The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [132]
Davis blinked uncertainly, then, reluctantly, irresistibly, his face softened.
Lady Gwendolyn stepped as elegantly as if she were garbed in mink and not an orange jail shift. She flashed a brilliant smile at Annie and winked one large blue eye. She was not, Annie was glad to see, shackled to a deputy, although she walked behind the deputy and in front of Posey. As they passed, she gave Annie a thumbs-up salute.
The deputy looked at Posey, who was a walking thundercloud, shoulders tightly hunched, face drawn in a scowl. “Yeah. Anywhere,” Posey snapped.
Annie couldn’t imagine how the chief had wangled Posey’s presence, but he had.
Posey and his entourage had been the last to arrive.
Annie wanted to grab hold of the podium and hang on for dear life. So much depended upon how she marshaled the facts, and how persuasive she was.
Annie cleared her throat. Not for silence. It was very silent in that small meeting room. Nathan Hillman eyed her warily, no trace of the editor’s usual charm in his manner. Margo Wright was as impassive as a statue. Victoria Shaw nervously opened and closed the clasp of her purse. Emma Clyde reminded Annie of an alligator at rest, watchful, observant, and very, very dangerous. Fleur Calloway’s lovely face was worn and pale. Derek Davis watched Natalie Marlow. Natalie hunched forward, her face intent Henny’s vivid eyes flicked from face to face. Only Laurel and Lady Gwendolyn appeared serene.
She began: “I appreciate everyone coming this morning. I thought all of you would want to know the truth about the deaths of John Border Stone, Kathryn Honeycutt, and Neil Bledsoe.” Annie was proud of her even, unemotional tone. “This is a complicated story, one composed of a great deal of hatred and viciousness allied, oddly enough, with discipline and brilliant planning. I’d like to go back a few months, if you will. Neil Bledsoe was in financial trouble. I suspect, when the investigation is done, it will turn out that he was in very serious financial trouble. Bledsoe learned of the conference planned for this fall—our conference—to celebrate the centenary of the birth of the world’s greatest writer of detective stories, and Bledsoe conceived an audacious plan to make himself rich. He knew when he signed up for this meeting that it would draw many people who hated him. He knew, in fact, that Fleur Calloway”—the author stared down at her tightly clasped hands—“was to be the featured speaker. He knew that Lady Gwendolyn Tompkins was serving as co-hostess. Lady Gwendolyn is one of today’s most famous mystery writers. Bledsoe knew that. He read her latest book, Death of a Nabob. He made plans to come to the conference, inviting his aunt by marriage, Kathryn Honeycutt, a true Christie fan, to accompany him. His troubles started soon after his arrival on the island. Emma Clyde came within inches of running him down. Gunfire erupted when he left my bookstore Saturday night. On Sunday, he made an obvious play for a new young writer, Natalie Marlow.” Natalie turned brooding eyes toward Annie. “On Monday after Lady Gwendolyn’s address, he disrupted the conference by criticizing Christie. On Tuesday, he unveiled his plan to publish a vicious biography of Christie. Later that morning a vase was shoved from the roof. It narrowly missed Bledsoe.”
No one could have asked for a more intent audience. They knew the story—but not the end of the story.
“Death struck Tuesday night—but Bledsoe was not its target. Dead, murdered, was a young man attending the conference. He had registered as James Bentley, a name drawn from Christie’s Mrs. McGinty’s Dead. His real name: John Border Stone. Stone desperately wanted to be a mystery writer. Saturday night, he ran up to the bookstore to say he’d seen the gunman. When he was subsequently killed, everyone assumed he’d recognized the person who shot at Bledsoe and that Bledsoe’s assailant murdered Stone to prevent disclosure.
“There were many here who could be suspected of wishing Bledsoe dead: Fleur Calloway, whose daughter lost her heart and her life because of Bledsoe.” Annie