No one said anything. The only sound in the room was Buck slurping his soup.
“I’m due back in Washington on Friday for those confirmation hearings on Martinez,” Senator Maggio told us. “They should be routine. I’m sure she’ll get Senate approval.”
No one wanted to add to that, so again there was a long, miserable silence. The dining room was an interior room and didn’t have windows, but the storm was still loud enough that I could hear bursts of rain and wind slamming against the house.
“After the studio paired me with that overaged bozo on my last film,” Laura suddenly said, “I demanded casting approval on the next.” She looked at all the uninterested faces and added, her voice gradually fading away, “There isn’t exactly a contract yet, but we’re working things out, you understand.”
Maybe no one understood, because no one answered.
Finally, I laid my soup spoon on my plate, clutched the edge of the table so hard, my fingers hurt, and said, “One set of clues isn’t enough. If you’ll share your first set of clues with me, I might be able to help you make some sense of all this.”
“Those messages Augustus gave us won’t help,” Julia answered. “I don’t think he meant them as clues. They each contained information that would prove to us that Augustus knew something about us we’d rather no one else knew.”
Walter came in to take away the soup plates and bring in chocolate eclairs.
“None for me, thank you,” Laura and Julia said together, but Buck reached out and clamped his fingers around Walter’s wrist.
“I’ll eat theirs,” he said. For a moment I felt sorry for him. He was a big guy, and soup and salad probably weren’t enough to fill him up.
When we had finished lunch and were waiting for Thea to stand, Alex suddenly said, “Augustus had planned to give us more clues.”
“We know that,” Julia grumbled.
Alex half stood as he reached into the hip pocket on his very snug jeans. He pulled out a wad of envelopes and laid them on the table. We all stared.
“What are those?” Senator Maggio asked, although we could see the names printed in blue ink and Game Clue #3 on them.
“Where did you get these?” Thea asked.
“Where’d these come from? What’s this all about?” Buck asked.
“I happened upon them,” Alex said.
“Where? When?”
For a moment Alex scowled. “Where and when doesn’t matter. The point is, I found them.”
In Augustus Trevor’s bedroom? I thought. It had to be. He had the second set of clues with him when he was murdered. Maybe he wanted to keep the third set in a private place until he was ready to give them out.
Julia stretched to reach the envelope with her name on it and slid it across the table until she could pick it up. “My envelope’s been opened!” she complained.
“What difference does it make?” Alex asked.
“You opened all of them so you could read ours as well as yours!”
“That’s right,” he said. “I thought it would help me find the manuscript.”
Senator Maggio put on his most forceful voice. “I assumed we were working together.”
Alex just shrugged.
“Working together seems to be our only chance to succeed,” Thea told him.
“You can see, from those playing card clues, that Augustus meant us to share ideas,” Julia said.
Alex’s voice was sharp as he turned toward her. “Only to a point. Remember, he also said that only those of us smart enough to figure out the clues would win.”
Julia pushed back her chair, and her eyes narrowed with anger. “You’re saying that Augustus expected some of us to cheat the others? The way you tried to cheat us by finding the clues and hiding them from us?”
“Maybe,” Alex said. “In any case, I wasn’t able to figure them out. Does that make you happy?”
“Deliriously,” Julia snapped.
Laura sniffed self-righteously and said, “At least we know we can’t trust Alex any longer.”
“No sermons,” Alex said. “I’ve given you the next set of clues. Do you want them, or not?”
Thea rose. “Let’s take them to the sun-room.”
I ran upstairs to get my pad and pen.
The little door at the head of the winding stairs to my tower room was standing ajar, although I knew I had locked it. I automatically reached for the key I’d shoved into my pocket and pulled it out, along with the folded paper with my GET LOST message on it.
I shoved them both back into my pocket and moved forward cautiously, peering around the edge of the door. The room was empty, but it was obvious that someone had searched it. The drawers of the small chest were open, the few things I’d brought had spilled out, and my jacket was lying on the floor, the pockets turned inside out.
Why would someone do this to me? I didn’t have anything anyone would want.
Or did I?
Buck had talked about the clue Augustus had given me, repeating what Augustus had said. I’d tried to tell them all that it wasn’t true my clue made more sense than theirs, that Augustus had only been joking; but it was plain, from the looks of my room, that at least one of them hadn’t believed me. I wished now I hadn’t been too embarrassed to tell them that the message had only been GET LOST.
I dumped my things back into the drawers and closed them; picked up the set of clues, pen, and pad, which were scattered across the bed; and left the room, carefully locking the door behind me.
There was something I had to find out. I walked down the long, empty hall, chose a door at random, and tried my key in the lock. It easily opened the door. Rats! As far as protection went, my key was good for nothing. All the bedroom door keys were probably made from the same mold.
I couldn’t help glancing into the room. From the tie draped over the back of a chair, I knew it must be Senator Maggio’s room. A dresser stood near the door, and I saw on top of it, next to a lap-top computer, the envelope Augustus had given the senator.
Whatever is in that envelope is none of my business, I told myself.
But I answered, We’re dealing with a murder. I need to find out as much as I can about the clues so I can help solve them, don’t I?
Do you want to be as sneaky as Alex?
It’s not the same thing, I insisted. If I solve the clues, it might keep someone else from being murdered.
I didn’t like arguing with myself, so I stepped inside the room, quickly opened the envelope, and found myself looking at a train schedule for a lot of small towns. I had no idea where. One name was circled: Bonino. It sounded familiar, but I had no idea where the town of Bonino was or what it meant as far as being a clue.
I returned the letter to the envelope, put it where it had been, and left the room. I had tucked the key into my pocket and was passing the door of the Red Room when it suddenly opened, and Lucy walked out. She was carrying a dusting cloth and a can of spray stuff in one hand, a small wastepaper basket in the other.
Lucy started when she saw me, but I smiled with relief that I hadn’t been caught in the senator’s room. There was a question that had been bothering me, and Lucy could probably answer it.
“The door keys for the upstairs bedrooms are all for show, aren’t they?” I asked. “I mean the same key fits every door.”
“That’s right,” Lucy said.
“Isn’t that a problem?”
She looked surprised. “Why should it be? The only people who come here are Mr. and Mrs. Trevor’s guests. You don’t have to lock doors against guests.”
Even guests who sneak around in the middle of the night? I didn’t want to tell Lucy about my midnight visitor, so I just nodded and said, “So none of the rooms can really be locked.”
“Just the wine cellar,” she said. “Mr. Trevor kept it locked, and that was a big nuisance for Walter and Tomás, especially when they needed to get wine during the times that Mr. Trevor couldn’t be disturbed.” She smiled. “Mr. Trevor was si
lly about that wine cellar. None of us were going to help ourselves to his wine.”
A gust of wind rattled around the house, and Lucy shivered. “I wish the storm was over,” she said. “I wish the phone company could fix the lines.”
“So Aunt Thea could call the police,” I added.
Lucy took a step closer to me and said, barely above a whisper, “I’m scared here. Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said.
“It’s bad enough Mr. Trevor got himself murdered. I keep thinking that the murderer is here in this house. What if he decides to kill somebody else?”
I shivered and moved closer to Lucy. “Don’t let yourself think like that,” I said. “You’re perfectly safe. You’re not playing the game Mr. Trevor set up. If anyone is in danger, it’s bound to be one of the game-players.”
“That’s not what Walter said,” Lucy told me, and her eyes were as round as the curve of her cheeks and face. “We all know that you’re the one who’s got that special clue that gives you more information than the rest of them put together. If somebody else is going to be killed, it’s very likely to be you!”
NINE
I had to get out of that dark hallway and away from Lucy, so I ran all the way down the stairs and into the sun-room.
I took the only empty chair. It was one of the hard, straight-backed chairs, but I didn’t mind. I tried not to stare as I examined each face. Alex’s expression was blank, Julia’s was puzzled, and Thea’s was concerned; but the other three were steaming. Something had really made them angry. I kept in mind that one of these people was a murderer. One of them had searched my room. And, according to Walter’s way of thinking, one of them might be after me!
“Are you feeling well, Samantha?” Aunt Thea asked. “You look a little flushed.”
“I’m okay,” I told her, and—even though my fingers trembled—I managed to flip some pages over the top of my writing pad until I reached a clean sheet of paper. “What kind of clues have we got this time?”
“Clues?” Laura threw her sheet of paper at me. It landed at my feet, and I bent to pick it up. “These aren’t clues! They’re just more of Augustus’s nasty comments!”
On her sheet of paper was typed SHE LAID AN EGG, AND IT WAS A DOOZY.
I had to agree with Laura that the statement wasn’t very nice. She must have been unhappy enough about the bad reviews of her past two movies. She didn’t need an amateur critic’s report.
“What Augustus wrote to me isn’t flattering either,” Senator Maggio said, “and I have no idea why he had to drag my family into this.”
“What does your clue say?” I asked.
As a pulse pounded in his neck and his face darkened, the senator read, “ ‘THE BALD EAGLE HAS MANY KIN.’ ” He gave me the paper, leaned back, and self-consciously ran the palm of one hand over the top of his smooth, shining head.
“At least he didn’t take potshots at your love life,” Buck muttered. “It isn’t Augustus’s business or anyone else’s that Eloise and I are … well, having a trial separation.”
“Is that what your clue says?” I asked. This wasn’t making sense.
“Here,” Buck said, “read it yourself,” and he handed it to me.
In the middle of the paper was typed SHE IS LOST AND GONE FOREVER. DREADFUL SORRY, PAPPY.
“Did your wife call you ‘pappy’?” I asked Buck after I’d read his clue aloud.
“No,” he said. “No one ever has. We don’t have children.”
“Maybe this isn’t about your wife. Maybe it means something else.”
“Oh, sure. What else could it mean?”
I shifted in my chair, which wasn’t terribly comfortable, and answered, “I know this sounds crazy, but while I was reading the first part of your clue a tune came into my head. Don’t you remember that old song? I think I learned it at Girl Scout summer camp, or maybe it was in kindergarten.” I sang, “ ‘Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine. She is lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine.’ ”
“Is your wife’s name Clementine?” Laura asked Buck.
“No, it isn’t,” Buck snapped, and his forehead crinkled into a couple of deep creases as he tried to think things out.
Thea suddenly broke in. “If Buck’s clue came from a song, then I’m wondering if mine did, as well.” She read, “ ‘DARLING, I AM GROWING OLD,’ ” then dropped her paper into her lap.
“That’s a song, Aunt Thea?”
“Long ago it was a very popular song,” she said. “It begins like this: ‘Darling, I am growing old. Silver threads among the gold shine upon my brow today; life is fading fast away.’ ”
Totally depressing, I thought, and people complain about our music!
“Oooh, what about this?” Laura asked. “What if it’s a prophecy of his own death.”
“Nonsense,” Senator Maggio complained. “It’s just more of this stupid foolishness we’ve been forced into.”
Alex gave his paper to me. “Two of the clues may be tied in to songs, but I doubt if mine is. It makes no sense whatsoever.”
I read aloud what was typed on Alex’s paper: “ ‘IT WASN’T ENTIRELY JASON’S FAULT.’ ”
I asked Alex, “Who’s Jason?”
Alex shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t know a Jason.”
“Jason’s a common enough name,” Julia told him. “Think about it. The Jason Augustus referred to wouldn’t have to be a friend. Maybe he’s a neighbor or a business associate.”
Alex looked at her sharply. “What do you mean by that?”
Julia’s eyes widened. “I don’t mean anything. I thought we were supposed to try to work out these clues.”
“We haven’t heard yours,” I told her.
“Right,” Julia said, and sighed. “Perhaps I’m being oversensitive, but I think my clue also comes under the insult category.” She read, “ ‘TAKE A LITTLE SOMETHING FROM OLIVER, THE POET.’ ”
“Take what?” Buck asked. “What could you take from a poet?”
“His words,” I said.
“I don’t get it.”
“She means plagiarize,” the senator grumbled.
“That’s silly,” Laura said as Julia’s face became blotched with pink. “Julia doesn’t write poetry.” Laura tilted her head to one side and asked, “Who is this Oliver, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Julia said, still embarrassed. “I don’t read poetry, either.”
Buck suddenly got to his feet. “None of this stuff makes sense to me. There’s only one thing left to do and that’s search this house from top to bottom, and I say we start with Trevor’s room.”
“Wait a minute,” I complained. “This isn’t your house!”
“It’s all right, Samantha,” Thea said. “We must do everything we can in order to try to find the manuscript before …”
She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t have to. The rest of it would have been “before the police arrive.”
“I’ll go with you,” Senator Maggio said, and he tried to match Buck’s long strides in an attempt to catch up.
Alex slowly unfolded himself and got to his feet. “I’m going to do a little searching myself,” he admitted, and chuckled. “Maybe the butler’s pantry. Remember the old saying ‘The butler did it’? And a thorough search of the wine cellar might be a good idea.”
“What about going through Augustus’s desk?” Julia asked him. “Because … well, because the body was there, we didn’t look very carefully the first time. I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to,” Alex said. “I prefer to work alone.”
“You made that pretty obvious when you kept those clues for yourself, and because of that I don’t trust you for a minute!” Julia shouted.
Alex just shrugged. “That makes it mutual,” he said, “especially after the sneaky insinuation you made about my business associates.”
“What insinuation?” Julia’s anger turned to surprise.
Alex didn’
t answer, so before Julia could continue the argument, I broke in. “You asked me to try to solve these clues, but you’re all leaving. I’m going to need help.”
Even though all of Augustus’s guests—even Aunt Thea—wanted to find the manuscript to destroy it, and I wanted to find it to see if it would give away the identity of the murderer, I needed other thoughts and viewpoints. I wished Darlene were on hand.
Laura shook her head and walked to the doorway. “I wouldn’t be any help at all,” she said. “The clues are much too confusing. I’ve got a terrible headache anyway, so I’m going to my room and take a nap.”
Julia and Alex, in spite of their differences, left the sun-room together, Laura trailing behind.
Thea motioned me to join her on one of the wicker couches. “I’ll do what I can to help you,” she said, “but I must be honest with you, Samantha. I believe that the clues may be unsolvable. It would be typical of Augustus to offer false promises just to enjoy watching the discomfort of his guests. I’m afraid that whatever he wrote about us in his manuscript is there to stay.”
“Aunt Thea,” I asked, “was he always that mean?”
She shook her head. “We had many happy days together when we were young. I made sure his working days were quiet and comfortable, and when we traveled and partied there were always exciting people to meet and interesting things to do.”
“I saw the pictures in the Kings’ Corner,” I told her. “But you weren’t in them. Only Augustus.”
“Being photographed with royalty was important to Augustus. My presence in the photographs wasn’t necessary.” For a moment she was silent, then said, “Augustus could be tender and affectionate when he wanted to be, and when he wasn’t … I accepted it as part of his genius.”
“But you fell out of love with him, didn’t you?” I asked.
“I suppose so.”
“Was he ill? Is that why he became mean?”
“He had bouts of pain, but that was no excuse. There are many people who become gentler through suffering.”
“Then why didn’t you leave him, Aunt Thea? Why did you stay holed up in this house, away from everything?”
“Marriage is a contract,” Thea said, but she looked away from me, and I knew she hadn’t given me the right answer. Augustus had been holding something over her head, and it had to be whatever he’d written about in his latest manuscript.
The Name of the Game Was Murder Page 8
