The Name of the Game Was Murder

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  “But what does she do for fun? I saw a cribbage board in Aug—uh—Mr. Trevor’s office. Do they play cribbage? Read? Watch TV?” I sidetracked myself by asking, “There is a television set somewhere around, isn’t there?”

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Engstrom said. “It’s too difficult to get good reception here.”

  I wanted to ask her more about Aunt Thea, but Mrs. Engstrom’s face had closed over, like someone pulling down a shade, and I had to admit to myself that I had no right to get nosy. “All right, I’ll stay,” I called after Mrs. Engstrom as she turned and moved toward the door.

  She stopped and actually smiled at me, and I could see how protective she was of Aunt Thea. I guessed that the staff all detested Augustus and loved Thea, and must be here only because they were paid awfully well.

  My mouth was full of hash browns when Laura Reed staggered into the dining room and flopped into a chair. “Coffee,” she groaned. “There must be coffee around here.”

  I got up and brought her a cup of coffee. It was hot and black. She sipped at it for a few minutes, and apparently it did something for her, because she began to wake up. She sat a little straighter, took a deep breath, and looked to each side, twisting to peer behind her.

  “Do you want something else?” I asked. “Breakfast is over there.” Pointedly, I added, “It’s a serve-yourself.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she whispered, and leaned toward me, shoving a folded paper into my hand. “I just wanted to make sure that Augustus wasn’t skulking around someplace. Honestly! The nerve of that man! He reminds me of the director on my last picture. Terrible personalities, both of them.”

  I opened the paper and saw that it was the list of football scores.

  “You offered to help me,” Laura said. “So help. Okay?”

  “Augustus said …” Oh, who cared what Augustus had said. I scanned the list. “Have you tried to work it out yourself?”

  Laura sighed. “Work out what? I didn’t even read it. I don’t know anything about football scores or what they mean.”

  “I don’t know all the teams myself,” I said. I checked the first of the scores to see if they were in that easy number-code, and they weren’t, but maybe there was another kind of clue in one of the numbers. “I’ll read the list out loud,” I told her. “If anything seems familiar to you, just speak up. One of these numbers might be a locker number, or part of an old address, or something like that.”

  She nodded, and I began to read: “Final Scores: Rams 14, Buffalo Bills 6; Falcons 13, Oilers 21; Giants 6, Forty-Niners 7; Emerald Bay 1, Stars 0.”

  There were a lot more listed, but I didn’t read them, because Laura let out a tiny, high-pitched shriek, sounding like a mouse being chased by a cat. She clapped her hands to her cheeks, gasped as though she were hyper-ventilating, and stared at me in terror.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Nothing!” she wheezed, and snatched the paper out of my hand.

  “Something I read must have—”

  “Never mind! Forget about it!” Laura jumped to her feet and ran out of the room.

  She couldn’t have worried that much about the scores. Was it the Emerald Bay and Stars teams that upset her? I’d never heard of either team, but then I wasn’t that much of a football fan. I buttered a muffin and began to eat it. The people in this house were getting stranger and stranger.

  By the time I’d finished breakfast Alex and Julia had come downstairs. Alex had dark bags under his eyes, and Julia looked terrible. The heavy makeup she wore hadn’t helped a bit. I tried to make some kind of conversation with them, but Alex made it obvious that he didn’t want to talk.

  Julia seemed to like to talk about herself, so I said, “I couldn’t believe it when Norelle died.”

  Julia peered at me over the rim of her coffee cup. “Who?”

  “Norelle. In your Sudden Surrender. I watched it on TV.”

  “Oh,” she mumbled, and then she said, “Oh” again as though she’d suddenly figured out who I was talking about.

  “Why did you decide to have her die?”

  “I—I guess it just seemed to fit the plot.”

  “Even though Prince Eric wanted to marry her?”

  “Tough luck for him,” she mumbled.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “I was mixed up. Prince Eric wasn’t in Sudden Surrender. He was in Leftover Love.”

  Julia seemed flustered, and a couple of drops of coffee sloshed onto the saucer as she put down her cup. “Oh. That’s right,” she said.

  I chuckled. “I can see how I could get mixed up about which of your characters were in which book, but it’s funny that you would, too.”

  She didn’t look too happy, so I searched my mind for something else having to do with writing. “When you were first starting out as a writer, did you get many rejections?” I asked.

  She had just put her coffee cup to her lips, and she made a kind of funny sputtering sound in it. She managed to wipe off her mouth and chin before she turned and clutched my arm with one hand. Her long fingernails hurt. “What do you mean by that?” she demanded.

  Alex had stopped eating to watch us, and that seemed to upset Julia even more. “Tell me,” she snapped. “What do you mean?”

  Startled, and a little bit scared of her, I tugged my arm away and slid my chair out of her reach. “I—I’m hoping to be a writer too,” I said quickly, “and I need to know all sorts of things, and I don’t have any writers at home to talk to. Of course, when I was in the ninth grade an author came to visit our school. She’s one of my very favorite authors, and I love her books, but she told us that her first book was rejected twelve times, and then the thirteenth publisher—”

  “Stop!” Julia cried, and clapped her hands over her ears. “I didn’t ask for a history of your life.”

  “I was just trying to explain,” I said. “The visiting author told us her husband encouraged her to keep trying. Did your husband encourage you?”

  Julia put both hands on the table to steady herself and frowned at me. “Who put you up to this? Augustus?”

  “Put me up to what? I was just trying to be friendly.”

  She studied me for a moment, then seemed satisfied and went back to staring into the bottom of her coffee cup. “I can’t think this early in the morning, so no more quizzes. Haven’t you got something better to do?”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, even more embarrassed because I could feel myself blushing. I pushed back my chair and left the dining room. What a grouch Julia was! I bet she wouldn’t tell me about any early rejections of her manuscripts because she’d had a million of them.

  In the entry hall Aunt Thea met me with a smile. “I’ve got fresh orange juice and cinnamon rolls in the sun-room,” she said. “You probably didn’t feel like eating much breakfast, Samantha. Why don’t you settle in with me, and we’ll nibble on rolls and enjoy the storm?”

  “You enjoy storms too?” I asked.

  She put an arm around my shoulders, and I put one of mine around her waist. In spite of my anger at Augustus, I really wouldn’t have walked out on Aunt Thea. I was glad that I had told Mrs. Engstrom I’d changed my mind about leaving.

  When we’d settled into comfortable chairs in the sun-room, I asked Aunt Thea some of the same questions I’d asked Mrs. Engstrom. Aunt Thea was an intelligent, active woman, and I couldn’t imagine that she’d be happy hidden away here, trying to placate her husband. As she talked about some of the famous people they’d visited and who had visited them in New York and here on the island, I tried to figure it out. She was here either because she was still very much in love with Augustus, or because she was afraid of him, or because … maybe …

  I began to wonder if he might have some hold over her. He’d included Thea in the game. Did that mean she had a secret in her past life? One too awful to be made public?

  But Thea was Augustus Trevor’s wife! What kind of a monster would terrify his own wife?

  Laura came into the room
and sat on one of the wicker couches. She stretched out and sighed dramatically before she said, “Whatever Augustus plans to do, I wish he’d get it over with. This waiting is horrible. I tried to call my agent, and would you believe, because of the storm your phone is out.”

  Alex, still carrying his coffee cup, wandered in, stared out the windows for a moment, then perched next to Laura. “I hate rain,” he said. “It makes everything look dreary.”

  “I’m sorry about the storm,” Thea said. “I’m sure none of us slept well.”

  “As a matter of fact I did,” Alex said. He drained the cup and put it on a nearby table. “I even slept quite late this morning.”

  “Probably because you were up so late last night,” Laura said.

  He shot her a glance from the corners of his eyes. “I wasn’t up late. We all went upstairs together, as I remember.”

  Laura shook her head. “Your room is next to mine. I heard you moving around and your door opening and closing. I looked at my bedside clock, and it was nearly midnight.”

  I perked up and listened carefully. Had it been Alex at my door?

  “I don’t know what you heard, but it wasn’t me,” Alex insisted.

  “It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

  “Laura dear,” he said, “you’re beginning to sound like a busybody.”

  Laura apparently decided not to continue the argument, but she pressed her lips together in a pout and glared at Alex before she said, “You’re such an inspiring person, Alex. It’s wonderful how you managed to achieve so much when you had the terrible handicap of a dysfunctional childhood.”

  “Laura …” The word sounded like a warning.

  “Even changing your name,” she said. “Of course, I suppose that didn’t bother you, since you never knew your parents and Alex Chambers has so much more … marketing appeal than—what was it? Keriomaglopolous or something like that?”

  Thea reached over and patted Alex’s arm. “No one’s childhood is perfect,” she said. “If you had a difficult time, then I’m sure it helped you to be even more sympathetic and understanding of others.”

  He glanced sharply, questioningly, at Thea, mumbled “Thank you,” then stared down at his white ostrich boots as though he hadn’t seen them before.

  His air of conceit had vanished, and I felt sorry for him for thinking he needed it as a security blanket. Why couldn’t he be proud that he’d been able to rise above his early poverty?

  Julia wandered into the sun-room, complaining, “So here’s where everyone is gathering. No one told me.” She dragged a small wooden chair from its place by the wall, in order to sit close to the group. “Arthur’s furious,” she announced. “He tried to get through to his Washington office, but your phone isn’t working.”

  “I’m sorry,” Thea apologized. “We often lose phone service during bad weather.”

  Laura sighed. “When is this dreadful storm going to be over?”

  Lucy, who had just arrived with fresh hot coffee, said, “Mrs. Trevor, the weather reporter on the radio said he’s not counting on good weather until Monday or Tuesday.”

  There was a general groan, but Thea said, “Thank you, Lucy. If you see Senator Maggio, will you please ask him to join us?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Lucy said, but as she left the room the senator and Buck passed her.

  “We heard voices,” Buck said, and he pulled up another of the small, straight-backed chairs that stood against the wall. Senator Maggio did the same, squeezing his chair into the circle. It occurred to me that we were like a group of pioneers, drawing our wagons into a ring for protection.

  Buck was his unruly, beefy self, but Senator Maggio probably looked worse than anyone else in the room. His face sagged, and his eyes were sunken behind such dark circles, he looked as though someone had punched him.

  “I’m afraid you didn’t get much sleep last night,” Thea said gently. “Didn’t the hot milk help?”

  “Not a bit,” he said, then quickly added, “but you were kind to prepare it for me.”

  Thea smiled at him. “It’s fortunate that we were both restless at the same time.”

  “So you were downstairs too,” Laura said. She smiled and tossed a sharp glance in Alex’s direction. “Thea, did you, by any chance, run into Alex? Around midnight?”

  Thea shook her head. “It was after two when I decided I’d never get to sleep and I wandered down to the kitchen.”

  Now it was Alex’s turn to stare smugly at Laura.

  So … Senator Maggio had been wandering around the house last night too. But then, so had Aunt Thea. I still couldn’t figure out who had been at my door.

  Julia let out a long, aggrieved sigh. “That’s neither here nor there,” she said. “We’re all waiting for Augustus to make his next move. Where is he?”

  “He’s usually down by this time,” Thea said, and looked at her watch. She pressed a little button by her chair, and in less than a minute Walter appeared.

  “Will you please see what’s keeping Mr. Trevor?” she asked, and with a nod Walter left.

  We could hear voices in the entry hall, and we all listened, thinking Walter had met up with Augustus, but one voice was a woman’s, and it sounded sharp and agitated. It must have been Lucy’s.

  “You seem to have a devoted staff,” Julia said. “I can’t imagine how you’d find anyone willing to live out here away from civilization.”

  “I suppose we’re very fortunate,” Thea answered. “Lucy and Tomás, our cook, have been with us just a short while, and Walter only a year or two longer; but Frances Engstrom has been in our employ for over thirty years, and has become a dear and close friend.”

  “Only you, Thea, would make friends of the household help,” Julia said, and rolled her eyes, but I thought it was nice that Thea and Mrs. Engstrom were good friends.

  The senator pointedly looked at his watch and grunted with exasperation, while Buck said, “Take it easy, Arthur. We aren’t going anywhere.”

  “I’d like to get this so-called game over with,” Senator Maggio said.

  Alex began to answer him, but again we heard voices in the hall, and there was no mistaking that somebody was very upset.

  We were all staring toward the open doorway when Mrs. Engstrom, Lucy, and Walter appeared. Mrs. Engstrom was pale and she fought to regain her balance as a tearful Lucy clung to her. “Mrs. Trevor,” Mrs. Engstrom said, but her voice wobbled and she couldn’t continue.

  Walter made an effort to collect himself. He stood a little taller, took a deep breath, and said, “Mrs. Trevor, Lucy discovered that Mr. Trevor’s bed had not been slept in, so I went to his office to see if he had spent the night there on the couch.”

  He gulped, and I could see his Adam’s apple wobble up and down before he continued. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Trevor. Mr. Trevor is dead.”

  Thea gasped and half rose to her feet, but Lucy shrieked, “He’s not just dead, Mrs. Trevor! There’s blood on his head, and there’s blood splattered on his desk! Mr. Trevor was murdered!”

  SIX

  Lucy had been right about the blood. There was a lot of it. We all rushed to the door of Augustus’s office and tried to push and elbow our way inside—but not too far inside. It was as though we really couldn’t believe what had happened to Augustus unless we actually saw it for ourselves.

  Augustus Trevor was seated in his chair, his head on the desk next to the computer keyboard. One bent arm covered his face.

  This was not a TV cop show in which the problem would be over in half an hour. Augustus Trevor had been a real person whose life had been taken away. I suddenly felt sick. For a moment it was hard to breathe, and I found that I was shaking. I held on to the door frame for support and took a couple of long, shuddering breaths to steady myself. The horrible feeling gradually slid away, and I knew I’d be able to handle the situation.

  However, Laura moaned softly and gracefully sank to the floor, sitting with her back against the wall, her hands clasped in her la
p while silent tears spilled from her closed eyelids. I would have offered to help her—at least bring her a glass of water—except that I’d seen her do exactly the same thing when she was playing the part of a woman whose husband went off to battle in that Revolutionary War movie she starred in a few years ago.

  Alex gagged, turned white, and ran from the room, shoving Buck aside with more strength than I’d thought he had.

  “Ouch!” Buck muttered as he staggered into the pointed open drawer of a nearby file cabinet.

  I suddenly remembered Thea and turned to look for her. She was standing just outside the door, Mrs. Engstrom’s arms around her.

  “She’ll be all right,” Mrs. Engstrom said as her glance met mine. “It’s a terrible shock, but don’t worry. She’ll be all right.”

  I nodded. Thea’s face hadn’t lost its color, and she seemed to be in good hands.

  I went back to the door of the office as Senator Maggio ordered everyone, “Stay away from the crime scene. There’s evidence here that should be protected.”

  “If you’re looking for the murder weapon, it’s probably that fireplace thing,” Julia said, and pointed at the sharp-ended brass poker that lay on the floor.

  There were dark stains near the point, so she might have been right; but something else had caught my attention. The mesh screen across the fireplace that would normally have been closed was open, and lying among the ashes were some curled and cracked metal and plastic pieces.

  “Look at the fireplace,” I told the others. “Someone has burned some computer disks.”

  In one bound Buck fell to his knees before the fireplace and groped among the ashes, jerking out the disks and making a terrible mess. “There’s scraps of paper too,” Buck said. “Looks like typing paper.”

  He got to his feet, one hand holding aloft the disks and a couple of scorched corners from typing paper—one with the page number 395 printed on it—while he tried to wipe the ashes from his other hand on the seat of his jeans.