Set the Stage for Murder (19 page)

The three of them headed upstairs, leaving Sir Anthony Dupree staring into the embers of the fire and wondering when he would ever learn his lesson.

***

Ed sat in one of the armchairs in the sitting area of their darkened guestroom and waited for Sally’s breathing to become regular. Certainly, this wasn’t the first time he had waited for her to fall asleep so that he could sneak away to meet with someone. The only difference was that this time, he wasn’t leaving for a romantic assignation. No, this time it was something important; this time it involved protecting his child. He closed his eyes and laid his head back against the chair. Why had it taken this long for everything to become clear? He supposed that it took sitting around that table tonight, with that particular group of people to get him to this point. Well, here he was. And just what the hell was he supposed to do now?

Sally’s breathing had become rhythmical and she was snoring lightly. He quietly got up and left the room, carefully closing the door behind him. He would be back in bed long before the effects of her little pink pills wore off.

***

Sally heard the door close and waited a few minutes, hopefully long enough for the hallway to be empty. She’d have to be careful going down the stairs. What if someone were still up downstairs? Wasn’t there a back staircase that went down to the kitchen? She’d try that first. She got out of bed and put on a pair of dark wash jeans and a black top. It would be best if she weren’t spotted wandering the grounds, but not going out wasn’t an option; she had an appointment to keep.

Chapter 18

Branches tore at her clothes and scratched her tear-stained face as Meg ran through the woods toward the guesthouse. She had to stop, just for a second, and catch her breath. She had to think, damnit. If she could just clear her mind and think! Maybe if she prayed to the Blessed Mother, it would help. Gasping for air, she leaned against a tree and sank down to her knees in the middle of the dark forest, beginning the familiar ritual that had brought her peace of mind so many times throughout her life.

But she couldn’t pray. She wasn’t able to concentrate on the words she’d known by heart since she was a little girl. Not now. Not while fear gripped her throat like an icy hand. She had to find Roz. She needed to get to Roz first. Meg got up off the ground and started running for the guesthouse, clutching Roz’s peach shawl around her as if it were a piece of armor that would shield her from harm.

As she burst into the clearing she could see that the downstairs lights were on at the guesthouse, although the upstairs bedroom windows were dark. It didn’t matter. If Roz were asleep, then she would have to wake her and tell her. Roz had to be told before something horrible happened.

When she reached the front steps, Meg was shaking from fear and physical exertion, which caused her to trip and fall on the porch. She got up and started yelling Roz’s name even before pulling open the screen door. Roz wasn’t in the living room or, as a quick search revealed, anywhere else on the first floor. Meg hurried up the stairs and into Roz’s room, but it was empty as well. Suddenly Meg felt ill. She rushed into the bathroom, fell to her knees and grasped the toilet bowl. A minute later, as she rested on the cool tile floor, her breathing started to return to normal and her heartbeat slowed down. She was thinking more clearly now. Yes, she could keep it together and figure this out, for all of their sakes. She got up from the bathroom floor and splashed cold water on her face before going back downstairs. If Roz were over at the Cottage, Meg couldn’t go bursting in looking the way she did. And changing clothes at a time like this was unthinkable. Instead, she would call Roz’s cell phone and tell her to come back to the guesthouse immediately. Meg felt that she was regaining some control as she dialed Roz’s number. She told herself that it was going to be okay; that everyone would be all right. She thought that she had calmed down until the cell phone rang in the purse on the table near the door, causing Meg to scream. Damnit! Roz didn’t have her phone with her! How was Meg going to find her? It was when she was staring at the purse and trying to think of what to do next that Meg saw the note lying on the floor by the table. She picked it up and read it:

Mother, please meet me at the courting oak. I need to talk to you. Juliet

Roz and Juliet were at the Courting Oak together! She had to get to them. Meg dropped the note to the floor and hurried out the door as a night train sounded its warning whistle somewhere north of Lenore’s Folly.

***

The killer waited in the woods near the Courting Oak, precariously close to the edge of the cliff. The note had been planted and she would come, because it was from her daughter. It had been so easy to go into Teddy’s office earlier and type and print the simple message. It could never be traced beyond that point, and anyone staying at Lenore’s Folly had had the same opportunity to slip in and use the computer at one time or another during the evening.

The lonely whistle from a distant train was the only familiar sound among the cacophony of noises in the woods on this moonless night. The killer pulled the hooded part of the dark jacket further down. If she survived the fall, which was most unlikely, she must not be able to identify her attacker. The killer was perfectly still, choosing not to sit on the ground or lean up against a tree. There might be only one chance to do this, and preparedness was the key.

The sound of footsteps on the stone path brought the killer to attention. She was moving quickly, almost running, as if she couldn’t wait to get to her destination. Through the web of branches, the killer caught sight of her. The dark night distorted the scene into something from a black-and-white film. Her fair hair and skin, as well as her light-colored blouse and pants, all looked like dull shades of gray. Only her wrap had any shine to it, and that was because of the luster of the silk rather than the famous shade of peach it had been dyed.

She slowed down as she approached the tree and looked around, perhaps thinking she was either too early or too late. Although she stopped at the old oak and caught her breath, it wasn’t long before she did what everyone else who visited this particular place on the property did; she walked toward the low stone wall and looked out over the river, tonight just a wide inky ribbon separating her from the smattering of lights on the other side.

The rustling of the trees prompted her to turn around and see the hooded figure in black, before feeling the pressure of the two gloved hands shoving at her chest, causing her to lose her balance and fall backward over the stone wall. As her scream was drowned out by the roar of the passing train, Meg Pierce first thought,
oh no
,
it’s not me you want,
before having the horrible and final realization that perhaps a vengeful God was finally punishing her for her monumental sins.

***

Vicki got out of bed and retrieved one of the light summer quilts from the closet. She and Teddy usually slept with a window open, and while she loved the fresh air, tonight’s breeze had a slight chill to it. She placed the quilt on the bed, made sure that Teddy was covered, and slipped back under the covers, hoping that she would finally be able to drift off to sleep. Although she had been physically exhausted when they went to bed, almost two hours earlier, she hadn’t been able to turn off her mind, which insisted on replaying the night’s events over and over, with little regard for sequence or importance.

Now, with the summer quilt tucked firmly under her chin, Vicki’s mental activity continued unabated. Apparently, her brain was presenting a slide show with no end in sight. Again, she saw the other guests’ reactions when Roz and Meg showed up for drinks. New picture, this time a close-up of Dame Caroline, whose look could best be described as murderous. Now it switches to that stupid image of Harold Fiske sleeping by the bar. Next, Juliet bursts into tears and Vicki remembers the pity she felt for the girl; the pity for Juliet and the anger at Roz for the damage she was doing with her dangerous playacting. Another image of Roz, this time looking at Juliet and Connor. She’s different here, but what is it? She’s real in this one; she’s not acting. The cerebral slide changes to the one of Sally threatening to kill Roz and the anxiety Vicki felt returns full force. There is Sally, again. Earlier, maybe? Yes, just as they sat for dinner. Sally staring down toward Vicki, Ed, and Meg with … what? With a look on her face that Vicki couldn’t quite pinpoint. Was it horror? Was it something at the table or something in her mind that brought it on? Back to Harold Fiske sleeping by the bar. Really, they should do some sort of intervention, shouldn’t they? Maybe not
this
weekend, however. Drunken Harold is replaced by Meg looking at Ed. With longing? Is that what Vicki saw? Could that old flame still burn, twenty years later? Is this what Sally saw earlier? Now, a close-up of the blood spot on Dame Caroline’s bandage. And back, once again, to Harold Fiske … yes, they really should do something, Vicki thought as Teddy rolled onto his back and started to snore gently.
Well
, she thought,
I’m glad someone is able to sleep
.

A train whistled as it passed Lenore’s Folly on the tracks down by the river. Usually, the sound brought a smile as well as a sense of comfort to Vicki. Tonight, for some reason or another, she shuddered. Maybe it was the coolness of the night breeze. Vicki turned over on her side and finally nodded off to sleep.

Chapter 19

People in the theater are not, as a whole, early risers. If they’re in a show, they work until 11:00pm, after which they usually go out for something to eat or, at the very least, something to drink. They really like to drink. A lot. Which, not surprisingly, is a major contributing factor as to why they’re not early risers. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule. Just not many to this one.

Which is why breakfast at Lenore’s Folly was traditionally a bit of a non-event. If someone desired food before lunch, they knew to go to the kitchen, where fresh coffee, fresh juice, and homemade pastries awaited them. Marc had even been known to prepare hot items if someone was in the mood and if he liked them, although he refused to have anything to do with kippers, no matter who made the request.

Vicki and Teddy sat alone at the kitchen table on Saturday morning, reading the paper as Marc put his second batch of muffins in the oven and Clementine slept on her pillow in the sun. With the exception of Ethan, who had already had a bite to eat before heading to the gardens, they were the first to arise. Although the sun was up, it hadn’t been that way for long. Vicki, Teddy, Ethan and Marc were exceptions to the “no early risers” rule. Apparently, so was Roz, who, at that moment, walked through the back door and headed straight for the coffee pot.

“Marc, this had better be strong.”

“It is,” Marc replied without looking up from the cutting, board where he was slicing fresh peaches that would end up in his fruit salad.

“Good. I need something to jumpstart me this morning.” She filled a mug and joined Vicki and Teddy at the table. “Good morning.”

“Good Morning,” Teddy said.

Vicki managed to smile graciously at her guest, even though she was still angry over her behavior last night. “Morning, Roz. Did you sleep well?”

Roz blinked her eyes widely, as if she were still trying to wake up. “I’m not sure I slept at all.” She took a sip of her coffee and stared out the kitchen window. “Last night was pretty awful, wasn’t it? I feel I owe the two of you an explanation.”

Vicki folded the section of newspaper she was reading and placed it on the table. Evidently, it was time for everyone to show their hands. “Roz, we know what you were doing last night. And we know why.”

Roz tilted her head and looked at the two of them, slightly confused. “You
know
? Am I that bad an actress?”

“No, not at all.” Teddy shook his head as he got up from the table and went to refill his coffee cup. Out of view of Roz, he nodded for Marc to leave them alone. As Marc disappeared up the back stairs, Teddy grabbed a muffin and sat back down at the table. “In fact,” he continued, “it was a damned convincing performance.”

Roz sat up straight in her chair, crossed her arms, and waited for him to continue. Instead, Vicki took the lead.

“Meg pulled me aside before dinner and told me what you were up to.” Roz started to say something, but Vicki cut in before she had the chance. “She was worried that you were in over your head and she wanted us to … keep an eye on things.”

Roz relaxed a little and leaned back in her chair. “Well, of course she did.” She picked up her cup and took another sip of coffee. “Meggie, the protector.” She laughed softly and shook her head. “I think what I’m doing scares her to death.”

Teddy looked at her over his cup. “What about you, Roz? You must be pretty scared yourself.” He took a sip and sat his coffee on the table. “Why didn’t you tell anyone about the second note?”

Roz froze, and all the color drained from her face. She looked back and forth between Teddy and Vicki and then, remembering that they were sitting in Marc’s kitchen, she looked around to see if he had overheard.

“Don’t worry,” Teddy said. “We’re alone. We can talk.”

“How do you know about the other note?” she asked in a terrified whisper. “I didn’t show it to anyone. Not even Meggie.” The bravura of last night’s performance was totally absent now. Instead, a frightened and vulnerable Roz sat before Vicki and Teddy.

Vicki’s anger evaporated as she observed the change in Roz. “Meg found the note in the trash. She said you were always throwing things out that you shouldn’t, so she makes a habit of checking the wastebasket, especially the one by your desk.”