Chapter 14. Is This a Trope? #2
Ugh. He’s right. What were Guy and I talking about? I’ll have to search the memory tape for that one. But in the meantime … “Let’s focus on the task at hand, shall we? Poison. Any thoughts there?”
“Maybe it was a slow-acting poison and it was given earlier in the day,” Cathy says.
“Do those exist?” one of the men says.
“You know they do, Harold,” the woman sitting next to him says. “Remember? That’s how someone in your third book dies.”
“According to Google,” Stefano says, holding up his phone, “the classic form of a slow-acting poison is lead.”
“He wasn’t killed with lead, surely,” I say.
“What about polonium?” Cathy says.
“The one the Russians use? Very dangerous to transport. I’d rule that out,” Sandrine says.
“Sucrose is a poison,” Stefano says. “It says here that even Poirot wouldn’t have been able to figure it out.”
Sandrine reads over his shoulder. “Because it’s what made Poirot fat. It was a self-poisoning.”
“Like alcohol.”
“What’s that, El?” Cathy says.
“Nothing. Anything more likely to be used?”
“Someone has helpfully made a list,” Stefano said. “How did people write books before the Internet?”
Excellent question.
“What’s on it?”
“Arsenic, belladonna, botulinum, cyanide.”
“That last one acts quickly,” Cathy says. “And don’t you end up foaming blue at the mouth? Is that how Guy looked, Eleanor? You got a good look, didn’t you?”
“Too good.”
“So?”
“I don’t think so. And I don’t think this is productive, after all.
There are many ways to poison a person, and it didn’t have to be when the lights were out, though those two events juxtaposed together are too much of a coincidence.
So, I’d assume it was a fast-acting poison administered in the dark by someone who took advantage of it or knew it was going to happen. ”
“How would they know?” Stefano says.
“I don’t know, but I’d guess they’d need to have proximity to him. And no, I didn’t do it, but I did hear someone near me when the lights were out.”
“Interesting,” Sandrine says. “So it could’ve been anyone at the tables nearby or a waiter or one of the other staff.”
“Who was sitting at your table?” Cathy says. “They should be on the list.”
“And the table next to it,” the woman who spoke before says, her voice tumbling out quickly. “How long were the lights out? It felt like a long time, but that’s because I’m scared of the dark.”
“Figures you would be,” Harold says.
“Enough out of you, Harold.”
“Let’s keep these two apart, shall we, so there isn’t another body,” Sandrine says. “What we really have to figure out is why anyone would want to kill Guy.”
“Let’s go through the usual list of motives.” I turn back to the board. “Jealousy, fear, revenge, anger.”
“What about love?”
“We can add that, though I doubt that’s what’s at play here.”
“Why? You don’t think anyone loved Guy?” Sandrine asks.
“No, I’m sure someone did…”
“So judgy, El.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Leave Eleanor alone, Sandrine,” Cathy says.
“Anyway,” I say, “those are our options. But there are a lot of facts we don’t know yet.”
And one crucial one I’m keeping back from the group. Because they don’t know about Brian. And that must be the key to this mystery. Their connection, what Guy was doing here in the first place.
I can’t put my finger on it, but I know it’s the soft spot I need to probe and keep on probing.
“Who here knew the victim?” Stefano says.
“Me. Connor. Harper. Oliver. Vicki. Sandrine. Elizabeth may have met him before.”
“And me,” Cathy says. “Don’t forget me.”
I try to smile. “How could I ever do that?”
“Anyone else?”
“Potentially,” I say. “I don’t know everyone here.”
“So that’s a lot of suspects,” Stefano says.
“We don’t all have a motive to kill him.”
“Does anyone?”
“He was in business with Connor,” Cathy supplies. “They had a falling-out.”
“How do you know that?”
“I read his book.”
“Ah.”
“I’ve read everything about you.”
“Great.”
“That’s creepy, Cathy,” Sandrine says, surprising me.
“I’m a fan.”
“More like a fanatic.”
“It’s okay, Sandrine, thank you.”
“If you’re okay with your stalker being here, I guess that’s your choice.”
“I’m not a stalker!”
“Excuse me, weren’t you arrested for just that?”
I start to feel choked up. And not about Cathy, but about Sandrine, because she’s defending me. Advocating for me.
And it hurts.
Damn it.
“Laissez-faire, Sandrine.”
She makes a pfft noise with her lips. “Fine.”
“So did Cathy kill Guy?” Stefano asks. “I’m confused.”
“No.”
“But she’s a criminal.”
“She’s not…” I stop myself from saying she’s not dangerous, because do I know that? Not really. She could be.
“I have another question,” Stefano says.
“Go ahead.”
“Did Guy really write that book?”
“I…” This has never occurred to me. I’m not sure why, but it makes sense that a ghostwriter would’ve been used. I try to remember when his book was published and whether I heard any whispers about it then. I guess I can ask Vicki, but I’m not sure what the relevance of that is to his murder.
Only, when someone dies, everything about their life becomes relevant.
You just have to find the pattern and connect the dots, and all those euphemisms we use for figuring out why someone would think that killing someone is the solution to their problems.
“Why did you ask that, Stefano?”
“I guess I just have good deductive instincts.”
“More fodder for your TikTok series,” Sandrine drawls.
“That, too. Either way, Connor Smith is at the top of my suspect list.”
I sigh as I glance at the clock. “I think we’re almost out of time.”
“But we don’t know who the killer is,” Stefano says.
“It’s too early for that.”
“Too early?”
“In the book. I’m trying to wrap this back into the lecture. You can find my notes on the website in the user portal. But this is just the investigatory phase. Unless the killer was very careless, we aren’t going to know who did it for a while.”
Something catches my eye. Officer Rolle is in the doorway.
“If we find out who did it at all. Assuming it was a crime. Now, before we have our meetings this afternoon to talk over your pages, you should all do the next writing prompt. Thanks, everyone. I’ll see you at lunch.”
Stefano harrumphs, then walks to the board and takes out his phone.
“Not for public consumption, Stefano.”
“It’s just for my investigation.”
“Put your phone away.”
He glares at me as he slips it into his pocket, then exits with the rest of the class.
I try not to roll my eyes as I walk toward Officer Rolle. His face is stern, and I know without having to ask that he’s here to deliver more bad news.
“He was murdered?”
He nods.
“Was it poison?”
He nods again.
“Do you know what kind?”
“Pathology will take a while, but the preliminary determination is that it was something fast-acting.”
“So, it was administered right before he died.”
“Yes.”
“His food is being tested?”
“Of course, but the medical examiner found a prick point on his left shoulder. His determination is that it was administered there. Especially since we found this.”
He takes a plastic evidence envelope out of his pocket, and as my eyes take in what it is, I start to feel faint.
“Have you seen something like this before?”
I nod wordlessly.
“I thought so. You’ll be coming with me, then.”
“What … what for?”
“Questioning.”