“The police are dealing with it,” I said. “You should interview them.”

  “I tried to. Dave Dawson’s new to the post. He’s stepping warily.”

  “Meaning he’s not rushing to any conclusions,” I said.

  “What happened just now? A young girl suddenly overcome with illness? Being rushed to the hospital? Was she poisoned by something she ate in the same manner as Elias Theropodous?” He held his pencil over his notebook and gave me a mean smile.

  My mouth flapped open. I shut it. I could hardly tell this odious man that one of our young guests had made a show of trying to kill herself because her parents wouldn’t let her date a Haggerman’s employee.

  “I trust,” I said, “you’ll respect the family’s privacy.”

  His eyes gleamed. “I need something for my paper, Mrs. Grady. Are you going to give it to me or . . .”

  The word hung in the air.

  I was saved by the timely arrival of Jim Westenham. He slapped McEnery on the back so hard the other man pitched forward. “I thought I’d head into town, grab some lunch. Check things out before the press conference at three. I might pop into your paper’s office, Martin. Ask the owners if they know their reporter’s trying to dig up dirt on one of the town’s largest employers.”

  “I’m in pursuit of a story, Westenham, same as you.”

  “If, and it’s still an if, Elias Theropodous was deliberately poisoned, that’s a story. Regardless of what happened to him, the medical problems of a young guest and the distress of her family is not, and never will be, any story I’ll report on.”

  McEnery attempted to puff himself up. He looked at me. I clamped my lips shut.

  “I’m going back to town,” he said. “I’ll drop into the police station, check with Chief Dawson as to the status of the investigation.”

  “You do that,” Jim said.

  McEnery clamped his hat on his head and stormed off. I held my breath when he passed Lacy’s father coming in after seeing the ambulance off, but McEnery didn’t pause. Several people rushed Lacy’s father, asking what was going on.

  “Quite all right. Quite all right,” he said. “My daughter seems to have come down with a bad case of the flu. Her mother’s with her, and they’re going to the hospital to have her checked out. Just a precaution.” Head down, he slipped past me going in the direction of the dining room.

  “Girls these days.” A stiff-backed, silver-haired matriarch sniffed as she tapped her way across the lobby with the aid of a gold-topped cane. “Haven’t got a lick of common sense. If you want my opinion, her foolish parents allowed her a glass of wine at dinner. Wouldn’t have been permitted in my day.”

  No one asked the lady how a single glass of wine the night before could send a girl to hospital the following day.

  Some of our male staff did try to ply the young female guests with liquor or offer to get them into the bars in town. The girls, like Lacy’s sister, were young, on vacation, surrounded by college boys, stretching their wings. It didn’t always end happily.

  “Thanks for getting rid of McEnery,” I said to Jim. “I really, really do not like him.”

  “If he’s headed to the police station, he’s going to be sadly disappointed,” Jim said. “Deputy Dave’s still here. Unlike his predecessor, who made sure everyone knew he was around by leaving the car out front, Dave parked in the staff lot. He’s still interviewing people about last night.”

  “Is that why you’re hanging around? Hoping for a chance to talk to him?”

  Jim grinned and spread his arms out. “As I seem to be the only newspaperman in the place . . . yup.”

  I shook my head. “Not here. Not in my hotel. If you want to interview the chief, I’ve heard he likes the Red Spot Diner on Main Street.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks. Speaking of lunch . . .”

  “Were we?”

  “We are now. Do you have time to join me? I hear the food’s good here.”

  “No, I don’t, sorry. If you’re hoping to stay in the area tonight, you should get on the phone and try to find yourself a room. Things fill up fast around here in the summertime.” I walked away, conscious of Jim’s eyes following me.

  When he’d been here last, he’d taken me out to dinner and had been very pleasant company. Jim was good-looking and full of charm. But he was a newspaperman, first and always, and I didn’t entirely trust him. I’d learned, the hard way, about men and their self-serving charm.

  Instead, I found myself thinking about Richard Kennelwood and his small but totally delightful bunch of handpicked flowers. I mentally shook my head. Not a good idea. I had no time for romance. This summer had to be all about getting the hotel established under my management and ensuring it remained profitable.

  * * *

  * * *

  Richard had, in turn, been thinking about me, although not in a way I might have wanted. I’d barely dropped into my office chair, picked up my pencil, and tried to remember what I’d been doing, when the phone rang. I sighed and picked it up.

  “Elizabeth,” Richard said when he’d been put through. “Everything okay there?”

  “Far as I know. Martin McEnery tried to say if I didn’t talk to him, he’d bother the parents of that girl who was taken to the hospital, but Jim Westenham had him scurrying out of here like a frightened rat.”

  Richard’s voice turned sharp. “What’s Westenham got to do with it?”

  “Nothing. He happened to come in when we were talking.”

  “He just happened to be passing, did he?”

  “Yes, he did. Why are you calling, Richard?”

  “Maybe only to check in.” His voice softened. “My father . . . I’m sorry to have to say this, Elizabeth, but he told a group of our guests that Haggerman’s had been ordered closed because unsanitary conditions in the kitchen killed a diner.”

  Richard probably didn’t even need the phone to hear my shriek. “What?”

  “That’s why I was asked to get back here in a hurry. He was chatting to guests down by the pool. One of the pages overheard, and he had enough sense to report it to his supervisor. Who had enough sense to know we don’t need a lawsuit and called me.”

  “Lawsuit’s the least of it,” I muttered.

  “I had a talk with my father and explained that that’s not true. He said, ‘So what? It’s a good story.’ ”

  I growled.

  “I then pointed out that accusations such as that can bounce back and bite us. Elias had breakfast in our dining room that day, and everyone saw him devouring enough lox to feed a whale. I think I got through to him, Elizabeth, on that score if not the danger of libel one.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for telling me.”

  “Forewarned is forearmed. I told you when we met that I don’t do business the way my father did. Business is business and competition is good, but I firmly believe we’re all invested in ensuring that every one of us in the Catskills—hotels, boardinghouses, bungalow colonies—do well for the success of us all. Have you heard anything more from Dave?”

  “He’s still conducting his interviews. I’ve been told he’s having a press conference at the station at three, but I’ve no idea if he has anything to say we don’t already know.”

  “Take care, Elizabeth.”

  “I will. You too.” I hung up. I chewed on the end of my pencil for a long time and stared out the window into the overgrown shrubbery crowding my office window. The phone rang a few times, but I didn’t pick it up. One of the clerks slipped in with a stack of pink message slips, and I indicated to her to leave them on my desk.

  This was not good. Not good at all.

  I couldn’t sit here in my office wondering what disaster was about to fall next.

  Time for me to do something.

  Chapter 12

  Chief Dawson, the receptionist informed me, had left. “Without arresting anyone,” she added with a touch of disappointment. The state police had never arrived.

  I’d decided to “do something” but I couldn’t actually think of anything I should be “doing.” I could ask questions. Maybe people would talk more freely to me, the friendly hotelier, than to the police.

  I went outside. Filming had returned to cabin one. I held my hand above my eyes to shade them from the sun and peered into the distance. The pillars of the cabin porch blocked my view of the on-camera action, but I had a clear view of the onlookers. My mother was seated next to the director’s chair. Gary was on his feet, waving his arms around. Mary-Alice hovered next to him. Gary pointed left. Mary-Alice pointed right. Gary then pointed right. Matthew Oswald stood to one side, arms crossed over his chest, watching.

  Instead of heading toward the filming, I went the other way. I trotted down the driveway and rounded the main building. I found Freemont and his Skylark in the guest parking lot. The chauffeur was leaning against the hood of the car, reading a newspaper. As I got close I was sorry to see the paper was the Summervale Gazette.

  He heard my approach, quickly folded the paper, and straightened. “Afternoon, Mrs. Grady.”

  “Mr. Freemont.”

  “Just Freemont, please. Mr. Freemont’s my daddy. Still going strong at ninety, I must add.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that. Freemont.”

  “Is Mr. Oswald ready to leave?”

  “No. That’s not why I’m here. Have you had lunch? You’re welcome to take your meals in our staff dining room while you’re here.”

  “That’s kind of you, Mrs. Grady. I brought sandwiches from my lodgings today, but tomorrow, if we’re still here, I might do that. Mr. Oswald isn’t quite the stickler for instant obedience, the way Mr. T. was.” I tried to read his face when he mentioned his late employer but it remained impassive. Like all well-trained servants (and hotel managers) he’d learned to control his expression. “Can I help you with something, ma’am?”

  “Not really. I’m just . . . well, to be honest, I’m curious. About Mr. Theropodous, I mean. Have the police spoken to you?”

  “Yes, that Chief Dawson, he did. I had nothing to tell him. Mr. T. had his breakfast at his hotel, ate nothing for lunch, which was normal in a working day—and every day was a working day for Mr. T.—and came here for dinner with the rest of them.”

  “You said you’ve worked for him for a long time.”

  “Twenty-one years.” The lines on his face folded. “I’m going to miss him, Mrs. Grady. I’m going to miss him a lot.”

  “Are you going to be out of a job?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t you worry ’bout me. I’ll be fine. Mr. Theropodous paid well, and I’ve got my savings. I’ve been thinking of retiring soon anyway.”

  “That’s good to know.” The sun was directly overhead, beating down on my hatless head. Heat rose from the pavement and radiated in almost visible waves off the metal of the car. I felt a trickle of sweat slithering down my back. In the far distance, a grounds worker pushed a wheelbarrow, and a woman came out of the laundry shed, her arms laden with towels.

  “I’ve been driving movie people around for more than forty years,” Freemont said. “I’ve learned to keep my ears shut, but I’ve also learned to read what people aren’t saying. You want to know who might have killed Mr. T. I didn’t.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  He lifted one hand. “That’s all right. The policeman asked me that too. I’ll tell you what I told him. Mr. Theropodous was a hard boss, in that he expected the best, and he expected it every time. Not everyone can give their best every time. Like Mr. Oswald and I were saying last night, Mr. T. had his enemies. I won’t say he was a good man, ’cause he wasn’t to a lot of folks, but he was good to me. He stood up for me plenty of times, like when restaurants or hotels told me I had to leave, or young punks thought they could get a few laughs by bullying an old Black man.” The edges of his mouth turned up and something in his dark eyes lifted as he remembered. “Yeah, I’m gonna miss the old coot.” He studied my face. “I like you, Mrs. Grady.”

  “You can call me Elizabeth.”

  “Probably best not to. I realize Mr. Theropodous’s death isn’t likely to do the reputation of your hotel any good, particularly if the police never find out who killed him. He and I got on well ’cause we understood each other. He was the boss, and he told me what to do. I was the chauffeur, and I did it. He turned mean when he didn’t get his own way, and that was happening more than it used to. This picture was Mr. Theropodous’s last chance. His last two movies didn’t do as well as the backers expected, and plenty of younger men out there anxious to show what they can do. He’d been told to keep this one strictly on budget, but he wasn’t one to cut corners. Whole reason Mr. Oswald’s even here’s to keep an eye on Mr. T.’s spending.”

  “You aren’t saying the movie studio ordered Elias to be killed to stop his movie?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that. Money that’s been spent can’t be gotten back. I’m only trying to tell you the way things stood.”

  “Younger men. Like Gary Denham?”

  Freemont shrugged. “I’m not pointing no fingers, Mrs. Grady.”

  “Did you work for Elias when he was married to Gloria Grant?”

  “That marriage was ending when I was hired. She had a temper on her, that one, and didn’t care who was listening. So many of them think the servants are part of the furniture and never bother to watch what they’re saying.”

  I laughed. “Same for anyone who works at a hotel.”

  “I learned some new words when I started driving Miss Grant. She found out he was foolin’ around with a young actress name of . . . I don’t remember. So many of ’em over the years. Miss Grant divorced him. The actress soon disappeared, and not long after, he married Annie Fitzpatrick. Annie was nice, a lady, I liked her. But she didn’t last long, either as Mrs. Theropodous or in the movies. Mr. T. told me he was done with marrying them. More bother than it was worth.” He chuckled.

  “What about you, Freemont? Are you married?”

  “Forty-five years next summer. Four kids, eleven grandkids. I’ll be glad to get home to California to see them all.”

  “Thank you for talking to me. If you need anything— coffee, a glass of water, or a soft drink—tell the kitchen I said you’re welcome to it.”

  “I’ll do that. Thank you kindly.” He touched the brim of his hat.

  * * *

  * * *

  I hadn’t learned anything I didn’t already know: Elias Theropodous was difficult to live and work with.

  “Mrs. Grady to the office. Mrs. Grady to the office.” All over the property loudspeakers boomed and the tinny voice echoed off the mountains and across the lake. They must be having a break from filming, if the loudspeakers were back on. I ran down the hill, tripped on a patch of gravel, and barely saved my knees and my stockings, not to mention my dignity, by a bit of fast footwork that would do my mother herself proud.

  * * *

  * * *

  I chewed on the end of my pencil. It was after five o’clock, and the business office had closed for the day. I was trying to plow my way through the endless stack of paper on my desk, but I was finding it extremely hard to concentrate. After the switchboard operator put two calls through to me from newspaper reporters, I told her to screen my calls and tell anyone from the press I wasn’t available. Those calls reminded me of what had happened, and my thoughts kept returning to that desperate drive to the hospital. I went over yesterday evening, again and again, trying to place the movements and actions of the movie people.

  Who, I thought, would have not only wanted Elias dead but had the wherewithal to bring a pill or a vial of some sort of poison with them to a formal dinner, and then grab the opportunity to use it when it presented itself.

  My head snapped up.

  Had someone wanted Elias dead?

  Was it possible they’d misjudged the dose? Had Elias suffered from underlying health conditions that made a small amount of . . . whatever it was . . . deadlier than it might otherwise have been?

  If so, that could change the picture considerably.

  Earlier, I’d decided that no one who’d been at the dinner last night would have had a reason to kill Elias. Every one of them was invested in seeing the movie finished.

  The bosses in California had decided to continue filming without Elias, but that wouldn’t have been a guarantee. I don’t know much about movies, but I know a great deal about business. There comes a point when you have to know when to cut your losses. It’s possible the movie studio would have decided either to drop the movie, despite the money they’d already spent, or to bring everyone back to Hollywood to complete the filming on a soundstage.

  Even Matthew hadn’t known what the final decision would be.

  Had the killer’s intent not been to kill the temperamental director, but to make him sick? Put him in the hospital for a while? Long enough for filming to continue without Elias?

  Long enough for Gary Denham, the assistant director, to take the reins and show what he could do? Long enough for Matthew to get some control over Elias’s spending?

  Had it been a practical joke taken to extremes? An actor or crew member angry at one insult too many, worried about being taken off the project, or wanting to get back at the boss for some slight?

  If that was the case, then the possibilities were endless. Anyone at that dinner could have been responsible.

  Excepting me, Velvet, Randy, and Olivia of course.

  I groaned. I’d hoped with a few casual questions, and some hard thinking, I’d be able to determine who’d done it. I’d then take my case to Dave Dawson, and he’d make the arrest.

  And life at Haggerman’s Catskills Resort would get back to what passes as normal.