“Who is it, Detective?” I asked, more than a hint of desperation in my voice.
She crossed her arms. “I shouldn’t divulge that information. I’m waiting for reinforcements to arrive.” She started to walk past us.
Doug put his hand out to stop her. “I’m sorry, Detective. But my parents are staying here. You need to let me know who has been killed.”
Detective Glass stared at us for a long moment. She put her hands on her hips and faced us. “It’s not either of your parents. That’s all I can say.”
We both exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” I said.
Detective Glass hurried toward the rear entrance of the club, where I guessed the ambulance and authorities were arriving. If what she said was true, the emergency medics had barreled down Massachusetts Avenue for a very brief visit.
“We should find your parents. Do you want to text them?” I asked.
“Let’s check one place before I do that.”
I followed Doug down the hallway. After he turned left down a corridor, I knew where he was going. It was a safe bet.
Sure enough, a healthy quorum of the Mayflower Society had decided that when the going got tough, the tough opted for daytime cocktails. They weren’t settling for wine or beer, either. Charles had two stainless steel cocktail shakers in front of him, and he was busy pouring booze into both. Tom Cruise had nothing on this guy.
Doug spotted his parents in the corner of the bar. Buffy saw us as we approached. “Doug, Kit! Thank goodness you’re here.” She tapped her almost empty martini glass. “Will you be dears and get us another round?”
Doug stopped in his tracks. Under his breath he muttered, “I suppose it’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“Not on the East Coast,” I whispered.
“No point in fighting it,” he answered. “I’ll get you a drink, too. You’ll need it, believe me.”
He turned on his heels and waved to Charles, who could hopefully replicate their earlier order. I had a feeling Charles might be serving quite a few second and third rounds this afternoon.
I maneuvered through the crowd and arrived at my future in-laws’ table. Winston stood and gave me a kiss on the cheek, and Buffy bestowed a polite shoulder hug. After taking a seat, I asked, “Rough morning?”
“It’s been a nightmare!” Buffy buried her face in her hands.
Winston leaned over and gave her a hug. “This ordeal has been too much for her,” he explained.
Uh-oh. Buffy was coming apart at the seams, and we had another dead body on our hands. My hand crept into my purse, searching for my iPhone. My fingers itched to text Meg and provide her with details. Before I could try to sneak a message off to her, Doug arrived at the table with our drinks.
“I need to go back to the bar to retrieve one more,” he said. “Did my parents tell you who was murdered?”
“Not yet. We got sidetracked,” I said.
Buffy recovered sufficiently from her temporary nervous breakdown to sip her drink. “A terrible tragedy! A dynasty wiped out over the course of a few days.” She paused for dramatic effect and fingered her pearl necklace. “It’s almost Shakespearean.”
Now I was utterly confused. Perhaps we had been too sanguine in our assessment. Was this Buffy’s second drink or had there been more than one earlier round?
Doug saw the perplexed look on my face. “Mother, you’re talking in riddles.” He pointed at her martini glass. “May I suggest you consume your current drink more slowly than the previous ones?” Buffy glared at Doug but remained silent. Winston’s hand covered his mouth to stifle a laugh.
Doug turned to me. “You’re not going to like what I have to say, especially since we thought we had Grayson’s murder solved.”
I took a gulp of my drink. Buffy wasn’t the only one who could benefit from a little liquid courage. “You can tell me,” I said. “I’m not getting any younger.”
“Let’s put it this way. Kiki Bancroft won’t be getting any older.”
Yikes. Nothing screws up a murder investigation more than finding out your supposed killer has become a victim.
Chapter Twenty-One
Doug scurried off to pick up the remaining libation. Buffy might have reached her limit, but I had only just begun. The euphoria I’d felt following the identification of the poison at the Smithsonian drained out of my body, replaced by the dread of defeat. We were back at square one. I’d been supremely confident we’d solved the case and cleared Doug’s father. Perhaps we’d met our match. This murderer had killed twice, right under the noses of his or her closest friends.
Doug’s parents did look out of sorts. Buffy was biting her lip, thus spoiling the effect of the carefully matched lipstick that accented her pleated taupe crepe dress. Winston tapped his foot on the ground nervously as he fiddled with his tumbler, swirling the amber liquid I could smell from across the table. He wasn’t settling for twelve-year-old Scotch today.
“I take it you knew about Kiki, right?” I asked.
Buffy snorted. “Knew? We were there.”
I took another belt of my G&T. “You were what?”
Winston leaned in. “We found her, Kit.”
I was almost afraid to ask the question, but curiosity overrode my desire to stay sane. “And where was she, if I may ask?”
Holding his drink, Doug rejoined the table. I recounted the minor detail concerning the discovery of Kiki’s body. “They were just about to tell me the location,” I said.
Buffy looked pointedly at Winston, who cleared his throat before speaking. “The Poets’ Room. It’s across the hallway from our chamber.”
“I know what you’re talking about.” It was the small, cozy alcove where I’d discovered Trevor working on his book.
“Wait a second. Where was Kiki staying?” Doug asked.
“At first,” Buffy said, “she didn’t want to stay at the Continental Club, but then she decided to run for Grayson’s position during tomorrow’s business meeting. She told several of us at your dinner party that she’d arranged for a room.”
“And do you know where her room was?” I asked, dreading the answer.
Winston shifted in his chair. “She took the only available room at the club—the one you and Doug had stayed in.”
Doug blinked several times. “So she was right next door?”
Buffy answered quickly. “We already told that pesky policewoman we have no information on her whereabouts last night. We came back from your party and went to bed right away.”
“I hope you didn’t say it as defensively as that,” said Doug. “You might as well help the police put the cuffs on Father.”
My palm-out gesture was meant to put a stop to Doug’s destructive train of thought. “Hold it. Before we get carried away, let’s establish a few facts,” I said. “When did you find Kiki?”
Buffy was eager to respond. “Around noon. She wasn’t at breakfast or the first lecture. No one thought anything of it. Kiki wasn’t exactly the early-to-bed, early-to-rise type.”
Winston picked up the thread. “Before lunch, we went upstairs to our room to freshen up. I needed to check my blood sugar to make sure it was under control.”
Buffy shook her finger. “The stress of the past several days hasn’t helped your father’s diabetes. His numbers have been way too high.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right.” Winston sighed. “Plus, I’ve had way too many of these.” He shook the contents of his glass.
“He doesn’t like me to hover when he’s doing his test. So I told him I’d wait for him outside. That’s when I wandered into the Poets’ Room …” said Buffy.
“And you discovered Kiki,” I finished.
Buffy nodded. “I screamed, of course. Winston came running out of the room. Unfortunately, he had a syringe in his hand.”
“My blood sugar reading was too high. I needed to give myself a shot of insulin before lunch. I was just about to do it when I heard Buffy’s yell,” he explained.<
br />
Doug’s eyes widened. “So when Mother screamed, you came running.” He pointed at Winston. “And then everyone and their brother came out into the hallway.”
Winston muttered, “That’s about right.”
Doug continued, “And besides finding Mother hovering over the body, everyone saw you with a syringe in your hand.”
Winston shrugged his shoulders. He looked defeated, like a Washington Nationals fan at a New York Mets rally. His eyes normally sparkled with excitement; now his eyelids drooped from exhaustion. He couldn’t take much more of this. If we didn’t solve the murders pronto, the situation was going to deteriorate rapidly.
I asked the obvious question. “Did Detective Glass see you with the syringe?”
Winston wiped his forehead, now glistening with light beads of sweat. “No, she wasn’t there when it happened.”
Buffy broke in. “She arrived about ten minutes later. Apparently she was already headed to the club to continue investigating Grayson’s murder.”
“But she knows the unfortunate circumstances?” Doug asked.
Winston nodded grimly. “When she arrived at the scene, several people provided her with the details.”
“You saw Kiki’s body?” I asked Buffy.
“Of course. You wondered why I didn’t stop at one of these.” She raised her glass.
“Speaking from experience, discovering dead bodies is traumatic,” I said.
We all chuckled. Our laughter thankfully lightened the mood, which had gotten more depressing than a Senate committee hearing to solve the national debt crisis.
We could wait to talk to Detective Glass and press her for important details, but we had a star eyewitness sitting right in front of us. I decided to forge onward. “This might be difficult, since you’ve known Kiki for a long time, but can you describe what she looked like when you found her?”
Buffy pressed her lips together and rested her chin in her right hand, deep in thought. After a few seconds of what appeared to be reflection, she said slowly, “Her face was twisted in pain, as if she was caught by a painful surprise. She wasn’t crumpled in a heap. Instead, she lay flat on her back, limbs straight and extended.” Buffy demonstrated by raising her arms overhead.
Doug brightened. “That’s helpful, Mother. Was anything disheveled or messy, like she might have had a convulsion before she died?”
“Not that I could see. She looked …” Buffy searched for the right word, “paralyzed. Except she wasn’t paralyzed. She was dead.”
Doug and I locked eyes. We had to be thinking along the same lines. The South America poisoner had struck again. But there was a major problem with that theory. Kiki Bancroft had been the likely supplier of the deadly concoction. Had her death been an accident?
I lowered my voice so only Doug could hear. “Do you think Kiki ingested the poison mistakenly? Or spilled it on herself somehow?”
He whispered back, “That would be a convenient solution to this whole mess, but I don’t think so. Remember your question about curare to Celeste. It’s only dangerous if it hits the bloodstream.”
I hit my forehead with my hand. “How could I forget? This mystery has too many crazy details.”
Doug smiled. “That’s where I come in.”
I had to admit that Doug’s help had been invaluable. He really had a knack for sleuthing, although I’m sure he couldn’t wait to return to the comfort of his carrel in the Georgetown Library and his writing desk in our condo. Both had been neglected for several days, and his next book wouldn’t write itself. The quicker we figured out the killer, the sooner he could get back to his precious footnotes and folios.
“We’re dealing with another injection, I would imagine,” I said.
“I know. My father gallivanting up and down the hallway brandishing a syringe doesn’t help matters,” muttered Doug.
“That’s an understatement,” I said.
Doug turned from our private conversation back to his mother. “Did you happen to notice a mark on Kiki’s neck? Remember, Kit saw a small puncture wound on Grayson’s body when she found him.”
Buffy smoothed her hair and narrowed her eyes. “Darling, I’m not sure how Kit noticed something like that on Grayson, but I didn’t hang around to examine poor Kiki. I screamed for your father, who appeared seconds later.”
Doug faced Winston. “And I suppose you didn’t notice anything on Kiki’s neck?”
“Sorry, son. I took one look and pulled your mother out of the room. Then others arrived at the scene.”
“Who showed up?” I said.
Buffy and Winston considered my question for a moment before answering. “Frederick and Lola were there,” Buffy said.
“Cecilia and Drake,” added Winston.
“Anyone else?” asked Doug.
“Unfortunately, Professor Mansfield also appeared,” said Buffy.
“Was he upset? How did he act?” I probed.
“It’s hard to tell with James,” said Winston. “He’s so restrained. But he did seem unnerved. He pushed past us and stared at Kiki’s body for a minute or two. Then he returned to his room. I don’t think he said a word.”
I looked around the bar. Professor Mansfield hadn’t joined the rest of the crowd. If he was hiding from his Mayflower brethren, was it due to guilt or grief? Perhaps he’d killed Grayson to be with Kiki, but after the deed was done, she’d had second thoughts about their relationship.
“What happened next?” I asked.
Winston replied, “Frederick said something about notifying the police. He dialed 911 with his cellphone. Lola ran off to inform the Continental Club staff.”
“Cecilia noticed you had a syringe in your hand,” said Buffy. “She made a snide remark.”
“Yes, she said something about it being deadly coincidence. She was being dramatic, as usual,” said Winston. “Cecilia can’t help it. It’s the novelist in her.”
Buffy broke in, “Lola returned with a manager from the club. He said he’d stand outside the Poets’ Room until the police showed up. That’s when Cecilia suggested we head to the bar for a drink.”
Winston broke in, “No one wanted to be there a moment longer. So it seemed like a good idea.”
“We don’t know when she was killed,” I said. “We’d have to find out if Detective Glass has an approximate time of death. If she’s willing to share,” I added.
Doug laid a hand on my arm. “That’s true, although all the possible suspects were staying at the Continental Club last night and were here this morning for the meetings. I’m not sure the precise time of death will matter that much.”
“Good point,” I said. “We should focus on finding out if Kiki was killed in the same manner as Grayson.”
I was just about to tell Doug it might make sense for me to walk upstairs and find out if Detective Glass might be willing to share a few details of the latest murder with me. Before I could speak, Frederick Valdez approached the table and grabbed an empty chair next to mine. “Good to see you again, Kit. Sorry that your introduction to the Mayflower Society has been so deadly.” He winked at me playfully.
Buffy bristled. “Really, Frederick. Is it appropriate to make light of two murders?”
His voice boomed. “I was doing nothing of the sort. Simply reciting the facts.” He surveyed the table. “Everyone looks so glum. Let’s cut to the chase. With Kiki out of the way, Winston is a lock for tomorrow’s election.”
My future father-in-law sat up straight in his high-backed wooden chair. Winston’s voice sounded cold and unfriendly. “What are you implying, Valdez?”
Frederick snickered. “It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to put two and two together. I’m merely stating the obvious.”
Doug shifted closer so he could speak directly to Frederick. “Are you accusing my father of involvement in Kiki’s murder?”
Frederick assumed a convincing air of skepticism. “Don’t get carried away. A few days ago, Grayson Bancroft was killed. That freed up the pres
idency of the Mayflower Society. Until,” he paused dramatically, “his widow showed up and declared she wanted to assume her husband’s position. It would have been impossible for Mayflower to pass her over. But now that’s not a concern, is it?”
I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “That sure sounds like an accusation to me.”
Buffy had watched the verbal volley without comment. Like me, she’d heard enough. “How about another version of events, Frederick? With Grayson out of the way, you and Lola have the opportunity to take over as the grand philanthropic couple of Washington D.C. That is, until Kiki decided she was going to keep the Bancroft tradition going. Maybe you only planned on killing Grayson, but then Kiki complicated matters. She left you no choice.” Following her accusations, Buffy glared pointedly at the cellphone magnate.
Frederick slapped his knee, threw his head back, and laughed. “Touché, my dear Buffy. You’re cleverer than most people think. But if your story is true, how did I kill Grayson? A police search of our room yielded no plausible instrument to deliver whatever God-awful poison the murderer used. The same cannot be said for the search of your room.”
Frederick’s last words quieted the Hollingsworths. Doug shifted uncomfortably in his chair while Buffy and Winston stared at their drinks. Frederick had a point, and we all knew it.
I broke the awkward silence, whispering to Doug, “I’m going to find Detective Glass and see if she’ll share any information about Kiki’s death. I’ll be back in a few minutes. You should stay here in case anyone else decides to accuse your father of a double homicide.” Doug nodded. Leaving his parents would have been tantamount to throwing them to the wolves.
I hustled up the two flights of stairs to the guest rooms. The narrow hallway was filled with police, EMTs, crime scene techs, and other official-looking personnel. The Poets’ Room had been barricaded with yellow police tape. With so much confusion in the confined vestibule, no one paid any attention to me. I peeked around the corner to catch a glimpse of the murder scene. I couldn’t see much, but Buffy’s description of poor Kiki seemed dead on. This was certainly a repeat of Grayson’s murder.
Calamity at the Continental Club Page 19
