Murder on a Mystery Tour

‘We saw it! We saw it!’ Brigid squealed. ‘We saw your ghost!’

‘You saw it—you think,’ Lauren said. ‘I didn’t see anything.’

‘It was there—right ahead of us. And then it wasn’t!’

‘It wasn’t there at all. You were seeing things. You know you’re too high-strung—you always were.’

‘I wasn’t. I’m not. It was there—a tall pale brown man in a navy blue shroud.’

‘You’re sure it wasn’t a grey flannel shroud?’ Even Dix had a hard time keeping a straight face.

‘Or crimson?’ Haila asked meaningly.

‘You’re all laughing at me,’ Brigid pouted. ‘I saw it, I tell you. I could draw you a picture of it, except it disappeared so fast. Into thin air.’

‘Best place for it,’ Bertha Stout said sensibly. ‘Now stop worrying about it and let’s get on with the search. We’re looking for Bramwell Barbour—not ghosts.’

‘Besides, it’s daylight,’ Haila said. ‘Spirit manifestations usually occur between dusk and dawn. It was well after the witching hour when I heard those footsteps.’

‘That just shows how much you know.’ Brigid was still sulking. ‘It didn’t make any sound at all. So there.’

‘Whatever it was, it isn’t here now,’ Stanley Marric said impatiently. ‘Let’s get on with the search. We have two more floors to cover—and I suppose there’s a cellar?’

‘It’s mostly a wine cellar,’ Midge said. ‘I’d rather you didn’t go in there. We don’t want the wines disturbed.’

‘There’s too much out-of-bounds around here,’ Haila complained. ‘I don’t see how we can do a proper job when half the Manor is closed to us.’

‘Stan’s right, we’re wasting time,’ Asey Wentworth said. ‘We’ve got to find our favourite author. Why, poor Mrs Barbour must be worried sick.’

‘I am,’ Amaryllis agreed through clenched teeth. She did not seem terribly worried. The expression on her face boded ill for Bramwell when he was found.

‘Anyway,’ Dix said, ‘we’ve done this floor. Let’s go on to the floor below—and keep a sharp eye out. That’s the floor he disappeared from.’

The sound of typing rose to meet them as they descended the stairs. They exchanged glances and quickened their steps.

‘He’s back!’ the twins cried and raced each other down the stairs. ‘Bram! Bram!’ They hammered on the door of the Barbour suite. ‘Where have you been?’

‘I’m afraid—’ Midge cut short their rapture—‘that’s Mrs Carterslee you hear typing. She works on her new book every day until lunch-time.’

‘Does she?’ Sheer malice glinted in Amaryllis’s eyes. ‘Of course,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘I suppose Bramwell might be in there with her.’

The twins promptly switched their attention to Evelina’s door. The typing faltered to a halt.

‘What is it?’ Evelina opened the door, looking both abstracted and distracted. ‘Is the place on fire?’

‘Worse!’ Brigid said dramatically. ‘Bramwell is missing!’

‘Oh, really?’ The news seemed to strike Evelina as something less than earth-shaking. ‘What do you expect me to do about it?’

‘We want to search your rooms—’ Boldly Lauren pushed against the door and stepped forward. ‘We’re looking every-where for him.’

‘Well, you won’t find him here.’ Evelina tried to stem the relentless advance.

‘He might have slipped in without your noticing.’ Brigid stepped sideways and through the gap as her twin pushed at the door. Automatically, the others followed, until they were all inside the sitting-room and Evelina had retreated to guard her desk and manuscript.

‘Do what you want to do,’ she said in exasperation. ‘And then get out. I’m trying to work.’

‘So wise of you,’ Amaryllis murmured. ‘The critics all said your last one could have used a lot more work.’

‘Were those the same critics who recommended a diet of saltpetre and tranquillizers for Adam MacAdam and Suzie Chong? I must say I agreed. Bram is going to go straight from the mystery lists to the porn lists—with never a stop at Mainstream—if he isn’t more careful.’

‘Speaking as a mere reader and fan—’ Dix interrupted the exchange. ‘I have been thrilled to find both of my favourite authors under the same roof—and to discover that they have been in such close proximity for some weeks. It makes me wonder if I dare hope that they might have been collaborating? I can’t tell you the thrill it would be for us fans to think that we could look forward to having Luigi von Murphy, Adam MacAdam and Suzie Chong appearing in the same book—working on the same case.’

‘I hardly think our styles—’ Evelina began.

‘That’s not a bad idea.’ Amaryllis cut her off. ‘It could be quite provocative—and lucrative. Luigi von Murphy meets Suzie Chong …’ A far-away expression crept over her face as she contemplated the possibilities. ‘That poor, frustrated quasi-monk, blossoming like a jungle flower when exposed to the understanding, the warmth, the generosity of Suzie Chong. It has distinct possibilities.’

‘I don’t think—’ Evelina said.

‘Yes, yes, I can see it now.’ Amaryllis closed her eyes, her face rapt. ‘Luigi von Murphy has never met a woman like Suzie before. She will inspire him—release him. He will create a liqueur especially for her—and then a perfume. And he will know that it is his last perfume. No other woman will ever be able to inspire him so again. For Luigi, she will always be the woman!’

Her eyes still closed, Amaryllis was unable to observe that Evelina had turned an interesting shade of puce.

‘And, of course,’ Dix prompted, ‘Adam MacAdam would understand?’ Was there a wicked gleam in his eye?

‘Adam MacAdam always understands,’ Amaryllis said.

‘I have an even better idea,’ Evelina said dangerously. ‘As I visualize it, that pagan trollop and her married-in-name-only paramour have never met anyone like Luigi von Murphy before. After such a close encounter with the goodness, the kindliness, the saintliness of Luigi, they see the error of their ways and repent. They forswear their wicked lives and retire, Adam MacAdam to a monastery, and Suzie Chong to a nunnery. And how about a touch of Abelard and Heloise—Bram has plagiarized from practically everyone else in the history of erotica? In true repentance—not to mention striking another blow for militant feminism—and also, since neither of them appears to have a relative to their names, Suzie castrates Adam herself. After all, she’s done everything else with and to a man!’

‘How dare you?’ Amaryllis snarled.

‘I really do think—’ Midge tried to intervene—‘that it’s time for—’

‘He isn’t here,’ Brigid reported, re-entering from Evelina’s bedroom.

‘He’s not here, either.’ Lauren emerged from the spare bedroom, a cheated expression on her face. ‘We’ll just have to keep on searching.’

‘It’s nearly lunch-time,’ Midge announced firmly. ‘Why don’t you go to your own rooms and freshen up? I’m sure Bramwell will be back soon. He might even be in the dining-room when you go in for lunch.’

‘He’d better be.’ Stan caught Midge’s arm and spoke softly. ‘I think I ought to tell you that I’m a lawyer in real life and if you let those crazy broads stampede us out into that storm and somebody catches pneumonia, I will personally handle the lawsuit when they sue you. Fun is fun, but you can’t carry on the game to the detriment of the health of the players. If you’ve got Bramwell Barbour hidden away in the private quarters, I suggest you whistle him up before the game gets out of hand.’

‘Oh, really,’ Midge said faintly. ‘I’m sure Bramwell will appear for lunch.’

‘He’d better,’ Stanley Marric said grimly and moved away.

‘Take it easy.’ Now Dix grasped her arm. ‘He’s only trying to frighten you.’

‘He’s succeeded,’ Midge said. ‘We couldn’t cope with a lawsuit. It would wipe us out. We’d be—’ She broke off. There was no need to admit how close to the wind they were sailing.

‘Take it easy,’ Dix said again. His face was stern. There’s entirely too much litigation in the States, most of it unnecessary. I don’t think he’d have a leg to stand on, anyway. You aren’t forcing your guests out into the storm. If they’re crazy enough to let a pair of feeble-minded neurotics order them about, that’s their problem. They’re all adults, they can always say no.’

‘They seem to think it’s part of the game,’ Midge said. ‘But it isn’t—honestly. Bram was just escaping from those ghastly females for a while. Only they’ve set up this hue and cry and are trying to chase him down.’

‘Blood sports,’ Dix muttered, ‘I was always against them.’ He released her arm and gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. ‘Don’t you worry. It’s not going to happen.’

‘I’ll guarantee that,’ Midge said. ‘Bramwell is going to make an appearance at lunch—whether he likes it or not.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ Another encouraging pat.

‘I don’t care!’ On the far side of the room, fresh trouble had erupted. ‘You can do what you want—but I’m not giving up. I’m not eating, either!’ Brigid stormed towards the door. I’m not deserting Bramwell in his hour of need!’

‘Neither am I!’ Lauren was right behind her. ‘But I don’t see why we can’t eat first. It won’t do Bram any good if we collapse.’

Some of the others had already left, Midge noticed. Those who remained were standing around irresolutely while the combatants glared at each other.

‘Now that you’ve searched my rooms—’ Evelina seemed close to real-life murder as she spoke icily—‘perhaps you’d be good enough to leave me in peace to get on with my work. I was hoping to finish a chapter before lunch.’

‘We do apologize,’ Dix said earnestly. ‘I can assure you, we were not the moving spirits in this intrusion.’

Evelina nodded coldly. She was not interested in who had started the invasion, she was only interested in ending it.

‘Lunch will be served in half an hour,’ Midge announced firmly.

It worked. There was a concerted rush for the door. Evelina slammed it only slightly behind them.

‘It’s all right,’ Lettie greeted Midge as she entered the kitchen. ‘We’ve done all the rooms, but Grace is fairly knackered now. How about letting her get murdered before Hermione? She could use the rest.’

‘All right,’ Midge said, ‘but make it after tea, rather than lunch. I think everyone could do with a quiet interval. They’ve been racing around searching for Bramwell.’

‘Not all of them,’ Lettie said. ‘The sensible ones have been stretched out in front of the fire, catching up with their Thirties paperbacks. Some of them have even been playing bridge. And Bram’s had a lovely peaceful morning helping Cedric.’

‘Yes, but I’m afraid his peace is over. If he doesn’t put in an appearance at lunch, they’re planning to search for him outside—’

A gust of wind hurled snow against the window-panes with a slapping sound. It was worse than ever out there.

‘And we can’t have that,’ Midge finished. ‘They don’t know their way around. If any of them got lost in this blizzard …’ She shuddered.

‘I take your point,’ Lettie said, ‘but it does seem hard lines on poor Bram, to throw him to those—those wolverines.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Midge said firmly, ‘if it comes to a choice between him and us, it’s going to be him. I’ve already been warned that we’ll be sued if anyone catches pneumonia.’

‘You’re right—it’s going to be him.’ Reggie had come up behind them silently. ‘You’re a nice girl, Lettie, and your kind heart does you credit, but if you want to save Bramwell from a fate worse than death, you’re going to have to make an honest man of him and marry him yourself. Why don’t we announce the engagement at lunch?’

‘Don’t even joke about it!’ Midge was aghast. ‘Those Chandler harpies would tear her limb from limb. I don’t think they’re normal.’

‘Not to mention his mother,’ Lettie said. ‘We could use another diversion—but not that much of a one.’

The sharp peal of the bell startled them all, then Reggie swore briefly.

‘We’ll disconnect it while she’s at lunch,’ Midge said quickly. ‘This is too much. We can’t cope with her demands as well as those of a houseful of guests—’

‘Impossible,’ Reggie said flatly.

‘I’ll explain to her myself—’ Midge broke off, realizing that that was not what Reggie had meant. She followed his gaze to the number swinging in its little box.

‘Impossible,’ he said again. ‘That room’s unoccupied.’

‘Oh dear. It must be those Chandler twins. They’ll be barging into the private quarters next.’

‘Let me go up there.’ Lettie started for the door. ‘I’ll give them the scare of their useless lives!’

‘Ignore it,’ Midge said. ‘We haven’t time now. We’ve got to start serving lunch.’

‘You still have a few minutes,’ Reggie said. ‘Most of them are still in the bar. I just came out for more ice.’ He opened the fridge and began filling the ice bucket.

‘Suppose you break it to Bram,’ Midge suggested to Lettie, ‘that Workers’ Playtime is over. He’s on duty in the dining-room—as of now.’

Later, in the dining-room, the Chandler twins blissfully fussed over Bramwell. ‘But where were you hiding?’ Brigid pouted accusingly. ‘We looked everywhere.’

‘I was working,’ Bramwell said curtly.

His mother regarded him with a speculative eye, which he refused to meet. He was also stubbornly deaf to the jokes being made at his expense.

Reggie poured wine lavishly into the waiting glasses, as though it were liquid sunshine to make up for the storm outside. Midge and Lettie raced between kitchen and dining-room, trays piled high with serving dishes.

‘I say—’ A plaintive voice spoke from the doorway. A tall, thin, bronzed man stood there. ‘Doesn’t anyone answer bells around here any more?’

All conversation stopped, all eyes turned towards him.

‘It’s him!’ Brigid screamed. ‘It’s the ghost! I’m going to faint!’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ her twin said. ‘You can’t see through him. He’s as alive as you or me. I think.’

‘What—?’ The man fell back a step, looking around wildly.

‘I know who he is.’ Bertha Stout rose to her feet. ‘Look at that tan!’ She pointed. ‘He’s the tea planter from Ceylon. He’s Petronella’s father!’

‘Daddy!’ Petronella took up the cue. She pushed back her chair and rushed to throw her arms about the stranger. ‘Oh, Daddy, darling! You’re here!’

The man fell back under her onslaught. Midge and Reggie closed in on each side of him, took his arms, and rushed him into the kitchen.