Docketful of Poesy (23 page)

Cordelia grimaced. “Oh. Al was over there all the
time. They all were. All the ladies of the county. I think Roy
Blade finally told her off. That’s why she left, you know. Mr.
Blade told her she was making a nuisance of herself, and she got
offended and went on a holiday cruise.”

“
I see.” Which was a sweeping
overstatement. I was floundering, trying to picture our biker
librarian telling one of our favorite aristos—a woman he was rather
sweet on himself—to stop pestering the local ex-jewel thief with
her attentions.

Cordelia laughed. “I expect that’s why Peter really
wanted you back, so you’d scare the femme fatales off again.”

“Just a poor helpless rabbit hypnotized by all those
snakes,” I said dryly, but I admit I was feeling more uneasy by the
moment.

“He missed you, Grace. We all did. He just missed you
more.”

The candor of that left me with nothing say.

*****

When I returned to the Hound and Harrier that
evening, I learned from the girl at the desk that Miles had been
discharged from the hospital that afternoon. Roberta and the others
were in the bar, and the mood seemed much more cheerful than that
morning’s. Roberta waved and called out to me as I was trying to
slink past the doorway. As I didn’t want to continue the
hostilities, I went to join them.

Norton nodded in greeting. He still looked very under
the weather. Pammy didn’t look particularly well either.

“What are you drinkin,’ luv?” Todd inquired, getting
to his feet.

“Gin and tonic,” I said. I didn’t think I would ever
drink Irish coffee again.

As Todd moved off, my thoughts returned to the
Februarys trying to kill him in mistake for Peter—unless the
Februarys had been hired to further disrupt the production? But no,
that couldn’t be, because they had first attempted to kill Peter
before
Dangerous to Know
had even moved to the Lake
District.

And yet it was one more strange connection between
Peter and this film.

Twice the Februarys had tried to kill Peter and
failed. Was that because they weren’t very good at killing people?
Or were they not really supposed to succeed in their attempts on
Peter’s life? In which case, what purpose was served by these
attacks? Attacks that could have injured or killed many people.
Surely this spoke to a uniquely ruthless mentality?

“
The police were looking for you,
Grace,” Tracy said maliciously, interrupting my
reflections.

“Not very hard, apparently.” The others laughed,
though I was quite serious. “Any word on Mona’s death?”

“No.” That was Pammy. She looked very grim.

“Not that they’re saying,” Roberta said. “But it’s
the weekend. I suppose the crime lab or whatever they call it here
is closed ’til Monday.”

“Were you able to get through to your home
office?”

Her face tightened. “No. But it’s the weekend.”

Norton, who I now realized was not under the weather
so much as quietly smashed, looked up from his glass and said, “I’m
leaving as soon as the cops give us permission.”

Pammy groaned and put her face in her hands.

“You have a contract,” Roberta reminded him.

“I don’t care. I’m flying home as soon as they say
we’re free to go.”

“
Look. We’re all still upset. Let’s
not make any rash decisions until we’ve had time to
consider.”

He stared at her in disgust, shook his head, and
returned to brooding over his glass.

“Well, I’m in for the duration,” Tracy said. “I need
this film.”

“I’ll say. You need
any
film,” Norton
retorted, surfacing briefly.

Tracy opened her mouth and then closed it. If looks
could kill, Norton would have been groping for the knife in his
back.

Todd brought me my drink and took his seat again.
“Where’s Peter? The coppers were asking about him, and Tracy said
the shop’s closed.”

“I don’t know where he is,” I answered. “He’s
frequently away on buying trips.” I stared at Tracy, who gave me a
sweet smile in return.

“Always was a bit of a scallywag, old Peter.” Todd
seemed amused at the idea. “You should have seen him in the old
days.”

I tried to imagine meeting Peter in his criminous old
days. I couldn’t imagine that we’d have had a lot to say to each
other.

“How’s Miles?” I asked the table in general.

“You can ask him yourself,” Roberta said, looking
past me. “Miles, what the hell are you doing down here?”

Miles, one hand steadying himself on the table edge,
sat carefully down in the chair next to me. There was a white
square of gauze on the back of his head. He smelled rather strongly
of antiseptic and hospital. “I can’t relax up there,” he said. “I
can’t take naps. I’m not a nap taking kind of guy.”

He answered the questions about his health
brusquely.

I asked, “Do you have any idea of who attacked
you?”

He started to shake his head, stopped, and said
carefully, “No. I didn’t see a thing. I went out to the car to grab
my jacket. Next thing I knew I was in an ambulance and some limey
bastard was asking me how many fingers he was holding up.” He
glanced at Todd. “No offense.”

“None taken,” said Todd. He made a rude gesture. “How
many fingers am
I
holding up?”

“Two,” said Miles, clearly not getting it.

Pammy frowned at Todd. Norton nearly spilled his
drink laughing.

Tracy said, “Miles, are we going ahead with the
production?”

I thought that was an interesting question coming
from her. I’d got the impression that they were a couple, but that
sounded like they hadn’t spoken since Miles was bashed over the
head. So either the romance wasn’t proceeding smoothly or Miles
could have given Peter lessons in not communicating well with
significant others.

“Why wouldn’t we?” he answered Tracy shortly.

He looked to Pammy. She shrugged. He looked to
Roberta who said, “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to reach
anyone in New York.”

New York? I’d been thinking they were based in
Hollywood. But I suppose that made sense. The money, the power
brokers would be in New York.

“The answer is yes,” Miles told Tracy. “We’re going
ahead.”

“You don’t know that.” That was Norton, surfacing
once again from his alcohol-induced stupor. He held Miles’s gaze
challengingly

Miles retorted, “Let’s put it this way, if I have
anything to say about it, we’re not pulling the plug.”

“The show must go on!” Norton said with sarcasm.

“That’s right, Edam, the show must go on. We’ve all
got to eat. We’ve all got mortgages to pay. What happened yesterday
was a tragedy, but canceling the production isn’t going to bring
Mona back—Mona was a trooper. She’d want us to carry on.”

Norton sneered, “What the hell do you know or care
about what Mona ever wanted?”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“What do
you
?” Miles returned finally. “I knew
Mona for twenty years. How long did you know her?” He reached into
his shirt pocket and withdrew a small flask.

“I knew her well enough to —”

“Are you out of your mind?” Roberta demanded, cutting
right across Norton’s low voice. “You can’t drink alcohol with a
head injury!”

“I’m past the point of danger,” Miles said,
unscrewing the top to his silver flask. We all watched as he took a
swig.

And as Miles indulged in his teatime cocktail I knew
why Mona had died. Or, rather, in whose place she had died.

Chapter Eighteen

W
hat I didn’t know was why
anyone wanted Miles dead.

I’d heard plenty about Miles’s womanizing ways, but
did people really kill each other over that kind of thing? My
knowledge of such matters was strictly relegated to reading
People
magazine in the dentist’s office. True, Mona had
apparently tried to kill Miles during—or was it after?—their
affair, but since Mona was the one who had died, I didn’t think
that was relevant.

Tracy’s affair with Miles seemed to have cooled
considerably, but Tracy didn’t seem like the sort of woman who
killed for passion. She didn’t seem to have a passionate bone in
her body. She was sexy, yes. Very. Men seemed to find her very
sexy, anyway. But it seemed to me that passionate and sexy were not
necessarily the same thing.

Besides, the day of Lady Vee’s tea party, Tracy and
Miles were still cooing like lovebirds and feeding each other cake
like newlyweds. True, she would have ample opportunity to spike his
flask, but by the same token she’d have been unlikely to get the
flask mixed up with Mona’s.

“What an expression you have, Grace,” Roberta
commented, her gaze screened by those cat’s-eye glasses.

“I just remembered what a lot of work I have to do
this evening,” I said. “I should go up to my room.”

“We won’t be shooting tomorrow. It’s Sunday. Stay and
have another drink.”

I smiled, rising. “I don’t think I’d better. I still
have to work on my book this evening.”

Todd said, “Stay, and I’ll tell you about the time
Pierce—er, Peter—had a skinful of French champagne and decided to
borrow a houseboat on the Seine.”

“I’m sure Grace has heard all Peter’s stories about
the good old days,” Tracy drawled.

“Oh, I doubt that!” Todd said with a little
smirk.

*****

“Cyanide probably,” Brian told me over cheese
toasties and pints at the Cock’s Crow later that evening. “We can’t
be sure ’til we’ve had a look at the coroner’s findings, but…every
indication is of cyanide. The flask even smelled like bitter
almonds.”

I said, “I think I know who the intended victim was.
What I don’t know is why anyone wants Miles Friedman dead.” I
explained why I believed Mona’s flask had been laced with poison
when the intended victim had probably been Miles, finishing, “I
think there may have been earlier attempts on his life, as well.
The brakes went out on his car a couple of times before he left the
States. Everyone assumed it was shoddy work on the part of his
garage, but looking back…I think those failed brakes may have been
someone’s first try.”

“If these attempts began in the States…”

“Yes. It would have to be someone in the cast or
crew.”

“You don’t have any idea of whom?”

“I do, actually. I think Roberta Lom might have a
grudge against him. They were lovers at one time, and they share
responsibility for this film. There might be some kind of insurance
policy or clause in case the film fails or is cancelled. Something
along those lines. I was thinking you might be able to check into
that.”

“I suppose I could.” He made some notes. “That’s
it?”

“Well, the problem with Roberta as a suspect is, I
don’t believe she would have mistakenly murdered Mona. She knew
that Mona had a flask, and she knew Mona kept misplacing it. I
really think whoever killed Mona killed her by mistake, but that
means the murderer has to be sort of…oblivious.”

“Oblivious?”

“Well, either that, or so focused on killing Miles
that nothing else really impinged on her—or his—consciousness.”

“And does someone in this motley crew strike you as
particularly oblivious?”

“Well, of course I don’t know all the crew members,
but Tracy Burke seems fairly self-preoccupied. Then again, I don’t
like her so maybe I’m not the best judge. Norton Edam is pretty
much oblivious. He drinks a lot and he seems to really dislike
Miles—so much that I’m surprised he agreed to work on this project.
Although I don’t suppose his career is at a point where he could
turn work down. I don’t know what his motive would be, though. The
only thing anyone seems to have accused Miles of is womanizing.
There hasn’t been any suggestion that he ever sabotaged someone’s
career—or is even a particularly bad director.”

“Norton Edam.” Brian made another note.

“And I already mentioned Tracy. One of the actresses.
Miles has been seeing her.”

“The one playing you,” Brian said, grinning.

“You had to say that, didn’t you?”

“You have to admit —”

“No, I don’t. In fact, I refuse to admit any such
thing.”

He laughed. “So the lovely Tracy and Miles are
lovers?”

“Well, they were. There seems to be a chill in the
air between them—and suddenly there’s
a lot
of air between
them.”

I glanced at the fire crackling in the stone
fireplace a few feet from our table. It was very warm in the pub,
but a shiver rippled down my spine as I said, “I think the attack
on Miles was motivated by sheer rage. Rage at having failed again
to kill him. Or maybe rage at having killed the wrong person.
Whoever struck Miles unconscious took a terrible chance. It was
luck he didn’t see his attacker, or that someone else didn’t see
them in the parking lot. I think someone willing to take that kind
of a chance must have a powerful motive, and it seems to me that
such a motive would show up with very little investigating.”

He snorted. “I’ll try not to take offense at that. Is
that your entire list of suspects?”

“Well, everyone bears looking into, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“But those are the people who seem the most likely to
me. Although…none of them really seem
that
likely. None of
them seem like the kind of people who commit murders.”

“If there’s one thing you should know by now,” Brian
said, “it’s that no particular type of person commits murders.”

“Speaking of which,” I said, “what’s happening with
the investigation into the deaths of the February brothers?”

His expression changed. Closed. “You know I can’t
discuss the case with you.”

I didn’t think it would be wise to point out that he
was willing to discuss the
other
part of the case with
me.