Jane Vows Vengeance

while interrogating a familiar.”

Jane turned out the lights and followed Lucy into the hall.

“You’re really quite horrid. You know that, don’t you?” Jane said.

Lucy turned and smiled at her. “I love you too,” she said. “Now get back to your little Indian.”

“My what?”

“Your little Indian,” Lucy repeated. “Remember, the Agatha Christie novel?”

“I’d forgotten all about that,” said Jane. “Yes, I’ll get back to my little Indian. Good night.”

While Lucy took the stairs to the next floor, Jane walked back to her room. As she did she found herself humming the rhyme about the ten little Indians. She couldn’t remember all of it, but one verse came to her.

“ ‘Four little Indian boys going out to sea,’ ” she sang. “ ‘A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.’ ”

She stopped just as she reached the door to her room. An idea was forming in her head. She stood very still, allowing it room to grow. Then she laughed lightly. Oh, Agatha, she thought. You are a clever old bird.

Suddenly she couldn’t wait for the morning.

Chapter 22

Wednesday: Venice

“Good morning,” Jane said pleasantly as she walked into the hotel dining room.

“Good morning,” Chumsley called out. “Come and sit by me, my dear girl.”

“Thank you, but no,” Jane replied. “I have something to say, and I would prefer to do it standing.”

Walter, who had come down a few minutes before Jane (she had purposely arranged it that way), set down the glass of orange juice in his hand and looked at her. Jane avoided his gaze.

They were all of them staring at her now, some with expressions of curiosity, some with expressions of annoyance, and some with no expressions whatsoever. Jane stood for a moment in silence, letting the tension build, then announced, “I know the identity of the murderer of Ryan McGuinness.”

Genevieve, who was eating a croissant, set it down. “Are you confessing?” she asked.

“No, I am not confessing,” Jane snapped. “I am identifying.”

“And what makes you think you know who the murderer is?” said Enid. She was holding an egg cup and, with a spoon, was poking with great determination at the soft-boiled egg inside it.

“We’ll get to that,” Jane replied. “In the meantime, Lucy and Ben, would you please shut and guard the doors leading out of this room?”

This too had been prearranged, just in case the guilty party tried to make a run for it. Lucy and Ben walked quickly to the doors on either side of the room and closed them. They then took up positions in front of them, their arms crossed and frightful scowls on their faces. Lucy had suggested they wear sunglasses so as to look more like Secret Service agents, but Jane had dismissed the idea as too gimmicky.

“You’re locking us in?” said Chumsley. He looked at Walter, who shrugged.

“If you look around you,” Jane said, “you will notice that one member of our party is not here.”

Everyone looked about, taking inventory.

“Miriam isn’t here,” Sam said.

“She’s not feeling well,” Walter told her. “A bad oyster.”

“There was no bad oyster,” Jane informed him. “And I wasn’t referring to Miriam, as she isn’t technically a member of the party.”

“What do you mean there was no bad oyster?” Walter asked. “I thought you said—”

“It’s Bergen,” said Genevieve, interrupting. “Bergen isn’t here.” The tone in her voice suggested that she expected some kind of reward for having guessed correctly, like perhaps a gold star or a piece of candy.

“Is Bergen the murderer?” Orsino said.

“I knew it!” Brodie declared, banging his hand on the table so that the coffee cups rattled. “It’s always a German!”

“Strong words coming from an Australian,” Enid said. “Your country was founded by criminals, as I recall.”

“Like the Scots are any better,” said Chumsley, snorting. “Woad-faced skirt-wearers.”

“Just because Ryan was a better lover than you ever were—” Enid began.

Chumsley stood up. “Let me tell you something about how good a lover he was—”

“Shut up!” Jane yelled. “You’re ruining everything!”

All eyes turned to her.

“Sit down!” she ordered. “Now!” she added when Chumsley didn’t move quickly enough.

When everyone was seated she took a breath. “Now then, let’s start over, shall we? And please, no more interruptions until I’m finished.”

Walter raised his hand.

“Yes, darling?” Jane said.

“I was wondering if, before you begin, you could tell me what’s happened to my mother?”

“Of course,” Jane replied. “I’m fairly certain that she’s been kidnapped by Bergen.”

A chorus of voices erupted as everyone began to speak at once. Jane picked up a teaspoon and banged it against the side of a chafing dish filled with sausages. The cacophony ceased.

“I’m afraid that’s all I know at present,” Jane told Walter. “But I have every reason to believe that she’s safe. At least for the moment.”

“Then Bergen is the murderer?” Sam asked.

Jane shook her head. “No,” she said. “Bergen is the murderer’s assistant.”

“Then who is the murderer?” said Genevieve.

“A very good question,” Jane answered. “As everyone is aware, initially I was considered by some to be the most likely suspect.”

“And you’re not now?” Enid said.

“Perhaps in the minds of some,” said Jane. “But that will soon be cleared up, as I intend to unmask the murderer in a few moments.”

She looked around, waiting for someone to leap up. She half hoped someone would, as it would confirm her suspicion. But she was also rather pleased that no one did, as she was enjoying herself.

“Almost everyone in this room had a reason to despise Ryan McGuinness,” she began. “Except you, Walter. Of course you’re not the murderer.”

“But I didn’t like him,” Walter said. “I thought he was a jerk.”

“That’s not generally a strong enough reason for wanting to fling someone from the top of a tower,” Jane said. “However, there are people here who do have very good reasons for wishing ill will on Ryan McGuinness.”

She turned to Enid.

“Let’s begin with you,” she said. “We all know that you and Ryan were lovers.”

Enid nodded. “Which makes it highly unlikely that I would want him dead,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Any child should be able to see that.”

“Except that you had reason to believe he might be seeing someone else,” Jane said. “Isn’t that right?”

Enid shrugged. “I might have heard some things,” she admitted.

“But what you didn’t know was that the other object of Ryan’s affections was”—she swung around and pointed at Chumsley—“your ex-husband.”

A collective gasp went up from the table. Chumsley threw down his napkin. “Who told you that?” he said.

“I saw you coming out of Ryan’s compartment on the train to Pembroke,” Jane said. “At first I thought you