“You are—?" Smith asked.
“Shelley Nowack. I live next door to Jane and came along to help with the wedding. I just wanted to mention that I watched Mrs. Crossthwait go up the stairs twice yesterday and she was extremely wary and cautious. She held onto the banister with both hands and took each step very slowly. I can't imagine her just skipping lightly down the stairs in the dark. I didn't see a flashlight anywhere near her and the power was out overnight.”
Officer Smith made more notes.
Shelley said, "Jane, don't you have something to contribute?”
Jane sighed. "Okay, okay. I came out here late last night because the front door had blown open. When I started to return, I saw someone at that end of the room. Well, I didn't see them, exactly. But somebody was there and shined a flashlightin my eyes for a second, then wouldn't answer when I asked who was there."
“And what did you do then?" Smith asked.
“I picked my way through the dark to my room. Shelley and I came back here with a flashlight, but there wasn't anybody in here. We went to bed," Jane said. "I assumed somebody couldn't sleep. Was maybe coming down to the kitchen to get a glass of milk or something, and just didn't feel like talking to me."
“When was this?" Officer Smith asked.
Shelley and Jane glanced at each other. "I didn't look at my watch," Jane said, "but it must have been about ten-thirty."
“And there wasn't a body on the steps then?" the officer inquired.
“Of course not!" Jane said.
“But there might have been another reason for somebody to be roaming around in here," Shelley said, urging Jane along. "The pictures. Remember?"
“Oh, yes. When we came back out here with a flashlight, the pictures on that wall were miss- ing—”
“
They all turned to look where she was pointing. The pictures were all back in place.
Without a word, Smith went back to the other end of the room and talked briefly with the ambulance attendants. They had been getting ready to put Mrs. Crossthwait on a stretcher, but now sat down on a couple of nearby chairs while Smith used a mobile phone.
“Now we've done it," Jane said. "This guy is going to think somebody bumped her off and we'll have police all over the place."
“Police at the Wedding," Shelley said. "Isn't that the title of a book?"
“Police at the Funeral. Allingham," Jane said, preoccupied. "Nobody had any reason to harm her. Except me, maybe. And I certainly wouldn't have shoved her down the stairs. At least not before she finished the dresses."
“It's out of our hands," Larkspur said. "Always better to be honest, you know. Even if it is a nuisance. I wonder if I can go now. I've got to get back to the city and get the flowers."
“I wouldn't ask for a while yet," Shelley said.
The police were very thorough. A photographer showed up and took pictures of Mrs. Crossthwait's body, the stairs, the stair rails, and the upper landing from every possible angle. A severe-looking middle-aged woman turned up with a fingerprint kit and coated the banister with dust and took prints of everybody else. Nobody regarded this with favor and Iva threw a full-blown fit, but ended up having her fingerprints taken anyway. Another police officer arrived and began questioning everyone.
The power had been restored, and Mr. Willis, doing a real loaves and fishes act, managed to prepare breakfast for everyone, guests and law officers as well.
“What are all these dreadful people doing here?" Iva complained. "You'd think it was a murder or something."
“I think they're just being overenthusiastic about assuring themselves it wasn't," Jane said as soothingly as she could manage.
“Do you think they suspect 'foul play,' as they put it, Shelley?" Jane asked later when they went outside for a breath of fresh air.
“I don't know. Maybe they're just bored out here in the country and are hoping for something juicy to get their teeth into."
“There's really no reason to think it wasn't just an accidental fall, is there?" Jane said, then thought for a moment. "Although you were right about her being extraordinarily cautious about going up the stairs. She took them with baby steps. Maybe she was sleepwalking."
“Or maybe you were right when you told Iva they were just making sure," Shelley said. "The fact is, there's nothing we can do about what the police think. But the dresses have to be finished."
“The police wouldn't let me in her room to see how far along she was with the sewing," Jane said. "They said I'd have to wait another hour at least. I'm going to call Mel. He was going to come up here tomorrow anyway. I'd feel better about all this if he were here."
“You mean you'd know more because he's a detective and they'll tell him things."
“Same thing," Jane said.
“An elderly woman took a tumble down the stairs and you want me to come up there and butt in?" Mel said a little later.
Jane was almost whispering into the phone. "I'm not sure it was an accident, Mel, and the local people are acting like it's the Crime of the Century."
“That sounds like a little bit of an exaggeration," Mel said.
“Maybe a little. But Mel, I've invested four months of my life planning this damned wedding and—"
“Okay. I'm off today anyhow. But I'm just going to introduce myself to the local people. That's all. If they want to talk to me, fine. If not, I'm not going to interfere. How do you do this, Jane? It seems everywhere you go, there are dead bodies."
“It's certainly not deliberate," she said huffily. Then, because she was asking him a favor, softened it with, "I'd just like to see you a littler earlier than planned.”
Detective Mel VanDyne seemed to find this very funny.
The rest of the morning was too hectic for Jane to find time to brood, much as she would have liked to sit down with Shelley and puzzle out Mrs. Crossthwait's death. Larkspur managed to escape to fetch his flowers from the shop. Aunt Iva and Layla volunteered to whip together the last of the dressmaking jobs. Mrs. Crossthwait had made some remarkable progress during the evening before her death. There was little but hemming and putting on hooks and buttons to doand they both proclaimed themselves willing and able to do these jobs. The only holdup was trying to get into Mrs. Crossthwait's room.
Before the ambulance people were allowed to gather up the body, Mr. Willis's skivvy sneaked away from him, told the medical workers how ill she felt, and was tentatively diagnosed as possibly having an appendicitis attack. Jane thought Mr. Willis was going to have a stroke when he was told that he was losing her. Kitty and Eden reluctantly agreed to help out in the kitchen until he could find a replacement.
There was a lot of mean-spirited jockeying for possession of the one phone between him and everyone else who had calls to make. Both Iva and Marguerite seemed to have a wide circle of friends they felt honor bound to keep in touch with on a daily basis.
“It's unraveling," Jane nearly wept. "All my work, all my meticulous planning, and it's falling to bits."
“Nonsense!" Shelley said briskly. "These things happen in clumps. Nothing more will go wrong now. Bad things happen in threes, you know."
“Then why are we up to five or six?" Jane asked.
Shelley ignored the query. "You've already had all the bad luck and it'll be clear sailing from now on."
“You know you don't believe that," Jane said. "No, not really. But I thought you'd like to hear it. Soldier on, Jane. Just soldier on.”
The equipment rental people arrived as the two ambulances pulled out of the parking area — one with Mrs. Crossthwait, the other with the skivvy, who was now screaming with pain. The driver of the truck seemed seriously alarmed by this.
“It's nothing," Jane lied. "Just an appendicitis attack."
“Two of them?"