The Murder Game
Chapter 3
A fanfic by Ronin S. Oath
The tea party was uncomfortable, with Thea trying to be a gracious hostess, in spite of what Laura had told her, and Laura trying to be a charming guest, even though it was obvious she'd rather be anywhere else. To ease the situation they both turned to Rachel.
"You've lucky to lead a normal life," Laura said, and patted Rachel's hand. This time her smile was wistful, and her words dragged. "You'll never know what it's like to..."
"To be rich and famous?" offered Conan helpfully.
"To be used," she corrected. "To want to be really loved- not as a star, but as a child, hungry for affection."
Even though it was midafternoon, the room gradually became darker, and finally a maid in uniform came in, turned on some lights, and began picking up the empty cups. She had a round, cheerful face, and looked as if she might be only a few years older than Rachel.
Thea went to the window. "It looks as though it's going to pour," she said. "Such odd weather for August."
The maid stopped, tray in hand, and said, "Mrs. Augustus, the radio news said there's going to be a storm. It's part of a hurricane moving north from Mexico."
As she spoke she looked at Thea with a kind of pity and tenderness. It was obvious that she was fond of Thea, but Conan didn't understand why she should pity her.
"Thank-you, Lucy," Thea said. "I didn't listen to the radio today. I wasn't aware of a possible storm."
'Radio? What about television?' It dawned on Rachel that she hadn't seen a single TV set in this house. 'Two weeks without television?' It was hard to imagine.
Thea sat down again and announced, "The launch just pulled up to the dock, which means the other guests have arrived. We'll all be snug and cozy before the storm breaks."
'Snug and cozy in this creepy old castle?' Conan didn't believe it.
Laura sat up stiffly and asked in her kind of choking, breathy way, "Who are the other guests?"
"Augustus told me that Buck Thompson is one of them," Thea said.
Conan eagerly volunteered, "You know who Buck Thompson is, don't you? He used to be a pro quarterback, only now he's a sportscaster on one of the networks."
Rachel smiled at Conan. 'He's such a sweet kid, but he should learn not to interrupt people.'
Thea smiled and continued, "And Julia Bryant will be here."
"Julia Bryant?!?" Rachel blurted out.
Thea raised one eyebrow and said, "I take it that you're familiar with Julia's books, although I'm a little surprised that you'd like that type of novel."
"I really don't," Rachel answered, and blushed as hotly as one of Julia's female characters. "I mean, this girl at school was talking about one of them, and she read a couple of scenes to us, and they were kind of wild, but I read some of the rest of the book, and it was boring."
Laura nodded vigorously. "You're right. Julia's novels are sleaze. They're drivel. And the last one on television was badly cast. I was up for the part, but then someone got the idea of casting this twenty-two year-old with absolutely no talent..."
"More tea?" Thea asked, and held the teapot toward Laura as she said, "I'm sure you know that when Julia's novels began making the best-sellers list she set up a foundation to help support budding novelist... All in the name of an old friend."
"What a neat idea," Rachel said, and could just see herself doing something like that in Jimmy's name. 'Or maybe I'd put both our names on it.' "I bet that made her friend happy."
"Thea should have said in memory of her friend," Laura told her. "Julia's friend wanted to be a writer and, as I heard it, wrote dozens of manuscripts, but never had enough courage to send them to a publisher."
"What happened to her friend?"
Laura sighed. "Apparently she destroyed all her manuscripts, and then jumped out of a twelfth-floor window."
"How awful!" Rachel exclaimed.
"There's no point in going into any of the arts unless you have a dedication and determination to achieve," Laura began, and then suddenly changed direction as a thought struck her. "Will Julia's husband be here too? You know Jake, don't you? The poor boy never was able to make it as an actor, even though he's a very attractive man."
"Augustus didn't invite him," Thea said, and looked embarrassed as she tried to explain. "He didn't invite Senator Maggio's wife either. That's United States Senator Arthur Maggio of Nevada."
"Has anyone else been invited?" Laura asked.
"One more guest," Thea answered. "Alex Chambers."
"Who's that?" asked Conan in the childish voice he could get, which wasn't too hard.
"Alex Chambers is a famous dress designer. His clothes were high-class expensive, and in tons of magazine ads," Thea explained.
There was silence for a moment, until Laura murmured, "I wonder if each of your other guests received the same kind of threat I did..."
"Oh, Laura, now really," Thea began, but Laura turned the full wattage of her green-gold eyes on Thea and said, "We're supposed to be players in a game. I just wonder what the game is going to be."
Thea informed Rachel and Conan that they would dress for dinner, so they went up to their room and changed- Rachel put on a dress and a long string of Venetian glass beads that one of her friends had given her for her last birthday; while Conan put on his tuxedo.
Conan wondered why anyone who chose to live on an island would want to dress up and live in a castle with maids and butlers, when it made a lot more sense to wear shorts and go barefoot and live in an open, comfortable house where you could clean up by just sweeping the sand out of the front door every morning.
They were all supposed to gather downstairs for cocktails at seven, and Rachel wasn't about to go down early all by herself... and Conan. So she stood by the window and watched a swarm of dark clouds battle the sun, which struck out with shards of red and gold before it was smothered and dragged towards the sea.
The gloom was so intense that Rachel turned on the bedside lamp. She sat on the edge of the bed, where she could keep one eye on the clock, and pulled her journal and pen from the top drawer of the chest. The writers' magazines she had read suggested that writers and would-be writers keep journals and write something in them every day. She had no problem with that because she loved to write.
She wrote what she thought about the sun, but that didn't lead anywhere, so she decided to write a description of the room she and Conan shared. Only she went even further and added some cobwebs and dust and the sound of something creeping up the stairs.
At the loud knock on their bedroom door she screeched, threw her journal into the air, and jumped to her feet. Her journal landed on Conan head as he turned to see what was the matter with her...
"Are you two all right? A muffled voiced asked.
Rachel staggered to the door, turned the key and opened it. "We're fine, thank you," she told Walter. There was no way she was going to explain. He'd think she was pretty weird.
Walter looked at her as though he though she was pretty weird anyway and said, "The guests have gathered in the front parlor. Your aunt would be pleased to have you join them."
Rachel had been so interested in what she'd been writing that she'd forgotten to watch the clock. "Okay," she said. "Thanks." She watched Walter descend the stairs before she locked the door. She hefted the big brass key in her hand, trying to decide what to do with it... Her dress didn't have a handy pocket to hold it.
Inspiration struck, and she opened the clasp on the string of beads, ran the string through the large key hole in the middle of the key, and fastened the clasp at the back of her neck. At least she'd have their key with her. She wasn't going to leave it in the door.
The up stairs hallway was dim and deserted, except for the two of them, and they hurried along, nearly running, because they had the awful feeling that someone- or something- was watching them. They practically galloped down the stairs, pausing only for a few seconds on the landing for Conan to glance at the burial urn, which, even in the shadows, seemed to glow.
"Come on, Conan," Rachel said, before grabbing Conan's hand.
They ran down the rest of the stairs and joined the lights and noise in the front parlor.
The room was festive with dozens of glowing candles and bowls of bright summer flowers. Conan and Rachel began to relax and enjoy themselves, especially after Thea- comfortable soft and gray in a cashmere knit dress the same shade as her hair- took them by the hand and introduced them to Senator Maggio, Alex Chambers, Buck Thompson, and Julia Bryant. They were in famous company!
Each of the guests smiled brilliantly in their direction and told them they were quite pleased to meet them. Julia Bryant did remark on Rachel's necklace. "How exciting and unusual! That darling antique key looks so authentic and somehow familiar. Wherever did you find it? Neiman's?"
"No, in my door," Rachel said, "and I don't really think it's an antique, because doesn't something have to be one hundred years old before it's called an antique?" Trying to make polite conversation, Rachel continued. "One of my mother's friends has an antiques store, and she finds some of the most unbelievable things in..."
Rachel stopped talking because they hadn't been listening, not even Conan or Thea, and had gone back to their conversations.
Conan wondered away from the groups and stood alone, watching them. People-watching is good practice for anyone who is a detective.
Buck Thompson's face was familiar. It would be to anyone who watched a pro football game on television. He was huge and beefy, his face tinged dark red like a medium rare steak. His hair was brown, thick, and unruly. It was Buck's own hair, not a toupee, so he'd have to tell 'Detective' Richard Moore his guess was wrong. Buck's movements were overlarge and expansive. As he spoke with Senator Maggio, Buck just missed knocking a flower arrangement off a nearby table.
Conan had seen Senator Maggio's face in the newspapers. Because he was round and bald he never though he looked like a senator ought to look- especially one who's being considered as a possible presidential candidate. But he was well groomed. He wore a dark blue suit made out of some silky fabric, and he carried his head high. Conan wondered if he'd ever had a P.E. teacher like Mr. Trimble in ninth grade, who kept saying, "For good posture, pretend there's a string at the top of your head, boys, and it's pulling, pulling, pulling you upward."
A laugh tinkled like broken glass, and Conan turned towards the sound. Laura, in a long, plain gown of deep blue silk, her hair brushed out in a golden glow, looked softer, younger, and prettier in the candlelight. Again she laughed, but the brittle sound told him that she was every bit as wary and nervous as she had been earlier.
Julia had dressed like a twenty-year-old model in green satin, with a skirt hem high above her knees and a low-scooped neckline. Her hair was dyed red, and she wore layers of makeup. It didn't help Julia Bryant to try to look young. She had to be at least fifty. "No. What you heard was wrong. I'm just an old-fashioned girl," she was saying. "I'm not the least bit mechanical-minded and hate having to use computers."
Alex Chambers smiled from one woman to the other. "You should try computerizing designs," he said. He was tall and slender, with wisps of dark hair and large brown eyes which blinked a lot when he wasn't squinting. Conan bet he wore glasses when no one was around. He had on tight slacks with a twisted rope holding them up, instead of a belt, and a silk shirt the color of whipped cream. The shirt was buttoned only halfway up, but the opening was filled with a knotted, bright, multicolored scarf.
People-watching was interesting for only so long. Conan wandered over to a large round table in a nearby corner, which was cluttered with dozens of photographs. In each of them Mr. Augustus- mostly young or middle-aged- was buddy-buddy with someone who looked important and official. Conan recognized Prince Rainier of Monaco and the Shah of Iran, but the others were unfamiliar.
As Conan picked up an ornate silver frame, Mrs. Engstrom appeared beside him. She carried a small tray of canapés, but she seemed more interested in the photo in Conan's hand. "That's Mr. Augustus with the late King George the Sixth of England," she said. With her free hand she pointed to one photo after another. "That's King Juan Carlos of Spain, the late king Gustav Adolph of Sweden, Kind Fahd of Saudi Arabia, the late king Frederick the Ninth of Demark..."
"They're all royalty?" Conan asked.
"All of them," she said. "In fact, Mr. Augustus calls this 'the Kings' Corner'." Mrs. Engstrom's mouth had a strange twist to it, as though she thought this was putting things on a little too much.
As Mrs. Engstrom moved on to pass the canapés to the other guests, Lucy came into the room with a tray of assorted drinks and handed him a glass of hot coco.
"Thanks," Conan said. Eager for someone to talk to, he asked, "Where's Mr. Augustus?"
"He'll be along," she said quietly, and glanced back at the open doorway. "He likes to come in after everybody else has been standing around waiting for him."
Conan wanted to ask more questions about Mr. Augustus, but Lucy left, delivering drinks to the other guests. Walter was busy too, so he was trying to decide whether to stand by himself, looking stupid, or stand with one of the other groups, looking stupid, when Mr. Augustus entered the parlor. Conversations stopped in midsentence as everyone turned towards him. In the silence a gust of wind suddenly rattled the windows, and Conan wasn't the only one who jumped.
Augustus looked like a character in an old movie. He was casually dressed in a dark red velvet jacket with a belt that tied around his pudgy middle. Augustus also wore dark slacks and loafers without socks, and smiled charmingly at his guests. "How delighted I am that all of you could come," he said, and made a little bow. "Welcome to our humble home."
Laura gave a sigh, as though she'd begun breathing again, and Senator Maggio cleared his throat. Julia was the first to come forward. She clutched Augustus's shoulders and blew smacky kisses near both ears.
"You darling man, I've been so excited. What is this wonderful imaginative game you've thought up for us?"
Conan saw Buck and the senator glance knowingly at each other, so that answered one question. Each of these guests had received the same kind of invitation. Threat, Laura had called it.
Augustus chuckled and draped an arm around Julia's shoulders. "All will be explained when the game commences," he said, and went through the room greeting the other guests with the warmth of a gracious host.
Augustus even had a smile for Rachel, which made her instantly hopeful. When the weekend was over and his guests had left, he'd offer to read Rachel's stories and critique them. She knew he would.
But there was something even more pressing that Conan wanted to ask him. "Tell me about the ghost," he said.
Augustus stepped back, and his eyes bugged out, but he didn't answer, so Conan said, "You know, the ghost in the haunted burial urn. Isn't there some kind of legend?"
Augustus's eyes narrowed. He hunched forward and grabbed Conan's shoulders as he growled in his right ear, "There's not only a legend, and it also has a curse with it. It's as simple as this: Stay away from that urn or there will be nothing left of you."
"That's not a very nice legend," Conan mumbled, and squirmed out of his grip.
"It's not a very nice ghost," he snapped, and hobbled over to talk to the senator.
The dinner was interesting, since Conan and Rachel was never quite sure what had been served. There were purple and yellow crunchy things in the salad and the thin sliced of meat rested in some kind of creamy sauce with a red design drizzled around the edges. There were rows of forks at the left and one above the plate, but Conan and Rachel stopped trying to figure out the silverware and menu so that they could listen to the celebrities and what they had to say.
The earlier mood of caution and suspicion had faded, and everyone talked and laughed a lot. Senator Maggio and Buck, who sat across the table from each other, compared noted about bloopers they'd made in high school football, and somehow the senator worked the conversation around to grandchildren and brought out some pictures to two fluffy-dressed little toddlers. He beamed when he talked about the little girls, but since Thea and Rachel seemed to be the only ones interested in them, his grandfatherly bragging didn't have much of a chance.
Julia, who was seated next to the senator, sparkled as she discussed book tours and confessed to sneaking under a fence to get away from a pair of excited fans. Laura, on Conan's right, tried to top Julia's stories by telling them about some of her harrowing experiences on movie sets.
It was fascinating to see some of the celebrity glow peel away like banana skins, giving a glimpse of real people inside.
Julia, the author, was like an actress playing the role of one of her sophisticated fictional heroines, and yet at times she looked unsure of herself, and Conan saw her watch the others questioningly, as though she wasn't quite sure they were taking her seriously. Buck, who sat at Rachel's left, was just as nervous- maybe even more ill at ease. He grabbed a spoon to finish off the sauce, then dropped it and turned red when he saw Conan watching him.
Senator Maggio, no longer a dotting grandfather, had become controlled and polished again; and Alex never dropped his smug conceit. Both of them were safe inside their banana skins, and Conan wondered what it would take to make them come out...
It had begun to rain, not a soft rain or even a steadily tapping rain. It came in bursts with the wind, whipping against the window like small stones.
They just polished off a tart filled with fresh mixed berries and soft vanilla custard, when Augustus's voice boomed out. "Please give me your attention, my friends. I have an important announcement to make."
To be continued...