Shadow of Reality (3 page)

The last bites of the velvety chocolate mousse cakes served at each table had barely had time to slide down the throats of the satisfied guests when Weldon Stark went to the microphone. He welcomed the company of international super sleuths assembled at Kilcliffe Manor House to solve the questions surrounding the death of one of England’s most glamorous ladies. “While our cast is assembling to reenact the crime for you,” he said, indicating the formally laid dinner table on a raised dais at the front of the room, “I want to give the proper credit due to my friend Sir Gavin Kendall for the crime’s inception.”  Gavin, walking toward the platform with the other cast members, gave a jaunty wave in response.

“Two years ago I was in London researching the background for a book, and Sir Gavin took me to dinner at his club. Over some excellent brandy we began trading mystery plot ideas. I will admit that each plot seemed to improve with each brandy…” The audience laughed, and Stark continued, “What you are about to witness tonight, ladies and gentlemen, is ‘Death by Candlelight,’ as conceived by Sir Gavin Kendall and a bottle and a half of brandy, as adapted by Weldon Stark.”

The audience applauded as a spotlight was turned on the stage set table. Elizabeth reached for her notepad and pen, as the others were doing. It would be essential to catch all the details of what they were about to see in order to solve the mystery.

Weldon Stark narrated: “It is March 15, 1933, and the Ides of March are upon the elegant, but faded, Yorkshire estate of theatrical agent Nigel Cass. It is there that he is hosting a weekend party to celebrate the engagement of the glamorous actress Gloria Glitz to peer of the realm and best-selling mystery writer Sir Linden Leigh.”

Nigel entered the stage, escorting a stunning blond. She wore a clinging gold dress, which revealed a back bared to below the waistline when she turned to greet her fiancé with a kiss.

“A violent spring storm has swept across the moor, cutting off electricity and phone service, and isolating the mansion and its inhabitants.” The thunder produced by the technicians was made even more realistic by the actual rain cascading down the windows of the dining room.

At the entrance of a maid wearing a black dress and white ruffled apron and cap, Stark continued, “Millie Maeda, Gloria’s maid and companion, will have to wait on the table tonight because the other servants were stranded in town when the storm broke unexpectedly.”

Millie announced the entrance of the remaining guests: “Miss Suzanna Sweetly and Mister Brian Rielly.” The platinum Suzanna in a pale blue chiffon gown was moonlight eclipsed by the golden sun that was Gloria Glitz. Susie’s companion, in a ruffled evening shirt and continental hairstyle, kissed the ladies’ hands and bowed to the men before the guests moved to the table. Nigel, as host, sat at the head with Gloria, the guest of honor, on his right, and Suzanna to his left. Sir Linden sat next to Gloria; Brian next to Suzanna.

Elizabeth made a quick sketch of the table, noting the placement of each guest. True to the title of the play, candles blazed brightly from two large candelabra on the table. She couldn't help wondering if a candlestick was to be the weapon of choice.
Colonel Mustard
,
in the Parlour, with a candlestick
. She had always loved playing Clue.

As soon as the guests were seated, Nigel stood, holding the glass of champagne Millie had just served, and offered the toast. “My friends, we are here to celebrate the happy event of the engagement of Miss Gloria Glitz and Sir Linden Leigh, two of the brightest lights of the London social world. Long may they shine together.” Sir Linden smiled at his betrothed and absentmindedly ran his finger around the rim of his wine glass during the speech. “To the happy pair!” Nigel finished.

With cries of “Hear, hear!” and “The happy pair!” Susie and Brian drank while Gloria and Linden rose to acknowledge the toast.

“And to our friends.” Linden returned the toast and raised his glass.

“Our friends,” Gloria agreed. They each put their glasses to their lips, then, linking arms, took a sip from each other’s glass.

In a rush of excitement, Suzanna jumped from her chair and ran to embrace Gloria. “I’m so happy for you, darling!” And for just an instant Susie’s hand paused above Gloria’s water goblet.

The company returned to their seats, and Millie served the Almond Cream soup that had been waiting in a tureen on the sideboard. Brian was the last to be served. Just as Millie reached over his shoulder with the round, flat soup plate, he turned and bumped her, sending the thick creamy liquid down the front of his ruffled shirt. Susie gave a cry of dismay and Millie said over and over, her cockney accent thicker than the soup, “I’m ever so sorry, sir. Reelly I am, ever so sorry.”

In the scramble of solicitude over Brian’s shirt, Brian exchanged napkins with Gloria. To add to the general confusion, Linden, in handing his napkin across to Brian, tipped over his champagne glass. “Millie, clear this away and bring me a fresh drink!” Linden barked. Millie, glad for an excuse to be removed from the soup-spilling scene, was quick to obey.

With order finally restored, Gloria turned to Nigel. “Well, darling, do you think it would be safe to ask you to pass the relishes?”

“I shall attempt to do so without mishap. If you will allow me…” With a flourish he selected the largest stalk of celery, sprinkled salt on it, and presented it to Gloria. “You see, my dear, I haven’t been your agent for all these years without learning how you fancy your celery.”

For a moment all was quiet while the guests ate. Gloria took a spoonful of soup, then a bite of celery, wiped her mouth on the napkin, and sipped from her water goblet. At a sign from Nigel, Millie removed the soup plates and began serving the lobster medallions en gelee.

Suddenly Gloria broke the silence with a strangled choking sound. Her hands at her throat, she tried to cough. Her face turned a pale gray-blue (testimony to the expertise of the lighting technicians). Linden Leigh sprang to his feet. With his arms around Gloria’s chest, he attempted to dislodge whatever was choking her. But, with aid once again from the lighting technicians, Gloria turned bright cherry red and slumped forward.

Leigh continued his first-aid attempt, but at last Nigel picked up the limp, diamond-encircled wrist and after several seconds said, “I’m afraid it’s no use, old boy.”

Millie screamed. Susie fainted. The lights went out.

Weldon Stark’s voice cut through the dark. “What killed Gloria Glitz?”

When the lights came on again the first to speak at the Blithe Spirit table was Irene. “Well, what do you think?”

Everyone leaned toward the center of the table, not wanting their comments to be overheard by a competing team.

“It looked like an accidental choking,” Anita ventured.

“It also looked like everyone had an opportunity to poison her.” Cathy Johnson voiced what Elizabeth’s notes revealed.

“What about motive?”

“I can’t wait to start interviewing suspects tomorrow—there was a lot more going on than met the eye, you can bet on that.”

“I hope it wasn’t in the soup—that’s what I ordered for dinner.”

“What do you think, Dr. Spenser?” Anita Crocker touched his arm.

“Call me Richard, please. Did you notice…?” Elizabeth could hear no more as he turned to the woman beside him.

“Well played, Sir Linden,” Bill Johnson greeted the return of their celebrity.

“Thanks, awfully. Good show, what?” He remained in character as he took his seat and accepted a cup of coffee from the waiter.

Elizabeth laughed. “You are a man of many parts, Sir Gavin Kendall, Albert Campion, Sir Linden Leigh…”

“Shhh,” he silenced her, looking over his shoulder. “I say, one can’t be too careful. Scotland Yard could be anywhere, and those fellows do get the wind up a bit about people running around under false identities. There’s no end to the things they can—”

Gavin’s banter was interrupted by a growling rumble that grew steadily louder like the approach of a freight train. The table shimmied. The whole room vibrated violently. Elizabeth felt Richard grab her shoulders and push her to the floor. “Get under the table,” he ordered everyone around him.

It could have been no more than a minute or two that they crouched under the protection of the heavy oak table while the earth shook around them and crystal and china clanged and clanked over their heads. But to Elizabeth, who was sure that at any moment the entire hotel would tumble from its perch, it seemed like hours as the earth rocked under her.

What had she gotten them in to? It had been her own flippant, insistent maneuvering.  Her own desire for a good time on her terms.  Would they be flung off the mountain or buried under a pile of rubble all because she had been determined on having her own way?

Help!
Her internal cry resounded to the dark, empty universe far more loudly in her ears than the roaring that continued around them. And the shock was almost as great to her system. how long had it been since she had asked anyone or anything for help?  When had she ever dared admit to a personal weakness?  If they were all to be killed was her last thought to be a shameful admission of her own weakness?

She held her eyes clamped so tightly shut it almost stopped her breathing. And she refused to admit she was thankful for the comfort of the masculine arm around her shoulders. But perhaps most alarming of all was the fact that her terrified internal cry for help received an answer.
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty…

Where did that come from? When one shouted at the universe, one did not expect a reply. Then she smiled. Not the universe replying. Her own subconscious. A line remembered from the Hebrew Poetry class she taught, emanating from some remote corner of her mind. 

The words calmed her in spite of the continued trembling of the mountain.
He shall deliver thee from…the noisome pestilence.…
The roaring seemed to be receding, as if the freight train that hit them was rushing on down the tracks.
Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night.

The rumble had almost died away and the quaking stilled when the lights went out, leaving the room in a blackness relieved only by the light of the fireplace and the flickering candles in the center of each table. Richard helped Elizabeth to her feet and righted her chair, which had been knocked over in the confusion. For a moment everyone was quiet, dazed by the experience. Then each person gave way to individual reactions: swearing, laughing, crying, talking. Elizabeth, who was trembling violently in spite of her best efforts at control, suddenly became aware of the fact that she was gripping Richard’s arm with both hands. “Oh, am I hurting you?”

“No, no. Of course not. Are you all right?”

Her trembling gave way to laughter, shrill and jerky, on the edge of hysteria. “I’m fine. Would you look at that—it didn’t spill a drop of water.” She pointed to the goblets on the table. “I didn’t know Colorado had earthquakes. I’ve never been in one before.”

“I have. Twice when I was in college in California. But it didn’t feel like that.” Richard helped Elizabeth to her chair. “I’m not sure it was an earthquake.”

“Then what…?”

A spoon banging on a glass at the front of the room turned everyone’s attention to Weldon Stark who now had to speak to them without the aid of a microphone. “Well, how about that? Didn’t we tell you we would spare no effort to bring you an exciting week?” The laughter was nervous, but it helped ease the tension.

“The management assures me that the hotel has its own emergency auxiliary power unit. Just as soon as they can get the coal-fired plant stoked up, we’ll be in business again. In the meantime, we ask you to remain in your seats so no one will walk into any doors or anything. The house physician is here.” A dim form next to Stark raised his hand. “If any of you received cuts or bruises, our charming young Dr. Pearsall will be glad to attend to you just as soon as the lights are on. And, ladies, he isn’t married.”

The lighthearted chatter helped soothe ragged nerves, and Stark had barely finished speaking when the chandeliers flickered on. Everyone’s sigh of relief changed to disappointment, though, when they went out again. A minute later, the lights came on again and stayed on two or three seconds before going off. The third time, everyone held their breath, then gradually relaxed as the lights continued to glow steadily.

“Looks as though we’re going to have light. Thank goodness for that, anyway.” Richard turned to Gavin. “Would you like to come back to the room now and see that bibliography?” Gavin assented and they turned toward the corridor.

“Richard! You aren’t going to work tonight, are you?” Well, she had held the inducement of sharing expertise with Gavin Kendall, and she did know what a one-track mind Richard had.  But after all they had just been through this really was too much.

“This isn’t work, it’s fun. Besides, there may not be time later in the week.”

She threw up her hands in surrender. “Gloria Glitz is murdered before our eyes, the whole hotel is practically thrown off the mountain, and you want to read a bibliography of thirteenth-century Latin sources.”

“Certainly; it’s at times like this one needs the still calm of the classics.”

Elizabeth knew he was teasing her, so she quit arguing and walked along with the two men. Reminding herself again that she had gotten Richard to come this week with arguments that it would be good for his work. “The reason I prefer the Sayers translation is that, in her hands, the universality of Dante’s spiritual quest really comes alive. It’s more than a translation; she shares his journey…”

Elizabeth smiled at Richard’s words—she’d been right—he did need to balance his superb scholarship with a feel for more popular literature. She had heard Richard’s speech before, so she let her mind wander back to the experience they had just been through. What a miracle that no one was seriously hurt.  She hoped the old hotel hadn’t received any structural damage. Although she was outwardly calm, she was filled with nervous excitement—the adrenaline level in her blood was probably high enough to make it unsafe for her to drive.