The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [71]
Saulter glanced briefly at Annie, and she could read his thought. He was damn tired, it’d been a long day, and was this woman one of those nutty authors?
The canny writer’s quick blue eyes didn’t miss a trick. She chuckled. “I quite understand your hesitation, Chief. You are by no means interested in the cogitations of barmy old ladies. Nor am I. I promise no nonsense. And, as we join forces, perhaps you might join us for a spot of supper? Steak and kidney pie.” Her pudgy hand gestured toward the buffet.
Annie’s mouth began to water. She was starving!
Lady Gwendolyn observed happily, “It does look appetizing, doesn’t it? Though I must confess room service was initially recalcitrant. It was necessary to have a bit of a chat with the chap in charge. But we’re all mates now.”
Was it the old author’s self-possession that attracted Saulter? Or the enticing scent of dinner?
As they settled around the table (Lady Gwendolyn at the head), Saulter even accepted a glass of burgundy with his dinner. Thanks to Lady Gwendolyn’s artful questions, he sketched the results of the day’s investigations.
Laurel stopped eating and listed the chief’s information:
There were no clear fingerprints on the remnants of the vase. Smudge marks indicated gloves.
No one was seen on the roof just before the vase came down.
A new crowbar was found on the roof. There were no fingerprints on it. It had obviously been rubbed clean.
The presence of the crowbar indicated that the attack had been planned in advance. The vase which had nearly crushed Bledsoe had been secured by four iron clamps. It had been prised up with the bar.
Four stairways gave access to the roof. All were unlocked.
Henny sighed. “The culprit had a ridiculously easy time of it.”
Annie looked to see if there were any more of the meat dish. It was all gone. Pigs. Disconsolately, she took another serving of boiled potatoes. Unsalted? Maybe room service was having a subtle revenge.
Perhaps a little irritable at not receiving what she saw as her fair share of the steak and kidney pie, Annie mumbled through an interminable mouthful of bland potatoes, “Don’t see how anybody could count on hitting Bledsoe with that vase. Maybe it had nothing to do with him.”
“No, no, no.” Henny came to life. She jumped up, riffled through her purse, pulled out a drawing, and put it on the table between them.
One crimson nail tapped the spot where the vase had stood, then traced the arc down to the table where Bledsoe sat. “I’ve been up there. Great view. But it’s the ground layout that makes it absolutely certain Bledsoe was the intended victim. Number one—The culprit waited until Bledsoe was alone at the table. Number two—There is a fountain directly beside the table where Bledsoe was sitting. Number three—Directly behind the table is the wall that separates the ground floor rooms from the terrace area. In other words, no one could have approached the table without the person on the roof seeing them. Number four—The surrounding tables were empty. Number five—” Henny paused and tried not to look overly smug. She didn’t succeed. “I did a little detective work. There’s no doubt that particular table was targeted. Someone made a practice run in the middle of last night.”
Max put his fork down and stared at her. “Shoved a vase off the roof? Why didn’t we hear it?”
Annie heard Laurel murmur, “Night brings with it so many distractions.”
“Not a vase,” Henny admitted. “A ten-pound sack of sugar. I talked to the cleaning crew.” Another shuffle through her papers. “Tommy Loomis found sugar ‘to hell and gone’ all over the terrace this morning. Of course, he thought it was some kind of prank. He said, ‘Listen, you work in a hotel for a while, nothin’ll surprise you.’ So somebody made damn sure of the trajectory a falling object would take. There’s no doubt about it, Bledsoe’s the intended victim.”
Lady Gwendolyn, to Annie’s