“They went out for dinner. I haven’t seen them since. They don’t seem to be all that good at checking in with the station.”

  “I’ll drive you,” Richard said to me. “Or rather, Freemont will drive you.”

  “We came in my car,” I said.

  “You go with Richard,” Velvet said. “I’ll bring your car back, and Tatiana can come with me.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Night had fallen while we’d been at the hospital. Freemont steered the powerful car down the dark roads. Richard was in the front passenger seat, and I sat in the back with Mary-Alice.

  As we’d separated in the hospital parking lot, Velvet and Aunt Tatiana had wrapped me in enormous hugs. “You must be exhausted, lastachka,” my aunt said. “You get some sleep. All will be well tomorrow.”

  I was not exhausted. Not in the least. Instead, I was energized. I had not the slightest doubt someone had attempted to kill my mother, and I wasn’t going to rest until I found out who that was.

  I hadn’t been expected to drop into the house in the late afternoon. It was only by chance that I needed to change my shoes. If I hadn’t found her . . . It didn’t bear thinking about.

  I thought about it. Perhaps the dose hadn’t been intended to kill Olivia. She did bring most of it up almost right away. Did the person who gave it to her know that would happen?

  I couldn’t think of any reason someone would want to kill Olivia or even make her sick. She’d told me stories over the years of the lengths to which dancers in competition for an important role could go. Up to and including putting something in a rival’s food so she couldn’t make it through the audition.

  But Olivia wasn’t competing with anyone for anything these days.

  Elias Theropodous had been poisoned at Haggerman’s Catskills Resort. A few days later, the hotel owner had suffered the same fate, although fortunately not fatal in her case. The two instances had to be related, but Olivia and Elias had nothing at all in common other than a handful of previous acquaintances. Nothing I knew about, at any rate. Elias’s killer might have wanted to get rid of Olivia if she knew what had happened to Elias, but she hadn’t been asking questions about that, or even speculating. As far as I knew. Olivia would have confided in me if she’d come to any conclusions.

  Richard and Freemont talked in low voices, mainly about cars. Mary-Alice stared out into the passing night. I thought.

  Olivia hadn’t been asking questions about the death of Elias. I had.

  If my mother had died, all my focus would be on my grief and on how I was going to be able to keep the hotel running. Even if she hadn’t died but had taken seriously ill, I would have been spending all my spare time at the hospital.

  I’d been asking questions about Elias’s death, because I needed to save the reputation of my resort. I needed to get the police and pesky journalists off my property and away from my guests.

  I tried to think who I’d asked questions of and if anyone had seemed particularly annoyed at my interference. I tried to remember everything I’d observed among the movie people. I turned to Mary-Alice. “You were the force behind Elias’s success, weren’t you?”

  “What makes you say that?” she said calmly.

  “Simple observation. You whispered in Elias’s ear when he was giving instructions, and then he changed what he was saying. Gary obviously relies on you for advice, but I suspect it’s more that you out-and-out tell him what to do. Gloria knows. She told you she wants changes made to her role. She wouldn’t tell the director’s secretary that. But most of all, I know because you told me just now. You said ‘we’ when you mentioned that you weren’t satisfied with the rushes, but you quickly backtracked and said Gary wasn’t happy.”

  Richard twisted around in his seat.

  “I’m right, aren’t I, Mr. Freemont?” I said.

  The chauffeur didn’t reply.

  “Elias,” Mary-Alice said, “had been a good director. Once. He had potential, and the studio saw that potential. He could have been a great director but didn’t have the focus. He didn’t have the drive or the imagination. He fell in love with his own image of what he could be, and he believed what they were saying about him was enough. It wasn’t. So he came to rely more and more on me for advice. He and my father had worked closely together for a number of years. My father could have been a truly great director, but he died far too young. He’d talked all his movies over with me, bouncing ideas off me, asking my advice. Taking my advice. When he died, Elias hired me, supposedly to be his secretary, but what he really wanted was for me to tell him what my father would have done. Eventually, I gave Elias far more than advice. I told him what to do. I was, in truth, the director of Catskill Dreams and most of his other movies.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” I asked. “Why not tell the producers what your part had been? Make them recognize your contribution?”

  “Really, Elizabeth. I can’t believe you’re that naive. A woman, even a daughter of Julian Renzetti, directing an Oscar-winning movie? It would destroy their world.”

  “So you killed him.”

  She let out a bark of laughter. “You think I killed Elias? Why would I do that? His death isn’t going to get me my director’s credits. More likely, I’ll be tossed out on my ear. I’m just a secretary, remember. The studio has no role for me anymore. Gary’s listening to me. Now. That has a lot to do with Gloria’s influence, but once we’re back in the studio, he’ll forget it was me who made his picture and he’ll pretend, to himself most of all, he did it all by himself.” She settled back in her seat with a sigh. “That’s the way it always works. You’re thinking whoever killed Elias tried to kill your mother, and I think you’re right. But I was nowhere near Haggerman’s this afternoon. We filmed at Sparkling Waters until shortly before four, and then I went directly back to Kennelwood. Gary and Matthew met to go over the budget, and I sat in. A few minutes after five, the others joined us to watch the rushes.”

  It was taking a long time to get to the hotel. I looked out the window and realized we were going in circles. Freemont wanted to give me time to talk to Mary-Alice.

  “If not you, then—”

  “Then who? I don’t know, Elizabeth. I’ve been thinking about it. We all have. No one liked Elias, and no one is terribly sorry that he died, but every one of us, from Mick the gaffer to Matthew the producer was dependent on Elias staying alive to finish this picture. Once he died, there was no guarantee the studio would continue with Gary.”

  “What about Gary himself?”

  “As I said, no guarantee. Gary’s benefited from taking on this picture, sure, but he’ll have other chances to make his mark without taking the risk of killing a man. The studio has their eye on him, and with my help he can be a big name. Up to him if he’ll want any more of my help, but that’s still to come. You’re stretching, Elizabeth. None of us killed Elias; we had no reason to. To tell you the truth, some of us had plenty of reasons to, but not here and now. Someone at your hotel killed Elias, and that person poisoned your mother. You’ve got a nutter either on your staff or as a guest, and you’d better find out who that is before they do it again. Freemont, are you lost? It’s taking an awful long time to get to the hotels.”

  “Just being careful on the night roads, Miss Renzetti. Plenty of deer around. They jump out sometimes, straight into the path of a car.”

  I slumped back in my seat. Maybe Mary-Alice was right. Maybe I was trying to find a killer among the movie people so I wouldn’t have to admit I had a “nutter” at my hotel.

  We’d been lucky this time. There was no reason the papers would pick up on Olivia’s condition or make anything out of it. But if another person took ill eating at Haggerman’s? And then another?

  We’d be driven out of business. “I don’t suppose your father was at my place this afternoon,” I said to Richard.

  He chuckled. “ ’Fraid not. He’s been feeling better the last few days, so he put in a few rounds of golf this afternoon. He came back early, as the heat and exercise took more out of him than he expected. He’s hoping to watch some of the filming tomorrow, so he planned to take it easy for the rest of the day today.”

  “What did you think of it?” Mary-Alice said to me. “The making of a movie is pretty boring in itself. A heck of a lot of standing around.”

  “It was interesting,” I said. “The people are interesting.”

  “I suppose as a hotelier you’re interested in people.”

  Freemont made a U-turn on a quiet country road and headed toward Haggerman’s.

  “Not particularly. I’m not even a hotelier. I’m a bookkeeper. I like numbers far more than I like people. If I may say, I don’t think Rebecca’s right for the part. I thought a character named Esmerelda should have more . . . I don’t know . . . passion?”

  “Elias and I disagreed about that, and for once he would not back down. He wanted Rebecca Marsden and that was that. I went on to fight other battles.”

  “You mean casting Todd?”

  “Todd? That was no battle. We both wanted Todd from the beginning.”

  “Gloria said Elias wanted to get rid of Todd.”

  “She’s wrong,” Freemont said. “I don’t know why Miss Grant keeps telling people that.” The big car slowed and pulled into the road to Haggerman’s. I asked Freemont to stop while I had a quick word with the security guard.

  No sign of any reporters, no police since earlier today, he told me.

  “Chief Dawson will be here shortly,” I said. “Can you tell him I’ll be on the veranda, and I’d like to speak to him as soon as he arrives.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Mary-Alice,” I said when the lights of the hotel came into view, “before I go, can you tell me what you remember about where everyone was today? After leaving the bungalow colony, I mean? Please, it might be important. Who came to the rushes meeting, and when?”

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree here, Elizabeth.”

  “Humor her,” Richard said. “Humor us.”

  “Okay.” Mary-Alice had a director’s eye for detail. She described what she knew of who was where and when.

  I’d like to say I had a burst of insight, but nothing became any clearer to me.

  When Freemont pulled up to the front of the hotel, Richard said, “Take Miss Renzetti to Kennelwood. I’ll grab a cab later.”

  “You don’t—” I began.

  “I do.” He got out of the car. Freemont held open my door, and I did the same.

  Richard and I climbed the steps. The sound of Judy Rae’s rich voice drifted down from the ballroom above our heads. Elegantly dressed men and women were gathered on the veranda, enjoying a cigarette or sipping cocktails. A card game was underway in a far corner. The night air was hot but thankfully not too dreadfully sticky with humidity and the breeze off the lake blew light and fresh.

  I dropped into a chair close to the door.

  “Are you okay, Elizabeth?” Richard asked.

  “My mother’s going to be fine and that’s all that matters.”

  “That and finding out what happened. I assume that’s why you’re waiting for Dave.”

  “It is.” I started to get to my feet, but Richard put his hand up. “What do you want? I’ll get it.”

  “I have to tell the desk I’m back.”

  “I’ll do that. You sit.”

  I smiled at him and settled gratefully back down. “Thank you.”

  No one paid much attention to me. A few people nodded politely as they came and went. They didn’t seem overly concerned that a poisoner was running amuck at Haggerman’s, and that was definitely a good thing as far as I was concerned.

  Richard was soon back, and at that moment a Summervale police car pulled up and parked half on the lawn. People glanced up at the car’s arrival, but as Dave was alone and he didn’t seem in any sort of hurry, they returned their attention to their own business.

  “If you’re going to speak to my staff,” I said when Dave had joined us, “I need to be there.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  I led the way across the lobby, through the door beneath the stairs, and down the long dimly lit corridor toward the kitchen. The business offices were all closed, and the lights switched off. No sound came from the switchboard room. I peeked into the kitchen office as we passed and saw Chef Leonardo working at his order sheets in the dim light of a desk lamp.

  Dinner was finished, but preparation of the evening dessert buffet was underway in the kitchen. Nick Timmins was bent over a towering chiffon cake, slathering on rose-colored icing and shouting instructions while his assistants assembled colorful Jell-O molds and a gorgeous baked Alaska, stirred the ingredients for individual bowls of rice pudding, or chopped maraschino cherries for the decorations. The sound of dishes and pots being washed and put away came from the room off the main kitchen area and a dishwasher carried out a stack of small plates and put them on a cart to be taken upstairs for the buffet.

  I clapped my hands. “Everyone, please. Listen up.” The cacophony of a busy kitchen died. Heads popped around corners and out of alcoves. “Miss Peters’s dinner was taken to her at her house at around five this afternoon. I need to speak to the person who delivered it.”

  The staff exchanged glances. They shrugged. Eyes flicked toward Richard Kennelwood and Dave Dawson standing beside me.

  “Does anyone know who that was?” I asked.

  Chef Leonardo stepped into the kitchen, still holding his pen. “Speak up!” he bellowed. “Who took Miss Peters her dinner?”

  A busboy slowly put up his hand and stepped hesitantly forward. Color flared in his cheeks. “I . . . I . . . did, Mrs. Grady. Is something wrong?” He tried to avoid looking at the chef or the policeman.

  “Chief Dawson and I would like to talk to you. Won’t take long. Chef Leonardo, can we use your office?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. Uh . . . please?”

  Dave didn’t wait for an answer. He jerked his head toward the busboy, indicated the office, and said, “In here.”

  “Now that’s over, what do you lot think you’re doing?” Nick Timmins roared. “Do we have the night off? Back to work. You, Leon, if you’ve nothing better to do, check that pan of butter isn’t burning.”

  “Nothing better to do!” the chef yelled back. “You think this hotel will last a day if I don’t get my orders in?”

  Dave and the busboy went into the kitchen office. Richard and I slipped in behind them, and I shut the door. No one took a seat. The busboy, who was close to fifty, shifted from one foot to the other and twisted his hands together. Dave gave me a slight nod, telling me to go ahead.

  “What’s your name?” I asked the busboy.

  “Al. Al Gerough.”

  “Al, thank you. This is Chief Dawson and Mr. Kennelwood. Please rest assured, you’re not in any trouble. We have a couple of questions, that’s all. You took Miss Peters her supper. Who asked you to do that?”

  “Miss Sullivan. I don’t mean she asked me particular, like, but the regular room-service waiter wasn’t around and so she shouted for some help. I wasn’t busy ’cause we’d caught up on the dishes, so I said I’d do it.”

  “Was the meal ready when you got it? I mean served and on the tray?”

  He nodded and told me he’d checked the room-service order with instructions as to where the tray was to be taken, and he had done so.

  “You didn’t see Miss Peters herself?”

  “No. Her note said she wasn’t to be disturbed and to leave the tray on the porch table.”

  “Her note?”

  “Yup. The note stuck to the door.”

  “Did you keep this note?” Dave asked.

  Al blinked rapidly. “Keep it? No. I threw it in the trash when I got back.”

  I hated to think of the amount of garbage that would have been generated in this kitchen between five o’clock and now.

  “Did you see anyone at Miss Peters’s house?” Dave asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Maybe on the path or in the woods nearby?” I said.

  “Nope.”

  Dave gave me a nod, and I said, “Thank you, Al. You can go back to work now. I’d appreciate it if you don’t discuss what we talked about with anyone.”

  “What?”

  “She means,” Richard said, “that if you tell anyone, anyone at all, including the chef or saladman what we asked you, you’ll be fired on the spot.”

  Al blanched, and then he ducked his head and scurried away.

  “That was a mite harsh,” I said when the door had closed behind him.

  “Although necessary if you don’t want everyone speculating what had been in this dinner when word gets around that Olivia’s in the hospital. Speculating further, that is.”

  “It might not,” I said. “Get around, I mean. She has little or nothing to do with the staff on a regular basis, and it’s not unusual for her not to be seen for a day or two.”

  “Word always gets around,” Richard said. “Trust me.”

  “Which is beside the point,” Dave said. “What do you conclude by what he had to say, Elizabeth?”

  “My mother didn’t write any such note. That means the food wasn’t poisoned in the kitchen, which doesn’t bear thinking about, and it wasn’t a matter of someone passing and deciding to play a mean joke. It had been planned ahead of time.”

  Chapter 20

  Richard and I walked Dave to his car.

  “Bad business,” Richard said as we watched the lights of the police car disappear over the hill.

  I let out a long sigh. “Most of our suspects are staying at your hotel. Have you noticed anyone acting . . . suspiciously, shall we say?”

  “I don’t even know what suspiciously means, but I can’t say I’ve noticed anything out of the ordinary, no. Or what passes for ordinary with a bunch like that. On the whole they’re polite to the other guests, but they keep their distance. The actors don’t sit down and join in a round of bridge or anything, but they sign autographs when asked and pose for pictures.”