That was one way of describing the man. I could think of several other terms, which while more fitting wouldn’t be appropriate to share with his daughter. I snuck a glance at Polly. She was still staring at her father, her face an unreadable mask. Quite suddenly, an expression of pure hatred crossed her face. As quickly as it had come, it was gone, and the controlled mask was firmly back in place. It happened so fast that I wondered if I had imagined that look.
I felt for her. It must be hard to go through life with a father as obnoxious as Gerald Ramsey. I wondered if she often found herself apologizing for his rude behavior.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said finally. “Aunt Winnie didn’t seem upset.”
“I’m glad. She seems like a nice lady. I hope she never sells this place.”
That surprised me. “Oh, I don’t think you have to worry about her selling anytime soon. She loves it too much.”
“I hope so, but you don’t know my father. When he wants something, he usually gets it.” In a low voice, she added, “Just tell your aunt to be careful.”
Before I could ask what she meant by that, Daniel walked up. “Well, here you are! Why are you two hiding in the corner?”
Polly smiled at him. From across the room, Gerald barked out, “Polly! Come here!”
Her smile instantly died and her checks grew red, but whether from shame or anger I couldn’t tell. “Excuse me,” she said quietly, and slowly walked to where Gerald stood.
Daniel watched her go, his lips pressed together in a thin, angry line. “That poor kid,” he said finally. “He’s a real prat.” He absentmindedly ate a cheese puff and surveyed the room. In one corner Linnet stood talking to Jackie. Daniel observed them quietly. With a nod to Linnet, he then said, “So, I take it that’s the fine lady who single-handedly saved Ms. Tanner from a life of abject poverty?”
I glanced at him in some surprise, and he shrugged. “She made it pretty clear.”
I shook my head, all the more sorry for Jackie. “Yes, that’s Linnet. I guess they’re old school friends. Apparently, when they were younger they were going to go off to Hollywood together.”
Daniel ate another cheese puff. “Really?” He eyed them critically and then pronounced, “Well, they look like they once had the gams for it.”
“What?” I sputtered with a laugh.
“Their legs. Being a connoisseur, I’ve found that there are really only two kinds of women’s legs. Their ankles either curve in nicely from the calves or they don’t. With the latter you get that tree-trunk appearance.”
I knew the look he meant—that was a perfect description of my legs. A guy I once dated had cruelly referred to them as “cankles.” I hoped he was dead now.
I shifted my weight uncomfortably and prayed he wouldn’t look down. He did turn to me but thankfully he didn’t look at my legs. Leaning in closer, he stared into my eyes and my heart beat a little faster. “You look quite lovely tonight, Elizabeth,” he said.
Before I could respond, Susie walked by, and in the time it takes to say “fickle,” his attention had transferred from me to her. “Save me a dance?” he said, before popping another cheese puff in his mouth and trailing after Susie. I had a sudden urge to hurl the heavy tray at his beautiful English head.
Making my rounds once again, I saw Tom raise his eyebrows at Susie. She, in turn, checked to see that Steven was looking the other way before nodding her head in affirmation. Glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed this exchange, I saw Karen, her face contorted with rage, glaring at Susie. When Karen noticed me watching her, she turned on her heel and marched toward the bar, where she accepted a drink from Peter and quickly downed it.
The grandfather clock in the front hall chimed. It was a quarter to nine and time to seat everyone for dinner. Aunt Winnie smoothly showed the guests to their assigned seats, while Peter and I went to the kitchen to load the plates.
“So,” said Peter, as he tossed the baby arugula with the champagne vinaigrette, “do you have a guess as to who’s going to be murdered?”
“My money is on Susie,” I replied. “Although, if she gets shot in the chest, she’s in grave danger of deflating.”
Peter laughed and meowed at me. I studiously ignored him. Aunt Winnie joined us a minute later, and the three of us served the first course of salad with warm pears and walnuts, followed by the beef filets with Gorgonzola sauce.
Aunt Winnie had seated at least one of the actors at each table. Susie and Steven sat with Joan, Henry, Daniel, and Polly. Tom and Karen sat with Aunt Winnie, Randy, and Peter. I was seated at a table with Lauren and Gerald, Linnet, Jackie, and Eric.
The purpose of this arrangement, of course, was for the guests to find out more about the murder. Unfortunately, Henry seemed to have missed this and monopolized the conversation at his table with rapturous tales of Mrs. Kristell Dubois’s latest addition to her estate—an enormous outdoor fireplace. I heard Daniel politely ask if Mrs. Dubois was fond of s’mores. Beside him, Joan’s face was awash with embarrassment and her none-too- subtle hints that he drop the matter went unheeded.
At our table, Eric talked freely and loudly about his friendship with Steven, dropping hints and making innuendos about fitting justice for infidelity in a marriage. Peering out at him from underneath her hat, Jackie peppered Eric with questions. As for Linnet, she occasionally added to the conversation, but it was hard to get an edge in with Jackie. Gerald paid more attention to his food than to us, and Lauren was so quiet she could pass for a mute. I tried several different conversation openers with her, but without much success. Books didn’t interest her. She hadn’t seen any of the movies I had seen. Even my question about politics was answered by Gerald, who flatly told me, “She votes Republican, like me.”
Finally I said to her, “I really love your dress.”
Bingo! She lit up. “Why, thank you!” she said. “When I saw it, I just fell in love with it. And you know what they say. Pink is the new black.” There was a short pause during which she realized that I was wearing a black dress. “Well, I mean, black is very nice, too.” I decided that perhaps it wasn’t necessary for me to engage Lauren in conversation after all.
Soon everyone had finished dinner; coffee and dessert were served. In the interest of saving time, we had agreed that this course would not be served seated. Instead, we set up the coffee, cake, and plates on a side table for those who were interested.
Aunt Winnie increased the volume of the music, which she had lowered for dinner, and lost no time in grabbing Randy and heading for the dance floor. The two of them now dipped and twirled in perfect time with each other. Daniel and Polly were also dancing. Loudly announcing that he had no intention of dancing, Gerald watched them with a grim expression from our table. No doubt he considered the activity to be a damned tedious waste of an evening.
It wasn’t only the volume of the music that had increased; the tension among the actors was now palpable. Karen appeared quite drunk. Steven was so upset he had developed a stutter. Tom was pretending that everything was fine, but whenever anyone spoke to him, he had trouble making eye contact. Eric stood very quietly by the bar, watching Steven. Only Susie seemed untouched by the tension. She laughed freely and flirted with all the men. But one thing was clear—something was about to happen.
And then it did. Without warning the room was pitched into inky blackness. An excited gasp went up from the guests. The “murder” was about to happen. Around me, several voices began talking at once. “Oh, it’s starting!” “Ow, that’s my foot!” “I can’t see a thing.” “This is asinine.” (This last comment was uttered by Gerald, of course.) I listened for any subtle “clues,” but there was nothing subtle about what happened next. I saw a flash of green and heard a pop. It was followed by a piercing scream. Someone fell heavily, sending dishes and glasses smashing to the ground in the process. I was just thinking that Aunt Winnie was going to be upset if her good china was broken all for the sake of the show, when I was roughly pushed aside and I heard a voice yell out, “For God’s sake, get the lights.” An icy finger slid down my spine—the panic I sensed around me seemed too real to be part of the show. I blindly stumbled for the door when the lights came back on. Blinking at the abrupt brilliance, I tried to get my bearings. The first face I saw was Eric’s. That’s when I knew that something was terribly wrong. His complexion was ashen and his eyes were wide with fear. No matter how good an actor he was, I could tell the horror on his face was real. I turned my head and saw why.
As Frank Sinatra’s rendition of “It Had to Be You” blared around me, I stared down at the still body of Gerald
