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

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  The bronze casket was draped with boughs of white flowers, and a Union Jack hung from a standard near the head of the coffin. The story below the picture referred to James Lovell’s years of service as permanent secretary to a prominent minister of the crown and Lovell’s tragic death when a terrorist bomb, undoubtedly intended for the minister, ended a fishing expedition in the Lake District.

  Elizabeth sat staring at the picture, wondering how much this woman had meant to Gavin. Had he been as heartbroken at her death as she had been at her uncle’s? Could she, Elizabeth, take this woman’s place in his life? The library was quiet and her chair comfortable.…

  She started from a light doze when the magazine slid to the floor…but someone said Gloria was marrying Leigh for his money and title—that must be nonsense, her own family held a position of importance.…

  She picked up the magazine with a cry of frustration—it had happened again! The lines of reality had blurred on her, but this time the experience left her not just feeling baffled and disoriented. This time she felt the cold prickles of fear.

  Chapter 12

  Friday, late evening

  And all her oppressors themselves shall fade as a dream, as a vision of the night. Fade as a dream…Elizabeth couldn’t sort out why she was fearful or why that long-ago learned line was so comforting, but all the way back to her room she kept saying it over and over, clinging to it to keep the shadows from falling across her path and tripping her.

  …fade as a vision of the night…

  The shadow that had fallen across her intermingling of dream and reality in the library had indeed been a vision of the night—a night in which truth and fiction were one and the reality of the whispered truth was unacceptable. But the shadow was so illusory. She needed a firm analysis of the situation, but she couldn’t get hold of the image. The shadow kept falling between the idea and the reality.

  She couldn’t remember ever being happier to see anyone than she was when she walked into their parlor and found Richard sitting there. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” She flung out her arms to encompass the warmly lighted room as well as the man sitting before the fire crackling on the hearth. She had come in out of the night and the oppressing shadows had fled. She had come home.

  Richard rose and came to her. “You look upset.”

  “I was, but I’m not sure why. Just tired, I expect.”

  He took her hands. “You’re cold, too. Come sit by the fire and get warm.” He pulled her to the sofa and sat beside her.

  “Did you have a nice evening?” she asked.

  “Yes, I did.” The sound of his deep voice was so comforting, she wanted him just to keep talking. “Anita seems like a really nice person—”

  “Anita is an absolute darling. I will always be thankful you talked me into com—”

  With a crash of the wide-flung door hitting the wall Gavin exploded into the room. “On your balcony! Did you see him?” He looked frantically around the room, then headed for Elizabeth's room.

  Felicity sprang forward, following on his heels, Richard behind her. They rushed into Elizabeth’s room as Gavin lunged toward the curtained glass door between the windows. The shade on the nearest window was only partly drawn. Against the black sky Elizabeth could see the skeletal outline of the iron railing along one side of the balcony, but no figure was visible.

  “I’m sure it was your balcony. I just glanced out the window along the corridor.” Gavin crossed the room and yanked the balcony door open. “There he goes!”

  Richard dashed after Gavin into the night.

  Elizabeth shivered from the blast of cold air, then ran after the men just in time to see Richard climb over the rail and drop to the balcony below. “Be careful!” The wind blew her words back in her face.

  Gripping the cold metal bar she leaned over into the blank space, suspended four stories from the ground against the side of the stone building. She heard scuffling and male voices somewhere below, but she could see only darkness.

  Keep him safe. Help him. Her mind swam with shadowy images of feet slipping on cold metal, an evil hand clutching a throat…No! Don’t let it happen. Help!…A glint of cold light on the blade of a knife, a body falling through space…Oh, God, do something!

  Far below she heard the thud of a body dropping to the ground, then running feet. This time her imaginings were of someone falling over rocky ground, a body lying broken and bloody on the boulders. No, God, help him! Then the figure was running again, but the pursuer had become the pursued and her mind drew the picture of a gun—a handful of death encased in blue-black steel. Oh, God!

  She huddled in a corner of the balcony, her back against the cold stone, and sank to the floor with noiseless sobs. Her mind whirled as she fought for a clear image. Something to hold to in the swirling chaos. But the words that came to her only increased her horror: “I am distraught past hearing, dazed past seeing, my mind reels, sudden convulsions seize me. The cool twilight I longed for has become a terror.”

  She didn’t know how long she had been crouching there in a cold, distraught heap when Richard came to lead her into the comfort and light of her room. “Richard! You’re safe! And Gavin?”

  “He’s fine. Went to tell the police what happened.” He led Elizabeth to the parlor and drew her close to the fire, keeping his arm around her for warmth.

  It was hard to believe the fire was still burning. It seemed she had spent hours peering into the abyss and yet in here no time had passed. “What happened out there?”

  “Nothing. The fellow got clean away—whoever he was. But he must have left a trail in this mud.” He glanced at his own brown-caked shoes. “I suppose the police can follow it in the morning.”

  “By then it’ll be too late,” she said.

  “Probably. But unless he intends to walk clear to Manitou Springs he’ll have to surface someplace in the valley.”

  “Well, that probably means the jewels are gone. I had hoped to get Nanny’s brooch back—it’s mostly sentiment, but…I suppose the really valuable stuff was insured…” She buried her head against the warm shoulder holding her; she didn’t want to babble on about jewels and robberies. “Oh, I’m so thankful you’re safe—both of you. I was so scared. The worst part was the confusion. I even prayed, but it was awful. All I could think of was something about anguish and terror. It was like God was mocking me.”

  “Elizabeth…” For an instant she thought she felt his lips on her hair. Then he moved her to the sofa. “What were you thinking about, do you remember?”

  “It wasn't very clear.” She thought for a moment, then the words came back and she quoted them. “It’s a strange choice for a child—if I got it right—but it must be something I memorized for one of Nana’s ice cream outings.”

  Richard nodded. “You know, I think you probably got the words right, but didn’t understand them. I don’t think God was mocking you. I think he was telling you he understood. From the beginning of time people have suffered, and they always will. And he will always suffer right along with them.”

  Elizabeth’s face relaxed in a smile. “Yes, I see. Oh, that that does help when you look at it like that. Is that something you learned when…?”

  “When Mary died. Yes.” They sat in silence for several moments. Elizabeth was about to give in to the delicious lightheadedness of drifting off into a doze when a log shifted in the fire and she started awake.

  “Ah, I didn’t want to disturb you, but you might like something else that helped me: ‘He will keep me safe beneath his roof in the day of misfortune…he will raise me beyond reach of distress.’”

  Elizabeth sat back in the cushions and regarded her companion with a little half smile. “Mmm, ‘Beyond reach of distress.’ What a lovely thought. I wonder if that's really possible? But I do love the idea that it might be. Thank you so much, Richard. What would I do without you?”

  “I had hoped you wouldn’t have to find out.”

  She turned away, unable to meet hi
s level look.

  He took her face between his hands and turned her gently back to him. She raised her eyes to his face; what she saw written there stopped her heart. “Richard, I…No! I’m so sorry, Richard. I thought you were over that…” But she couldn’t turn away. So she took his hand in hers and kissed his palm before she dropped it.

  He was the one to turn. “Yes, well—I’ll just have to try harder to get over it, won’t I? Don’t worry, Elizabeth. One does get over things. Some of us just bleed longer and heal slower, that’s all.”

  An uncontrollable shiver shook her. Richard turned back to her. “Elizabeth, you got chilled out there on the balcony. Into a nice hot tub with you. And stay there until you’re warm through.” He gave her a gentle shove toward her room.

  The bathroom quickly filled with steam as the hot water gushed from the tap, churning Elizabeth’s bath beads into a froth of bubbles. She took a deep breath of the fresh herbal scent. This was just what she needed. She hated the quickie showers the frenzied tempo of the week had required.

  Her body relaxed in the delicious warmth, but her heart still felt constricted. She cared so much for Richard, longed to comfort him and fill his needs. And it would be such a logical thing to do, so simple. “Yes, Richard.” Just two words—that’s all she would have to say. Why did love have to be so illogical and disruptive?

  She thought back over the scene in front of the fire. Was it significant that neither Gavin nor Anita had been mentioned? She had wanted to, but the words wouldn’t come out. The things between her and Richard concerned no third or fourth parties—no outsiders.

  She languidly scooped a handful of bubbles and blew at them, reveling in her warm, bright comfort. Then she thought of the contrast of those awful moments, or hours, however long it had been, cold and dark on the balcony—the terror of the dark of night and the worse darkness of not knowing what was happening below her. Thank you, for keeping him safe.

  Then it occurred to her to ask herself who “he” was. For whose safety had she been crying to heaven?

  Well, both of them, of course. Her defensiveness was quick. But honesty required her to admit that each time her prayer had been help him, not help them. Had the picture in her mind held a man with dark brown hair and intense, craggy features or pale blond hair and an aristocratic mien?

  She shifted uneasily in the tub, then realized her discomfort was more than just mental—what was she sitting on? Putting a hand under her hips, she ran her finger over the bottom of the tub. Oh, those rubber flowers they put on to keep one from slipping and having a nasty fall in the tub. Then, as her finger traced the five-petaled flower shape, she froze. She had seen that pattern before.

  No. Maybe not. Maybe it wasn’t the same. Moving slowly, dreading what she might find, she ran her hand across her bottom, tracing the flower petal she was sitting on.

  Her hand stopped, as if it refused to obey the orders from her mind to explore further. Was she the same height as the corpse? She looked at her feet snug against the front of the tub in her reclining position. Had he fit the same way? Near enough, surely. Go on! she ordered. She had to know, had to make certain beyond any doubt…

  She stretched out her arm and reached across to her left thigh. It was there, just as she knew it would be.

  No. It can’t be. Don’t let me be right. If Parkerson was dead when she first saw him in her tub—and the blood settling in his body stamped this indelible evidence, then the possible answers to the question of who moved the body were severely limited.

  Who had known about her discovery? Dr. Pearsall, whose actions she had considered suspicious earlier. Presumably, he could have moved the corpse while the others were busy, could have said he wanted a quiet word with him, or wanted to examine him or something. That would make sense if the doctor and Hamlin were conspirators.

  It seemed to clear Bill Johnson and Anita of her suspicions. Unless she had been unconscious longer than she realized and more people had come into her suite than she knew. But surely someone would have mentioned it.

  Then an entirely new idea struck her. Weldon Stark—the man who had been ‘calling the shots’ all week, the man who had choreographed everything. Gavin said Stark had first claimed Parkerson as a member of the acting company, then later denied it. Just what was Stark’s involvement?

  Or was he involved at all? She had only Gavin’s word to go on. Gavin, who claimed to have talked to the man after he must have been dead. Hadn’t he? The confusion she felt earlier in the evening clouded her thoughts.

  Gripping the side of the tub, she pulled herself out and forced herself to dry off and get dressed before phoning Richard. But then her hand froze mid-motion…Richard had backed up everything Gavin said. Or had Gavin backed up Richard’s words? What had actually been said? Why couldn’t she remember? She had never doubted one word from either of them. Could they have done it together? But what possible motive could there be in that? Who could she trust? Where would the policemen be at this hour of the night?

  No, no, NO! Going to the police with suspicions about Richard—and Gavin, she added hurriedly—was absolutely ridiculous. There had to be a logical explanation. Whatever had happened—and her mind filled with unlikely and unsavory scenarios—whatever it was, there had to be a reasonable answer.

  She dialed Richard’s room, speaking the moment he answered. “Richard! Would you please come over here for a moment?” She thought she kept the agitation out of her voice, but the speed with which Richard responded indicated that her alarm was apparent. Or was he waiting for her—knowing what she was likely to find in the tub?

  “Elizabeth,” he said as she let him in. “What now? You’re trembling.”

  Without replying she stepped into the bathroom to the tub and pulled the plug on the drain. In a few moments she pointed to the raised rubber flowers with a few soap bubbles still clinging to them. “Do you recognize that?”

  Richard’s sharp intake of breath told her that, indeed, he did. She watched his features carefully to see if he betrayed any look of guilt or conspiracy, but all she saw was open amazement as he knelt by the tub and traced the pattern with his forefinger just as she had done earlier. “Parkerson.”

  Her voice was quiet with horror. “He was dead the first time.” She couldn’t look at him as she went on, “But, Richard, you said…You agreed it was part of the act…” She closed her eyes and turned away. It was the stupidest thing she could possibly do if Richard was involved. But if that was the case, she would rather he just close his fingers tightly around her neck and end it. There was no way she could face the idea of Richard…

  She trembled as his hands clasped her shoulders and moved upward toward her neck. Then she relaxed as he pulled her against him and led her into her sitting room. “Here. Lay down like you were that first evening when you came to.” Elizabeth obeyed. “Now think, Elizabeth. You regained consciousness on the sofa.” He paused, letting her remember. “Now, what did I say?”

  “You said the man was an actor, but Stark would call off that scenario.”

  “No. Gavin said that—later. Now think. What was the first thing I said? When you first came to?”

  She closed her eyes, remembering. “You said Gavin sent the man away, and you got the doctor.”

  “That’s right. I rushed out immediately for Dr. Pearsall. When we arrived back here Gavin said he had told the fellow off and got rid of him.”

  “Richard.” Now her eyes were open wide with horror. “Isn’t there some other possibility?”

  “Like?”

  “Like rubber flowers in other tubs—probably every tub in the hotel—”

  Richard didn’t reply.

  “Well,” her voice was sharp and high-pitched. “It’s possible.”

  Richard nodded slowly. “I think that’s an assessment the police should make.”

  “Richard, no! Please, Richard.”

  “I’ve never known you to be foolish before, Elizabeth. Stubborn usually, daft occasionally, but
never foolish.”

  “Okay, maybe I am…I don’t know. But please give me a little time to work through this myself. I mean, there are police all over the hotel now; surely waiting a little while won’t matter.”

  “All right—but I’m certain you’re making a mistake.”

  She held her ground. In spite of the cold shiver that shook her.

  Chapter 13

  Saturday, March 17, 1990/1934

  Elizabeth took the last of Dr. Pearsall’s little blue pills that night, so she slept through breakfast and arrived at the Blithe Spirit meeting the next morning feeling anything but blithe.

  But then, the team spirit in the library could hardly be called blithe, either.

  “I think we should do a séance; it’s such a natural with our name. Madame Arcati could conduct it.”

  “It is a natural, but it’s been done before. Matter-of-fact, last year’s winning team did a séance.”

  “Which one are we going for, the accuracy prize or the originality prize?”

  “We won’t be going for either one if we can’t settle on who the murderer is. Now, look, Nigel Cass had the most opportunity—”

  Evan waved his notebook at his father. “No, Dad, it was a conspiracy between Susie and Brian. That’s the only logical explanation for her confession.”

  “But Nigel—”

  “I agree with you both, partially,” Benton broke in with the authority of his legal training. “It was a conspiracy, but you’ve got the wrong players, Evan. It was Nigel and Millie. Then she wanted out of the deal, and that’s why he tried to get rid of her.”

  “That’s too complicated,” Anita objected. “I think Millie acted alone.”

  “No, Brian acted alone—a spy wouldn’t need an accomplice.” Cathy’s cheeks flushed red in her excitement.

  “Susie acted alone to protect her lover,” Mrs. Johnson spoke with decision.