The Name of the Game Was Murder

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  In the silence that followed I listened to the steady drumming of the rain and its gulping gurgles as it rushed through the drain spouts, splashing on the concrete walkways and patios. The storm was no longer violent, but the rain continued to come down as if it would never end.

  I stared down at my note pad where I’d copied down Game Clues #3:

  SHE LAID AN EGG, AND IT WAS A DOOZY L.

  THE BALD EAGLE HAS MANY KIN M.

  SHE IS LOST AND GONE FOREVER. DREADFUL SORRY, PAPPY B.

  DARLING, I AM GROWING OLD T.

  IT WASN’T ENTIRELY JASON’S FAULT A.

  TAKE A LITTLE SOMETHING FROM OLIVER, THE POET J.

  When I was younger, I had thought I was pretty good at making up clues with Darlene and solving them, and I wanted to prove I could still do it, so I refused to give up as easily as the others had. “I’d really like to work on these awhile, Aunt Thea,” I said.

  “Of course,” she answered. “As I told you earlier, I’ll help you, but I have no idea how to start.”

  Could I trust her? I had to. Besides, she was my mother’s aunt. “If these are legitimate clues, then each set has to have something in common,” I explained. “Nobody wanted to tell me what was in the first set, so I don’t know what they were all about. But in the second set we were told that ‘one will be above all.’ I can only guess that it means the king.”

  “Arthur insisted it was the ace.”

  “But you and Augustus played cribbage. There was even a cribbage board in his office. I think he would have thought of the king as top card, and put in the ace just to lead astray all the bridge players.”

  She smiled. “I’m inclined to agree with you. What else do you get from that set of clues?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Just kings. Although king could mean ruler or general or official or emperor or whatever might be in that line.”

  Wait a minute! I thought. Kings’ Corner. But there was no place among those photographs to hide a manuscript, and I didn’t see how the pictures could give me any kind of help in solving the clue.

  Thea said, “Samantha, you saw the first clue that Augustus gave me. It was a travel brochure to Acapulco.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all.”

  “But what does it mean? You told me you’d figured it out.”

  “Wasn’t it Julia who told you that these were more messages than clues? That they were Augustus’s way of informing us that he had uncovered our secrets. You don’t need them to solve the puzzle, Samantha. Please believe me.”

  While I was thinking about it and deciding that I had to believe Aunt Thea, Mrs. Engstrom came into the room with a teapot and two cups and saucers. “Hot tea tastes good on a rainy day,” she said, and gave careful scrutiny to Thea. “Are you feeling well, Mrs. Trevor? I’m sure that this stress is tiring you.”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Thea said. “There’s no need to worry about me.”

  “I’ll be glad when this storm is over,” Mrs. Engstrom said as she poured two cups of tea. “Tomás is upset because he’s running low on sugar and salad greens and I can’t send in my computer order. I wouldn’t dare turn on my computer with only the generator to power it.”

  “How do you shop by computer?” I asked.

  “A number of people on the island have a software program with a grocer in Avalon,” Thea answered. “We send an order on our household computer, he receives it, and either delivers it or it’s ready when we pick it up.”

  “Well, latest reports on the radio are that the storm should be over by Monday,” Mrs. Engstrom said.

  I could hear the relief in her voice, but Thea and I glanced at each other with concern. Even though we had different reasons for wanting to find that manuscript, we both realized that we hadn’t much time.

  Mrs. Engstrom caught the look and asked, “How far have you come on working out the clues, Miss Burns?”

  “Not very,” I answered.

  “Does ‘not very’ instead of ‘no’ mean that you’ve begun to solve it?”

  I opened my mouth to say “yes,” but thought how weak my guess was on the second set of clues and how I hadn’t even begun on the third, so after hesitating just a fraction too long I answered, “No, I haven’t.”

  She stared at me as though she suspected I’d just lied to her, and walked to the other side of the room, where she busied herself straightening magazines and picking up a couple of empty cups that had been left on a side table.

  Thea sipped at her tea and said, “Look over your list, Samantha. If you have any questions, just ask, and maybe between us we can come up with the answers.”

  “Thanks,” I said, so grateful for her moral support and so sure she couldn’t possibly be the murderer that I confided, “Aunt Thea, I have to find this manuscript before the others do.”

  “No, Samantha,” she said quietly.

  “Don’t you see, Aunt Thea? If we read the manuscript, we might find out who the murderer is.”

  “If we read the manuscript, six lives might be ruined.”

  I squirmed uncomfortably. “But not yours, Aunt Thea.”

  “Yes, mine too,” she answered.

  I shouldn’t have spilled everything out. I looked around to see if we might have been overheard, but Thea and I were alone. Not knowing what to say next, I got up and went to the desk, opening the lined pad to the page with the number-three clues and spread my notes next to it. I couldn’t look at Thea. I didn’t want to do anything that might hurt her, but surely she had to understand that someone in this house was a killer and might kill again!

  From the corner of my eye I saw her refill her teacup. “I’ll wait right here with you, dear,” she said, as though our conversation about the manuscript hadn’t happened. “If you want my help for anything, just ask.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Thea,” I murmured, and set to work.

  I read the clues over twice, and each time I came to a dead stop on Julia’s clue. Finally, I looked up at Thea and said, “Do you know any poets named Oliver? The only Oliver I can think of was in that novel Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, and that Oliver was a kid, not a poet.”

  “We can use the encyclopedia in Augustus’s office,” she suggested.

  “I thought of that,” I said, shuddering at the idea of going back into that room, “but it’s going to be almost impossible to check out poets by first names.”

  Thea smiled. “I can give you a start,” she said. “What about Oliver Goldsmith, the British poet who lived in the seventeen hundreds? You’ve studied The Deserted Village in school, haven’t you?”

  “No,” I said, “but I like the title. Is it a mystery novel?”

  “It’s a poem, and I do believe I still remember a few lines from those I once had to memorize about the village schoolmaster.” She got a faraway look in her eyes and recited, “ ‘But past is all his fame. The very spot where many a time he triumphed is forgot.’ ”

  She could have been talking about Augustus. We both felt the impact of the words at the same time and looked away from each other, embarrassed.

  I wrote down Goldsmith and went on to Buck’s clue, writing down the chorus of “My Darling Clementine” and snatches of words from the verses. I could only remember part of them, and I couldn’t remember any that had the word pappy in them. Aunt Thea had remembered that awful old song about growing old, so I asked, “Do you remember any of the words of ‘My Darling Clementine’?”

  She put down her teacup and hummed quietly to herself before she answered, “Just snatches.”

  “Do you remember anything about Clementine’s pappy?”

  Between her eyebrows a little crease flickered as she thought. “I can’t remember him being called pappy. Wasn’t he a miner?”

  “Right,” I said. “ ‘Came a miner, a forty-niner, and his daughter Clementine.’ ” As I wrote it down I wondered aloud, “So far, this stuff is pretty gloomy. We’ve got somebody growing old.” I checked my notes. “With ‘life
fading fast away.’ Then we’ve got somebody being forgotten after he dies, and now old Clementine being lost and gone forever. Augustus didn’t look on the bright side, did he?”

  I got another thought, and this one was too scary to share with Aunt Thea. Was Augustus warning each of his guests that something bad was going to happen to them? And if he was, when was it going to happen? With the weekend half over, we wouldn’t have to wait long to find out!

  TEN

  Don’t think like that! I cautioned myself. He’s not here to do anything to us, even if he wanted to. But the memory of his body upstairs in the bathtub was so unnerving that I pushed back my chair and stood up.

  “Are you through working on clues already?” Aunt Thea asked.

  “Oh, no,” I said. “I’ve made a good start, with your help, Aunt Thea, but I’ve got some questions to ask two of the others.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  I knew Aunt Thea wasn’t prying. She was just being interested. “Well,” I said, “I’ve been thinking that the solution to Laura’s clue might be in the name of one of the movies that flopped so badly. I don’t remember either of them. Do you?”

  “No,” she said. “Better ask Laura.”

  “I have something to ask Senator Maggio, too—the names of all his relatives. Maybe their initials spell something. I won’t know unless I try.”

  “ ‘The bald eagle has many kin,’ ” Thea said.

  “You’ve got a good memory,” I told her.

  Her smile was sorrowful. “Under the circumstances, the clues would be hard to forget.”

  I took my pen and pad, with my notes stuffed inside, and headed for the stairway. But I glanced into the parlor and saw Senator Maggio standing alone at the window, staring out at the rain.

  As I passed the Kings’ Corner I paused to study the framed photographs, but pairs of eyes stared blankly out at me, offering nothing.

  The senator didn’t acknowledge me as I joined him, and I supposed he was drawn into that swirl of gray sky and grayer sea, its choppy surface shredded by rain and wind.

  I waited patiently, then said, “Could I ask you a question, Senator Maggio?”

  “If you wish.” His voice was as depressed as the view outside the window.

  “Okay,” I said. “It’s about your relatives.” But I was sidetracked by my next thought. “Weren’t you searching the house for the manuscript?”

  “I don’t see any hope of finding it before the storm lets up,” he answered.

  “Then help me solve the clues.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t see how that can be accomplished either.”

  “Let’s try. Why don’t you tell me the names of your relatives?”

  He turned toward me, startled, but then relaxed. “Oh. You’re referring to the bald eagle’s many kin. Frankly, there aren’t that many, but I’ll go through the list.”

  He told me the names of his wife, his two brothers, his son and daughter and their spouses, and his two little granddaughters. He reached for his wallet, and I thought for a moment he was going to show me their pictures again, but apparently he decided not to and let his hands drop to his sides, once again staring out the window.

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” the senator said, so softly that at first I wasn’t sure he was talking to me. “Why can’t they be forgotten? Why should such a terrible price have to be paid?”

  “He didn’t know he’d have to pay it.”

  Again he turned to me, an expression of surprise on his face. “I was talking about past mistakes made by the guests who’ve been invited here.”

  “I thought you were talking about Augustus Trevor.”

  Senator Maggio shook his head. “He’s the one responsible for all this trouble.”

  I nodded. “And he’s the one who made the biggest mistake. He invited a murderer to his house.”

  “You’d better keep in mind,” he said quietly, “that the murderer is still present.”

  I wasn’t comfortable about the forbidding look on his face, so I left him in a hurry and trotted upstairs to see if Laura would answer my questions.

  On the landing I took time to glance at the names of Senator Maggio’s relatives, but they added up to zilch. Except for the first letter of his son’s first name (Arthur Maggio, Jr.), the others were just a jumble of consonants: two J’s, two K’s, two M’s, one P, and one H. I not only couldn’t make anything out of it, it occurred to me that I’d hardly call this “many kin.” I probably expected something like one of those family reunion photos in which relatives are fanned out all over the porch and lawn. Senator Maggio’s clue had to mean something else. But what?

  The back of my neck prickled, as though someone were watching me, but I looked all around and couldn’t see anyone. The burial urn on the stand caught my eye, and I whispered to whatever invisible something that might happen to be hanging around it, “I’m working as hard as I can to get us all out of here in one piece. Be patient, will you? And stop staring!”

  I found Laura Reed just where she said she’d be—in her bedroom, but she hadn’t been napping. When she opened the door to my knock, her eyes were red, and there were drippy mascara smudges on her cheeks.

  “Help me solve the clues,” I said.

  She shrugged as she stood aside to let me in. “I haven’t the foggiest notion how to go about it.”

  “Well, I do. I mean, it isn’t foggy. I want to ask you about your last two films.”

  Laura perched on the edge of the bed—a high four-poster covered with a dark blue-green quilted spread. There was a heavy swag of the same material over the head of the bed, caught into a kind of gold-colored crown, and at the windows there were draperies to match. Maybe when the sun was out the room didn’t look so gloomy. I was beginning to wonder if the person who decorated this house had learned his profession in Dracula’s castle.

  “I should remember, but I don’t,” I said as I sat in a narrow gilt chair that stood in front of a dressing table. “What were the names of your last two films?”

  “Nobody remembers,” Laura said, and she slumped, hugging her elbows. “Last year was Daughter of Vengeance. The year before that was Lady in Trouble.” She sighed. “Prophetic, wasn’t it? This lady’s really in trouble.”

  I wrote down the titles and looked up. “Maybe not.”

  She sighed again, a long, dramatic sigh that seemed to come all the way from her toes. “It wasn’t murder,” she said. “It was a moment of anger, of acting without thinking. It was an accident.”

  I gulped. “Are you telling me you killed Augustus Trevor?”

  Her green-gold eyes glowed like spotlights as she turned them on me. “Of course not, because I didn’t. I wasn’t even talking about Augustus.”

  “Then who …?”

  “What difference does it make? This is all such a hodgepodge, and my head hurts so much, I don’t even remember what we were talking about.”

  I felt cold all the way to my toes. “You’d said you were in trouble, and then you talked about the murder … I mean the way it took place, as though you’d been there … and … well, it just seemed to fit.”

  No matter what Laura said or denied saying, she certainly had had the opportunity to kill him.

  “Never mind. Forget what I said. I was just thinking out loud.” She sat up straighter. “We’ll talk about your clues. How do the names of my films fit into them?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I said.

  “Augustus makes me absolutely furious,” she snapped. “Telling me I laid an egg and it was a doozy! How rude can you get?”

  “Maybe he didn’t mean you,” I told her.

  The corners of her mouth turned down, and her voice was sarcastic. “Oh? Who else but an actor lays an egg? Are you talking about a chicken? A goose? Maybe the goose that laid the golden egg. Wouldn’t Augustus think that was a great joke.”

  A knock at the door made us jump.

  Laura opened it to Lucy, who had brought two extra pillo
ws. Laura thanked her, shut the door again, and tossed the pillows onto the bed. “I sleep better with lots and lots of pillows,” she told me, but as she sank back onto the bed she became plaintive. “I really don’t expect to sleep at all—not until that manuscript is found and destroyed.”

  Tears glistened again in her eyes as she told me, “I hunted over every inch of this room, even between the mattress and springs. There’s a vent into the attic from the closet in my room. I even checked that.”

  “Maybe we’ll solve this puzzle and find the manuscript,” I told her.

  “How far have you come in solving the clues?”

  “Not very.”

  She drooped again, reminding me of a fading petunia on a wobbly stem. “Wouldn’t it be nice,” she asked, “if we could live our lives over again and take out all the bad parts?”

  “I guess so,” I answered, although I’d been lucky enough not to have many bad parts and nothing so terrible that I’d want to live my life over again to miss it.

  “If I weren’t so miserable, I’d be bored to death here,” Laura said, and looked at her watch. “Do you realize it’s more than an hour until dinnertime?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it in the opposite way,” I answered. “The weekend and the storm will be over soon. The time we have left to find the manuscript is running out.”

  Laura groaned. “You came here to cheer me up. Right?”

  A loud knock on the door startled us, but we heard Buck call, “It’s me, Buck. Wake up, Laura. Open the door.”

  Laura opened it graciously, holding her head high, as though she were a queen. “I wasn’t sleeping,” she said. “And you don’t need to shout.”

  “Sorry,” he said, and his feet did a kind of fumbling shuffle as he stepped into the room. “This whole thing has got me so riled, it’s made me do things I never thought I’d ever do.”

  “Like what?” I asked, and held my breath, waiting for his answer.

  He looked at me with surprise, and I realized he hadn’t known I was with Laura. “Like pawing through people’s things, searching for that manuscript.”