Shadow of Reality (16 page)

The bathroom quickly filled with steam as the hot water gushed from the tap, churning Elizabeth’s bath beads into a froth of bubbles. She took a deep breath of the fresh herbal scent. This was just what she needed. She hated the quickie showers the frenzied tempo of the week had required.

Her body relaxed in the delicious warmth, but her heart still felt constricted. She cared so much for Richard, longed to comfort him and fill his needs. And it would be such a logical thing to do, so simple. “Yes, Richard.” Just two words—that’s all she would have to say. Why did love have to be so illogical and disruptive?

She thought back over the scene in front of the fire. Was it significant that neither Gavin nor Anita had been mentioned? She had wanted to, but the words wouldn’t come out. The things between her and Richard concerned no third or fourth parties—no outsiders.

She languidly scooped a handful of bubbles and blew at them, reveling in her warm, bright comfort. Then she thought of the contrast of those awful moments, or hours, however long it had been, cold and dark on the balcony—the terror of the dark of night and the worse darkness of not knowing what was happening below her.
Thank you, for keeping him safe
.

Then it occurred to her to ask herself who “he” was. For whose safety had she been crying to heaven?

Well, both of them, of course. Her
defensiveness was quick. But honesty required her to admit that each time her prayer had been help
him
, not help them. Had the picture in her mind held a man with dark brown hair and intense, craggy features or pale blond hair and an aristocratic mien?

She shifted uneasily in the tub, then realized her discomfort was more than just mental—what was she sitting on? Putting a hand under her hips, she ran her finger over the bottom of the tub. Oh, those rubber flowers they put on to keep one from slipping and having a nasty fall in the tub. Then, as her finger traced the five-petaled flower shape, she froze. She had seen that pattern before.

No.  Maybe not. Maybe it wasn’t the same. Moving slowly, dreading what she might find, she ran her hand across her bottom, tracing the flower petal she was sitting on.

Her hand stopped, as if it refused to obey the orders from her mind to explore further. Was she the same height as the corpse? She looked at her feet snug against the front of the tub in her reclining position. Had he fit the same way? Near enough, surely.
Go on!
she ordered. She had to know, had to make certain beyond any doubt…

She stretched out her arm and reached across to her left thigh. It was there, just as she knew it would be.

No. It can’t be. Don’t let me be right
. If Parkerson was dead when she first saw him in her tub—and the blood settling in his body stamped this indelible evidence, then the possible answers to the question of who moved the body were severely limited.

Who had known about her discovery? Dr. Pearsall, whose actions she had considered suspicious earlier. Presumably, he could have moved the corpse while the others were busy, could have said he wanted a quiet word with him, or wanted to examine him or something. That would make sense if the doctor and Hamlin were conspirators.

It seemed to clear Bill Johnson and Anita of her suspicions. Unless she had been unconscious longer than she realized and more people had come into her suite than she knew. But surely someone would have mentioned it.

Then an entirely new idea struck her. Weldon Stark—the man who had been ‘calling the shots’ all week, the man who had choreographed everything. Gavin said Stark had first claimed Parkerson as a member of the acting company, then later denied it. Just what was Stark’s involvement?

Or was he involved at all? She had only Gavin’s word to go on. Gavin, who claimed to have talked to the man after he must have been dead. Hadn’t he?  The confusion she felt earlier in the evening clouded her thoughts.

Gripping the side of the tub, she pulled herself out and forced herself to dry off and get dressed before phoning Richard. But then her hand froze mid-motion…Richard had backed up everything Gavin said. Or had Gavin backed up Richard’s words? What had actually been said? Why couldn’t she remember? She had never doubted one word from either of them. Could they have done it together? But what possible motive could there be in that? Who could she trust? Where would the policemen be at this hour of the night?

No, no, NO! Going to the police with suspicions about Richard—and Gavin, she added hurriedly—was absolutely ridiculous. There had to be a logical explanation. Whatever had happened—and her mind filled with unlikely and unsavory scenarios—whatever it was, there had to be a reasonable answer.

She dialed Richard’s room, speaking the moment he answered. “Richard! Would you please come over here for a moment?” She thought she kept the agitation out of her voice, but the speed with which Richard responded indicated that her alarm was apparent. Or was he waiting for her—knowing what she was likely to find in the tub?

“Elizabeth,” he said as she let him in. “What now? You’re trembling.”

Without replying she stepped into the bathroom to the tub and pulled the plug on the drain. In a few moments she pointed to the raised rubber flowers with a few soap bubbles still clinging to them. “Do you recognize that?”

Richard’s sharp intake of breath told her that, indeed, he did. She watched his features carefully to see if he betrayed any look of guilt or conspiracy, but all she saw was open amazement as he knelt by the tub and traced the pattern with his forefinger just as she had done earlier. “Parkerson.”

Her voice was quiet with horror. “He was dead the first time.” She couldn’t look at him as she went on, “But, Richard, you said…You agreed it was part of the act…” She closed her eyes and turned away. It was the stupidest thing she could possibly do if Richard was involved. But if that was the case, she would rather he just close his fingers tightly around her neck and end it. There was no way she could face the idea of Richard…

She trembled as his hands clasped her shoulders and moved upward toward her neck. Then she relaxed as he pulled her against him and led her into her sitting room. “Here. Lay down like you were that first evening when you came to.” Elizabeth obeyed. “Now think, Elizabeth. You regained consciousness on the sofa.” He paused, letting her remember. “Now, what did I say?”

“You said the man was an actor, but Stark would call off that scenario.”

“No. Gavin said that—later. Now think. What was the first thing I said? When you first came to?”

She closed her eyes, remembering. “You said Gavin sent the man away, and you got the doctor.”

“That’s right. I rushed out immediately for Dr. Pearsall. When we arrived back here Gavin said he had told the fellow off and got rid of him.”

“Richard.” Now her eyes were open wide with horror. “Isn’t there some other possibility?”

“Like?”

“Like rubber flowers in other tubs—probably every tub in the hotel—”

Richard didn’t reply.

“Well,” her voice was sharp and high-pitched. “It’s possible.”

Richard nodded slowly. “I think that’s an assessment the police should make.”

“Richard, no! Please, Richard.”

“I’ve never known you to be foolish before, Elizabeth.  Stubborn usually, daft occasionally, but never foolish.”

“Okay, maybe I am…I don’t know. But please give me a little time to work through this myself. I mean, there are police all over the hotel now; surely waiting a little while won’t matter.”

“All right—but I’m certain you’re making a mistake.”

She held her ground. In spite of the cold shiver that shook her.

Chapter 13

Saturday, March 17, 1990/1934

Elizabeth took the last of Dr. Pearsall’s little blue pills that night, so she slept through breakfast and arrived at the Blithe Spirit meeting the next morning feeling anything but blithe.

But then, the team spirit in the library could hardly be called blithe, either.

“I think we should do a séance; it’s such a natural with our name. Madame Arcati could conduct it.”

“It is a natural, but it’s been done before. Matter-of-fact, last year’s winning team did a séance.”

“Which one are we going for, the accuracy prize or the originality prize?”

“We won’t be going for either one if we can’t settle on who the murderer is. Now, look, Nigel Cass had the most opportunity—”

Evan waved his notebook at his father. “No, Dad, it was a conspiracy between Susie and Brian. That’s the only logical explanation for her confession.”

“But Nigel—”

“I agree with you both, partially,” Benton broke in with the authority of his legal training. “It was a conspiracy, but you’ve got the wrong players, Evan. It was Nigel and Millie. Then she wanted out of the deal, and that’s why he tried to get rid of her.”

“That’s too complicated,” Anita objected. “I think Millie acted alone.”

“No, Brian acted alone—a spy wouldn’t need an accomplice.” Cathy’s cheeks flushed red in her excitement.

“Susie acted alone to protect her lover,” Mrs. Johnson spoke with decision.

“Well, I personally think Sir Linden did it because he seems the least likely,” Irene said lightly. “But please, just settle on someone so we can get to work!”

“I told you, Nigel—”

“No way, Susie and Brian—”

“You guys are crazy, Millie—”

Irene broke into the dispute, “Come on, Elizabeth, your vote breaks the deadlock.”

“Yeah, you haven’t said anything yet.”

“No chickening out!”

“Right, name your villain.”

Elizabeth squirmed at the silence in the room as everyone waited for her answer. “I don’t know…have we established it was murder? It looked so natural. Some of you thought it was a real choking at first.”

“Has to be murder,” Benton said. “Without a villain the whole mystery’s pointless.”

“Right.” Elizabeth hesitated. “But I…I can’t make hard decisions on an empty stomach.” She hoped they’d let her get off with a joke.

“Okay, you’ve got until after lunch,” Bill Johnson said, and the others agreed. They were serious; they weren’t letting her out of this.

“I’ve got an appointment after lunch. Er, for a sauna and massage,” Anita said quickly. “I can’t come back after lunch.”

“Yeah, and we were going for a hike. Since the rain finally stopped it’s our only chance to get out,” Evan spoke for his whole family.

“Well, I—uh…, “ Elizabeth stuttered.

“Okay, young lady,” Benton said. “Take all the time and food you need. I move we elect Elizabeth our official jury chairperson. Whatever she decides, we’ll all go with. And no complaining afterwards.”

“But what if we don’t agree with her?” Evan asked.

“That’s the point,” Benton replied. “We’ve had all week to come to an agreement and failed. So we’ll elect a spokesman and be done.”

“Elizabeth’s the perfect one. Since she isn’t propounding a theory she’ll be more objective,” Helen said.

“Good idea! I agree.” Anita picked up her purse with an air of finality.

“All in favor say, ‘aye,’” Benton said.

The room reverberated with ayes.

“The ayes have it. Good luck, Elizabeth. Whatever you say, we’ll go with it and no complaints—whatever the outcome.”

Everyone started toward the door. “Wait!” Irene held up her hands. “Elizabeth, let me know as soon as you can who to put on the puzzle. We’ll meet here after tea to practice. Right?”

Everyone agreed and escaped to freedom. Everyone but Elizabeth, who now had to deal with the full weight of her conscience. If she was to do an honest job, she would be forced to think through what she was trying so hard to avoid—to face the suspicion that had been growing steadily in her mind all week. She turned at the sound of a footstep entering the room. “Richard, where have you been? Why weren’t you here to bail me out? I’ve been stuck with deciding for the whole team.”

“Know what you’re going to say?”

She shook her head and looked at the floor.

“It’s a tough one, isn’t it?”

“Richard! You could do it. I was only elected because I happened to be here. You could decide.”

He looked at her intently for the space of three heart beats. “Could I? Can anyone really decide this but you, Elizabeth?” She knew he was referring to far more than her answer to a game. “But I can feed you.” He offered his arm to lead her from the room.

Elizabeth was less than halfway through her fruit salad and cinnamon roll when Weldon Stark, Mr. Hamlin, and a police officer went to the microphone on the dais. Stark spoke first. “The bad news is that all you amateur sleuths have been left in the shade by the professionals. The good news is that Detective Foster and his men have recovered the stolen jewels.” Applause and cries of joy accompanied his announcement. He held up his hand for silence. “The bad news is that the thief has not yet been apprehended. The good news is that the officers believe the robbery was the work of an amateur and should not be hard to track.”

Mr. Hamlin started to speak, but was met with cries of, “Where were the stolen goods?” “How did you find them?” “Tell us about it!” from the hotel guests. So the manager surrendered the mike to Detective Foster.

“When a search of the grounds revealed no footprints leaving the hotel, we were confident the jewels were hidden inside. We noticed in Mr. Hamlin’s report of the robbery that most of the burglarized rooms were on the fourth floor, so my men did a routine search of that floor. The jewels were found in the crawl space behind a repair panel along the south corridor.” A burst of applause interrupted his speech. Officer Foster grinned at the accolade. “We find that it’s hard to beat good routine police work, even if it sometimes lacks the flair and excitement of your Sherlock Holmes or Nero Wolfes.” The audience laughed and applauded again.

Mr. Hamlin started to take the mike again, but there were still unanswered questions: “Why do you say it was the work of an amateur?”

“A professional would have kept the jewels with him, and he would have chosen only the highest quality jewels to steal—this was a very mixed bag.”