"Morning, Miss Violet. Ready for breakfast?"
"Rosie, how do I look to you?"
"It's early. Coffee?"
"Woman to woman, give it to me straight."
"Well, your shirt's on backwards. You've got some dark circles, but those beat eye bags any day. Pyjama bottoms are inside out and you seem to have acquired a cowlick."
"I meant do I look different to you?"
"No."
"Okay. Coffee would be great. Thanks, Rosie."
"Woman to woman, Violet? I find it hard to have pity for someone about to come into a fortune, but I hope you get yours first and get out of here fast."
"Thanks."
Violet stared at the breakfast tray Rosie had delivered. She dangled her feet from the side of her bed, trying to prepare her mouth and her anxious insides for grapefruit. No use. No saliva either for the drywall-like blueberry scone, so she sipped the too strong coffee. Was there really anything worth being so anxious about? Shouldn't the reward of years of solitude be some kind of clarity? Something, to her mind, despite assuring words to the contrary, was definitely off. Violet felt a cosmic disconnect, an answer she was entitled to withheld from her. Maybe if her dilemma had in somehow manifested itself physically than someone might offer an explanation or at least a clue. Shouldn't she, in some way, look as torn as she felt?
How fair was it that the most desirable qualities in the ideal man could be split between two men and force her to make a decision? Maybe as fair as anything in this world, but Violet was tired of mysteries.
James was intense and romantic. He stood up for what he believed in so that even a few hardened political minds might be swayed. He was kind enough that even if he didn't love his great uncle completely, which Violet was beginning to suspect, he refused to let a lonely old man know it. But her attraction to James made her uneasy. Out of sight, she questioned it. His attention flattered her but she was too conscious of the effect. Even if in the best way possible, why was she still terrified?
John was so good natured and patient. He had a guillotine wit that could split a hair, but caused far less damage that it was capable of. His was a grandiose act at times, but based in humility the unfamiliar confused with self-pity. And yet, he could be too quick. It gave Violet the sense she was missing a point and that that was in some way a disappointment to him, which was a shame because before and after the kiss, no one else had impressed her as much. But, who hits an old woman?
For someone who mocked hypocrisy so well, John submitted himself to the ridiculous to get his share of the inheritance. Violet couldn't really blame him, but since her loyalty was to Leo, she couldn't pardon him either. By that rule, it was James 'Jimmy' Greer who deserved her attention. She did like him, but settling her mind so logically did little to settle her stomach. She was still missing something. Ignorance couldn't be bliss for very long, could it?
Violet was instructed by note to join the family after breakfast at the original scene of the crime, Leo's study. She looked in her wardrobe for an outfit labelled, "Inconsequential Rigmarole", but found only, "Monday Morning Reveal". Downstairs too early and she'd look greedy. Downstairs too late and they'd despise her. She dressed quickly and made her way to the study as slowly as looked normal.
What relieved her almost immediately was that John behaved no differently than usual when she entered the room. No, remember last night? eyes. No, we've got a secret, don't we? winks. He did make sure that she saw a subtle hand gesture, a gruesome stabbing motion, as a last chance confession just before she was flanked by Elizabeth and Elsa and hustled into a spot on the sofa. Violet then, in turn, had to discreetly signal to James that she had fallen asleep when he looked at her as if to ask what had happened to their staircase date.
They waited impatiently for Philroy, who was late as usual. Edie was the last of the family to totter into the study, and for the first time seemed not to want an apology for being its slowest member.
"Good morning, Edie," Joan greeted her. "Did you sleep well last night?'
"Splendid, Joan. This morning I touched my toes without cracking something for the first time in years. Unfortunately, I was still lying in bed when I did it. Call me old fashioned but I like a mattress with springs."
"That's a shame. And our bed was so firm, wasn't it Tom?" Thomas nodded. "Almost too firm. Kids, were your beds too hard to sleep in? Or too soft maybe?"
"Dear, Joan," Edie laughed, "not even your mid-morning pre-hysterics could spoil my mood today. James? Has Philroy ordered cars to take us to the train station this afternoon?
"I called myself and arranged for us to be driven all the way back to the city."
"So long as I hear no complaints about frequent stops," she shrugged. "Now what's keeping Palm? He's not being paid by the hour is he? I still have to pack."
Shortly, Philroy did appear without his usual chipper salutations, looking as serious and flustered as a magistrate with an itchy wig. He carried a small folder and an even more precious cup of hot tea. He seated himself behind the study desk and attempted to say, "Good morning." His voice had a similar sound to the last gargle from a gaping neck wound.
"Ewww," said Elizabeth.
"Obviously I have some bad news." This time the gurgle was so strained and thick it was met with a more collective 'Ewww-ing'.
"Is your cholesterol, like, way up?" asked John.
"I seem to have a touch of laryngitis."
"Sounds like you swallowed a percolator," said Rolph.
"What's a percolator, Uncle Rolph?" asked Paul.
"It's a coffee maker," Thomas said.
"I fell asleep with the window open," Philroy said, but nobody heard this first admission because his throat hadn't made a noise to go with his lip movements, and because Thomas and Joan were giving their kids a distracting lesson on how coffee is brewed. He repeated himself with great difficulty and this time managed to scrape up some sound.
"How idiotic," Edie scolded him. "In a rainstorm? Why not just wrap a wet towel around your head and stand in front of a fan?"
"Fresh air," he explained with a bubbly squeak. It was too much for all of them. They curled up in disgust.
"Put something in there," Rolph said.
"Mustn't talk," Philroy whispered.
"What does that mean?" Edie wanted to know.
"Yes, what do we do now?" Joan asked.
"I guess we forget it. Let us read the will," Paul suggested.
Philroy waved no frantically, then pat the air for calm. Mutiny was rising.
"I have to teach tomorrow," Elsa said defiantly.
"We all have places to be," said James.
"Just point the murderer out, Philroy, so that we can get on with it," said Rolph.
Philroy attempted to silence them all with a finger to his lips. It took a few moments before the squawking stopped. He whispered, his jaw extending to escape some pain. "I wrote down the summation. One of you will have to read it."
Paul volunteered at once. Seeing how no one but Philroy argued, wordlessly of course, several sheets of paper were reluctantly handed over to the unseemly understudy.
"Paul," his mother mentioned, "maybe this could count as extra credit towards your public speaking courses?"
Paul ignored her and began reading Philroy's notes. "In a moment, I will ask you to write down your names and the name of the person whom you suspect of being a murderer."
"In the context of the game?" John asked.
"Lucky for you," James said.
Philroy took a great gulp from his cup before handing some paper and pens around the room.
Paul read on. "First of all, here's what you know. Sometime on Friday evening, Leo was poisoned, suffocated, and stabbed. His body was moved from this study to the sitting room and spread out on the serving table. You've seen the evidence of the poison bottle, the cufflink, the initialled letter opener, the apple, the shoe prints and the window lock which was tampered with. After some tampering of my own, here's what I've discovered. Wait for reaction and pace. Leo's time of death is calculated to have been three to five hours before his body was found. The murderer had access to his study, entered to find Leo somewhat invertebrated by the combination of – "
"Again?" Elsa, the English teacher insisted with a twirling finger. "Invertebrated can't be correct."
"Well, inherberated can't be right. I thought it was a typo."
"Could it be inebriated?"
"It could be, but Philroy stuck an H in there." Elsa shamed Philroy who blinked innocently. Paul shrugged, and said, "Like I care. By...the combination of sherry and belladonna as evidenced by the empty sherry glass on his desk."
"What empty sherry glass?" asked Thomas.
"Who cares?" Elizabeth said eagerly.
"But I don't remember the glass as evidence. It might prove he was poisoned."
"We know he was poisoned," Rolph said irately. "He didn't die from it so it only proves Leo might have been incapacitated."
"Ooh, Rolph, you're really into this," teased Joan, clasping her hands around her knees. Something about Vera's expression hinted that she wished John was not a reformed woman-belter.
"The killer took advantage of this state by suffocating Leo with hands over his nose and mouth. No strangulation marks were found around his neck. Based on the direction of the shoe prints, the murderer made his or her exit through the unlocked window and joined or rejoined the party, only to return to the crime scene later where he or she intended to remove the body through the study window. But the body by this time would already have started to stiffen so it was easier to drag Leo through the hall past the sitting room and exit out the back of the house. At this point we have to assume the murderer was either interrupted or too challenged by the difficulty of moving the deadweight and therefore placed the body on the already made up trays for display. The apple, once it had been removed, if anyone noticed did not have any significant bite marks to suggest it was used in the suffocation and may have been an afterthought to disguise the bruising around the mouth area. The letter opener was used to throw off the scent. Previous damage to its handle has made a complete set of finger prints unavailable to us at this time." Paul slurped and inhaled. "Now everyone is supposed to vote and pass their papers up to me."
Pens scribbled and answers were guarded before all twelve guesses were stacked in a neat pile in front of Philroy. Rosie brought him another tea; his thank you was promisingly audible. All eyes on Paul, he milked the suspension with an irritated mouth gape. Finally, he puffed out his chest and said bluntly, "Edie did it!"
Philroy nearly inhaled his drink. He slapped his hand on the desk and gave Paul a stink-eye.
"Okay, fine," Paul relented. "It says here Edie couldn't have done it because she was too old to drag him around even though she was poisoning him."
"Is that what is says?" Edie asked as sweetly as, any last words?
"Makes sense," said Rolph. His mother-in-law stapled his mouth shut with a look.
"Grandma Edie should go to jail anyway," Marcia mumbled.
Paul continued. "Who's next? Let's see. Elizabeth the Drunk, blah, blah, wouldn't have done it because the scene was too orderly and like Edie she was not in control of her faculties."
"Next, next," Philroy whispered urgently.
"Marcia found the body, but I have found her to be left handed and the angle at which the letter opener was plunged post-mortem into the chest was the result of a right-handed stabber. Paul, that's me, found the loose window lock and has, as Vera pointed out, a criminal past. But his records, if anyone bothered to ask, show only charges of petty theft after one assault charge was dropped. Murder seems too great a step up, and since nothing was stolen from Leo's study it is unlikely that Paul's our man."
Paul scrunched his forehead, upset. "What's the matter?" Joan asked.
"I voted for myself, that's what. This sucks."
"There's plenty of time for you to become a fugitive, Paul," said Edie.
"Whatever. Blah, blah blah...geez, Philroy. It's a good thing I'm trimming the fat here or this would take forever. Okay, Thomas and Joan. Is there a Thomas or a Joan here? Thomas and or Joan?"
Philroy stood up and tried to snatch the papers from Paul's hands. He swerved out of Philroy's way and read quickly. "Thomas and Joan were constantly arguing over clashing ambitions but if any of you had bothered to ask the servants you'd know that the couple argued within earshot of the help from the moment they arrived – after Leo's estimated time of death."
"They could be paying the servants off," Elizabeth said. Philroy shook his head. "How do you know?" His eyes bulged.
"What about my cufflink?" Thomas reminded them.
"We're getting to it, Dad. Elsa found the cufflink. Did anyone notice the length of her nails when she held it up? It says here if she's the killer how come Leo's face or the apple had no claw marks."
"I've got to stop you there," John said. "What if Elsa had shown up this weekend with short nails?"
"Never," Elsa stated.
"How would she have gotten out of it then?"
"Gong Jah, shadah contra," Philroy grumbled with frustration.
Paul translated: "God, John, she had a contract offer from another studio. Guess that means she didn't give a – "
"Paul!" Joan lurched from her seat.
"It's still weak," John said.
"Now for Uncle Rolph, the Super Horndog Klepto! He was having an affair and Leo was using it to black mail Vera."
"His name is Jesse and what we had was real," Rolph said.
"Show's over, dear," Vera purred.
"He could have stolen the cufflink and his wife's letter opener without anyone knowing and used them to frame them, but it says here you're too fat to fit through the window!"
"I beg your pardon?" Vera scowled.
"You're bigger than I am, Palm."
Philroy was frantically mouthing, "shoulders!" and pointing at their width.
"Yeah, and there's a bunch of stuff about window measurements and your shoe size not matching the prints," Paul admitted.
"Give it here, Paul, and stop offending everyone," Elsa said.
"I didn't write it! He did! Violet the Mistress had access to all parts of the cottage and she knew where Leo would be. She removed the apple which had two sets of prints and only one was hers. This means she's either innocent or an accomplice. She was having an affair with James the Protégé who was Leo's personal choice but not the only man in the running to take over the studio so why would he risk it? Why would you, James?"
"I'm going to hurt you very soon," James said.
"Hang on a sec. Your shoe prints didn't match either. That leaves John as far as male suspects. He had the hottest script in town. Vera was putting pressure on Leo to bury it, but Leo had the upper hand on Vera so John still needed Leo because the decision was up to him.
"Vera would stop at nothing to kill the project or to silence Leo on the subject of Rolph. It was her letter opener. She had the most motive and that's exactly why she was framed."
"But that's all of us," Edie said. "Who did it?"
"Don't tell me it was the psychic," said Thomas. "No wonder he knew someone was dead."
"The murderer decided to kill two birds with one stone. John did it!"
"Wha? Me? I never!"
"You went to have a meeting about the script...blah, blah, blah. You found Vera's letter opener...yada, yada...the proof is...When did you say you had a sliver?"
"First night's dinner."
"Well the sliver's from the letter opener. You did it. The end."
Philroy clapped his hands and tried to coerce applause from all of them. Violet clapped twice softly, sympathetic. The lawyer exhaled heavily and shuffled through the sheets of guesses.