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  “The candles,” someone shouted. “They’ve gone out!”

  “What’s happening?” cried Tamaya. Pandemonium and darkness enveloped the room.

  “Open the shutters!” demanded Peri as she reached for what she thought was the window.

  “That’s my head,” grumbled Mr. Wolfe. “Everyone stop!” he called out. “I’ve got a match!” But no sooner did he strike one, did Salisbury throw open the kitchen door emitting light to shine on a most ill-fated scene.

  “Good lord, I think you killed Javotte,” bellowed Norman.

  “Javotte?” squealed Tisbe.

  “You got some tact, Norman,” cried Goldie.

  “What did I say?” he muttered.

  “Oh, good heavens!” Bending over her white cane, Ms. Rosebud scrutinized the prone body of the woman. It was quite evident that the planchette struck the poor woman in the temple when it flew from the table. “Good heavens,” she said again.

  “Looks like Clarence had it in for Javotte,” said Mr. Wolfe to Salisbury.

  “Indeed, so it appears, Sir. A most unconventional way to pass.” The houseman, noticing the hostess’s distressed state, glided over to her side. “Would you like me to take her to see Mr. Stiltskin, Madame?”

  “Let’s wait for the sister to say goodbye,” whispered Tamaya pointing to the floor where Tisbe was kneeling over the motionless woman cradling her head. A trickle of blood was seeping from the temple.

  “Very well, Madame. I do believe this is your most lively séance to date.”

  “Perhaps, but it is rather unfortunate, we were so close to finding out the truth. We’ve never had a tragedy, have we Salisbury?”

  “Not to my recollection,” he agreed.

  “I don’t know about you, but I could use a stiff drink,” said Mr. Dover. “Join me, Wolfe?”

  Any animosity that the two men felt for each other seemed to have extinguished. “You know, you’re not such a bad guy after all,” Wolfe declared as he followed Dover into the library. “After a few whiskeys, I just might get to like you.”

  ***

  The woman’s skull had indeed been severely compromised. Ms. Rosebud poked the planchette with her finger and scowled. “It hardly looks lethal,” she acknowledged.

  “Well, if I had to offer my scientific analysis, which I will, its flight from the table struck at just the right trajectory to administer a severe blow and cause Javotte to collapse, fall off her chair, and hit the floor.”

  “Two blows in one,” remarked Salisbury.

  “You might say that. Until an autopsy is performed, however, it is uncertain as to which event caused the fatal blow. Nonetheless, it evidently hit a very vulnerable spot.” Peri tapped her temple as if those listening needed reminding.

  Ms. Rosebud’s demeanor looked curiously composed for a woman who just had a second guest die in her home. “At least it isn’t murder,” she said with a sigh of relief.

  “Not unless she was dead before she hit the floor!” Goldie chimed in. “What if someone hit her, and that thing had nothing to do with it!” she contrived, picking up the planchette.

  “Put that down,” demanded the lawyer. “We can’t tamper with any of the items in question until the authorities arrive.”

  “So, we should have left the old gal here in the kitchen?” Goldie asked, displaying her disapproval for Peri’s scolding.

  “Heavens, no,” replied the hostess. “Salisbury had the decency of placing her with Mr. Stiltskin. We simply couldn’t walk around the dead woman all day, now could we?”

  “Oh, I bet Ray loves that,” howled Goldie. “He had such a fondness for her!”

  Chapter 9

  “That makes two,” said Harold.

  “Two what?” Norman asked, pacing like a junkyard dog.

  “Two dead, what else?” Harold Dover spouted with contempt for the other’s ignorance.

  “How the hell am I supposed to know what you’re talking about.” The large man was restless. “If the cops don’t get here soon, I’m just leaving.”

  “And incriminate yourself? It doesn’t seem like a smart move for a man who got out on early parole.”

  These words called for a moment of reflection, which Norman couldn’t disagree with. “Well, it seems as though things are moving too slow for my taste.”

  “Why don’t you go for a walk. I’m sure the grounds can’t be that waterlogged if Jay got out unscathed.”

  “We are assuming he’s okay,” Norman clarified. “Maybe he’s lying in a ditch with his head smashed in by the murderer.”

  “My, what a morose image,” laughed Dover.

  “Well, it is possible. Anyway, if I don’t get out of this house, I might go crazy. I don’t like to be penned in.”

  Harold Dover wasn’t a compassionate man; however, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “Want me to go with you?” he asked. “I could do with a stretch.”

  Norman’s long mouth curled up at the corners as he lazily walked to the window and pulled aside the curtain. “Looks like a lull in the weather. Sure,” he nodded, turning around. “I’ll go get my coat and hat and meet you out front.”

  The smell of wet air entered the foyer as Harold Dover opened the door. The sky was the color of slate, and the distant trees looked more brown than green. The outside world had absorbed the faint odor of mud. He wasn’t in the mood to traipse over puddles and soggy leaves, and now wondered why he had suddenly suggested going too. He walked back into the house and waited at the bottom of the stairs. He couldn’t see much further than the first doorway at the top of the landing. This was Tisbe’s room, and the door was shut. “Hey Norman, what’s taking you?” He climbed several steps listening for the big man. “Norman, let’s go,” he called again. This time the first door opened and the sister shuffled alongside the banister and peered down.

  “He’s not here,” she said. Her voice strained as she spoke.

  “Where is he?”

  “Out, he’s been out since breakfast. Don’t you remember, he said he was going for a walk.” She folded over the railing, and like a marionette, her head bobbed while she spoke. “It was you who suggested he go.”

  “At breakfast this morning?”

  “Yes, now, if you don’t mind, I’m going back to my room.” Dover heard the door slam shut. The woman had disappeared.

  “At breakfast, no,” he decided. The shock of her sister’s death must have made her hallucinate. “I was standing in the library just minutes ago when we decided to go for a walk,” he recalled. “Damn that old fool and damn this whole weekend.”

  “That’s quite a bit of damning, Harold,” remarked a voice. It was Ms. Rosebud, her eyes glowing hotly, and she moved as if in a dream.

  “It’s that woman up there, Tisbe. She’s trying to gaslight me.”

  “Now, why would she do that?”

  Harold slinked back down. The hostess was leaning against the banister, one hand on the rail and the other on her cane. “I don’t know, because she’s nuts.”

  “Come and have a cup of coffee with me, Salisbury has put on a fresh pot. We can go into the kitchen and fix it to our likings.”

  “Are you sure you know how?” he asked snidely.

  But Tamaya pretended not to hear and followed the noise of the percolator into the kitchen where arranged on the table were cups, spoons, and a silver sugar tong. “I do prefer sugar cubes, don’t you?” the hostess asked as she plucked one from the bowl and dropped it into her cup.

  “You forget, I take mine black,” grumped the man.

  The percolator finally calmed down and was now making an occasional “pop pop.” “I didn’t forget; I never knew that,” she remarked. Dover scowled at her candor. She knew damn well how he took his coffee, but he wasn’t about to debate it with her now. “So, where were you going this morning?” she asked.<
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  “Ran into Norman. He was in a bit of a snit, so I convinced him to go with me on a walk, but he slipped away without me.”

  Tamaya sipped her coffee, it was hot and sweet, just the way she liked it. “Do you suppose he’ll come around?”

  “Come around?”

  “You know, come around and take your deal.”

  “Heavens, Tamaya, with all that’s gone on, I haven’t even given it a thought.” He looked at her face; the skin was still as smooth as a pearl. He could tell that she wasn’t kidding. “I don’t know what he’ll do. It’s ironic; Ray and the sister were all ready to sign.” He shook his head and merely laughed with disgust. For a moment, he appealed to his instincts and allowed it to dominate his inner thoughts. Releasing the tension in his jaw, he smiled. “On the other hand, since those two met with such an unfortunate demise, there’s more money in the pot to convince the others to take my offer.”

  “You’re forgetting something important, aren’t you? One of them is most likely the murderer.”

  Suddenly the coffee tasted bitter, and he set the cup down on the saucer. “And then again,” he complained, “maybe not.”

  ***

  Mr. Wolfe handed Peri Cason a book of matches from his shirt pocket. “Since when did you take up smoking?” he asked.

  “Since you just offered me a cigarette,” she laughed. She struck the match and put the flame to the end of the cigarette. She inhaled slowly and then exhaled. A billow of smoke fluttered out of her newly formed smile. “You know,” she remarked. “I don’t know your first name. Everyone simply calls you Wolfe.”

  “I like to keep my business to myself,” he remarked and tucked the pack of cigarettes back into his pocket.

  “Even your name? Don’t you think that’s a bit close vested?”

  “I suppose, but I’m used to being called by my last name. In prison, you lose your identity.”

  “Well, if you don’t mind me asking, what is your name?”

  “But I do mind,” he retorted and grinned. This time he didn’t worry about showing his teeth.

  “Suit yourself, but when the police come, they’ll want to know.”

  He motioned in agreement and leaned back into the sofa. “Martin,” he said.

  “Martin?”

  “Yes, my name is Martin.”

  “Oh, that’s a nice name.”

  “Martin Wolfe, but my wife calls me Marty. She’s the only one I allow to call me Marty, and my mother.”

  “Does your mother live with you?”

  He turned and pierced the woman with a peevish frown. “Why would my mother live with me?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, lots of people live with their mother.”

  “Do you?”

  “No, I guess it was a strange question. My mother has long passed.”

  “Mine too, except now that I think of it; she does live with us. On the shelf, in an urn…if, you know what I mean.”

  The lawyer nodded and wondered why she had opened such a strange line of questions. “Mine is in Georgia, but not in an urn.”

  Mr. Wolfe glanced up at the clock and then back at the woman. Something was unsettling about her, and he began to wonder if she was the murderer. She acted so “high and mighty,” questioning everyone with her legalese; her entire persona could be a front. Oh, he knew that kind. Yes, he decided, she may well have designed the perfect con. Lawyer friend indeed, more like a killer! His pupils dilated with the mere thought, and at once, he began to scheme. How could he discreetly warn the others of this imposter?

  “Something bothering you, Wolfe?” Peri asked.

  Wolfe felt himself flinch. “No,” he lied, “just thinking about our situation. It is pretty unnerving to think someone in our party might be a killer. Don’t you think?”

  “I haven’t thought of anything else.”

  “Then I say, we gather everyone together and make a list. Yes,” Wolfe stressed, asserting authority, “a list of motives, maybe we’ll flush the truth out that way.”

  Peri crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray. “You know, Wolfe, I believe you have an excellent idea.”

  ***

  “You’re not even listening to a word I have said,” crabbed Goldie. The woman dropped the book on the library table and shoved it towards Wolfe. Then she pulled five others from off the shelf and lined them up side-by-side.

  “It doesn’t prove a thing,” he said.

  “Well, it certainly is a slap in the face. To come all this way and not see mine with all the rest is damned insulting!” She peered at him over her eyeglasses.

  “Don’t do that!” he said.

  “Don’t do what?”

  “That! Don’t give me that look. It reminds me of someone.”

  Goldie smiled and slid her glasses down the bridge of her nose. “Grandma?” she smirked.

  “Cut the shit, will you, Goldie!”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I’m miffed. I want to know why there isn’t a book about me?”

  “Why don’t you ask Tamaya instead of getting annoyed with me?” he suggested.

  “Ask me what?” Ms. Rosebud entered the library like a cat. She honed her words like a knife, sharp and direct.

  “Ask you, why you don’t have a book about me?”

  “I most certainly do,” the hostess insisted. “Yours’s one of my favorites.” For several quick moments, she perused the shelf, scanning it up and down but retrieved nothing.

  “Well, it must have been discarded,” goaded Wolfe. He enjoyed sparing with Goldie and hoped to get another rise out of her.

  “Maybe one of the guests is reading it?” suggested Tamaya.

  “Nonsense, we all know each other’s story. No, I think there’s something more insidious going on,” Goldie proclaimed, having now planted a seed of doubt in the librarian’s mind.

  “Who would want it?” ribbed Wolfe. “If you ask me, it was a random pick. The person just closed their eyes and took the first book they touched.”

  “But nobody asked you, Wolfe,” scorned Goldie. “Nobody wants your lousy advice. Since when are you an expert on literature?”

  “Well, are you?” he asked, trying to even the score.

  “Actually, yes. I worked in the library at the women’s penitentiary,” she gloated.

  “You mean you passed out books to your fellow inmates!” he laughed.

  “And you, what did you do?”

  “Worked in the dispensary,” he said.

  “Oh, a pill pusher!” Goldie smirked.

  “More like a medic,” he grinned.

  “Please! The two of you are giving me a headache with your arguing!” cried Tamaya and falling back into the armchair, she began to whimper like a child.

  “Geez, what got into her?” asked Goldie.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea?” Wolfe said. “Maybe she needs some alone time. Want to get some coffee?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  The burdens of the day were leaning heavily upon the hostess. She patted her eyes with her handkerchief and brooded. The house was humming with idle chatter that she was unable to discern. She wished Salisbury would come into the library to bring her some tea. However, she quickly forgot her desire for tea at the sight of her dear friend at the doorway. “Come and sit down; I have something to ask you.”

  Peri Cason was wearing a pair of khaki walking shorts and a starched white blouse. In comparison to the hostess, she suddenly felt self-conscious. “I have decided to dress more casually while I’m here,” she remarked in an almost apologetic tone. “Besides, while I’m sleuthing, I need to be flexible in case I have to get on the floor looking for evidence.”

  “I dare say I hope it doesn’t come to crawling on hands and knees,” imagined the librarian. She patted the adjacent chair and beckoned for her
friend to sit.

  “So, what’s on your mind besides two dead bodies in your wine cellar,” the woman joked. But her words did not get the reaction she expected out of her friend. “You look as though something has spooked you, Tamaya. What’s up?”

  “Well, it isn’t anything that was said, exactly, it’s a feeling I have,” the woman confessed, leaning in towards her friend. “I must admit that I usually have a good read on people. It’s Goldie; I have a feeling, an awful feeling that she might be,”

  “The killer?” gasped the lawyer.

  “Shhh, not so loud. I don’t know. She’s got a jealous streak a mile long.”

  “You just noticed,” Peri said with sarcasm. “Why she was almost a tigress when it came to Ray Stiltskin. Heaven helps the other woman that would have gotten between her and that little man.”

  “No, it’s not about Ray; it’s her book. You see, the book about her is missing,” Tamaya explained.

  “What’s missing?” scoffed Mr. Dover peering down from behind Ms. Rosebud’s chair.

  “Good Lord, Harold! You scared me to death. What are you doing sneaking around?” Tamaya scolded and slapped his hand.

  “I’m not sneaking, just prowling!” he laughed. “What’s missing?” he asked again.

  “Didn’t your mother teach you not to eavesdrop?” the lawyer asked.

  “Eavesdrop? My good woman, I merely stepped into the room and happened to catch a few words. Naturally, I want to know what’s missing.” He sat down and making himself more than comfortable, put his feet up on the ottoman, and slipped off his shoes.

  “It’s one of my books, one about Goldie; I think it may be misplaced.”

  “Misplaced? How can something of such value be misplaced? You suppose it was stolen?” he suggested, glancing from woman to woman.

  “I don’t know, it could be, but who would want it?” she asked naively. “Certainly, no one here. They aren’t interested in these books.”

  “But maybe the murderer is?” he proposed.

  “To tell you the truth, I was in here not too long ago reading to Salisbury. Nothing looked out of place,” Tamaya speculated, trying to recall the evening’s events in question.