Raoul came through the doorway with a platter of prime rib and roasted garlic potatoes. My mouth began watering immediately. He set the tray on the table and returned with a salad, handmade rolls with honey butter, and green beans with applewood smoked bacon.
"You will need to serve yourselves," Raoul said. He pointed out the wine and let us know the vintages before leaving us and going back into the kitchen.
Frank picked up the first platter, and once he'd helped himself, passed it to Annie. The food went round the table, and we all ate for a few moments in silence. We were all sizing each other up. The Bombays were discreetly studying their Vics, and the guests were openly staring at everyone else.
Giuseppe lifted his wine glass. "A toast to give birth to the reckless heart of the night!"
"Rock and roll!" Tiffany Lauper said as she clinked her glass to his.
"To our futures, which I see very clearly!" Madame Angelina added.
The others, including me and Frank, ignored them. I needed to get my cousins alone and tell them to tone it the hell down.
Juan picked up the clown statue nearest to him. "I just don't get it. These don't match the rest of the house. Why are they here?" He looked as though he was worried that these might be part of the inheritance.
Anderson shrugged. "Perhaps it is a joke? A very unpleasant joke."
Nora nodded. "We could throw them into the fireplace. They would look better there."
"Inside of every man is a sad clown, begging for the elusive, sweet smile of love," Giuseppe said.
"Send in the clowns…" Tiffany Lauper began to sing.
I slammed my hand down on the table. "Just leave the damn clowns alone!" Everybody stopped and turned to gape at me.
"I mean…" I thought fast. "They don't belong to us, do they? Maybe Mr. Owen liked them."
"Then I wish Mr. Owen had died earlier," Nora said as she cringed. "Before he'd bought them."
We spent the rest of the dinner in silence. I'd made things too tense with my outburst. I needed to focus on what we had to accomplish here and get back on track. We finished eating and stared at our plates. I knew everyone was wondering if someone was going to clear the table. I knew for a fact that no one would. But I had to act like I was just as bewildered as the others.
Nora finally pushed away from the table and stood up. "I'm going to get another drink," she said and sashayed back to the library.
"Sounds like a plan," William said. The rest of us got up and followed.
We'd just sat down when the recording came on. I tried not to smile. It was a unique, state of the art sound system I'd developed. You've heard about surround sound? Well this was better than that. You were so engulfed in sound you had no idea where the sounds came from. Maybe I should apply for a patent.
My name is Mr. Owen, and I've invited all of you here for one thing.
I looked around like everyone else for the source of the voice. But I knew where it was. They didn't.
To be judged whether you're worthy to receive your inheritance.
Madame Angelina scowled at me. She'd wanted everything to follow And Then There Were None strictly by the book. But we didn't have time for that. And I didn't want them to leave the house, which is something you'd do if you were being accused of a crime.
You must stay the night and spend Christmas together, like a real family. If you can get along until morning, you will receive your just rewards.
Lex had done the recording, and he'd done a hell of a job too. The recording ended, and everyone looked at everyone else.
"Well of course we are staying the night." Anderson waved his hand in the air as if he was bored. "That's why we're here."
Annie frowned. "What did he think we were going to do? We brought luggage for christssake."
"Hell, yeah!" Tiffany Lauper shouted. She looked disappointed. I think she wanted the recording to scare everyone. But what was the point of that? They'd be frightened enough when we all started dropping like flies. And why clue them in before we had to?
"Hey, check this out, guys." Annie was over by the fireplace, looking at a framed poem. Good. It could start now. We all listened as Annie recited the poem;
Ten little Clown boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were nine.
Nine little Clown boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were eight.
Eight little Clown boys travelling in Devon;
One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.
Seven little Clown boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves and then there were six.
Six little Clown boys playing with a hive;
A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.
Five little Clown boys going in for law;
One got in Chancery and then there were four.
Four little Clown boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.
Three little Clown boys walking in the zoo;
A big bear hugged one and then there were two.
Two little Clown boys playing in the sun;
One got all frizzled up and then there was one.
One little Clown boy left all alone;
He went out and hanged himself and then there were none.
"Little Clown boys?" Nora asked. "The nightmare continues."
Madame Angelina stormed over to the poem. "Allow me to examine this. There are signs in a person's handwriting that can predict his future." She scanned the poem with what I could only describe as "extreme googly eyes." Even with all the gypsy drama she was conjuring, I could tell she was pissed off. But I couldn't find Indian figurines. I could only find clown figurines. She was going to have to deal with it.
"I've heard this poem before," Madame said, her accent thicker than it was a minute ago for some reason. "This is not right. It should be 'little Indians.'"
And there it was. My passive-aggressive, fake-gypsy cousin. But I didn't care because I was going to die soon.
"That seems racist." Juan frowned.
"And sexist. Boys? Really?" Annie said as she shook her head.
"Whatever it is, it's stupid." William shifted uneasily in his chair. That was a bad sign. He seemed to be the only suspicious one in the group.
"I'm going to get another drink," I said as I stood up and walked over to the bar in the corner of the room. I mixed myself a vodka tonic and emptied the contents of my poison ring—the only bit of costuming I allowed myself. The ring was a large cat's head and when you pressed on the little pink nose, toxin squirted out of its mouth. It was pretty tacky, but I thought it lent that middle-aged-crazy-cat-lady vibe to my persona. Once the clear liquid hit my drink, I stuck a swizzle stick in it and stirred.
Turning around so everyone could see me, I drained the glass in one swallow. Now all I had to do was wait.
"Good idea." Juan joined me at the bar and gave me a dazzling grin.
For a moment, I wondered if he suspected anything and was just playing it cool. Assassins can usually spot other assassins. Or at least they should. But Juan didn't seem to think anything was out of the ordinary. He just poured a glass of single malt scotch and gently dropped two ice cubes into it.
The room was starting to spin. That meant my little cocktail was working. "What did that poem say?" I asked slurrily as I fell to the floor and blacked out.
My cousins were supposed to crowd around me, keeping the others at bay. The chemical I'd mixed was a doozy. It faked death, slowing my breathing to such a level it could barely be detected. Barely. If someone was looking for it closely enough, they'd see I wasn't dead. I know—I should've come up with something stronger. But I wasn't ready to risk it for this bunch of asshats. Besides keeping me away from the others, my cousins only had ten minutes to get me to my room and lock my body in it. In ten minutes, I'd wake up.
When I came to, I was, in fact, lying on my bed. Once the full ef
fects of the drug wore off, I got to my feet and double-checked the door. It was locked. They got that right. Our intention was to put each of the bodies in their own bedroom and lock the doorknob from the inside as we pulled the door shut. No one would check because I was dead. There was no reason to go into my room, and I counted on people not wanting to see my dead body.
At the bookcase, I pulled out a copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. The bookcase swung open, showing a small doorway. I know, how cliché to use the old bookcase-as-secret-door routine. But I'd always wanted to do that because, hey, who doesn't want to do that at least once in their lifetime?
I pulled the door shut behind me, and the motion sensitive lights came on. I was standing in one of the many passageways that ran between the walls. Lex and I'd spent a whole month soundproofing it. It was difficult coming up with the right combination of materials, but I eventually went with a mixture that used memory foam. The floors were extra squishy, and it sort of felt like walking on the moon. It made the walls very shock absorbent too, which was good, because the first time I'd walked on a memory foam floor, I'd fallen down a lot. I had toyed with removing gravity from the secret halls so we could all float around like astronauts, but Lex vetoed me on that one. I still wish I'd done it. Just the image of assassins floating around with knives makes me smile.
By walking through these passageways, I could access any room and spy on the others through the two-way mirrors I'd installed. It was the perfect plan.
The next step was for me to go back to the library. The cousins were going to round everyone up and take them there. Nora was next on the agenda. I needed to take her out in the next half hour.
Nora was the little clown (I'm sure she'd hate that) who overslept himself. In the book, they found that victim the next morning. But we only had control over these people for one night, so it was sweet dreams for that psycho.
As expected, everyone was in the library. I adjusted the sound and listened.
"She probably had a heart attack from seeing those stupid clowns," Nora was saying. She didn't seem too upset that I was dead.
"I knew it!" Madame Angelina exclaimed. "I saw something sinister in her aura!"
My aura? Just for that, I decided I was going to invent something that gave Liv the appearance of a sickly green aura for the next family reunion. That would be fun. Maybe I could make it a talking aura with a thick Romanian accent.
"I think it's sad." Annie pouted. Awww. She was sad I was dead. That's nice.
Juan, who had been the very definition of calm up until now, was pacing the floor like a nervous cat. "I think it was poison."
Ah. There it was. I was hoping one of the Vics would notice and my cousins wouldn't have to say anything.
Anderson waved him off. "What makes you think it was poison? It was probably natural causes."
"Well whatever it was," Tiffany Lauper said in her Brooklyn accent, "she's in rock and roll heaven now, jammin' with Jimi."
Jammin' with Jimi? Maybe Gin would die from her own terrible performance. I wondered for a moment if that would be possible. Oooh! I know! An aerosol virus with a sound sensitive trigger that would react to high drama in the voice. That had some interesting possibilities. I could've used something like that when I took out a Miss America contestant who dabbled as a serial killer back in the early '90s. Mental note—experiment with hair spray as a delivery system…
"We need to call the authorities," Annie said as she scanned the room. "Has anyone seen a landline phone here? My cell has no signal."
As if on cue, the others all pulled out their cells and consulted them. All except Giuseppe of course. I can only assume he was "too poor" to own one.
"I don't like it." William's eyes darted back and forth over everyone.
Hmm…we weren't supposed to take out the big guy for a while yet. But we might have to move things up if he got nervous and tried to make a break for it.
"I'm sure it was poison," Juan insisted. He was still pacing. "Someone poisoned…um…that woman."
He forgot my name? I felt a little pissed about that. The son-of-a-bitch didn't even try to learn my name. What a bastard.
I watched as Tiffany Lauper walked over to Nora, feigning drunkenness. (At least, I hoped Gin was faking it.) A few feet away, she tripped and spilled her drink down the front of Nora's very expensive silk blouse. The fashionista was soaked. Which meant she needed to go to her room.
"You imbecile!" Nora stood up and stabbed Tiffany in the chest with her index finger. "This blouse is more expensive than this entire island!"
"Whatever." The rock star rolled her eyes, walked back to the couch and sprawled on it.
"I'm going to my room to change," Nora announced as if she were telling us that Coco Chanel was going to come back from the dead to give her a haute couture zombie mani/pedi, and then she swept out of the room.
I was looking through her mirror over her dresser before she got there. Everything was ready to go.
Nora stormed into the room and shut the door. She fumed as she tore the ruined blouse off and replaced it with another one that, in all honesty, looked exactly the same. After buttoning it up, my Vic walked over to the mirror and examined her image.
Then, she picked her nose. Oh my God. This woman, who oozed wealth and class, was picking her nose in front of me. She pulled the finger out of her nose and put it into her ear. I couldn't take much more of this. I stepped over to the lever I'd installed that went into only her room and pulled it.
A lavender haze descended from the vent in the ceiling. Oh, I know, I could have made it colorless. But I wanted to be able to see it to make sure it worked. Nora saw the purple mist in the mirror and turned around. I'd scented the poison with Chanel No. 5 just to keep her from running out of the room.
She spun around, trying to determine what it was. At first, the woman smiled when she smelled the perfume. But then her mouth opened.
"Holy shit! What the fuck is happening?" she said in the twangiest Southern accent I'd ever heard. This woman wasn't cultured New England. This chick was wrong side of the tracks trash, didn't wear shoes until she was nineteen, backwoods Alabama. I kind of wished I'd thought to record that.
Then she dropped like a sack of lead. I knew Nora was dead because I made the toxin extra strong. A mutant rhino with the lung capacity of a sperm whale wouldn't have survived it. I reached over and pushed a red button that was next to the lever. There was a slight sucking sound as the poison cloud was pulled back up into that same vent. Pushing the second button sent a wave of fresh air into the room.
I pulled the nosepiece out of the hidden panel under the mirror and opened it up. There were two prongs that went up both nostrils. I jammed them into my nose and opened the secret door that went into her room.
Yup. She was dead. And since this little clown overslept herself, and in order not to incur any more of Madame Angelina's wrath, I lifted her up and arranged her on the bed. Her eyes were open, staring glassily at the ceiling. This bitch wasn't going to launder dirty money anymore. For a moment, I toyed with drawing a clown face on her in cheap, dollar store makeup, but I really didn't have the time. I slipped back into the passage and waited.
Any minute now, Giuseppe would lead everyone up the stairs and into Nora's room to see what was taking her so long. Of course, my cousins didn't need to obscure the dead woman from the others because she was, in fact, actually dead.
Any minute now, he'd walk through that door.
Any minute now.
Nothing happened.
Where were they? I needed them to be here. So I could slip down to the dining room and smash two of the little clowns. And they all had to be here too. No one was supposed to know I was still alive and busy orchestrating deaths with amazing and astounding creative efficiency. They all had to go to Nora's room, and they had to realize that everyone was in that room so they'd have no idea who broke the clowns.
The door flew open, and I sighed with relief. Frank led the way. Huh. Gius
eppe was supposed to do that. But here was Cy, walking over to the dead woman's bed and taking her pulse. I wondered what had happened. Seriously, this assignment was hanging by a thread as it was. Now, Cy's earlier idea of just locking everyone in the house and blowing it up had some merit to it. I could still make that happen. I'd been experimenting with a new explosive with the consistency of water that would run through a plumbing system, activating when the cold and hot water were turned on together. The only problem was that it was slightly (meaning totally) corrosive to metal.
Everyone was there in dead Nora's room. Anderson looked bored, Annie was concerned, Juan was worried, and William was nervous. I counted to make sure there was no one missing and then ran down to the dining room.
I slid through the hidden door, and, within seconds, I'd smashed two of the figurines and left the way I'd come.
I waited. From the two-way mirror, I had a good view of the staircase and hallway. Sure enough, there were the others, coming down the stairs. I couldn't hear very well, but I could tell they were upset. Yay!
"Did you hear something?" Tiffany Lauper said on cue. She craned her neck toward the dining room. "It came from in there!" She started running with everyone hot on her heels and stopped in front of the table. The others flowed around her, and as they saw the two broken clowns representing me and Nora, there was visible fear in the eyes of the four remaining targets.
Excellent.
We had to move quickly now. Unlike the book, we weren't trapped on an island in a storm. We were on an island that had condos and an airstrip on the other side. If any one of the remaining four made a run for it we would literally have to hunt them down.
Giuseppe gasped dramatically. "It is ze poetic justice, no?"
Well yes, it was to the five of us Bombays. But it wouldn't look that way to the four Vics. Why did he say that?
Madame Angelina began moaning and wailing and dancing with her eyes closed. That was interesting.
"I foresee…" She was standing in one place and swaying back and forth now. Suddenly, she opened her eyes and looked at Giuseppe. "You! You are next!"
Have Yourself a Deadly Little Christmas: A Greatest Hits Mysteries holiday short story Page 3
