Shadow of Reality (Book One in the Elizabeth and Richard Mystery Series)

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  How well he does this, Elizabeth thought. It’s impossible to believe he’s acting. She even felt a small stab of jealousy for the mourned Gloria.

  “And did you have serious girlfriends before?” someone in the far corner asked.

  “Oh, quite. But then, that depends on what you call serious, doesn’t it?”

  “Will you tell us about the one before Gloria Glitz?”

  Sir Linden rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I say, it’s a little hard to remember. Well, now, yes, that would have been Lady Leila Landsbury, an old, old friend of the family—not that the lady herself was ancient, you understand.”

  Elizabeth introduced a new line of questioning, “Sir Linden, is your title inherited?”

  “No, His Most Gracious Britannic Majesty King George V conferred this honor upon me in recognition of my contribution to English arts and letters.”

  “And how long have you held the title?”

  “A little less than a year. Since the publication of Clouds of Carcasses.”

  A woman next to Elizabeth took up the questioning, “That was your wildly successful best seller?”

  “Madam, how am I to maintain my decorum of British understatement if you will thrust such bouquets at me? But yes, His Majesty was good enough to mention that book in his charter of knighthood. I believe revenue from the foreign publications of the book did make a certain contribution to the exchequer.”

  Elizabeth smiled as she scribbled notes. It was fun to ponder the parallels between the real man and the character he was portraying. Stark must know him well. She didn’t know much about Sir Gavin Kendall beyond having read his books, but she did know that his own best seller, Who Doth Murder Sleep? had actually resulted in his knighthood. She didn’t know what he had written since, however. When she had a chance, she would ask Sir Gavin what he was working on now besides his fictional Wimsey biography.

  A woman wearing a Conversation Piece name tag asked, “What were the autopsy results?”

  “There was no autopsy, madam. The certificate of death listed natural causes, choking. That’s why I really don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

  “Was there anything at all unusual noted on the certificate?”

  “I don’t really know what might be unusual. I fortunately haven’t had much experience in all this, you understand. Perhaps you might interview on of the others…”

  “Yes, of course. But was there any more information at all?”

  Leigh twirled his eyeglass on the end of its ribbon. “I seem to remember some mention of the deceased’s complexion appearing cherry red. I assume that’s natural in choking cases. The constable made no suggestion of foul play.”

  “Was this constable an officer experienced in investigating sudden deaths?” The tweed-suited questioner moved closer to Sir Linden, who appeared rather bored by this line of questioning.

  “He seemed a right enough old codger for a country constable. About ready for retirement, I’d guess. He’d probably seen his share of sudden deaths, natural and unnatural, in his time.”

  The questioning continued: Murder? Are you quite sure it was murder? The death certificate…Well, no, if you wanted to look at that possibility, he certainly didn’t have any theories about murder. No, he didn’t think Gloria was carrying on behind his back. No, he certainly didn’t murder her himself—she really was the most frightfully sporting girl—he missed her most awfully already…The interview ended, they all moved toward the dining parlor for luncheon.

  Surveying the salad bar, which ran the width of the room, Elizabeth remarked to Helen Johnson, “It appears Stark had it right when he said the kitchen was well supplied. I’m glad they had plenty of fresh things on hand.”

  Helen agreed, “I’d really forgotten all about the landslide. I suppose it doesn’t make any difference, anyway. No one would want to go anywhere. Unless there was an emergency, of course.”

  “I think it just makes it all more realistic and exciting,” Cathy said as she joined her mother. “Maybe we aren’t cut off at all—maybe they just said that to make it feel more like the script.”

  Elizabeth laughed as she topped her salad with cherry tomatoes. “That’s an original idea, Cathy. You never know around here. That’s why they call it a mystery week. As a matter of fact, last night I had a—”

  “Hullo there, may I carry your plate to the table for you?”

  “Oh, Sir Linden, how very democratic of you.” She surrendered her plate. “Or are you Sir Gavin now? It’s rather confusing.”

  “I’m me now, Gavin, to you.” He set her plate on the table and pulled out her chair for her. “No aftershocks from last night, I hope?”

  “None, thank you. I slept very well—thanks to the doctor’s pills, I’ll have to admit. Aren’t you sitting down?”

  “No, no. Some of the members might want to cast aspersions at Sir Linden, and we wouldn’t want to inhibit them. I’ll see you at tea in the Lake Lounge, right-o?” He slipped back into character.

  “Fine. I’ll look forward to it.” She watched his broad-shouldered, well-tailored back retire to the far side of the room. “Did you and Evan have an interesting interview with the maid?” She turned to the teenagers beside her, leaving Anita and Richard with their heads together across the table.

  “Oh, yes. Let’s eat fast—I can’t wait to hear what everybody learned.”

  It seemed that the entire team shared Cathy’s enthusiasm because in record time Blithe Spirit was assembled in the library, notebooks open in front of them. Everyone looked to Richard, since, by common consent, he had become their leader. “Cathy, I think we’d better let you report before you burst. Do you think Millie put poison in the soup?”

  “If she did, she got mixed up and served it to the wrong person. She was devoted to Gloria, but she hated Sir Linden—”

  “She’d served Gloria ever since her first hit show years ago,” Evan interrupted his sister. “She didn’t think Leigh was nearly good enough for her mistress. She said,” Evan consulted his notes to get the exact wording, “‘Me mistress were a lovely loidy, and very talented. That there Sir Linden, as ‘e called ‘isself, ‘ad as much talent as my Uncle Icabod. Writer he called ‘isself. Humph! Not that I fancy myself much of a reader, you understand, but my sister Vicky as was ‘is Lordship’s secretary afore she died—’”

  “Wait a minute!” Irene sat forward on the edge of her chair. “Gloria’s maid’s sister was Sir Linden’s secretary?”

  Cathy nodded. “Yes, but she died a couple of years ago.”

  “Aha!” Irene waved her pencil in the air. “Foul play—the plot thickens. Let’s see, how could that tie in?”

  “I don’t think it does,” Evan said. “Millie said her sister died of cancer.”

  But Irene was not to be deterred. “Yes, but she could lie—if it related directly to the murder.”

  “Would she lie about her sister's death? Besides, what would be the use? The others would know, too.”

  “Let’s hear the rest of the reports before we try to formulate a theory,” Richard said, cutting through all the supposings as everyone jumped on the newest speculation.

  Anita flashed her brilliant smile. “Well, Richard and I learned some very interesting things about Brian. I think he’s one of our prime suspects. He isn’t just the playboy he pretends to be—he’s really a British Secret Service agent. And he was Gloria’s boyfriend before Linden. He admitted that they were very close. Now maybe—”

  “So why would that make him a suspect if her loved her?” Benton North spoke up for the first time in the meeting. “Sounds like another motive for murdering Leigh. You don’t suppose they got the wrong victim?”

  “If so, then Linden Leigh is still in danger,” Elizabeth said, “because the murderer is still with us.”

  “That’s right, and we’re with him—or her—all trapped here together, like in Ten Little Indians or something.” Irene gave a dramatic shudder.

  “Maybe that’s it!” Cath
y cried. “Wasn’t one of those murders in that movie committed to cover up the real murder and confuse everybody? Maybe our murderer killed Gloria as a distraction, and maybe he’ll get the real target later.”

  “We’ve got to work fast, then,” Evan said.

  “Just a minute now, don’t get carried away. We don’t even know for sure that it was murder. Remember, Stark asked what killed Gloria Glitz, not who.” Richard, always the levelheaded one, calmed them. “Now, who interviewed Susie?”

  “Bill and I did,” Helen Johnson said. “Of course it was murder. Who ever read a mystery without a villain? And it seems like Susie had plenty of motive. She was repeatedly cast as Gloria’s understudy and played supporting roles to Gloria’s stardom. Susie got good reviews by the critics, but never could land a starring role ahead of Gloria.”

  “Yeah.” Irene pulled a face. “I know the feeling. Not that I'd actually kill for a part, but…”

  Everyone laughed, and Bill continued their report. “That’s not her only area of jealousy; she also thinks Sir Linden is wonderful and was much too good for Gloria.” He was interrupted with several Ah-has. “But she denied wanting him for herself. She says she’s in love with Brian.”

  “Yeah, but she could be lying.”

  “Did Brian say if he loved her?”

  “We didn’t ask. Sorry, didn't think of it.”

  “Was Nigel Susie’s agent, too?”

  Irene glanced at her notes. “No, I don’t think so. Gloria was his only major client. He had handled her for ten years—ever since she was a struggling unknown. He devoted his career to her throughout her rise to stardom. He admitted he has done very well financially.”

  “Hmmm, what did he think about his star attraction getting married? Do we have another motive against Leigh?”

  “No, he said he thought becoming Lady Leigh would be very good for her billing. Apparently she did, too. She didn’t seem to have any intention of giving up her career.”

  “Were his accounts ever audited?”

  “What were the terms of his contract with Gloria?”

  “I wonder if he handled writers, too?”

  “Yeah, did he ever represent Sir Linden?”

  “Okay,” Richard called the group back to order. “Do we all have a list of the information we want to get at the next interviews? Do you want to take the same people again?”

  The team decided it would be more beneficial to tackle different suspects, so assignments were made, and Elizabeth chose Millie. This time Richard volunteered to go with her.

  “…that’s right, Vicky always said she could write a better mystery than ‘is sirship—she called him that even before he was titled because she said he lorded it over everyone. ‘So why don’t you?’ I asked ‘er, ‘That’d settle ‘is dust.’ ‘I just might at that,’ she says…but then she died.” Millie shook her head. “Powerful quick, she went, ‘ardly no warnin’ at all.”

  “What did Vicky think of Clouds of Carcasses? Didn’t she think that was a good book?”

  Millie continued to shake her head. “She was in ‘er grave by then.” As an afterthought she added, “But I ‘aven’t noticed ‘im writing anything else people said were as good as that—even if all ‘is books do sell a lot, ‘is being such a big name and all.”

  “And you were unhappy about your mistress marrying Sir Linden?” Elizabeth prodded.

  Millie sniffed. “‘Is Lordship should ‘ave married that Lady ‘oity-toit ‘e was going around with afore ‘e sweet-talked me mistress into marryin’ ‘im. ‘E never loved ‘er, I’ll warrant.”

  “Was Gloria generally popular? I mean, do you think most people were as genuinely fond of her as you were?” Richard asked.

  “Them as wasn’t jealous of ‘er, like that there Suzanna Sweetly was. And then there was Mr. Cass—”

  “Yes, what about Nigel Cass?” The questioners perked up their ears for a clue.

  “I don’t know much, but I know what I ‘eard.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Just that evening afore she died, ‘er and Mr. Cass ‘ad a fearful row in the library.”

  “Did you hear what was said?”

  “Did she threaten to break her contract?”

  Millie looked offended. “I ‘ad me ‘ands full serving the whole dinner with not so much as a kitchen skivvy to ‘elp. I didn’t ‘ave no time to be listenin’ at doors, now did I?”

  “Hmmm, that’s something to follow up on.” Elizabeth marked the line in her notebook with a star.

  Back in the library, Elizabeth found it difficult to keep her mind on everyone’s report as she thought of her date with Gavin. But Irene had some exceedingly interesting new facts about Brian Rielly that caught her attention: “He admitted to committing certain indiscretions when he dated Gloria. I got the idea he tried to dazzle her with tales of his exploits and international connections, and probably told too much. Didn’t you think so, Daddy?” She turned to her father.

  “Yes, that’s right. I asked him if he intentionally exchanged napkins with her at the dinner. He said he did.”

  Irene picked up her father’s cue. “Yes, he said there was a message in it asking her to meet him in the conservatory after dinner so he could gain her assurance that his secrets were safe with her.”

  “Hmm, sounds like he was going to blackmail her or something—or she him. Now, how would that work?” Elizabeth wondered.

  “Maybe that’s just an excuse—an alibi—making it look like he wouldn’t have killed her because he was planning to meet her after dinner,” Irene said.

  “Maybe she gave him some kind of signal that she wouldn’t meet him, so he killed her,” Cathy suggested.

  “How?”

  “Er, well, I’ll work it out.”

  “I still think there was poison on his napkin. Spies would have that sort of thing,” Evan said with confidence.

  “Well, Gavin said—” Anita stopped and laughed, “Oh, I mean Linden said he couldn’t imagine how Millie got the ridiculous idea about her sister’s opinion of his writing. As a matter of fact, Vicky had attempted to write a mystery herself and had repeatedly asked his advice. But nothing came of it.”

  “Because she died?”

  “He said the book wouldn’t have made it anyway. He said everyone thinks they can write just because they can speak the language—an idea as ridiculous as thinking they can dance with the Royal Ballet just because they can walk.”

  Several people started developing theories, but Elizabeth left them talking and slipped out to freshen up before tea. Once in her room, though, she had to laugh at herself for her hesitation before opening the bathroom door. She didn’t want to find any more bodies in there—even one only impersonating a corpse.

  Chapter 4

  Tuesday Evening

  Elizabeth slid a headband around her forehead so its yellow bangles hung just above her left ear, then she took a quick glance in the mirror on the back of her closet door. The lines of her tunic top flowed to below her knees above wide-legged trousers. Thirties’ styles are so much fun, she thought, then grabbed her tiny clutch bag and skipped down the four flights of stairs to the Lake Lounge where Gavin was waiting to take afternoon tea with her.

  “I say, Tuppence, absolutely smashing.” he rose at her entry. Elizabeth bobbed a curtsy as he bowed over her hand, and they both laughed. It was wonderful the way he knew all the stories she loved, and the way he shared them with her with such creative flair. For just a moment, she felt as though she really was Tuppence, Agatha Christie’s heroine, and Sir Gavin was Tommy, Tuppence’s love.

  Gavin smiled at her, pulling her hand through his arm. “Thank goodness, we don’t have to keep up this role business all the time. Just enough to keep the tourists happy, what?” He led her to a small, overstuffed sofa by the window. “All comfy, are you? I go to mount an attack on the tea trolley. I shall be bloody, bold, and resolute.”

  Elizabeth’s laughter followed him all the way across the room. It
was all such delicious nonsense. But the idea of playing Tuppence to his Tommy, or Harriet Vane to his Lord Peter, held far more than acting appeal for her. She had met him only the day before, and yet already felt she had always known him. In a way she had, in her dreams. The tall, polished aristocrat. Intellectual and yet fun, immaculately dressed and yet relaxed, warm and friendly to everybody and at the same time focused on her.

  Since she was a small girl her grandmother had insisted on the undertakings of Providence in the world. “Now, don’t you fret, Pumpkin. Never fret. You’ll know when it’s right. And at the right time, too. That’s Providence. He didn’t just create the universe and all the stars and the flowers in the garden and then leave us alone to fed for ourselves. not at all. You just pay attention to His guidance and you’ll come out just fine,” Elizabeth had long ago discarded the philosophy, but not the memories. She could still hear the creak of the old wooden rocker on the wide front porch and taste the tang of the pink lemonade Nanny served her on those long-ago summer afternoons of childhood.

  And perhaps, in a strange way, Nan’s precepts had been the underpinning reason she was able to give herself so totally to her teaching position that she had been promoted to department head at the startling young age of thirty-four. Ann’s “Don’t worry about the future; the future will take care of itself” creed had meant that when a seemingly promising romance with the college business manager went nowhere she remained secure in the timing of a benign, if vague, Providence and left questions such as marriage and family in his hands. Although lately, she had been aware of the fact that her biological clock was running. She couldn’t wait forever if she were to have the children she had always dreamed of having. And now…

  She settled back in the cushions with a sigh and closed her eyes. In her euphoric state she could imagine herself anywhere—but she didn’t want to be anywhere else, only where Gavin was.