A Murder Among Friends. Ramona Richards

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СКАЧАТЬ “No, no. You don’t have to. But could you at least have the courtesy to make a little noise so you don’t scare a person half to death?”

      He scuffed his feet.

      Maggie glared at him, fighting a smile. He stared back, amusement lighting in his eyes.

      “I’m starved! Let’s get this show on the road!” Scott Jonas’s voice rang out from the back door, and Maggie blinked first, turning to look at him. Lily, his wife, followed, tripping a bit as she stepped through the door. She grabbed the door frame with her right hand, since her right tightly gripped an open bottle of Dom Perignon champagne. Maggie winced, and glanced at Fletcher, whose eyes narrowed as he looked over Scott and Lily, head to toe. His focus lingered on the bottle, and Maggie felt a chill move through her. She started forward, forgetting about the wet spot on her skirt.

      “Here, Scott, help me take the foil off the trays. Everything just got here, so it’s still hot.” Maggie opened up one tray after another, putting tongs or large spoons into each of the dishes.

      “I’m not really all that hungry,” Lily announced. “I just came because we have to.” She plucked a glass off the bar and poured the last drops of champagne into it, frowning. Then she smiled sweetly at Maggie. “Sorry, hon, looks like I’ll have to go get another one.”

      Maggie’s stomach cramped. She went to Lily and took the shorter, darker woman by the arm, speaking softly. “Don’t you think you should wait?”

      Lily flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “No,” she said, in a loud stage whisper. “Why should I?”

      Maggie closed her eyes. “Out of respect. And we have company,” she said, nodding at Fletcher.

      Lily glared at her. “Respect? Give me one good—”

      Maggie grabbed Lily’s wrists suddenly, locking eyes with her and startling the young actress. “Just because,” Maggie said firmly.

      Lily froze, then slowly relaxed under Maggie’s gaze. Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Mitten. I know he was special to you.”

      Maggie let go of her and pulled the empty bottle away. “Thank you. Please promise me that you’ll eat.” Lily nodded, looking suddenly very small and young as she sank down into a chair at the table.

      Maggie went into the kitchen and paused, staring at the bottle in her hand. Most people would look at the expensive drink with affection. It was a symbol of so many celebrations. But Maggie despised it, despised what it had done to one of the most talented actresses she’d ever seen perform. And when Maggie refused to stock it for her, Lily had it shipped in, two cases a month, storing it in the cabin. It was an image that everyone at the retreat knew well: Lily and her bottle, wandering through the morning mist, like Catherine searching for Heathcliff on the moor.

      Lily had promised she would try to cut down, but Maggie knew, all too well, that Lily used it to cope with her marriage recently—as well as other things. Maggie also knew that Lily sometimes appeared drunk when she wasn’t, just to keep Scott at bay. He hated it when she drank, and these days, Lily preferred him to be angry instead of affectionate.

      Scowling, Maggie flung the bottle into the trash, where it landed with a leaden thud. She grimaced at the sound, and she felt flushed, as if her blood were racing. Please let her be acting. She promised to lay off it tonight.

      Maggie returned to the great room, then realized that the room was much noisier. The rest of the residents had arrived and were gossiping and filling their plates. Maggie stopped, looking around.

      They sat and started eating, talking about the day’s work. No one seemed to notice Aaron’s absence. Only a day had passed, and it was as if nothing had changed, and that any minute, the tall blond man who had so captivated her a few years ago would open the door and stroll into the room with that casual lanky way he had about him.

      Maggie felt like screaming. How can you all be so callous? She stared out over the room, feeling numb again. Lily came to her, distracting her. The younger woman leaned close, whispering, “You didn’t tell me he was a cop.”

      “He’s not anymore.”

      Lily’s lips pursed. “Very funny, Mitten. Why is he here?”

      “Korie wants him to be.”

      “Korie!” Lily’s suddenly loud voice echoed, and several people stopped talking. Over her shoulder, Maggie could see Fletcher watching them.

      Maggie nodded. “Yes—Korie,” she said, in her normal voice. Stepping away, she announced generally, “Korie won’t be here tonight. She called this afternoon, and she’s going to a show opening in Boston. She’ll be back tomorrow night, and will stay until—”

      “Yeah, right.” Scott’s cynicism was undisguised. “I doubt we’ll see much of her ever again. She’s finally free.”

      Fletcher had finished filling his plate and sat down on the opposite side of the table from Scott. “Why do you say that?”

      “Who are you?” Scott asked, as he broke open the cap on a bottle of spring water.

      “Fletcher MacAllister. I’m—”

      “Judson MacLean,” Scott finished.

      Fletcher reached for the salt. “Not exactly.”

      “Fletcher is going to be our guest for a while,” Maggie said, setting a plate of food on the table and slipping into her chair. She glanced around, wondering who looked the most guilty. “Fletcher, meet our current retreat residents. To my left are Lily Dunne and Scott Jonas. Next is Patrick Stanfield, cabin three. Dan Jameson, cabin—” She stopped and smiled weakly. “I’ll give you those later. Carter Everson, Tonya Marino, Frank Petersen, Laura Baker and Mick Lovett. And down at the end there is Tim Miller.” Maggie went through the names of the nine residents and the groundskeeper slowly, noticing that Fletcher made distinct eye contact with each of them. “Fletcher is here, at the request of Korie, to look into Aaron’s death.” The table fell silent as they all stared at Fletcher.

      “I thought it was an accident,” said Patrick, a writer who’d been at the retreat almost as long as Scott and Lily.

      Fletcher opened his mouth to speak, but Maggie beat him to it. “It was, Patrick. But you know Korie and her drama-queen ways. We just want to make sure there are no loose ends. Don’t be surprised if Fletcher asks you about Monday night, just to see what you remember.”

      “But I don’t remember anything,” Lily said.

      “You never do,” responded Scott.

      Dual pink flushes colored Lily’s cheeks, and there was a brightness to her eyes that everyone tried to ignore. She picked up her fork in her left hand and tried to eat, but mostly moved food from one side of the plate to the other. Maggie knew from long experience that she would probably be silent the rest of the night.

      At the far end of the table, Tim Miller stood up suddenly, taking his plate back to the bar. Second helpings hit his plate with mushy slaps, as Fletcher said evenly, “I won’t bother anyone unnecessarily. Tyler has completed his report. This is just for Korie’s peace of mind.”

      “In other words,” Scott said hoarsely, “she thinks one of us killed him.”

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