The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [108]
“All staring and nudging one another like tourists at a monument,” Emerson growled. “Most of the people who attended didn’t even know the girl. Ghouls!”
Katherine looked from me to Nefret, who was staring fixedly at the cat, to Ramses, perched on the edge of the fountain. “If you would rather not discuss the subject, I understand,” she said. “But that is what friends are for, you know—to listen and perhaps offer useful advice.”
“Doggone right!” Cyrus exclaimed. “We’d both feel real insulted if you didn’t let us in on things like you’ve always done before. That poor girl’s death was no accident, don’t tell me it was, and you folks are in trouble because of it, don’t tell me you aren’t. How can we help?”
Emerson heaved a sigh so deep, a button popped off his shirt; Nefret looked up with a smile; and I said, “Ramses, if you will be so good—pass round the whiskey!”
I brought our friends up-to-date on the circumstances surrounding Maude’s death and the events that had followed. They were not as indignant as I about the failure to conduct a postmortem. “It’s more than likely they wouldn’t have found anything to prove it was murder, anyhow,” Cyrus said shrewdly. “Even a bullet hole or a knife wound would be hard to see if the injuries were that extensive.”
“Death most probably resulted from the blow on the back of her head,” Ramses said. “It would have been difficult to prove it was caused by the conventional blunt instrument rather than the side of the shaft.”
“You didn’t tell us that,” Nefret exclaimed. “How do you know?”
“I can’t be certain. But I’ve been thinking about it, trying to remember details. I told you there was very little blood on her clothing and on the rock surface. That suggests that she had been dead for some time when she was thrown into the shaft. The only area of extensive bleeding was on the back of her head. Her hair had been saturated.”
“So she was struck from behind,” I said. “At least it was mercifully quick and virtually painless. Can we deduce that if she turned her back on her killer he was someone she knew and trusted?” I answered my own question before Ramses or Emerson could beat me to it. “Not necessarily. He might have lurked in hiding and caught her unawares.”
“But surely only someone she knew could have persuaded her to leave the house in the dead of night,” Katherine said. “One must assume the attack did not take place in her room. Her brother would have noticed the—er—evidence.”
“Well reasoned, Mrs. Vandergelt,” said Ramses. “According to Jack, she had dined with him and retired at her usual hour. It was not until the following morning he realized she was gone and that her bed had not been slept in. There is no doubt but that she left the house of her own free will. One of the doors was unbolted and unlocked. Either someone roused her or she had arranged a meeting in advance—probably the latter, since she had changed her evening frock for riding clothes and had not gone to bed.”
“So when Mr. Reynolds found her missing he came hunting for you,” Katherine said. “Why? Don’t look at me in that accusing fashion, Amelia, just think about it. The lady must have had a number of admirers; she was young, attractive, and rich. This season her fancy seems to have fallen on Ramses. I don’t mean to embarrass you, Ramses dear—”
“No,” Ramses said. “That is—uh—I see what you are getting at, Mrs. Vandergelt, and I—uh—”
“You didn’t suppose I had the sense to think of it?” She smiled affectionately. “I know you, you see; I feel certain your behavior in private and in public was exemplary. Why should her brother immediately suspect you of luring her away—for purposes of seduction, one must assume?”
Emerson swallowed noisily. “Good Gad, Katherine, what a cynic you are. You think someone put the idea into Reynolds’s head?”
“It’s a rather thick head, isn’t it?” Katherine said calmly. “He hasn’t much imagination or originality. And that scenario is so outrageously out of character for Ramses that no sensible person would entertain the notion for a moment.”
“Thank you,” Ramses