The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [115]
A roar of commitment.
“Let us go forth in pairs.” Lady Gwendolyn spread her chubby hands wide. “Let us seek answers. Scour the vicinity, leaving not a stone unturned. Bring your reports and clues to Meeting Room D—and tonight! Tonight revel with your fellow investigators at the Agatha Christie Masquerade Ball here in the ballroom, and tomorrow—September fifteenth, the centenary of Agatha’s birth—gather for the closing luncheon address by our wonderful guest author, Fleur Calloway.” The cheers began. Lady Gwendolyn held up her hands to gain a lessening of the roar. She lifted her voice and announced, “And the luncheon will be followed—” a dramatic pause “—by the grand finale to The Christie Caper, the announcement by myself and my co-hostess, Annie Laurance Darling, of the identity of the murderer who has now struck twice in our midst!”
The huge room resounded with shouts and clapping. Max was clapping too until Annie eyed him sternly.
Lady Gwendolyn clapped happily in time with the cheers. Ardent admirers surrounded the platform. She reached down, shaking hands, smiling nonstop.
Annie glimpsed Saulter and Posey turning away from the doorway, leaving with the crowd. Saulter followed, shaking his head in vigorous disagreement.
At last the big room emptied. Max came up to the platform and looked uneasily from Annie to Lady Gwendolyn.
Annie stood stiff and straight, hands jammed into the pockets of her coral cotton skirt. “Lady Gwendolyn—” It came out a croak.
“I believe in luck, Annie. It’s our turn, I feel it in my bones. We shall prevail.” Lady Gwendolyn’s primrose blue eyes blazed with conviction. She lifted her chin and turned to go.
“Lady Gwendolyn!”
She airily waved a plump hand, the sapphire flashing. “Be of good cheer, my dear. The faint of heart conquer not.” A swirl of gray silk, and she was gone.
An almost suppressed chuckle.
Annie whirled and glared at Henny.
Unabashed, the island’s mystery expert grinned. “Have to hand it to her, grandstander that she is. Don’t sulk, Annie, she’s saved your conference.” Henny was imposing this morning—no doubt she had a board meeting to squeeze in at some point during the day—in a black silk noil dress accented by a pearl choker and a twisted cerise-and-cream silk belt.
Annie exploded. “Saved my conference … Henny, what if someone else is murdered?”
“Annie, my sweet, do stop trying to assume responsibility for the world. Unless you intend to shoot someone between now and noon tomorrow, your conscience should be clear.” Henny glanced at her watch. “Come on, let’s go to the terrace. I need a cup of coffee.”
“Coffee?” Annie’s voice cracked. “Is that all you’re thinking about, coffee? What about the rest of the conference? Or is that just for me to worry about? And what about noon tomorrow, when we’re supposed to magically come up with the name of the murderer? How could Lady Gwendolyn do this to me?”
Henny slipped an arm through Annie’s. “Pairs, my dear, if they stay in pairs they’ll be all right. After all, these are the sawiest mystery readers in the world. They know the drill—no midnight forays in a tulle nightgown, no responding to a crumpled note suggesting an assignation in the back of the cemetery, no eating of chocolate creams delivered to the room by a secret admirer.”
“Dammit—”
Henny lifted her voice and continued serenely, “As for the unmasking of the murderer, Lady Gwendolyn has you figured out—my dear, you always work better under pressure of a deadline. Doesn’t she, Max?”
It didn’t improve Annie’s humor as they walked briskly toward the main lobby and the steps to the terrace café that the world seemed suddenly to have been Arked. Or Noahed. Or whatever one should call a populace abruptly divided into couples. Two by two. She didn’t know whether to laugh at the obedient response of the conference-goers to Lady Gwendolyn’s commands or to howl.
Howl.
“Henny, Max, my God, what’s that noise?”
“Bloodhounds,” Henny responded quickly.
Of course. No