“That just about breaks my heart,” Freddie said.
“It will have to be a double murder and suicide.” Gordie looked at them assessingly and nodded. “That will do.”
Lorinda felt soft fur brush her ankles from beneath the sofa where the cats had wisely retreated. It added to the unreality of the situation. How could this man be standing in front of them with a gun, calmly planning to kill them? And how long had he been planning it? He might be complaining now that they hadn’t invited him into their lives, but that could not be the only reason. It was four months ago that he had taken her typewriter to do a minor repair and kept it longer than she had expected. He must have written the Miss Petunia chapters then. And the suicide note, too? They could have taken him to their bosoms and it wouldn’t have made any difference, this had been coldbloodedly plotted a long time before. But why? She remembered the argument for her death that had been voiced by his version of Miss Petunia.
“You cannot seriously imagine,” Lorinda said incredulously, “that if you kill us, you’ll be asked to take over writing our series?”
“Why not? I’m a good writer. I’ve just never been given a chance. Now I’ll be right here on the spot when your publishers come down to sift through your literary estates and find out if you’ve left anything fit for publication. I’ll be able to talk to them ... show them examples of my work in your styles ... Oh, I have no doubt we’ll come to a satisfactory arrangement, all right.” He smiled into the future.
“You won’t be able to write all three series,” Freddie objected. “Our styles are all too different. And it would be a back-breaking schedule.”
“Oh, I expect I’ll be able to take my choice,” he said casually. “And you needn’t talk to me about back-breaking. Anyone working for Dorian knows all about that.”
Yes, the last straw must have been when Dorian insisted that Gordie ought to work all night to clean up the graffiti. If it hadn’t had such nightmare consequences, Lorinda might almost have felt some sympathy.
“But why kill Ondine?” Macho asked. “She didn’t have any series characters. Her gimmick was her Un-titles.”
“Rotten, arrogant bitch!” Gordie spat. “She insulted me ... treated me like dirt. She was Unbearable, Uncivil, Unkind, Uncharitable, Unforgivable ... and so” – he gave them a chilling smile – “she was Undone.”
Poor Ondine. Plunging down those attic stairs in a fury, bumping into Gordie, venting her wrath on him – and paying for it horribly. Lorinda shuddered.
“And Gemma had that odd, nearly fatal bout of food poisoning ...” Freddie was following her own trail of thought.
“She rejected my short stories.” Gordie snarled. “They were better than anything appearing in her miserable magazine, but she kept rejecting them. I didn’t use enough poison,” he brooded. “I didn’t want it to be obvious and I undermeasured. She survived. Still” – he brightened – “she has nothing to do with the magazine any more. She doesn’t matter.”
“Plantagenet Sutton was pretty unbearable, too,” Macho said thoughtfully. “If that’s part of the criteria. Or did he criticize one of your unpublished manuscripts? The way he criticized, that would do it.”
“I thought he was my friend.” Gordie’s eyes misted. “He was the only one who ever asked me in for a drink and talked to me about writing. He was going to help me get started. He got the case of tequila for me, he thought the idea was really funny. Upsetting all you people, using your own characters against you, destabilizing you ... He wanted to see what effect it would have on your books.”
“Yes,” Macho said, “Plantagenet would think it was a howling great joke. I knew he was in it somewhere.
“Only ... he lost his sense of humour.” Gordie’s eyes clouded. “He said I could have killed Jack, pushing him into that bonfire. He didn’t understand ...”
“I suppose Jack had insulted you, too,” Freddie sighed. “What a sensitive little flower you are.”
“Sutton said I was going too far ... getting too dangerous,” Gordie complained. “He was going to tell Dorian, but not until he got back from the cruise. I followed him up to the Manor House that night – I knew he’d drink too much. And, if he didn’t, he could always be persuaded to have another. He was glad to see me when he rolled out of Dorian’s. He thought I’d help him home. He didn’t notice that I kept him in the cold, talking. When he did, I offered him a flask. It only took a couple of swallows before he passed out. Then I lowered him to the ground and walked away. Nature did the rest. It’s lucky it was such a cold night.” There was bemused silence at his idea of luck.
“It keeps coming back to Dorian,” Lorinda reflected. “He found you, brought you here, installed you as Jack of all Trades and resident caretaker at Coffers Court ...” Gordie, who could deal with anything mechanical or electrical – even to the extent of rigging false messages on an answering machine and then wiping them.
“I thought I was going to be his protégé,” Gordie said. “But he only wanted a carpenter-mechanic who’d be on twenty-four-hour call.”
“Have you got that mess over the doorway cleaned up yet?” Macho had evidently decided to try to rattle Gordie. For a moment, he even sounded like Dorian.
“Yes. No. It’s good enough.” Gordie looked at him with active hate. “Dorian isn’t going to care any more.”
“I don’t see why Dorian cared so much in the first place,” Lorinda said.
“That’s right,” Freddie agreed. “Why was he so concerned? What was it to him?”
“You don’t know?” Gordie was gratified at being able to tell them. “Dorian owns ... owned ... Coffers Court. He bought it as an investment at the same time he bought the Manor House. He also bought a controlling interest in the estate agent’s. He had his fingers in every pie in Brimful Coffers.”
“Estate agent’s! So that’s why Dorian had the keys when he showed me the house,” Lorinda remembered. “I thought he was just being very thoughtful. But he had a personal interest and ...” She caught the smug expression crossing Gordie’s face. “You have those duplicate keys now – that’s how you got in here. How you got in everywhere.”
“Who’d bother about good old Gordie roaming around doing his odd jobs? Not that anyone ever saw me going in and out. I made certain of that.”
“In your usual efficient way,” Freddie jibed.
“That’s enough!” He swung the gun from one to the other of them. “I know what you’re doing. You’re humouring me – playing for time. I’ve read this scene often enough in your books. But you could keep me talking all night and it wouldn’t help you. No one’s coming to save you. You know everything now and –”
“Just how do you propose to explain why three reasonably happy and successful people should wind up in this ridiculous murder-and-suicide situation you’re trying to set up?” Macho still had traces of Dorian’s cold disdain in his speech.
“Happens all the time,” Gordie said. “The Eternal Triangle ... a crime passionnel –”
Macho’s guffaw cut him off. After a moment, Freddie joined in the scornful laughter.
“You’ll never get away with that,” Macho said. “It wouldn’t stand up for ten minutes. If that’s the best you can do, no wonder you never sold a book.”
“No, please –” Lorinda saw what he was doing. He was trying to draw Gordie’s fire, hoping it would give them a chance to escape. “Please, Lance –”
“Lance?” That threw Gordie into more confusion than Macho’s needling.
“My name is Lancelot Dalrymple.” He met Gordie’s eyes coldly. “If you weren’t so stupid, you’d know that no one could be named Macho Magee.”
“Don’t call me stu –”
The doorbell rang suddenly. The cats dashed for the door, knocking Gordie off-balance. His finger tightened on the. trigger and the first shot went wild.
“Hey!” Fists began hammering on the door. “What’s going on in there? Open up!”
Freddie threw a cushion at the
gun and another shot went wide. Lorinda threw a cushion from the other side. Macho dived for the poker. There was a crash of breaking glass.
“Hey!” Jack Jackley thrust aside the drapes and stumbled into the room. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Grab him!” Macho shouted, as Gordie tried to run for the window. He lashed out with the poker, knocking the gun from Gordie’s hand.
“Got him!” Jack and Macho wrestled Gordie to the floor and sat on him. The doorbell pealed again.
“Would somebody like to let Karla in,” Jack said, “and tell us what the hell is going on?”
14
Chapter Twenty
“Oooohh, champagne!” Marigold gasped in excitement at the display in the center of the tea table. “And caviar! In Daddy’s silver ice bucket! Oh, Petunia, have we got another case? Is it a special case?”
“We’ve got the rest of the case of champagne,” Lily said. “I saw it when I was putting my bicycle on the back porch. Gift from a grateful client, was it?”
“No.” Miss Petunia drew a deep breath. “I bought it myself.”
“Petunia!” Marigold said reproachfully. “And you’re the one who’s always lecturing me about our budget!”
“We have no budget any more, my dears,” Miss Petunia said. “We’ll never have to pinch a penny again. We’re rich!”
“Petunia! Whatever can you mean?”
“Great-great-grandpa’s South Sea Bubble shares come good at last have they?” Lily frowned in thought. “Or was it the Groundnut Scheme?”
“My dears.” Miss Petunia beamed upon her sisters. “I am delighted to be able to tell you that the Blossom Cottage Syndicate has won the Lottery!”
“The Lottery, eh?” Lily took it calmly. “I thought some of those numbers sounded familiar the other night.”
“Did they?” Marigold wrinkled her brow. “Oh, dear, I just have no head for figures at all.”
“I didn’t want to draw your attention to it until I was absolutely certain, but now I have had confirmation.” Miss Petunia adjusted her pince-nez and took a deep breath. There were still moments when she felt slightly giddy. “There is no doubt about it. We have won ten million pounds!”
“Ten?” Marigold’s eyes grew huge. “Ten mil-lioooooh ...”
“Catch her, Lily,” Miss Petunia said.
After Marigold revived, they opened the champagne and began making plans.
“Won’t have to move, will we?” Lily asked anxiously. “Rather like the old cottage. Used to it.”
“Oh, no!” Marigold cried. “I couldn’t bear to live anywhere else!”
“No, no,” Miss Petunia reassured them – she had been giving the matter some thought. “Of course we’ll stay here. We might, however, add on to it a bit. Or buy some of the vacant land behind the cottage and build a studio for Marigold to paint in and a gymnasium for you, Lily.”
“Oh, and a lovely laboratory for you, Petunia!” Marigold’s eyes glowed. “Just what you need to help you solve the awful crimes we stumble over.”
“Are we going to keep on solving crimes now?” Lily asked. “We won’t need to, you know. Not if we’re rich. Are we going to retire?”
“It would be rather nice not to have to go to Saints Etheldreda and Dowsabel every day,” Marigold said wistfully.
“Mmmm, yes, but I’d rather miss the old place. Wouldn’t like to break all the ties.” Lily brightened. “Perhaps we could cut down to two or three days a week.”
“I’m sure you can do better than that,” Miss Petunia said. “When they hear about our stroke of luck, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they allowed you to take early retirement and then invited you to serve on the Board of Governors.”
“Oh, what fun! We could give out the prizes at Prize Day!” Marigold clapped her hands. “Oh – and we could even donate some of the prizes!”
“Steady on, old girl,” Lily said. “Don’t want to go too far. Must say, though, can’t wait to see Old Gumboots’s face when she hears the news.”
“We can make all these decisions later,” Miss Petunia said. “Before that, I think we should give ourselves a glorious holiday. What would you say to a round-the-world cruise?”
“Oh, yes! Yes!” Marigold began dancing around the room in her excitement. “What a wonderful idea!” Her eyes grew dreamy. “Just think of those tropical nights, with all those handsome ship’s officers, and a full moon, and a romantic port, and ...”
“Have to keep a sharp eye out for fortune hunters now.” Lily gave her sisters a sharp look.
“I’m aware of that, dear,” Miss Petunia said. “You needn’t worry, we won’t let anything separate us.”
“What about staterooms? Only take two people, don’t they?”
“We shall reserve the penthouse suite ... with its own balcony.” Miss Petunia gave a happy sigh. “Expense is no longer a consideration. We’ll have a wonderful time.”
“They have a gym on board, haven’t they? And deck games ... tours of the engine room ... the bridge ...” Lily began to get enthusiastic.
“Shopping on shore excursions,” Marigold said. “And we won’t have to worry about how much things cost. Then there’ll be cocktails with the Captain. Oh! – and we might even sit at his table.”
“With ten million pounds, I should think we might.” Miss Petunia bestowed a fond smile on her sisters. It would be a very pleasant trip. There would be a library on board, guest lecturers, the latest films, craft courses, talks for hobbyists ...
Yes, and who knew? There might even be a mystery or two to solve. Many people travelled ... and for many different reasons. It was not beyond the realm of possibility.
“Fill the glasses again, Lily, dear,” Miss Petunia said.
“And we will drink a toast to the future. This isn’t the end of our little adventures. It is –
the beginning
Lorinda pulled the page from the typewriter and looked over her shoulder. Nothing moved in the shadows of the room as she snapped on her desk lamp. The only sound in the study was Had-I’s contented purr from the corner of the desk where she lay curled. But-Known sat at her feet, looking hopeful. The finality with which Lorinda had torn the page from the machine had told her that the day’s stint was over and food was imminent.
“Just wait a minute,” Lorinda told her. “I just want to do one more thing before I go out ...”
Freddie was giving a Farewell Party for the Jackleys, who were leaving for the Continent in the morning. It would be a small party, comprised of those who were left. Rhylla had already taken Clarice and departed for the States, considering a trip to Disneyland a small price to pay for the relief of delivering Clarice back to her reluctant parents. Dorian would not be there, either; his sister had taken him home with her to complete his convalescence. Somehow, in relating this to Karla, Freddie had made it sound as though Dorian would never fully recover and would require nursing for the rest of his life.
It was amazing how quickly Karla’s ardour had cooled. It seemed like only the next day that she and Jack had decided that they ought to visit the mainland of Europe, since they were so close to it – and it would make for a better travel book than a rather parochial story of a year in a sleepy English village. Later, perhaps, they might make more of their stay in Brimful Coffers but, with Gordie likely to be judged unfit to plead, the excitement and publicity surrounding the recent events was already dying down.
Lorinda looked over her shoulder again. Nothing. She listened, but heard only Had-I’s purr. It was silly of her, of course – it had all been Gordie’s doing. The Spinster Sibling Sleuths would not return to wreak vengeance on her – now or ever. But it was better to be safe ...
After a long pause, she rolled a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter and began.
Chapter One
The sun sparkled in a bright blue sky and a spanking new carriage waited outside the front door. It was a splendid morning for a new enterprise.
All was in readiness and
the woman smiled to herself as she fitted the newly engraved cards into her card case. In her mind was the list of the houses where she would call to leave her card. Someone in each house would have good reason to be interested.
A sweet and thrilling excitement rose in her, sweeping away the doubts to which she had been prey. Alas for the ingratitude of humankind; she had been snatched back from the depths, she had been lifted to a position of respectability and honour and ... Bah! she had been bored.
If all went well from this day onwards, however, she need never know tedium again. She gazed fondly at the black copperplate engraving on the top card before she closed the lid of her card case. It read:
Becky Sharp
Discreet Inquiries Undertaken
Canapés for the Kitties Page 25
