Murder a la Christie (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 1) (25 page)

I rolled my eyes. “We were talking, Marcie. About personal matters." When she said nothing, I couldn’t resist adding, “From your reaction, I’d say you’re the one with the hots for Lowell.”

I took pleasure watching her face and neck turn a cherry red. “That’s ridiculous! Lowell and I are good friends. I was concerned—for him and Paulette.”

“How caring of you,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Next time make sure you know what you’re talking about before you accuse people of adulterous affairs.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

I slipped my polo over my head, taking care not to muss my hair. “Now do you think you can do up the hooks of my gown, or do I have to go downstairs to ask your mother for help?”

“I’ll do it,” she said, as I figured she would.

Neither of us spoke as Marcie hooked me into my gown. When she finished, she said softly, “I didn’t kill Anne. Or Sylvia, or Gerda.”

I stared hard at her, as I would an unprepared student. Her eyes never wavered. Either she was the world’s most accomplished liar or she was telling the truth. I saw no purpose in ruffling her feathers, so I pretended to take her at her word.

“I’m relieved to hear that, Marcie. Now all we have to do is find the murderer.”

The moment she left, I stepped into my heels and planted myself before the long mirror. I looked smashing! The gown, for all its flounces, had the clean lines of a designer frock, and flattered my figure. With my hair shaped and coiffed, I looked better than I had in ages.

I felt a pang of disappointment that Allistair couldn’t see me in my finery. Or Brian Donovan. I spun around, giggling with excitement and the thrill of simply being alive. To hell with both of them! I’d have a ball flying solo.

I touched up my eye shadow and mascara, rouged my lips and cheeks, and admired the results in the mirror.
Enough primping and admiring. Time to get to work.

I ran into Corinne and Poppy, laughing as they trudged up the stairs with their gowns in garment bags. They surprised me by greeting me with hugs.

Poppy gave me the once-over and whistled. “Wow! Don’t you clean up nicely!”

“Lexie, last minute change, “ Corinne said. “I’ll be taking tickets with you. I’ll come downstairs just as soon as I’m dressed.”

“Poppy wrinkled her nose in mock despair. “And I remain a lowly mingler.”

Corinne patted her friend’s shoulder. “Look at it this way—you’ll be getting a head start on drinks.”

They clattered up to the landing, leaving me with the warm feeling of belonging. My young pals, I thought with amusement.

Ruth dashed over to me as soon as I descended the last step.

“Just the person I need!” she chirped. “People are arriving, and I’ve had to hold them at bay.”

She slipped an arm around my waist and walked me over to the table, all but blocking the entranceway. She gestured for me to sit in one of the two chairs, and then handed me a pen, a metal box, and the guest list, which I had to mark off as each person arrived. Only then could they enter the room to the right for their fill of cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.

“We’ve set aside a table in the dining room for ten Johnny-come-latelys,” she cooed, “at three hundred dollars a person. If someone offers you a check, very discreetly, you or Corinne must find Adele or me to approve it. Remember, we’re allowing for only ten latecomers." She flashed a false smile. “After that, I’m afraid you’ll have to turn people away."

Right! As if you’d turn away three hundred dollars.

Ruth took off. A harpist sat down in a corner of the cocktails room and tuned her harp. Corinne came to sit beside me. Rosie and Ginger arrived with Hal and Todd in tow. The gala was underway. I felt a stirring of dread. With every member of the mystery book club attending, the murderer would be here in our midst.

Were we in for a wonderful evening, or was someone going to die?

Guests swarmed around the desk as Corinne and I checked off their names as quickly as we could. People crowded the hall behind us, greeting friends and neighbors, though Bob Blum and Sam Blessing did their best to shepherd them into the cocktails room.

The Hartmans made a striking couple as they entered the hall. Lowell smiled broadly as he presented their tickets. Paulette looked stunning in her fuchsia chiffon gown. She must have had extensions put in her hair, because it was arranged in a most becoming Edwardian manner—a nest of curls above the high, round pompadour that framed her face. Still, she seemed distracted, as though her mind were a million miles away.

Adele stopped by a few times, once to tell Corinne and me which ticket holders wouldn’t be coming. She moved slowly, as if she were in pain, and her skin looked dead white under her rouge. However, she appeared to be in good spirits and pumped up for the evening.

Just when I was wishing I could taste some of the appetizers floating around the other room, Ginger appeared with a plate and a Bloody Mary. She placed it before me at the same time Corinne’s husband handed her a drink and something to eat. We winked at one another and dove in.

At seven-thirty chimes rang. Bob and Sam ushered the guests into the dining room. When I was beginning to wonder how much longer Corinne and I had to guard the door, Ruth told us to join the others in the dining room. I sat down at a table with Rosie and Hal, Ruth and Sam, and two other couples I didn’t know. The harpist strummed a lovely English ballad.

The meal was delicious. I waived my usual ban on beef and ordered prime ribs, rare. It arrived, as tender and near perfection as possible.  After my second glass of chardonnay, I remembered I still had “work” before me and refused another glass of wine. Instead, I concentrated on the intensely dark chocolate dessert, its consistency somewhere between fudge and brownie.

A hand descended upon my shoulder as I swallowed my last forkful of heaven. “If you’re finished eating, we’d best be moving along,” Ruth said.

I nodded and wobbled to my feet.

Ruth rounded up the five others, waited while we stopped in the ladies’ room, then shepherded us to the back veranda for a last run through of our duties.

The sun had just set, leaving the sky a pale gray. A breeze whirred by, riffling my hair and the leaves of the nearby trees. I pulled my ancient cashmere shawl around my shoulders, glad I’d thought to bring it with me. Outside, the only visual lights were those coming from inside the huge tent, which had been set up on the great lawn forty feet from the house. Through the open flaps I caught a glimpse of the musicians tuning their instruments on the raised dais at the far end of the tent.

Ruth handed each of us a flashlight. “I don’t know why the outside lights haven’t been turned on, but they should come on any minute now. Soon our guests will exit the mansion and head for the tent. Offer to escort them to seats and give each person a program. There are no seating arrangements, so expect a sudden rush at one point, as some of our pushier guests try to claim several seats for their group.” She grimaced. “We don’t expect any serious disagreements, but if two parties quarrel over seats, lead one group to another location.”

Ruth pointed to the tall table beside her. “Here are the programs. Once everyone is seated and the concert begins, wait ten minutes for latecomers. After that, find yourselves a seat and enjoy the music.”

We nodded. Ruth asked if we had any questions. Since we didn’t, she took off. I remained on the veranda, chatting with the others.

“Weird, how the lights aren’t on,” Poppy observed.

“If that’s the worst hitch, we’re doing fine,” Jan said. “Remember last year, when they ran out of prime rib?”

The others laughed.

“And two years ago, when those two women almost got in a fist fight over saving seats in the first row?”

Corinne looked about, then lowered her voice. “Ruth wanted to have assigned seats for the concert this year, but Adele wouldn’t go along. She said it was too complicated.”

I tuned out their discussion. A few guests exited the dining room, and Corinne and Poppy escorted them to the tent. I reached for a handful of programs so I’d be ready to play usher.

“There you are, Lexie!”

I spun around as Lowell strode toward me, a bemused expression on his face. God, he was handsome! Married, too, I reminded myself. Paulette was lucky to have him for her husband.

He enveloped me in a warm hug and planted a kiss on my cheek. “I wanted to thank you for meeting me last Sunday.”

It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. “Oh. Right.”

He kept one arm around my shoulders and started down the broad staircase leading to the lawn. I had no choice but to descend the stairs at his side.

“It felt good, being able to express what I’m going through to someone who knows both Anne and Paulette." He gave me a winsome look.

I shrugged. “Anne’s gone. I hope you’re happy with your decision.”

Lowell’s mouth tightened. “It’s the only viable choice.”

I looked about. “Speaking of which, where’s Paulette?”

“In the ladies room. There’s a long line to the one downstairs, so she went up to the second floor. I told her I’d go ahead and snag us some good seats.”

“She looks lovely tonight.”

Lowell stopped at the bottom of the staircase and gazed into my eyes. “So do you.”

A
frisson
of joy coursed through my body. Before I could come up with a witty response, Ginger bounded over to join us, lifting her flouncing skirts as she ran.

“Lowell! I’ve been trying to catch hold of you all evening!”

“And here I am, completely at your disposal. What’s up, Ginger?”

My soaring ego plummeted as Lowell turned the full force of his attention on Ginger, hugging her as he’d embraced me minutes earlier. I watched as her expression both softened and turned more vibrant.
What was with this guy? Either he was the most empathic male on Long Island, or he feel compelled to wow every female that crossed his path.
I was about to leave, then decided I wanted to hear how this played out.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you,” Ginger began, not at all inhibited by my presence, “I’m seeing a shrink to talk about—you know, that business—and I’m starting to feel better.”

“Great!" Lowell beamed at her. “I hope you didn’t break up with Todd.”

Ginger grinned. “We’re both hanging in there. And I’ve you to thank." She leaned over to kiss his cheek.

He put an arm around her as groups of people walked past us, heading for the tent. Which reminded me I still had to sing for my supper.

“Shall I escort you to your seats?”

Ginger waved her hand. “No thanks, Aunt Lexie. Mom’s saving a block of seats—” She screamed. An object was falling, heading straight for the three of us!

I froze, unable to move for the life of me. Strong arms yanked me to one side as a stone planter slammed into the ground where we’d been standing.

“What the hell?” Lowell muttered, releasing me so suddenly I nearly toppled over. “It would have landed right on me, if Ginger hadn’t seen it coming!”

We glanced up as a second-story window slammed shut. Was it my imagination, or had I caught sight of a flash of pink chiffon in the fading light?

“Are you all right?”

“Thank God it missed you!”

Friends gathered around us, uttering what they considered soothing words to calm our tattered nerves. Rosie pushed her way through the crowd to pull Ginger into a crushing hug. Paulette took her place beside Lowell. Wordlessly, they embraced. I felt alone and absurdly embarrassed until Hal placed his jacket around my shoulders.

“That was some scare, Lexie.”

I couldn’t stop shivering as my mind tried to wrap itself around what nearly had happened. “Who pushed that planter? Who was the target?”

“Target? I’m sure it was an accident.” Hal rubbed my back before he left to embrace his daughter.

“I hope so.” I looked about, trying to see who was missing, but found myself surrounded by a crowd. Voices cheered as the lights suddenly came on, brightening the verandah and the lawn. Why were they first being turned on now? Had the murderer fixed the lights so he or she wouldn’t be detected heaving the planter onto our group? And who was the intended victim—Lowell, Ginger, or me?

Ruth flitted from Ginger to me to Lowell, asking how each of us felt, then worked her way through the mob to the top of the steps. She shouted for our attention. I watched in dismay as Sam Blessing and Scott Beaumont lifted what was left of the stone planter and moved it to one side out of everyone’s way. Leave it be! I wanted to shout. The police might be able to find fingerprints! But it was too late.

“As many of you have seen,” Ruth said, “we were very fortunate to have escaped what might have been a tragic accident. We’ve had a terrible fright. But since no one has been hurt, we shall proceed with tonight’s performance. Kindly take seats inside the tent and let the concert begin.”

A sense of outrage filled me. I wanted to scream. I was supposed to feel
fortunate
because a three-time murderer tried to kill one of us and failed? Was the woman out of her skull?

But clearly the gala guests agreed with Ruth. They strolled into the tent, talking and laughing, as though what we’d experienced was exactly as she’d described. Even Lowell, whose lover had been murdered, and Ginger, who’d nearly lost her young life, joined the others filing in to hear the music.

I had no intention of doing any such thing! I reached inside my pocketbook and pulled out my cell phone to call Detective Brian Donovan.

I
stood outside the tent listening to a cheerful medley of Gershwin songs, when police sirens cut through the night. At last! Moments later Brian Donovan, followed by Captain Hennessy and several of his men, raced across the lawn.

The music came to a shattering halt. Someone turned up the lights. Adele rose from the first row and took slow, staggering steps onto the stage. She glared down at Captain Hennessy, who managed to look both fierce and abashed.

“How dare you interrupt our concert! This is a private affair!”

“Sorry, Mrs. Blum. There’s been a report of an attempted murder. We’ve no choice but to investigate.”