad for an excuse to be removed from the soup-spilling scene, was quick to obey.
With order finally restored, Gloria turned to Nigel. “Well, darling, do you think it would be safe to ask you to pass the relishes?”
“I shall attempt to do so without mishap. If you will allow me…” With a flourish he selected the largest stalk of celery, sprinkled salt on it, and presented it to Gloria. “You see, my dear, I haven’t been your agent for all these years without learning how you fancy your celery.”
For a moment all was quiet while the guests ate. Gloria took a spoonful of soup, then a bite of celery, wiped her mouth on the napkin, and sipped from her water goblet. At a sign from Nigel, Millie removed the soup plates and began serving the lobster medallions en gelee.
Suddenly Gloria broke the silence with a strangled choking sound. Her hands at her throat, she tried to cough. Her face turned a pale gray-blue (testimony to the expertise of the lighting technicians). Linden Leigh sprang to his feet. With his arms around Gloria’s chest, he attempted to dislodge whatever was chokin
g her. But, with aid once again from the lighting technicians, Gloria turned bright cherry red and slumped forward.
Leigh continued his first-aid attempt, but at last Nigel picked up the limp, diamond-encircled wrist and after several seconds said, “I’m afraid it’s no use, old boy.”
Millie screamed. Susie fainted. The lights went out.
Weldon Stark’s voice cut through the dark. “What killed Gloria Glitz?”
When the lights came on again the first to speak at the Blithe Spirit table was Irene. “Well, what do you think?”
Everyone leaned toward the center of the table, not wanting their comments to be overheard by a competing team.
“It looked like an accidental choking,” Anita ventured.
“It also looked like everyone had an opportunity to poison her.” Cathy Johnson voiced what Elizabeth’s notes revealed.
“What about motive?”
“I can’t wait to start interviewing suspects tomorrow—there was a lot more going on than met the eye, you can bet on that.”
“I hope it wasn’t in the soup—that’s what I ordered for dinner.”
“What do you think, Dr. Spenser?” Anita Crocker touched his arm.
“Call me Richard, please. Did you notice…?” Elizabeth could hear no more as he turned to the woman beside him.
“Well played, Sir Linden,” Bill Johnson greeted the return of their celebrity.
“Thanks, awfully. Good show, what?” He remained in character as he took his seat and accepted a cup of coffee from the waiter.
Shadow of Reality (Book One in the Elizabeth and Richard Mystery Series) Page 2