The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [6]
“Tomorrow.” The hotel banquet director sounded glum.
“With Lady Gwendolyn Tompkins. Our co-sponsor. She’s bringing the recipes, too. She’ll talk to Lionel.”
“Lionel is one of the most famous of the Low Country chefs. His okra, crab, and shrimp gumbo is legendary. His she crab soup—he uses pure cream—is beyond belief. He poaches oysters in champagne—”
“I’m sure Lionel and Lady Gwendolyn will work together splendidly. Thank you for calling.” Annie hung up, glared at the clock, and pulled out the last glass. She grabbed up the empty boxes, raced to the storeroom, thrust the boxes inside, used one foot to block Agatha, who hissed and bared razor-sharp canines, shut the door, then swung around to vet the party area.
And realized she was panting.
Relax, she ordered herself. It was all going to go smoothly. Of course it would. After all, Lady Gwendolyn wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. That had been the upshot of yesterday’s last call. “I do so hate to miss your wonderful cocktail gathering—and you know, Annie, you might want to add caviar to your buffet, always such a thrill. I remember my first when I was just a girl—a trip to the Balkans. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always adored The Secret of Chimneys. Such fun Agatha has with the Balkans. But I’ve had a few more thoughts about the fête. Don’t you think perhaps a maypole and young girls in soft pastel dresses? They dance in and out. The girls. Not the dresses. Really, so lovely in the spring. Though, of course, this isn’t spring. Or perhaps an animal show—the children, you know, bring their pets. It can be such fun. Sociable dogs and determined cats—don’t you think cats are the most determined animals? Although, I always feel a pang at calling a cat an animal. And I’m certain my own dear Prince Ladislas would be offended. Of course, he is easily offended. A tortoiseshell. Quite majestic. But then, where was I? Oh, yes, an animal show …” Annie had resisted the late addition of an animal show. Undaunted, the author had merrily capitulated. “Of course, of course, I do see the difficulties. Alligators are certainly a complicating factor. Ah well, I know our fête is going to be absolutely glorious. I shall arrive on Sunday at the stroke of three to open the fête, the kind our dear Agatha knew so well. Although at home, fêtes are held on the grounds of the grand houses, not at inns, but one must do with what one has at hand. I’ll breathe a tiny prayer that it doesn’t rain, but no matter if it should, we will merely pop up our brollies and persevere. Ta ta.”
But tomorrow—and the advent of the most energetic author since Isaac Asimov—was tomorrow. Sufficient unto the day…. As for now—Annie smiled. Everything was in place. Death on Demand had never looked lovelier, never held a more heartfelt exhibit. The displays scattered about the coffee area in tribute to the greatest crime writer of all time were superb:
An enchanting reproduction of a photograph of a very young Agatha Mary Clarissa Miller, large-eyed and solemn, with long, softly curling hair.
An artist’s sketch of Ashfield, Agatha Christie’s childhood home, the rambling villa at Torquay, which she remembered with love her whole life long.
Some of Christie’s favorite childhood books, Mrs. Molesworth’s The Adventures of Herr Baby, Edith Nesbit’s The Railway Children, and Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women and Little Men.
A recreation of some of the notes Christie made during World War I when studying for the Apothecaries’ examination—
GENTIANA: looks like Russian chocolate
EXTRACT OF ERGOT LIQUID: smells of bad meat extract
COLLODION: smells of ether—white deposit around cork
Those days in the dispensary ignited Christie’s lifelong interest in poisons … and poisoners.
A huge wooden surfing board, circa 1920, recalled Christie’s glorious month-long holiday in Hawaii in 1922 with her first husband, war hero Archie Christie. Those