Jill was in the audience too, in the back, leaning against a support beam, getting her first look at Lester Denton in action.
Taking Jenny and Frank Logan’s places in the Overenthusiastic Yuppie Division were the fabled Arnolds, Millie and Carl. Millie — a slim little bubbly redheaded woman with attractive, angular features — was the interrogator, while her dark, mustached husband — a small man behind whose mild demeanor lurked a black belt in karate — sat taking the notes. They both wore ski sweaters and jeans, and sat forward, hanging on Lester’s every word.
“Are you aware that Sloth had published a vicious review of his own grandmother’s first mystery novel?” Millie said, her words rushing out. All of Millie’s words came rushing out.
“No,” I said. I was aware, however, that the grandmother role was being played by Cynthia Crystal.
“And that upon reading the review,” Millie continued, “she had a heart attack?”
“No,” I said. None of this was on my Suspect sheet; they were wasting their time going down this alley. But what the hell, it was their time.
Another player — a heavyset woman of about forty, dressed all in dark blue — gestured with her pen and said, “Sloth’s grandmother was seen going to his room shortly before you did. Did you see her?”
“No,” I said, meekly. “But I’m most relieved to hear the dear lady made a full recovery.”
“Then you weren’t aware,” Millie said, “that Sloth hired a thief to break into his grandmother’s house, to see if she’d changed her will, in the aftermath of that review?”
“No,” I said. All I knew of this aspect of Curt’s mystery was that Tim Culver was playing the thief.
Carl Arnold spoke; his deadpan expression barely cracked as he said, “Did Sloth say anything about his grandmother when you saw him?”
“No,” I said.
“He said nothing about a bribe?” Millie pressed.
“Well...”
“Did he say anything about a bribe? Specifically, that he told his grandmother he’d review her next book favorably, if she put him back in the will?”
“I knew nothing of that,” I said.
Another of the players, another Yuppie male in a white cardigan and pale blue shirt, picked up on my reaction to the word bribe and said, “You have a wealthy background, don’t you, Mr. Denton?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘wealthy’...”
“What would you say?”
“Mother is well-fixed.”
“Did you offer money to Sloth that night?”
“Well, uh...”
“Did you, Mr. Denton?”
Whereupon I broke down and confessed having attempted to bribe Roark K. Sloth; I further confessed to his having laughed off my “pathetic” attempt to do so.
Millie Arnold’s eyes were glittering; she smelled blood, and it put a great big smile right under her nose. “Did Sloth threaten you with a tape recording?”
“Y-yes,” Lester and I said. “He had recorded our entire conversation on a pocket machine.”
Soon the interrogation was over; I’d done an all right job — not as good as the first time around, but the first time around I had only a probable prank on my mind, not a real live murder. Still, a number of the interrogators hung around to compliment me and chat and laugh a little. They were having a great time, the players were; this was the best Mystery Weekend yet, several veterans said.
Among the lingerers were the Arnolds. Millie approached me and asked if she could give Lester a kiss; I said sure and she bussed Lester’s cheek.
“You were great,” she said, slapping me on the shoulder. I wasn’t great. She was just enthusiastic.
Jill wandered up and I made introductions all around.
“You seemed pleased to get that piece of business about the tape,” I said to Millie and Carl, making polite conversation.
“Oh, yes — that helps us confirm a suspicion. Sloth tape-recorded everybody — Tom Sardini’s private-eye character has admitted to helping Sloth go so far as to wiretap.”
“Also,” Carl added, “Jack Flint’s character admitted to being threatened with a blackmail tape... but no tapes were found in Sloth’s room.”
“I see,” I said, not really giving a damn.
“Could I ask you a question?” Millie said, which was a question itself, actually.
“Sure,” I said.
“Did you send Jenny Logan around to check up on us? We figured she was trying to find out if we pulled that stunt outside your window. Because we brought our theatrical gear along and all.”
“Actually, I did ask her to check around.”
“Then you weren’t in on it?” Carl said.
“In on what?”
“The stunt,” Millie said. “We figured it was a part of the Mystery Weekend — something Curt Clark cooked up. Most of the teams are working it into their solutions.”
“Then they’re going down the wrong road,” I said. “The mystery is strictly limited to the information you gather from the interrogation sessions — nothing else before or after counts.”
“Then why,” Millie said, her constant smile momentarily disappearing into puzzlement, “would Rath have gone along with it?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Why would he have taken part in that stunt?”
I exchanged glances with the unusually silent Jill. She shrugged and smirked — you’re on your own, brother.
So I said to the Arnolds, “Uh, who says he did?” I didn’t know what else to say, short of expressing the view that the “stunt” hadn’t been a stunt at all, but a real murder in which Rath (one would suppose) took only a reluctant part. Which I couldn’t hope to prove without mentioning that I’d stumbled upon Rath’s body in a condition consistent with the way he died in said “stunt.”
“Oh, it was him, all right,” Millie said.
Jill, interest piqued, cut in. “Why are you so sure?”
“Well,” Carl said, ever deadpan, “I guess it’s possible it was somebody else. Somebody playing Rath.”
Millie said, “But Carl’s right — Rath was around.”
“What?” Jill and I said.
Carl said, “Rath only pretended to leave.”
“Why do you say that?” I said, just me, though Jill no doubt was thinking it.
Millie lectured Carl, waggling a forefinger. “You don’t know for a fact he pretended to leave... He could’ve left and come back.”
“Same difference,” Carl shrugged.
“But who was he helping, by playing along?” Millie asked her husband. “Somebody on one of the teams?”
“What the hell are you two talking about?”
They looked at me, shocked to have heard such force coming from me, who after all was still wearing the Lester Denton facade. A little dab’ll do ya.
“It’s just that we saw him Thursday night,” Millie said, shrugging elaborately, eyes wide, palms up.
“After he got mad and supposedly left,” Carl added.
Jill asked, “When was this?”
“We were out walking in the snow,” Millie said. “We were on that little gazebo bridge by the lake.”
“What did you see?” I said, grasping Millie’s arm.
She pulled back, wincing, not understanding my urgency. “Hey, take it easy! We didn’t see anything, much — just Kirk Rath.”
“Yeah,” Carl said, thumbing through his notebook, “I jotted some notes. Wasn’t sure it might not have something to do with the Mystery Weekend. We saw him out walking, along by the bushes near the lake, all by himself. It was about eleven fifteen...”