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By Root 1013 0

saw Emma reach out to grip Fleur’s arm. “Nathan Hillman, who loved the woman Bledsoe married and whom Bledsoe may have pushed to her death. Derek Davis, Pamela Gerrard’s son. Derek hated Bledsoe, blamed him for his mother’s disintegration into alcoholism and her death. Moreover, Bledsoe had attracted a young woman whom Derek was beginning to care very much about.” Natalie Marlow’s hands clenched. “Victoria Shaw. Bledsoe took away Shaw’s reason for living. And,” Annie looked into hostile cornflower blue eyes, “Emma Clyde. A great many people,” Annie said deliberately, “think it’s quite unwise to anger Emma.”

A tiny smile touched the lips of Emma Clyde.

Max shot Emma a wary glance.

“All the suspects. But,” Annie’s tone sharpened, strengthened, “not quite all. Because everyone here, all of us, from the people I’ve mentioned to Chief Saulter to Circuit Solicitor Posey, who followed yet another false scent—the murderer as a crazed Christie fan—have had our eyes focused on the wrong elements. Instead, here is what mattered.”

Turning, Annie grabbed up chalk and rapidly wrote on the blackboard available for business meetings:

The shots at Death on Demand. Bledsoe goes after the assailant.

The vase misses Bledsoe; he climbs up the ornate columns of the balconies to the roof.

Stone’s murder. Killed because he knew too much.

Roof tar on John Border Stone’s tennis shoes.

Kathryn Honeycutt’s murder; Bledsoe wounded.

The bloodhounds baying at the wall on the terrace.

Valium taken by Kathryn Honeycutt.

Bledsoe opens a picnic basket left at his door.

“Now when you study this list, you will see that the murderer doesn’t accomplish anything—oh, a lot of noise and confusion and semblance of threat—until Stone is murdered. Why was Stone murdered? The police determined that Stone’s tennis shoes have roof tar on them. He was the person who claimed to have seen the gunman outside Death on Demand. The assumption was made that Stone got a better look than he admitted, that he watched the gunman and was also present when the vase toppled.”

A high, clear voice intervened. “Good show, young miss.”

Annie felt a surge of elation—and gratitude. “You tell them, Lady Gwendolyn. You set me on the right track.”

The British author bounced to her feet. Every eye turned to her.

“We so often do not see the forest for the trees.” Lady Gwendolyn turned bright blue eyes toward Posey. “Think of this—who was on the roof when the vase came down? Young Mr. Stone. So who pushed the vase?” Lady Gwendolyn began to nod. “Why, yes, the answer has stared us in the face all this time. John Border Stone pushed that vase.”

Posey jumped up, his face reddening. “Wait a minute. This is a whitewash, and it won’t work. If Stone was trying to kill Bledsoe—which I don’t believe for a minute; I know the truth and it’s all tied up with this crazy mystery business—well, if Stone was the one trying to kill Bledsoe, he sure couldn’t have shot Bledsoe and Honeycutt. Because Stone was already dead by then!” he concluded triumphantly.

But Lady Gwendolyn gave him a cherubic smile. “My dear chap, most certainly that is quite true. You see, Bledsoe murdered Stone.”

The circuit solicitor rolled his eyes. “First you got Stone trying to kill Bledsoe, then you got Bledsoe killing Stone. Next thing I know you’ll have Bledsoe killing himself!”

Annie said firmly, “No. Bledsoe wounded himself. He killed Kathryn Honeycutt.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Posey exclaimed.

With Lady Gwendolyn nodding her approval, Annie laid it out: “Bledsoe played a role from the very beginning. There was no reasonable excuse for him to attend this kind of conference so he provided himself with an impeccable purpose—the character assassination of the world’s most beloved mystery writer. He knew a great deal about Christie. At some time in the past, he’d run across a sugar cutter like the weapon used in Mrs. McGinty’s Dead. He probably bought it just for his own amusement, but when this plan came into his mind—”

“This plan, this plan!” Posey expostulated. “You claim a man went through