The Silence Of The Library

We all turned at a loud knocking on the door, and Eagleton started toward it. “Let me,” I said and stepped past him. I wasn’t sure he was steady enough yet.

Eagleton didn’t protest, and I went to admit Marcella Marter and Mrs. Cartwright, swathed once again in black. Marcella pushed in without a word. “Come on, Mother, or you’ll never make it in time.”

“Marcella, don’t be rude.” Mrs. Cartwright tried to pull her arm loose but Marcella clung to it.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, careful to move out of the way.

“Mother needs the restroom.” Marcella grimaced. “Right away. Where is it?”

I glanced around. This suite appeared identical to others in the hotel I had visited, and I remembered there was a bathroom in the hall between the living room and the bedroom. I pointed. “That way, I believe.”

Marcella Marter didn’t bother to thank me, though Mrs. Cartwright smiled. Marcella hurried her mother toward the hall.

I shut the door and rejoined Teresa and Eagleton. “Restroom,” I responded to their looks of inquiry, and Eagleton actually blushed.

“When, ahem, the esteemed ladies return, we should perhaps propose a toast to the dear departed Carrie Taylor, don’t you think? We must acknowledge the lack of her presence tonight, I am sure.” Eagleton nodded. “Yes, certainly. I shall prepare myself for the toast, if you will excuse me for a moment.”

“Of course.” Teresa and I nodded, and Eagleton moved toward the bar.

Teresa whispered, “This is dreadful. I wish now I’d told Mr. Eagleton I was busy tonight.”

“Me, too,” I said with a quick laugh. “Too late, but it surely has to get better.”

“It could hardly be worse.” Teresa grimaced.

The room fell silent. Della Duffy remained in position in front of the window. Betts had propped himself against one end of the bar, Laphroaig in hand. Our host retrieved a fresh bottle of water and stood at the other end of the bar.

After what seemed several agonizing minutes—but was probably only five at the most—Marcella and Mrs. Cartwright returned to the living room. Marcella guided her mother to the sofa and sat her down. “What would you like to drink, Mother?”

“Whiskey, if there is anything decent on offer.” Mrs. Cartwright adjusted the scarf at her neck, then her dark glasses. Marcella scowled but headed for the bar.

“Good evening, Mrs. Cartwright, Mrs. Marter.” Teresa moved over to the sofa and sat by the author. “How are you tonight?”

“Thirsty.” Mrs. Cartwright laughed. “Otherwise, I’m doing just fine, my dear. And you?”

While Teresa and Mrs. Cartwright chatted, I watched Marcella at the bar. She wrested the Laphroaig away from Betts, who offered no resistance. I figured by now he had downed enough of the whiskey to be in a mellower frame of mind.

“Good evening, my dear.” Eagleton beamed at Marcella as she found two glasses and poured drinks for herself and her mother. “So pleased that you and your delightful mother could join us this evening. Spending time with you twice in one day is indeed a rare benison.”

“Our pleasure.” Marcella spritzed the glasses with soda and turned away. I winced at the sight. Though I was not much of a whiskey drinker, I knew better than to insult Laphroaig that way.

Eagleton followed her to greet Mrs. Cartwright. “Dear lady, you are most welcome indeed. I take it as a great honor that you have appeared at this select gathering tonight.”

“My pleasure.” Mrs. Cartwright smiled briefly before she accepted her whiskey from Marcella.

“Allow me to propose a toast to one who is not with us this evening.” Eagleton glanced around. “Della, my dear, do please join us. You, too, Gordon. Gather near.”

He waited until Ms. Duffy and Betts drew closer, then raised his glass.

“Would that we could toast dear Carrie Taylor in her living presence, but alas that is not to be. She was a delightful person, a true devotee of our dear Mrs. Cartwright, and a wonderful champion for Veronica Thane in all things.”

“What do you mean, ‘she was a delightful person’?” Marcella appeared confused. “What happened to her?”

Betts giggled. “Somebody murdered her.” He downed his drink in one gulp.

Marcella shrieked, dropped her glass, then fainted.

TWENTY-FIVE

Luckily for Marcella, she was standing in front of the sofa when she fainted. She fell backward onto it, about two inches from where her mother sat. The contents of the glass ended up mostly on her, a little on her mother and the sofa. The aroma of the expensive liquor began to pervade the room.

Mrs. Cartwright jerked as her daughter’s body landed beside her, but she managed to hang on to her glass of whiskey and soda without sloshing any out. “Oh, goodness, Marcella, whatever is the matter with you?” She glanced around, obviously searching. “Where is my purse? I need my smelling salts.”

“Here it is.” Teresa grabbed the large bag, almost a briefcase in size, from the floor beside the sofa. She handed it to the author, who quickly rummaged inside and brought out a small bottle. She twisted off the cap, then stuck the salts under her daughter’s nose.