The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [109]
The waiter skirted Annie to offer Hillman and Natalie Marlow more coffee.
Annie didn’t feel especially welcome. Hillman’s pleasant face was set in rigid lines, and the young author was clearly disinterested.
Annie held out the photographs to Natalie.
The writer didn’t take them. She shook her head. “The guy who was killed? I didn’t know him.”
Kathryn Honeycutt stopped outside Meeting Room C. She bent her fluffy white head and listened politely.
“Oh, that young man who was killed.” She took the pictures, held them close to her eyes, squinted. Then she shook her head dolefully. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I just can’t see well enough anymore. But I don’t think I ever met him.”
It was late afternoon when Annie found Fleur Calloway. The writer was coming in the main entrance of the hotel, a sun hat in her hand. Her face was flushed with exertion. She stopped by the bank of telephones and listened patiently to Annie’s question, then studied Stone’s photographs.
“Oh, yes. Yes, I signed a book for him Tuesday afternoon.” She shivered. “It seems cold in here after the heat outside. I took a long walk in the forest preserve.” She gave the pictures back to Annie. “It’s so dreadful, isn’t it? Hatred and anger, twisting the world, destroying lives. Why does it have to be this way?”
• • •
Lady Gwendolyn was the primary speaker at that evening’s after-dinner session. As the conference-goers wandered in:
“I always loved Poirot’s description of Ariadne Oliver, ‘an original if untidy mind.’”
“Honestly, this guy poisoned six people with thallium and would have got away with it if a forensic specialist hadn’t read The Pale Horse and recognized the symptoms!”
“Joan Hickson is simply the best Miss Marple in the world.”
“I like the symmetry of it, The Mysterious Affair at Styles and Curtain.”
“She wrote the short story, ‘Three Blind Mice,’ before she wrote The Mousetrap. God, Mousetrap’s still running in London!”
Annie spotted Victoria Shaw.
The author’s widow introduced Annie to several women, “fans of Bryan’s.” She looked happier than Annie had ever seen her. But when she took the photographs from Annie, her smile fled.
“Oh, that poor young man. I still can’t believe something like that happened here, so close to all of us!” Victoria shook her head. “No, I’ve never seen him … so far as I know.”
Laurel clapped her hands. “I’ve ordered champagne. Such a superb speech, Lady Gwendolyn.”
Henny ignored Laurel. She had managed a moderately graceful compliment to Lady Gwendolyn on their way upstairs in the elevator. She took her place at the table. “So far, so good today. I mean, no more bodies. But honestly, I can’t say I think we made any progress.”
Annie handed Max a couple of bowls of nuts to place on the table in the living room, then hurried to take her place. She wondered if the honeymoon suite had ever before served as consultation headquarters in a murder investigation. Not that the amenities of the suite were being—at appropriate times—completely ignored.
Lady Gwendolyn plumped into her chair. She didn’t respond directly to Henny’s challenge. “Today our ostensible mission was to remind suspects that the investigation is continuing, to imply that an arrest is imminent, and to explore the links between Stone and those attending this conference.”
The champagne arrived and Max presented a foaming glass to each.
Lady Gwendolyn lifted her glass. “I commend each and every one of you. Our duties were discharged with élan.” She tipped her glass and all followed suit
Annie sputtered. Champagne always made her nose tickle.
Undeterred by the bubbles, the famed author drained her glass. “You will note that I referred to our ‘ostensible’ mission. Henny was quick to question the effectiveness. Now, the question arises, what is our real mission?” Those bright blue eyes moved from face to face. “We must fight with the weapons at hand from a perilously ill-equipped arsenal. Since the fat fool has focused on me and on a spurious cocaine ring, I am