The Name of the Game Was Murder

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  But not according to Augustus, who insisted that no one ever leaves the mob. Augustus suggested that the generous funds raised and donated by some of the senator’s Political Action Committees had come straight from the Boninos, and wouldn’t the crime families love to have a president of the United States in their pocket!

  I’d overheard my parents talking about Senator Maggio and how he’d spent most of his life working toward his goal of being elected president. Even though we weren’t that close to the presidential primaries, his campaign was already under way. The senator couldn’t afford to let Augustus publish that information. So what had he done about it?

  My jaw actually dropped open, like in a cartoon, when I read what Augustus had to say about Julia. I’d been told about her good friend who destroyed all her manuscripts and killed herself, but according to what Augustus had discovered, after piecing together information from “reliable sources,” that wasn’t the way it happened. The manuscripts had been secretly carted off by Julia and her husband, Jake, who had been with her friend at the time she jumped. Jumped or was pushed—who was to say?

  It wasn’t a simple matter of Julia sending the manuscripts out under her name instead of her friend’s name. Julia’s husband, as co-conspirator, got into the act first, spicing up the plots with graphic scenes, adding the steamy “Julia Bryant” touches that had made Julia famous. Julia was nothing but a front for the novels!

  No wonder Julia didn’t remember her own characters. They belonged to her once best friend who’d grown up with her in Buffalo.

  Maybe it was staying up so late without sleep, maybe it was the fear that came from being trapped in a house with a killer, or maybe it was the awful feeling of being a spy in other people’s lives, but I felt terrible. I hugged the rest of the manuscript to my chest, pulled up my knees and rested my forehead against them.

  Augustus must have had enough proof that the stories he wrote about took place, or he would have been sued for writing such things. The people he wrote about weren’t likely to be arrested, but they still had something to be afraid of, an urgent reason that the stories shouldn’t be published. All of them were dependent on public approval, and without it their careers were down the drain.

  If Augustus’s information was right, then two of them—Julia and Laura—had already committed murder.

  Well, that was that. I hadn’t learned a thing except information I really didn’t want to know. Any one of the five suspects could have murdered Augustus.

  Five? Oh, oh, I’d forgotten Aunt Thea.

  I searched the rest of the manuscript, and it wasn’t until page 356 that I discovered Thea’s story.

  In 1962, she and Augustus had rented a private villa in Acapulco, taking with them only Mrs. Engstrom, who—as usual when they traveled—took charge of domestic matters and hired local people to staff the house.

  One day Thea went alone to shop in town. Thinking she knew the way, she cut through a back alley to reach a shop on another street. She’d been followed by someone who came up behind her, slashing at the straps of her handbag with a knife. Thea had resisted and in the struggle had fallen, dragging the robber down with her. Thea had managed to stagger to her feet, but the robber lay facedown in the dirt without moving. Thea had grabbed his shoulders, turned him over, and saw the knife protruding from his chest. She also saw he was only a boy.

  Terrified, knowing that she could be arrested for murder, Thea ran from the empty alley, caught a taxi, and returned to the villa, where she made the mistake of telling her husband what had happened.

  Why had Augustus threatened Thea with this story now—after all this time? Had he really intended to use it in his book? Or was he just trying to make her suffer?

  Thea had killed, I told myself, but I quickly answered back, No! Not Aunt Thea. The death was an accident. She’d never commit murder.

  At that moment the light tap at my door and the whisper of my name were more terrifying than if someone had broken down the door.

  “Who’s there? Who are you?” I shouted. I threw off my blankets and leaped from the bed. The manuscript pages went flying.

  “Samantha dear. It’s me—Thea. Will you open the door, please?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “Right away.” I swooped up loose pages and stuffed them together, not caring about the order. Did I have them all? Yes. Thank goodness. But where to put them?

  “Samantha?” Thea asked.

  I quickly stuffed the manuscript under the mattress at the head of the bed and stumbled to the door, tugging away the chair and turning the key.

  As Thea entered the room she gave me a curious look and again rested a hand on my forehead. “Dear me, it is cold up here,” she said. “Maybe you’d be more comfortable if you shared my room tonight.”

  “No, thank you,” I said. I took a long, slow breath, gestured toward the chair, and said, “Please sit down, Aunt Thea.” I was proud of myself. Just one day ago I would have been so nervous, I’d have given everything away, but through this weekend I’d learned a little game-playing of my own, and at the moment I was calm and cool and in charge of myself. I liked the feeling.

  “When I found out what Alex was up to I sent him to his room, and I want to assure you he’ll stay there,” Thea said. “Such stupidity, sitting in the hallway, practically keeping you prisoner, just because he has the ridiculous idea that you know the location of the manuscript.”

  I quickly turned away so that she couldn’t see my face and fell over the chair. So much for being in charge.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Aunt Thea asked.

  “I’m fine,” I squeaked, although I really wasn’t. From my hands-and-knees position I could see a page from Augustus’s manuscript lying on the floor, half under the bed, half out. It was too far away for me to reach, and it was in plain view. What if Thea saw it?

  Thea bent to lend me a hand and help me to my feet, and my mind raced, trying to come up with a way to cover that page without drawing attention to it.

  Zilch. Zero. Nada. I was all out of good ideas.

  FIFTEEN

  Thea didn’t sit down, and I didn’t either. I kept myself between Thea and that sheet of paper. Surely, if she saw it she’d recognize the print and know immediately where it had come from.

  “Have you been able to sleep, Samantha?” Thea asked.

  “No,” I said honestly, “but I’m tired now.”

  She smiled and slipped an arm around my shoulders. I kept edging sideways, trying to turn her back to the manuscript page. Thea looked a little puzzled, but she said, “I’m sorry your visit has turned out so badly, dear. I’d looked forward to it with so much pleasure.”

  “So had I,” I mumbled. This was my mother’s aunt, and I was treating her like one of the suspects. How could I? She had been married to Augustus and probably had inherited everything he owned. That included his manuscript, so she had a right to know that I’d found it. “Aunt Thea,” I began.

  But she ignored me, going on with what she had in mind. “Your mother told me that you were bringing some of your stories, hoping that Augustus would critique them for you. I’m sorry that has been a disappointment to you, as well. Unfortunately, Augustus wasn’t generous with young writers, and he was not likely to have guided you, either. Your mother said that you felt unable to proceed with a writing career without guidance—”

  “Aunt Thea,” I interrupted, “there’s something I want to tell you.”

  “Before you do,” she said, “I’d like to point out that you must have dropped a page from one of your stories. It’s there on the floor, and I know you don’t want to lose it.”

  At that moment we heard a loud thud, a thumping, and a terrible crash.

  Aunt Thea and I raced out of the room, down the stairs, and into the hallway, waving our flashlights ahead of us. The beams of light flew from ceiling to wall to floor like flashes of lightning, exposing Julia, Laura, and Senator Maggio, who came flying out of their rooms.

  “What is
it?”

  “What’s going on?”

  The thumping continued, and we raced toward the source.

  On the landing Buck gripped Alex by the shoulders, banging him up and down against the floor. Alex held the open burial urn in his right hand, and he bounced it with all his strength against Buck’s broad back.

  “Stop it!” Thea commanded. “Stop it this minute!”

  There was so much anger and authority in her voice that the two men separated. They sat and stared upward. Alex’s self-assuredness had vanished, and Buck pouted like a mad little kid.

  “What’s this all about?” Thea asked.

  “I caught him in my room,” Buck growled. “He ran, and I chased him.”

  Alex smiled as his poise began to return. “I thought Buck was asleep. It seemed like a good opportunity to look at the first clue Augustus had given him.”

  Buck muttered something, and for a moment I thought he was going to hit Alex, but Alex got to his feet and glanced in my direction. “I realized that Samantha was right. The clues we got weren’t enough. If it would help to see the first clues … well, I’d just be a step ahead of the rest of you in finding out.”

  The others were all so angry they began yelling at Alex, but I kept thinking about His Royal Scariness and how furious he must be at the way his urn had been treated. Raising my voice so that it was even louder, I shouted at Alex, “What are you doing with that burial urn?”

  Alex looked at the urn, which was still in his hand, shrugged, and placed it back on the pedestal, which wobbled a bit then settled itself. “I needed something to protect myself,” he answered.

  “You shouldn’t have used that burial urn,” I told him.

  Alex picked up his flashlight and aimed it at me. “Why not? What’s so special about this urn?” he asked, and said to the others, “Look at Samantha’s face. She knows something.”

  I knew everything, and I couldn’t let my face give me away. “I’ll tell you what I know,” I said. “According to Walter, the urn is haunted.”

  “I’ve had as much of this place as I can stand!” Laura wailed, and began to cry.

  While they were busy trying to out-shout and out-argue each other, I ran down to the landing, picked up the lid to the burial urn, and replaced it. The urn felt warm to my touch, and I patted it gently. “You must know by this time that the world is full of weirdos,” I whispered. “Sorry you had to run into a couple more of them.”

  In just a few hours it would be daylight and the telltale expression on my face would be easy for everyone to read. I had to distract them. I had to take their minds away from me. The clues … Alex had said the clues they had got weren’t enough. Okay, I’d give them another set.

  “Lend me a hand,” I said to the urn, “and you’ll soon be left in peace. I’ve got to get something. If any of them notices that I’ve gone, will you please distract them?” Oh, well, it couldn’t hurt to ask.

  I turned off my flashlight and felt my way down the rest of the stairs, across the entry hall, and along the way to Augustus’s office. I entered the room and closed the door behind me before I turned on my flashlight.

  It took only a few minutes to find envelopes and paper that matched those he’d used for the clues, but I had to scribble with half a dozen pens before I found the one with the bright blue ink. I tucked the pen in my jeans pocket and slipped the paper and envelopes inside the front of my shirt, next to my skin.

  It wasn’t hard to find my way in the dark going back. The sky had grown lighter, and there were even shadows cast by the moon. Thank goodness the storm was over!

  As I neared the stairs I heard Thea ask, “Where’s Samantha?”

  At that moment there was a crash. Alex let out a yelp, and Buck shouted, “You pushed it! You tried to get me!”

  “I did not!”

  I took the stairs two at a time and shone my flashlight beam on the urn, which lay on the floor, the toppled pedestal next to it.

  “Yeah? How did that thing fall over if you didn’t push it?”

  I stooped and gently picked up the urn, straightening its lid and stroking its sides. “You probably knocked it off balance earlier while the two of you were fighting,” I told Buck. “If you’ll please pick it up, I’ll put the urn where it belongs.”

  The pedestal was heavy, and it took both Buck and Alex to raise it. They tested, to make sure it was secure, before I returned the royal burial urn to its rightful place. “Thanks,” I whispered to the urn.

  “You’re welcome,” Alex said.

  I stepped past him and said to Thea, “It isn’t going to do any good to argue with Alex. I don’t care what he does. I’m going to bed.”

  “Good idea,” Julia said, but she glared at Alex. “Don’t waste your time searching my room, because I didn’t keep my first clue. I tore it into little pieces and flushed them away.”

  Laura gasped, and I could practically hear her mind begin to work. Her first clue would be the next to go.

  “Back to bed, all of us,” Thea said. She kissed my cheek, told me to sleep well, and I followed my flashlight beam up to the tower room, again barricading the door with the chair.

  I would have loved to sleep, but there was something I had to do first. Just to be on the safe side I put the manuscript pages back in order, rolled them tightly, and fastened them with the rubber bands.

  No one was in the hallway. I was pretty sure that none of them would wander out of their rooms again, so I sneaked down to the landing and replaced the manuscript inside the urn.

  “It’s terrible to bother you again, Your Excellent Ghostliness, after all that you did for me, if that really was you,” I whispered, “but I can’t take any chances. The very minute the police arrive I’ll take this thing out of your royal middle, and you’ll be left in peace and quiet. Is that all right?”

  I thought I detected a faint hum, and it didn’t seem antagonistic, so I replaced the lid, ran back to my room, and barricaded the door again.

  I was so exhausted, my head hurt and I went into a fit of yawning, but there was one last thing to do before I could sleep. I had to come up with clues that looked and sounded like the ones Augustus had invented so that they’d be accepted. But my clues had to have a single purpose—to lead all the suspects, except one, to the wine cellar.

  You can do it, I told myself. After all, you’re a writer.

  If I hadn’t been so tired, or if only Darlene had been with me, the job wouldn’t have taken so long. On my legal pad I wrote, I crossed out, I wrote some more, and made dozens of changes until I had the clues the way I wanted them. Then neatly, trying to copy Augustus’s printing, I wrote the clues, put them into the envelopes, and marked them all: Game Clue #5. To follow my plan I added, FINAL CLUE: WITH THIS ONE YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN.

  I put the unsealed envelopes on the chest, rolled up in one of my blankets, the covers pulled up to my chin, and closed my eyes. Aunt Thea had been right. Even though the air in the room was freezing, my body heat began working, and soon even my toes were warm. I slept so hard, I didn’t move until the sun woke me.

  Sunlight! That meant the storm had passed and soon we’d be in touch with the rest of the world. Tag ends of clouds scraggled across an electric-blue sky, propelled by a wind that slapped at the treetops and churned flips of white foam across the top of the rough and choppy water.

  I glanced at my watch, amazed to find it was already ten o’clock. I had planned on being downstairs first, and now maybe my plan wouldn’t work, because the others were bound to be up. There was nothing else to do but give it my best shot, so I washed my face—there was only cold water—and dressed.

  Lucy came from one of the bedrooms and joined me as I walked down the stairs. “Do you need anything?” she asked. “Better tell me now, because Walter, Tomás, and I have cleanup work to do in the other house. One part of the roof leaked badly.”

  “I don’t need anything,” I told Lucy. “I’m fine.”

  But I wasn’t fine. I was scared
. I had no idea if my plan would work.

  I didn’t hide the envelopes in my pocket. I carried them in my right hand, and as I entered the dining room, where Laura, Buck, Julia, and Alex were eating cold cereal and bananas, I held the envelopes high, waving them.

  “Look what I found,” I said. “The fifth set of game clues. They’re the final ones too.”

  Alex leaned forward, studying my face. “What are you hiding?” he asked. “Your face gives you away. What do you know that we don’t know?”

  “All right!” I slammed the envelopes down on the table. “I read them. I know they have your names on them and they’re supposed to be for your private information, but I read them anyway. Okay?”

  “It’s okay with me,” Laura said. “Sam is supposed to be helping us.”

  “She hasn’t been any help so far,” Alex grumbled, but my embarrassment at being “caught” seemed to satisfy him.

  Julia snatched up her envelope and stood, pushing back her chair. “Thea and Arthur are in the sun-room. I’ll get them,” Julia told us and hurried out of the room.

  I’d been waiting for the big question, and as soon as we were all seated around the table, with Mrs. Engstrom bringing in refills of coffee, sugar, and cream, Alex asked it.

  “Where did you find this set of clues, Samantha?”

  I was prepared. “In one of Julia’s books, her main character finds a packet of love letters hidden behind a bedroom mirror. Isn’t that right, Julia?”

  I paused and looked at Julia, who smiled, then nodded. Of course I’d made all that up, but she didn’t know her own books, because they weren’t her own books.

  “So I looked behind the mirror in Augustus’s room, and there was the packet of letters, tied with a rubber band and wedged behind the frame.”

  “Imagine! Just like in Julia’s book!” Laura said.