Read Online Shadow of Reality by Donna Fletcher Crow - Free Book Online
Authors: Donna Fletcher Crow
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theories buzzed around the room.
“Do you suppose she was short of money?”
“If so, why didn’t Nigel take care of it?”
“Maybe she committed suicide to avoid the scandal.”
“Just when she was about to get her hands on all of Sir Linden’s money?”
“Maybe he killed her to keep her hands off his money,” Evan speculated.
“Then why did he propose to her, dummy?” Cathy shot back, and Evan made a face at his sister.
“Is there anything about it in the Times ?” Helen asked, glancing at Bill.
“I don’t see anything about that, but here’s an article about the Foreign Office fearing a security leak.”
“Does it name Brian?”
“Doesn’t name anybody, but it says they fear top operators may be involved. Hmmm, one wonders…”
“I wonder which things are actual news stories from ’33 and which things are plants for the game,” Anita said.
“They did them well, didn’t they?” Helen agreed. “They must have printing facilities right here at the hotel, because I don’t think the landslide has been cleared yet.”
“Oh, these were probably done a week ago. But listen to this item in the gossip column!” Cathy exclaimed, then read: “‘All ears in the West End are strained to catch the name of the perennial understudy who is in love with the man her leading lady is to wed.’”
“But could that mean Gloria and Linden? Their engagement hadn’t been announced yet.”
“Don’t worry, Gertie Gossip would have had the scoop on that long before it was official.”
“So Susie was in love with Linden. Now there’s a motive,” Irene said thoughtfully. “But wasn't Susie dating Brian?”
“Why isn’t there anything in here about the murder?”
“These are Monday’s papers—the storm has slowed down communications.”
“Well, if the mail could get through, you’d think Scotland Yard could.”
“They don’t need Scotland Yard, they’ve got us,” Evan said with a grin.
Anita looked at him and shrugged. “I still think she just choked—you don’t need Scotland Yard for a natural death.”
“Seems everyone had a motive for killing her, though,” Irene mused.
“Oh!” Cathy gave a shrill shriek. Everyone looked at her. “Maybe that’s it! Maybe they all did it—like Murder on the Orient Express !”
“Yeah!” Everyone leaned forward.
“Why?” Richard asked.
Everyone sat back, like deflating balloons.
After a moment the team continued reading and chatting, commenting on interesting tidbits of genuine period events and the planted articles. Elizabeth turned to the library shelves behind her. They were well stocked with reading material to appeal to people attending a mystery week: Wilkie Collins, The Complete Sherlock Holmes, Ngaio Marsh, Josephine Tey…mysteries, thrillers, whodunits. Then there was a shelf of technical books on forensic toxicology and crime statistics, including A Medicolegal Investigation of Death and Bloodstain Pattern Interpretation . But Elizabeth’s fancy was taken by a stack of old magazines. She blew the dust off of an issue of Time and began turning the pages. She smiled to see how little some things changed. The romance of another Prince of Wales was in the news. An even older issue brought a wave of nostalgia with a rundown on the new TV shows for the season. Names that had been stellar at that moment were now all but forgotten. She shook her head over the impermanence of popularity and picked up another magazine.
Oh my goodness , she thought as she skimmed the list of best sellers. How time flies . She turned to the cover—the date was years ago. Amazing. It seemed those books had always existed, like Mother Goose or Peter Rabbit. And here was a review of a new biography of Agatha Christie…
Elizabeth was now completely lost to the chatter around her. Sneezing at the dust, she picked up another magazine with a five-year-old dateline, then gasped at her good fortune. Here was a review of Who Doth Murder Sleep? and a
“Do you suppose she was short of money?”
“If so, why didn’t Nigel take care of it?”
“Maybe she committed suicide to avoid the scandal.”
“Just when she was about to get her hands on all of Sir Linden’s money?”
“Maybe he killed her to keep her hands off his money,” Evan speculated.
“Then why did he propose to her, dummy?” Cathy shot back, and Evan made a face at his sister.
“Is there anything about it in the Times ?” Helen asked, glancing at Bill.
“I don’t see anything about that, but here’s an article about the Foreign Office fearing a security leak.”
“Does it name Brian?”
“Doesn’t name anybody, but it says they fear top operators may be involved. Hmmm, one wonders…”
“I wonder which things are actual news stories from ’33 and which things are plants for the game,” Anita said.
“They did them well, didn’t they?” Helen agreed. “They must have printing facilities right here at the hotel, because I don’t think the landslide has been cleared yet.”
“Oh, these were probably done a week ago. But listen to this item in the gossip column!” Cathy exclaimed, then read: “‘All ears in the West End are strained to catch the name of the perennial understudy who is in love with the man her leading lady is to wed.’”
“But could that mean Gloria and Linden? Their engagement hadn’t been announced yet.”
“Don’t worry, Gertie Gossip would have had the scoop on that long before it was official.”
“So Susie was in love with Linden. Now there’s a motive,” Irene said thoughtfully. “But wasn't Susie dating Brian?”
“Why isn’t there anything in here about the murder?”
“These are Monday’s papers—the storm has slowed down communications.”
“Well, if the mail could get through, you’d think Scotland Yard could.”
“They don’t need Scotland Yard, they’ve got us,” Evan said with a grin.
Anita looked at him and shrugged. “I still think she just choked—you don’t need Scotland Yard for a natural death.”
“Seems everyone had a motive for killing her, though,” Irene mused.
“Oh!” Cathy gave a shrill shriek. Everyone looked at her. “Maybe that’s it! Maybe they all did it—like Murder on the Orient Express !”
“Yeah!” Everyone leaned forward.
“Why?” Richard asked.
Everyone sat back, like deflating balloons.
After a moment the team continued reading and chatting, commenting on interesting tidbits of genuine period events and the planted articles. Elizabeth turned to the library shelves behind her. They were well stocked with reading material to appeal to people attending a mystery week: Wilkie Collins, The Complete Sherlock Holmes, Ngaio Marsh, Josephine Tey…mysteries, thrillers, whodunits. Then there was a shelf of technical books on forensic toxicology and crime statistics, including A Medicolegal Investigation of Death and Bloodstain Pattern Interpretation . But Elizabeth’s fancy was taken by a stack of old magazines. She blew the dust off of an issue of Time and began turning the pages. She smiled to see how little some things changed. The romance of another Prince of Wales was in the news. An even older issue brought a wave of nostalgia with a rundown on the new TV shows for the season. Names that had been stellar at that moment were now all but forgotten. She shook her head over the impermanence of popularity and picked up another magazine.
Oh my goodness , she thought as she skimmed the list of best sellers. How time flies . She turned to the cover—the date was years ago. Amazing. It seemed those books had always existed, like Mother Goose or Peter Rabbit. And here was a review of a new biography of Agatha Christie…
Elizabeth was now completely lost to the chatter around her. Sneezing at the dust, she picked up another magazine with a five-year-old dateline, then gasped at her good fortune. Here was a review of Who Doth Murder Sleep? and a
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