Carolyn G. Hart

by Death on Demand/Design for Murder

  It didn’t take as long as she expected. For one thing, only two or three teams each evening came up with the right name. Of those, a Monday night team, No. 2, had the right answer for the right reasons, and the time on the envelope was 8–04–36. When she read the name of the team captain, she didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. There was a winner from last night, ringing in at 8–04–37. The Team Captain was—she stared at the list of team members for a long time, then took her pen and carefully altered the time to 8–04–36.

  How about that. A tie.

  At six-fifteen, she changed into her costume for the Denouement Ball. Max, too, was dressed for his part when he knocked on her door. They grinned at each other.

  “That the twain never met was a grave error on the part of the Stratemeyer Syndicate,” she said.

  He was a marvelously handsome and clean-cut Joe Hardy as he nodded in agreement. “Right on, Nancy. But it might have hacked Ned Nickerson.”

  They slipped away to Confederate House for an early dinner. As they climbed gray wooden steps to the refurbished barn that overlooked the river, Annie clutched his argyle sweatered arm and pointed to the placard.

  “Before the occupation of the area by Federal troops in 1863, work began here on earthwork fortifications. The last remnants of Ft. McReady were washed away in the hurricane of 1893.”

  Annie peered into a thicket of southern red cedars. “That woman is haunting me.”

  “I’d say she’s the least of your worries.”

  They settled at a wooden planked table on a gray porch, and Max unloaded the latest.

  “Bobby said Wells had his men print practically every square inch of Idell’s office, and he’s having the lab check any latent prints against yours, his, Gail’s, and Tim’s. If he finds a match—”

  “There I never was. So maybe he’ll finally give up on me.” She studied the fake parchment menu. Should she go for Daufuskie crabs or duck, oyster and sausage gumbo? “How about the others?”

  “They all claim they’ve never set foot in Idell’s office.”

  Then Max dampened even her appetite.

  “One grim note. Apparently, a hell of a lot of cyanide of potassium is missing from that bottle.”

  What a difference a day made. Whether it was simply the number of hours that had elapsed since Idell’s murder or whether the Mystery Night participants were willing to risk all to discover the identity of the Sticky Wicket murderer, the night’s turnout was excellent and the mood upbeat. The variety of dress for the ball amazed her. She spotted two Inspector Maigrets, four Hercule Poirots, a sharp-visaged Dick Tracy, and a prim Miss Silver complete with knitting needles, fluffy pink wool, and a brooch on her bosom.

  Annie wandered among the tents, eavesdropping.

  “Asey Mayo” confided to “Inspector Roderick Alleyn,” “This is more fun than The Mystery of Edwin Drood.”

  “Oh, that was fun,” “Miss Pinkerton” replied. “But my all time stage favorite is Arsenic and Old Lace. It’s always funny.”

  In the distance, sheet lightning flickered. They’d been so fortunate with the weather all week. April, of course, was a spring month, and heavy storms rare. Gentle rains were not. She crossed her fingers. If they could just make it to shortly after midnight, it could rain as much as it pleased. She felt uneasy, and was uncertain whether to attribute it to the ominous weather or to the evening.

  The mystery enthusiasts were having a wonderful time. The Sticky Wicket cast members were not. They had all dutifully come and mingled with the guests, but their generally stiff and distrait appearances singled them out. Although they knew Wells’s suspicions were targeted on Annie and Bobby, they were like horses sensing a coyote’s presence. Wells had talked to all of them, once or more. They all knew he had charted their movements to the Inn on Wednesday night. It put an edge to their voices and wariness in their eyes.

  Rumors abounded.

  Edith insisted to Annie that she’d heard Leighton had been arrested.

  Roscoe said that was all wrong, a warrant was being charged out against Bobby.

  Max disappeared for awhile and returned with the news that the lights were still burning in the forensic lab at the police station.

  Even Sybil and Tim showed up, and Tim said loudly that he didn’t know what the hell was going on, but Bobby Frazier’d gone into detail with him about the chemicals he used in electroplating.

  It was just short of midnight when Annie looked down from the speaker’s stand at a black-clad figure leaning on a silverheaded cane, staring with a death’s-head face at the Sticky Wicket suspects as they gathered for the finale. Annie’s hand closed on her sheaf of papers. Miss Dora! She took a step toward the stairs, then St. Michael’s bell tolled midnight. As lightning blazed in the east, the old woman turned and melded into the deep shadows beneath a live oak tree. Annie hesitated, then faced the audience. Her heart was pounding. The band played a drum tattoo. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the moment you’ve all been waiting for.”

  A vigorous burst of handclapping and cheers was almost lost in the roll of thunder.

  “And I believe we just may make it under the wire before the storm breaks. But it is my pleasure first,” Annie cried, “to announce the winners of the costume contest.”

  Max was leading a pleased and excited line of participants to the stage.

  “Our fifth place winner is—” She waved her hand and glanced at the card in her hand. “Mrs. Harrison Frankfurt of Savannah, who came tonight as the inimitable Miss Maude Silver, complete with a shawl and brooch.”

  Mrs. Frankfurt came on stage.

  “Our fourth place winner is Mr. Michael Forbes of Charleston, who you will undoubtedly recognize as the greatest sleuth of all time, Sherlock Holmes.”

  Forbes was tall enough and lean enough to look the part of the master detective in his deerstalker hat and Inverness cape. He waved his Meerschaum pipe and bowed to the cheering crowd.

  “Our third place winner is Jeremiah Winston of Hilton Head Island. Let’s give him a hand for his portrayal of Sam Spade.” Winston slouched on stage in a loose tweed overcoat. A hand-rolled cigarette dangled from his lip.

  “Our second place winner is Mr. Bill Brown of Atlanta.” A little man with a truly egg-shaped head bounded up the steps. He wore spats, a European-cut suit of the 1920s, and he twirled a sleek drooping mustache with pride. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Monsieur Hercule Poirot.

  “And, finally, our first place winner, America’s favorite detective, Miss Marigold Rembrandt, as portrayed by her creator, America’s most popular mystery writer, Emma Clyde.”

  Cheers, stomping feet, and thunderous applause erupted.

  Annie passed out the Death on Demand certificates, shook everybody’s hand, allowed Emma to kiss her on both cheeks, and turned back to the mike.

  The costume winners filed down, and the Mystery Night suspects mounted the platform.

  Annie saw Bobby Frazier standing in front of the platform, notebook in hand. His face was somber, and he needed a shave, which made him look almost unsavory.

  “Before we reveal the perpetrator of our Sticky Wicket murder, I want to introduce our suspects to you in their own right, so that you may thank them for the splendid efforts they’ve made this week to provide you with a challenging mystery and a pleasant evening.

  “Lord Algernon has been played by my good friend and coconspirator, Max Darling.

  “Lady Alicia is Mrs. Jessica Merrill, who has worked very hard for the Historical Preservation Society of Chastain.

  “Roscoe Merrill, a member of the Society Board and a Chastain lawyer, has played the role of Nigel Davies.

  “I’m sure many of you recognized Edith Ferrier, another active clubwoman in Chastain, as Susannah Greatheart.

  “And Dr. Robert Sanford has served most capably as the dastardly Reginald Hoxton.

  “Finally, Miss Lucy Haines, a very active member of the Society, is Agnes, Lady Alicia’s maid.

  “A roun
d of applause for our players, please.”

  Gail stood on the side of the platform opposite Bobby. She was clapping for the suspects, but her eyes were on Bobby. Annie wondered if the damned fools had talked honestly to each other yet.

  “Now, for the real story behind the Sticky Wicket Mystery.” She paused dramatically, but her eyes skimmed the crowd for Miss Dora.

  “These are the clues which should have led you to the correct solution:

  “The broken piece of gold link from a necklace which was found in Reginald Hoxton’s trouser pocket.

  “The telltale mound of wood shavings on the workbench in the toolshed.

  “The smudge of putty in Reginald Hoxton’s pants pocket.

  “The discovery of real rubies secreted in a croquet ball.

  “The imitation necklace discovered in Susannah Greatheart’s lingerie.

  “The attempts of Lady Alicia’s maid to scatter suspicion among the guests.

  “Lord Algernon’s partiality for a pretty face, other than that of his wife.

  “What happened at the Gemtree Court on this fateful Saturday? We have a group of guests with some rather dark secrets. Reginald Hoxton is known about London as a man who plays cards too well and too often. Lady Alicia owes him 3,400 pounds, and he is pressing her for payment.

  “Miss Matilda Snooperton is a rather unattractive lady, with a penchant for blackmail and illicit liaisons. She has managed to snare a rather unworldly University don, Nigel Davies, but at the same time she is carrying on an affair with Lord Algernon, who has wearied of it. He tells her Saturday that they are through and the best he will do is give her a ticket to Venice.

  “Miss Susannah Greatheart is enamored of Nigel Davies and very bitter over his involvement with the insidious Miss Snooperton. She is quite pretty and rather naive and doesn’t realize that Lord Algernon has taken a fancy to her.

  “Agnes, the maid, is fiercely loyal to her mistress and quite eager to pass on to the police any information she has that would compromise the other guests.

  “Lady Alicia professes to have no interest in Miss Snooperton, terms her a dear girl, but she is quite snide about Susannah Greatheart.

  “So who did the dastardly deed?”

  “Hoxton,” a voice rumbled.

  “Susannah Greatheart! She’s a thief.”

  “Daves, that’s the ticket!”

  The Mystery Night participants exploded in chatter. It took Annie a couple of minutes to quiet them down.

  “Here is what actually happened. Saturday morning Miss Snooperton sees Lady Alicia in a clandestine meeting at the gazebo with Mr. Hoxton. Lady Alicia gives him her ruby necklace, which is famous throughout England. Miss Snooperton threatens to tell Lord Algernon unless Lady Alicia pays her a substantial sum. Of course, our gambling Lady Alicia is strapped, or she wouldn’t have agreed to give the necklace to Hoxton in the first place. She tells Miss Snooperton to meet her at the arbor after tea. They meet, Lady Alicia snatches up a croquet mallet, and that is the end of Miss Snooperton’s career in extortion. Lady Alicia’s motive, of course, is twofold. Lord Algernon mustn’t learn that the necklace has gone to Hoxton, and she is furious over Algernon’s involvement with Miss Snooperton. To pay off Hoxton without discovery, she had recently had a copy made of the necklace. However, now she knows there will be a murder investigation. She decides to confuse the issue by pretending that her necklace has been stolen, in hopes the murder will be linked to the robbery. In the excitement after she announces the robbery, she takes Hoxton aside and tells him that she returned to her room, found her copy gone, and had no choice but to reveal it had been stolen.

  “Hoxton, of course, is thrown into a panic. Of all the weekends for someone to rob Lady Alicia! He must hide the real necklace before he is accused of stealing it. However, he is resourceful. Under the guise of searching for the missing Miss Snooperton, he dashes down to his car, gets the car tool, uses it to prize open the lock to the toolshed, drills a hole in one of the croquet balls, and takes the rubies, which he has ripped from their settings, and hides them in the ball, which he closes up with putty. He paints over the spot and hides the ball in the boot of his car.

  “Lady Alicia, meanwhile, hides the fake necklace and the murder weapon in Miss Greatheart’s room, because she is jealous of Lord Algernon’s attraction to her.

  “The detectives who correctly identified Lady Alicia as the murderer did so because they realized that only Lady Alicia or Lord Algernon could have arranged for the creation of the fake necklace. Of the two, who needed money? Lady Alicia. The detectives realized, too, that Lady Alicia’s maid would know her mistress had removed the necklace for a period of time. They also observed Agnes’s frantic efforts to direct suspicion away from her mistress. The successful detectives considered and discarded the idea of two crimes (a fake robbery and an unrelated murder) occurring independently on the same day and concluded the perpetrator was indeed Lady Alicia.”

  The garden exploded with noise. Annie knew there would be some diehards who would protest, but her strategy was to sweep them right along.

  “I know you are all excited to learn who our successful detectives are. I am delighted to tell you that we have a Monday night team as a winner.”

  Cheers and moans.

  “Team No. 2 from Monday night, will you please file up on stage. Look who our mystery captain is! Come right on up here, Marigold Rembrandt—or should I say Emma Clyde?”

  Another familiar face, heavy with disappointment, stood near the platform.

  “But that’s not all.” Annie had to shout to be heard. “We have another winning team, which tied for the honor, turning in its solution at the same time last night. Team No. 6!”

  Annie would never regret that changed time.

  Mrs. Brawley charged up the steps, caught Annie’s hands and raised them high, like a prize fighter in triumph.

  “Our second winning team is captained by one of Broward’s Rock champion mystery readers, Mrs. Henrietta Brawley.”

  The band began to play, the winning mystery participants cheered, and the crowd yelled, whistled, and stomped.

  Annie grinned. She looked at the cheering mass of spectators, then her face stiffened.

  Chief Wells was shouldering through the crowd toward the platform, and there was no mistaking the grim jut of his jaw.

  23

  The crowd thickened at the base of the platform as mystery buffs moved toward the steps, eager to congratulate the winners. Annie lost sight of the Chief for a moment, then saw him bulling his way through a clot of contentious losers. The druggist from Broward’s Rock was shaking his head in disgust. Wells stepped around him and reached out to clap Bobby Frazier on the shoulder, and she heard snatches of his low-voiced command, “… arresting you … murders of Corinne Webster and Idell Gordon. I wish to inform you of your rights …”

  Those near enough to hear stood still to listen, but most of the Mystery Night participants continued to press noisily toward the platform. Lightning flickered on the horizon.

  From her vantage point, Annie saw Bobby’s head jerk back, but he made no move to escape Wells’s grasp. His eyes searched the crowd. She looked, too.

  Gail stood at the other end of the platform, caught up in a milling stream of people. She stood on tiptoe, her eyes wide, her face stricken. She struggled to push her way past the crowd, and she began to scream.

  “No, he didn’t do it. He didn’t!”

  Bobby started toward her, but Wells yanked his arm. Bobby gave one last despairing look, then walked with Wells to the circular drive where a police car waited.

  Stymied by the surging crowd, Gail turned and ran toward the platform steps. She stumbled up them in her haste and darted to Annie. As she yanked the microphone away, her voice, high and strident, boomed across the night. “I killed my aunt! I killed Corinne Webster and Idell Gordon. I did it!”

  Lucy huddled on a chair beside Gail’s bed, clinging to the girl’s hand. The convulsive sobs were beginn
ing to ease.

  John Sanford closed his bag and motioned for Annie to come out into the hall.

  He rubbed a hand against the stubble on his chin. He looked tired and thin and irritated. “The girl’s about to snap. That shot will take hold pretty soon. For Christ’s sake, what got into her? What a damn fool thing to do! I’ve known that kid since she was born. She couldn’t kill a cat. Frazier probably did it. A guy like him would never pass up a chance to marry millions.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I’ve got surgery in the morning. I need to get home, get some sleep, but I want you to take this.” He opened his bag and lifted out a couple of tablet samples of Valium. “See that Lucy takes these and goes to bed. She’s about ready to collapse.”

  After he left, she eased open the door and stepped back inside Gail’s room. The girl’s breathing had slowed. Despite her efforts to stay awake, her eyelids kept flickering shut.

  Annie walked across the room and stood beside Lucy, who never even looked up, her gaze locked on Gail’s pale face. Sanford was right. Lucy needed help, too. She hunched in the chair like an aged crow in bright garb, her red and gold silk dress a shocking contrast to her grieving face.

  Annie gently touched her shoulder.

  Lucy slowly looked up, her eyes full of distress. “This is so hideous, so dreadful. To see Gail scream and cry …” Tears slipped down her cheeks, staining the silk of her dress, falling as gently and steadily as the spring rain against the windows.

  “Shh now. She’s asleep. It will be better tomorrow.”

  Lucy lifted the flaccid hand, held it to her cheek. “She loves him terribly. Oh, God. What are we going to do?”

  Annie felt incredibly weary. The delicate Dresden clock on the bedside table chimed twice. Two A.M.

  “We can’t do anything more tonight. Max is seeing about a lawyer for him, but I’m afraid it pretty well tore it when he confessed, too, after Gail did. Wells got it down. And that seems to me pretty much all they’ll need since they found a pencil with his fingerprints on it in Idell’s office.”