Downstairs, Patrick led the girls across the entrance hall and through a set of doors to the wood-paneled living room. It was furnished with oversized, comfortable sofas and chairs. On the far side of the room, half a dozen people were clustered near an enormous carved-stone fireplace next to a second set of double doors. A cheery blaze crackled on the grate, filling the air with the scent of burning firewood.
Once Nancy, George, and Patrick had joined the group, Kate Jefferson introduced everyone. Nancy had already met Maxine Treitler and Bill Denton, so she made a special effort to remember who the others were.
A bald, portly, middle-aged man in a tweed suit turned out to be Professor Marsden Coining, a leading expert on popular crime fiction. He was chatting with an attractive young woman with pixie-cut blond hair, who was wearing a blue suit with a brightly colored silk square knotted loosely at her neck. Kate introduced her as Erika Olsen, a new senior editor at the publishing house of Cameron & Sweazy.
“Oh, Patrick,” Erika said, taking his arm. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.” Glaring at Nancy and George, she walked him out of earshot.
George bent close to Nancy and whispered, “Look’s like I’ve got competition—and I’m not even competing!”
Next, Kate introduced the girls to Julian Romarain.
“Hi, all.” Julian appeared to be in his late twenties, with dark hair and a well-trimmed beard. He was wearing faded designer jeans, a tooled belt with a silver buckle, and a polo shirt with a little skull and the words Murder to Go embroidered on it.
“What’s Murder to Go?” George wanted to know.
“That’s my company,” Julian replied. “We stage mystery weekends at romantic resorts. The guests try to solve mock crimes. We bring in experts, too. You know—detectives, mystery writers. It’s a lot of fun.”
“It certainly is,” the woman next to Julian said. She was tall and slim with light brown hair. She had an ageless face—Nancy couldn’t tell whether she was closer to thirty-five or fifty. “I’ve taken part in two or three of Julian’s weekends, so I know.”
“Thanks, Vanessa,” Julian murmured.
George’s eyes widened. “You’re not Vanessa Van Ness, the novelist, are you?” she asked breathlessly.
The woman smiled. “Why, yes. Why do you sound so surprised?”
Nancy noticed George start to blush. “I love your books, but somehow I expected you to be—different.”
Vanessa Van Ness raised one eyebrow. “You mean short and tubby, with white hair, a black dress, and a shawl around my shoulders?”
“Don’t forget the high black shoes that button up the side,” Professor Coining said.
“And the bag of knitting to hide a revolver in,” Erika added as she and Patrick rejoined the group.
“No, no—the bottle of poison,” Julian put in. “Revolvers are much too noisy and make a mess.”
George’s face had turned bright red, Nancy saw. She looked as if she wished she could sink right through the floor.
“Never mind, dear,” Vanessa said, putting an arm around George’s shoulders. “We’re just teasing you a little. People so often expect me to be like the characters in my books. But as you can see, I’m not.”
Turning to Kate, Vanessa asked, “When are we finally going to see the famous figurines?”
The change of subject was so abrupt that Nancy was sure Vanessa had done it to spare George any further embarrassment.
“We’ve been keeping them in the safe while we’ve had a special display case made for them,” Kate replied. “But I’m glad to say the case is finished at last. We’ll have a formal installation right after dinner.”
Nancy remembered reading about the figurines in the conference pamphlet. “You’re talking about the jeweled gold figures of the characters from Dorothea’s novels, right?” she said.
Kate nodded. “Her publisher had them made for her, as a sign of appreciation for her wonderful books.”
“Her very profitable books,” Bill added.
“I can’t wait to see them,” Erika said excitedly. “They’re legend in the publishing world.”
While the others continued talking about the jeweled figures, Patrick said to George, “I hope you’re enjoying yourself so far.”
George returned his broad, warm smile. “We’re having a terrific time.”
“A lot of Aunt Dotty’s collection is across the hall, in what used to be another sitting room,” he continued. “How would you like a private tour later?”
“I’d love that,” George replied. “I mean, we’d love it,” she added quickly, glancing at Nancy.
Nancy was starting to feel like a fifth wheel. Saying she wanted to get some punch, she left George and Patrick.
She noticed that Vanessa was gazing at a painting of a man with a white beard. Nancy looked at the painting and was surprised by the way the man’s eyes seemed to bore directly into hers. “Do you know who that is?” she asked Vanessa.
“Sure. That’s Harrison Polk.”
Nancy’s face must have reflected the confusion she felt.
“Dorothea’s late husband,” Vanessa explained. “She used her maiden name for her books, you know.”
“I didn’t even know until today that Dorothea had been married,” Nancy admitted.
Vanessa nodded sadly. “It was a great shock to Dorothea when Harrison died,” she said. “He seemed to be in such splendid condition. He was still running marathons at the age of fifty-four. But one day a couple of years ago, he came in from playing tennis, stepped into the shower, and fell dead of a massive heart attack.”
“How awful!” Nancy said.
“Yes. Dorothea changed after that. She became more—I don’t know—more inward.” Vanessa patted her light brown hair distractedly. “It was as if she was constantly wrestling with some deep problem. Questions about life and death, I suppose.”
Nancy turned as Maxine joined her and Vanessa. “Vanessa, you really have to read Dorothea’s last book,” Maxine said. “Kate gave me the manuscript today, and I read it all afternoon. It’s very different from anything Dorothea ever did before.”
“Last book?” Vanessa raised a questioning eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“It’s called Crooked Heart. It’s the story of a perfect murder, told from the point of view of the murderer,” Maxine explained. “I must say, it’s very convincing. I’m sure it will cause a huge stir. It’s a guaranteed best-seller.”
Nancy noticed that some of the others had overheard and were moving closer.
“Hold on,” Erika Olsen put in. There was an interested gleam in her blue eyes. “Are you talking about an unpublished manuscript by Dorothea? A completed work? That’s mine!”
Bill Denton pushed into the group. “You’re both out of line,” he said. “I’m still the agent for Dorothea’s works. Anything she wrote has to come through me.”
“I’m sorry, Bill,” Maxine said firmly. “I wasn’t planning to mention this to anyone, but you’ve forced my hand. Shortly before she died, Dorothea told me she was planning to look for a new agent. She wasn’t entirely happy with your handling of her royalty payments.”
Bill’s face turned bright red. “That’s a lie!” he sputtered. “Dorothea owed her success to me. She said so herself!”
Maxine murmured something so softly that only Bill—and Nancy, who was standing next to her—could hear. “I taped the call,” she said. “All of it.”
In an instant Bill’s face went from red to white. “I—I’ll talk to you after dinner,” he muttered to Maxine.
Before Nancy even had time to wonder what that was all about, Erika stepped forward to face Maxine. “I want that book,” she demanded.
“I’m sure you do, dear,” Maxine replied calmly. “But you can’t have it.”
Erika’s left hand toyed nervously with the knot of her silk scarf. “Look,” she said, “Dorothea promised it to me. I convinced her that Cameron & Sweazy could do more for her than your house, and she agre
ed to move.”
“Then why didn’t she?” Maxine asked sweetly.
“She died,” Erika blurted out. “I had no idea that she’d finished the manuscript she promised me.”
“You don’t have a contract for it,” Bill said. “Dorothea never signed a contract without my okay.”
“No, I don’t,” Erika admitted. “But I bet Maxine doesn’t, either. How did you get that manuscript, anyway?”
“That’s my doing, I’m afraid,” Kate said, putting her empty punch glass down on a nearby table. “After Dorothea died, I found a big envelope marked ‘To My Editor.’ There was a note attached from Dorothea, asking me to keep it safe and not deliver it until the Mystery Mansion museum was ready to open. I just assumed that ‘My Editor’ meant Maxine, so I gave her the envelope this morning.”
“You should have given it to me,” Bill said, frowning. “I’m her agent.”
Nancy saw that the squabble had attracted George’s and Patrick’s attention, too. Catching George’s glance, Nancy rolled her eyes. Vanessa Van Ness and Professor Coining had retreated to the couch, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. Julian Romarain stood protectively next to Kate, who was trying to arbitrate.
“I’m afraid that I should have kept the manuscript and asked the Burden Foundation what to do with it,” Kate said. “Dorothea left the rights to all her works to the foundation, so it owns this manuscript, too. Maxine, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to ask you to give it back until we can resolve this.”
“Of course, dear, I understand,” Maxine said. “But I can’t possibly return it before I’ve found out all the sordid details of the murder! I’ll bring it to you tomorrow morning.”
“That’ll be fine,” Kate told her.
Just then a young man wearing black pants, a white shirt, and a bow tie slipped through the double doors near the fireplace, closing them behind him. Kate hurried over to him, obviously relieved to escape the argument over Dorothea’s manuscript.
“Dinner is ready,” she announced, pushing open the double doors that led to the dining room.
“I’m starved,” George told Nancy as they joined the rear of the little crowd following Kate. “The last thing I ate was a—”
She broke off as those at the front of the group stopped short. Nancy heard gasps and exclamations from them.
“What’s going on?” she asked. Even standing on tiptoe, she couldn’t see over Vanessa Van Ness.
Finally the others stepped into the dining room and moved to one side. Nancy’s mouth fell open when she saw what they were exclaiming about.
A long mahogany table set with fine porcelain, silver, and crystal occupied the center of the wood-paneled room. A dozen tall candles in three silver candelabra cast flickering light on the table, on the oil portraits on the wall—and on the still figure of a man in a butler’s uniform lying on the floor.
The room was just bright enough for Nancy to make out the maroon silk cord knotted tightly around the man’s neck.
Chapter
Three
GEORGE DUG her fingers into Nancy’s arm. “Nancy!” she gasped. “Is he—”
“I don’t know,” Nancy replied, her throat suddenly very dry.
“We have to do something!” Vanessa exclaimed. She rushed forward and knelt next to the body. When she looked up, her face was red and she spoke angrily. “This is not a funny joke!”
Confused, Nancy glanced quickly at Patrick. There was no mistaking the amusement on his face. When she glanced back at the body, she noticed this time that there was something strange about the way it was positioned.
“Wait, everybody,” Kate said, pushing forward to face the shocked group. “Let me explain.”
“No, let me,” Julian insisted, stepping up next to her and touching her hand for a moment. “What you see is not real,” he told the group. “The ‘body’ on the floor is actually a dummy. Kate asked me to set up this and several other ‘crimes’ as tests of your detecting abilities.”
“Rubbish,” Professor Coining muttered loudly.
Ignoring the professor, Julian took an envelope from Kate and held it up. Nancy could see the Murder to Go skull in the upper left-hand corner.
“In here,” Julian went on, “is a full explanation of the crime and its solution. You have five minutes to study the scene of the crime, without touching anything. Then we’ll discuss it. The person who comes closest to the solution is the winner. Any questions?”
Professor Coining scowled. “Yes. Why are we wasting our time with this?” Obviously he had no interest in the challenge. Then again, he was an expert on mystery writing, Nancy recalled, not on mysteries themselves.
“Oh, come on, Marsden. Maybe this isn’t so bad,” Vanessa said. “Be a sport. This won’t take long.”
Under Julian’s direction, the guests lined up and slowly filed past the dummy. While Nancy was waiting for her turn, she studied the rest of the room. Hanging in one corner was a maroon silk bellpull that ended in a ragged edge about six feet above the floor. A horn-handled carving knife lay on the floor just below the bellpull. On the sideboard, she spotted a case that contained a horn-handled carving fork and an empty space the size and shape of the knife. A heavy crystal decanter stood next to it on an engraved silver tray. The decanter had smudges around the neck and on one side.
“This is sort of fun,” George whispered as she and Nancy moved closer to the dummy. She fell quiet when it was their turn to examine the crime scene.
Nancy studied the dummy, which was lying on its back, its head skewed to one side. It was dressed in gray- and black-striped trousers and a black swallowtail coat. A shaggy mustache dominated the face, and gray gloves covered its hands. Stooping down, Nancy examined the soles of the dummy’s brown shoes. Dried mud was caked on the heels.
On the floor next to the dummy was a half-filled black cloth sack. An ornate silver teapot poked out of the sack, and half a dozen silver spoons and forks were scattered across the rug in front of it.
“Erika’s turn,” Julian said.
Nancy and George stepped out of the way.
“Do you have any ideas?” George whispered.
“A few,” Nancy replied, smiling. “But I think I’ll wait to see how the others solve the case.”
Bill Denton was the last one in line. He glanced at the dummy, gave a snort, and said, “Simple.”
“Does that mean you’ve solved the mystery?” Julian asked. He took a pen and a small notebook from his pocket.
“What mystery?” Bill scoffed. “It’s obvious what happened. There was a burglary, and the butler was the inside man. He and his partner got into an argument, and his partner strangled him. End of story.”
Julian made some notes, then asked, “Does anyone have any questions about Bill’s theory?”
Nancy cleared her throat. “Yes,” she said. “Why did the partner leave the loot behind?”
With a shrug, Bill replied, “He got spooked by something. He lost his head and ran.”
“Why did he strangle the victim?” George spoke up. “Wouldn’t it have been faster and easier to stab him with that carving knife?”
Good question, Nancy thought. And it was obviously one Bill Denton hadn’t considered.
“How should I know?” the agent huffed. “Maybe he couldn’t stand the sight of blood.”
Erika was standing just behind Nancy. “I don’t understand,” she said, stepping forward. “What was the butler doing while the other guy was cutting down that bellpull? Just standing around waiting to be strangled?”
Bill scowled at her. “I never said I knew everything about this stupid game. Have you got a better solution?”
“I’m not a detective, I’m an editor,” Erika replied. She glanced at Patrick, obviously hoping to catch his attention, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“How about the rest of you?” Julian asked. “Does anyone have a different solution?”
Nancy was pretty sure she knew the answer, but she didn’t fe
el comfortable about being the first to come forward. There was an uncomfortable silence, until Vanessa Van Ness broke it. “Well, I did notice a few rather odd things,” she said slowly.
“Yes?” Julian prompted.
“I suppose a butler might wear gray gloves, though white is more correct,” she began. “And although butlers are almost always clean-shaven, it’s possible that one might have a mustache. But a real butler would never wear brown shoes with his uniform. And certainly not brown shoes with mud on them. So I have to conclude that the victim was not a butler—he was merely disguised as a butler. Why? Because he was planning to rob the house. And judging by the bag of loot next to the body, he was in the middle of doing it when someone came upon him and killed him.”
Julian smiled and made a few more notes.
“Yes, but who?” Erika asked impatiently.
“I think we can make an excellent guess,” Vanessa replied. “Someone came in, carrying a heavy decanter on a silver tray. He spotted the burglar and knocked him out with the decanter. Then, overcome by a murderous rage, he took out the carving knife, cut down the bell cord, and strangled the unconscious burglar with it.”
“That’s just guesswork,” Bill growled.
Vanessa shook her head. “Not quite. If the silver tray had been on the sideboard, the burglar would certainly have put it in his sack with the rest of the loot. So the killer must have brought it into the room. And the smudges on the decanter show that someone held it by the neck and hit something with it. I suspect that if we analyzed the side of the decanter, we’d find traces of hair cream.”
“Bravo, Vanessa,” Maxine put in. “I like that touch.”
“Yes, but who did it?” Erika asked again.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Vanessa’s eyes twinkled as she took in the circle of faces. “If any of the rest of you know the answer, let’s all say it together. One—two—three—”
Nancy joined the chorus of, “The butler did it!” Then everyone in the room cracked up—except Bill Denton.
“I still don’t see why you think the butler did it,” he grumbled.
Nancy couldn’t resist speaking up. “The killer came in carrying the decanter on a tray,” she explained. “When he saw the burglar from the back, dressed as the butler, he knew instantly that he was an imposter and bopped him with the decanter. He knew because he himself was the butler. Also, he knew where to find the carving knife, which he didn’t think of as a weapon, because for him it was a tool for cutting things—like the bell cord. After he’d cooled off and realized what he’d done, he ran away.”