Maggie raised a hand. «So you didn't think about the dust? The only reason there were no footprints in the dust was because each time you guys went up to the attic room, you went up through the secret passage? Damn. I was so sure of that one.»
«Even incorrect assumptions can lead to valid conclusions, Maggie. We would never have even considered the existence of a secret passage otherwise,» Alex told her. «Now, if you will, Stockwell, on to the jewels. And Miss Pertuccelli's murder.»
He spread his hands, shrugged. «I don't know. We'd planned to just hold onto them, wait for the water to go down, and I'd leave, take them with me. Nobody knew we'd stolen anything because nobody knew the jewelry even existed. But, as I've said, Joanne had to go and kill that idiot writer. That's when everything began to fall apart.»
«Writers will do that for you—screw up everything,» Maggie said, grinning.
«It doesn't matter. I did not kill that writer. I did not kill Joanne.» He turned on Nikki. '''She did! And she stole my jewelry!»
Everyone, Maggie included, turned to look at Nikki… and when they turned back, everyone was looking at Byrd Stockwell, who now held Alex's sword cane in his hand, unsheathed. And he looked like he might just know how to use it—who knew what English schoolboys learned in class?
«Hand over that bag. It's mine!»
«Of course, Robin,» Alex said, bowing, «as you do appear to be holding the upper hand.» He stepped back, slowly, then sort of whirled around, grabbing the Troy Toy's sword cane out of the actor's hands. A heartbeat later, it was unsheathed, and Alex was facing Stockwell once more, both of them in the en garde position.
«Alex, for crying out loud, that's a prop ,» Maggie said, really worried now. «You can't fight him with a prop sword. Give him the jewelry. He won't get far.»
«I should, shouldn't I?» Alex said, not taking his eyes off Stockwell. «But this man murdered two people. We cannot allow him even an attempted escape.»
«Oh, great, you're doing that honorable thing again, right? Well, cut it out!» Maggie looked behind her. «Where's the jewelry? Who's got the jewelry? Hand it over, okay?»
«Why?» Bernie asked, then blew her nose. «Alex and I already looked at it. It's fake.»
Maggie worried that her eyes might just pop right out of her head. «It's—»
«Fake. Paste. Glass,» Bernie elaborated. «I know my jewelry. Uncle Willis stole fake jewelry. Good fakes, so the pieces are worth something, but not all that much. Life's a bitch, ain't it?»
Maggie's head was spinning. Looking at Alex, who was looking at Stockwell—the two of them still squared-off— she tried to sort out this entire mess in her mind.
«You know,» she said, «it could make sense. People back then often replaced their real jewelry with fakes when they needed money. Good fakes, too. But if Uncle Willis stole the jewelry and took it to a pawnbroker, then everybody would know the family was broke.»
Now she was pacing, well clear of Alex and Byrd Stockwell, who were beginning to look a little silly posing like that. «They had to find that jewelry, and they couldn't let Uncle Willis out to tell anybody the family secret, either. If he figured it out once he actually inspected the pieces, and told anybody, they'd be ruined. Tradespeople would start calling in their accounts, they'd end up in debtor's prison, the whole nine yards. I mean, you think we all live on credit now? Those guys were ten times worse than us. And then, once he'd maybe figured out he was locked up for life and would be hunted down and killed if he escaped with what he knew—not just with the jewelry, but with what he knew —Uncle Willis went mad and got his revenge. God, I love this! I want to write this!»
«Appeals to your romantic, and often bloodthirsty, fiction-writing mind, yes, I'm sure,» Alex said, still watching Byrd. «I believe, however, the late Mr. Undercuffler and the late Miss Pertuccelli might not share your joy.»
«That's true,» Maggie agreed, still running scenarios in her head. Yes, this could be a good story. She could drop Saint Just in the middle of it, have him solve the crimes. The idea was definitely better than the book she'd just finished. But Alex was still talking, so she really should pay attention.
«Stockwell, it's over. You murdered two people for paste and have been ungentlemanly enough to attempt to blame two females for your crimes. You weren't about to share with Mr. Undercuffler, and you killed him while Miss Pertuccelli watched in horror—even borrowing her stopwatch cord to do the deed. Miss Pertuccelli must have been terrified, realizing, as you did, that all the jewelry was much better than half. I imagine you discovered her trying to escape, flee for her life, and you stabbed her with one of the kitchen knives.»
«So much for showbiz,» Maggie said. «But Nikki here is all after the fact, right?»
«Miss Campion merely happened to discover the jewels and want them for her own, nothing more,» Alex agreed. «Put down your weapon, Stockwell—which is, by the by, also fake. The real sword cane, my sword cane, is in my hand. Mr. Barlow has been very kindly keeping it safe for me.»
«Really?» Maggie looked from one thin sword to the other. «Troy's been lugging the real one around? Honest to God, Alex?»
«You doubt me, my dear?»
Again, maybe it was the fatigue. Maybe it was the four teaspoons of sugar. Most probably, it was Sir Rudy's brandy. Maggie grinned at Byrd Stockwell. «Is it real or is it fake? Well, punk? Huh? Do you feel lucky?»
An audible sigh came from the couches as Dennis Lloyd said, «Americans. No wonder you don't appreciate Shakespeare.»
Byrd yelled and went on the attack, only to be stopped in his tracks when Alex poked him hard in the solar plexus with the cane part of the sword cane. He grabbed onto his stomach and gasped for air. It was a simple matter for Sterling and Perry to, at Alex's suggestion, «Cage the robin, if you please, while we await the constable. Tie him up, Sterling.»
Maggie watched as Alex retrieved both sword canes, reassembled them, then tried to hand one to Troy, who wouldn't touch it.
«Alex? Were you bluffing?»
«As in any game of chance, my dear,» he said, smiling, «the winner is not obliged to show his cards once the other party has folded his. What do you think?»
«I think you switched them at some point. I don't know why you did, or if the Troy Toy just picked up the wrong one at some point and you decided that switch might come in handy and let it alone. But, yes, I think Byrd was holding the fake one. I think you even left it where Byrd might get hold of it because you were itching for a fight and it never occurs to you that you could lose a fight, even with a fake sword—except you're not that crazy, and you had the real one. I think I know you that well. So? Am I right? Alex, damn it, stop smiling at me like that. Am I right?»
Epilogue
Sterling returned to his seat on the plane after yet another short constitutional, as Perry had told him that it was important to stretch one's legs while on long flights… and after Perry had made that statement clearer, Sterling had realized that he'd meant getting up and walking the aisles from time to time.
He reached into the pocket on the back of the seat in front of him and retrieved his journal, but didn't yet open it, as Bernie and Tabby were in the seats in front of him and they were speaking to each other.