«And discover, as we search, Joanne's stopwatch?»
Maggie sat down again. «And there it is, the punchline. I almost forgot that part. You're saying the cord on her stopwatch was the murder weapon? But Joanne isn't strong enough to keep the cord tight around Sam's throat long enough to kill him. Is she?»
«I doubt that highly,» Saint Just agreed, stripping off the yellow gloves and placing them back on the tabletop. «Which does not, however, explain why she is no longer wearing said stopwatch, does it?»
Maggie stood up once more. «She probably has a reasonable explanation. Hell, I would. Maybe the same person who took our cell phones also took her stopwatch. Although I wouldn't know why he would. Besides, I don't think the cell phones were taken until after Sam was dead. That screams crime of passion and a clumsy cleanup and follow-up, neither of which can hold up for long, and the killer—killers—have to know that. This isn't getting any clearer, Alex, and if that flood out there starts receding, we're also running out of time.»
Saint Just felt a pang of guilt over keeping secret the fact that he still possessed his cell phone. But that pang both came and left quickly. «Yes, I know. But perhaps a visit to the attics will make everything clearer. Shall we?»
«Since I don't see any way out of it, sure,» Maggie said, leading the way back out of the morning room, then turning left.
«Where are you going?»
«The servant stairs are at the end of the hall on our floor, so it has to be the same on this one. I saw Sterling and Perry heading that way earlier. Sterling was carrying a butterfly net. Somehow that's not so funny now as it was then.»
«I agree. But I believe we might check on the others before continuing our investigation. Just to know that everyone is where they should be?»
«Going to count noses are you? Sounds like a plan,» Maggie said, following him.
As they neared the main staircase, Evan Pottinger stepped out from the main saloon. «Going somewhere? If it's anywhere but in there,» he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the large chamber behind him, «I think I'd like to tag along.»
Saint Just considered this. Perhaps the man was truly bored with the company in the main saloon, or perhaps he was interested in what was happening outside the main saloon. After all, what did anyone know about Evan Pottinger, save that he was an annoying person who thought very highly of his acting skills. «We're going to investigate the attics at the spot where Undercuffler was lowered from the window.»
«Oh. Someone said there's bats up there.» Evan shrugged. «There's bats down here, come to think of it. Okay, I'm game, I'll go.»
Maggie led the way up the stairs, holding one oil lantern, while Saint Just brought up the rear with the other.
«Is Troy still trying to get everyone to tell him where they've been all day?» Maggie asked as they paused on the landing.
«He was, but everyone ignored him. Just the way everyone's ignoring Joanne and her insane idea that we should forget there's a murderer among us and get in some rehearsing. Somebody has to remind me why I slept with the bitch to get this part. I could play rings around Troy as Saint Just.»
«I believe you could, yes,» Saint Just said as they made their way along the landing and into the unrenovated wing of the building. «You actually made love with the woman?»
«Made love? Buddy, nobody makes love where I come from. Sex is a commodity, and we buy it and sell it and lend it and borrow on it. Joanne was offering a part, I needed the work—there's the couch, try not to take longer than ten minutes, and don't mess my hair. I figured I'd be doing stud duty for the whole shoot, but she cut me off the minute we got here. She's banging somebody, though. She always is.»
Saint Just stopped at the door that opened onto the servant stairs. «And who do you suppose that someone might be, Evan?»
«I dunno. Could be anybody. Well, not anybody. I overheard her yesterday arguing with somebody—unless she was talking to herself. Didn't see either one of them, though, as I was on my way upstairs and I'm not sure where the voices were coming from—the way sounds bounce off the high ceilings and all this marble, you know? Joanne should have thought of that. The soundman's going to have fits with the echos in here. Anyway, Joanne was having a cow about bringing her diaphragm through customs for no reason, and he'd damn well better keep his pants zipped unless he was unzipping them for her.»
«Thank you,» Saint Just said, very much aware that Maggie had heard every word. «I think we now have a general understanding of Miss Pertuccelli.»
«Your ears are red, Mr. Urbane,» Maggie teased, slipping past him up the stairs. Once at the top, she bent down, picked up the butterfly net. «Sterling and Perry must have left the attics in a hurry.»
«The bat. Or bats,» Saint Just said, holding up the oil lantern and looking toward the many-eaved ceilings of the quite wide, yet more-than-twice-as-long attics. «None here. Shall we push on?»
Evan Pottinger stepped past Saint Just, wiping at a cobweb that had gotten caught in his hair. «This is where Sam thought we could do the bit where I kill the servant girl? The crew would have a hell of a time lighting the scene.» He turned to Maggie. «I used to work lights. Sound, too. Played stunt double a couple of times, did anything I could, until I got my first part. But I can tell you, there's no way we could film up here, not on our budget.»
«And Undercuffler would have known that almost immediately?» Saint Just asked. «He would have known that with only a cursory examination from, shall we say, right here?»
«He should have. One look's enough. So, where's the window someone hung him out of?»
Saint Just pointed away into the darkness. «According to my rude calculations, Maggie's bedchamber windows are some sixty of my usual walking paces that way.»
Evan shook his head. «Nope. No reason for Sam to go all that way. There's not even any lightbulbs up here. No electricity. So why would he stick around?»
«He heard something?» Maggie suggested, hanging onto
Saint Just's sleeve. «He heard something, or saw something, and went to investigate? It's not a clear shot from here to the end of the wing. I mean, I can't see that far, but I think there are a couple of rooms up here.»
«That's a couple more than I want to see,» Evan said, heading for the stairs once more. «Have fun, don't take any wooden bats. Ha! Wooden bats—get it?»
«You don't have a lantern, Evan,» Maggie reminded him. «Besides, aren't you afraid of being alone, with a killer in the house?»
Saint Just watched the man's expression closely, then mentally scratched the fellow off his list of suspects as Evan's complexion paled slightly. Hardly the hero all of a sudden, and most definitely not the villain. «You'll be staying with us?»
«If you don't mind, yeah, I will. Not that I'm afraid. But I'm not stupid, either. Then again, I'm also not Lord Hervey. He'd be too bored to care, right? Believe me, I'm not bored. I'm just me right now, Evan Pottinger, a man intending to stay very much alive, thank you. Okay, what are we looking for, exactly?»
«Clues, dear man. Clues. Maggie, why don't you hand Evan your lantern while you stick close as mustard plaster to me as we initiate our search. Oh, and although I'm convinced you and I have come to the same conclusion, allow me to say that Evan here is of no worry to us.»
«I was wondering if you picked up on that,» Maggie said, handing over the lantern. «Here you go, Evan. Welcome to the wonderful world of amateur sleuthing. Look high, look low, don't touch anything, and give a yell if you see anything you shouldn't see.»
«Like what?» Evan asked, starting off toward the left side of the attics, while Saint Just and Maggie kept to the right side, under the eaves.