No one had turned on the lights at the front of the house, so Worthington stood in darkness when Bud opened the door to him. He brushed the snow off his shoulders and entered. His face was a mask; grim, etched with lines, shadows beneath his eyes. His tombstone teeth were a memory – I didn’t expect he’d smile any time soon.
Bud and he talked for a moment; their despondent body language spoke of the tragedy we were all experiencing, despite the gleam of hope of the twinkling star atop the Christmas tree, beside which they stood. Worthington glanced up the stairs, nodded toward those of us in the salon, then ascended. Bud returned to our group and whispered to John.
John said, “Bella, darling, Bud and I are needed. I’ll be as quick as I can, alright?”
Bella nodded, still crying, and John and Bud took off.
I settled Bella in her seat again, then Charles thudded his way downstairs.
“Scotch,” he said, as he plonked himself in the seat Felicity had vacated.
I guessed he was asking “someone” to get him a drink, so I said, “Do you mean you’d like me to pour a whisky for you?” He nodded, without looking up. “And how do you take it? Neat?”
“Yes.”
I sucked up my annoyance, once again telling myself that I was dealing with people in extremis, but cursed inwardly that this family was blessed with very few manners, and a boatload of entitlement. I get it that the rich lead different lives, but the entire Asimov clan seemed to assume everyone owed them something – even if nothing more than service. True, Charles had been the one to whom Bud had presented us as being people who could take up the slack when it came to domestic duties, it was just that the reality of that “cover” was wearing a little thin, for me. The amount of soothing I was having to do was weighing on me – it’s not my forte.
I handed a crystal tumbler with a substantial amount of scotch in it to Charles. He looked up, his eyes rimmed with crimson, and actually thanked me. I felt my multi-purpose eyebrow shoot up – and hoped he didn’t know it meant I was thinking, “About time, too.”
As I watched Charles nurse his drink for a moment, then gulp it down, I couldn’t help but wonder about Piers’ death. Had he intentionally overdosed, wracked by guilt at having killed Sasha, then having also attacked Felicity? But, even if that was the case, why had he attacked Felicity? And what about Julie Powell – what could possibly make sense of her attacking Felicity, too? Might Julie have seen something that would have implicated Felicity in Sasha’s death? Could Piers have seen Felicity do something…or had she seen him do something? My mind was whirring…in circles…so I was delighted to see Bud, John, and Vinnie coming down the stairs; they all descended in step, which was weirdly distracting.
“Listen up, folks,” John began.
“Wait for me,” called Felicity as she bounced down the staircase. “I don’t want to miss anything.”
Does she look like a woman who’s possibly caused three people’s deaths?
John waited until Felicity was seated on a small sofa, beside Renata; neither woman looked comfortable with the situation, and they both shuffled to cling to their respective arm, rather than touch in the center.
John forced a smile. “Right, then…Worthington says he needs to know everything that happened to all of us today – and he means everything. So, we’ll all have to put on our thinking caps. He’s got that Enderby woman joining him as soon as she can get here, but – in the meantime – he’s asked if everyone can please write down what they were doing, as well as where, and when, today, so he can get as full a picture as possible. It doesn’t matter if you were here, or elsewhere – he wants to know the ins and outs of everyone’s day. I’m going to round up some supplies from…somewhere, and I thought we could each find a spot where we can think, and write notes. Meanwhile, Vinnie’s kindly offered to push ahead with making a meal for everyone. So how about we take that time to get our notes sorted out, then we can all eat? Bud’s volunteered to help set up the dining room, and we can all pitch in, right, Bella?”
Bella stood. “I’m sure you’ll find everything you need for us in the meeting room, darling. And, actually, I’d rather oversee setting up for dinner, myself. If we’re going to dine, even if it’s just on soup and sandwiches, we should do so comfortably. I know where to find the table settings I want to use. My notes would be exactly the same as yours, John, so they won’t take long to write up, because I can just copy them out. So I’ll get the place set up for dinner. How many will we be?”
Bella’s tone was different; for the first time since I’d met her, she sounded like someone with a purpose, and I struggled to wrap my head around this Bella being the same person who had, earlier in the day, seemingly not known where I could find a dustpan and brush. Now she knew where everything was?
“We’ll be eight, plus the Worthington man, plus whomever else decides to drop in to examine us all.” Felicity sounded angry.
John demurred to Bella, then headed off toward the meeting room, returning moments later with a stack of lined pads, and a box of pens, all of which were printed with the Tavistock & Tavistock corporate logo. He distributed the supplies.
Renata twirled her pen sadly. “What’s to become of me, I wonder? Sasha and Piers looked after me so well.”
Until that moment, the realization that there was now a public relations firm that had lost the two people who’d set it up hadn’t occurred to me; I know from experience that it’s the people at the top who are the draw for the clients of a business of that nature…there was little likelihood the company would survive the deaths of both its founding directors. The clients would find new suppliers, of course; I suspected there might be a few account directors at the place who’d be able to cobble together enough of the accounts to strike out on their own. However, I feared Renata would soon be without a job. As the PA to a woman who no longer needed one – and having worked for only Sasha for so many years – she might have a hard time finding a new post, once she’d stayed on long enough to wind things up, as necessary.
“Don’t worry about it, Renata. I’ll find something for you to do at Bella Zoloto. I know Sasha and Piers trusted you completely – there’s no way I’d ever…abandon you. Indeed, there’s no way I’d ever let anyone down who had my family’s interests at heart. I would always find a way to look after them. You must know that, surely.”
A smile managed to creep across Renata’s face. “Thank you.” She sounded…triumphant?
Worthington’s arrival was a surprise; he’d come downstairs and entered the salon without my noticing – I’d been absorbed by watching the jarring interaction between Bella and Renata. Thus, his blustering, “Good, I see you’re all getting ready to write up those notes I need,” took us all aback. Heads turned in his direction, and everyone slapped a smile on their face – as though a teacher had just entered a room full of unruly pupils.
“I managed to find supplies, and everyone’s going to find a quiet spot so they can focus,” said John in a very prefect-like tone.
“Good job, Silver,” said Worthington.
Worth a gold star? I wondered, Or maybe house points?
He continued, “I’ll let you all get on with that. The paramedics are leaving, and my lot will be along shortly. They’re moments away. We’ll try to not cause too much disruption. That said, I’d like everyone to think of the upstairs as out of bounds, until I say so. I’m sure you all understand why.”
Renata held up her hand. “I don’t,” she said.
Worthington rocked on his toes. “We need to establish how Mr. Tavistock died. That question is likely to be answered, ultimately, by a post-mortem, but there’s a good deal of information we need to gather at the scene of his death.”
“Bella thinks it was an accidental overdose, born of Piers’ belief he knew better than any doctor how much medication was good for him.” Felicity’s voice dripped with disdain.
Worthington gazed at Felicity, and said, “We don’t yet know his cause of death, so maybe that idea’s somewhat premature. We’ll see what we see.”
Before he disappeared upstairs again, I knew I had to take my chance. “I wondered if I could have a quiet word, please, Mr. Worthington?”
Worthington seemed to be performing a total body scan on me, then Bud, then John. His shoulders dropped a little. He nodded. “Meeting room. Just you.”
I glanced toward Bud, threw him a smile, and followed Worthington’s lead. We sat in the two seats at the table where we’d sat the night before. He rested his hands on the table. “Yes?”
“May I speak freely?”
“No one’s stopping you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“If you mean can you say anything to me without fear of reproach or reprisal, yes, you may. I am a functionary, not an ogre.” He almost smiled.
“Be that as it may…I have some questions. Relating to the comments you made just before you left Beulah House earlier today.”
“I made no comments, other than to politely take my leave.”
I was starting to get annoyed. I counted my top teeth with the tip of my tongue – it’s a technique I’ve recently adopted to help me take time to think before I speak; I’ve been surprised by how often I’ve used it. Eventually I said, “I’m getting sick of ‘not having’ conversations or meetings with people, and of ‘not hearing’ comments people have made. It’s like it’s a game. But it’s not. People are dying.”
“I had noticed.”
I sighed. “May I ask you a question?”
“I can’t stop you asking.”
I felt like screaming! “Did Sasha Tavistock have a headwound that couldn’t be definitely categorized as having arisen from her fall?”
“It was a considerable fall. The coroner’s office is still determining the possible nature of all her wounds.”
“If there were to be such an injury, might I suggest an examination of the large brass telescope that’s in the palace room?”
“You may. Thank you.”
“And was any paper matching that which was used for her suicide note found in the palace room?”
Worthington’s eyes glinted and his brow furrowed. “Not in that room. No writing supplies of any sort were found there. However, we did find matching paper in a small study used by the decedent, located adjacent to the main bedroom she shared with her husband.”
I said nothing.
Worthington said nothing.
I had a suspicion we could have gone on the same way for some time, so said, “I believe Sasha Tavistock did not commit suicide. However, I have an open mind about whether she died as the result of an accident, or if she was intentionally killed. And I had a suspect in mind, though he’s now dead.”
Worthington’s eyebrows slowly concertinaed his forehead. “Her husband?”
I replied, “We both know it’s usually the spouse who’s to blame in most murders. Or a close friend, or family member. So, if not Piers, maybe Felicity?”
“Or any one of the other family members and close friends who were here last evening?” His tone was dismissive. “But I’m pleased you’re keeping an open mind about whether Mrs. Tavistock was murdered or not, at least. May I speak openly?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “If you mean without fear of reproach or reprisal, fire away.”
“I mean may I speak to you in complete confidence? Are you prepared to agree you will not tell anyone what I am about to say? And I mean anyone.”
I didn’t hesitate. “In that case, the answer is no. I don’t keep secrets from my husband.”
Worthington’s gaze seemed to pierce me to my core. “But he keeps secrets from you. He has sworn to do so.”
I stood. “He has to. It’s his duty. And he does. I’ve accepted that fact. But I have taken no such oath. What you tell me, I reserve the right to tell him. Take it or leave it.”
Worthington also stood. “In that case, I’ll leave it, for now. Thank you, Professor Morgan. We’ll take a look at the telescope, purely for the sake of being thorough. While you understand there is no ongoing investigation into Mrs. Tavistock’s demise, there is one just beginning that concerns her husband’s death. It might be that he was up in the palace room earlier today – so we should make sure everything is as it should be up there. I suggest you and your husband leave here as soon as possible – Mr. Silver will be wanting to attend to his fiancée’s needs, I’m sure.”
I was dismissed. But I knew I’d given the right answer to his question. For me, and for Bud and me.
I returned to the salon. Bud wrapped his arms around me and we gravitated toward a dim corner. I whispered, “Look at them all, Bud. This is an unhealthy place. I know we’re seeing people on what must be their worst day, but Charles is drinking his face off and trying to engage Felicity in what? Some sort of pointless banter? She’s glowing – which is so far beyond normal given the fact she’s been attacked twice today, and has all-but killed a woman, that I have no words to categorize her body language. She’s not carrying an ounce of guilt, that’s for sure. Which has given me pause for thought…which I want to discuss with you. Renata’s sitting there taking everything in as though she’s a woman who knows she’s holding the winning ticket to the lottery, but hasn’t told anyone yet. Vinnie is…well, I can’t tell if he’s the most callous man I’ve ever met, or if he just has a weird sense of humor that’s blacker than coal. And John? I thought he fawned over Lottie in Jamaica – but the way he is with Bella is…well, it’s a little disturbing, to be honest. Look at him now – following her around the dining room doing what she tells him to with the glassware…that’s not John. When Vinnie said she’d taken him by the heart, he wasn’t kidding. John’s more than besotted, he seems to have been absorbed by Bella – he’s become nothing more than a doting lapdog. I feel as though we’re the only normal people here, Bud.”
My husband held me tight. “You’re right, this is a real bad day for these folks, and I don’t think I’m getting any really useful insights into them. But we’ve both met enough people on their worst day – professionally speaking – to also know that these are the circumstances where you get to see the inner person, with all the dressing stripped away. I honestly don’t feel comfortable talking about these folks, right here, right now. But I do think we should get away from here as soon as we can – and spend some time alone.”
I agreed.
“You can all come and serve yourselves from the platters Vinnie has prepared, and take your soup etcetera into the dining room,” announced Bella. She was smiling so broadly that I could see her perfect teeth gleaming, which filled me with dread for some reason…and forced into my mind’s eye the sight of Sasha’s teeth, which I’d noticed upon meeting her again had been surprisingly far from perfect; in PR, image counts for a great deal, and I was amazed Sasha hadn’t either taken better care of them, or had them attended to by a professional.
John grabbed Bella by the waist, kissed her cheek and said, “Marvellous job, darling, under the circumstances.”
Bella was glowing, and smiled coyly. “You helped so much.”
“I followed sound instructions.” John kissed her again.
Pass me a sick bag! “Great teamwork,” I said. “Come on Bud, you know we agreed to head off as soon as the food was out. I hope you all understand – there’s nothing we can do to help, here, and we thought we’d grab a bite somewhere…somewhere tourists go.”
Vinnie began to usher us toward the kitchen, “Aw come on now, come on…I’ve slaved away over a hot chopping board buttering enough bread for an army, sure I have. You’ve got to at least try one of my blue cheese and walnut ones, or maybe even a cheeky little smoked salmon with dill and chilli-speckled cream cheese. Bella’s opened some fine wine, and the soup’s a good ’un, too – me Ma’s famous veggie mix. It’ll fill yer up, and put hairs on yer chest, so it will. Unless you don’t fancy a hairy chest, that is, Cait.”
He was irrepressible, alright. Bud and I exchanged a glance that told each of us we’d surrender, and I smiled at Vinnie. “No hairy chest, thanks, but the sandwiches sound impressive.”
Vinnie leaned in, “I also rustled up a nice Greek salad for Lady Muck, over there, and I made enough to go around…but I’ll not answer for the olives, because they’re Italian, not Greek. And I’m guessing the feta’s not been flown in from the Cyclades, though, knowing the Asimov clan, I wouldn’t put it past them. Come on, dig in – and I’ll drop you off at a nice place I know where you can have a romantic dessert later on.”
This time at least Bud and I got to sit down together, and we both got to enjoy some food – but to say the conversation at the table was weird would be an understatement of Bud-like proportions. Bella kept swooning at John, and when she wasn’t doing that she was patting Renata’s hand as though it were the paw of a favorite dog; Charles and Felicity sat beside each other, and knocked back more wine between them than I’ve seen two people do in a long time; Renata ate her food in silence, sipping at her wine; Vinnie sat beside Bud and kept both of us entertained with tales about Vaseem’s encounters with famous actors in unflattering circumstances…and through it all not one word was spoken about Sasha, Piers, or Julie, nor the fact there was a pretty constant procession of people coming and going up and down the stairs.
Absolutely weird.