For once the Fates smiled upon me and I was saved. Aunt Winnie entered the room and said loudly, “Everyone, if I could have your attention, please. Detective Stewart is here and he’s asked to speak with all of us for a moment.”
Detective Stewart appeared in the doorway. He’d been up as late as I had, if not later. Yet there was no sign of exhaustion on his face. I took this as yet another sign that the man was inhuman. He threw his head back and straightened his shoulders. His hands were shoved deep into his thick overcoat’s pockets. His entire stance was suggestive of a man ready for a battle. The tension level in the room instantly jumped several notches.
“Good morning,” he said in his raspy voice. Either the man smoked three packs of cigarettes a day or he had affected the voice for purposes of intimidation. There was simply no way that the terrible sounds emitting from his throat could have been God-given. He deliberately surveyed the room, pausing when he got to me. Almost imperceptibly, he inclined his head and nodded before turning back to the others.
Henry unfolded his bulky frame from the couch and stood up. Raking a hand through his hair, he said in a voice shaking with indignation, “Look here. I want to know why my wife and I have to stay here. We’ve nothing to do with this … this … sordid business. Neither of us even knows anybody in this town. I have to leave. I have a very important meeting tomorrow with …”
“Mrs. Kristell Dubois,” Daniel and I both muttered under our breath.
“… Mrs. Kristell Dubois,” Henry intoned gravely. “If you do not know that good lady, let me tell you that she will be seriously displeased if I am not able to meet with her. She is an exceedingly busy woman and—”
Detective Stewart raised one of his large hands and like a puppet Henry fell silent. Jamming his hands into the pockets of his charcoal-gray slacks, Henry stared sullenly at the ground and jangled his coins. Detective Stewart’s face stretched to accommodate a thin smile. “I know that you all want to leave,” he said. “However, in the interests of the case, I have to ask that you be patient. Those of you who are from out of town will have to stay on here a few more days. But those of you who are local”—he nodded to the acting troupe—“can return to their homes, with the understanding that you are not to leave town.” A gasp of relief escaped from the actors, followed by a frustrated one from the rest of us.
Next to me, Daniel stood up, upsetting his coffee in the process. “I say!” he said, his handsome face pulled into a scowl. “That is simply not fair. Why do I have to remain here?” Buoyed by Daniel’s outburst, Henry joined him in angry protest. I remained silent. Even if Detective Stewart had told me that I could go, I wouldn’t have. Not now. I was going to stay with Aunt Winnie until the murderer was caught and I knew she was safe. Henry and Daniel badgered Detective Stewart about their rights, previous commitments, and whatever else they could throw at him. Their pleas had no effect on him; in fact, if anything, they seemed only to gratify him. What had begun as a thin smile of amusement now bordered on a full-out grin.
While they continued to argue back and forth, I studied the actors. They were watching the proceedings with all the intensity of spectators at a Wimbledon finals. Across the room, Peter sat quietly, frowning at his cup of coffee. He had not argued with Detective Stewart’s decree either, and I suspected that he felt as I did. He would not leave until Aunt Winnie was out of danger.
Detective Stewart raised his voice. “Enough! You can file a complaint if you like, but right now I am in charge of this case, and my decision stands. I can make this easy or hard. It’s entirely up to you.”
Both Henry and Daniel fell silent. Detective Stewart contemplated them with undisguised scorn. The actors took advantage of the lull to make their escape, no doubt afraid Detective Stewart might change his mind. They rose as one body and sidled out the door, like some weird human crab.
Detective Stewart and Aunt Winnie followed them out into the foyer. Detective Stewart told the actors that he would be in touch with them. He ensured that he had accurate phone numbers and addresses, while Aunt Winnie apologized for the inconvenience. The rest of us sat silently, lost in our own thoughts. To be honest, I had never really suspected any of the actors of the murder. But, with their exit, the range of possible suspects had been obviously and drastically narrowed. It made for a very uncomfortable atmosphere.
Perhaps because of this, Joan and Henry abruptly left the room. Daniel forgot his flirtation with me and departed as well. Only Peter and I remained.
“Well, at least they’ll have a nice, freshly shoveled driveway to peel out of when they leave.”
Peter’s head jerked up at the sound of my voice, but he didn’t respond. I don’t think he’d heard me at all. He stood up, placed his coffee cup on the low table in front of him, and walked out of the room.
I felt like the girl in the commercial who is unwittingly driving everyone away with her terrible breath. I surveyed the empty room, littered with breakfast dishes and coffee cups. “That’s okay,” I yelled at Peter’s retreating form. “I’ll get all this.”
My sarcasm was met with silence.
When I got back to my room, my cell phone was ringing. It was Bridget.
“Elizabeth!” she yelled happily when I answered and I knew why she was calling. Colin had proposed. I didn’t want to burst her bubble by beating her to her own announcement, or worse, telling her what had happened here.
“Hey, Bridge,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “Happy New Year. What’s up?”
There was a split second of silence before she said, “You know, don’t you? Damn it!” I heard her pull the phone away and yell, “Colin, you told Elizabeth, didn’t you?” I heard Colin’s muffled response and she came back on the line. “Oh, well, no matter. Isn’t it fantastic? I’m so excited! I wish everyone could be this happy!”
I smiled. I was glad that at least someone had had a nice New Year. “I’m really happy for you, Bridge,” I said. “How did he do it?” I cradled the phone to my ear and closed my eyes. Her voice was the closest thing I’d had to normalcy since arriving here.
“Over dinner,” she replied. “He pushed this little black velvet box onto the table. As soon as I saw it, I started crying. I was just about to scream, ‘Yes, I will marry you!’ when I had an awful thought—what if the box had a pair of earrings in it and not a ring? But thankfully it was a ring. Oh, Elizabeth! I can’t wait to show you. It’s absolutely gorgeous!”
She was right. It was a gorgeous ring. I had helped Colin pick it out two months ago, and trying to keep that secret had nearly killed me.
“You’ll be my maid of honor, right?”
“Of course I will! Just promise me that you won’t make me wear some god-awful dress with a bow on the butt.”
“Don’t be absurd. You know me. I want to keep this very casual. What do you think about us getting married on a beach somewhere?”
“I think your mother would slit her wrists,” I said honestly. Bridget’s free-spirited ways were a constant source of frustration to her mother. Mrs. Matthews was aghast at Bridget’s spiky hair, which veered from bright red to magenta or purple—a bit like Aunt Winnie’s. And Bridget’s clothes had a tendency to render the normally loquacious Mrs. Matthews mute. A wedding on the beach would no doubt push her over the edge.
“You’re probably right.” Bridget sighed. “But I’ll be damned if I’m going to wear some ridiculous dress that makes me look like a giant meringue.”
I heard Colin’s voice in the background and Bridget yelled, “That’s not funny, Colin!”
She got back on the line. “So, how are you? How was your New Year’s?”
My stomach sank. Caught up in Bridget’s excitement, I had almost forgotten about Gerald. Almost.
“Well, it was a bit more exciting than anyone had planned for,” I said, attempting to downplay the seriousness of the situation. It might have been more believable had my voice not caught.