A Three Book Problem Read online

  “Your prints are on it,” Estrada muttered. “Why am I not surprised to hear that?”

  “The gate was closed but not locked?” Ryan said.

  “There isn’t a lock, and probably never was. No reason there should be. Deer can’t open gates.” I continued mentally retracing my steps of earlier. “The gate opens onto a cement path leading to the kitchen door and then on to the rear parking area and the driveway. I had to decide what direction to go, and I went into the house via the kitchen.”

  “Why?” Estrada said. “Wouldn’t this person be more likely to stay outside, to get away? People might have been in the kitchen.”

  “Jayne had called Ryan, and thus sounded the alarm. I assumed no one would be in the kitchen after that, and I assumed our killer would have also thought so. He, or she, would want to blend into the people in the house as quickly as possible, and not to stand out in any way. As they would have if they’d come in through the front door. That’s precisely what happened. When I arrived back at the library, every one of them was there. With the exception of Smithers, I mean Billy, who’d gone to meet the police and medics at the door. They were all wearing some sort of footwear, and I didn’t notice any recently deposited dirt on any of them.”

  “You had time to check their shoes?” the ever-suspicious Estrada said to me.

  “It was a matter of seconds. Miranda was in high-heeled boots when we went on our walk, and she since changed into shoes. You might want to ask to see the boots she had on earlier.”

  “We will.”

  “Was any one of them out of breath?” Ryan asked.

  “Not that I noticed. Steve’s the oldest one here, but he seems in reasonably good shape, and I suspect Miranda exercises regularly to keep herself so thin. Jennifer’s overweight, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything in terms of fitness. I’m not sure about Cliff. Annie, Kyle, and Billy are fairly young. Around my age, our age, and I have to point out that I’m not a regular runner, although I do like to swim in the summer months, but I wasn’t out of breath when I came into the house. We didn’t go very far. Annie was crying, Miranda was pretending to be, and Jennifer seemed genuinely shocked. Steve was shouting, everyone asking questions.”

  “Pretending to be?” Estrada asked.

  “I don’t mean to imply anything by that. I think she was acting as she thought she should, rather than through any deep emotion.”

  “You think one of the house guests did this?” Estrada said.

  “Or the temporary staff, yes. Present company, and Jayne, excepted.”

  “Don’t rush it,” Estrada said, but her heart wasn’t in the threat. She’d asked a good question, and I was glad of it. In the past she would have instantly dismissed anything I had to say.

  “Why do you assume the perpetrator was in the house?” Ryan asked. “Why couldn’t someone have come from outside? Do the deed and then take off?”

  “That could have happened. The property’s fenced and gated. I don’t know if the gate is kept shut; it was open when we arrived yesterday, if you remember. You’ll want to have people searching for signs of an intruder. This person might have been creeping about the shrubbery all morning, waiting for the opportunity to throw a dart at David, but I consider that highly unlikely. Anyone in the house could have overheard David call Jayne and invite her to the library at eleven o’clock, and thus have been lying in wait outside. How could someone not part of this group know where he was going to be, and when?

  “If someone had been lurking in the shrubbery trying to see into the house, they were likely to be spotted. Remember the torn screen door. Also remember this is not David Masterson’s home. He’s a weekend guest as much as the rest of us are. He didn’t have a regular routine that he might be expected to keep. No, one of the people invited here for this weekend killed him. And they came with the intention of doing so.”

  “I can’t disagree with that,” Ryan said. “Not many people carry poisoned darts on their person on the off chance they get an opportunity to use them.”

  “Poison,” Estrada said. “Why do you assume it was poisoned?”

  Ryan said nothing but looked at me.

  “You noticed that as well,” I said. “The dart’s fairly small, although undoubtedly quite sharp. David dropped instantly, as anyone might when receiving a shock like that. He fell against a chair, knocked it over, and collapsed to the floor, but he didn’t bleed any more than could be expected from a tiny prick. The dart didn’t go into his neck deeply enough to reach an artery. Therefore, it had to have been coated with something that did him in on the spot. His body convulsed almost immediately, he appeared to be unable to breathe, and his muscles froze. Strychnine is my guess.”

  Estrada blanched.

  “Where’s the dart now?” I asked Ryan.

  “I secured it and it’s on its way into town. I removed it before the medics tended to him and I called the pathologist’s office to let them know what we suspect.”

  “I’m not a dart player,” I said, “but I have seen the game being played on several occasions. The thing that was used to kill David didn’t look at all like the typical dart as thrown in the pubs in England. Unless you play the game quite differently in America, I suspect this one came from some sort of projectile-firing object.”

  Ryan nodded. “Blowgun, most likely. Yesterday and today, I spent most of my time in the kitchen,” he said to Estrada. “I didn’t meet any of the guests, or even David Masterson himself. You had contact with them, Gemma. Did you notice anyone showing any animosity toward Masterson?”

  “No. But one thing in particular struck me. This was supposed to be a Sherlock Holmes weekend. I was invited to bring the props, the books, the games, the movies, that sort of thing, and help keep the conversation going. Donald and Uncle Arthur were invited because of their knowledge of Holmes. I expected everyone would be on the same page, so to speak.”

  “They’re not?”

  “Not at all. Jennifer and Steve seem knowledgeable, particularly Jennifer, but the others, not so much. Cliff is so-so, but Kyle and Miranda aren’t even bothering to pretend an interest. You might want to ask them why they’re here.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks, Gemma.”

  “I have one question before you go.” Estrada pointed to the three books in a small pile on the otherwise empty desk. “You said David was sitting behind that desk when you came in, reading. Those books look old, judging by the covers and some wear on the edges of the paper. Are they valuable? I know some of those books can run in the tens of thousands of dollars.”

  I glanced toward the desk. “You’re wondering if theft might have been a motive, but the answer is no. Not of those three anyway. They have no value to a collector. I brought them from the store to use as props for the weekend. They’re not first editions and are not signed or have any other significance. They’re just ordinary used books I sell in the Emporium.”

  “I’ll talk to Jayne next and then the rest of them,” Ryan said. “You two might as well carry on with whatever you were doing. I guess my stint as a kitchen maid is over.” He tried not to look too pleased at the idea.

  I stood up. I would have liked to stay and listen in on the interviews, but I knew better than to ask. Ryan didn’t like it when I got involved in his cases. To be honest, I didn’t like it either, but that’s what happened sometimes. “We’ve got a fully stocked kitchen and bar so that’ll go a long way toward keeping the guests, aka the suspects, in place. Are you going to let them leave after they’ve given their statements?”

  “I’ll decide later,” Ryan said.

  Estrada walked out of the dining room with me. We found the guests in the drawing room, where we’d left them under the watchful eye of Stella Johnson. Donald was reading the latest edition of Canadian Holmes, which I’d brought from the store. Jennifer appeared to be examining the railway timetables again, but I could tell by the tilt of her head she wasn’t seeing anything. Cliff was working on a jigsaw puzzle, while Steve shifted restlessly on the couch. Miranda flipped through a fashion magazine, and I had not the slightest idea where she would have found that in this house. Irene had taken a seat on the couch, with the latest version of Sherlock Holmes Magazine on her lap, but she wasn’t reading. Billy had opened the bar and Kyle was sitting by himself in a far corner, nursing what looked like a scotch. Annie sat with Jayne. The two women spoke in low voices, and Annie wept softly.

  “Ms. Wilson,” Estrada said. “If you’ll come with me, please.”

  Jayne stood up. I took her place next to Annie.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  The fake housekeeper swallowed heavily, gave me a small nod, and blew her nose.

  “Were you and David close?” I asked.

  “I guess we were. Sorta. He’s … He was my mother’s brother. When I was in junior year of high school my mom got married and moved to New Hampshire. I didn’t want to switch schools, so I went to live with Uncle David. We lived in the same apartment for a couple of years, but didn’t spend all that much time together. You know how it is.”

  I didn’t, but I nodded. My Uncle Arthur and I share a house and I’d say we’re very close.

  Then again, I hadn’t even known he was on his way to Spain.

  Donald looked up from his journal. “What do you think happened, Gemma?”

  “No talking about it,” Officer Johnson said sharply.

  “It’s obvious the cops think David was murdered,” Kyle said. “Otherwise, why are we all being kept here, right? And told not to talk about it.”

  Miranda looked up from her magazine. “Murdered? That’s absolutely preposterous. Everyone loved David. He never hurt a fly in all his life.”

  “I don’t know about any flies,” Kyle said. “But I’ve heard that he had his enemies. Isn’t that right, Billy?”

  Billy jumped to his feet, his face set into dark lines and his fists clenched. An interesting reaction, I thought, to what might have been nothing but a passing comment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Kyle smirked. “Or should I say Smithers? You did a good job playing the obsequious butler.”

  “Do you have something to say to me, Kyle? If you do, spit it out.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers. Nor, so it would seem, can butlers.” Kyle laughed and leaned back in his chair.

  I wanted to hear more, but Johnson stepped between the two men. “That’s enough of that. You’ll both have a chance to tell your story to the detectives.”

  “I don’t have a story,” Billy said.

  “Glad to hear it,” she replied. “Now sit down.”

  He threw a poisonous look at Kyle before, grumbling, dropping into a chair.

  “A coffee would be nice,” Miranda said as she returned her attention to her magazine.

  “Sounds good to me,” Donald said.

  “As long as you’re making, I’ll have one too,” Irene said.

  I was about to say I’d like a cup of tea, when I realized they were all looking expectantly at me. I got to my feet with a sigh. “Officer Johnson, can I get you something?”

  “Coffee’d be great, thanks. Maybe the detectives would like one too?”

  “Jennifer,” I said, “would you like something?”

  She started. The railway timetable trembled in her hands. “What?”

  “I’m making tea and coffee. Would you like a cup? A glass of water perhaps?”

  “Coffee? No. I mean, no thank you.”

  “While you’re at it,” Kyle said. “Some sandwiches or something would be good. Unless we’re having lunch soon?”

  “As Jayne’s busy,” I said, “Annie, can you give me a hand?” Johnson began to open her mouth and I added quickly, “We won’t talk about what happened this morning. I promise.”

  “I guess it’s all right then,” she said.

  In the kitchen vegetables were laid out on the island, abandoned in the midst of being chopped and added to the big salad bowl intended to be lunch.

  I kept my promise, and I didn’t talk about the events of this morning while I filled the kettle and Annie ground coffee beans. “Tell me about your uncle,” I said. “I assume he was fairly well off, if he could afford to rent this house for a weekend.” I already knew that, from my brief pre-weekend internet search, but I wanted Annie’s take on the man.

  “He took it for the whole week, but yeah, he’s loaded. He’s my mother’s half-brother, same father, different mothers. They didn’t grow up together. David’s mom’s family’s pretty rich. His parents died in a car accident about ten years ago, and he inherited the lot.”

  “Didn’t your mother get anything on the death of her father?”

  “Not a penny. It wasn’t his money to give to her. Look, Gemma, don’t get me wrong. Uncle David was good to me. He helped me out when I needed a place to stay when I was trying to make a go of my career.” Her face twisted. I turned away from her and began getting down mugs and cups. “I’m still trying to make a go of my career, and I’m still needing handouts. Like this ridiculous housekeeper gig. It’s just that … well, sometimes he liked to see me beg for his help. I tried not to let it bother me. That’s just the way he was.”

  I arranged things on a tray while Annie took milk and cream out of the fridge.

  “What’s Billy’s relationship with David?”

  “Not a good one, believe me. Billy’s mom’s a sister of David’s mom, so he and I aren’t actually related. I don’t know the whole story, but his mom was estranged from her family a long time ago and disinherited. Billy sniffs around looking for handouts and feeling hard done by because David inherited all the family money, via his mom, and Billy’s mom didn’t get anything. David talks about letting bygones be bygones and how blood is thicker than water and all that stuff, but he treats Billy like a toy. Like making him answer to the name of Smithers this weekend?”

  I didn’t recognize the name. “Why is that significant?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Smithers? Is it supposed to mean something?”

  “You don’t know who Smithers is?”

  “Should I?”

  “Gemma didn’t know who Clark Kent is.” Jayne came into the kitchen.

  “Really?” Annie said. “How can anyone not know who Clark Kent is?”

  “Gemma managed.”

  “Thank you so much for pointing that out, Jayne. I now know that Clark Kent is the adoptive name of Superman. In the same way I will soon know who Smithers is, if anyone bothers to enlighten me.”

  “The assistant on The Simpsons.”

  “Who are the Simpsons and why should I know who their assistant is?”

  “He’s not the Simpsons’ assistant. They don’t have one. Smithers is Mr. Burns’s overly obsequious PA.”

  I threw up my hands. “If I need know who Mr. Burns is, never mind Mr. Simpson or Mr. Smithers, please tell me. Otherwise, the tea is almost ready.”

  Jayne was laughing so hard, at my expense, I hoped she’d get a stitch in her side.

  “The Simpsons is a TV show,” Annie explained as she filled the coffee carafe. “Expecting Billy to be called Smithers all weekend wasn’t meant to be polite. David said I was to be known as Mrs. Higgins because the housekeeper having the same name as the host wouldn’t look right. Not that it matters, but my mom and my dad were never married, thus my name’s Masterson, same as Mom and David’s.”

  I poured coffee into mugs for Ryan and Louise while Jayne and Annie arranged the teapot and coffee carafe on a tray next to cups and mugs.

  “What about the others?” I asked Annie. “Did you know any of them before this weekend?”

  “Other than Miranda, who was a friend of David’s mom and came around to his house a few times when I was living there, I’ve never seen any of those people before. Doesn’t mean anything. Uncle David and I never socialized. Different lives, completely different interests.”

  I found a smaller tray and arranged the two coffees on it. “I’ll take these to the dining room. Jayne, would you mind waiting here until I get back?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I wonder if I should throw something together for lunch. Ryan never did finish the salad.” I left her peering into the fridge.

  I knocked at the door to the dining room. Estrada opened it, and I gave her a broad smile. “I thought you’d like a coffee.”

  She moved to take the tray from me and I slipped around her. “I’ll put it down over here, shall I?”

  At the moment, Steve was the one in the hot seat. He didn’t look particularly bothered to be there. He sat ramrod straight in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, smirk curling around the edges of his mouth.

  I put the tray on the sideboard and Ryan said, “Thank you, Ms. Doyle.”

  “Cream, Detective? Sugar?”

  “We’ll serve ourselves, thank you.”

  I glanced at Steve again. He was studying his fingernails. I could think of no further excuse to linger, so I left and returned to the kitchen.

  Jayne was bagging the vegetables. “I want to get these put away while they’re still fresh. We’ve got a heck of a lot of food in here, and I don’t suppose I can take any of it back to the store. I was paid a deposit to do the shopping but we’re still owed for our time and effort.”

  I took a cucumber out of her hand and dropped it on the counter. Then I turned her to face me and took her hands in mine. “You okay, Jayne?”

  She smiled at me. “I’m okay. It was upsetting, yes, but I didn’t know the man well.”

  “More than upsetting. I left you alone with him. You were with him when he died.”

  The smile faded and her lovely blue eyes filled with tears. “I’m glad I was there, Gemma. No one should die alone. I think—I hope—he knew I was with him, but he didn’t say anything to me. I told Ryan that.”