Upon quick reflection, I decided I couldn’t be too worried about being a serious suspect in the fake Dorinda’s murder. After all, I had been in sight of someone ever since Dorinda had left the gathering earlier, on her way to meet her killer.
“Right,” Robin said. “I’ll talk with you further, Simon, but for now I must see what’s going on outside.”
I nodded as he turned on his heel and left me. Time enough later to give him my alibi.
Now I had to face Nina and Lady Hermione again. I was rather keen to get Nina alone at some point and grill her. I was convinced she knew far more than she was letting on about what the murder victim had been up to here at Kinsale House. If, indeed, Nina hadn’t been behind the whole thing in the first place. But surely even Nina hadn’t planned on murder.
Lady Hermione seemed to have recovered much of her accustomed sangfroid when I rejoined her and Nina in the drawing room. “Really, Nina,” she was saying in her severest tones, “I cannot think why you should have subjected us all...” She ceased talking abruptly when she realized that I was once again in the room. “Well, Dr. Kirby-Jones? What has your friend the policeman to say about this dreadful situation?”
From her tone one would have thought poor Robin had come to empty the rubbish bins at Kinsale House. Nina cast an amused glance at our hostess, then rolled her eyes in my direction. “Yes, Simon, do tell us what that absolutely delicious copper had to say. Are you the prime suspect?” Her eyebrows arched in mockery.
All at once I was struck by the nasty suspicion that Nina had murdered the faux Dorinda—indeed, that she had stage-managed the entire fiasco—in order to manufacture some lurid story. I could see the headlines now, something totally trashy about a gay man murdering a woman to safeguard his identity as a female mystery writer. Such publicity would no doubt sell books, but I cringed at the thought.
I considered Nina’s reaction upon finding the body. Nina was cold and calculating, but I didn’t think she was that good an actress. Her surprise— and indeed, horror—at finding Dorinda’s body had seemed very real, but if this were all part of her plan, perhaps she had fooled me into thinking her shock was real.
I quelled such useless speculation for the moment and directed at Nina my most repressive frown. “Don’t be absurd, Nina! You know very well that, from the time Dorinda—or whoever she really was— left this room, I was in sight of someone, until I found you on the terrace, not far from her corpse.” I grinned evilly. “For all I know, Nina, darling, you pushed that urn on top of her head before I joined you on the terrace.”
“Now who’s being absurd, Simon? I haven’t the strength to hurl that urn on top of Dorinda, or anyone else, for that matter!”
Lady Hermione examined the two of us with disgust. “You are both utterly lacking in the remotest sense of propriety!” She sniffed loudly. “But I must say, Nina, that you are doing it up a bit too brown if you want to convince us you’re too frail to have moved that urn. They weigh perhaps forty pounds— or more, if you consider the soil and the plants they contain. I’ve no doubt that you could find the strength to shift something like that off the balustrade and onto that unfortunate woman’s head!”
“Careful, Hermione,” Nina said, her voice taut with anger.
Lady Hermione flushed and said not another word.
I wondered what hold Nina had over our hostess. Could it be that the late and unlamented (at least on my part) faux Dorinda hadn’t been the only one with a taste for blackmail?
And, I reasoned further, if Nina and Dorinda had been in cahoots, and if that relationship had somehow soured, Nina could have killed Dorinda.
I rather liked that notion, I found, having totally gone off Nina. I couldn’t wait to find myself a new agent here in the U.K.
Before I could think of some new conversational gambit, Robin Chase returned to collect Nina for an interview. I wished I could be a little bat on the wall and listen to that session. I could imagine it all: Nina would try her darnedest to flirt with Robin, who in turn would be at his phlegmatic best in turning away such attempts on her part. How deliciously droll it would be, despite the gravity of the situation.
Left alone with my hostess, who was eyeing me uneasily, I decided I had better do something to redeem myself with her. While Lady Hermione fiddled with things on the tea tray, now studiously ignoring me, I sat down on the sofa nearest her chair.
“My dear Lady Hermione,” I said, my voice like warm honey, “I can’t tell you how much I regret that you should have to suffer these truly horrible disruptions to your program for the week. Everyone will be at sixes and sevens now. What can my assistant and I do to help you and Miss Monkley?”
“Very civil of you, Dr. Kirby-Jones,” she said gruffly. “Nothing like this has ever occurred at Kinsale House, and certainly not during one of my writers’ weeks. But that is by the by, now. Can’t refine too much upon that! We’ll have to do what we can to minimize the upset. Once the police have the mess tidied up, we can go about our business.”
“Yes, of course, Lady Hermione,” I replied. “But it might take a while for the police to figure out who the murderer is. In the meantime, I’m not sure there’s much we can do. The police might wish to send everyone home, after they’ve all been interviewed, of course.”
“Nonsense!” Lady Hermione barked. “The police can investigate, and we shall go on with our program.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” I said, though privately I wasn’t certain just what Robin would think of such a plan. He might be happy, however, to keep all his suspects in one place for a few days.
Lady Hermione looked up as the door opened and Isabella Veryan entered, in considerable agitation.
“Hermione! What is this I hear about that wretched woman being found dead—no, murdered!— out on the terrace?” Isabella collapsed on the sofa next to me, and I turned to her with sympathy. Her skin had lost all its color, and her lips trembled.
“Afraid it’s true, Belle,” Lady Hermione said, her voice oddly gentle. She and Isabella stared at each other, engaged in some sort of silent communication. I could read desperation and fear in Isabella, stoic calm in Lady Hermione, neither of which emotions was of much help in figuring out what they were trying to keep hidden from me.
“What can this mean?” Isabella cried. “Who among us would do such a thing? And why?” This melodramatic turn on Isabella’s part made me curious. She hadn’t seemed the type to indulge in histrionics of this nature.
“I haven’t the least notion, Belle,” Lady Hermione responded, her tone becoming brisker. “Buck up, girl; don’t let this overset you! We shall weather the storm; never fear.”
Isabella almost literally stank of fear. I recalled the cryptic threat with which Dorinda had taunted her, and I wondered what skeleton in her closet Isabella didn’t want revealed. Surely it couldn’t be anything that terrible. But she was of a more in-tensely private generation, after all, and while I might think her peccadilloes not all that titillating, she could very well see them in a different light. Ostensibly, Nina wasn’t the only one with a motive to want Dorinda out of the way, but would Isabella have killed to safeguard her secret?
Before I could think of a way to ask a question, the door once again opened, and Giles strode in.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Hermione, but I must speak urgently with Dr. Kirby-Jones.” He stood, waiting.
“Certainly, young man.” Lady Hermione positively beamed at Giles for his show of good manners.
I got up from the sofa and approached Giles. He led me a few steps away from Lady Hermione and Isabella, who fell into a low-voiced conversation the moment they thought we were out of earshot I wanted to listen to them, but Giles’s manner was too urgent.
“Yes, what is it, Giles? Have you found out something?”
We had paused near the door, and Giles opened his mouth, about to speak, when the door opened. Norah Tattersall strode in, literally dragging the local constable by the arm.
She came to a halt just inside the door and pointed at Giles with a flourish worthy of Sarah Bernhardt.
“There he is, Officer! Arrest him immediately! ”
At first I couldn’t discern whether she was pointing at me or at Giles, but from the way Giles suddenly turned pale, I knew he was the target of Norah’s accusation.
“What on earth are you gabbling about, Miss Tattersall?” I asked, striving to keep my tone mild. “Are you accusing my assistant of something?”
Norah’s mouth widened in a triumphant grin. “I saw him on the terrace not an hour ago, arguing with that poor woman. He killed her! ”