«Hello there, Troy. Any luck with narrowing down the list of suspects?»
Troy looked up at Saint Just, then got to his feet, nearly coming to grief over the sword cane until Saint Just relieved him of it, careful not to touch the gold knob on top. He hefted the thing a time or two, not so much that anyone would notice, then offered it to the man once more. «Here you go. Be careful not to injure yourself.»
Troy grabbed the cane at the middle. «I know how to handle props. And, no, I haven't been lucky. I can't be, not when nobody will even talk to me. It would have been so great if I could have solved Sam's murder, you know? Now it's like he died for nothing, you know?»
He narrowed his eyelids, an action that, for some, made a person appear more intense. For Troy, alas, the resultant expression made him seem only like a confused cocker spaniel. «Do you think it could be Arnie?»
«I beg your pardon? Who?»
«Arnie. Arnaud Peppin,» Troy whispered as he took hold of Saint Just's arm, pulling him closer. «Only he used to be Arnie Peeps. Porno flicks. Not many people know that, but I do. Second-rate porn, too, in Toledo, of all places. Sam might have known. Arnie would want that kept quiet, don't you think?»
«Very possibly,» Saint Just agreed. «Although, if we are considering Arnaud's sadly checkered past as motive— wouldn't you be the person we found hanging outside on the scaffolding?»
«Oh. Right.» Troy waved a hand in front of him, as if erasing Arnaud's name from some blackboard visible only to him. «Scratch Arnie, huh?»
«That isn't something I'd wish to do, but please feel free to indulge yourself if you must,» Saint Just said, as enjoying this idiot definitely held less stress than attempting to reason with him.
Troy blinked vacantly, and Saint Just could have sworn he'd seen his small sarcastic indulgence actually wing— pfffpft !—straight over the actor's head and disappear.
«Well, anyway,» Troy went on, «nobody's rehearsing. Joanne's nuts if she thinks we'll rehearse with a stiff in the house.»
«I beg your pardon?»
«A stiff. A body. Sam ,» Troy explained. «Sorry. I keep forgetting you English don't know the language all that well.»
«Indeed,» Saint Just said, gifting the man with a small inclination of his head, as if acknowledging the fellow's superior grasp of the language. «But if we can push on? I do think we should inquire once more as to everyone's whereabouts earlier today. Say, from breakfast on?»
Troy grinned. «So you think that's a good idea? Terrific! I knew it was a good idea. I got it from the script. First, we ask where they all were, then we tell them they all had motives—and then the killer makes some sort of mistake, and bam , we've got him. Let's do it.»
«I can hardly wait,» Saint Just said as Troy once more took up what he obviously believed to be center stage in the large room and clapped his hands, asking for everyone's attention.
«It's show time? Oh, goodie, I missed the first show,» Maggie said from behind him.
«He's harmless enough, Maggie. I think we should help him out, volunteer our whereabouts for the day.»
«You just want me to have to say you and I—you and me—that we were together in my bedroom. And you'd just love to volunteer that I had my portable CD player turned full blast, and the two of us were dancing while Sam hung around outside my window, and we didn't hear anything anyway because we were otherwise occupied . I'd rather be a suspect again.»
As there was no real answer for Maggie's accusation other than the truth, which would damn him, or a lie, which would similarly damn him, Saint Just lightly pressed a finger to her lips to shush her as Troy began to speak.
«Time for alibis. Oh, yes, we're going to do this again, people,» Troy was saying. «Again and again and again, until we get it right.»
«Oh, you mean the way you always have to do it, Troy, if you need to say more than three words during a scene?» Evan asked, showing that, no, it wasn't that much of a stretch for the man to «method act» Lord Hervey, in or out of costume.
Nikki giggled, then turned another page in the magazine she'd been reading. «That's why he's always in bed with some bimbo on his soap—no dialogue, just pecs and abs. One of these days, Troy, they're going to want to see your ass, and it's good-bye career time. Hey! Hey, look at this.»
Saint Just, who was standing behind the couch Nikki seemed to have established as her own, leaned forward slightly on the balls of his feet, looking at the magazine as she held it up for the company.
«That's you, isn't it?» she asked, pivoting sideways in her seat as she looked at Saint Just through the lenses of the small glasses she hadn't been wearing at any other time. «You're the Pierre guy. I didn't notice that before. Oh, that's it. I've got to get new contacts.»
«She's resting her eyes, wearing glasses instead of contacts,» Maggie told Saint Just quietly. «Colored contacts. I should have noticed. Her eyes aren't half as blue now, are they? Fake boobs, fake eye color. Do you think those are all her own teeth? I don't. She's probably bald, too.»
«Thank you for that explanation, along with the unnecessary editorial comments. I had wondered,» Saint Just said, then bowed to Nikki. «Guilty as charged, Miss Campion. For my sins, I am the public face of Fragrances by Pierre, yes.»
Marylou, who had been wandering about the room carrying a tray she was loading up with dirty glasses and plates, stopped in front of Saint Just. «Dang, I couldn't hear that. I missed something, didn't I? What did I miss? Who are you? Are you somebody?»
Saint Just smiled at the young woman, who really should have been kept under her parents' wing a lot longer, perhaps decades longer. «My dear, we are all somebody.»
Marylou wrinkled her nose. «Yeah, but not so as it counts, you know? But I'm getting there. Sir Rudy has a title, you know.»
Maggie laughed shortly as Marylou moved on, picking up another glass. «Lucky Marylou,» she said. «I guess Sir Rudy gives her another entry in her 'Celebrities I Have Banged' Diary —Overseas Division . And you like her, even feel a little sorry for her, so you're going to pretend I didn't say that, right?»
«Exactly,» Saint Just said as Troy, who had been looking at the advertisement, called himself back to attention.
«This isn't getting us anywhere, so I'll start, okay?» Troy suggested, tucking the sword cane beneath his arm. «I got up around seven, dressed, came down here, and ate breakfast. I saw you, Evan, and you, Nikki—and Sam.»
«Then Arnaud, you came in, right? I left everybody to go run the stairs a couple of times, then do my ab crunches. But I remember that Sam was really getting hot about the writer, how she was driving him nuts,» Nikki added. «I remember that.»
«Hey,» Maggie cut in when everyone turned to look at her. «I don't kill people.»
«You write about killing people,» Troy said, except his tone made the words an accusation, one that faltered badly as he added, «It's almost the same thing.»
«Right. You run up and down the stairs with that one a few times. Jerk,» Maggie said in disgust, so that Saint Just knew he had to step in, yet again. No wonder he'd decided to pop into Maggie's world. Somebody had to protect the dear girl from herself.
«Maggie, if you'd tell us, please, about your last encounter with Sam Undercuffler?» he asked smoothly.
She was still glaring at Troy, her lower jaw thrust out, her green eyes sparkling. «The last time I saw him was this morning, out there, on the landing. Alive .» She turned to
Saint Just. «Then I was with you for a while, on the stairs, remember? Then I fell asleep in Sir Rudy's study. Then I heard some—»
«Yes?» Saint Just prompted when Maggie suddenly closed her mouth with the sort of quick finality that told him she didn't plan on opening it again any time soon. Perhaps never.