The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [124]
The rest of the afternoon, Annie’d fumed and paced and railed: How could Posey not see the forest for the trees?
But tonight she wished she had a better capacity for compartmentalizing her emotions, because the Agatha Christie Come-as-You-Wish-You-Were Ball was truly spectacular. The decorations perfectly caught the tone and times of Christie’s novels. And she loved the characters-come-to-life, especially, of course, Henny as an untidily coiffured, cardiganed, lisle-hosed, apple-laden Ariadne Oliver; Ingrid as prim, grizzle-haired, angular-bodied, pince-nezed Miss Lemon; and Laurel—[honestly, Annie was willing to indulge fantasies; that was the name of this game, but surely there were limits?]—as the Countess Vera Rossakoff, the only woman Poirot ever loved, the flamboyant jewel thief, the proprietor at one time of a cabaret known as Hell. But damned if Laurel, in a dark wig, a satin gown, and six-inch heels, didn’t look the part! Laurel daintily tipped her fan as she danced past.
Max was right. Everyone was having a jolly good time.
For the mood of the conference-goers had lightened considerably when news of the two arrests swept the hotel. As far as most of the Christie fans were concerned, the terrifying specter of murder no longer hung over the hotel, and the dreadful events were considered closed. Though an angry contingent of Lady Gwendolyn’s fans was at this moment (Vince Ellis had told Henny who told Annie) marching (in costume) with placards outside the jail, protesting their beloved writer’s innocence. Would Lady Gwendolyn be amused or touched?
Everyone at the ball, however, seemed to be in high spirits. Annie sought out those who had been present when Posey arrested Derek Davis and Lady Gwendolyn. Victoria Shaw was a surprise in a sandy wig, a spattering of fake freckles, and a sensible traveling costume. Her name tag read MRS. UPJOHN, ON A BUS IN ANATOLIA. Annie was charmed. What kinship did this reserved and unhappy woman feel with blithe, adventurous, lively Mrs. Upjohn, Julia’s mother in Cat Among the Pigeons? Emma Clyde, monstrous in a heavily padded dark dress, her hair blackened and drawn back in a tight bun, was an almost too-successful replica of the dictatorial Mrs. Boynton in Appointment with Death. Margo Wright as a blonde was a shock, but Margo Wright as Victoria Jones (They Came to Baghdad) was fascinating. Victoria Jones, impulsive, a fluent liar, eager for adventure—what a contrast to Margo’s unshakable control and reserve. As for Fleur Calloway—certainly she was as elusively lovely as Elinor Carlisle in Sad Cypress—but did she feel an affinity for Elinor in the dock or Elinor broken free from a living nightmare?
There was no sign of Natalie Marlow or Nathan Hillman. A fox-trot ended, the crowd shifted, and Annie spotted Frank Saulter, not in his official khakis but in country tweeds. “Frank!” Annie exclaimed. She tugged on Max’s hand and plunged into the crowd. They came up behind the police chief.
Annie, as always, didn’t weigh her words. “Chief, listen, Lady Gwendolyn didn’t do it.”
Saulter turned to face them. His tag read MR. SATTERTHWAITE. Annie knew that Frank was just as curious as that longtime associate of Mr. Harley Quin’s, but certainly wasn’t as fussy and prim.
Frank gave a rueful shrug. “Posey’s closed the investigation. Told me to keep my nose out of it.” His right eyelid dropped in a careful, conspiratorial wink. “He’d raise hell if he thought I was here to keep an eye on things.” The chief surveyed the gaily decorated area. “Heck of a show tonight. Guess you two put this together?”
“Actually, no,” Annie admitted. “Laurel and Henny and Ingrid planned the ball. Do you like it?”
Just for an instant, his tired face looked cheerful. “Oh, yeah. Did you see the way the caboose on the Orient Express