Crossing The Lion Part 5

In other words, from the looks of things it was supposed to be me.

And around her neck, pulled tight, was a piece of cord made of black leather.

Chapter 4.

"I know when it is necessary, how to leave the skin of lion to take one of fox."

--Napoleon Bonaparte Voodoo? I wondered, dropping the doll on my pillow like the proverbial hot potato.

And if someone is attempting to cast an evil spell on me, who is it?

I jumped out of bed, scarcely noticing how icy the wooden floor felt beneath my bare feet. I was suddenly extremely motivated to figure out if Linus Merrywood really had been murdered--and, if so, who was guilty.

I was equally interested in finding out if the killer was the same person who had left me this souvenir.

Tentatively I switched on the lamp next to my bed, curious about whether the electricity had come back on during the night. Fortunately, it had. I dressed quickly, tucking the voodoo doll into my pants pocket, where it was out of sight but not out of mind.

While a shower would have been refreshing, I wasn't in the mood to wrestle with a plumbing system that I suspected would turn out to be as unreliable as the electricity. I was also desperate for coffee. While the little gift I'd found on my night table had done wonders to wake me up, I wasn't in the habit of facing a new day without the a.s.sistance of caffeine. Contemplating the idea of a morning without that all-powerful cup of coffee was a horror show all its own, one more reason I was ecstatic that the electricity had come to its senses.

In fact, it was the intoxicating smell of freshly brewed java that led me to the right spot. Breakfast was being served in the dining room, the same place in which we'd all had dinner the night before.

I thought daylight might make the dining room look cheerier, despite the relentless rain. It didn't. The grayness outside made for a gray atmosphere inside. Even in the light of day, the dour-faced men and women in the oil paintings stared down at me as if they were waiting around for something fun like another slew of witch trials.

However, I was much more interested in the food. Cook had set out quite a spread. Several silver chafing dishes, containing bacon, sausage, and hash browns, were lined up on a sideboard. Fresh croissants and bagels were piled high on a platter, while a fruit salad provided at least some color in the otherwise dreary room.

Yet despite the abundance of breakfast goodies there for the taking, only one other person was in the room.

Someone new.

The man appeared to be in his mid- to late forties, his dark hair flecked with silver and his forehead creased. His facial features were attractive enough, if not particularly memorable: hazel eyes, a straight nose, thin lips. He boasted a tan, as if he'd recently returned from someplace warm and sunny. He was also strikingly fit, with broad shoulders and a lean torso that were complemented by his well-cut suit jacket. I decided he was one of those incredibly self-disciplined individuals who, like Tag, routinely spent time at the gym.

Harry Foss, I guessed. Linus Merrywood's right-hand man.

"Goodness, are we the first ones up?" I asked, casting him a friendly smile as I made a beeline for the pair of matching silver urns on the sideboard, one for coffee and one for tea.

"More like the last ones," the man replied, sounding amused. "At least you are. As for me, I drove out from the city early this morning and was just delivered here by boat."

"In that case, I'm glad there's still food left," I said. "Quite a bit of it, too."

"I'd go for the croissants, if I were you," he suggested.

I followed his advice, then joined him at the table.

"Charlotte isn't here to make sure we're properly introduced," I told him, "so I'd better do the honors myself. I'm Jessie Popper."

"Pleased to meet you," he said politely. "I'm Harry Foss. I'm the CFO at Merrywood Industries. Linus's close friend, and as chief financial officer his number two man."

"I'm here visiting with friends of Linus and Charlotte," I explained. "Betty and Winston Farnsworth."

"Farnsworth, huh?" he repeated. "That name sounds familiar."

"Winston and Linus belonged to the same club in New York."

"Ah. That explains it," he said with a nod.

Noticing the folded copy of The Wall Street Journal on the table next to him, I commented, "I didn't mean to interrupt your reading. Please feel free to go right ahead."

"Nothing but bad news," he said with a wry smile. "I'd much rather converse."

I paused to sip my coffee, then took a moment to relish the miraculous sensation of that first swallow of the magic potion slipping down my throat.

"How are the employees at Merrywood Industries handling Linus's death?" I finally asked, sincerely curious.

Harry frowned. "Everyone is in shock, naturally. Even though the company is huge, Linus was unusually hands-on. Just about everyone knew him personally. Liked him, too. He was the type of person who made you feel as if you were the most important person in the room, even if you were only a waiter who worked for the caterer. He always had a smile and kind word for everyone.

"He also had an unbelievable memory for names," he continued, his admiration reflected in his tone of voice. "Once Linus met someone, he remembered that person's name forever. Whenever I walked through the corridors with him, he'd greet every employee we pa.s.sed by name. He'd remember something about their lives, too, so he'd say, 'Good morning, Mary, how's the baby?' or 'Hey, Chuck, still enjoying that new Beemer?' The man was simply amazing."

"Linus certainly sounds like he was well loved by everyone who met him." I stared into my coffee cup, thinking, Unless he was murdered--which means someone is out there who didn't share the love.

"Don't get me wrong," Harry insisted, as if he'd guessed what I was thinking. "Linus had his share of enemies. No one can become that powerful without making quite a few of those along the way."

I quickly swallowed the sip of coffee I'd just taken. But before I had a chance to ask him to elaborate, he said, "You know, it's kind of strange that everybody is acting so surprised by Linus's death--especially that they're all saying the man was in such good health."

He glanced around, as if making sure we really were alone. Then, in a softer voice, he said, "I worked with the man day in and day out, and believe me, he was definitely showing signs of aging. After all, he'd just turned seventy-five."

Thoughtfully, I commented, "Seventy-five seems to be an age at which some people still seem young while others--well, not so much. I suppose it depends on genetics, as well as an individual's lifestyle and general health."

I was thinking of Betty. Winston, too. They were both around Linus's age, yet they seemed as sharp and as energetic as other people I knew who were in their fifties or even younger.

But, according to Harry, that wasn't the case with Linus.

"Was his performance at work starting to reflect his age?" I asked.

Harry frowned. "Let's just say it wasn't exactly helping."

The sound of someone clearing his throat prompted me to turn. Winston was standing in the doorway, the wet splatters on the shoulders of his bright yellow slicker telling me he'd returned to Solitude Island from the early-morning appointment on Long Island he'd mentioned after dinner.

Frankly, I would have liked another five minutes alone with Harry. But now that Winston had joined us, I looked up at him and smiled.

"Good morning, Winston," I greeted him. "Pull up a chair and--"

It was only then that I noticed his troubled expression.

"Is everything all right?" I asked, my smile fading.

"I wish it were," he replied.

Harry frowned. "What's going on?"

"I think I'd better talk to the entire family at once," Winston said somberly. Nodding toward Harry, he added, "You and Scarlett, as well."

"What's all this about?" Harry asked.

Winston took a deep breath before replying, "I just got back from that meeting with the medical examiner's office in Riverton. There have been some important developments surrounding Linus's death."

While Harry volunteered to find Scarlett, I took it upon myself to track down everyone else. a.s.sembling the entire Merrywood clan in one room turned out to require nearly twenty minutes, since the members of the family were scattered all over the house.

I found Charlotte in the bedroom she and Linus must have shared. Like mine, it was decorated with old-fashioned, floral-patterned wallpaper, antique furniture, and thick drapes that looked as if they'd been designed to keep out the rest of the world.

She was sitting on the edge of the queen-sized bed, her expression forlorn as she gazed at an a.s.sortment of items strewn across the white bedspread. They looked as if they'd been dumped out of the wooden box pushed off to one side. While I didn't want to seem nosy, I made a quick survey, spotting a few black-and-white photographs, a stack of yellowing letters tied together with a frayed pink satin ribbon, and a dried rose, its flaking petals breaking up into confetti.

I hovered in the doorway, reluctant to interrupt. Instead, I watched silently as she picked up one item after another, stroking it lovingly as she examined it.

"Charlotte?" I finally said, my voice nearly a whisper.

Her head jerked up, and she blinked a few times as if she was confused.

"Jessica!" she cried after a second or two. "How nice to see you. I was just looking at some very old things." Smiling apologetically, she added, "At least that's how they must seem to you. To me, they're all wonderful memories."

"I'm sorry to bother you," I said, "but Winston is back from his meeting on Long Island. He asked me to gather everyone into the conservatory so he can talk to the whole family about something he found out."

Alarm crossed her face. But sounding as calm as usual, she said, "Of course. I'll be there in a minute."

She'd already turned back to the item in her hand. From where I stood, it appeared to be a wedding photograph.

Still feeling terrible about having intruded on such a private moment, I turned and headed down the hallway, continuing my search.

Brock was also alone. He had sequestered himself in his bedroom, which from the way it was decorated looked as if no one had touched it since he was a teenager. The wallpaper in here was cheerful blue-and-white stripes, and a s.h.a.ggy throw rug that picked up the same shade of blue covered most of the floor.

A half dozen shelves were stuck up against the wall. Most were crowded with books, their bindings worn as if they'd been handled almost to the point of falling apart. A few of the shelves were cluttered with action figures and video games that looked comically out of date. From their surprisingly pristine condition, I got the feeling he hadn't gotten much use out of them during his youth.

Brock lay stretched out on the single bed, fully clothed--including his sandals--with an open book resting on his chest. I tried to peek at the cover, but the angle at which he held it made it impossible for me to see.

Probably the ramblings of some obscure philosopher, I mused. Or maybe a book of broccoli recipes.

Then I noticed that he wasn't completely alone. He had brought the two dogs upstairs with him. They lay next to the bed, Admiral snoring a bit as he indulged in a nap and Corky panting away as if he was waiting for someone to pull out a Frisbee. I knew how badly they were hurting now that their longtime master was suddenly gone, so I was glad they'd found someone else to keep them company.

I cleared my throat. "Winston has asked that the family meet downstairs in the conservatory," I said when Brock glanced up. "He has something he wants to talk to everyone about."

Without a word, he clamped his book closed and started to rise from the bed. But I noticed he held the book to one side, as if to prevent me from seeing the cover.

Interesting, I thought. So Brock may have a few secrets. Either that or he's simply embarra.s.sed by his choice of reading matter.

I found Missy in what I surmised had been her father's study, running her fingers along a shelf of leather-bound books. They looked as if they'd been in that exact same spot for so long that they were part of the building's structure.

Scarlett was on the other side of the room, settled into a chair with a stack of papers in her lap. From the three or four piles on the floor around her, she appeared to be sorting through them one by one, probably trying to figure out a way to handle whatever unfinished paperwork Linus had left behind.

Since this was the first glimpse I'd gotten of Linus's study, I hovered in the doorway for a few seconds, looking around eagerly while trying not to be too obvious. Two entire walls were lined with the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that at the moment held Missy's interest. A huge desk dominated the back half of the room. Manila folders and stacks of papers covered the desk completely, leaving room only for an ornate bra.s.s lamp with a stained-gla.s.s Tiffany-style shade. Centered on the floor in front of the desk was a large, lush Oriental carpet with an intricate pattern, the varying shades of red probably once brilliant but now faded.

A series of framed black-and-white photographs hung on one of the bare walls. Even from where I stood, I could see that they were shots of Solitude Island taken back in the estate's glory days. The mansion looked stately, rather than decaying. The manicured front lawn and well-tended gardens bursting with blossoms also helped. I spotted a photograph of an elegant gla.s.s greenhouse that didn't seem to exist anymore. Yet the narrow wooden dock was the same one at which our ferry had landed when we'd arrived, with the same tiny boathouse jutting up at the far end.

"I don't see how Mummy will ever have the heart to go through his things," Missy was saying. With a sigh, she added, "Daddy was the center of her universe. Of course, I'm the same way with Townie. I think seeing what a wonderful marriage my parents had served as a model for my--oh, h.e.l.lo, Jessie!"

Even as she smiled at me brightly, her brown eyes clouded. I wondered if she was trying to figure out how much I'd overheard--and what she'd been saying before I walked into the room.

Or maybe you're just reading too much into things, I warned myself.

"h.e.l.lo," I said with an awkward little wave. "Sorry to interrupt, but Winston wants everyone to meet in the conservatory. He just came back from Riverton, and he has some news he wants to share."

Missy and Scarlett exchanged a look of dismay, then immediately rose and headed for the door.

"I'll get Townie," Missy said breathlessly. "Tell everyone I'll be there in two minutes."

"And I'll find Tag," Scarlett volunteered. "The last time I saw him, he said he planned to spend the morning working out in the rec room."

Once I managed to round everyone up in the conservatory, most people pretty much drifted toward the same spot in which they'd positioned themselves the previous evening, right before dinner. This morning, Tag and Harry, the two more recent arrivals, stood near the windows, with Townie joining them.

The dogs acted as if they thought getting everyone together in one room like this was a great idea. Corky lay in front of the fireplace, happily ripping a rawhide chew to shreds. Admiral plunked himself in front of Charlotte, who distractedly stroked his head with the same affection she'd exhibited around her collection of keepsakes. As for Frederick, he'd insisted on curling up in Betty's lap. I supposed even he preferred seeking out the familiar when the air was so thick with tension.

Winston waited in silence as the small talk died down. Meanwhile, he stared into the flames in the fireplace. The seriousness of the expression on his face was causing a knot to form in my stomach.

Apparently I wasn't the only one who was anxious.

"So what's the news?" Tag finally asked impatiently. "Whatever it is, I have a feeling it's going to seem anticlimactic after all this drama."

"Be quiet, Tag," Missy scolded. "I'm sure Winston has something important to tell us. I can tell just by looking at him that there's something on his mind."

"It is quite important," Winston said, finally turning away from the fire to address the group. Speaking in his usual impeccable English accent, he continued, "Last night, right before we all headed upstairs to bed, Charlotte asked me to join Oliver Withers at a meeting he'd arranged with the medical examiner's office. So first thing this morning I took the ferry over to Long Island and drove to Riverton."

A stricken look crossed Scarlett's face. In a thick voice, she asked, "Have they already gotten the results of the autopsy? I thought it took much longer."

"You're right, it usually does take longer," Winston agreed. "But this time they made an exception."

"Probably because Linus was so important," Townie commented.

"Or because he was so rich," Brock muttered.

"Whatever the reason," Winston said impatiently, "the results of the autopsy are quite ... devastating."

A heavy silence fell over the room as we all waited for him to continue. Every pair of eyes was fixed on him as he said, "It appears that Linus died from an allergic reaction."