And Then They Were Doomed Read online

  In a loud voice he announced: “What a place! Glad I got a ride. I’d never have found it. Christ! I thought …”

  He looked over her way. “Who are you? Must be that Zoe Zola I’ve read about. Heard you were the size of a gnome.”

  Not waiting for her to say a word, he stuck his hand out and then forcefully—too forcefully—shook hers. He pumped her hand again until she pulled away.

  He pulled off his wet hat and shook it near her, exposing wet hair pulled into a messy man bun at the back. The movement of his half-shaved chin above her head was odd. She had a view of crooked, small teeth that didn’t match the rest of him.

  “Who are you?” Zoe demanded.

  He laughed. “You haven’t done your homework, have you, my tiny dear one? I am Anthony Gliese. Other than being an executive editor at Conway books, I’ve written a few books myself.”

  He waited, staring down at her, seeming to hope his name alone would ring bells. “The Psychosis of Agatha Christie, for one. And surely you’ve heard the uproar over my book on Virginia Woolf?”

  He crossed his hands over the fly of his khaki pants. His lip-closed smile was smug. “Woolf and the Tyranny of Mental Illness.”

  He waited, then gave up when Zoe said nothing.

  “Are you in charge here? Not much of a greeting, if you ask me. Poorly run.” He kicked at the expensive leather bag near his feet, then looked around the room. “The old boys who founded this place obviously took good care of themselves. ‘Life as it should be …’”

  Anthony bent to smile at Zoe, to run one finger across her cheek, and then laughed when she pulled away.

  He didn’t wait for Zoe to work herself into a proper snit, only turned to call out, “Hello! Anybody else here? Anthony Gliese has arrived.”

  He winked. “That’ll get somebody.”

  In seconds a door off the reception room opened, and an older woman wearing a stained apron stepped through, closing the door carefully behind her as if she were sneaking in.

  She looked from Zoe to Anthony. “Mrs. Webb.” She nodded to each of them.

  “I’m supposed to take the two of you to your rooms, I suppose,” the woman mumbled as she wiped her hands on her apron.

  Anthony stepped toward her, amused. “Are you in charge here, Mrs.…”

  “I cook and clean, sir. Bella Webb.” She tried to smile, but her mouth didn’t seem up to it.

  “Emily Brent should be back soon. Emily’s really in charge. And some o’ the other members of the society. Don’t know where they got to. Doesn’t seem to be anybody here right now.”

  He took in a surprised breath. “Emily Brent and Bella Webb? And Then There Were None and A Pale Horse?”

  The woman frowned. “Well, dat’s us. I don’t know about the rest.”

  He looked toward Zoe, making a face. “Christie names, am I right?”

  “Did you say Christian names?” Bella said. “Why, yes. O’ course. Me and Emily been friends for a lot of years now. Belong to St. Paul’s in Calumet. Hope ya get to visit our church while yer here.”

  “I don’t think … anyway, I’m Anthony Gliese,” he said over his shoulder as he passed into the hall to stop at the foot of a narrow set of stairs and look up.

  Bella followed behind him, taking his suitcase, lifting it, and then dropping it to push along with her foot. “Glad ta welcome you to Netherworld Lodge, sir. I know Miss Brent’s hopin’ for an interesting time.”

  “And you, little miss,” she said, smiling at Zoe, “I’m guessing you’re Zoe Zola. Heard a lot about ya. Somebody all the members wanted especially.”

  Shocked into silence by Anthony Gliese and the odd woman, Zoe grabbed up her own suitcase and followed the two of them, stair by stair, to the second floor.

  The first stop was room 201. Bella Webb pulled an old-fashioned key from her pocket and unlocked the door, pushing it open on a shadowy room.

  “You need anything, I’m usually in the kitchen. Emily stays mostly in her office or in the reception hall. Either one o’ us’ll be happy to help you.”

  She stopped to take a deep breath as Anthony, behind her now, rolled his eyes at Zoe, saying, “I don’t have a schedule for the webinar. Not even a subject list. Or the names of the other speakers who will be here.”

  “Downstairs,” Bella said. “Everything’s on the reception desk.”

  “Could you bring one up to me?” His voice was suddenly sweet. “I’m exhausted. Quite a trip. I never expected to be invited to the end of the world.”

  “Not exactly the end of the world, sir.”

  He waved the old-fashioned key he held as he went down the hall to the next room and stood looking in, as Zoe had.

  “How many of us will there be?” he asked from the doorway.

  “Think ten, sir.”

  “I would have thought eight.”

  He grinned at Zoe. “You’ve got it by now, haven’t you? They’ve planned the event around Christie’s books. Certainly And Then There Were None. We’re probably that terrible group of murderers gathered on Soldier Island. Every morning another one of them—gone. I hope they don’t carry their theme that far.”

  He laughed as he entered his room, then leaned back, smiling directly at Zoe. “You ever get bored in that lovely room of yours, come knock on my door. We could have fun, Miss Zola, being bored together.”

  He disappeared into his room and closed the door behind him.

  Bella Webb whispered toward Zoe, “Don’t pay attention. I hear there’s always some like him at these academic things. Most really nice. But always some like him, after the women, ya know.”

  Back at the top of the stairs, she hesitated. “You want me to bring you up a schedule too?”

  Zoe shook her head. “I’ll take care of myself.”

  “All I know is there’s drinks in the reception at seven thirty this evening. Dinner’s at eight. Plenty o’ time for you to settle in before the others get here. Professor Leon Armstrong’s taking the lead tomorrow, givin’ his talk. You know him?”

  Zoe shook her head.

  A large sigh. “From some New York college, as I understand. Not here yet, but you know how those New York people are—always late, always complaining about this and that.”

  Zoe pulled her suitcase in behind her and shut the door.

  * * *

  She’d expected a four-poster, and maybe yellow chintz and white, foamy curtains crossed at big windows looking out over a forest of sunlit trees. What she got were walls of an indeterminate blue and a small, dark, metal bed covered with an oft-washed, white-going-to-gray chenille bedspread. The bedside table was a foot square, and that foot was taken up by a gray, metal, goose-necked lamp with a metal pull chain.

  The ceiling light, when she turned a wall knob, was a bare, probably forty-watt bulb—if there were still such things. There was a scarred desk and chair in front of a slightly open window, and an overstuffed armchair in another corner. The chair looked comfortable enough: a footstool in front of it and an old-fashioned floor lamp beside it.

  She hoisted her suitcase to the footstool and unpacked her underwear and tops, putting them in an antique oak chest of drawers with a crazed mirror on the wall behind it. Her pants and shirts went into the narrow closet, where an extra blanket took up the entire top shelf. Her one pair of extra shoes went to the closet floor, beside a large box pushed toward the back, a box she didn’t pull out because it had nothing to do with her.

  When the suitcase was empty of everything and her cosmetics were lined along the top of the dresser, she set her computer on the desk, put her pens alongside it, then arranged her notebook beside the few Christie paperbacks she’d brought with her. She closed the window, though the rain had stopped. It was still cold and damp in the room. She shivered while she walked around, looking at the faded photographs of men holding guns that were hanging on the walls.

  She sat at the desk, staring out the rain-dotted window at miles of nothing but treetops. Netherworld Lodge was more
remote than she could have imagined. She hadn’t brought enough material with her. She’d come for a confrontation, not a real Christie event.

  Of course, the others would talk about the ordinary things—Christie’s childhood and her marriages, her disappearance after her husband’s cruelty. Of course, they’d take on her obsession with murder—Zoe knew she was particularly good on the subject. Especially with the book she was writing.

  They would cite books and articles, and she had nothing with her.

  She was to do the summation on the last webinar. That could be her out. She’d simply listen to the others, put in a snarky comment or two, add a few of her own facts, and that would be that.

  Or maybe there were books here at Netherworld. She’d have to take a look around.

  Such a mix of emotions. Back and forth. Old guilt. New guilt. Hoping to redeem her sins—neglect of Evelyn among them. Hoping to distinguish herself as a scholar.

  The sky lightened. Enough so she could see more of where she was, out to what looked like the shingles of a brown roof not too far off. That was all. Maybe a strip of blue water where the trees and water and sky mixed together in muddy layers.

  Chapter 17

  She heard a knock at Anthony Gliese’s door and then low voices.

  With an ear to her door, she listened as Bella Webb delivered the schedules to him.

  There was a muttered “Thanks” and footsteps going down the stairs.

  She opened her door a little. Enough to tell her there was no one in the hall and Anthony’s door was closed. Almost tip-toeing, she went down to the reception room, still brightly lighted and still empty.

  * * *

  On a small oak desk, she found a stack of stapled daily schedules: first meals and other events—with films offered in the evening:

  8 AM Breakfast in the Copper Room

  9 AM Free time until lunch

  1 PM Lunch in Copper Room

  2 PM Webinar rehearsal—Michigan Room

  2:30 PM Technical: Webinar prep completed

  3–4:30 PM Webinars, ending with questions from subscribers

  4:30–7 PM Bus to Calumet (except Sunday; see Emily Brent to arrange transportation on the Lodge bus. Leaves at 4:50 PM. Returns by 7:00 PM)

  7:30 PM—Cocktails in the Reception Room

  8:00 PM—Dinner in the Copper Room

  After dinner films offered in the Michigan Room:

  Saturday

  Evil Under the Sun, 1982, Peter Ustinov as Poirot

  Sunday

  Witness for the Prosecution, 1957, with Tyrone Powell, Marlene Dietrich, and Charles Laughton

  Monday

  Death on the Nile, 1978, with Peter Ustinov as Poirot, and Mia Farrow

  Tuesday

  And Then There Were None, 1945, with Barry Fitzgerald and Louis Hayward

  Wednesday

  Murder on the Orient Express, 1974, Albert Finney as Poirot; also Martin Balsam, Ingrid Bergman, Lauren Bacall, and Richard Widmark

  Webinar Schedule:

  Introductions of all participants by Mary Reid of the Northern Michigan Agatha Christie Society; includes a short biography of Agatha Christie. Mary Reid will also field questions at the close of the webinar.

  Sunday, June 17, 3–4:30 PM

  Dr. Leon Armstrong

  Chairman, Department of English, Ralston College, Upper Fairmont, New York

  Publications: The Murderous Among Us, Michigan Press

  Webinar topic: “The World of Agatha Christie”

  Monday, June 18, 3–4:30 PM

  Dr. Louise Joiner

  Professor of English Literature, Amherst College

  Publication: “The Metafiction of Agatha Christie,” New England Journal of Literary Studies

  Webinar topic: “Agatha’s Agony”

  Tuesday, June 19, 3–4:30 PM

  Dr. Nigel Pileser

  Professor of Literature and English Department Chair, Colorado Reserve University.

  Publication: Agatha Christie and Nihilism

  Webinar topic: “The Lost People of Soldier Island”

  Wednesday, June 20, 3–4:30 PM

  Professor Aaron Kennedy

  English literature and language, University of Southern California.

  Publication: The Fading Fiction of Agatha Christie

  Webinar topic: “The Aging of Agatha”

  Thursday, June 21, 12–1:30 PM

  Zoe Zola

  Literary detective and writer, using new techniques in biography

  Publications: The Universality of Emily Dickinson

  Jane Austen and Marriage

  The Madness of the Hatter

  Work-in-progress: Inside the Murderous Mind of Agatha Christie

  Webinar topic:

  “The Mystery as an All-Time Bestseller.” Summation of the week’s coverage: what we have learned about Agatha Christie and her work; areas of dispute and agreement; new work on Christie; and a summary of questions and answers, with final questions to follow

  Good to know what she was doing. Sounded easy enough—take notes and listen to questions—mostly.

  The rest was about the others.

  Christie Specialists at Large

  Anthony Gliese

  Editor, Conway Books, New York, New York

  Speaker at the London Book Fest, 2014

  Editor: Christie’s Countryside by Eliot Wamsut, 2015.

  Upcoming: Christie’s Life by Ingersol Tremaine.

  Betty Bertram

  Graduate student, McGill University, Montreal, Quebec, Canada

  Winning essay in Writers Place in Time contest: “Agatha Christie and the Battle for Relevance”

  Gewel Sharp

  Recent graduate of the master’s program in English and language, Michigan State University

  Publication: “The Detective Mystery as a Barometer of Popular Culture,” Signs of the Times literary magazine, December 2018

  Mary Reid

  Owner of Ulysses Bookstore, Houghton, Michigan

  Publication: Novels with Perpetual Life, Tollance Press, 2016

  Mary Reid will act as moderator of the webinars.

  Anna Tow

  Editor, Tollance Press

  Publication: Creation of a Mystery, Tollance Press, 2008. Novels with Perpetual Life by Mary Reid

  She absorbed the names, her sense of familiarity with them, and thought how she could check them out: Did that bookstore really exist? Was there such a thing as the Tollance Press? Did those two really just graduate? Were any of the publications listed for real?

  So many things she could do, if she could only get out of this place—her only hope being the lodge van. Even if Jenny and Lisa came today the library would be closed—still there were fast-food restaurants, or coffee shops where she could use her computer or maybe ask Jenny to check everything and get back to her.

  The front door being thrown wide open was almost a relief. At least another human being, Zoe thought as she looked up to find a short man in his early sixties or late fifties. Rather unappealing, with messy, shoulder-length red hair and a red mustache. He stumbled halfway into the room, then looked at her, his face as red as the rest of him. His opened his mouth as he righted himself, then let loose a string of curses that made his small, round stomach shake.

  “Damned place.” He scowled around as if there should have been a crowd there to meet him. His upper body arced back and forth. He glared hard at Zoe, then seemed amused, his head settling back on his narrow shoulders, a half-smile on his lips

  “What do you know? A person I can look down on.”

  He burped and the powerful stink of whiskey hit her full force, making her cough into her hand and turn away.

  “Oops.” The man leaned against one of the sofas. “Had a small cocktail with my lunch. Didn’t realize it was still with me. Sorry.”

  He got himself upright and tried walking toward her, wiggling his fingers. “Professor Leon Armstrong. Ralston College.”

  His head fell to one
side as he waited for her to take the offered hand. He closed his red-rimmed eyes until she took the limp hand with three of her fingers and shook it as hard as she could, forcing his eyes to open and his face back to life.

  “Zoe Zola,” she muttered and dropped the mushy hand.

  His smile couldn’t hold still. “Ah, you’re the one I heard about. Literary detective extraordinaire. I was told you’d be here.”

  He frowned, puffing out his lips and flapping a hand. “Hope the others will be worth listening to. Sometimes these things …” He stumbled and grabbed at the wall. “You just never know what you’re going to get tied up with. I could tell you stories of conferences I’ve been invited to. Not worth the time.”

  He leaned sideways, seeming to forget what he was saying. “You’re really the reason I came to this God-forsaken place, you know. You and a couple of the other experts—as they call us. I’ve read all three of your books. Insightful work. Very insightful. Hear you’re something of a real detective too. Like Christie, eh? Always get your man? Or woman? Christie was an equal-opportunity accuser.”

  He clicked the heels of his too-large tennis shoes together and bowed. “I’m all for a nap before cocktails. And when might those be?”

  Zoe gathered the schedules and put a set in his hands.

  He bowed. “Thank you, my tiny tender. Now, I need to find my room. Maybe someone can bring in my suitcase.”

  As he backed toward the hall and the staircase, Bella Webb was there, standing next to him.

  “Leon Armstrong.” Zoe gestured toward the obviously drunken man. “He’ll need help getting to his room.”

  Bella frowned as she took the man’s arm. Zoe watched the two of them jerk their way up the stairs, from step to step.

  This was why she almost never went to these things. So far: Anthony—a seducer, now Leon—a drunk. Types instead of real people. She was almost at the point where she could believe anything about this gathering.

  If she thought about the whole thing together, it might be nothing more than a bad publicity stunt. Webinars and crowdfunding sites, anonymous benefactors, black-edged envelopes. And a group of strangers brought together in the pouring rain.