Shadow of Reality (4 page)

Slackening her pace, Elizabeth fell slightly behind her escorts so she could look at them. Both were tall and slim in classic formal wear; their heads, one dark and the other blond, bent slightly together as they carried on their discussion. From outward appearance, there was no reason to prefer one infinitely over the other. Elizabeth frowned slightly. Why should Gavin make her breath race and her heart do flip-flops, while Richard did absolutely nothing to her? She remembered the arm that held her through the ordeal under the table—whose arm had it been? Richard had pushed her down to safety and helped her out, as he had the others nearby, but it seemed more likely that Gavin, the consummate gentlemen, would be the one who would quietly support her.

“Where are you going?” Gavin’s sharp inquiry cut through her thoughts.  She saw he was still in the main corridor, while Richard had turned into their wing. “That part of the hotel’s closed off.”

“Was,” Richard replied. “They reopened it to accommodate the overflow crowd.  We were undoubtedly the last ones to register.”

“Where is your room?” Elizabeth asked.

“Just down the hall and around the corner.” Gavin pointed to the far end of the corridor. “But it’s terrible, your having to stay here. Isn’t it awfully uncomfortable? Drafty and that sort of thing?”

Elizabeth replied as Richard opened the door, “Not at all—except my bathroom door is stuck. Oh, I forgot to tell the desk clerk.”

“Well, maybe this evening’s excitement jarred it loose,” Richard suggested, leading the way into the parlor. He turned to his briefcase to find the file he’d promised Gavin.

“Good idea, I’ll check.” Elizabeth smiled as she felt Sir Gavin’s eyes on her while she left the room. “Oh, yes, it has,” she called to them. “The door’s ajar.”

She stepped into the white-tiled room, then froze. All the blood drained from her head. A chill seized her entire body. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out when she opened her mouth. She clutched the wall, fighting dizziness as she backed into the sitting room. 

“There’s a man in my bathroom…,” she whispered. “I think he’s…he’s…”

And then everything went dark.

Chapter 3

Later, Monday evening

Tuesday, March 13, 1990/1934

When Elizabeth came to, Dr. Pearsall was taking her pulse while Gavin stood at the end of the sofa, looking as stricken as she felt.

“My dear, I’m so sorry! We all are.” Gavin knelt beside her, pushing the doctor out of the way. “I’m sure if Stark had had any idea it would be so upsetting he’d never have—”

“Stark? You mean that was part of the game?” Elizabeth sat up slowly, still feeling none too steady.

Richard came over to her. “Don’t worry, I went straight for the doctor, and Kendall here made the guy clear out fast so you wouldn’t be upset again.”

“I certainly did. I sent him packing sharply and told him to tell Stark we shall have to omit that part from his script. We shall simply pretend it never happened.”

“Oh, no, don’t change the plan on my account. It was just the way it came after the earthquake and everything. I’m sure if I’d taken a second look I’d have realized…as it was, I thought—”

“What did you think?” Gavin asked.

“I’m not sure. I guess I thought he wandered in by mistake, and then the quake frightened him so much he had a heart attack…or he fell over and hit his head, or…I don’t know. It sounds awfully silly now.”

“Well, don’t worry about it a bit. This is the last you’ll hear of it, I assure you.” Gavin gave her arm a gentle squeeze, then moved back to make room for Dr. Pearsall.

“I think you’ll be fine now, Miss Allerton. But I’ll leave these tablets with you in case you have trouble sleeping. If you have a headache or any problems in the morning, be sure to give me a call. It’s after midnight now, so try to get some sleep.”

Elizabeth didn’t approve of taking sleeping pills, but by 4 A.M., after three hours of reliving walking into that room and finding a body in the bathtub…what a good actor that man was—so still and lying at such an odd angle…with a sigh she got up and swallowed the tablets.

She wakened to a sun-streaked morning that made it hard to believe in the darkness and alarms of the night before. Elizabeth still felt a bit groggy after her drug-induced sleep, but the bright color and flowing lines of her buttercup and navy, dolman-sleeved tunic lifted her spirits. She reached for the phone and dialed Richard’s room. “Wear your dark blue blazer, white slacks, and yellow ascot,” she told him.

“Yes, Mother,” he replied. “As a matter of fact, I did exactly that.”

“Mmm, yes. You certainly did.” She smiled approvingly when she joined him in their connecting parlor a few minutes later. “Can’t have anyone saying your colleague dresses you funny.”

As soon as they started down the wide staircase they were greeted with the friendly sound of the breakfast gong, and a little further along with tantalizing aromas.

“Who was it that said England’s major contributions to civilization were the Magna Carta, Shakespeare, and the English breakfast?” Richard asked.

Elizabeth breathed deeply and laughed. “George Will, maybe? But I think he got them in the wrong order.”

No one would have argued with her when they were served platters of grilled tomatoes and mushrooms with toast, eggs, crisp bacon and plump, juicy sausages that were sweet and spicy at the same time.

“I can’t wait to start interviewing witnesses,” Irene said as she leaned across the table, her eyes sparkling. “I have several theories already.”

Elizabeth could see why Irene was an actress. She wasn’t really beautiful—she was short and slightly plump—but she had what they called “star quality.” You just automatically looked at her when she talked. And her quiet father was so obviously proud of her. “What a special thing—for a father and daughter to take a vacation together. Wasn’t your mother able to come?”

“No, my sister just had a baby, and Mom would much rather stay with the grandchildren. Daddy and I are the crime buffs in the family.” Benton turned to smile at his daughter, and Elizabeth saw he was wearing a hearing aid. That was probably one reason he was so quiet.

Conversation at the tables stopped when Weldon Stark stood before the microphone. “Well, we now have an official report on that bit of unscheduled excitement last night. It seems that the rain yesterday washed out a large patch of loose rock and mud on the hillside.

“We’ve had quite a landslide down the road a piece. It took the phone and electricity wires with it, but we got a radio newscast from Hidden Glenn. Officials are aware of our predicament and will set to work digging us out as soon as possible. There was, however, considerable flooding in the valley, and those problems will have to be attended to first, since their situation is much more serious than ours.” Stark waited for the buzz of conversation to die down before he continued.

“The hotel has assured me that we have plenty of coal to keep the electricity humming for the rest of the week, if necessary. The kitchen is well stocked, and we see no reason everything shouldn’t proceed just as scheduled. We are fortunate, I must say, that our staff was cut off on this side of the road, rather than in town as the Kilcliffe servants were. Millie would have her hands full trying to serve us all.” The role-players laughed, and several applauded their waiters, who were refilling coffee cups.

“This morning the suspects will be available for interviewing. The ground rules are that all witnesses are to tell the truth except in matters relating directly to the murder. Except the murderer—that person may lie about anything.”

The group at the table looked at each other with anticipation. “I want to know if Millie liked her mistress,” Cathy Johnson said between bites of grilled tomato. “Maybe Gloria was really terrible to her and Millie had all this pen-up resentment. Or maybe she had been faithful for years and years and now that Gloria was going to get married she was planning to fire Millie and leave her penniless…”

“Do you think Gloria and Brian were lovers?” Anita Crocker broke in. Elizabeth noted that it seemed Anita always directed her questions to Richard. And what energy she projected for such a tiny woman. Elizabeth looked at the crepe blouse draping so gracefully around her form and wondered if Anita worked out regularly. She looked surprisingly strong.

“I bet that other actress was jealous.” Helen Johnson spread lime marmalade on her toast as she spoke. Elizabeth appreciated Helen's comfortable looks and apparent no-nonsense approach to life.

“Probably, but what about the agent?” her husband asked.

“No, he had an incentive to keep her alive—she was his meal ticket,” Irene replied to Bill Johnson. “I know what my agent gets just for my bit stuff.”

“Ah, then, maybe she was going to fire him,” Bill persisted.

“Hold on a minute!” Benton held up a hand. “Sherlock Holmes says it’s a capital mistake to theorize before having the facts.”

“Sound advice. Let’s go get organized.” Richard put his coffee cup down and scooted back his chair, making a scraping noise on the wooden floor. “Shall we use the library for our meeting room?” The others assented, and he led the way.

Richard taped a hand-lettered sign to the door, labeling the library as the official meeting room for Blithe Spirit. “Now, who wants to interview whom this morning?”

Elizabeth wanted to interview Gavin, or rather Sir Linden, who had breakfasted with the actors. But she didn’t want to seem too eager, so she waited for the others to choose.

“Did you want to take Millie, Cathy?” Richard asked.

“Sure, Evan and I’ll do her.” Cathy answered for her brother, but for once he seemed to agree with his sister.

Helen and Bill offered to interview Suzanna.

“We’ll tackle the agent. Okay, Dad?” Irene said.

“Richard, would you help me question Brian? I’m sure we’ll need a man’s opinion, too.” In fairness, Elizabeth had to admit that Anita didn’t exactly bat her eyes at Richard, but the effect was the same.

Richard looked at his list. “Elizabeth, that leaves you to do Sir Linden. Do you mind?”

Mind?
She gulped. “No, that’s fine. If he isn’t too grief-stricken over the death of his fiancée, of course.”

“That takes care of it, then. We’ll meet back here after lunch with our reports.” Elizabeth watched Richard leave the room with Anita. She was so tiny her head barely reached his shoulder, which gave her the advantage of always having to look way, way up at him when they talked. And he looked down and smiled.

Elizabeth couldn’t wait to see Gavin this morning. She had glimpsed him across the breakfast room—in his light beige double-breasted suit with his blond hair brushed to an aristocratic sleekness, he looked more heroic than ever.

In the Fern Parlor, he was sitting in a wicker armchair by the fireplace, already answering a question put to him by a member of the Private Lives team. “Yes, yes, quite. It really was the most beastly experience. She was such a lovely girl, you know. Absolutely charming, and such talent…a terrible thing to have happen.” He dropped his head in his hand, his long fingers running into his hair.

“Sir Linden, we do apologize for breaking in on your bereavement,” another questioner began, “but would you tell us how long you and Miss Glitz had been dating?”

With a visible effort, the witness pulled himself together. “Gloria and I had been friends for years. We were in the same circle, you understand. But we had only been dating what you’d call seriously for nine or ten months.”

How well he does this
, Elizabeth thought.
It’s impossible to believe he’s acting.
She even felt a small stab of jealousy for the mourned Gloria.

“And did you have serious girlfriends before?” someone in the far corner asked.

“Oh, quite. But then, that depends on what you call serious, doesn’t it?”

“Will you tell us about the one before Gloria Glitz?”

Sir Linden rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I say, it’s a little hard to remember. Well, now, yes, that would have been Lady Leila Landsbury, an old, old friend of the family—not that the lady herself was ancient, you understand.”

Elizabeth introduced a new line of questioning, “Sir Linden, is your title inherited?”

“No, His Most Gracious Britannic Majesty King George V conferred this honor upon me in recognition of my contribution to English arts and letters.”

“And how long have you held the title?”

“A little less than a year. Since the publication of
Clouds of Carcasses
.”

A woman next to Elizabeth took up the questioning, “That was your wildly successful best seller?”

“Madam, how am I to maintain my decorum of British understatement if you will thrust such bouquets at me? But yes, His Majesty was good enough to mention that book in his charter of knighthood. I believe revenue from the foreign publications of the book did make a certain contribution to the exchequer.”

Elizabeth smiled as she scribbled notes. It was fun to ponder the parallels between the real man and the character he was portraying. Stark must know him well. She didn’t know much about Sir Gavin Kendall beyond having read his books, but she did know that his own best seller,
Who Doth Murder Sleep?
had actually resulted in his knighthood. She didn’t know what he had written since, however. When she had a chance, she would ask Sir Gavin what he was working on now besides his fictional Wimsey biography.

A woman wearing a Conversation Piece name tag asked, “What were the autopsy results?”

“There was no autopsy, madam. The certificate of death listed natural causes, choking. That’s why I really don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“Was there anything at all unusual noted on the certificate?”

“I don’t really know what might be unusual. I fortunately haven’t had much experience in all this, you understand. Perhaps you might interview on of the others…”

“Yes, of course. But was there any more information at all?”

Leigh twirled his eyeglass on the end of its ribbon. “I seem to remember some mention of the deceased’s complexion appearing cherry red. I assume that’s natural in choking cases. The constable made no suggestion of foul play.”