Once again, my phone rang. It was the front desk.

  “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Grady, but Mr. and Mrs. Smith from room 219 say their toilet isn’t flushing.”

  “What?”

  “Their toilet isn’t—”

  “I heard you. Why on earth are you bothering me with this? Don’t we have a maintenance department? Don’t I have plumbers on my payroll? Can’t George fix everything God ever made, and a heck of a lot he didn’t? Isn’t—”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Grady. Sorry. I . . . I . . . One minute, please, I’ll get it sorted out immediately.” Her voice shook and she whispered into the phone. “They’re standing right here, watching me. I tried calling the maintenance building, but no one’s answering.”

  I debated who to fire first. The receptionist or the maintenance workers. Instead, I threw down my pencil. “I’ll come out and mollify the Smiths. Send a bellhop to the maintenance shed and get someone.”

  “The bellhops are all busy.”

  “Then do it yourself!”

  “I . . . I . . . Yes, Mrs. Grady.” She sniffled.

  “Page maintenance and ask them to call you. Then tell them what you need. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Grady.”

  “Tell the Smiths I’ll be right there.”

  Grumbling about wasting my time, I marched through the empty business office, past the silent phones, the dim lights, the covered typewriters, and into the corridor. From the depths of the kitchen came the sound of someone yelling at someone. I employ good department managers, and I pay them well. Better than the previous owners did, because as far as I’m concerned, the main job of department managers is to handle problems in their department before they get to me.

  I plastered on my biggest smile, opened the door to the lobby, and stepped out. A man and a woman in their sixties stood in front of the reception desk, scowls on pudgy faces and arms crossed over more-than-adequate chests. The young woman behind the desk blew her nose and wiped away tears.

  The man snapped at me as I approached. “Are you the so-called manager?”

  “Yes, I am. I’m Elizabeth Grady. I—”

  “Isn’t there a man in charge?”

  My smile faded fractionally. “A man? No, there’s me.”

  “Isn’t that nice, dear,” Mrs. Smith said. “So modern. A girl boss.”

  “I don’t want a girl boss,” he said. “I want a man who can fix my problem. And I want him now.”

  Considering I had no intention, even if I had been a man, of picking up a plunger and personally seeing to his toilet, I said. “About your problem. I’ll have someone fix that immediately.”

  Mrs. Smith smiled at me. Mr. Smith looked dubious.

  “Are you planning to attend tonight’s entertainment in the ballroom?” I asked. “If so, I’ll mention to the bartenders that your first drinks will be on my account.”

  Mr. Smith appeared to accept that I did have the authority to make that order, and some of the hostility faded from his face. All he wanted was a freebie, in any event. The receptionist put down the phone and told them a plumber was on his way to their room.

  “Don’t let the guests intimidate you,” I said to her once the Smiths had gone away happy. She was a pretty girl, young enough to be in her first year with us. “Problems happen and we’re equipped to handle them when they do. Some guests will try to get something out of it, and some of them think bullying will help.”

  She sniffed and dared to crack a small smile. “It worked.”

  I laughed. “So it did. All you can do is be pleasant in return.” Then I took a more serious tone. “Never, ever, let them make you cry. Walk away if you have to, after excusing yourself, take a few breaths and then come back.”

  “I’ll remember that. Thank you, Mrs. Grady.”

  I didn’t say, One more incident like that and you’ll be moved to the housekeeping department. But I thought it.

  A man leaned across me and barked at the clerk. “Where can I find a telephone?”

  “There’s a telephone for the use of guests in the writing room, sir. Give the switchboard operator the number you want and she’ll place your call. The charge will be put on your bill.” She gave him directions, and he marched off without bothering to thank her.

  Telephone calls. The switchboard.

  I crossed the lobby at a rapid pace and slipped into the small, dark, enclosed room across the hall from the main business office. As usual the telephone room was full of wires and smoke.

  “Connecting you now. Go ahead, sir.” The operator plugged in the connection and breathed out cigarette smoke. The ashtray next to her was overflowing with ash and butts, and her coffee cup was full. She was an older woman, thin on top but heavy-bottomed and thick-legged, with a deeply lined face, hair dyed a solid dark black, and eyes that had seen (or heard) it all. She’d been working this switchboard for many long years. “Hi. Can I help you?”

  A light on her panel lit up, and she said, “Haggerman’s Catskills Resort.”

  Her hands flew, smoke blew, she drank coffee, and she said, “One moment, please. What’s up, Mrs. G.?”

  For a moment I didn’t realize she was talking to me. “Oh. Were you working on Sunday?”

  “Yup.”

  “Do you remember getting a call from Los Angeles for Mr. Theropodous?”

  “I get a lot of calls, but not often from Hollywood for a big-time director, so I remember that one, yeah. Good afternoon, Haggerman’s Catskills Resort. One moment, please. I put the call through to the writing room. I’m sorry, sir, no one’s answering. Can I take a message?” She scribbled on a pink message pad. Somehow she was able to smoke, drink her coffee, write down the message, answer another call, and converse with me all at the same time. “Connecting you now. What about it?”

  “Are you talking to me? I was wondering if by any chance you . . . accidentally, of course, overheard any of the contents of that call.”

  She grinned and swung in her chair to face me. “Are you asking if I listened in on a guest’s private conversation?”

  “Just this once.”

  “That’s the guy who died after dinner yesterday, right? I heard about that. Yeah, maybe I didn’t disconnect my line fast enough when he took his call. I heard a heck of a lot of yelling, coming from both directions. The caller was a man. New York City accent, for all he was phoning from California. He told Mr. Theropodous something was unacceptable. Mr. Theropodous replied that he did things his way and he wanted no interference. The caller said he was going to get interference whether he wanted it or not. Good afternoon, Haggerman’s Catskills Resort. Hey, Johnny, how’s the family? Glad to hear it, I’m putting you through now. A bunch more yelling, and the caller told him he could be replaced and Mr. Theropodous said, ‘That’ll happen over my dead body,’ then—”

  She stopped talking. Her fingers stopped moving, the cigarette froze halfway to her mouth, lights flashed on the panel, and she didn’t answer them. “Oh my gosh, Mrs. Grady. You don’t think—”

  “You’re sure the incoming call was from Los Angeles?”

  “Positive. So the guy on the other end of the phone couldn’t have killed him, right?”

  “Right. Are you going to answer that?”

  “Answer what? Oh. Good morning. I mean good afternoon, Haggerman’s Catskills Resort. They might have sent someone though, right?”

  “Anything’s possible. Did you hear any more?”

  “Nah. Calls were coming in.” She pulled at plugs. “I don’t make a habit of listening to guests’ calls. You know that, right? I mean, just this once ’cause it was a Hollywood big shot on the line.”

  I nodded, even though I didn’t believe her. “I’m going to tell the police about this. They might want to talk to you. If so, tell them what you told me.”

  “Okay. Good afternoon. Haggerman’s Catskills Resort. Mr. Reynolds no longer works here.”

  I slipped out of the telephone room.

  Had the Hollywood people decided to take Elias at his word and terminate him? Permanently? The person who called might have been in California, but was it possible they had people in New York they could send on such an errand? If they wanted to?

  Did Hollywood movie moguls bump off errant directors?

  I didn’t know how things worked in Hollywood, but I knew someone who did. I went to my office for my purse, and then I headed home. I’d check in with Olivia and get dressed for this evening’s cocktail hour. I don’t usually attend the hotel social events, and I was not in the mood to make polite conversation tonight, but if rumors were circulating about Haggerman’s being unsafe, I needed to present my smiling face and assure everyone that all was well.

  * * *

  * * *

  Filming at cabin one had finished for the day, and the crew were rolling up their equipment and loading it into the truck while Gary issued instructions.

  “How’d it go?” I asked him.

  “Good. Great, truth be told.” He beamed at me. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but everyone seemed a heck of a lot more relaxed than when Elias was around. He put the fear of God into his cast and crew. Sometimes that can be a good thing, but not when it makes them overly nervous about making a misstep. Me, I prefer to put my trust in my actors. They know their characters better than I do. Of course,” he added quickly, “in the bigger scheme of things, Elias’ll be sorely missed. His name’ll still be at the top of the credits. The inspiration and vision behind this picture was strictly his. Anyway, we’re done here, Mrs. Grady, and I thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Done? I thought you were filming here tomorrow.”

  “As I said, everything went well. I have to go over the last couple of day’s footage, and if I see any problems we’ll be back. Otherwise tomorrow and the next day we’re at some bungalow colony down the road. Thanks again.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing the final product,” I said.

  “I think you’ll like it. Your place looks great on film, and we got some good background shots of the hotel and the grounds.”

  Feeling pleased, I set off down the lakeside path, heading for home. My evening dresses, other than the one I’d worn last night and sent to the laundry this morning, were in my closet at the house, and I hoped Gloria wasn’t napping in my room.

  Instead, I spotted her relaxing next to the pool, the picture of movie star glamour in a flower-patterned bathing suit, huge sunglasses, and an even bigger sun hat. A bright pink cocktail was in her right hand and Photoplay magazine was on the table next to her. Mary-Alice, looking not at all Hollywood glamour in her dark blue skirt, thick stockings, flat shoes, and plain spectacles, balanced awkwardly on the edge of a lounge chair next to her.

  “An encounter with the woman would have a dramatic impact that’s otherwise missing,” Gloria was saying as I walked up to them. “Elias refused to understand that women— Elizabeth, darling, how nice to see you. Why don’t you sit down and have a drink? Or better yet, run and get your suit on. You work far too hard, your mother says.”

  “Thank you, but no. I’m glad you’re having a chance to relax. Gary told me today went well.”

  “It did.”

  I studied Gloria’s face. Even without makeup and despite her age, her skin was almost flawless. The delicate lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth gave the porcelain complexion an air of vulnerability that only added to her stunning looks. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, her eyes enormous blue pools under the thin line of sculpted brows, and her jawline as sharp as if it had been cut with a knife. If she’d had work done, it had been by a skilled surgeon.

  What I didn’t see in her face was any sort of sorrow. I glanced at Mary-Alice, sitting primly on the lounge chair, her ankles crossed, her hands folded in her lap. No grief there either.

  As if she read my mind, Gloria said, “Your mother suggested we go to the cocktail hour this evening, but I think not. The hotel doesn’t need to pretend to be mourning Elias—he wasn’t staying here, after all—but I can’t be seen enjoying myself too much.” She peered at me over the top of her sunglasses. “I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?”

  “No,” I said. Shocked might not be the right word, but I would have expected Gloria to show some grief. She and Elias had been married at one time, after all.

  “No one here’s mourning the man, Elizabeth. We all, even me, worked for or with him. We didn’t love him. I don’t suppose many people loved him. If any. You didn’t, did you Mary-Alice?”

  Mary-Alice started. “Me? I . . . of course I am. Mourning him, I mean. He was a . . . brilliant director. A genius. All of Hollywood should be in mourning.”

  “He was a brilliant director . . . once. But his time had passed, and you of all people know that, Mary-Alice, so please don’t pretend you don’t.”

  The lifeguard’s whistle blew, and Randy stood up from his high chair to shout at two children running on the side of the pool. The kids slowed down and walked very fast. A mother called to her children to get out of the pool, and they pretended not to hear. The sun was dipping in the west, and although it would be daylight for a long time yet, all around us families were packing up their books, towels, sun hats, drinks, snacks, and toys. Time to go to their rooms and rest or to get ready for the evening.

  “The show must go on,” Gloria said. “I’m glad Matthew decided to continue with the filming. We’ve done such good work so far.”

  “Matthew decided?” I said. “I thought the producers in Los Angeles made the final decision.”

  Gloria laughed lightly. “They might think they decided, but there was never any doubt they’d do whatever Matthew told them.”

  “The police seem to think that . . . uh . . . Elias might have been poisoned deliberately.”

  “I’m aware of that. The young policeman spoke to us earlier, and he had a great many questions as to who handled Elias’s food and drink yesterday.”

  Mary-Alice shifted uncomfortably.

  “Can either of you think of who might have wanted to kill him?” I asked.

  “Easier to think of who didn’t want to see him dead, isn’t that right, Mary-Alice?”

  Mary-Alice was already sitting stiffly on her chair, but her back and neck straightened even more. “I don’t know what you’re implying, Gloria.”

  “I’m implying nothing. I’m simply stating what we all know. A man like Elias doesn’t inspire loyalty. People work for Elias because being associated with him does their professional reputation good. When that is no longer the case . . . then it’s time to terminate the relationship. One way or the other.” Those amazing blue eyes stared into mine. “Not that I’m suggesting anyone in our little film family had anything to do with his death. But Elias did tell me, in the strictest of confidence of course, that he was not happy with Todd’s performance.”

  “That’s not true,” Mary-Alice said. “Todd—”

  “Perhaps he didn’t confide in you about that, dear,” Gloria said sharply. “Elias told me he needed me to draw more from Todd. As if it’s my responsibility to make spoiled pretty boys look better than they are.” She settled her sunglasses back on her face and picked up her magazine. “It’s starting to get a mite chilly now that we’re in the shade. I think I’ll go up to the house.”

  “I’m going to grab a dress out of my closet, and I’ll leave you alone,” I said.

  As I walked away, I heard Gloria say to Mary-Alice, “You will consider my idea, dear.” It was not a question.

  I ran into Todd and Velvet coming my way. They were walking close together, and although they were not touching, her cheeks were a bright pink, and he was grinning broadly. They looked so perfect together they might have been in an advertisement for soap or toothpaste. Both of them young, tall, slim, attractive, lightly tanned. Todd was still in the white blazer that was his costume for the cabin scene, and Velvet wore her short white tennis dress and swung a racket in her hand.

  Velvet’s face turned even pinker when she saw me. “Todd’s been watching me give my tennis class. He suggested we have a game tomorrow.”

  “Not that I’m up to the level of a professional like Velvet,” he said.

  Her blush deepened and she giggled. “Hardly a professional. I give instruction to people who’ve never seen a racket before, much less played the game.”

  “Still sounds like a professional to me.” Todd winked at me.

  I glanced at my friend, all blushes and giggles. This, I thought with a sinking heart, is not going to end well.

  “I’d like to come back tonight,” Todd said, “to catch the show, maybe have a couple of dances with Velvet. And you, of course, Elizabeth. But Matthew’s put his foot down. To look like we’re going out and having a good time so soon after Elias’s death would not be good for our image. He canceled the Concord outing tonight and ordered us all to stay at our hotel.”

  “There are worse places to be confined to barracks than Kennelwood,” I said.

  “You can say that again. I invited Velvet to have dinner with me, but she says she has to work. You’re the boss, Elizabeth, give her the night off, why don’t you?”

  Velvet swatted at him with her racket. “Oh, you.”

  Todd and Velvet were facing toward the lake, their backs to the hotel buildings and the pool; behind them I could see Mary-Alice and Gloria leaving the pool area. Gloria had pulled a floor-length blue-and-white-striped wrap over her bathing suit and slipped her feet into high-heeled sandals. The sun was behind her, and her hat and sunglasses shielded most of her face, but I could see the tightness of her mouth and the angry set of her shoulders. Mary-Alice said something to her, and Todd turned at the sound of her voice.

  Gloria’s face changed as though a spotlight had come on, and she gave the actor a beaming smile. “There you are, you darling boy. Mary-Alice and I were talking about you. I’ve had some ideas as to how to improve on our farewell scene, and Mary-Alice wants to talk it over with you. Why don’t the two of you share a cab back to the hotel? You know Matthew’s on the warpath about expenses, so no need to get two cabs when one will do, now is there?” She slipped her arm through Velvet’s. “Have you been playing tennis, dear? I used to be quite the player in my day, but I haven’t been on a court for simply years.”