Jane Vows Vengeance (26 page)

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 or 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.

Wednesday: Venice

“G
OOD MORNING
,” J
ANE 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?”

Enid shrugged. “I might have heard some things,” she admitted.

“But what you didn’t know was that the other object of Ryan’s affections was”—she swung around and pointed at Chumsley—“your ex-husband.”

A collective gasp went up from the table. Chumsley threw down his napkin. “Who told you that?” he said.

“I saw you coming out of Ryan’s compartment on the train to Pembroke,” Jane said. “At first I thought you were telling him to stay away from Enid.” She glanced at Enid. “But the notion that you were still in love with her made no sense. Then Orsino mentioned having had an affair with Ryan before Ryan took up with Enid.”

Orsino looked deeply into his coffee cup as everyone turned their attention in his direction.

“That’s when it made sense,” Jane continued. “You weren’t warning him away from Enid because you wanted her, you were telling him to stay away from her because you wanted him all to yourself. Isn’t that right?”

Chumsley reddened. “I didn’t kill him!” he said.

“No,” Jane said, nodding. “You didn’t. And neither did Enid.”

“So it was Orsino, the jilted lover!” Genevieve cried. She was sitting next to Orsino, and now she leaned away from him, her eyes wide.

“It was not!” said Orsino.

“Was it?” Brodie asked Jane.

Jane didn’t answer. Instead she moved on, standing behind Sam.

“Love is only one avenue to murder,” she said. “There are many others. Revenge, for instance. Sam, it must have made you very angry to learn that Ryan was the reason you didn’t get that teaching job.”

Before Sam could respond, Jane continued. “And Genevieve, you think he unfairly won a prize that you deserved to have.”

Genevieve tore a croissant in half but said nothing.

“Brodie, he stole your design idea when you were in school,” Jane said. “And then there’s the small matter of his having stolen Bergen’s commission for the shoe museum.”

“And now we’re back to Bergen,” said Enid. “I think it’s clear to everyone here that of all of us he’s the most likely suspect, particularly if, as you claim, he’s absconded with Walter’s mother.”

“I agree that that would be the most likely explanation,” Jane said. “But then I asked myself, what would Agatha Christie do?”

“Agatha Christie?” said Orsino. “What has she got to do with this?”

“Oh, nothing directly,” Jane answered. “But I assume you’ve all read her at some point, yes?”

All around the table heads nodded.

“And what’s the most maddening thing about an Agatha Christie novel?” she asked.

There was a long silence. Finally Enid said, “She always withholds key bits of information.”

“Exactly!” Jane said. “In every Agatha Christie novel there’s always a scene in which the murderer is revealed, and it always involves the person who has solved the murder informing everyone that Mrs. So-and-so is really the daughter of the maid whom the victim treated unkindly thirty years before, resulting in her family’s descent into poverty, or that the young man who spends every day reading by the pool isn’t a nice young man at all but an alcoholic gambler with designs on the victim’s diamond brooch.”