The primary question, though, was who Bergen’s master or mistress was. Naturally, being a vampire’s familiar required having a vampire, otherwise the role was nothing more than a pretentious affectation. And where Bergen was concerned there were a number of possibilities. Jane’s immediate assumption was that he was working with Joshua. That made the most sense, as it allowed him to gather information without having to expose himself to possible discovery. But the more she thought about it the more she realized that she couldn’t rule out the Tedious Three, Charlotte, or really any other vampire in existence. If Gosebourne knew about the Needle, there was every reason to suspect that a lot of other vampires did as well, and while many of them would write it off as a legend, many would not. And the easiest way to get it would be to keep an eye on Jane, wait for her to find Crispin’s Needle, and then take it.
Returning to the matter of the stolen doll, she again considered various explanations. Certainly Bergen could have broken into her room and taken the clown. Really, that made the most sense. But Jane was troubled by the fact that Walter had clearly been glamored. Her assumption was that he had interrupted the thief in the act and had been glamored to make him forget what he’d seen. But Bergen was human and would have no glamoring ability. A vampire had to be involved. And that meant that whoever Bergen was working for, she or he was nearby, or at least had been as recently as their time in Paris.
She hoped that Miriam was getting to the bottom of these matters at that very moment and that there would be news when they returned. In the meantime, she tried to enjoy the opera. When the first act ended the entire party moved into the Sala Tiepolo, so named because it featured glorious frescoes done by the artist of that name. It was the perfect setting for Violetta to be miserable in, and the soprano worked both her voice and the gilded furnishings with great success. By the time it came to move into the camera da letto for Act Three and Violetta’s inevitable tragic end, Jane had almost forgotten about Bergen and Miriam. Despite being very familiar with the libretto, she found herself hoping that this time Violetta would rally, marry Alfredo, and live happily for the rest of her life.
But of course she didn’t. People in operas seldom do. And so they watched, tears in their eyes, as Violetta rose from her bed for one last duet with Alfredo and then expired. To preserve the mood of the evening, the audience was escorted out while Alfredo remained weeping over the corpse of his beloved. It was all very tragic and wonderful, and Jane exited into the Venetian night with a strong impulse to throw herself off a tower, or perhaps drink some poison.
The rest of the party, however, was more inclined to drink espresso, and so off they went to a coffee bar. Not wanting to call undue attention to herself by once more claiming heartburn or fatigue, Jane went along. Miriam would be fine for another hour or so, she figured, and as it was their last night in Venice, she wanted to enjoy it as much as possible.
Seated next to Lucy at the table, she told her friend as much as she could about the night’s events. Lucy listened, her eyes getting wider with every new detail. Thankfully, Walter and Ben were engaged in a conversation with Brodie about the architectural details of the Palazzo Barbarigo Minotto, and Brodie’s booming voice drowned out the sounds of Jane and Lucy’s conversation.
“So you don’t think Our Gloomy Friend is behind it?” Lucy said.
“I really don’t,” said Jane. “For one thing, I think she likes being undead. I don’t know why she would want the Needle.”
Lucy thought for a moment. “Maybe she doesn’t,” she said. “Maybe the Needle has nothing to do with it.”
“How so?” Jane asked.
“Think about it,” said Lucy. “Ever since we got here, one thing after another has gotten in the way of your wedding. First your husband shows up.”
“Technically he’s my husband,” Jane reminded her.
“Then Ryan McGuinness is killed and all fingers point at you,” Lucy continued.
“I’d forgotten that bit,” said Jane.
“And we’re fairly certain a vampire is behind that,” Lucy continued.
“Oh, and there’s Walter’s glamoring,” said Jane. “But honestly, apart from Joshua showing up and Ryan getting thrown off the keep, nothing else has happened.”
“What else could happen?” Lucy said. “And it’s only been five days since Ryan was killed.”
“Is that all?” said Jane, surprised. “It seems like ages ago.”
“My guess is that there’s something big coming,” Lucy said.
“But why would Our Gloomy Friend care if Walter and I get married?” Jane asked. “It doesn’t affect her one bit.”
“Why does she have to have a reason?” said Lucy. “Maybe she just wants to see you be as miserable as she is.”
Jane sniffed. “That would be just like her,” she said. “That whole family was obsessed with being unhappy. No wonder it rains so much in their books.”
“Who else would want to put a stop to your wedding?” Lucy asked.
“Miriam,” Jane said instantly. “But she wouldn’t do anything as extreme as killing someone. At least I don’t think she would. It seems a bit much, even for her.”
“I agree,” said Lucy. “Which brings us back to Our Gloomy Friend.”
“I still don’t know about that,” Jane said. “Whoever it is, he or she has been hanging around during the entire trip. Frankly, I don’t believe Charlotte is clever enough to keep herself hidden for that long.”
“Even if Bergen was doing all the dirty work?” Lucy asked.
“She’s too vain,” Jane said. “I just can’t see her being content to hide in the shadows.”
Lucy sighed. “You vampires and your need to be the center of attention,” she said. “For creatures of the night, you certainly do like the spotlight.”
Jane looked at her watch. “It’s almost midnight,” she said. “We should be getting back. Maybe Miriam has gotten some more information out of Bergen.”
She waited until there was a break in the conversation the others were having, then suggested to Walter that they return to the hotel. He was only too happy to oblige, and half an hour later they were back in their room. Jane had removed her evening wear and slipped into a decidedly unglamorous pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Walter was in bed, reading.
“I’m just going to pop in and check on your mother,” Jane said. “See if she needs anything.”
Walter raised one eyebrow. “Really?” he said.
“You sound skeptical,” Jane said.
Walter laughed. “I am skeptical,” he replied.
“For heaven’s sake,” said Jane. “You make it sound as if I slipped her that oyster myself.”
Walter grunted and returned to his book.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jane asked.
“Absolutely nothing,” said Walter, still reading. “Tell Mother I said I hope she sleeps well.”
“I will,” Jane said, opening the door and going out into the hall. As she walked to Miriam’s room she congratulated herself on having played things just so. I really do make a convincing concerned daughter-in-law, she thought. Well, a semi-convincing one, at any rate.
When she reached Miriam’s room she rapped three times on the door. When there was no answer she knocked again. And when there was still no answer, she tried the handle. She experienced a moment of déjà vu as, for the second time that night, the door opened easily. Only this time there was no one on the bed. The room was empty.
She went inside.
“Miriam?” she called softly.
When there was no answer she looked in all of the usual places—the closet, the bathroom, under the bed—that a body, dead or alive, might be concealed. She found nothing. Nor was there any sign of a struggle. In fact, the room was as neat as if it had just received maid service.
That’s when Jane realized that not only was Miriam gone, so was her luggage. There were no suitcases, no toiletry bags, no clothes thrown over the back of the chair o
r tossed carelessly on the floor. No Lilith or her carrying case. It was as if Miriam had never been there at all.
Where on earth could she have gone? Jane wondered. And why?
Clearly, something had happened. The most obvious answer was that Bergen had overpowered Miriam and done her a mischief. Really, it was the only answer. Miriam would never have just allowed Bergen to go free. And Jane doubted very much that she would have taken off without so much as a note for Walter.
But what was Jane to do? She could hardly tell Walter that his mother had been kidnapped by a vampire’s familiar. Nor did she have any idea where to start looking for Miriam and her captor. For all she knew, Miriam was dead. She was surprised, and a little relieved, to find that this idea saddened her.
She picked up the phone and dialed Lucy and Ben’s room. When Lucy answered Jane said, “We have a problem. Miriam is gone. Can you come down here?”
“Of course I have that book you wanted,” Lucy said. “I’ll bring it right down.”
“Good girl,” said Jane, knowing Lucy had just given herself an alibi that Ben would not question.
She hung up. Not two minutes later Lucy knocked on the door. Jane opened it.
“Wow,” Lucy said when she’d looked around the room. “She’s not just gone, she’s gone.”
“We have to figure out what we’re going to tell Walter,” Jane said.
“Well, obviously we can’t tell him the truth,” said Lucy. “So we’ll have to stall. Tell him she’s still not feeling well and wants to be left alone.”
“But we’re leaving for Switzerland in”—Jane looked at her watch—“less than fourteen hours.”
“At least it gives us some time to think,” said Lucy. “He won’t expect to see her until breakfast, and with a little luck we can put him off even longer while we look for Miriam.”
“I should never have left her alone with Bergen,” Jane said. “But she insisted.”
“She’s a vampire hunter,” Lucy reminded her. “She’s dealt with things a lot worse than Bergen.”
“Good point,” said Jane. “I really shouldn’t blame myself. None of this is my fault.”
“Well, that’s not exactly true,” Lucy said. “It’s a little bit your fault.”
“Some friend you are,” Jane said.
“You know it’s true,” said Lucy.
Jane sighed. “Yes, I suppose I do,” she said. “Still, you needn’t remind me.”
“You’d better get back to Walter. He’s going to wonder why you’ve been gone so long. Make sure you tell him Miriam is feeling worse. But don’t overdo it. We don’t want him coming down here to check on her. Do you think you can do that?”
Jane nodded.
“Good,” Lucy said. “Oh, should we check Bergen’s room?”
Jane shook her head. “That would be too obvious,” she said. “Wherever they are, I’d bet anything they aren’t in the hotel.”
“Then I guess there’s nothing else we can do tonight,” said Lucy. “At least not without causing more trouble. So try to get some rest. Maybe we’ll think of something during the night.”
“And if we don’t?” Jane asked.
Lucy looked at her. “If we don’t, you’ll be explaining to Walter how his vampire hunter mother disappeared while interrogating a familiar.”
Jane turned out the lights and followed Lucy into the hall.
“You’re really quite horrid. You know that, don’t you?” Jane said.
Lucy turned and smiled at her. “I love you too,” she said. “Now get back to your little Indian.”
“My what?”
“Your little Indian,” Lucy repeated. “Remember, the Agatha Christie novel?”
“I’d forgotten all about that,” said Jane. “Yes, I’ll get back to my little Indian. Good night.”
While Lucy took the stairs to the next floor, Jane walked back to her room. As she did she found herself humming the rhyme about the ten little Indians. She couldn’t remember all of it, but one verse came to her.
“ ‘Four little Indian boys going out to sea,’ ” she sang. “ ‘A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.’ ”
She stopped just as she reached the door to her room. An idea was forming in her head. She stood very still, allowing it room to grow. Then she laughed lightly. Oh, Agatha, she thought. You are a clever old bird.
Suddenly she couldn’t wait for the morning.
Chapter 22
Wednesday: Venice
“Good morning,” Jane said pleasantly as she walked into the hotel dining room.
“Good morning,” Chumsley called out. “Come and sit by me, my dear girl.”
“Thank you, but no,” Jane replied. “I have something to say, and I would prefer to do it standing.”
Walter, who had come down a few minutes before Jane (she had purposely arranged it that way), set down the glass of orange juice in his hand and looked at her. Jane avoided his gaze.
They were all of them staring at her now, some with expressions of curiosity, some with expressions of annoyance, and some with no expressions whatsoever. Jane stood for a moment in silence, letting the tension build, then announced, “I know the identity of the murderer of Ryan McGuinness.”
Genevieve, who was eating a croissant, set it down. “Are you confessing?” she asked.
“No, I am not confessing,” Jane snapped. “I am identifying.”
“And what makes you think you know who the murderer is?” said Enid. She was holding an egg cup and, with a spoon, was poking with great determination at the soft-boiled egg inside it.
“We’ll get to that,” Jane replied. “In the meantime, Lucy and Ben, would you please shut and guard the doors leading out of this room?”
This too had been prearranged, just in case the guilty party tried to make a run for it. Lucy and Ben walked quickly to the doors on either side of the room and closed them. They then took up positions in front of them, their arms crossed and frightful scowls on their faces. Lucy had suggested they wear sunglasses so as to look more like Secret Service agents, but Jane had dismissed the idea as too gimmicky.
“You’re locking us in?” said Chumsley. He looked at Walter, who shrugged.
“If you look around you,” Jane said, “you will notice that one member of our party is not here.”
Everyone looked about, taking inventory.
“Miriam isn’t here,” Sam said.
“She’s not feeling well,” Walter told her. “A bad oyster.”
“There was no bad oyster,” Jane informed him. “And I wasn’t referring to Miriam, as she isn’t technically a member of the party.”
“What do you mean there was no bad oyster?” Walter asked. “I thought you said—”
“It’s Bergen,” said Genevieve, interrupting. “Bergen isn’t here.” The tone in her voice suggested that she expected some kind of reward for having guessed correctly, like perhaps a gold star or a piece of candy.
“Is Bergen the murderer?” Orsino said.
“I knew it!” Brodie declared, banging his hand on the table so that the coffee cups rattled. “It’s always a German!”
“Strong words coming from an Australian,” Enid said. “Your country was founded by criminals, as I recall.”
“Like the Scots are any better,” said Chumsley, snorting. “Woad-faced skirt-wearers.”
“Just because Ryan was a better lover than you ever were—” Enid began.
Chumsley stood up. “Let me tell you something about how good a lover he was—”
“Shut up!” Jane yelled. “You’re ruining everything!”
All eyes turned to her.
“Sit down!” she ordered. “Now!” she added when Chumsley didn’t move quickly enough.
When everyone was seated she took a breath. “Now then, let’s start over, shall we? And please, no more interruptions until I’m finished.”
Walter raised his hand.
“Yes, darling?” Jane said.
�
�I was wondering if, before you begin, you could tell me what’s happened to my mother?”
“Of course,” Jane replied. “I’m fairly certain that she’s been kidnapped by Bergen.”
A chorus of voices erupted as everyone began to speak at once. Jane picked up a teaspoon and banged it against the side of a chafing dish filled with sausages. The cacophony ceased.
“I’m afraid that’s all I know at present,” Jane told Walter. “But I have every reason to believe that she’s safe. At least for the moment.”
“Then Bergen is the murderer?” Sam asked.
Jane shook her head. “No,” she said. “Bergen is the murderer’s assistant.”
“Then who is the murderer?” said Genevieve.
“A very good question,” Jane answered. “As everyone is aware, initially I was considered by some to be the most likely suspect.”
“And you’re not now?” Enid said.
“Perhaps in the minds of some,” said Jane. “But that will soon be cleared up, as I intend to unmask the murderer in a few moments.”
She looked around, waiting for someone to leap up. She half hoped someone would, as it would confirm her suspicion. But she was also rather pleased that no one did, as she was enjoying herself.
“Almost everyone in this room had a reason to despise Ryan McGuinness,” she began. “Except you, Walter. Of course you’re not the murderer.”
“But I didn’t like him,” Walter said. “I thought he was a jerk.”
“That’s not generally a strong enough reason for wanting to fling someone from the top of a tower,” Jane said. “However, there are people here who do have very good reasons for wishing ill will on Ryan McGuinness.”
She turned to Enid.
“Let’s begin with you,” she said. “We all know that you and Ryan were lovers.”
Enid nodded. “Which makes it highly unlikely that I would want him dead,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Any child should be able to see that.”
“Except that you had reason to believe he might be seeing someone else,” Jane said. “Isn’t that right?”
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