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

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  “Well, I personally think Sir Linden did it because he seems the least likely,” Irene said lightly. “But please, just settle on someone so we can get to work!”

  “I told you, Nigel—”

  “No way, Susie and Brian—”

  “You guys are crazy, Millie—”

  Irene broke into the dispute, “Come on, Elizabeth, your vote breaks the deadlock.”

  “Yeah, you haven’t said anything yet.”

  “No chickening out!”

  “Right, name your villain.”

  Elizabeth squirmed at the silence in the room as everyone waited for her answer. “I don’t know…have we established it was murder? It looked so natural. Some of you thought it was a real choking at first.”

  “Has to be murder,” Benton said. “Without a villain the whole mystery’s pointless.”

  “Right.” Elizabeth hesitated. “But I…I can’t make hard decisions on an empty stomach.” She hoped they’d let her get off with a joke.

  “Okay, you’ve got until after lunch,” Bill Johnson said, and the others agreed. They were serious; they weren’t letting her out of this.

  “I’ve got an appointment after lunch. Er, for a sauna and massage,” Anita said quickly. “I can’t come back after lunch.”

  “Yeah, and we were going for a hike. Since the rain finally stopped it’s our only chance to get out,” Evan spoke for his whole family.

  “Well, I—uh…, “ Elizabeth stuttered.

  “Okay, young lady,” Benton said. “Take all the time and food you need. I move we elect Elizabeth our official jury chairperson. Whatever she decides, we’ll all go with. And no complaining afterwards.”

  “But what if we don’t agree with her?” Evan asked.

  “That’s the point,” Benton replied. “We’ve had all week to come to an agreement and failed. So we’ll elect a spokesman and be done.”

  “Elizabeth’s the perfect one. Since she isn’t propounding a theory she’ll be more objective,” Helen said.

  “Good idea! I agree.” Anita picked up her purse with an air of finality.

  “All in favor say, ‘aye,’” Benton said.

  The room reverberated with ayes.

  “The ayes have it. Good luck, Elizabeth. Whatever you say, we’ll go with it and no complaints—whatever the outcome.”

  Everyone started toward the door. “Wait!” Irene held up her hands. “Elizabeth, let me know as soon as you can who to put on the puzzle. We’ll meet here after tea to practice. Right?”

  Everyone agreed and escaped to freedom. Everyone but Elizabeth, who now had to deal with the full weight of her conscience. If she was to do an honest job, she would be forced to think through what she was trying so hard to avoid—to face the suspicion that had been growing steadily in her mind all week. She turned at the sound of a footstep entering the room. “Richard, where have you been? Why weren’t you here to bail me out? I’ve been stuck with deciding for the whole team.”

  “Know what you’re going to say?”

  She shook her head and looked at the floor.

  “It’s a tough one, isn’t it?”

  “Richard! You could do it. I was only elected because I happened to be here. You could decide.”

  He looked at her intently for the space of three heart beats. “Could I? Can anyone really decide this but you, Elizabeth?” She knew he was referring to far more than her answer to a game. “But I can feed you.” He offered his arm to lead her from the room.

  Elizabeth was less than halfway through her fruit salad and cinnamon roll when Weldon Stark, Mr. Hamlin, and a police officer went to the microphone on the dais. Stark spoke first. “The bad news is that all you amateur sleuths have been left in the shade by the professionals. The good news is that Detective Foster and his men have recovered the stolen jewels.” Applause and cries of joy accompanied his announcement. He held up his hand for silence. “The bad news is that the thief has not yet been apprehended. The good news is that the officers believe the robbery was the work of an amateur and should not be hard to track.”

  Mr. Hamlin started to speak, but was met with cries of, “Where were the stolen goods?” “How did you find them?” “Tell us about it!” from the hotel guests. So the manager surrendered the mike to Detective Foster.

  “When a search of the grounds revealed no footprints leaving the hotel, we were confident the jewels were hidden inside. We noticed in Mr. Hamlin’s report of the robbery that most of the burglarized rooms were on the fourth floor, so my men did a routine search of that floor. The jewels were found in the crawl space behind a repair panel along the south corridor.” A burst of applause interrupted his speech. Officer Foster grinned at the accolade. “We find that it’s hard to beat good routine police work, even if it sometimes lacks the flair and excitement of your Sherlock Holmes or Nero Wolfes.” The audience laughed and applauded again.

  Mr. Hamlin started to take the mike again, but there were still unanswered questions: “Why do you say it was the work of an amateur?”

  “A professional would have kept the jewels with him, and he would have chosen only the highest quality jewels to steal—this was a very mixed bag.”

  “If it wasn’t a professional job, why do you think it was done?” came from the back of the room.

  Officer Foster shrugged. “Maybe to add a little excitement to your week, maybe to create a diversion from something else, maybe to pick up what looked like easy money. Or, with jewels there’s always the possibility of an insurance scam. When I said it was amateur work, I didn’t mean it wasn’t necessarily a real robbery. And Mr. Stark here assures me it was not part of his plot.”

  Stark nodded, and the hotel manager took the microphone for the third time to explain how the victims of the robbery could reclaim their property.

  “Well, I say, that’ a bit of all right.” Gavin joined the Blithe Spirit table in his Linden Leigh persona and took an empty chair next to Elizabeth. After her doubts of the night before she started to recoil, but when she looked at him—looked in his clear blue eyes—it just seemed too ridiculous, no matter what the evidence of the bathtub seemed to say. “When you’re through there,” he indicated her half-eaten salad, “I expect you’ll want to toddle on down to the manager’s office and collect Grandma’s stickpin?”

  “I certainly do.” Elizabeth indulged in spreading butter on her cinnamon roll. “I’d like to stick it into the clown that stole it. It’s the only piece of real jewelry I’ve ever owned—no matter what that Detective Foster may have meant about some of the loot being very poor quality.” Then another thought struck her.

  “But did you notice what he said about no tracks leading away from the hotel? What do you suppose happened to that man you and Richard chased last night?”

  Gavin shrugged. “Could have doubled back into the hotel by a service door or something, or even gotten away on rocky ground that didn’t leave any prints.”

  “But why didn’t he take the jewels with him?”

  “Probably got cold feet and just decided to make a break for it. That fits with what the officer said about his being an amateur.”

  But would Scotland Yard track an amateur across the Atlantic?

  Elizabeth couldn’t find a voice to speak her doubts, so she let it drop and followed Gavin to the manager’s office.

  When Elizabeth had given her solemn statement to the officer on duty in Mr. Hamlin’s office and identified and signed for her family heirloom, she pinned it firmly to the shoulder of her soft white dress.

  “Shall we celebrate its return with a stroll in the sun?” Gavin suggested.

  “Yes, I’d love to!” Elizabeth was embarrassed when she heard the enthusiasm in her own voice. It would be wonderful to get out in the fresh air and sunshine; it would be a relief to be able to postpone her decision for the team; it would be lovely to be alone with Gavin…wouldn’t it? At least half of her was sure it would be and longed to be in his arms as she was days ago when they had walked to the
gazebo. But the other half of her was protesting loudly, If you go with him, you’ll have to tell him what you found. Don’t be a dummy; tell the police.

  Tell the police I suspect the man I love? And when Gavin has a simple explanation for my doubts, what will he think of me?

  But what do you think of Gavin? her mind asked.

  I love him, her heart replied with a ferocity that made her gasp.

  The high mountain air was cool and the ground underfoot squishy from days of rain soaking it, but the sun was sparkling on the lake, and a few birds were singing in the trees along the trail. “Have you ever been to England?” Gavin asked.

  “No, but I’d love to. Is it anything like this?”

  “Well, I’ll admit all the rain seemed familiar. Our mountains are nothing like this—not nearly so high and rugged. And our trees are largely deciduous.” They walked on in silence for a few minutes, listening to the bird calls. Then Gavin turned to her. “Elizabeth, let me show it to you. Will you come to England with me?”

  “Gavin…I…” Was this an invitation to take a tour? An illicit offer? Or a proposal of marriage? “I don’t know what to say.”

  They were nearing the gazebo where he first kissed her, where she first felt their initial attraction flower into a true affinity of heart and life. Would he stop there again? Did she want him to? She hated the confusion that plagued her. Her constant prayer was to know what was right. To see the truth. So why did she feel so adrift?

  Around a bend in the trail, the gazebo came into view. Gavin put his finger to his lips and exaggerated walking quietly. One glance at the little wooden summer house told her why—a couple sat there locked in an embrace. An embrace that appeared to be as complete an experience as the time there she was just recalling with Gavin had been. Then, a few steps nearer and she realized—it was Richard and Anita.

  When the gazebo was well behind them and they started around the far end of the lake, Gavin repeated his question, “I hate to make a nuisance of myself and all that, but do you think you could put up with me as a tour guide?”

  “I’m sure you’d be an absolutely marvelous tour guide, Gavin.” Elizabeth laughed with relief at not having to answer a more difficult question.

  Their path broke through the bushes and began climbing steeply toward the top of the quarry wall. “Well, now that’s satisfactory. How about—”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and plunged. She had to have her questions answered before she could answer any more questions from him. “Gavin, I’ve got to talk to you about something. When Richard and I went back to look at Parkerson’s body we found a strange mark—like a flower—on his bottom.”

  “A tattoo?”

  The path now reached its highest peak and followed right by the edge of the cliff. Elizabeth instinctively moved to the inside, closer to the cliff face before she answered. “No. It was printed there by the way the blood settled after he—er, died.” She couldn’t bring herself to say “was killed.” “Last night I discovered what made the mark.…”

  “Your bathtub?”

  She stopped and gasped. He admitted it? She had hoped and prayed it somehow wasn’t true, but he knew all along. With a small moan she stepped backward which inadvertently moved her nearer the edge of the drop-off. Suddenly, Gavin’s features twisted and contorted.

  Elizabeth stepped on a small rock. She felt her ankle twist and her foot slip. Her leg bumped the low railing that rimmed the path. Gavin’s hands came out toward her. It couldn’t have lasted more than a fraction of a second, but in that dot of time as he reached for her she envisioned the terrifying horror of falling through blank space, her own voice screaming in her ears as her body fell faster than the sound past the jagged knife blades of cut granite, the scream echoing from each rock until she broke through the rain-swollen surface of the inky water, then falling slower and slower until she could fall no more…

  “Hello there!”

  “We thought we heard your voices.”

  Gavin’s hands closed on her arm and pulled her back from the edge of the precipice as Richard and Anita approached. “Careful! You were right on the edge. You could have gone over.” Gavin held her securely to him, and she felt his heart beating as wildly as her own.

  “Uh-oh, looks like we’re interrupting, Richard,” Anita said.

  “Good thing you did.” Gavin still held Elizabeth. “This silly girl was about to back off the cliff. Devilishly cold weather for a swim, what?”

  “Well, take care of her, Kendall, or I’ll hold you responsible.” Richard spoke lightly, but he gave Gavin a level look before leading Anita on along the trail.

  “I say, that was a bit fright-making. You’re still trembling. There’s another one of these gazebo things just up here. Let’s sit.”

  Inside the little wooden pagoda, he tried to put his arm around her again, but she pulled away with a shake of her head. She sat with her head in her hands, her eyes closed, trying to remember, trying to forget; trying to think, trying to blot out everything.

  But Gavin’s voice penetrated her muddle, “Right. We need to talk. Yes, the poor chap was dead the first night and, of course, I knew he wasn’t part of Stark’s scenario because we had rehearsed it all the day before. But you were so thoroughly upset, and I knew nothing could be done until the landslide was cleared away. So I suggested Richard run for the doctor, and I took our unwelcome guest next door and, er, put him to bed, as you might say. There was no need to perturb anyone further, there had been quite enough excitement already that night.”

  To Elizabeth the smooth logic of his answer was more confusing than ever. He always had a perfect answer. Would she be gullible to believe him, or horrible to suspect him? She just shook her head.

  “Take me back, Gavin,” she said, her voice as flat as her feelings. “I need to think.”

  Chapter 14

  Saturday, later afternoon

  These are the words of the Holy One of Israel:…‘You shall weep no more. The Lord will show you favor and answer you when he hears your cry for help…If you stray from the road to right or left you shall hear with your own ears a voice behind you saying, This is the way; follow it.’

  Elizabeth’s bed creaked under her as she leaned over to put the Gideon Bible on the table. She had spent most of the hour or so since Gavin brought her back neither resting not thinking, but searching for her childhood verses. How odd that after all that time those memories should be such a companion to her through the roller coaster of the past days. “Okay, Lord.” She sighed. “You promised. I am crying for your help, so show me the way.” She thought for a moment, then added. “Do your stuff, God.”

  Still reclining on the stacked pillows against her headboard, she reached for her notebook. She flipped to the back where she had listed events and clues that made two complete, perfectly logical scenarios. Well, almost complete. Each would make a good skit and fulfill her obligation to Blithe Spirit. One was fun, lighthearted, and safe. The other was heavy, deadly serious, and possibly dangerous. Could she do it? Could she not do it? Could she stay in her rosy dream world? Or must she reach out for the cold light of reality?

  This is the way; walk ye in it.

  Yes, Lord.

  You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.

  Yes, Lord.

  She took the cap off her pen and began writing the script.

  When Elizabeth arrived at the library with ink-stained fingers, Irene was already organizing her cast. “Now, when the narration refers to something that was heard the ears will come forward and dance like this—” She demonstrated, then walked Bill and Helen, holding blank puzzle pieces, through the paces.

  “Now, eyes—Evan and Cathy—you go like this…then stand back here.” She looked up and saw Elizabeth. “Ah, author! Author! Now we can get down to work. Here, Richard, you’re the nose—”

  “Typecasting, huh?” He touched his own long nose and everyone laughed.

  Smiling, Irene handed a piece to An
ita. “After that, I’m scared to tell you you’re the mouth.”

  “Oh, that’d suit any woman.” Bill ducked as his wife tried to hit him.

  “Okay, then I’ll come in with the hair, and Dad, you complete the picture with the frame.”

  “Hey,” Evan quipped, “we want the real solution, not a frame-up.”

  “I’ve got the real solution,” Elizabeth said quietly. She stood by the side of the imaginary stage to read her script while Irene directed the puzzle pieces through her choreography.

  When the skit was complete the players stood looking at Elizabeth with their mouths open:

  “Wow! I didn’t see that!”

  “That’s good.”

  “I think you’ve got it.”

  “It’s awfully involved, but it makes sense,” Anita said.

  “Yes.” Elizabeth’s answer was barely audible.

  “Are you sure?” Richard touched her elbow.

  “No.”

  “Why did you take it on so far?” Irene asked.

  Elizabeth’s answer was to Richard rather than to Irene, “Because I have to be sure.”

  “I just heard,” Richard said so only Elizabeth could hear, “the coroner ruled death by asphyxiation—smothered.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Er, an officer told me.”

  “Okay,” Irene clapped her hands for attention. “Let’s run through this again, then we’ll just have time to go dress for ‘le big event’ tonight. You’re looking good already, you guys. I want you to relax and have fun with this. Places, everybody…”

  “I have never before seen this amount of glitter in one place in my life.” Richard stood in the doorway with Elizabeth surveying the dining parlor an hour later. The Grand Soiree was the climax party of the week, and the room shimmered and glowed with the light reflected from the draped satin lamé‚ and glittering sequins of the women’s gowns. Each table was mounded with pink and white silver-spangled carnations, while opalescent balloons floated above the flickering tapers in the centerpieces. Dim lights in the high ceiling gave the effect of stars.