The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [68]
That no one else had seen the centipede (“Horrible, actually. Orange feelers and a citron body!”), the bookseller attributed to poor eyesight and a widespread conspiracy to drive her out of the hunt.
Unmoved by her pleas, Annie disqualified her on the spot.
Lady Gwendolyn nodded in satisfaction at the scene of organized activity underway at Confidential Commissions.
Laurel’s husky voice oozed charm. “Mr. Ranklin—oh, may I call you Grant?—yes, Grant, I am a free-lance feature writer, specializing in the mystery field. I understand you are a longtime acquaintance of Neil Bledsoe?”
At the next telephone, Max wrote rapidly on his legal pad. “Then who do you think might know the whole truth? One of the editors at Pomeroy Press?”
Lady Gwendolyn was pleased to see Henny deep in conversation, too. Henny was the least tractable of her researchers, quite miffed at leaving the hotel before the treasure hunt ended. Of course, when Lady Gwendolyn pointed out that Henny, as a conference organizer, couldn’t be approved as part of the competition … But now Henny was well into the spirit of inquiry. For an instant, Lady Gwendolyn was a bit puzzled. Surely that wasn’t a Brit accent Henny was affecting….
The treasure hunters ran the gamut. Many gamuts. From the reasonable to the absurd, the jolly to the morose, the intelligent to the obtuse, the perceptive to the paranoid.
At Station 4 Annie was forced to disqualify the Matheson sisters (sixty-five-year-old twins with matching Sherlock capes are no damn joke) when they tried a variation on the shell game in an effort to obtain the Title Slips.
There was a mass disqualification at Station 9. It was hard to believe a group of librarians from Baltimore would connive in such a base fashion (informing the hunt attendant that a Department of Energy inspector had declared this portion of the hotel a contaminated area and immediate evacuation was underway).
As for the melee at Station 18, the less said the better.
But finally, shortly after five o’clock, a triumphant claimant emerged, one Millicent Arrowby Truelove.
As the crowd—and the narrowed eyes, jutting jaws, and dark frowns reminded Annie anew that Americans are not the best of losers—gathered at the registration table, word having spread with the rapidity of Mike Hammer surveying a buxom blonde that an announcement was imminent, Annie studied the name carefully.
Truelove.
Oh, sure, she almost said.
Truelove was the name of the child’s cart in Postern of Fate, the last novel Christie wrote, and was from the author’s memories of playthings at Ashfield, her beloved childhood home.
“Millicent Arrowby …” Annie hesitated, looking at the incipient winner, whose fulsome smile rivaled a horse’s death grimace. “Truelove?”
Willowy Ms. Truelove simpered.
Annie had never actually seen anyone simper. But no other word could better describe Truelove’s modestly downcast eyes, inordinately self-satisfied smirk, humbly tilted head, and arms and hands intertwined like ivy run amok. The entire effect was enhanced by her period clothing, a full-skirted brown poplin dress with a lace-edged bodice and an enormous mauve hat with one portion of the brim pinned to the crown.
“I understand, Ms. Truelove, that you are the very first person to turn in a complete set of Title Slips to the desk.”
Truelove writhed demurely.
Annie wondered if it was too late to lace the candy with paprika But it wasn’t necessary that she like the winner. Clearing her throat, Annie read the Title Slips with the correct posters and clues in order.
“Murder at Hazelmoor, Poster 1, Clue 24.
“Peril at End House, Poster 2, Clue 6.
“The Moving Finger, Poster 3, Clue 4.
“Funerals Are Fatal, Poster 4, Clue 11.
“Cat Among the Pigeons, Poster 5, Clue 17.
“A Murder Is Announced, Poster 6, Clue 16.
“The Man in the Brown Suit, Poster 7, Clue 23.
“Hallowe’en Party, Poster 8, Clue 3.
“Towards Zero, Poster 9, Clue 14.
“Death on the Nile, Poster 10, Clue 2.
“Cards on the Table, Poster 11, Clue 18.
“The Secret Adversary,