«Besides,» Maggie interrupted yet again, «Sam was only the writer. If Joanne didn't ask about him, nobody would probably even notice he was missing. Except they didn't count on us.»
«Thank you, Maggie. And once a serious search party was mounted, there would be so many footprints that the former lack of them would never be noticed. And not to offend the ladies, but the cold would also have served to keep Undercuffler's body undiscovered.»
«So they could just have left him in the attic room,» Evan Pottinger said, obviously not as drunk as he might appear. «Why'd they go back and hang him out the window? Oh, right, maybe they had to go back for the jewelry anyway. And the suicide angle. You're figuring they didn't decide to fake the suicide until after he was already dead. I forgot. And we're saying murderers now. Plural. There's more than one?»
Maggie jumped in to answer. «Joanne's stopwatch cord may have been used as the murder weapon, but the woman most certainly did not lift Sam's dead weight up and out the window while tying him to the scaffolding. Not alone.»
«She's right,» Arnaud said, shaking his head. «It took the two of us just to cut him down again. Joanne couldn't have done it alone. But she killed him?»
«I'm afraid we can't ask her that,» Saint Just said, stepping away from the fireplace. «But there you have it. Unbelievable as it may seem, it appears that Joanne Pertuccelli and Sam Undercuffler, and one as-yet-unnamed cohort in crime, heard about the missing jewels, discovered the hidden passage, found the jewels, and then had a falling out that ended in the murders of two of the three accomplices. It is only left to discover that third party, who is, sadly, one of us, unexpectedly trapped here with us at the moment. And the jewels, of course. When we discover the one, we will find the other.»
«I don't understand,» Troy said, frowning. «How did they know about the jewelry?»
Saint Just, who had previously been annoyed with Troy Barlow's thick skull, wished the man hadn't taken this moment to at last appear incisive.
«We don't know. We're working on that, just as I am still wondering why the miscreants didn't simply shut Sam's body in the secret passage and be done with it, allowing everyone to think he'd simply gone missing—at least until the heat of summer. Perhaps the faked hanging was a natural thought progression for someone in the very visual movie industry? Or perhaps the method of demise for Uncle Willis spurred their imaginations?»
«Stuff him behind that wall? And you said summer. Eeeeuuuwww , you mean he'd start to smell when it got hot.» Marylou put her hand to her mouth, then buried her head against Sir Rudy's chest. «That's just too gross.»
«Indeed,» agreed Saint Just. «Now, if there are no further questions, and if no one is prepared to confess, I suggest you all adjourn once more to the main saloon and the warmth of that quite delightful fire while we await the arrival of the constable.»
«That's it? That's all? Sam and Joanne were bad guys, and they're dead—and so what? And there's still a killer in the group? No way.» Evan Pottinger lifted the lead crystal stopper from the decanter he held and threw it in the general direction of the bed. «I say let's frisk everybody, find the jewels. I get to pat down Boffo girl.» Then he drank straight out of the decanter.
Saint Just was tempted to agree with at least the spirit of Evan's suggestion. It was time every guest's bedchamber was searched, as, judging by the size of the outline in the dusty stone niche, the amount of jewels was considerable, certainly more than could be concealed on anyone's person. «I think personal searches are unnecessary, Evan. However, as you all return to the main saloon, please, Maggie, Sterling, and I will conduct searches of each bedchamber until such time as the constable can ford the flood.»
«I don't want you poking around in my room. You're no cop,» Troy said, pouting. «I'm going with you.»
A chorus of «me, too's» followed. Naturally.
«Very well. But we'll all go together, room to room.»
«Like a group toidy,» Bernice said, and Maggie giggled.
«Please don't explain that, ladies,» Saint Just said. «Now off you go, two by two, as has already been suggested.»
«She's gone.» Byrd Stockwell turned in a full circle. «Nikki's gone! Son-of-a—»
«Nikki?» Maggie looked up at Saint Just, wide-eyed. «No. She's the third one?»
Saint Just was confused. Really, really confused. How could he have been watching the wrong suspect? «There was always the hope someone would, as you Americans say, make a break for it. But Miss Campion? Perhaps she, too, had need of the facilities?»
«Yeah? Well, let's go find out,» Maggie said, already heading for the doorway to the hall, hard on Byrd Stockwell's heels.
«You go with the others, Robin,» Saint Just said, taking hold of the man's arm and turning him about. «Sterling? Please see that our Robin Redbreast remains with the others.»
«Really?» Sterling blinked several times, then stood up very straight. «Perry and I will see to it, Saint Just, have no fears on that head. Perry? You take his left, I'll take his right.»
«Anything you say, Sterling.»
«Don't you dare,» Byrd said, backing away, only to bump into Bernice, of all people, who had picked up a very substantial-looking brass figurine and was now holding it with the same intensity with which Saint Just's favorite New York Met, Mike Piazza, gripped a baseball bat.
«Go on, try to run, I dare you,» Bernie said. «I've been looking for someone to beat on all night. If I can't drink, I can get my jollies this way.»
«Thatta girl,» Maggie said, then took off for the other wing, Saint Just beside her. «I know which is Nikki's room. I saw it yesterday morning.»
«This doesn't make sense,» Saint Just told her as they broke into a jog. «You saw the robin look at the wall when I announced we'd found the passage—before I revealed the location of the opening?»
«I did. And he's logical. Nikki isn't. One thing's for sure—the robbery itself was planned . Only the murders were unplanned.»
They were past the main staircase now, and Maggie suddenly stopped, then turned back.
«I thought you said you knew the location of her bedchamber.»
«I do, but she went this way,» Maggie said, holding up her flashlight as she grabbed the railing and started down the stairs toward the candlelit first floor.
«How do you know that?»
«Because I can smell her perfume, and the smell died off when we got past the staircase,» Maggie said, moving faster on the stairs than Saint Just ever would have supposed; obviously a woman on a mission. «She went this way.»
«Very good, Maggie.»
«Not really,» she said as they reached the bottom of the staircase and then sniffed again before heading back toward the study and, beyond that, the servant staircase leading to the kitchens. «She pours on the perfume. A Chihuahua with a deviated septum could follow her scent. Come on, Alex, she's getting away!»
Chapter sixteen
Maggie ran until she realized she probably should slow down before she fell and broke something— most probably herself—and then hesitated as she and Alex got to the servant stairs.
«She went down. And you know why? Because she knows to go down. Do you know why she knows to go down?»
«Maggie, she's down. And very soon to be out and about, so we can probably leave this discussion for later, yes?»