Page 97 of Killer on the First Page
“That does sound like Larry.” Helen stared at the smarmy-looking man who was sprawled out on the velvet settee. “You, I don’t know.”
He gave her a tip of the head and a mock salute. “Lachlan Todd, King of the Locked-Room Mystery.”
“Lachlan Todd?” She turned the name over in her head. “God, not the same Lachlan Todd who wrote that infamous ‘Red Herring’ episode?”
“That’s me!” he said. He still didn’t understand the meaning of the wordinfamous.
“The one that ended with the line ‘I knew something fishy was going on’?”
“A classic,” said Lachlan, still not getting it.
Helen ignored him, turned to the others. “Please understand, I never dreamed it would end in murder.” A flutter of a smile, however, suggested that, although surprised, she was not necessarily disappointed. “All of you, fighting over my John’s remains like jackals.Envy, lust, pride. The Seven Deadly Sins personified. Kane, so greedy; Fairfax, so envious; Penny, so proud; Inez, so theatrical—and Ray, so duplicitous. And then there is poor Cephus: anger, the final sin, that forgotten member of the Seven, the one who never made it, the one who showed up in Idaho because he wanted to meet real writers and maybe become one himself someday. You stole his life, Ray.”
“That’s what writers do,” said Ray. “They take people’s stories, make them their own.”
Wanda had made the same argument—That’s what authors do—and it didn’t wash any better coming from him.
“He’s working on a memoir, did you know that?” Helen said. “Cephus is. Not fiction, but true crime. Amoraltransgression, not a mortal one. The memoir of a crime committed—a theft. I’ve recommended he bring it to my husband’s publisher. Ray, the truth comes out in the end. It always does.”
“If he libels me...”
“You’ll do what?” Helen asked, amused. “Sue him? How droll. Or will you silence him like you did Kane? Like you did Fairfax?”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
Itcouldhave been Ray, thought Miranda. It might have been Cephus. In fact, it could have been anyone—except Inez. That’s what Ned had said, and he was right. Or was he? Those two handprints on her buttocks certainly seemed like a time stamp, placing her upstairswhen the murder occurred below. Miranda looked to the paper book bag that Geri was now holding, the one with the saucer and fork inside, and in that moment everything fell into place.
Oh no, thought Miranda. Oh no. What did you do, Owen? What did you do? The meaning of that misplaced saucer and fork was now eminently, irretrievably clear...
In an Ellery Queen novel, this would be the moment where the story would stop, the fourth wall would be broken, and the reader would be challenged to solve the case. But, of course, this wasn’t an Ellery Queen novel, this was a Miranda Abbott mystery.
CHALLENGE TO THEREADER
All the information required to solve the mystery has now been presented. You already know where and when and how each murder was committed. All clues have been revealed, and everything you need to know has now been supplied to help you deduce who the killer is.
With a heavy heart, Miranda interrupted Helen. “I apologize, Ms. Ross, but I have a question for someone here. A single question.”
The room grew tense.
“The floor is yours,” said Helen Ross, stepping back.
“Geri,” said Miranda. “Last night at the reception, you stuck to your serving schedule?”
“Always!”
“Like clockwork!” said Gerry.
That’s what I was afraid of, thought Miranda. “Andrew, the reports you wrote up will be most illuminating in this matter.”
“They will? Cool!” He couldn’t believe that the work he’d done was finally going to be of use. “How so?”
“I’m sure Ned will confirm this later, but as I recall, Owen provided an alibi for Inez, signing a statement that he was upstairs with her when the murder occurred, that they’d gone up before eight. Yet he left behind the saucer and fork from Bea’s peach cobbler, which was served at 8:16 p.m. Was Owen mistaken? Or was he lying?”
Andrew said, “I asked him,Where were you from eight o’clock on?We were trying to place everyone’s whereabouts at the moment Kane was killed. Owen swore he’d gone upstairs with Inez.”
“No one move,” said Ned. He pulled out his phone, speed-dialedmechanic. “Owen? Hi. Ned here, got a question for you. No, not about my oil change. I know, I know, you’re very busy. Where are you now? Bookstore, you say? Changing oil at the bookstore, are you? Nope? Didn’t think so. Anyhoo.” (He always said “anyhoo” when he was exasperated.) “Bea’s peach cobbler last night, you had some? You did? Upstairs, you say? You went up there with Inezafterthe cobbler was served? Nope, that’s not what you told my deputy. Why would you lie about that? Don’t cry, Owen, it’s okay. No, no, we’re still friends.”
Ned hung up. “Owen says when they came downstairs after their, ahem, make-out session, Inez pulled him aside and said, ‘Remember, anyone asks, we went up therebefore dessert was served.’”
