Worth

Chapter 6 (Pt. 1)

"John, your script about the torrid life of a gossip columnist could have earned you the reputation of a screenwriting genius had Leo not been blackmailed by Vera into burying it. Of course, we also have Thomas, the studio's chief accountant, doing a little skimming off the top with your Lady Macbeth of a wife encouraging the habit. Oh yes, as the studio's house detective, I informed Leo as soon as I discovered it. Jail's hardly an appetising option. It will have to be for somebody, the poisoning, suffocating, stabber of Leo. You'll be found out before the weekend's done. Gentlemen, please form a line and present your wrists."

The five of them did so. It was discovered that Thomas's shirt was missing a cufflink. Never was an "Ah-ha!" more premeditated than Philroy's.

Thomas stammered, "I couldn't find it in the room. Anyone could have stolen it."

Vera suddenly recalled that Paul had a criminal record for theft and assault. Paul seemed genuinely pleased. Philroy abruptly announced he was leaving the sitting room to inspect the rest of the house, and to give the guilty conscience time to consider confessing. Violet knew that her assigned goal was staring her right in the face, but to just reach over and wrench the apple out of Leo's mouth in front of everyone didn't seem sportsmanlike. She migrated with the others away from the crime scene to give herself some time. Slowly and accurately, if not at all playfully, the family began dropping hints, and making discoveries, and completing assignments under the recording eyes of three servant-spies.

Edie pointed out the murder weapon was a letter opener, because aren't they always? "It isn't one of ours," she declared. "There must be fingerprints all over it."

"Duh. There's an initial on it," Marcia said. It was a glimmering V. Marcia looked enviously at Violet's eye-roll.

Paul laughed and clapped. "Aunt Vera's the murderer!"

Vera remained glacial. "It does seem to be my letter opener, but I don't know how it got there."

"Just like my cufflink," Thomas said.

"It couldn't be any of the girls," Rolph said thoughtfully. "When and how would they lift the body? It's deadweight."

James' expression seemed to shout, It's wax! but he remained in character.

"You especially, Elizabeth. Being a drunk and all," Joan said.

Elizabeth threw a lazy arm over her forehead and said, "I need a drink." She staggered to the bar and made a fake effort of removing a difficult stopper from a bottle of brandy. "What's this?" she exclaimed.

The servant named Fiona, brandishing a new and unused feather duster swooped in on the bottle and swirled it around. "Something floating on the bottom, Miss?"

"That's poison," Joan guessed.

"Servants killed him," John said.

"Looks like belladonna, Miss. You're lucky you didn't drink any. I'll take it to Mr. Philroy."

"See?" said John.

"Elizabeth poisoned him and he fell on the letter opener," Paul stated. "I'll take a cheque."

"Maybe Edie did do it," said Rolph. "It's her bar to stock. And she was jealous."

"It's true," Edie said, uninterested in anything but picking something out from her teeth.

Suddenly, one of Violet's safety pins popped open and jabbed her tender side. She screeched violently.

Edie hissed. "What now? He's dead already."

"It's not part of the mystery," Violet said, rubbing her waist. "Just a safety pin."

"Or is it post-psychotic-rage-guilt?" John suggested.