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RUPERT WAS IN THE MIDDLE of serving sherry when Jez and I arrived back at the hotel. Jez took her gear upstairs and I wandered into the drawing room. I could use a glass of sherry. Or twelve.
I ignored Lucas, which wasn’t easy. He was looking particularly tasty in soft, worn jeans and a snug heather gray Henley. Lavender Wu stood nearby eyeballing him like he was a chocolate cupcake and tossing her hair. If she wasn’t careful she was going to give herself a neck spasm.
The only empty seat was near Marilyn, so I sank down into the cozy armchair and took the glass of sherry Rupert offered me. It was strong, sweet, and a touch fruity. I could get used to this.
“You’ve been ghost hunting with that other American, I hear,” Marilyn said, giving me a knowing look.
“Seemed like something to do since we’re more or less trapped here.”
“I would think,” she said, “that you’d be more interested in solving the crime.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” Surely she hadn’t heard of my penchant for getting involved in murder investigations. It wasn’t like I’d been in any major papers or anything. Maybe the odd internet blog post.
“You seemed to enjoy questioning everyone. Finding clues.”
“Oh. Well. I read a lot of Agatha Christie.” And watched a lot of Murder, She Wrote.
“I see you’ve cleared Carsley.”
“Yeah. Blodgett was already dead when James stabbed him. Hard to get around the facts.”
“It is, isn’t it?” She gave me a meaningful look as she popped one of her chocolates in her mouth and chewed slowly. She didn’t offer me one, which I thought was rude. I could use some chocolate. Maybe I’d sneak some later, though she’d likely notice.
“Do you know something, Marilyn? Something you didn’t tell us about the murder?”
“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.” She selected another chocolate.
I leaned forward. “If you know something, you need to tell us.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t need to do any such thing. I will tell the police when they get here.”
“Marilyn—.”
She ignored me and held up her glass for a refill. Rupert obliged and she downed it in one gulp.
I sighed. “Marilyn, you could be putting your life at risk. What if the killer knows that you have information and decides to...”
“What? Silence me? Good luck to him.” Her laugh was more than a little creepy.
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I SAT BOLT UPRIGHT in bed. According to my phone it was past two in the morning. Something woke me from a dead sleep, but I couldn’t figure out what. Lucas was already reaching for his robe. A scream rent the air.
Without a word, Lucas flung open the door and charged down the hall with me hot on his heels. I didn’t even bother wasting time on a robe. Though the minute I left the room I wished I had. The hall was chilly.
“It’s Marilyn’s room,” I said. Her door was standing wide open and a shadowy figure stood in the doorway. I realized it was Jez, her face deathly pale.
“Sh-she’s dead,” she stammered. “S-sorry I screamed.”
Lucas eased her out of the doorway and toward me. I steered her toward one of the antique benches that lined the hallway then went to join Lucas. No way was I being left out of this.
The layout of Marilyn’s room was almost identical to ours except it lacked a bay window and the color scheme was burgundy and tan. She also appeared to be less organized than either Lucas or myself. There was clothing strewn everywhere around the room. The desk had been turned into a vanity of sorts with enough bottles, tubes, and pots to supply a makeup store. Her knitting bag had been dropped in the middle of one of the armchairs next to the fireplace. And in the center of the queen size bed lay Marilyn Toppenish.
She lay curled in on herself like she’d been in pain. Her eyes stared glassily into nothing. There was a trail of vomit from her mouth, down the side of the bed, and to a pool on the floor. The stench was almost overwhelming.
“What’s going on here?” Colonel Frampton boomed from the doorway. Voices echoed down the hall. Great. We were going to have a crowd in a moment.
Lucas turned to address the colonel. “It’s Marilyn. She’s dead. Looks like she’s maybe been poisoned.”
The colonel closed his eyes a moment as if drawing strength. Then he opened them and, after closing the door firmly, strode toward the bed with a determined expression. “The rest of the guests do not need to see this. The poor woman. Yes, it does appear poison was the method, was it not? Who found her?”
“I did.” Jez raised her hand. “Her door was open...”
“There now,” the colonel clucked, giving her an awkward pat on the back. The man wasn’t exactly stellar at comforting those in shock.
“How do you suppose the poison was administered?” Lucas mused.
“Could it have been in the sherry?” I asked. “It’s pretty strong. It would mask the flavor of just about anything.”
The colonel glanced at me. “We all drank the sherry.”
“Someone could have slipped it in just her glass.”
“Unlikely,” Lucas said. “I watched Rupert pour the first glass and hand it to her. You were there for the other glasses.” Of which there’d been many. No one but Rupert and Marilyn had touched her glass and there’d been no time for Rupert to slip anything into it.
“Fine. Not in the sherry then.” I mulled it over. “She was diabetic. That could have been how the killer got her. Put the poison in her hypodermic. She administers it to herself. Dead a few hours later.”
“It’s a possibility,” the colonel said grimly. “We’ll have to find her latest needle. It may tell us something. But first I need to ring the police.”
“You think they can get through?” Lucas asked.
“I hope so, dear boy. Our situation is getting rather dire.”
Lucas offered his cell phone and the colonel put in a call to the local constabulary. Less than five minutes later he handed Lucas back the phone. “They’re still stuck. We’ll have to move the body into the refrigeration unit and lock up this room.”
Great. The bodies were piling up, we had a killer on the loose, and the police couldn’t get here until who knew when. I wandered over to the desk. Behind all the bottles and tubes was a red plastic bin with a snap top. It had the bio waste symbol in black on the side. I grabbed a tissue from a box on the vanity and used it to cover my hand while I popped open the top. I didn’t want to get my fingerprints all over it. Inside were eight discarded needles. About two days’ worth.
“I found her used needles.” The overhead light was dim, so I used my phone flashlight to better illuminate the box. They all looked normal, with a residue of clear liquid except for the one on the very top. The liquid residue had a blueish-green tinge. “Found it. Looks a lot like antifreeze.”
Lucas and the colonel walked over and peered in the box. “Excellent work,” the colonel said.
“Maybe.” I frowned. “Marilyn’s been a diabetic for years.”
The colonel appeared confused. “So?”
“She would have noticed if her insulin had changed color,” Lucas said. “She would never have injected herself.”
“Perhaps the killer injected her.” The colonel seemed proud of his deduction.
“Wouldn’t she have woken up?” I said.
“Maybe she did and it was too late,” the colonel said.
Lucas shook his head. “Antifreeze takes a while to act. As much as twenty-four hours, depending on size and health of the person. It had to have been administered much earlier. I’m guessing the killer administered it some other way. Once Marilyn was asleep, he or she slipped back in and left the empty syringe, hoping the police would think she’d done it to herself.”
“We need to figure out how she was poisoned,” I muttered.
“We can do that later,” the colonel said. “Right now we must remove the body for safe keeping.”
While Lucas roped Bill into helping him move the body, Colonel Frampton tracked down Rupert and asked him to herd everyone into the drawing room.
“I suggest the dining room instead,” Rupert said. “Everyone could use a hot cup of tea about now.”
The colonel let out an exasperated sigh. I could tell he was about to argue, so I blurted out, “Great idea, Bill.”
The colonel muttered a few choice words about interfering women. I ignored him.
With the body delivered to the refrigerator and the crime scene shut and locked, we marched into the dining room. We must have entered more noisily than I realized because all eyes swung toward us. The colonel cleared his throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please. I have some very bad news, I’m afraid.” He cleared his throat again.
“Don’t tell me I’m stuck in this hell hole another day,” Lavender said waspishly. “I have things to do.”
“You’re not the only one, dearie.” Professor Huxton-Barrington’s tone was equally acidic. “Some of us are tired of hearing you whine.”
Lavender glowered at her. “Oh, yeah—.”
“Ladies!” The colonel held up his hands placatingly. “Please. This is not about the weather or the roads. I’m afraid to say, last night...” he trailed off as if afraid of saying it out loud.
“Last night,” I continued for him, “Marilyn Toppenish was murdered.”