Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 134, No. 5. Whole No. 819, November 2009

Who Killed Frankie Almond? by Michael Z. Lewin

Michael Z. Lewin is well known for his P.I. novels and stories (which include the Albert Samson and the Lunghi family series, both of which have appeared in EQMM) and for his police procedurals (the best-known starring Lt. Leroy Powder). So what a surprise it was to receive from him this classical drawing room whodunit. We think he’s done it splendidly, but if you’re craving more of the old Mike Lewin, you won’t want to miss his latest book, Oh Joe, a thriller set in his hometown of Indianapolis.

“Red wine or white, Mr. Brett?” Grimm, the butler, showed Brett Kingsley a tray bear-ing several ceramic wine goblets.

“I’ll have white, please, Grimm.” But before reaching for a goblet, Kingsley looked around the room. With a practiced toss of the head he shifted a thatch of golden hair that hung over the left of his bright blue eyes. A moment later the hair fell back to where it had started. “This is an amazing apartment, isn’t it?”

“Have you not been here before, sir?” Grimm knew full well that Kingsley had been in the penthouse several times during his brief period as Ms. Victoria’s lover. But perhaps Victoria had made the young actor use the servants’ entrance. Victoria Nation planned her life meticulously, ran it to a strict timetable, and had a firm idea of what was what.

“I never got to appreciate the fabulous views,” Brett said, gesturing to the living room’s outlook over the Hudson River. “It is only New Jersey, but from this distance it looks wild and inviting.”

“Indeed, Mr. Brett,” Grimm said.

“And I’ve certainly never been here on a momentous occasion like this one. I’m so glad that Victoria’s been able to let bygones be bygones. I was worried there for a while.”

You are the one who got ditched, Grimm thought, recognizing that Kingsley was implying a different story. Victoria had confided her disappointment that the gorgeous young actor had turned out to be neither sophisticated nor a quick learner. “I daresay he’d be better if I scripted it for him,” she’d said, “but who has the time? He is history, Grimm. Life is too short.”

However, Grimm said only, “Ms. Victoria has never been one to let her personal life get in the way of business decisions.”

“She’s a special woman.”

“That she is.” Grimm offered Kingsley the tray.

“Hey, these are funny-looking wineglasses,” Brett said as he took one. He rotated it in his hand. Each goblet bore a pottery face. The eye and hair colors were similar to his own, but there was little definition in the features.

“If you would prefer to imbibe from a different vessel, I can find you an alternative, Mr. Brett.”

“No, no. I was just saying.” Kingsley took a sip. “Nothing funny about that.”

“Ms. Victoria wants you all to have the best,” Grimm said. Then he turned to another guest who had joined them. “Wine, Ms. Lorelei?”

Lorelei Penfold had certainly been in Victoria’s living room before, if not for a meeting with such serious implications. Small and dark, Lorelei was a writer of television scripts, although she hoped that the night would leave her in charge of a team of lesser writers who would do the actual work of putting words onto pages. “I really shouldn’t do anything to fuddle my mind, Grimm,” she said.

“No, Ms. Lorelei?”

“But I’m going to.” Lorelei was known for intuitive scripts backed by meticulous research. “Or am I? Yes, I am. It’s not like I’m going to have to make any decisions tonight. That’s all being done for us elsewhere. So, by God, I will have a glass, of the red, thank you.”

And, by God, she took a goblet.

Brett used the moment to tap Grimm on the shoulder. “Hey, Grimm, when is Victoria intending to grace us with her presence? Considering that it’s her shindig, I expected her to be here once the guests began to arrive.”

“The mistress will be with us as soon as she can, Mr. Brett.” With the slightest of bows Grimm left the actor and the writer alone.

“Do you think she is his mistress?” Brett asked Lorelei as Grimm moved out of hearing.

“Who? The butler?” Lorelei studied Grimm’s back.

“Victoria has... Well, she has a great appetite for life.”

Lorelei turned back to Brett and raised her eyebrows. Her expression said, Well, you ought to know if anyone does.

“Oh, stop it,” he said with an embarrassed laugh, and he changed the subject. “Victoria found him in a cardboard box, you know.”

“She what?”

“He was begging on the street when she spotted him.” Brett mimicked Victoria as he said, “ ‘I saw in an instant that, scrubbed up, he would be exactly what I require a butler to look like. And then, when I heard him speak and he turned out to be English, well, what choice did I have but to acquire him? But don’t tell anybody he was a beggar. He’s such a sensitive soul.’ So here he is, Victoria’s secret.”

“If there’s one thing to be said about Victoria Nation,” Lorelei said, “it’s that she knows how to get what she wants.” Lorelei drank deeply from her wine.

“Grimm is good-looking, in a fatherly kind of way,” Brett said.

“And she sure likes them good-looking,” Lorelei said, the drink affecting her already. “As you should know.”

“Does everybody know she and I were together?” Brett was suddenly flustered at the thought that the manner of the relationship’s end might also be common gossip.

“Of course we do, Brett. This is television.”

After taking a breath to calm himself, he said, “Well, that’s all in the past now.”

“And,” Lorelei said, “Victoria is with Andrew these days, isn’t she?”

“Andrew?” Brett was surprised. “You mean Andrew Stark? But he’s... forty if he’s a day.”

“Only a twenty-five-year-old could say something like that.”

“Oh, sorry, Lorelei, I didn’t mean that forty is old. Well, not old old.”

“Old but not old old? I’m not sure I understand the distinction. Perhaps I’ll research it. But age aside, you do have to agree that Andrew is good-looking.”

“Do I?”

“Oh yes.” Lorelei felt a bit of a flush and fanned herself with a hand. “And he has such a melodic laugh. Plus those ‘I can make your bells ring’ eyes.”

“He does?”

“Oh yes.”

“And what kind of eyes do I have?”

“Why Brett, I never thought you’d ask.”

“What? Oh. Me. Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Lorelei laughed at the consternation she had caused the young actor. Her own laugh was harsh and not melodic at all. But then she was not an actor, she was a writer. And writers’ lives are harsh.

Brett only got his composure back when he noticed another woman enter the room and head their way. “Oh, here’s Nancy.”

“Where?” Lorelei said. She turned to look. “I do not socialize with Nancy Oliver.”

“What?” Brett was puzzled.

“I think my language was plain, Brett. I do not socialize with that woman.”

“But if Frankie Almond goes to series...”

“I will work with Nancy, but I will not socialize with her.” Lorelei downed her drink. “Where did Grimm get to? Ah.” She pivoted on the balls of her feet, for she was athletic, and she left Brett to Nancy’s tender mercies.

“Was it something I said?” Nancy said as she arrived.

“I don’t know,” Brett said. “Was it?”

Nancy looked dismissively after Lorelei as the little writer beat a retreat. Nancy Oliver, a director, would supervise the direction of all the individual episodes of Frankie Almond, if the series was picked up by the network.

The reason for the dinner party was to mark that success or failure. In the afternoon Victoria had been learning the network’s final decision. And the guests included all the people at the very heart of the project — actor, writer, and director of the pilot episode that had been so well received. These people, along with Victoria, the producer, had the most to gain from the future of Frankie Almond, Private Eye, if there was to be a future for him.

“Why won’t Lorelei socialize with you?” Brett asked.

Nancy tossed her red hair and fixed Brett with her green eyes. “Well, my little sugar plum, I’d guess that it’s because Lorelei is a sexless, repellent little slug. But you’ll socialize with me, won’t you, darling?” Nancy stepped closer to him.

“Hey, hey, keep your hands to yourself.” But more quietly Brett added, “People might see.”

“I’m a director, darling,” Nancy said. “We’re positively expected to grope our actors. Especially the cute ones.”

“But I don’t want to upset Victoria by rubbing her nose in it. Not if Frankie Almond is going to series. I couldn’t afford to be dumped from it.”

“That’s not going to happen, schnookums.”

“But until we’re sure... It wouldn’t be the first pilot that went to series with a different lead actor. And when I broke up with her, I told her it was because I needed time on my own.”

“Darling Brett, you’re so innocent,” Nancy said. “I told Victoria about us days ago.”

“You what?”

“She’d have done the same thing if she’d taken away my lovely lover.”

Dramatically, Brett clutched his head in his hands. Victoria had dumped him but it was at about the same time that Nancy had approached him. “Am I nothing more than a trophy for you, Nancy? Are you doing nothing more with me than score points off Victoria? I couldn’t bear that. Because I love you. I do. It’s the real thing, and for me it’s forever.”

“Of course it is, darling. Me too. Now, tell me, have you found out anything? From Grimm, perhaps?”

“Nobody knows. We’re all waiting for Victoria.”

“I’ll bet my mascara that woman was nothing but an office temp called Vicki where she came from — complete with the little circle dotting her i. But because she has that English accent and knows the difference between a two-shot and a crossfade, all the network people think she’s God’s gift.”

“The TV movies she did were very successful.”

“Well, I’m not saying that she doesn’t have a knack for hiring people whose work makes her look good.” Nancy held a hand up, miming a mirror. “And my direction can make just about anybody look good, don’t you think?”

“I just hope the network people think she’s got whatever knack they want,” Brett said. “Frankie Almond would be perfect for me just now.”

“Well, Cuddles, I daresay we could all use a top-ten show to beef up our résumés.”

“Not to mention our bank accounts.”

Nancy sighed deeply. “Oh, you’re not going to turn out to be one of those pretty boys who thinks with his checkbook, are you?”

But before Brett could answer, Grimm appeared. “Wine, Ms. Nancy?”

“What are these funny wineglasses, Grimm?”

“Ms. Victoria’s sister in Yorkshire runs a pottery and Ms. Victoria commissioned a special set of goblets for tonight’s event.”

“What’s this face on the side? A gargoyle?”

“I believe the significance is meant to be a little closer to home, Ms. Nancy.”

“Whatever. But I do prefer to see what I’m drinking, through glass. After all, wine comes in bottles. The people who make it ought to know.”

“Are you requesting to drink from the bottle, Ms. Nancy?”

“Please don’t be a smartass, Grimm.”

“Of course not, Ms. Nancy.” Grimm bowed in deference.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just edgy. Victoria probably knew about Frankie Almond last week. It would be just like her to keep us all waiting, and guessing, for dramatic effect.”

“Her business is drama, Ms. Nancy,” Grimm said.

“Well, it’s mine too. That doesn’t mean I can’t separate what’s on screen from what’s off.”

“I’m sure Ms. Victoria will let everyone know as soon as she can, Ms. Nancy.”

“I’m glad you’re sure.”

But while this exchange was taking place, Brett’s attention was elsewhere. A new guest had entered the room by a door leading from the interior of the penthouse. Brett took Nancy’s elbow and whispered, “If you really believe that Victoria already knows, maybe Andrew will know, too. They’re together now, you know.”

The new arrival was Andrew Stark, the old old actor of perhaps forty and Victoria Nation’s current squeeze. He approached Brett and Nancy, although he was probably attracted more by Grimm’s drinks tray than the company.

Once Nancy was sure that Andrew was within hearing distance she said, “You know, Grimm, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least to learn that Victoria was making us wait on purpose. Everyone knows that she has a terrible sadistic side.”

But Grimm knew that Nancy’s remark was not, in fact, addressed to him.

So did Andrew. “Oh, very nice, Nancy,” Andrew said. “And you’re one to talk.”

“Do tell us, Andrew. What are you doing here tonight? Playing the part of the empress’s consort? Because if she’d had you serving the drinks as well, she could have gotten away with paying only one salary instead of two. And aren’t producers meant to have a grasp of basic economics?”

“You make a rattlesnake seem like a teddy bear,” Andrew said.

“And you’re sweet, too,” Nancy said. “But, compliments aside, you are about the last person I expected to see at the Fate of Frankie Almond event.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Andrew said, fixing Nancy with a hostile stare.

“I do so wish I could say it was a pleasant surprise to see your fading features. Mind you, I could say it if someone was paying my rent and buying my clothes. One can say so many unlikely things when you’re being paid. But being an actor, you know that perfectly well.”

“There’s a window over there, Nancy. Maybe it opens.”

“And charming with it. But I shall leave you with Brett. You boys have so much in common. You could swap notes. On technique, perhaps.” Nancy left the men together to study the sunset over the Hudson.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall,” Andrew said, “who’s the most viperous slut of all?”

“Stop,” Brett said. “Stop it. I don’t think that’s what she’s like. Not really. I know there’s a bit of a hard veneer, but—”

“Hello? Were you here just now or not?” Andrew shook his head. “Was I imagining her part in that conversation? Pure poison.”

“She just gets started and can’t help the way it comes out.”

Andrew stared at him.

“And she is a wonderful director.”

Andrew sucked his lips before saying, “She certainly manages to make you look good, I’ll say that for her.”

Brett was uncomfortable, so he fell back on the most reliable method of changing subjects, asking the person you’re with to talk about himself. “I haven’t seen you around for a while — not that I catch everything that’s going on out there. Have you been working?”

“Nothing to sink my fangs into.” The fangs remark was a reference to Andrew’s earliest and, to date, biggest success in a vampire series. But it was before Brett’s time and the younger man didn’t respond. Andrew said, “I’ve been working, but just bits and pieces. Small parts, a little understudying, some kids’ magic shows, and I do some dubbing now and then. Whatever I can find to keep the wolf from the door. And in between I do some writing.”

“In our business it is important to stay positive till our luck changes.”

“I’d say it’s important for us to make our own luck.”

Which provided Brett a good segue to say, “They... they tell me you’re with Victoria now.”

“In the sense that she finds half an hour for me now and again. Forty-five minutes on a good day — whatever seems to suit her schedule best. Sound familiar?”

Too familiar for Brett to remember calmly, because when he and Victoria were together he’d been sure she was the one. But he’d been less experienced then and less mature. He said, “I’m sure she’ll make more time for you when all this Frankie Almond stuff settles down.”

“Think so?”

“She must love your voice. And your eyes.”

Andrew gave Brett a puzzled look.

Moving rapidly on, Brett said, “So, has she said anything to you about whether Frankie Almond is going to be picked up?”

“Not a whisper. Nor a murmur. Not even a whit or a tittle.”

Worth a try, Brett thought. Then, impulsively, he leaned forward to make a confidential comment, man-to-man. “She didn’t just get us all here in order to leave us fretting all evening, did she? Maybe planning to show up in a few hours, after we’re all nervous wrecks? Because that strikes me as just the kind of thing that would appeal to her so-called sense of humor. As you’ll find out. If you haven’t already.”

“I... have learned quite a bit about what amuses Victoria.” Andrew was not smiling.

The men locked eyes. Sympathy passed between them. But only a jot, because at that moment the front door of the penthouse burst open. Victoria Nation swept in.

She was a sight to behold, grand in her manner, glamorous in gold garments, and looking half her chronological age, at least from a distance. How did she do it?

“Sorry! So sorry I’m late, boys and girls. But there was a most frightful last-minute holdup at the network about location budgets. Where would we all be without e-mail and the cell phone, I ask you? But you don’t want to hear about my little problems, I’m sure. You’re all dying to know about the future of Frankie Almond, Private Eye.”

As Brett, Lorelei, Nancy, and Andrew moved closer to hear what she had to say there was a sudden silence in the room. Only Grimm hung back.

Victoria smiled, looking from one to another. She basked in the rapt attention. Finally it was Lorelei, the writer, whose patience ran out. “So, is it going to series or not? Stop teasing us.”

Victoria laughed. “Outspoken as ever, Lorelei. Well, I saw the network president this afternoon...” She paused again, to recreate the suspense. “I met him, and... he is mine! The answer is affirmative. We are going to series.”

“Yes!” Brett shouted.

Andrew was more muted as he muttered, “Well, well.”

Lorelei smiled and nodded and made a fist.

Nancy applauded. Quietly she said, “Well done, Vicki.”

“So let the celebration dinner commence,” Victoria said. “Grimm?”

Grimm rang a chime. “Assembled writer, director, producer, actor, and friend of Frankie Almond, pray be seated for dinner.”

As people began to move, Victoria called, “Please note, no ‘ladies and gentlemen,’ but then this is television.” She laughed loudly. Her laugh, if not melodic, was direct and to the point. “Come along into the dining room. If the news had been bad, I’d have sent out for a Dominos, but since it’s good, we’ll all have a jolly theme meal to celebrate the fame, fortune, and fabulous future of Frankie Almond, Private Eye.”

As soon as Victoria’s guests were in the dining room they could smell the food being prepared by caterers in the connecting kitchen. Grimm was heard over all of them. “Find your place cards and take your seats.”

Lorelei was first. “Where...? Oh, I’ve found me.”

Andrew, however, grumbled. “Place cards when there are only five of us?”

Nancy had a theory and she happily whispered it to Brett. “It’s the only way Victoria can be sure to have the men on either side of her. Don’t be fooled if she starts playing footsie with you, sweetie. She’ll be doing the same with Andrew on the other side. Ah, here’s me.” And she took her place next to Lorelei. And true enough, the two women faced Victoria directly with the men’s seats either side of her.

But Andrew was still not impressed by the place cards. “Well, to hell with this. I’ll sit wherever I damn please.” With a rebellious expression he took the seat designated for Brett, between Victoria and Nancy. “When is the next time I’ll have the chance to sit between a top TV producer and a top TV director?”

But Brett was not pleased. This way he wouldn’t be next to Nancy. “Andrew, that’s my seat.”

“Oooo,” Andrew said, “is big bad Bwett gonna cwy? Because he ought to remember, Frankie Almond would never cwy big bad pwivate eye tears. Take a hike, Brett. For once I’m having what I want.”

On the small screen Brett might have dragged Andrew aside and knocked him out with one punch, but in real life, with no lines to read and no stunt coordinator, all he could do was say, “Oh well.” He sat in the seat that had been designated for Andrew, between Victoria and Lorelei.

Victoria herself seemed not to notice. She was excited. “Now that Frankie Almond has been signed and sealed for prime time, I wanted to mark the occasion with something special. So I declare this theme dinner open. First, please take a look at the wine goblets by your plates. My sister made them from the finest Yorkshire clay. And do you see the face? Recognize Brett — or rather, Frankie? Isn’t that sweet? But before we all raise our goblets, I call on Nancy to remind us how she came up with the original idea for Frankie Almond, Private Eye.”

“Original?” Andrew muttered, but if anyone heard him there was no reaction.

Nancy said, “Well, Frankie... What can I say? He just came to me out of the blue one day.”

But before she could recall the day, or the blue, Andrew interrupted. “Ain’t that the truth.”

This time Nancy was unwilling to let the grumbling from the man on her right continue. “Excuse me, Victoria,” she said, “but just what is your good-looking, if slightly shop-soiled, friend doing at a Frankie Almond event? It’s your party, of course, but although we’ve never even been properly introduced he keeps talking to me. Do you think he might be making a pass? And if so, don’t you think you should pack him off somewhere? Perhaps let Grimm teach him what is appropriate behavior and what isn’t?”

Victoria was not pleased with Andrew or the interruption. “Andrew, please. Contain yourself.”

“Sorry, Vic,” Andrew said. His tone was humble, but he didn’t make eye contact.

Nancy resumed. “Frankie Almond... Well, in truth Frankie was a reaction to the current fad for novelty. Everywhere you look somebody is touting yet another new exotic detective. There are children detectives, ghost detectives, ancient Romans, monks, and Martians all solving murders these days. I even think there are plans for a dog as TV sleuth — and not a cartoon. So I thought, what on earth is wrong with a good old-fashioned private eye? And that’s how Frankie Almond was born.”

Lorelei, who wrote the script for the pilot, chimed in. “I think of Frankie as the archetype of private detection. He’s elegant, and classic. He’s intelligent, handsome, witty, sexy, wealthy.”

Victoria smiled and nodded. “Lorelei, you’ve put Almond in a nutshell.”

Nancy, who directed the pilot, continued. “And, Victoria, by casting Brett in the title role, I think you’ve given Frankie Almond the perfect physical embodiment.”

“Aw shucks,” Brett said, in mock modesty, “you’re just trying to make me blush.”

“Wait till I get you alone.” Nancy laughed, pretending she wasn’t serious.

But Victoria said, “Children, children, control yourselves. Which, in fact, brings up a serious point that does need to be addressed.”

The others were surprised by the notion that they’d have to consider something serious. They fell silent.

Victoria continued, “With success comes responsibility. Especially since Frankie will be in prime time. It is now incumbent on us all to avoid scandal of any kind. At least until the second series.”

“What sort of scandal did you have in mind, sweetie?” Lorelei asked in a tone of voice that encouraged each of the guests to think of something he or she had never tried but might fancy.

“All I mean is that you must lock the doors before and do up your buttons after. Don’t buy anything illegal or immoral — let a friend do it for you. No insider dealing with the money you’re about to earn. And don’t say anything to anyone in the media if you don’t want to see it in headlines. Basic privacy and no arrests. I trust that’s not too much to hope for.”

Positive sounds from around the table were encouraging.

“Good,” Victoria said. “We understand each other. So, please, everyone, raise the smallest of my sister’s ‘Frankie face’ goblets. You’ll find it to the right of your plate, just north of the forks. Grimm took the liberty of pouring you each a small celebratory libation. I now wish to propose a toast.”

Lorelei asked, “Is that going to be an almond toast?”

“Great minds, Lorelei. As it happens, the liqueur in question is an almond cordial. So raise your goblets. I give you Frankie Almond, Private Eye.”

Everybody echoed, “Frankie Almond, Private Eye,” and drank.

Then Andrew coughed.

Nancy said, “Wow, is this stuff disgusting, or what?”

“Just don’t tell Entertainment Tonight,” Victoria said cheerily.

“If it meant success for the series,” Brett said, “I’d happily drink it every day.”

But Andrew’s problem was not just that some of the unusual liqueur had gone down the wrong way. He continued to cough, and choke, and then he began to thrash.

Nancy, next to him, at first assumed this was some kind of attention-seeking maneuver but after looking more carefully at his face even she was concerned. “Andrew? Are you all right?”

But Nancy’s concern didn’t result in a cure. Andrew choked again and, perhaps responding to her voice, he sprawled over Nancy, her place setting, the whole shebang.

“Get off me,” Nancy said. “I mean it. Get off. Stop messing.”

Andrew did get off. He rolled onto the floor.

From her position across the table Lorelei said, “It looks like he had a fit.”

Brett, next to Lorelei, was concerned for Nancy. “Are you all right?”

Nancy was fine and said so, but Lorelei stood up to see where Andrew was lying. “He’s gone limp.”

Victoria intervened. “Grimm,” she said, “please see to Andrew.”

“Yes, Ms. Victoria.” Grimm moved to where Andrew lay sprawled on the dining room carpet and knelt. After a few moments of examination he rose. He shook his head.

“Grimm?” Victoria said, anxiety in her voice.

“Ms. Victoria, I regret to inform you that the gentleman is dead.”

There were gasps from around the table.

Victoria said, “Dead? Are you sure?”

“Yes, Ms. Victoria. I worked for three years in an abattoir. I know dead when I see it.”

“Has he... had a heart attack?”

“Of that I cannot be certain, Ms. Victoria.”

“Well,” Victoria said, “that’s quite put me off my food. I must say, we don’t get many people dying between the apéritif and the hors d’oeuvres where I come from, but this is New York, I suppose.”

Lorelei was shocked. “Victoria! How can you be so heartless? And him your boyfriend.”

“Hardly a boy,” Victoria said. “And this is still a special night, once-in-a-lifetime for us all. Frankie is still going to series, and I can hardly expect my guests to dig into their tucker with a corpse lying on the floor. Grimm, remove Andrew, please. Take him to the living room.”

“Yes, Ms. Victoria.”

As the other guests watched in stunned disbelief, Grimm took Andrew’s feet and dragged his body toward the door.

Finally it was Lorelei who asked, “Is that something he ought to be doing? I mean, shouldn’t we be leaving the evidence alone?”

Victoria asked, “What do you mean, evidence?”

“Well, Andrew seemed healthy a couple of minutes ago. There’s going to have to be an autopsy, and the police will need to be involved.”

“I’d really rather not,” Victoria said.

Nancy was less certain about police involvement. “At least don’t you think that maybe Grimm should call a doctor?”

“Grimm will do everything that’s required.”

And by that time Grimm had dragged Andrew’s remains through to the living room. A few moments later he returned, closing the door behind him. “Ms. Victoria?”

“Yes, Grimm?”

“I have laid the corpus by the white leather couch, but I have the sad obligation to inform you that it is my belief that the gentleman was poisoned.”

Now, Victoria was aghast. “Poisoned? But Grimm, that would mean that one of us murdered him.”

“Exactly so, Ms. Victoria,” Grimm said.

As the first shock of Grimm’s news sank in, the people around the table tried to reconstruct what had happened. As members of the Frankie Almond, Private Eye production team, they even felt that they had qualifications for the job, of a sort.

Nancy, the director, spoke first. “Grimm, what on earth leads you to believe that Andrew was poisoned?”

“Because, Ms. Nancy, the gentleman collapsed so rapidly and his skin was very pink as I laid him out on the hall floor.”

“So what? My mother died of a heart attack while she was jogging in the park and she was pink as a pig.”

But Lorelei, the writer, had taken the next step. “Cyanide.”

“I beg your pardon,” Nancy said.

“I think Grimm is suggesting that Andrew was killed with cyanide.”

“Exactly so, Ms. Lorelei.”

Lorelei knew about cyanide. “Cyanide is extremely toxic and it’s also widely available because it’s used in a lot of common products. Many of them can easily be administered orally. What happens is that the victim’s stomach acid acts to release hydrogen cyanide gas. That causes immediate unconsciousness. Death follows within a minute, a few minutes at most.”

“How the hell do you know all this?” Nancy asked, for everyone.

“Cya-Nora,” Lorelei said.

“Say what?”

“Early photographers used potassium cyanide in their processing. I used it as a poison in my play about Nora North, the suffragette photographer-detective, when she went to Japan. Hence, the title, Cya-Nora.”

But Brett recalled something. “I thought you could smell cyanide.”

“You can,” Lorelei said. “But it smells of almonds. And what have we all been drinking?”

Victoria said, “My special almond cordial. Oh dear.”

“Which would mask the cyanide smell completely,” Lorelei concluded.

“But Grimm,” Brett said, “are you saying that one of us poisoned Andrew with cyanide?”

“That would appear to be a reasonable conjecture, Mr. Brett.”

As a ripple ran round the table, Brett said, “But who...? Why...?”

“I may be able to be of further assistance, sir,” Grimm said. “Ms. Victoria, if I may?”

“You carry on, Grimm,” Victoria said.

“When I laid the gentleman’s remains on the carpet, I chanced to discover an audio cassette tape in the breast pocket of his jacket.”

“Do they still make those?” Nancy said.

“The cassette in question bears a label which reads, ‘To be played if I am dead.’” Grimm held up the cassette and showed everyone the label.

This news was a further shock for the already shocked company.

Grimm said, “If I might have permission to utilize your mini-stack, Ms. Victoria?”

“Any time, Grimm.”

Grimm inserted the cassette tape into a small sound system on a buffet at the side of the dining room and pressed play. Soon Andrew’s mellifluous voice was heard clearly throughout the room. “My name is Andrew Stark. If anything bad has happened to me tonight, then it wasn’t from natural causes. I just had a checkup and I’m in perfect health — a fine specimen of manhood. So if there’s no knife in my back or bullet hole between my eyes, then I must have been poisoned...”

A murmur went around the room.

“When Victoria invited me to this Frankie Almond dinner I accepted immediately. Why? Not just because I adore Victoria’s incomparable company...”

“He was such a sweet boy,” Victoria said.

“... but because it seemed the ideal opportunity to confront Nancy Oliver in person.”

“What?” Victoria said. She looked at Grimm.

“Because it was Nancy who stole my idea for Frankie Almond.”

There were intakes of breath all around the table.

The tape continued, “I never mentioned it to Victoria, but I’ve known Nancy for a long time. Then, a few years ago, I had a supporting role in a play she directed off-Broadway. One morning, over croissants, I told her all about my blockbuster idea for a ‘classic’ private eye.”

Nancy said sharply, “That’s a lie.”

“The only difference,” Andrew’s voice continued, “between my idea and what has become Frankie Almond is that I thought the detective should be my age and have some experience of the world. And I called him Charlie Cashew.”

Victoria said, “This is not at all what I expected.”

“What I didn’t know then,” Andrew’s voice said, “is that Nancy steals things. Usually it’s just people. For instance, she bragged one time how she stole Lorelei’s husband. Even now Lorelei doesn’t talk with Nancy except about work. And more recently Nancy stole Brett away from you, Victoria. At least that’s her version. I don’t care about all that, but what I do care about is that she stole my idea — my idea — for the TV series that’s going to make you all rich.”

Nancy could stand it no longer. “It’s all lies,” she said. “He thinks he can say anything just because he’s dead.”

But Brett and Lorelei shushed her, wanting to hear the remainder of the recording.

“When Victoria showed me the complete guest list,” Andrew said, “I had second thoughts about using this dinner to confront Nancy. Because, the truth is, I’ve had problems of one kind or another with each of you.”

Having expected more dirt about Nancy, Brett, Lorelei, and Victoria all looked at one another.

“For instance,” Andrew continued, “I met Lorelei Penfold years ago, when I was in her TV play about dairy farming, Creme de Passion.”

“I know what’s coming,” Lorelei said, “but—”

“Lorelei became obsessed with me.”

“It’s not true!”

“She followed me everywhere, morning, noon, and night. Eventually I had to get a court order to keep her away. This is the first time in years that we’ve been in the same room.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Lorelei protested.

“And as for Brett Kingsley,” Andrew said.

“I wrote all about it in my play, Innocent Error,” Lorelei said.

“When Brett was in high school he got involved with my little cousin, Audrey, and her mother. It ended in an appalling orgy of sex, drugs, and stomach pumps. Brett is always nice as pie to me face-to-face, but now that he’s about to be the star of a prime-time program... Well, I know so many things he would not want splashed around the tabloids.”

“Nice as pie,” Brett said. “He said it himself.”

“And you, Vic,” Andrew said. “Well, let’s talk about your background, shall we? And your little sister, whose identity you stole to pass yourself off as a university graduate. Good thing she’s content to stay away and play with clay, isn’t it?”

Victoria’s jaw dropped. For once nothing came out of her mouth.

Andrew’s tape continued, “If you’re listening to this, then something awful’s happened. I can only hope that those of you who are innocent will get together to discover who is guilty.”

After several seconds of silence, Grimm turned the machine off. “That’s the end.”

Victoria shook her head, breathing heavily. “This is not at all what I intended for tonight. I am so sorry, everybody. This was supposed to be a party. A celebration.”

“Funny thing, though,” Lorelei said.

“What?”

“That Nancy lied about knowing him.”

“No, I didn’t,” Nancy said sharply.

“Yes, you did. When you complained to Victoria because he was interrupting your version of the idea for Frankie Almond. And maybe now we understand all that a bit better.” Lorelei glared at the woman next to her.

“I just said nobody introduced us,” Nancy said. “And it’s not like I was obsessed with him to the point that required a restraining order.”

But the confrontation was truncated when Victoria sighed and nearly tumbled from her chair.

Grimm was by her side in a flash. “Ms. Victoria, are you all right?”

“It’s... it’s not what I expected.”

“Can you continue?”

“For the moment. I guess. Yes.”

Lorelei said, “Did Nancy steal Andrew’s original idea for Frankie Almond, Victoria? If she did, her position would be a lot more secure if Andrew were out of the way permanently.”

“Wait a minute,” Brett said.

“What?”

“I may not be a real detective, but there’s an obvious question that needs to be asked here. How was the poison administered?”

Eyes turned to the scriptwriter. Lorelei said, “In the almond cordial, presumably.”

“And who poured the almond cordial?”

“It was waiting for us,” Nancy said.

“Exactly,” Brett said, in his Frankie Almond voice. “Grimm?”

Grimm did not respond to the implied accusation immediately.

Victoria said, “Please answer the man, Grimm.”

“I did indeed pour the drinks, Mr. Brett.”

Brett said, “Hey, hey, wait. We’ve forgotten one other thing. And it’s important.”

Voices asked, “What?”

But before Brett could say anything more, Grimm interrupted. “No need to continue, sir.”

“Grimm?” Brett said.

“I confess, Mr. Brett. I confess to the crime. I did it. It’s a fair cop, guv. I poisoned the gentleman.”

“But... but why would you do such a thing, Grimm?” Lorelei asked.

“Yes, why?” Nancy asked.

Despite the confession, Brett insisted on making his point. “There are two things we have all forgotten.”

“What, Brett?” Lorelei asked.

“First,” Brett said, “Andrew was sitting in the seat I was supposed to have. So if the drink there was poisoned, then I would have been the intended victim.”

“Oh my,” Lorelei said.

“Yet it was Andrew who had made the cassette.”

People looked at the sound system.

“The second thing we’ve forgotten,” Brett said, “is that Victoria likes to play jokes.”

“Jokes?”

“I see!” Nancy said with the triumph of discovery. “All this has been a game. You told us at the start that this would be a theme dinner, didn’t you, Victoria?”

After a moment, Victoria said, “I too confess.”

Nancy said, “Andrew dies — which is why he was invited to the party. And the butler did it. Oh, that’s cute, and very classic. Good deduction, Brett. You shall be rewarded...”

“Thank you,” Brett said.

“However,” Victoria said, “I do apologize for that wretched tape. Andrew made it this afternoon, unsupervised, while I was at the network. Believe me, the script I wrote for him was very different. And much funnier.”

“Andrew didn’t sound like he was trying to be funny.”

“He’s been a very naughty boy. I shall have to punish him severely.”

“I daresay he’ll like that,” Nancy said.

“Although,” Victoria said with a smile, “I must say, my money was on Lorelei to solve the case, what with her plotting skills. But I guess you got too involved in the tape, didn’t you?”

“What he said was serious and unpleasant,” Lorelei said.

At this moment, Grimm coughed. Stagily. “Ms. Victoria?”

“Yes, Grimm?”

“Don’t I get to say why I did it?”

“Ah, the motive,” Nancy said.

“Come on,” Brett said, “tell us, Grimm. Why did you poison Andrew? Was it because he’s a tattoo on the armpit of life?”

“I poisoned him out of jealousy, Mr. Brett. You see, I am hopelessly in love with Ms. Victoria, and I cannot bear to share her with any other man.”

“I’ll bet that was in the original script, Victoria,” Nancy said.

“It certainly was,” Victoria agreed, and laughed. Everyone joined in.

Except Lorelei.

“Well, excuse me for living,” Lorelei said, “but I don’t think this whole thing is funny at all. I thought Andrew was really dead, and dead or not, I do not like personal and private and painful episodes from my life being used for entertainment.”

“I repeat,” Victoria said, “what Andrew said on the tape was as much a surprise to me as to anyone else. I’m sorry if you’re upset, but there’s not much I can do about it now.”

“Lorelei,” Nancy said, “along with the research you do, sensitivity has always been one of your strongest points as a scriptwriter. Unfortunately, sensitivity doesn’t always smooth one’s way through real life.”

“Don’t you patronize me, Nancy Oliver.”

“I was trying to be nice,” Nancy protested. “Jeez.”

“Oh, get Lorelei a fresh drink, please, Grimm,” Victoria said. “In fact, crack open the Champagne. It’s time we all started our serious celebrating.”

With a nod, Grimm went to the Champagne bucket. As he did so, Brett said, “You don’t have some other joke in store for us, do you, Victoria? Nobody’s going to get kidnapped, are they? No bomb in the bombe surprise?”

“No more games, Brett, I promise.”

“And no more of that disgusting almond cordial, either, I hope,” Nancy said.

“No.”

There was a bang, but it was neither a bomb nor a gun. The cork had flown from the Champagne bottle, injuring no one. Grimm began his rounds at the table, pouring the sparkling liquid into yet more of the special goblets with Brett’s face that had been set out for each guest.

“We’re watching you, Grimm,” Brett said.

“Very wise, sir,” Grimm said as he went to Lorelei’s place. “Ms. Lorelei?”

“Yes, all right. I shouldn’t, but perhaps I shall. I suppose we need to look forward, not back. So, yes, by God, I shall.”

“Very good, Ms.,” Grimm said.

“And perhaps you should pour some for yourself, too, Grimm, and then taste it before we have any.”

“A most excellent suggestion, if I may say so, Ms. Lorelei.” Grimm filled her goblet.

“Thank you, Grimm.”

He continued around the table.

“Thanks, Grimm,” Nancy said.

“I’ve been looking forward to this not just all day, but all my life,” Victoria said. “A prime-time television series. Something very special. A real opportunity.”

“Thank you, Grimm,” Brett said. “It looks great.”

Victoria added, “Use Andrew’s goblet for your Champagne, Grimm. I had intended to invite him back for the meal, but in view of his behavior he can damn well stay in the living room. Naughty boys don’t deserve Champagne. And need I tell you? This is the real stuff. Vintage. French. The whole nine yards.”

Grimm poured for himself. “Ms. Victoria.” He lifted Andrew’s goblet to her. He gestured to the others. “Facilitators of Frankie.”

Victoria lifted her goblet. “And now, may I once again propose a toast? To you all. To us all. Nancy Oliver, director — and creator — of this fine series. Lorelei Penfold, writer of the best damned scripts you’d ever want to see. Brett Kingsley, the perfect embodiment of the classic private eye. And not forgetting myself, the series producer. She who put this whole thing together. I give you Frankie Almond.”

They all lifted their goblets to Frankie Almond.

But before anyone drank Brett interrupted. “Hey, hey. Grimm first.”

“Sir,” Grimm said with a bow. After sniffing the bouquet, he drank. “Most efficacious. Although to be absolutely certain of your collective safety I’d best take some more.”

“Frankie Almond,” was the toast, repeated by them all. They all drank. The Champagne was, indeed, top drawer. There were several sounds of approval.

But not from Nancy. She coughed. “Victoria, I thought you said no more tricks.”

“There are no more—”

But Nancy coughed again. “I think almond champagne counts as a trick.” She coughed again. “And one in very poor taste.”

“Nancy?” Brett said. “Nancy?”

Lorelei said, “Are you all right?”

“No,” Nancy gasped. “No... Not...” And before them all she thrashed about and then tipped her chair over backwards.

There was a silence in the room. It was broken only when Victoria said, “Ah. Ah. I get it. It’s a joke.”

“What?” voices asked.

“Nancy is exacting her revenge. She was taken in by Andrew’s performance, so now we get this. Very funny, Nancy. Very dramatic, which is no more than we’d expect from you. But I hope you haven’t broken the chair, because it cost a fortune and you’ll bloody well pay for it if you have.”

Again there was silence. No one moved. Including Nancy.

“Enough’s enough,” Victoria said. “Come back to life and let’s get dinner started. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m famished.”

Brett, across from Nancy’s place, stood and said, “Nancy?”

Lorelei, next to her, said, “She’s not moving.”

Victoria said, “Grimm?”

Grimm, who had been standing behind Andrew’s empty chair, crouched down where Nancy lay. He felt for a pulse and then turned to his employer. “It’s no joke, Ms. Victoria. Ms. Nancy is dead.”

“Nancy! Nancy!” Brett cried. He rushed around the table.

“Try mouth-to-mouth, Grimm,” Victoria said.

“I’ll do it,” Brett said and he knelt by Nancy’s body. “Give me some room.”

“That might not be such a good idea, Brett,” Lorelei said. “If hydrogen cyanide gas from her stomach—”

“What does it matter if it saves her life?”

“There’s no point, Mr. Brett,” Grimm said. “Ms. Nancy is gone.”

Brett was distraught. Nancy was the love of his life. He was sure this time. He turned to Victoria. “Is this some twisted joke-on-a-joke gone wrong, Victoria? Something you and Nancy hatched up together?” His tears followed as Victoria’s face made it clear that nothing like this was ever in her plans.

Grimm put his arm around the young actor’s shoulders. “The lady is beyond our help, sir.”

“Oh God! Nancy!” Brett was in despair.

“This is awful,” Victoria said.

“Yes, awful,” Lorelei agreed. She shook her head, visibly moved by events.

“Our series director murdered at a company dinner?” Victoria said. “The scandal will kill Frankie Almond stone dead.”

Lorelei was shocked. “Are you really thinking about a silly television series at a time like this? Are you really so hard?”

“What would be hard,” Victoria said, “is for a wonderful opportunity to be killed just because one of you wanted to settle a petty grievance.”

But Brett was having none of it. “What do you mean, one of us? You’re the one who was jealous of Nancy because I fell out of love with you and in love with her. You are entirely capable of setting this whole thing up as an elaborate cover.”

“Me risk Frankie Almond for a man? A man?” Victoria could hardly believe what she was being accused of. “Give me strength. Men — especially young and silly ones — are sixpence a dozen, sweetie. That’s a dime to you. My relationship with Andrew proves that.”

Brett had nothing to say, but Lorelei asked, “Where is Andrew?”

“Yes, Grimm,” Victoria said, “where is the little rat?”

“Waiting in the living room to be called back in, I presume, Ms. Victoria. Excuse me, but shall I call the police now?”

“The police? Oh Lord, do we have to? Can’t we just agree, say, that she killed herself by accident?”

“It can hardly be an accident when Ms. Nancy is exhibiting all the signs of cyanide poisoning, Ms. Victoria.”

“How do you know about these things, Grimm?” Brett asked. In his Frankie Almond voice.

For once Grimm was flustered. “I... From no particular source, Mr. Brett. Life experience.”

“I’m not sure I believe you, Grimm.”

“Sorry to hear that, Mr. Brett.”

The two men stared at each other until Victoria interrupted. “Oh for God’s sake, can’t we in this room agree a strategy that will protect Frankie Almond, Private Eye?”

Lorelei couldn’t believe that Victoria was continuing to think of the program. “How can you be so unfeeling?”

“Oh, save the fake compassion for your scripts, Lorelei,” Victoria said. “Nancy did steal your husband from you. Which you never forgave her for.”

Now Lorelei was flustered. “Yes, well...”

“And it still upsets you, for some unfathomable reason. Not that I ever met the man in question but what was the problem? Men come, men go. Or is it that you haven’t been able to get yourself another one? Because to be obsessed with someone as shallow and untalented as Andrew shows that there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“That was all a misunderstanding.”

“Nancy taking your husband wasn’t.”

“He would have come back to me. Eventually.”

“The way I heard the story was that he croaked in flagrante from a heart attack. If anyone here hated Nancy, it was you.”

“But not enough to murder her.” Lorelei was almost in tears.

Brett was not convinced. “Yet you do know all about cyanide. And if you hated her so much, why keep working with her? Was it in order to have access until you got your chance?”

Victoria was struck by this notion. “Your scripts prove you’re capable of planning something that complicated and weird.”

“That is a horrible thing to suggest,” Lorelei said.

“Well, someone murdered my Nancy,” Brett said. “That’s a fact.”

Lorelei turned to Brett. “You’re so busy accusing everybody else, but what about you?”

“Why would I murder Nancy? I loved her.”

“But did she love you?” Lorelei said. “Maybe you realized that she was only with you in order to get one over on Victoria. You know how they like to score off of each other, and neither of them has the slightest record of taking men seriously.”

Brett was upset now. Was it because doubt had been cast upon Nancy’s feelings for him, or because Lorelei was on the track of truth? She was famous for the emotional perceptiveness in her scripts.

“Look at their histories,” Lorelei said. “You’d have to doubt that either Nancy or Victoria was capable of forming a serious long-term relationship.”

“Get me a bowl, please, Grimm,” Victoria said. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Grimm turned to his mistress to assess whether her request was a serious one.

In turn, eyes fell upon him. Lorelei said, “And what about Grimm?”

“Ms. Lorelei?”

“You poured Nancy’s Champagne.”

“I did indeed, Ms. Lorelei.”

Brett frowned. “Are we certain that’s what killed her?”

“She complained of the almond taste,” Lorelei said. “My Champagne didn’t taste of almonds. Did yours?”

“No.” Brett looked around the table.

“It was an excellent vintage bubbly,” Victoria said. “As befitted the occasion until one of you ruined it. You had some too, Grimm.”

“My Champagne was entirely devoid of almond taste, Ms. Victoria. But there is a more direct test.”

“What are you doing, Grimm?” Victoria asked.

But it was clear what Grimm was doing. He had knelt by Nancy’s goblet on the floor. “I intend to assess whether there is an almond odor in the Champagne residue, Ms. Victoria.”

“Mind the fingerprints,” Lorelei said.

“I shall take care.” He lifted the goblet by the edge of its base and sniffed. “Blimey, if I may say so. It reeks of bitter almonds.” He put the goblet down and looked around the room. “Anyone care to confirm?” There were no takers.

“So she was poisoned with cyanide,” Victoria said. “Right before our eyes. Oh dear. Oh my. I’m feeling faint.”

Grimm rushed to her side. “Ms. Victoria, are you all right?”

“Maybe he does love her,” Brett said to Lorelei.

But the situation with Grimm and Victoria was not allowed to develop further because Andrew entered the room. “What the hell’s taking so long?” he asked. “I know I threw you a few curves with the tape, but I’m starving to death out here.”

“It’s all gone terribly wrong,” Victoria said. Her head rested on Grimm’s chest.

“Hey, what’s the matter, babe?” Andrew said. “Look out, Grimm.” Andrew moved to Victoria’s side and took over the job of supporting her. “What’s up? Eat something that didn’t agree with you?”

Brett said, “Grimm, shouldn’t you call the police?”

“I agree completely, sir,” Grimm said. He took out his cell and dialed 911.

“Hey,” Andrew said, “what’s going on?”

“Police, please,” Grimm said.

“The police?” Andrew said. “Victoria, what’s happening? You can’t have me arrested. Every word I said on that tape was the truth.”

“I wish to report a murder,” Grimm said into the telephone and he gave the address. “The main entrance is under the green awning. Ask the doorman for the penthouse of Victoria Nation. He’ll direct you. We’ll also need an ambulance. Heathcoat Grimm. Same address.”

Andrew was beside himself. “What murder? What’s he talking about? I’m alive, you can all see that. It was a joke. Ha. Ha.”

“Thank you,” Grimm said. He ended the call.

“How long will they be?” Victoria asked.

“Only a few minutes, I’m sure, Ms. Victoria.”

“What is going on?” Andrew insisted.

“It’s Nancy,” Victoria said.

“Oh.” He looked around. “Where is she?”

“If you care to look on the other side of the table.”

Now that his attention had been directed, he saw her. “Oh!”

“She was poisoned, Andrew,” Lorelei said.

“What?”

“With cyanide. In her Champagne.”

“But, how could that be? How do you get cyanide into a Champagne bottle?”

“It was not in the bottle, sir,” Grimm said. “A compound of cyanide must have been put into Ms. Nancy’s Champagne goblet.”

“Good God,” Andrew said. “She wasn’t my favorite person, for reasons you know, but I’d never wish her...” He seemed visibly to wilt.

Brett said, “Victoria, I’ve been thinking. Who laid the table?”

“Grimm did. Why?”

But Grimm anticipated why Brett had asked the question. “I most certainly did not introduce a toxin into any of the drinking vessels.”

“But it was you who put out the place cards with our names on them, wasn’t it?” Lorelei said. “And wasn’t the idea of place cards so that you would know exactly who would be sitting where?”

There was a moment in which Grimm was silent, but Victoria said, “As a matter of fact, Lorelei, I put the place cards out myself. I thought it would be amusing if Brett were to sit between me and Nancy. But it was never important.”

“And you decided I would have to sit next to Nancy? Even though you know I hated her?” Lorelei said.

Victoria shrugged.

“When did you decide on the seating?”

“This morning. Before I left to meet with the network. I had high hopes for the meeting, and if we were celebrating, I wanted to be sure we did it in style. But I tell you now, Lorelei, Grimm was in the room when I was doing the cards and he’d have seen if I fiddled with any of the goblets.”

“I most certainly did not observe Ms. Victoria handling any of the ceramic-ware,” Grimm said, “if that is your implication, Ms. Lorelei.”

“Unless you two concocted this together,” Lorelei said.

“But,” Brett said, “people didn’t sit where they were supposed to. How could they be sure Nancy would sit where her card was? My card was on Nancy’s right, but Andrew insisted on sitting there instead of me.”

“Why did you do that, Andrew?” Lorelei asked.

“What I said at the time. When else will I get the chance to sit between a top director and a top producer?” Andrew said. “Besides, Brett sitting between Victoria and Nancy seemed, well, tasteless.”

“Where does an over-the-hill, no-talent Lothario like you get off calling me tasteless?” Victoria asked. Of all the accusations that had been directed at her during the evening, this one made her angry.

But Brett had another point. “Did you know that we would be drinking from opaque pottery instead of conventional glasses tonight, Lorelei?”

“Not until I got here and Grimm started serving drinks in those goblets with your face on them,” Lorelei said.

“Neither did I. So neither of us could have planned to kill Nancy, or anyone, by putting something in a glass and waiting for Champagne to be poured on it.”

“Well, I had nothing to do with the drinks, or setting the table,” Andrew said. “That was all down to Victoria and Grimm.”

“Just a damn minute here,” Victoria said. “If I were going to kill someone I wouldn’t use some piddly little poison. I may be English, but I learned how to fire a shotgun even before I learned how to fire an actor.”

Brett said, “Grimm?”

“Sir?”

“We know very little about you.”

With eyes on him, Grimm only said, “Yes, sir.”

“Except that something in your background left you down and out.”

Grimm was silent, but anger showed in his eyes.

But before Brett could frame another question, Lorelei said, “Wait, wait. Victoria, was Andrew around while this dinner was being planned?”

Victoria scowled at her soon-to-be-former paramour. “Yes, of course he was. He was part of the show.”

“So he could have known about the goblets. You got them from your sister in England, you said. That must have been arranged long ago.”

“I ordered them when the pilot got such good numbers. They were delivered last week.”

“I knew about all kinds of things, as my tape proves all too clearly,” Andrew said. “That doesn’t mean I murdered anybody. By putting poison in a goblet while I was in the living room? Come on.”

Brett said, “Grimm, I have a question.”

“Mr. Brett?”

“Where exactly on a table is glassware — or goblet-ware — placed? Is it to the right of the dinner plate or to the left?”

“To the right, Mr. Brett.”

“To the right,” Brett said, in his best Frankie Almond voice. “Now I was supposed to sit on Nancy’s right, but Andrew insisted on taking my place.”

“I explained that,” Andrew said.

But a moment of silence was only broken when Victoria said, “Andrew!”

“Victoria?”

“Grimm, grab the little swine.”

“What the—” Andrew said as Grimm rapidly and, it must be said, easily restrained the not-so-young actor. “Let me go, Grimm. What is this about? Why are you doing this?”

“Because of you,” Victoria said, “Frankie Almond is dead.”

“Me? But I just played the part of the dinner guest, the way you wrote it. Well, pretty much.”

“Frankie is dead because Nancy is dead and you killed her.”

“That’s ridiculous. I wasn’t even in the room when it happened.”

Brett looked puzzled. He even said, “That’s true.”

But Victoria was not to be derailed. “Lorelei, Brett, Grimm, do you remember how Andrew ‘died’?”

“How?” Lorelei asked. “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember what happened physically when he went through his little death act?”

“Well,” Lorelei said, “he coughed several times and then he had a sort of fit, and then he sprawled over Nancy.”

“Who was on his left,” Victoria said. “And, as he draped himself over poor Nancy, what would naturally happen to his right hand? Visualize it.”

“It would pass over the area of Nancy’s wine goblet!” Lorelei said. “I see it. I see what you mean. And he could easily have dropped something in.”

“And before dinner,” Brett said, “he told me that one of the things he’s been doing is some children’s magic shows. That could perfectly well mean he’s used to doing sleight-of-hand...”

Everyone in the room looked at Andrew. Grimm’s grip tightened.

There was a long silence.

“All right,” Andrew said at last. “Yes. I did it.”

“Oh, Andrew,” Lorelei said.

“Good God,” Brett said.

Victoria just stared.

Grimm’s grasp tightened even more.

“Dropping the cyanide in Nancy’s goblet was child’s play. But she deserved it. She stole my idea. My idea. It would have been the making of me. It would have turned my life around, at last. But no, while you were all partying and planning how you would be spending your Frankie Almond money, I was still living hand-to-mouth, having to cuddle up to old women...”

“How dare you!” Victoria said.

“Having to hire myself out for party tricks. When instead it should have been me, me, playing my own role. Charlie Cashew, Private Eye. Brilliant. Sexy. Witty. Handsome. And rich.”

The apartment doorbell rang.

“That will be the police, I believe, Ms. Victoria,” Grimm said.

Copyright © 2009 by Michael Z. Lewin