Part 10 (2/2)
Griselda who, since their last meeting, had accessorized her swimsuit with oversized red-framed sungla.s.ses and a wide-brimmed hat, stepped forward. ”The men are right. You keep us prisoner on this island so that the murderer can't escape, but in the meantime we're dropping like flies.”
”First my father,” Edward counted, ”now Ca.s.sandra, and even Prudence. How can you be certain that my wife's alleged overdose wasn't an attempt on her life? Someone could have drugged her drink last night or,” he slid his eyes toward Marjorie, ”her coffee this morning.”
”Me?” Marjorie drew her hand to her throat. ”Why me?”
”My father told me about your background,” Edward stated with a glare. ”What is this, the fourth murder investigation you've been involved in? Strange how death always seems to follow you, don't you think?”
Marjorie pulled a face. ”Well ... yes it is,” she admitted. ”But that doesn't make me a killer.”
”You may not have committed the previous murders, but I'm sure you had your hand in these.”
”Yeah,” Griselda chimed in. ”I saw Creighton leaving with Sergeant Jackson. It's only a matter of time until they catch on to you, too!”
”This coming from the woman who's spent the day of her husband's murder sunbathing and reading Hollywood magazines,” Marjorie commented.
”Look where we are!” Griselda cried. ”What else am I supposed to do?”
”True,” Marjorie agreed. ”If he had been murdered in New York City, you'd be better able to demonstrate your grief-with Benny in a booth at the Stork Club.”
”Why, yooooou!” Griselda shrieked as she sprang forward and grasped for the other woman's throat. In a flash, Inspector Nettles grabbed her arms and yanked her back.
”Stop it!” he shouted. ”Stop or I'm bringing the whole lot of you to the station.”
The room fell silent.
”Good,” Nettles declared. ”We're going to take turns and find out where each of you were when Ca.s.sandra was killed. Now,” he reviewed, ”we know that Ca.s.sandra was alive when Creighton went to the cottage to check on Selina.”
”Right,” Miller agreed. ”They met each other on the path behind the house. I saw them through the window.”
”Were you here the whole time?” Marjorie asked.
”No, I went into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. I was going to eat it outside, on the patio, but then I heard the commotion in the hallway and thought I should stay put. So I ate the sandwich at the kitchen table.” He pushed his gla.s.ses farther up his nose with a neatly manicured finger. ”Then I came back here to the drawing room.”
”Did anyone see you in the kitchen?” Nettles followed up.
”No, but George saw me come from there, so he can vouch for where I was.”
”He was in the hall?”
”Yes. Looked like he had come in from outside,” Miller stated.
”Hmmm ... and you, Mrs. Ashcroft?” Nettles addressed Griselda. ”Where were you?”
”You know where I was,” Griselda replied flippantly.
”Refresh my memory.”
”Sunbathing and reading Hollywood magazines.” She shot Marjorie a dirty look.
”Where were you doing this sunbathing and reading?” Nettles quizzed.
”In the closet,” she taunted. ”Outside. Where else?”
”He meant where outside,” Marjorie simplified.
”I'm not talking to you,” Griselda replied. She then repeated the sentiment directly to Nettles, ”I'm not talking to her.”
”Answer the question,” Nettles ordered.
Griselda sighed noisily. ”Okay, I was out front. That's how I was able to see Creighton leaving with the Sergeant.”
Nettles turned his attention to Edward. ”And you?”
”Upstairs. I realized that, in the chaos of this morning, I had forgotten to shave, so I went upstairs to take care of it. I had just finished shaving when I heard Prudence downstairs, in the study, crying. That's when I came down to see what was happening. You can both finish the story from there.”
”Thank you, everyone. Now, if you'll be so kind as to stay here in the drawing room until further notice, I would appreciate it.”
”What? But the sun is outside,” Griselda spoke up. ”What am I supposed to do in here?”
”Read some Hollywood magazines,” Nettles quipped before leaving the room.
Marjorie made a face in Griselda's direction and then followed the inspector down the hallway and into the study, where a sullen George Pooley stood, staring out an open window.
Nettles approached the boy and shook his hand. ”Hullo, George. Sit down, will you?” He motioned to one of the wing-back chairs before selecting one for himself.
George obediently took a seat while Marjorie positioned herself in the middle of the settee.
”How are you, George?” Nettles asked warmly.
George shrugged.
”Would you tell us a bit about your part in last night's events?” the Inspector urged.
”You mean the man who'd been keeping us as servants all these years was my father?” George sneered.
”Yes,” Nettles replied. ”I'm very sorry. That news must have been tremendously difficult for you to receive.”
”I-I had always believed that my father left my mother when he found out that she was having a baby. And I have always hated him for it. Without even knowing him, I hated him for leaving a woman as good as my mother. But to find out that your father has been keeping you and your mother as glorified slaves ...” His hands gripped the arms of the wing chair as he choked back his tears.
Nettles gave him a chance to compose himself before presenting the next question: ”Where did you go after dinner last night?”
”The drawing room. Mr. Edward was there. He and I spoke about our father; he was very sympathetic.”
”And then?”
”I went outside to speak to my mother.”
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