Shadow of Reality (Book One in the Elizabeth and Richard Mystery Series)

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Shadow of Reality (Book One in the Elizabeth and Richard Mystery Series) Page 6

by Donna Fletcher Crow


  To help clear her thoughts, she focused on the review below the picture: “This spine-tingling thriller is a totally new style for the writer whose previous mysteries have been no more than charming period pieces. Gavin Kendall has at last given us full-fleshed characters caught in fast-paced action and cliff-hanging suspense…There are already rumors that if the international accolades continue to mount, a knighthood could be in the offing. In the meantime, we look forward to more books in this vein from a writer who has suddenly hit his stride…”

  “See, I knew it was Suzanna—jealousy will do it every time.”

  “That’s a weaker motive than national security. Not only that, but Brian’s whole career was on the line as well.”

  The talk in the room penetrated her consciousness as Elizabeth looked through another stack of red-bordered magazines to see if she could find a review of Gavin’s more recent books.

  “Well, if you want to talk about careers, look at Nigel Cass—he’s obviously mismanaged Gloria’s business affairs, if not outright stolen from her. And don’t forget, the thing happened in his home. He’d have far more opportunity than anyone else.”

  “Which is precisely why he wouldn’t do it—it would be too obvious to murder his own guest.”

  “Oh, I don’t know—MacBeth did.”

  “Yeah, and he didn’t get away with it, either.”

  “Macbeth tried to put the blame on the servants and then killed them all before they could talk. And speaking of servants, I think Millie knows more than she’s telling.”

  A musical chime turned everyone’s attention to the clock on the mantle.

  “Noon already?”

  “We just ate.”

  “The food here is incredible.”

  A wail from Irene made everyone laugh as they moved toward the dining room. “And I have a Weight Watchers meeting a week from tonight!”

  Elizabeth barely suppressed her own excitement as she joined the group. She couldn’t wait to tell Gavin about the article she had found about him.

  “…and they gave you more space than Agatha Christie’s biography,” she said a few minutes later when they were seated at the large round table where Blight Spirit gathered so regularly.

  With his British reserve, Gavin seemed less pleased about her accolades than she had expected, so she changed the subject slightly, “I looked for a review of your more recent books, but I didn’t find anything. Stark said on our first night that you gave him the plot for this mystery. It’s such a good one, why didn’t you ever use it yourself? Or did you? I’m afraid I haven’t read all of your books.”

  Gavin shrugged and finished a bite of his shrimp salad. “Thank goodness they serve American lunches here—you’d never get salads like this in England. And they do a much better job of cooking the vegetables here, too.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Yes, just because ‘there’ll always be an England’ is no reason to cook the vegetables that long.”

  “Precisely my point.” Gavin took another bite of salad, so he was chewing again when Elizabeth returned to the subject of the mystery plot.

  He shook his head and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “No, I never used it. It’s fine for a game like this—really a lot of fun—but it would never do for a book. Much too thin and contrived. Wouldn’t be believable at all. Of course, I don’t know if Stark is going to use the ending I suggested. He’s already made several changes to fit the situation. As for my books, well, they are all in the shop downstairs. As well as Stark’s and a good selection of the classics: Christie, Sayers, Margery Allingham—”

  But the magazine article was still foremost in Elizabeth’s mind, and she didn’t take the offer to discuss other mystery writers. “The picture of you with Margo Lovell was stunning. Is she still acting? I haven’t heard anything about her for years.”

  “A most startling event has just been discovered—” Weldon Stark’s agitated voice caught everyone’s attention, and Gavin’s answer to Elizabeth’s question was lost. “Millie Maeda has disappeared. We fear foul play as the kitchen shows signs of struggle, including her apron having been ripped off.” He held up a white ruffled apron with the strings still tied, but pulled apart at the side.

  “We have it on the best of authority that no abductor would be so foolish as to hide his victim in a guest’s room, but with that as the only off-limits, there is a ten-point bonus for the team who finds Millie—or her body,” he concluded darkly.

  “Oh, wow! A manhunt!” Evan’s eyes glowed with excitement.

  “That’s womanhunt,” Cathy reminded her brother.

  “Uh-ho, Millie knew too much—do you suppose it was that argument she overheard?” It seemed that Irene played the whole game on the edge of her chair.

  “It looks bad for Nigel,” Bill Johnson agreed.

  “Maybe it wasn’t that at all.” Helen frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe the poison was in the soup, but Millie didn’t put it there, and the murderer is afraid she’ll figure out who did.”

  “It would be interesting to know who visited the kitchen before dinner. Let’s try to find out next time we interview witnesses.”

  “Shall we retire to the library to get organized?” Richard held Elizabeth’s chair for her.

  As soon as they were in their meeting room Richard continued, “There are four floors, so I suggest we work in four teams.”

  Elizabeth knew a moment of secret delight as Anita started to volunteer to work with Richard, but her delight turned to dismay when Irene invited Anita to work with Benton and herself. There was nothing Anita could do but agree gracefully.

  Most of the searching activity was centered in the lounge rooms and public areas on the first two floors, so the fourth floor was comparatively quiet for Elizabeth and Richard.

  Elizabeth wanted to talk to him about the night before, but wasn’t sure how to approach the subject: “Did you sleep all right?” “How are you today?” “That was a quite a storm we had last night.” None of the subtle approaches seemed right. Then she knew.

  “Thank you for sharing with me last night, Richard,” she said quietly.

  He gave a sardonic little half-smile. “That’s tactful of you. I was about to apologize for the melodrama.”

  “Oh, no! Please don’t think that. I felt honored. You know, I never knew—,” she interrupted herself to open a linen closet and make sure there could be no body tucked behind the stacks of sheets, “—about the baby.” She laid her hand on his arm for the briefest moment.

  He walked on down the hall. “In a way that was the hardest part. I—we—had looked forward so to raising children.” He stopped before a door labeled “Men,” and pointed her to the one marked “Women.”

  “I’ll meet you back out here,” he said.

  Elizabeth walked in without the slightest hesitation and checked the stalls, under the sinks, behind the shower curtain. Nothing. When there was only one place left to check, Elizabeth paused. This was really silly. So what if Millie were lying in the bathtub? Why should that frighten her? It was all just playacting. But this extended role-playing got hold of you so. Sometimes it was hard to separate reality from fantasy.

  She took a deep breath and yanked the bath door open. Weak laughter accompanied her relief at finding the tub empty. With a firm vow to be more sensible in the future, she went out to meet Richard.

  “No luck?” he asked.

  “I’ll have to admit I considered that lucky.”

  “Is that first night still bothering you?”

  “No, of course not.” Then she thought of Richard’s open honesty to her. “Well, some. Shall we just say I’m a little shy when it comes to meeting bodies in bathtubs?”

  One of the uneven floorboards caught her foot, and she started to stumble, but Richard caught her arm. “Thanks,” she said, “I have all the bumps memorized at our end of the hall.” She was now on firm footing, but Richard still held her arm.

  And he continued to hold it even when the small alcove at the end
of the dim hall proved empty and they had turned to search the other direction.

  “We were talking about children,” Elizabeth prompted.

  Richard nodded. “Yes, we were.” He was quiet so long Elizabeth thought the conversation must be over. Then he said, “I think the thing I always looked forward to most was teaching them things. By the time I get students in college, most of them are either all confused or overconfident. The joy of having a fresh, inquiring, young mind to guide, to show the world to—” he stopped.

  “It isn’t too late, you know. You can still have children. You’ll meet somebody.”

  The pressure of his hand increased on her arm. “I thought I had.” The infinite sadness in his voice made her choke.

  Then another team came around the corner from the south corridor. “Any luck?” they called.

  Richard replied to them, “We searched that direction. Didn’t find anything.”

  “Let’s go downstairs.” The team went into a huddle.

  “We should check that hall, maybe they missed something,” someone suggested.

  “Isn’t there an attic to this place?”

  “Look for trapdoors.”

  Elizabeth and Richard walked on until she noticed something in the wainscoting. “Look! They just said trapdoors, and here one is—now I remember noticing it earlier.”

  Richard tapped at the section of paneling surrounded by a narrow molding. A hollow sound answered him. “You’re right. It probably goes to a crawl space that leads to heating pipes, wiring, plumbing—whatever servicemen might need to get to.” He took a key out of his pocket and pried at the molding. The panel wrenched loose from the wall.

  Elizabeth bent over and peered into the black space. “If this really were a house in England I’d say that was a priest hole. What a perfect place to hide a body.”

  “Don’t suppose you packed a flashlight?”

  “No. And it’s sure to be filthy in there—with us both wearing white.” She thought for a moment. “Oh, there are candles in those sconces on the wall by the fireplace. I’ll be right back.” She sped down the corridor toward their rooms, then turned and called back, “Don’t leave that spot—we found it, I want the points.”

  In a few minutes, she was back. Richard held the flickering flame in the hole. Even with the little they could see from the tiny light, it didn’t take long for their disappointment to register. There was no body curled in the doorway, and the presence of cobwebs hanging from the pipes made clear the futility of crawling behind the walls in either direction.

  Richard puffed out the candle and pushed the paneling back into place. “Well, so much for that brilliant idea.”

  “But there must be others. I’ll bet every corridor has one of those for repair access.”

  “Right, keep watching for them, and we’ll check ‘em out.”

  They turned off the main passage into their own, which still was largely unoccupied. Elizabeth looked around thoughtfully. “They said no guests’ rooms, but empty ones ought to be fair game.” She tried a door across the hall just down from hers. “Locked. Do you suppose we could pick it?”

  “Why not just ask the desk for a key?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “What logic! I would never have thought of anything so simple—my mind was full of bent hairpins, nail files, credit cards—”

  “Credit cards?”

  “Sure. It’s supposed to be great for getting into rooms—just slide it down the crack between door and casing and trip the lock mechanism.”

  Richard shook his head. “What a life of crime you must have led before I met you. Reading thrillers is more degrading than reading catalogs.”

  “Wrong. I learned that little gem from a catalog—they were advertising a device you can put on your locks to prevent them being picked that way.”

  Richard backed away, holding up his hands. “I don’t want to hear any more. You guard our territory. I’ll be right back with a key.”

  In less time than she could have imagined, he was back, displaying a brass key on the palm of his hand. “They said it should do all the doors in this wing. Ours are the only ones occupied.”

  “I’m really impressed. You went up and down three flights of stairs in about three minutes, and you’re not even winded.” She took the key from his hand and unlocked the first door.

  “Clean living, good conditioning,” Richard said with a note of satisfaction as he followed her into the room.

  “Ugh, I’m glad they didn’t put us in here.” Elizabeth held her nose at the musty smell from the long-closed room. She flicked a piece of curling wallpaper. “No wonder they plan to redecorate.”

  A careful search behind and under the furniture—which was pushed to the center of the room—in the closet and bathroom, and behind the curtains, revealed no trussed and gagged Millie. Nor did they find her in any of the rooms on that side of the hall.

  They crossed the hall and began working back toward their room. “The rooms on this side all have balconies,” Elizabeth noted. “That’s something else to check.” Elizabeth pulled the dusty drapes open to let some light in. “Burr, it’s cold. If they put her in one of these rooms, I hope they put a coat on her.”

  They searched carefully, but found nothing. “Oh, phooey! And I thought we had such a clever idea. Someone probably found her an hour ago downstairs while we’re still grubbing around up here.”

  “Well, there’s only one room left, then we can go get some tea.” Richard fit the key into the door of the room next to his.

  “I thought it was getting close to tea time. I’m hungry. It doesn’t—”

  Richard stopped so abruptly Elizabeth banged into him. “Shh, someone is taking a nap in here.” He began backing out of the dark room.

  At the door Elizabeth stopped and gave his back a shove forward. “Idiot! That must be Millie! No one’s staying in here.” She sidestepped Richard and crossed the room to open the drapes. “My, but it smells musty in here.”

  Elizabeth turned back just as Richard pulled the blankets off the form on the bed. One hand flew to her mouth to stifle her gasp. “It…it’s that actor…the one in my room the first night!”

  Elizabeth held her breath while Richard felt the limp wrist, then unbuttoned the man’s shirt and laid a hand on his chest. Finally Richard looked at her, his face grim.

  “I’m afraid he’s not acting now.”

  Chapter 6

  Minutes later

  Elizabeth didn’t faint this time, but once back in her sitting room, she huddled in the corner of the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, and did her best to stop shivering. Dr. Pearsall and the hotel manager, Mr. Hamlin, arrived promptly at Richard’s summons.

  “Where is the patient?” Dr. Pearsall was already putting his stethoscope to his ears.

  Elizabeth rose to go to the next room with the others, but Richard held out a restraining hand. “Don’t you think you should wait here?”

  She shook her head firmly, and Richard gave way. In the room, however, Elizabeth sat where she could watch the men work without being obliged to look at the body.

  “I don’t understand this at all.” The manager paced around the small room. “No one is registered for this room, and with our security, it’s not possible for a vagrant to slip in. At least, I would have said it wasn't possible," he added hurriedly when others registered his words with skeptical looks.

  Dr. Pearsall examined the Harris tweed jacket with leather elbow patches. “I don’t think he was a bum; his clothes are good quality.” He put his hand in each pocket. “No ID, nothing—not a coin or a piece of string or anything.”

  Elizabeth pushed the blanket back from her shoulders and spoke for the first time since entering the room. “But he must have been staying in here because the room is warm. The unoccupied ones were icy.”

  Mr. Hamlin shook his head. “No, the heat in this room is controlled by the thermostat in the room next door. It’s a crazy system, one of the things we plan to fix when we remodel. No t
wo people ever want their rooms the same temperature—somebody always complains.”

  The hotel manager began pacing again. “This is most awkward. With the landslide business we could have absolute panic if the guests learn they’re stranded here with a live corpse.”

  Elizabeth gave a nervous giggle.

  “Oh, I meant a real corpse, of course. This hotel has built a nationwide reputation with our mystery weeks—I don’t want anything to put a damper on it. Do you have any idea yet what he died of, Doc?”

  Dr. Pearsall wiped his forehead. “The way he’s lying and all, looks like he just went to sleep and didn’t wake up. I mean, there aren’t any visible signs of any problems. But this is my first time trying to determine such a thing, you know—other than with the cadavers in med school, of course.”

  “A man lies down in all his clothes for a nap in an unoccupied room that’s supposed to be locked, and decides not to wake up?” Richard’s voice held more than a hint of scorn.

  “I agree it sounds preposterous,” the doctor said, although Mr. Hamlin looked as if he’d be happy to let the matter drop right there. “Of course, what we need are lab facilities. The coroner’s autopsy will tell us everything we need to know.”

  “That’s great. And how do you propose to get the…er, body to the coroner?” The manager faced the doctor.

  Richard saved the uncomfortable doctor from having to answer the unanswerable. “Do you have any idea how long he’s been dead?”

  Dr. Pearsall turned back to his patient, wiggled the man’s slack jaw and bent the fingers on his left hand back and forth. “No sign of rigor mortis setting in yet, so it can’t have been long, two or three hours.” He put his hand on the pale forehead. “Body temp gone, though. Say three hours.”

 

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