“Okay, I see. Is that her will?” Rountree held out his hand.
“Okay, Wes, I’ll let you see it. But before you do, I’d better tell you that this will is the damnedest thing!” Shaking his head, he handed it across his desk to the sheriff. “The damnedest thing.”
Geoffrey pulled back the curtain and peered at Alban’s castle, white in the morning sunlight. “Did he say he was coming over?”
“I expect he’ll be over later,” said Elizabeth, “but he really didn’t say. Would you like me to call him?”
Geoffrey shrugged. “I suppose not. He can’t do anything. And I can always talk to you, can’t I?”
Elizabeth was puzzled. “About what?”
Geoffrey waved vaguely. “Oh… about this rather theatrical situation we find ourselves in. It’s sort of the reverse of Hamlet, isn’t it? That line about ‘the funeral-baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.’ Only the other way around.”
“You’re always going on about Hamlet,” she observed. “I hope you’re not planning to mention that to any reporters who happen to call. That allusion might be catchy enough to make headlines.”
“No fear, Cousin,” said Geoffrey grimly. “I have no desire to encourage sensationalism, or to gain immortality between the pages of a crime magazine. I just want to find out who did it.”
“Even when you know, it probably won’t make any sense,” sighed Elizabeth. “It will probably be some drifter that we never even heard of, and even he won’t know why he did it.”
“That would be convenient, wouldn’t it?” snapped Geoffrey.
“Would it be better to find out that it was someone we do know?”
“Just as long as we know. And I don’t think it was just a senseless act of violence. A casual murder. Getting back to Hamlet: ‘Yet there’s method in it.’ ”
“More Hamlet,” muttered Elizabeth.
“It’s called barding,” Geoffrey informed her. “You should hear Sinclair doing it. He can bard through a whole conversation. It’s marvelous!”
“I’m sure it is.”
“I must call him today. The play will have to be put off. I think Mother would insist on six months. Or perhaps they could do a play without me in the meantime.” He walked to the bookshelf and pulled out the large volume of quotations. Flipping to the Ss, he ran his finger down the page and then intoned: “ ‘Our wills and fates do so contrary run that our devices still are overthrown.’ ”
“I think it’s cheating if you use the book,” said Elizabeth.
“I just wanted to check to see what act it was in.”
“Hamlet, of course?”
“Of course.”
The duel was interrupted by the sound of the door chimes. “ ‘The bell invites me,’ ” Elizabeth said, hurrying out. “ ‘Hear it not, Duncan-” ’
“You would quote Macbeth!” Geoffrey called after her.
A few moments later she came back to find Geoffrey still leafing through the Dictionary of Quotations. “That was Deputy Sheriff Taylor,” she told him. “He wanted to let us know that he was doing more investigating at the scene of-at the lake.”
Geoffrey nodded without looking up.
“I told him that it would be all right.” She sat down again and picked up her book. She had found it on one of the shelves in the Chandler library: Digging for Troy: The Romance of Archeology.
“You know, it’s unlucky to quote from Macbeth,” he remarked.
“Why? It’s my favorite play.”
“It would be. It’s just terribly unlucky. All theater people are shy of it. Sinclair was telling me that the boy actor who was to play the first Lady Macbeth took ill before the first performance, and the Bard himself had to play the part. The boy supposedly died while the play was going on.”
“Coincidence,” remarked Elizabeth.
“No, really. Two actors in the thirties took sick after having been given the title role, and when Olivier played it, the tip of his sword broke off and struck a member of the audience, who had a heart attack.”
“Oh, dear!” said Elizabeth.
“Lots of actors won’t even say the title, much less quote from it! They call it ‘The Scottish Play.’ ”
“Alban was quoting from it last night. When I told him about Eileen, he said, ‘She should have died hereafter.’ I hope it won’t bring him bad luck.”
“One can never tell. Years from now he may be forced to sit through a bagpipe concert-”
Someone tapped on the library door. A moment later, Dr. Chandler opened the door with an apologetic smile. “Excuse me, Elizabeth. Could I possibly disturb you? Your Aunt Amanda is asking for you. She’s downstairs in the den. I can’t persuade her to rest. She keeps insisting that there’s too much to be done. She’s a brave woman, Elizabeth. Just don’t let her exhaust herself.”
“I’ll try,” murmured Elizabeth, wondering how anyone could be expected to prevent Amanda from doing something she’d set her mind to.
When she reached the pine-paneled den (or as Geoffrey termed it, “Mother’s Lair”), Elizabeth saw that Amanda was making notations on the back of an envelope. With her auburn hair pinned in an untidy bun and her glasses balanced precariously on the tip of her nose, she looked like the classic picture of a school-marm.
“Here I am, Aunt Amanda.”
“Elizabeth. Good. There is just so much to be done. Scads of things. You’re very sweet to offer to help me.” Elizabeth blinked at this, and Amanda continued, “I thought that we would just carry the burden ourselves and not disturb poor Michael with any of it. Don’t you agree?” Amanda patted the cushion of the couch next to her chair.
Elizabeth hurried to the couch and sat down.
“The first thing we must do is to compose a telegram to notify the invited guests from out-of-town. Oh, and I do wish you would call Todd and O’Connor. They’re in the phone book, and… let’s see…”
She leaned over to hand the scribbled envelope to Elizabeth. Without meaning to, Elizabeth pulled away. What was that smell? It took her a moment to place it, only because she would never have associated Aunt Amanda with whiskey. Elizabeth studied her aunt with a new interest. Amanda, mistaking this attention for dedication to the task, went on detailing the day’s obligations.
What a strange reaction to Eileen’s death, Elizabeth thought. I wonder if I ought to tell Uncle Robert. She forced her attention back to the problem of the funeral arrangements, and found that Amanda was repeating herself and rambling on about trivial details.
“… Todd and O’Connor. Did I tell you to call ’em? Silly-looking man, Azzie Todd. Like a stick with ears…” Amanda giggled.
“I’ll call them, Aunt Amanda,” said Elizabeth loudly.
Amanda nodded happily. “Flowers, of course. Got to send flowers to the out-of-town guests…”
Elizabeth sighed. This is impossible, she told herself. Telling a potted sophomore to go to bed and sleep it off is one thing, but one’s bereaved aunt is quite another matter. There was a certain dignity to Amanda’s condition, which made it sad. I can do the calling and the arranging, Elizabeth decided, but I cannot deal with this. With a murmured excuse, she fled.
Dr. Chandler was not in the living room or the library, both of which were empty. Elizabeth decided to check the morning room in case he had gone in for a midmorning cup of coffee. He was not there, but Carlsen Shepherd was, dividing his attention between French toast and the Atlanta newspaper.
“Where’s Uncle Robert?” Elizabeth asked without preamble.