Murder Takes the High Road(69)

“Carter.” Ben put his hand on my shoulder.

“No.” I shrugged him off. “Think about Strathpeffer. This is not beyond them. Look around you. The whole place is a stage set. I don’t believe it.”

Shock and confusion gave way to suspicion on the faces of the hold-outs. There were more sounds of agreement.

Elizabeth said in that same quiet voice, “Very well, Mr. Matheson. If you won’t take our word for it, you must see for yourself.”

It sounded a little ominous when she put it like that, and for the first time I wondered if they might be telling the truth.

“The rest of you will have to rely on Mr. Matheson’s report,” Elizabeth added. “I’ve contacted the authorities and received instructions that the room is to be left undisturbed until their arrival. Allowing Mr. Matheson to view the body is already in violation of these orders.”

There was quick agreement from the Tours to Die For gang, who now eyed me with respectful sympathy. My stomach began to roil with a mix of nerves and squeamishness, but I was still deeply suspicious of Vanessa’s sudden “death,” and determined to see for myself.

I followed Elizabeth out of the hall and up the stairs, which then branched in a different direction from the guest rooms.

This wing of the castle was very different, almost spartan. Aside from a couple of suits of armor and the inevitable armory adorning the walls, there was little in the way of decor. No sly faux family portraits. No goofy gimcracks.

My doubt ratcheted with each yard of faded carpet.

At last we reached a large carved door. Face impassive, Elizabeth drew out a set of old-fashioned keys, selected a shiny silver newish one, and unlocked first one deadbolt and then a second. She pushed the door open.

The drapes were drawn. The room was in darkness. My heart turned cold. Elizabeth reached for the wall switch, but even before the light came on I knew Vanessa was dead.

The smell of death lingered in the room.

She lay face down on the floor, next to the bed. Her silver hair covered her face. She wore an indigo blue dressing gown and the diamond jewelry from the night before. Thick wooly gray-and-white Fair Isle socks were on her feet. Somehow the socks made it all real. There was something human and sad about those socks.

“Jesus.” The sound of my own voice startled me. “Was she...” I couldn’t even finish it. I’d never before seen a body that hadn’t been formally prepared for burial. The sight of Vanessa’s corpse was genuinely shocking.

“I don’t believe so. I saw no sign of violence.”

“What could have happened? Was she sick? Did she have some medical condition?”

“She never went to a doctor as long as I worked for her. She said she’d enough of doctors.”

I continued to stand there. It never occurred to me to leave the doorway. It wasn’t necessary.

“Have you seen enough?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes.”

I backed up. She turned off the light and closed the door. Neither of us said a word as I followed her back downstairs.

When we reached the ground level we discovered that Alison had shepherded everyone to the library. As Elizabeth and I entered the room, every face turned my way.

I nodded.

There was a sort of collective sigh followed by a collective slump.

“Was it...could you tell if it was a natural death?” Sally asked after a few minutes.

There were some shocked noises at this, but of course the thought would occur. It had certainly occurred to me.

“I couldn’t tell,” I said. “I didn’t examine her.” And unless the cause of death was something brutally obvious, wouldn’t have known what to look for in any case.

“What does it matter how she died?” Ben said. “The point is she really is dead.” He looked sick. Surprisingly sick for someone who had only come along on this trip to keep his mother company.

But I sympathized. I felt sick. I sat in one of the velvet wingback chairs and rubbed my face. I wanted to forget the chilly smell of decay. I realized I would never have that promised tête-à-tête with Vanessa now.

Sally said, “It matters because if she was murdered, the murderer might still be here on the island. We might all be in danger.”

“What a bloody ridiculous thing to say.” Daya looked terrified. Roddy took her hand and patted it.

“But she’s right,” Laurel said. “If it was murder—”

The Poe sisters concurred. Everybody concurred. We all watched the same movies and read the same books. Of course we concurred.

“That would be a determination for the authorities,” Elizabeth said.

Maybe she watched the same movies too, because I’d have expected instinctive denial, even outrage at the idea. Elizabeth sounded almost unsurprised.

Granted, she was the personal assistant to a famous murder writer who lived in a castle that looked like a set forgotten by a Hammer Horror Film crew.

Alison stared at her. “But they won’t make it tonight. Listen to that rain.”

We all listened. Even behind these massive walls, we could hear the roar of rain. It beat against the stone, rattled against the windows, smacked and slapped every available surface.

Alison was right. No helicopter would be able to fly in now, and I couldn’t imagine many boats would risk the journey either. In fact, the idea of trying to sail across that choppy water made my stomach flop like a seal on an ice floe.