Cyanide with Christie Read online

  Cruella, who had begun to stuff food into her face like Augustus Gloop in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, nodded with a grunt. At least she wasn’t going to insist on joining the party.

  With only Luke, Marguerite, and Oscar for company – and, of course, the cats – Emily could relax at last. Luke excused himself to check on the conditions outside. But as Katie brought in the coffee tray, Emily heard a commotion in the hall. Luke’s voice reached her clearly through the hall door.

  ‘Now just where do you think you’re going?’

  Dustin’s voice, slurred and truculent, replied. ‘I’m getting out of here. Not gonna stay in the same house with that bitch.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Mr Weaver. One, the ice out there is too dangerous for even a sober man to drive on, and two, you left sober behind about half-a-dozen drinks ago. I’d have to arrest you the minute you got behind the wheel.’

  Dustin spluttered and blustered, but even sober he would have been no match for Luke. He clattered his bags back to the Dickens room. With luck, his dread of bumping into Cruella would keep him there for the duration of his stay – which, Emily was determined, would not outlast the ice on the road any more than Cruella’s would.

  Luke returned to his place by Emily’s side on the loveseat and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘He’ll be out cold in no time.’

  ‘Thank God for small mercies.’ She addressed the group. ‘So what do you make of all that?’

  Oscar shook his head, baffled, but Marguerite nodded knowingly. ‘That woman, Cruella as she calls herself, is the ex of Ian MacDonald. Ex-wife, ex-lover, I do not know, but an ex, bien sûr. And Olivia is the one she blames for the breakup – though, if you ask me, Ian merely came to his senses and saw Cruella for what she is.’

  Emily stared at Marguerite. ‘What, do you read the gossip column in the Times Book Review? How do you know all that?’

  Marguerite tossed her head. ‘I do not need to read. It speaks for itself. What other explanation could there be?’

  Emily had to admit her friend’s interpretation was the most likely one. ‘But what about Dustin? He hardly seems like a candidate for a love triangle. Or quadrangle, in this case.’

  ‘Non.’ Marguerite pursed her lips. ‘That, I think, is something else.’

  Oscar leaned forward in his chair. ‘She called him Billy, didn’t she? Maybe he’s not who he pretends to be.’

  ‘Luke? Did your background checks come up with anything suspicious?’

  Luke pulled out his pocket notebook, leafed through it, and frowned. ‘He checked out OK, but I didn’t see anything going back farther than ’05. He would’ve been what, about twenty then? Maybe he changed his name.’

  ‘Or maybe he isn’t Dustin Weaver at all.’ Emily paled. ‘I didn’t ask to see his ID or anything. And you hadn’t met him, right, Marguerite? Or seen a picture?’

  ‘Pas du tout. I do not know him from Adam. He could be anyone.’ She waved her arm wide as if to include all the characters in all the novels in the room.

  Emily turned a worried face to Luke, who stood. ‘He’s probably passed out by now. Think I’ll go do a little snooping.’

  He returned shortly. ‘He’s out, all right. Left his wallet on the desk. Driver’s license says Dustin Weaver, and I’m pretty sure it’s not a fake. So that’s his legal name, at any rate, though he could’ve changed it from something else.’ He shot Emily a smile. ‘I don’t think we’re dealing with a conman.’

  ‘That’s something.’ But not enough to make her comfortable, with two explosive personalities in her home. ‘Did you notice if Cruella was still in the dining room?’

  ‘She’s gone. Katie must’ve taken her up.’

  Emily felt suddenly exhausted. ‘I’ve had it for the day. Will you all forgive me if I turn in?’

  Oscar and Marguerite made polite noises. Luke accompanied her into the hall. ‘I’m not sure even my chains are gonna be enough to handle this ice.’

  Emily mentally chided herself for not having thought of this. ‘Oh, of course, you’d better stay. I’ll make up the bed in my sitting room.’ She linked her arm through his and leaned against him. ‘I’ll feel better knowing you’re here.’

  SEVEN

  Breakfast was a buffet affair, so the guests didn’t all congregate simultaneously, for which Emily was grateful. She herself was up early and managed to avoid both Dustin and Cruella.

  By nine in the morning, the ice on her driveway was slushy enough, Luke thought, for him to navigate it in his specially equipped vehicle. He made a foray into town and came back to report.

  ‘Still pretty bad out there. Couple degrees above freezing and not likely to get any warmer. Car like mine can get through town all right, just barely.’

  Dustin walked into the library in the middle of this speech. ‘I’m getting out of here, then.’

  ‘Not so fast, Mr Weaver. I said I could get through town – doesn’t mean your little car would make it with no chains or even snow tires. No place else to stay around here, anyway. All the hotels are shut for the winter. And as I was about to say when you barged in, nobody’s getting out of the area – One-oh-one and Twenty-six are still frozen solid. So unless you’re willing to risk getting stuck at the side of the road and having to sleep in your car in the freezing cold, I recommend you stay put.’

  Dustin looked as if he was about to protest, but he was sober and visibly hungover this morning, lacking the alcoholic courage that might have allowed him to stand up to Luke. He slumped and trudged back to his room without a word.

  Luke turned to Emily. ‘I’ve got to get back out there and do some damage control. Want me to come back this evening?’

  ‘Please. If you’re going to get stuck anywhere, I’d rather it was here.’

  He smiled at that, kissed her quickly, and took off into town.

  Her other unwelcome guest made no attempt to leave. Cruella came down last, and the late breakfasters in the dining room, Ian and Olivia, evaporated at her approach. After eating she established herself with her laptop in the library, whence the other two fled upstairs.

  Emily would have liked to bring out her Dostoevsky work again, but Cruella had managed to take over the whole table, and anyway, Emily couldn’t stand to be in the same room with her. The parlor had no desk or sizable table, and she didn’t want to set up in the dining room, where she would have to clear away for meals. But she felt it was her responsibility to stay on the ground floor in case any confrontations threatened.

  Grumbling to herself but conscious that she would never have been able to concentrate in this atmosphere anyway, Emily took a book and her knitting into the parlor, whither the cats followed her, and closed the communicating door. She used the parlor so rarely, it was like a foreign country to her. Like Goldilocks, she had to try all the seats in turn to find one that was comfortable enough to settle in for the day.

  The cats were equally disoriented. Bustopher went straight to the hearth and flopped there; Emily had asked Katie to make a fire in this room, too, since it was open to the guests all day. But Levin and Kitty prowled, yowling discontentedly, until they finally settled, one on each arm of Emily’s chair.

  Knitting was impossible with no room to move her elbows, so she opened her book – Hercule Poirot’s Christmas. Hmm, Christmas with a bunch of oddly assorted characters, some unpleasant, in a big country house. That felt slightly familiar. At least her guests weren’t all related to her or each other, or she’d be looking over her shoulder for a murderer.

  She’d barely begun reading when Cruella stuck her head through the door. ‘How do I get on the WiFi?’ she demanded.

  Emily started. She’d assumed her guests would bring computers, but it had never occurred to her they would also want to access the internet while here. She had a dim idea that Katie might have WiFi in her apartment, but apparently the signal didn’t reach the main house. ‘I’m sorry, we don’t have internet service here. It’s meant to be a distraction-free environment con
ducive to concentrated work.’

  ‘Well, I can’t work without doing research, and I can’t do research without Google.’

  Emily bit her tongue to prevent herself from reminding Cruella that she had not, after all, been invited to this party and hence had no grounds for objecting to anything about it. ‘I would send you into town to the Friendly Fluke, but I’m afraid the road is still pretty slick.’

  ‘Hmph.’ Cruella strode to the front window and peered out. ‘How far is it to this Fluke place?’

  ‘About a mile.’

  ‘I’ve got boots. I’ll walk.’

  If any of the others had proposed walking to town, Emily would have done her best to dissuade them; she was fairly sure walking would be nearly as dangerous as driving. But Cruella was not the persuadable type, and anyway, Emily would be glad to have her out of the house for a while.

  ‘I suggest you call first and make sure they’re open. In this weather they might not bother.’ She crossed the hall to the tiny office next to the stairs and fetched a local phone book. ‘Here’s the number. I assume you have a cell phone?’

  Cruella rooted through her many capacious pockets and finally pulled out a cell phone. She punched in the number and waited, her expression growing darker by the minute. At last she hung up. ‘No answer. Stupid hick town.’

  ‘As I said, this is meant to be a quiet retreat from the world.’

  ‘Right.’ Cruella snorted. ‘Well, I’ll find something to keep me busy, never you fear.’ She bared her pointy teeth in a grin that reminded Emily of all the vampire movies she’d never seen. Then Cruella returned to the library and shut the door.

  Emily comforted the cats, whose hackles had raised in Cruella’s presence, then lifted her coffee cup for a restoring sip. It was empty. She went through the hall to the dining room for a refill but paused outside the door when she heard voices from the Dickens room.

  The voices were Cruella’s and Dustin’s – the one raised and threatening, the other a hissing whisper – but she could not make out the words. She wrestled a moment with her conscience, but the side that argued she had a responsibility as hostess to know what was going on in her house won out over her scruples. She edged closer to the door, but just then it opened a crack. As she sprang back into the dining room, she heard Cruella say, ‘If you want to flush your career down the toilet, it’s no skin off my nose – Billy.’

  Emily found brain-space around her awakened curiosity to wonder whether Cruella’s books were as full of clichés as her speech. But far more urgent was the question of why Dustin’s – or Billy’s – career was in jeopardy and what Cruella had to do with it. With her head full of Christie, the natural conclusion appeared to be blackmail. Did that happen in real life? Emily made a mental note to ask Luke when he returned.

  In the course of the morning, Ian and Olivia came down and made a whispered request to Emily that they be allowed to lunch on trays in their rooms.

  ‘I don’t mind for this one meal,’ she replied. ‘I’m sorry you have to put up with Cruella being here, since she obviously makes you uncomfortable. But you may all be stuck here for several days – I doubt you’ll be able to avoid each other all that time. Is there any possibility whatever conflict you have with her could be resolved?’

  Ian barked a laugh, then quickly silenced himself. ‘I’m afraid not. She has behaved unforgivably toward both of us, and far from repenting her actions, she positively glories in them. I think I can speak for Olivia when I say we’d managed to put all that behind us until she showed up here. But being in the same room with her is intolerable.’

  Emily was bursting with curiosity about what had happened between the three of them, but they apparently did not want to say, and it wasn’t her business anyway. ‘I see. I can’t allow an uninvited guest to imprison you both in your rooms. I’ll inform Cruella that she will have to keep to her room from now on.’

  Ian and Olivia exchanged glances. ‘I do devoutly hope you will be successful in that, Emily,’ said Ian. A younger, less formal person would have said, Good luck with that, meaning it would take a universe full of luck to make it happen. Anyway, it would be worth a try. Emily prayed Luke would be back soon – she needed his authority and sheer brawn to back her up.

  Cruella agreed with surprising meekness to lunch in her room, though there was something in her eye that made Emily mistrust her show of submission. Now if only Dustin would behave, they might be able to have a civilized meal.

  Dustin was mute throughout lunch and ate hardly anything. The others were subdued as well, though Marguerite’s valiant attempts to start a conversation eventually met with success. A lively but friendly debate ensued over the relative merits of various books, shows, and films in the broader crime genre. Dustin left partway through, and the remaining five got along famously. Even reserved Olivia contributed a few quiet but intelligent observations. Emily began to feel the retreat plan might not have been so ill advised after all. If only the weather would clear so she could get rid of Cruella and Dustin.

  But the temperature fell in the course of the day. Luke arrived a few minutes before teatime looking frazzled, which was unusual for him. ‘Pretty bad out there?’ Emily asked as he warmed his hands over the library fire. For the moment they had the library to themselves – so far, Cruella had kept her promise to stay in her room.

  ‘Madhouse. Fender benders every which way. Nearly had one myself at the top of your driveway. I skidded in here on pure luck.’

  ‘Goodness! Thank God you made it back safely. And that there was nothing worse than a fender bender.’

  ‘Most locals have the sense to stay home when it gets like this. I put out a radio call asking everyone to stay off the roads until further notice.’

  ‘Does that include you?’

  ‘Unless I get an urgent call about some idiot who didn’t comply. You’re stuck with me for the time being.’ He gave her a one-sided grin, as if unsure of his welcome.

  She slipped her arm through his and snuggled up to him. ‘That is fine by me.’

  He was on the point of showing his appreciation tangibly when Oscar came in. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘I seem to be making a habit of coming in at the wrong moment.’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. It is four o’clock, after all.’ The gong sounded in the hall, then Katie came in with the first of the tea trays. For this crowd several trays would be required – first the tea paraphernalia itself, then the sandwiches, then the cakes and scones, and finally a plate of gluten-free treats for Olivia. By the time everything was in place, all the guests were assembled, with the happy exception of Cruella.

  Once again, Dustin was subdued and ate little. He did ask Luke whether there was any chance of leaving town soon, but when he got a negative reply he merely took his meager plate and slunk back to his room.

  Luke turned to Emily with raised eyebrows, as if to say, What happened to him?

  Emily pulled Luke aside and replied sotto voce, ‘I overheard a conversation between Dustin and Cruella this morning that made me think she might be blackmailing him. Does that kind of thing actually happen outside of mystery stories?’

  ‘Heck, yeah, it happens. Lots of people with guilty secrets, lots of people greedy enough to take advantage. Course, some of the reasons you read about in those Agatha Christie books no longer apply. Nobody gives a hoot anymore about a child born out of wedlock, for instance, and lots of people aren’t too squeamish about adultery. But something like fraud, embezzlement, any actual crime – if the wrong person finds out, blackmail is a definite possibility.’

  Emily’s gorge rose at the thought of something so sordid going on in her beloved home. But then she caught herself with the reminder that the house had seen far worse. ‘Is there anything you can do about it?’

  ‘Not unless we can prove it, which’d be tough without one of ’em admitting to it. And how likely is that?’

  ‘True. Oh, well. I have Cruella confined to her room for the time being. I may need you to he
lp enforce that, by the way. Let’s hope it will put some kind of damper on her activities.’

  ‘Amen to that.’

  EIGHT

  The evening had been reasonably quiet, and Emily would have felt comfortable leaving her guests to go to church Sunday morning. But the roads were still icy, and Luke pointed out that Father Stephen might not even hold services under those conditions. Emily had to accept defeat on that point. Not for the first time, she wished Windy Corner were a little grander even than it was – grand enough to have its own private chapel, served by her own private Orthodox priest. She’d been managing a weekend in Portland, where she could attend her own church, every month or so, but it wasn’t enough. She needed the sustenance of the familiar music, teaching, fellowship, and, most importantly, the sacraments. The local Episcopal church was a pale substitute.

  Since even that substitute was unavailable, Emily spent much of the morning on the phone finalizing plans for her Christmas celebration the next day. The forecast was for a thaw, and she prayed it would prove accurate so her friends from town would be able to reach Windy Corner safely. She was expecting Jamie, her young lawyer and Katie’s fiancé; Devon and Hilary, local British expats and partners in both an antique business and life; and Veronica Lacey, her closest local friend and owner of an antique accessories shop. Sam Griffiths, the local doctor, had declined, saying she didn’t do holidays. Beanie the yarn-shop owner would be with her family, taking her boyfriend Ben, the book dealer, along for self-defense.

  A pang of conscience made Emily extend an invitation to her tenant Wanda Wilkins as well. Wanda would probably not be able to get to Seaside to spend the day with her mother, and no one should be alone on Christmas Day.

  Katie, with admirable foresight, had laid in all the necessary supplies before the freeze – except for the Christmas crackers, personally imported from England by Devon and Hilary. Emily was looking forward to a real Old English Christmas.