Today's Reading
"How did she die? The placement of the wound seems odd compared to the layout of the body," Emma muses.
"If I were to hazard a guess," Agatha observes, "the murderer hit her with something blunt enough to cause the disorienting fall to the ground—but not a tremendous amount of blood—at which point the murderer shoved her back to more easily grab the pendant. Perhaps the push actually caused the death instead of the initial blow."
Emma says, "Those pieces all fit."
"But where is this blunt weapon you three are nattering on about?" Ngaio asks. "There's no hint of blood on any object, and we've scoured the room."
The blood they're looking for is represented by a small crimson silk ribbon tied around the murder weapon—if the women can locate it, that is. I am quite pleased with myself on that front, and I have to stifle a giggle.
"Are you expecting to find a bloody cricket bat sitting in the open?" Emma asks with a sniff. It's the sort of sound my dear mama used to make when she disapproved of my behavior, which was often enough. "Have you forgotten that the Dorothy Sayers has fashioned the plot of this murder game for us? I hardly think the murder weapon would be literally waiting for us to stumble upon it."
How unnecessarily fractious Emma and Ngaio seem with each other, I think. I hope it's just that a competitive spirit has swept over them. If I were not the murder victim, I'd be smoothing over those rough edges; I need this group to feel aligned. As it stands, I am stuck on this cold wooden floor. Why, oh, why did I choose an uncarpeted section of the floor for my murder?
To my surprise, Agatha leaps into the fray. "Ladies, no need for discord. There's always a weapon, and we will find it," she says. "Together."
"Not if Dorothy broke the rules of fair play and placed the murder weapon outside the four walls of the locked room," Ngaio says.
Me? Break the rules of fair play, which require, among other things, that the murder be solved with only the facts laid out before us, whether on the page or in the room? I'm outraged at the suggestion and nearly jump from the floor when I hear Agatha say with a chuckle, "Dorothy? Not a chance she'd violate the very principles she extols, both in her writing and in person. Let's examine the room more closely."
Thus mollified, I maintain my position while the women continue their search. The grandfather clock counts out several long minutes with its echoey tick as they poke and prod the library again. Leather-bound volumes are removed from shelves during the hunt for a hidden knife or a bloody letter opener. Dusty, cluttered surfaces are inspected for statues or decorative objects capable of blunt destruction. The ticking seems to grow louder and faster than before as the allotted murder game hour passes and the women begin to run out of time.
Then I hear the sound of drawers being slid out, and I freeze.
Emma calls out, "Careful, Ngaio. Now that I look at it more closely, I think that's an eighteenth-century David Roentgen desk. Or a copy."
"I am meant to treat an antique with kid gloves during a murder investigation?" Ngaio asks, her tone a little sharp.
"Impressive knowledge of antique carpentry," Agatha murmurs in a voice only I can hear.
Emma sounds aghast. "Of course not, Ngaio. Solving the crime is paramount. I mention that it's a Roentgen creation because if you turn the key in that lower section"—she points to a brass key jutting out of an ornately inlaid drawer—"side drawers will spring open."
"How on earth do you know that?" Ngaio asks, her tone impressed rather than irritated.
Emma chuckles, clearly pleased with the reaction. "We had a Roentgen desk in the family château in Tarnaörs, and I spent many happy childhood hours playing with it." She enjoys trotting out her lavish origins as the daughter of a Hungarian nobleman who served the Austro-Hungarian emperor before the entire family was driven out by a revolt. This boastfulness is noticeable, and I wonder how it will sit with us as time goes on.
The clip-clop of shoe heels sounds out again as the women congregate around the desk. "So," Margery asks, "if I turn this key, drawers will magically appear?"
"They should," Emma answers knowingly.
I hear a pop and a squeal of excitement from Margery.
"Ingenious," Ngaio says. "What a perfect place to hide a murder weapon. The average person would have no idea about these secret compartments."
Then, in a dejected voice, Margery says, "It's empty."
This excerpt ends on page 15 of the hardcover edition.
Monday we begin the book Bright Objects by Ruby Todd.
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