Frankly My Dear, I'm Dead. Livia J Washburn

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СКАЧАТЬ the police would have any questions for my nieces. After all, they’d both been inside when Steven Kelley was killed. But, once again going by what I’d seen on TV and in the movies, I figured there was a chance they’d question everybody who was here tonight, regardless of where they were when the crime was committed.

      As I started to herd the girls toward the house, Augusta looked back over her shoulder and said, “At least tell us who it was that got killed, Aunt Delilah. That can’t hurt anything, can it?”

      I didn’t see any reason not to tell them. “It was the man who played Rhett Butler.”

      They looked at each other.

      “Oh,” Amelia said.

      “Him,” Augusta said.

      I got the distinct impression that the murdered man’s identity meant something to them, but before I could ask them about it, Will Burke came up to me. I introduced him to the girls, then he said, “I heard about what happened, Ms. Dickinson. People are saying that you discovered the body? Are you all right?”

      The question took me a little by surprise, both the concern that was evident in his voice and expression and the rumor that I was the one who’d found the murdered man. “I’m fine,” I said, “but I’m not the one who found him. That was—” I stopped and looked around for Elliott Riley but didn’t see him anywhere. “Now where the heck did he go?”

      As I asked the question, I recalled that when I’d first seen Riley just outside the ballroom doors, he’d been upset and had dark stains on his hands—like blood. There was no doubt in my mind now that it was Steven Kelley’s blood. Obviously Riley had touched the body. I knew it was selfish of me, but my immediate reaction was dismay that not only had somebody been killed during my first tour, but also that one of my clients had found the body. That couldn’t be good for business.

      And then a little voice in the back of my head asked, What if the killer is one of your clients? That’s going to be even worse, isn’t it?

      I must have groaned at the thought, because Dr. Will Burke leaned closer to me and asked, “Are you sure you’re all right? Even if you’re not the one who found the body, this must still be quite a shock for you.”

      I held up a hand. “I’ll be fine. You’re right, Doctor. Murder is just…shocking.”

      “You’re sure it’s murder?”

      I glanced at Augusta and Amelia, who were watching and listening with avid interest, especially Augusta. “The man was stabbed,” I said. “It didn’t look like an accident or suicide to me.”

      “Do you know who he was?”

      “Mr. Ralston called him Steven Kelley.”

      I could see that the name meant something to Will. His breath hissed between his teeth.

      “I guess you knew him, since you said you work here.”

      Will nodded. “He and I teach at the same college. He’s the head of the drama department there.” He stopped and shook his head. “Taught at the same college, I should say. It…it’s hard to believe, hard to grasp when someone you know dies suddenly like this, especially violently….”

      “Were you good friends?”

      “No, I wouldn’t say that. Just colleagues. But I’ve known him for several years.”

      Augusta said, “Who’d want to kill him?”

      Will looked surprised at the blunt question, but no more surprised than I felt. “I have no idea,” he said, at the same time I was telling Augusta, “That’s none of our business.”

      But it might be my business, I reminded myself, if one of my clients turned out to be the killer. This news was going to spread fast through Atlanta’s travel agency community. Conventional wisdom says there’s no such thing as bad publicity…but at the moment I wasn’t so sure about that.

      The sirens had gotten a lot louder while I was talking to my nieces and to Dr. Will Burke, and now they cut off abruptly. I took that to mean the police and the ambulance had arrived, and sure enough, before I could manage to get Augusta and Amelia back inside, several uniformed officers hurried through the French doors in the ballroom and into the garden. A couple of paramedics carrying emergency kits trotted after them.

      The officers were sheriff’s deputies, I saw—from the patches on their shirts—as they went past me. The plantation was well outside the Atlanta city limits, so that made sense. They moved the crowd back, telling everyone in brisk, no-nonsense voices to return to the ballroom and stay there. One of the deputies went along with us, I guess to keep an eye on us and make sure nobody tried to sneak off.

      Edmond Ralston spoke to one of the deputies and was allowed to remain in the garden as the paramedics knelt on either side of Steven Kelley and opened their kits. I saw one of them take out a stethoscope and press it to the dead man’s chest as he listened for a heartbeat.

      He wasn’t going to find one.

      Luke found me once we all got back into the ballroom. He looked relieved that Amelia and Augusta were all right, as I had been. “I’ll bet it won’t take very long for the cops to find out who killed the guy. They’ve got all that forensic stuff now, like on TV. There must be fingerprints on the handle of that knife.”

      “Will they have to fingerprint everybody here?” Augusta asked.

      “They’ll get that icky black ink all over our fingers,” Amelia said.

      “We’ll just cooperate, answer all their questions, and do whatever they say,” I told them. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

      I was worried, though. The more I thought about Elliott Riley discovering the body, the more I wondered about him. He had a temper, as was obvious from that fight he had gotten into with Gerhard Mueller at the Gone With the Wind Movie Museum the day before. And he’d had blood on his hands.

      That was easily explained. When he found Steven Kelley’s body, he could have touched Kelley while trying to see how badly he was hurt and maybe help him if he was still alive. Perfectly innocent.

      But where had Riley vanished to after that, and where was he now? That was a little more suspicious, even though Riley’s absence might not really mean anything.

      I turned to Luke. “Have you seen Elliott Riley?”

      “Who?”

      “The man who had that trouble with the German tourist at the museum yesterday.” I lowered my voice and leaned closer to him. “The one who started yelling tonight when he found the body.”

      “Oh, yeah, him.” Luke looked around the ballroom. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

      The people who’d been told by the deputies to wait in the ballroom had split up into two main groups: the guests from my tour, and the actors and staff who worked here on the plantation, recreating the antebellum lifestyle for the tourists’ enjoyment. Within those groups there were smaller bunches, all standing around with shocked expressions on their faces, talking in hushed conversations about how terrible all of this was. At least, that’s what I assumed they were talking about. I spotted “Scarlett СКАЧАТЬ