Ramsey. He gazed uninterestedly back.
CHAPTER 6
—JANE AUSTEN,
I DON’T KNOW how long we all stared at Gerald before Lauren’s shrieks startled us out of our stupor. She ran to where Gerald lay on the floor and screamed his name and pushed at his shoulder, as if he had merely fallen asleep. Polly, on the other hand, stood motionless. Gazing at her father with an unblinking stare, she seemed rooted to the dance floor. Her face was so deathly pale, I thought she must be in shock. Daniel stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close.
Peter got to Gerald a split second after Lauren and began checking for the life signs we all feared weren’t there. He pulled back Gerald’s suit coat. Against the crisp white shirt, a crimson stain was spreading rapidly. He felt for a pulse and then slowly shook his head.
Without a word, Aunt Winnie ran from the room. I presumed that she was calling the police.
Tom, who only minutes before was playing the role of a philandering husband, spoke first. “We need to secure this room,” he said with brisk authority. “No one touch anything.” His cool and professional manner puzzled me until I belatedly remembered Eric mentioning that Tom was a retired police officer.
Daniel stepped forward. “What the hell are you people playing at?” He glared at the actors. “A man is dead because of you. How could you let this happen?”
Eric’s jaw dropped open in shock. “Us?” he squeaked, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a cork. “We had nothing to do with this! We’re actors doing a show. We don’t even use guns!”
“Well, one of you blundered, then, because in case you haven’t noticed, this man is dead!” Daniel retorted hotly.
Eric shook his head. “You don’t understand, we don’t use guns at all, real or prop. In our show, the victim is stabbed.” Next to Eric, Susie adamantly nodded in agreement, her tawny hair falling over her shoulders. As if to corroborate Eric’s statement, she held up a realistic-looking plastic knife. “When the lights came back on,” she said, “I was supposed to be on the floor with this beside me.”
A tiny part of my brain detached itself from the fact that I was standing ten feet from a dead man and silently crowed that I had correctly guessed Susie as the intended victim. Because of this, it took me a minute for the full meaning of Eric’s words to sink in. Gerald Ramsey’s death was no accident. He’d been murdered.
“Oh, my God!” gasped Joan, as she stared at Gerald’s body. “But who would want to … ?” She sagged heavily into Henry, her question left unfinished, as she yanked her hand up to cover her mouth. Her eyes flew to Polly before she closed them as if in prayer. Jackie made a small noise. We all looked her way.
“Did you say something, Jackie?” asked Linnet. But Jackie slowly shook her head and turned away.
Linnet eyed Tom as if he were nothing more than an irksome insect. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I am not going to stay in the same room with a dead man. A man who was apparently murdered, no less! This is absurd! Who are you to tell us what we can and cannot do?”
Tom listened calmly to Linnet’s tirade but remained firm. He probably had had years of dealing with reluctant witnesses. “My name is Tom Cooper,” he said. “I’m a retired police officer. I understand that this is difficult, but trust me, it’s necessary.”
Tom’s reply had no effect on Linnet’s ire. “Well, Mr. Cooper, I know my rights and you simply cannot keep me here against my will!” She marched to her seat where her purse lay. Whipping out her cell phone, she yanked off her clip-on earring, saying, “I’m calling my lawyer. I know my rights. Do you have any idea who I am?”
“All I know is that you’re a potential suspect in a murder case,” Tom replied. Linnet bristled as he continued unfazed. “No one is to leave this room. We must secure the scene and wait for the police.”
Aunt Winnie returned. With a somber glance at Tom, she quietly said, “They’re on their way.”
Randy walked over to Linnet. “I realize that this is a horrible situation, Mrs. Westin,” he said soothingly. “And that what you are being asked to do is quite extraordinary, but I really think we should do as he says. It will most likely make matters easier when the police do arrive. I am sure that your gracious tolerance of the situation will be appropriately acknowledged.”
I wondered exactly how Randy thought the police were going to acknowledge Linnet’s “gracious tolerance of the situation.” I had an inkling that nothing short of a parade would assuage her monstrous ego. Linnet continued to glare at Tom, but Randy’s words seemed to mollify her. She still watched the proceedings with an icy frown, her rigid posture radiating displeasure. However, she did put her cell phone back and replaced her clip-on. Jackie glanced anxiously at her friend but said nothing.
Aunt Winnie walked over to Lauren, standing mutely beside Gerald, and gently took her by the shoulders, easing her away from the body. Pulling Lauren to her, she guided her toward one of the chairs. After Lauren was seated, Aunt Winnie walked over to Polly, whispered something to her, drew her close, and led her to the chair next to Lauren. The rest of us stood awkwardly, eyeing one another suspiciously. The band of actors seemed especially ill at ease. No longer in character, they huddled together on one side of the room. As planned, there had been a murder tonight, but the premise had shifted. Now they were the spectators and we were the show.
I was struck by the resemblance of the scene to an Edward Gorey cartoon come to life—a room full of uneasy, elegantly dressed people, some standing, some sitting, and none of them making eye contact. And, of course, in the midst of this strange tableau, a dead body lay sprawled on the floor.
But this particular tableau is not a cartoon, I thought. It’s real. And one of these elegantly dressed people just killed a man. A wave of dizziness overtook me and I sat down heavily on one of the chairs and stared at the floor.
Peter appeared beside me. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.
“Of course I’m not all right!” I shot back, my voice a strained whisper. “A man is dead! Murdered!” Nodding in Gerald’s direction, I caught sight of his dead staring eyes and grimaced. A wave of nausea overtook me and I buried my head in my hands.
Peter walked over to the bar. Tom barked out at him, “What are you doing?”
Peter turned. Giving Tom a level look, he said evenly, “Elizabeth feels sick. I’m getting her a glass of water.”
Tom nodded his approval.
“Does anybody else want anything?” Peter asked. Both Jackie and Linnet shook their heads, as did Joan and Henry. Lauren and Polly appeared not even to have heard the question.
Randy stepped forward. “I think Winifred could use something,” he said. Aunt Winnie nodded gratefully.
“I could do with a spot of something, but it isn’t a glass of bloody water,” muttered Daniel, as he turned and rapidly walked to the bar. He poured three generous glasses of whiskey. He handed one to Lauren and one to Polly. The last one he drank himself in short order.
Peter poured the glass of water and came to hand it to me. “Here,” he said. “Drink this.”
I took the glass, but I didn’t drink from it. I was quite sure that I was about to be spectacularly ill. Peter must have sensed this, too, for after a moment, he took the glass away. “Put your head between your knees,” he ordered. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
While I balked at his dictatorial tone, I was too dizzy to argue with him, and so I did as he said. Forcing the image of Gerald’s lifeless face out of my head, I concentrated on slowly filling my lungs with air and letting it out just as slowly. I don’t know how long I sat like that, but gradually my stomach felt less like it had been on a cheap roadside carnival ride. I sat back in my chair. Peter eyed me cautiously. “Better?”
“Yes,” I said. “Sorry I snapped at you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said simply. “Would you like the water now?”
I nodded, even though I really didn’t. But it gave me something to do with my hands. When I was little and was scared or upset, I would count to myself. I don’t know why, but I found the rote repetition of numbers soothing. I reverted to my old trick now as Peter and I sat with the body of Gerald Ramsey in Aunt Winnie’s dining room.
