Death Dangles a Participle (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series) (25 page)

Alec nodded. “If you’ll just linger only a few minutes more, please.” He held out his hand. “Mrs. Swanson, it would seem Mr. Nathan here has a fondness for those lovely apricot confections. If you would be so kind?”

Hester smiled and nodded.

“Something smells delicious,” someone said behind me.

I turned. Blakely Knight stood at the entrance. He moved smoothly inside, followed closely by Lily Burns. “I hope you folks don’t mind, but I brought a date.” He tossed a sidelong glance at Alec and placed Lily’s hand in the crook of his arm.

Even from across the room, I could feel Alec take a long, deep breath. He applied a hearty smile to his hairy countenance and boomed, “Of course, of course! Please, enjoy the refreshments!”

From her place at Blakely’s side, Lily gave me a strange look, part smug smile and part cringe. I smiled back vaguely and went to get myself a plate.

I had eaten a hearty breakfast, but I was starving again. Hester had managed to arrange quite a spread at a moment’s notice, and she had pulled out Mother’s best company party pieces to dress up the occasion. On a three-tiered plate were finger-sized egg salad and ham sandwiches; an arrangement of tiny crudités and olives; and on the bottom, toast points and a variety of razor-thin slices of cheese. The aforementioned apricot tarts shared a large platter with cranberry-filled cookies and chocolate-dipped shortbread fingers.

The handmade sweets, I knew, had been commandeered from Chez Prentice’s commodious freezer and simply thawed. They were intended for just such an occasion as this. Well, not exactly like this.

I took one of the gold-rimmed dessert plates and a napkin and proceeded to load up. Since coffee was out of the question—it still made me gag—I asked Hester to fetch a glass of milk from the kitchen.

I glanced at my watch. It was almost time for the festival to open, and I knew that most of these people had places to go. With my plate of goodies in one hand, I made my way over to where Alec was explaining to Marcel how he had painted the Chez Prentice snow replica.

“It’s getting late, Alec. These people need to leave. Why don’t we just let them?” I whispered in his ear just before I popped an egg salad sandwich into my mouth, then one more for good measure. These were teensy sandwiches.

He seemed startled, then recovered himself. “Quite right, m’dear. The company was so pleasant, I almost forgot.”

He moved quickly over to the pocket door and closed it, then cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for coming this morning.”

The room fell silent as most of the guests turned pleasantly smiling faces toward him.

What on earth was he going to do?

“However, we had another reason to gather you all together, and the charming Miss Amelia will now explain.” He made a broad gesture toward where I stood chewing, and the collective gaze shifted accordingly.

I stood, paralyzed with surprise.

Alec had organized the tennis match, figuratively speaking, then tossed the ball in my court.

Why did I ever want a sidekick in the first place?

“Um, mff,” I began, chewing quickly and swallowing with difficulty.

A thought had just occurred to me, and it wasn’t a pleasant one. In the fictional scenes Alec had mentioned, Hercule Poirot already knew who the guilty party was. I hadn’t a clue, so to speak, and I was going to have to wing it. How did one go about getting a killer to confess?

I began again, “Well, yes.” I set down my plate and milk glass on a nearby table and dusted off my hands. “That is, I am a great believer in communication and, er, dialogue among people, you know. That is, Alec and I are.”

The looks I was getting now were puzzled, at best.

“What I mean to say is, I think we can all agree, I mean...”

A few confused frowns.

“Okay. Lately, there have been a number of really strange things going on.”

“What d’you mean by that?” Chuck Nathan had put down his own plate and given me his full attention.

Kevin Shea added his two cents. “Yeah, what?”

Judith Dee looked puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”

“All right,” I said carefully, and grabbed the first idea that popped into my head. I directed my gaze noncommittally toward a nearby chair arm. “Somebody sent some flowers—a flower, I mean; a single flower, that is—with a weird message.” I didn’t look up, but felt a stirring in the room. “It said, ‘You’ve killed him.’ Don’t you think it’s important to find out who killed whom?”

Police Sergeant Dennis O’Brien stepped forward. “Amelia, what are you doing?”

“That was private and personal!” Blakely Knight barked. I looked up and felt skewered by his scowl. “Who told you that?” He looked over at Chuck Nathan. “You?”

“What’re you talking about? All I know is this gal,” the florist pointed at Mrs. Daye, “orders one big honkin’ lily to be sent to the high school, which is weird, all right, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

Mrs. Daye’s eyes widened.

“Amelia, what’s this all about?” Dennis said.

“Oh, yeah, my Serry saw it all,” Kevin Shea said. “She saw you and this, this, gigolo guy getting lovey-dovey in the teacher’s room.”

“What?” I said, appalled at the outright lie.

“What?” Lily said at the same time, going dead pale and backing away from Blakely.

“Gigolo?” Blakely Knight said in chorus with us.

The entire room erupted into confusion, with everyone talking at once.

“How do you get out of here? I’m leaving!” Kevin Shea shouted, slapping the closed pocket doors.

“I must say,” Judith Dee commented mildly, “this is the strangest party.”

Even the president of my fan club, Fleur LaBombard, approached me with a frown. “Are you accusin’ us of something?”

Alec stood off to one side, shaking his head.

Don’t look at me. You’re the one responsible for this disaster
, I said to him with my eyes.

“Stop!” A high-pitched scream cut through the din. “Stop this! It was me!”

The noise subsided, except for heavy sobs coming from Mrs. Daye, who collapsed into a chair.

Everyone instinctively formed a circle around her. Kevin Shea stopped attempting to leave and joined the group.

Dennis O’Brien stepped forward and knelt beside her. “What do you mean, Mrs. Daye?

What did you do?”

Tears streamed down the woman’s cheeks. “My . . . my name’s not Daye. It’s really Knight.” With a shaking hand, she pointed to Blakely. “Ask him. He’s our son.”

Blakely’s hostility was palpable. “I’m no son of hers,” he growled, “or his any more, for that matter. My own mother died two years ago—not that they cared.”

“Oh, Blake, we tried to reach you when Harriet died. We did.”

Dennis brought things back to the point. “What exactly did you do, Mrs., er, ma’am?”

“The flower—that stupid lily. I sent it to Blake. He wouldn’t talk to me, kept hanging up on me, sending back my letters unopened. I thought if I jarred him a little bit, it would make him get curious, contact me or something.” She started crying again. “But it didn’t work! It just made trouble for all you nice people.”

Dennis looked up at Blakely. “Is that right, Knight?”

Blakely frowned fiercely. “Not that I owe anybody an explanation, but yes, this is my stepmother who ran off with my dad twenty-nine years ago last Easter. And I guess she was the one who sent me that rotten flower.”

“It—that—” Chuck Nathan sputtered.

“It’s just a figure of speech,” I hastened to reassure him. “It was a beautiful flower.”

“You should know,” Kevin Shea put in snidely.

Blakely ran a hand over his eyes. “I just gave the flower to Mrs. Dickensen on a whim. It didn’t mean anything at all,” he said with exasperation.

“But it did!” Blakely’s stepmother finished using the handkerchief Dennis had given her and added, “He is dying, your father! Or he could soon! He’s even got me planning his funeral! That’s why I needed to talk to you.”

Blakely went pale.

She continued, “He needs a kidney transplant right away, Blake. We need you to get tested. I’d do it myself, but I’m—I’m not a match.”

Blakely turned and found a chair for himself. “Tested. To give him one of my—”

Mrs. Knight nodded. “That’s right. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

Lily Burns piped up, “You bet it is! You’ve got a lot of nerve—”

“Shut up, Lily. You don’t know anything about it!” Blakely barked. He stood and came over to Mrs. Knight. “Look, you’ve got a room here, right? Why don’t we go up there and talk about this.”

The older woman nodded. She allowed herself to be assisted to her feet and escorted through the now-open door by Blakely and Dennis.

Silence fell on the room, then was broken by people fumbling with cups and saucers and mumbling about how it was time to leave.

Judith Dee put her hand gently on my arm. “It’s very sad, isn’t it? It gives one food for thought.” She moved toward the door, nodding and murmuring, “Food for thought.”

Chuck Nathan approached me. “I guess I should give you an apology too. I mean, about the other day out back with what’s-his-name.” He jerked his head in the direction of the rear of the house. “He called last night and said he agreed with me after all and wouldn’t be putting any more ads on the sides of those fishing shanties.” He plunged his hands in his pockets sheepishly. “I guess I get a little over-excited when it comes to the environment.”

“I’m glad you two worked it all out. Etienne is a good fellow.”

Good, but a bit devious. If I knew Marie’s husband, he hadn’t had any green epiphany; he’d just realized that the ads couldn’t be read from the shore.

Kevin Shea disappeared right after Mrs. Knight left. The LaBombard contingent drifted out with courteous thanks. Thus abandoned, I began helping Hester to gather up the used cups and plates.

I was surprised when Lily Burns came alongside and began assisting me. In silence, we carried the remains of the feast into the kitchen.

Lily rinsed her hands and was drying them on a paper towel when she elected to say, “Look, I got the birthday present. It was lovely. You didn’t have to do that.”

I shrugged. “Old times’ sake, I guess.”

“Well, it was nice of you and I appreciate it.” She tucked a stray blonde wisp back into place. “I’ve felt kind of bad about that quarrel we had.”

“Me, too, Lily.”

“And I want you to know that I’m prepared to forgive you.”

“Forgive me?”

“Yes, I accept your apology. And I have something to tell you. I should’ve told you before, but—”

“What apology?” I felt icy. “I don’t recall tendering an apology.”

We looked at each other for a long moment.

“No, that’s right, you didn’t.” She turned and walked crisply out of the room.

I sank into a kitchen chair and put my head down on the table, cradled in my arms.

“Amelia, I don’t know what to say.”

I looked up. Dennis O’Brien was standing over me with a look of such thunderous wrath, I leaned back in my chair.

He had his gloves under one arm and was buttoning his coat. “That was some stupid, idiotic stunt you and the professor pulled, and I ought to—” He clapped his lips shut and began pulling on his gloves. “I have to be somewhere right now, but this conversation isn’t over, not by a long shot. Keep out of trouble until then or I will arrest you, and the chief will back me up!”

He spun around, nearly colliding with Alec, who was entering the kitchen. Dennis poked Alec in the chest with a gloved forefinger. “And that goes for you, too, pal!” And on that dramatic exit line, he left.

Alec sat down across from me. “Amelia, I accept full responsibility for this mess.”

I looked over at him and sighed. It was simply impossible to stay mad with this man. Why on earth was it so easy to forgive Alec and so difficult to do the same for Lily Burns?

“No need, Alec. I went along with it. And perhaps some good did come of it all: Blakely and his stepmother are communicating now.”

He pulled a checkbook from the copious pocket of his winter coat. “At least I can pay for the refreshments.”

“At cost only, since I was partly responsible,” I said, wearily waving my hand. “I’ll have Marie send you a bill.”

He replaced the checkbook and sighed. “It seemed like such a good idea.”

“We should have remembered that neither of us is Hercule Poirot if indeed anyone ever was.”

“Aye.”

“But you know, I honestly thought that that flower had something to do with the murder on the lake.”

Hester walked by, pushing an unplugged vacuum cleaner before her. “Amelia? There’s somebody here to see you. I put him in Marie’s office.”

I hurried down the hall to Papa’s old study, where I found Martin Rousseau clutching a watch cap and pacing. If it was possible, he looked even worse than when I had last seen him.

He grabbed my arm and said earnestly, “Miss Prentice! My boys! Have you seen ’em?”

“The boys? Oh, no. Are they gone? Are you sure?”

He scratched his jaw. “Oh, yeah, they are. I slept late this morning. When I got up, nobody was in the house. I hunted in the basement, even. They just snuck out.”

“Can I be of help?”

“Just be on the lookout, okay? But keep it kind of quiet, y’know?” He quoted a phone number. “That’s my cell. Just call me if you see either one of them. Tell me where they are, and I’ll do the rest. If I can just get ’em back home before anybody notices . . . ”

Given the boys’ dramatic propensities, I had my doubts that Martin could accomplish this, but I jotted down the number on Marie’s memo pad and put the paper in my pocket.

“You might be able to see everything a little better if you go up on the roof of the Sweet Shoppe building. You can take the stairs that go past the newspaper office.”

I didn’t suggest he consult Gil on the matter. The boys’ defection was too tempting a news story.

We parted, wishing each other well. As I promised to watch for the boys, I felt a little guilty. I had purchased those corsages for them, hoping to cheer them a little. In retrospect, it was easy to see that I had only abetted their unauthorized plans to attend the festival.