Make-Believes & Lost Memories Page 8

  No wonder Nataliya was frightened.

  His pale skin was etched with agony, and his eyes, which had been so irritated the last time she’d seen him, were frozen orbs of pain and surprise. Mallory hadn’t expected to see such emotion on the dead man’s face. Elsa Dustfeather certainly hadn’t worn such a tortured expression.

  Mallory’s breath caught in her throat and she backed away, bumping into the wall behind her. She braced herself and then went forward, dropping to the floor even though the rigidity of his body told Mallory that he was dead. She wrapped her hands around Raymond’s wrist. There was no pulse. Mallory stood up and put her hands on Nana’s arms.

  “What happened here?” Mallory shook Nana slightly to snap her out of her paralytic stance.

  “He’s dead?” Nana said and then stared at Mallory, oblivious to her question.

  Mallory moved her hands from Nana’s upper arms down to her wrists.

  “Nana, we have to get up. The police are coming.”

  Nana tore her gaze from Raymond’s body to her face. “He’s dead,” she said. There was no emotion behind her voice.

  “Is that something in his mouth?”

  “What the hell is that?” Nana spluttered.

  It looked like a wadded-up piece of paper. Mallory heard footsteps, and the door opened, Danior and Detective Kaden Bones entered the room. His demeanor was completely different. Gone was the friendly, flirtatious man from the downstairs corridor.

  He looked at the body, then at Mallory. “Did you touch him?” he asked.

  “I felt his wrist for a pulse. I couldn’t find one.”

  He pulled out his cell phone and placed a call. Mallory took the moment to try to speak to her nana to find out what she was doing in Mr. Weasel’s room but she could still pick up snippets of what he was saying.

  “. . . looks like a cardiac arrest,” He hung up the phone and turned to Mallory and Nana. “We need to take your statements. Where do you want to do that?”

  “The guests will be going to bed shortly so perhaps downstairs in the parlor. That way they won’t hear footsteps later when you leave. We can use the secret passage to get down there. It opens up across from the parlor.”

  Kaden nodded. “Sounds good. We’ll just wait here until my team arrives.”

  Mallory turned away from the view of Raymond’s body and guided Nana to the reading nook on the opposite side of the room where she sat her down in the club chair across from the fireplace.

  Dipping his chin, Kaden said, “I’m trying to get a sense of what happened. Can you look around and see if anything strikes you as out of place?”

  Nodding, Mallory moved around the room. She glanced at the bed. The snowy white top sheet had been turned down, and a chocolate truffle wrapped in gold foil rested in the center of each plump pillow. A floral arrangement had been placed on one nightstand, and a stack of novels was on the other. At the other end where Nana sat in the soft club chair was a side table, and adjustable lamp. “Nothing looks out of order. Of course, all of these papers and books belong to him. He was a writer.” She paused. Her eyes automatically drawn back to the body. “Do heart attack victims look like this?” she asked the detective in a hushed voice.

  Detective Bones opened his mouth to answer when they heard a trio of sharp knocks. “That must be the paramedics,” Mallory said.

  The detective opened the door and gestured for the EMTs to enter. After they rolled in the gurney and knelt next to Raymond Weasel’s body, Mallory closed the door partway and stared at Nataliya through the crack. “Did they attract any attention?”

  “None whatsoever,” Nataliya said. “Emilion met the ambulance and led them down the maintenance drive and in through the back kitchen. Lise is keeping everyone busy.”

  Mallory sighed in relief. “Well done. I know you’ve already gone above and beyond for the manor today, but can you stand guard until our stiff bedframe has been moved downstairs?”

  Nataliya stood arrow straight. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done, Ms. Vianu.”

  When she turned around, an officer was crouched over the nightstand, dusting for fingerprints, but straightened when the detective cleared his throat. “There are a lot of prints here.”

  Kaden Bones sighed “I'll need a list of everyone who is and was here while he was a guest.”

  “No problem. Just tell Lise at the front desk that I said to get it for you.”

  The two young men loaded Mr. Weasel onto the gurney and covered him from feet to crown with a sheet. Mallory crept closer as they strapped his body into place, thankful that their movements were both deft and gentle.

  “Will someone be following us?” one of the EMTs asked Mallory.

  She shook her head. “He was with a larger mystery writer’s group but there was no love lost between them, I’m afraid. We should have emergency contact information on his registration form. We’ll need to retrieve that immediately and inform his family of his passing.”

  “I can place that phone call for you,” the detective was kind enough to offer. “You’ve been through quite enough already.”

  The hallway was empty of guests so she turned to the paramedics and waved for them to wheel the gurney across the hall and into the staff elevator.

  17

  M allory recognized the blanket one of the officers had draped over her shoulders. It was the orange and red afghan Nana had knitted. It smelled of sandalwood—Nana’s favourite scent because it reminded her of Grandpa Mik.

  Clutching the rough wool around her shoulders, Mallory took a seat.

  “How many people do you have staying here right now?” Kaden asked.

  Nana looked away from the tall, bulky, costumed man towering over her to Mallory, seated in one of the upholstered chairs in the corner. Mallory held a coffee in one hand, a balled up, damp tissue in the other.

  Mallory answered for her. “We have fifteen rooms all occupied right now, plus six guests in the carriage house, and two in the purple caravan. Including staff, I’d say close to forty.” Mallory closed her eyes and found the image of Raymond’s stuffed mouth on her mind once again.

  The detective turned back to Nana. “I understand you had an argument with him this morning? Did you lose your temper over the article he was writing?” The Detective asked.

  Mallory opened her eyes to see that a very angry Danior had insinuated herself between Nana and the detective.

  “It’s okay, dear,” Nana murmured, resting a gentle restraining hand on Danior’s arm. Danior moved off to the side but folded her arms across her chest.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nana said, her spine stiffening. “As far as I understood, Mr. Weasel was here with his mystery writer’s group working on a novel and attending some of the conference sessions. He was complaining about some of the members of his group, which by the way is something he was always doing—complaining. Perhaps someone overheard us and thought he was upset with me.”

  “You mean to tell me you were unaware of the article Mr. Weasel was writing up, painting you as a charlatan and a fraud.”

  “Wherever did you hear such nonsense?”

  Mallory squirmed. Danior had spoke of this.

  “His notes were in his room. You clean his room, don’t you? They were lying all over. I doubt you could have missed them.”

  “He declined the maid service. It is optional here. I hope that’s not against the law.” Nana retorted.

  Mallory bit her lip to avoid smirking. Danior wore her smirk the same way Detective accusey-pants wore his badge.

  The detective glared at Nana. “You’re telling me you were also unaware that he was the ex-husband to the woman who’d just died and left you the bulk of her estate?”

  “Doreen? Really. No wonder she was so unhappy when I met her. Goodness, and to think of all the stories she told me… they were about him… well, he sure did get his comeuppance. Anyway, where are my manners? Would you or any of the other officers like a doughnut?” Nana asked s
weetly. “We have fresh butter creams.”

  “And some lemon tarts.” Danior added.

  Detective Bones’ left eye twitched. Mallory had seen it often enough. The women in her family were not the easiest to get one over on.

  The detective turned his attention back to Mallory. “I understand you also saw Mr. Weasel’s body. Do you feel up to answering a few questions, Ms. Vianu?”

  After a pause, Mallory nodded. “Yes.”

  “Did you see anyone else in the room with Mr. Weasel besides your grandmother?”

  Mallory heaved a sigh. “No— ” Mallory risked a glance at Nana. She hated that they were painting Nana as the suspect. “She didn’t do it.”

  “And you didn't kill him.”

  Mallory’s jaw dropped. “Of course not. He was a guest and I’m not a cold-blooded killer. No matter how many rude comments or gestures he may have made.”

  “Did he argue with anyone recently?”

  Mallory thought back to this morning. So, it had been Nana and Raymond she’d overheard in the Parlor. She was definitely lying to the detective. It had been an all-out spat in that room. Not that Mallory would blow the whistle on Nana.

  Danior cut in, “he was always arguing with someone: his writers group, the staff, and the other guests over stupid things like noise or the last jelly doughnut. It really didn’t take much to set him off.”

  “She’s right.”

  “Did you know he had plans to blackmail Nana?”

  “No. I would have mentioned it by now if I had.”

  “One more question. Did you recognize the card that was stuffed in his mouth?”

  Mallory’s insides twisted. Was it something from the diary or something that incriminated Nana? “How could I? It was crumpled, and it was evidence. I thought it was paper. What kind of card, exactly?”

  “A tarot card,” the detective responded.

  No wonder Nana was under suspicion.

  The humming of one of the books stole her attention. Mallory did her best to maintain eye contact but the sound to her left was growing louder. Mallory could see the Detective’s mouth moving but she could no longer hear anything.

  “Mal!” Nana barked.

  “Yes?” Mallory finally answered.

  “Ah, good, we thought you’d gone deaf there for a moment.”

  Mallory frowned and shook her head. “I’m sorry. This is the second dead body I’ve seen lately.”

  “Understandable.” Kaden nodded, “I’m sorry if I’ve seemed abrasive. Let me know if you think of anything else.”

  18

  A LTHOUGH they’d manage to keep the scene away from the guests, it wasn’t long before people noticed Raymond’s absence, and rumours spread throughout the manor that something had happened to him. Mallory did her best to ignore the situation, but eventually she had to admit that Raymond was dead, although she didn’t mention the tarot card in his mouth and simply said it was a heart attack.

  There were two couples who’d checked in three days ago and weren’t due to leave for another four days—they were waiting some distance down the hall, suitcases in hand.

  “I’m going upstairs,” Nana said unhappily.

  Mallory had never seen her so despondent.

  She gave her a hug and fought to keep a calm face, but it was difficult. “Why don’t you take tomorrow off too? Let me prove to you that I can handle things. Sleep in, have a bath and spend the day reading or meditating. I’ll work on something to make the guests happy.”

  One of the new arrivals was complaining loudly to Lise at reception, Mallory gave Nana a reassuring smile and stepped forward to deal with the situation just as she heard Danior intervene.

  “The bartenders in the lounge make an array of special drinks here at the manor. Might I suggest the Wonderful Alice Appletini or the Van Helsing Highball,” she said, offering a voucher to a displeased lady guest. “And if you’d prefer a non-alcoholic beverage, we have cucumber punch and a host of coffee mocktails.”

  “Perfect. I’ll take two,” the woman said happily and Mallory smiled with relief. She’d turned the disgruntled guest’s mood around.

  Danior murmured something to another agitated guest about free drinks at the bar. The man nodded enthusiastically and then dashed off. Mallory was about to chastise her but then she realized what a brilliant idea it was. Let’s see, they had three large groups on site, the Bloggers, Mystery Writers and the Victorian Ladies Society. If the guests wanted to focus on death, then they would do it in a fun and fictional way to distract them from reality.

  “Lise, can you please make an announcement over the speakers and phone system?” Mallory tapped her chin and tried to think of the best way to phrase it. “Let the guests know that we’re having an impromptu Victorian mystery themed cocktail party tonight. They can expect their invitations within the next hour.”

  She’d been planning a Baker Street Murder Mystery Dinner, anyway. So, Mallory had the game, and the decorations done and the kitchen was stocked to execute the menu.

  Mallory realized Lise and Danior were both staring at her, awaiting further instruction. “Tell them dinner will be a set menu served at 6pm followed by drinks and dessert in the garden. Dress code is formal with the option of dressing as their favourite book or movie character. There will be a mystery game in play and a prize will be given to the winning team as well as the best-dressed guest.”

  Lise gave Mallory a baffled look, Mallory tried again. “You know, just like we always do on the final night of any group package. We’re just doing it early this time.” Mallory looked at Danior and signaled that she should get moving too.

  Danior’s eyes darkened. “I’ll get one of the kitchen guys to carry up the champagne from the cellar.”

  “No, I’ll ask Emilion to do it. You call your band and tell them I’m paying them to play here tonight.”

  Danior’s eyes lit up. “Really.”

  Nana never let her play here at the Manor. She didn’t like any music that didn’t involve a fiddle.

  “Yes and tell the kitchen staff to get working on the hors d'oeuvres. I’ll track down Nat and break the news that we’re moving dinner up.”

  “She won’t be happy. You know how she hates last minute changes.”

  “I know. She’ll just have to deal with it, like the rest of us.”

  “What about the dessert? I don’t have the crime scene cupcakes done.”

  “See what you can come up with. You have four hours.”

  “I have an idea,” she said, and with that, she spun on her heels and headed for the kitchen.

  Lise sidled up to Mallory. “Do you really think they ought to be celebrating when someone’s just died?”

  “What choice do we have?” Mallory said. “These people paid for a vacation. I need them to forget that someone just died here. Besides people need comfort in times like this. It’s best if they all stick together.”

  Lise nodded in agreement.

  “Where’s Emilion, anyway? I need his help.”

  Lise looked around. “He was just here. I’ll text him. You need the champagne brought up, right?”

  “Yes.” Mallory grabbed the stack of invitations from the decorations box in her office and headed up the main staircase. Luckily, she had extra since they sometimes hosted conference events. Mallory looked down at the mock invitation she would need to slip under each and every door. It requested their presence at 221B Baker Street at 6:00 p.m. There was a map on the back that labeled all the locations. This was their first hint about the mystery’s plot, and although the details on the engraved invitation were almost nonexistent, Mallory knew they would pique everyone’s imagination. She headed down the hall to deliver them but as she passed by Raymond’s room, she heard music. What was her intuition trying to tell her? She unlocked the door with her skeleton key and followed the sound to the place where Raymond had been found. The violin seemed to be emanating from the floor. She got down on her hands and knees and swept her fingers along t
he floor beneath the nightstand. She hit something and sent it skittering.

  A lipstick tube?

  She’d seen this lipstick somewhere, but she couldn’t remember where. Oh well, it would come to her. In the meantime, she had work to do. She stuck the lipstick in her pocket and left the room.

  19

  A well-timed gong subdued the half dozen conversations, and it was during this lull that the lights went out. Then a high-pitched laugh erupted from one of the dining room waitresses. It was followed a second later by an angry shout, then several loud and colorful insults.

  A curious excitement rippled through the guests as they looked around the room. Suddenly, the chandelier lit back up and Danior, dressed in purple silk took the microphone welcoming everyone to the Victorian Mystery Dinner Party.

  An hour later, most of the guests were finishing up their bangers and mash. Danior and Mallory had eaten quickly, and they now buzzed around the dining hall, also known as 221 B Baker Street. They’d only given out three of the ten clues but a dozen theories were already in circulation.

  “The legal advisor is obviously the killer,” a tall, dark haired woman from table three was telling her friends.

  “I suspect the Earl,” came another knowing comment. “What about his wife?”

  They would be moving to the garden patio soon for cocktails, dessert and dancing so Mallory went to inspect the space.

  The French doors to the patio were open and the sound of a guitar drifted in. Mallory guessed that Danior’s band was warming up.

  The garden offered flowers of all types and colours. The effect was both elegant and mysterious. Not to mention the contents of the dessert table: champagne punch, cheese, bread, disposable cups, napkins stamped with the Manor’s logo, red velvet cupcakes, platters of chocolate dipped fruit, and a variety of homemade cookies. Mallory made a mental note to praise the kitchen staff for pulling this together on such short notice.