I smiled back at her. ‘I’ve always liked a challenge. I’m sure it’s all going to go really well. But don’t forget to give me the sealed envelope with the identity of the murderer just in case you really do bamboozle me.’
She gave a gleeful chuckle. ‘I promise I won’t forget the envelope. And please come and join me and the other guests at lunchtime. Valentina’s going to serve drinks on the terrace from midday. I’ll introduce you to everybody.’
Then she gave Oscar a final tummy rub – he had been lying stretched out at her feet – and set off back down the steps again. I stood there admiring the view for another minute or two and then headed for the greenhouse.
It was so overgrown in there that I told Oscar to stay outside just in case there were slug pellets or other poisonous things lying around, and I squeezed my way in between what my phone identified as a persimmon tree,Diospyros kaki, and a fortunately abandoned wasps’ nest the size of a basketball. Above my head was a vine, hung with the most amazing blue flowers with unusual, prominent, yellow stamens, and dotted among the flowers were strange orange and purple fruits, the size of large apricots. The phone identified this asPassiflora edulisor passion fruit. I carried on down the length of the greenhouse, feeling like a Victorian explorer in the jungle, gradually collecting plant names ranging fromLitchi chinensisandCerbera odollamtoPsidium guajava. By the time I emerged again, I had a list of half a dozen Latin plant names that meant nothing to me whatsoever, and I resolved to do my best to find English names for everything when I had time, so I could pass the list on to Alice.
Back in my room, before plunging once more into a complicated quotation for a racing stables on the outskirts of Florencewho believed their horses were being nobbled by rival racehorse owners or betting cheats, I went through in my head what Alice had told me. I was to meet up with the new arrivals on the terrace before lunch for drinks. She knew her guests well and had told me that this might turn out to be an alcoholic event for some of them, after which, a few would probably retire to their rooms for a siesta, while others might prefer to laze by the pool, or even take a trip into Venice to see the sights.
At the end of the afternoon, changed into our costumes, we would all meet up again on the terrace at six, and the murder mystery evening would begin. From the way Alice had described it, the drinks would be followed by the evening meal on the terrace, like last night, involving musical chairs between courses. This would probably take a couple of hours, during which the guests and actors would mingle and exchange information until the murder took place. When Alice lay apparently dead, it would be my job to collect everybody together and give them all a chance to voice their suspicions until the killer could be revealed.
By my calculations, this probably meant that the murder mystery part of the evening would be done and dusted by nine or nine-thirty. This struck me as pretty early for a party to finish until it occurred to me that a number of the guests were well over seventy, so maybe nine-thirty was bedtime for some, if not all. At least this would mean that Oscar got his evening walk at a reasonable hour.
And it would mean I could remove the dreaded tights before they cut off my circulation completely.
11
SATURDAY LUNCHTIME
Oscar and I walked across to the terrace at noon. Fortunately it was a bit less oppressively hot today, with a hint of a breeze rustling the leaves in the pergola above my head. I found Diego serving glasses of sparkling wine to a little group of four or five people. As I approached, I did my best to associate the photos I’d seen on the Internet with the people before me.
Dirk Foster was the easiest to identify. I knew the veteran actor to be seven years older than me, but I didn’t need a mirror to know that he looked far, far younger. He was tall, probably a couple of inches taller than me, his perfectly hydrated skin glowed with an even, golden tan, and his immaculately styled hair didn’t have a single speck of grey in it. Alongside him was a figure that I didn’t recognise immediately. I had to give her a second or a third glance before I realised that the rather frumpy woman alongside him with a scruffy mop of short, unkempt hair – quite possibly cut by herself – was none other than Lucy O’Connell. Considering that the Internet had told me that she was only forty-two and she’d been voted the sexiest woman in the world only a few years earlier, her deterioration was startling.
Just behind them was a white-haired old man slumped on a seat, smoking the biggest cigar I’d ever seen in my life. I might be exaggerating slightly, but it looked almost the size of a rolling pin. I’ve never smoked, but I had to admit that it did smell good. He was easily recognisable as Desmond Norman, the legendary movie mogul, and to his left was another elderly man, this time a considerably fatter man, who was wiping copious amounts of sweat off his face with a handkerchief the size of a small towel. This had to be Jack Sloane, the casting director with an eye for outstanding talent, whose phone number had achieved legendary status.
As I approached them from one side, a couple approached from the other, and I couldn’t miss Maggie McBride, widow of Caspar McBride the oil billionaire, allegedly one of the richest women on the planet. From where I was standing, she looked far younger than her sixty-two years, while the slim, swarthy man half her age on her arm fell neatly into the ‘Latin lover’ category that Alice had described, even down to the shirt open almost to his navel and a gold medallion the size of a chocolate Hobnob on his hairy chest. I didn’t bother checking him for tattoos, or to see how tight his trousers were. I decided I would take Alice’s word for that.
I was just in the process of helping myself to a glass of fizz – no beer on offer – when a shrill whistle split the air and both Oscar and I turned around to see Alice herself with two fingers at her lips, calling Oscar. She crouched down, opened her arms, and he didn’t need to be asked twice. He shot across the paving slabs to bury himself in her arms, tail wagging furiously.
‘That’s a handsome dog you have there.’
I turned back to find myself being addressed by none other than Dirk Foster, multi-Oscar-winning star of more blockbustermovies than I could shake a stick at. I did my best to look as if chatting to global megastars was an everyday occurrence for me.
‘Thanks for the compliment. As I expect you’ll find out, Oscar has very good taste when it comes to women. I’m thinking of hiring him out to judge beauty pageants.’ I held out my hand towards the great man. ‘I’m Dan. I’m going to be the detective in tonight’s little play.’
He gave me a charming smile that showed off some very expensive dental work, while I did my best not to yelp with pain as he shook my hand. He didn’t bother introducing himself. Very few people on the planet were unfamiliar with his face. ‘So how do you know the lovely Alice?’
From the way he said it, I got the feeling he maybe wasn’t as fond of her as might have been expected. I told him briefly about our shared friendship with Selena Gardner and I got the impression that Selena wasn’t high in his book of favourite actors either. Maybe he just hated everybody.
At that moment, we were descended upon by Maggie McBride – and I use that expression advisedly. She suddenly materialised alongside Foster, relinquished her hold on her Latin lover, and threw her arms around Foster’s neck – or at least she tried to. Seen close up, she was far smaller than I had imagined, in spite of wearing a pair of high heels that made it look as though she were on tiptoe. He bent forward obligingly and allowed her to deposit two smacking kisses on his cheeks, but I couldn’t miss his expression of resignation as she assaulted him.
‘Dirk, darling, the older you get, the more desirable you become.’ Even I couldn’t miss the exaggerated Southern belle accent. I glanced at her boyfriend, who was standing back obediently with a fixed smile on his handsome features. It occurred to me that – just like Labradors in hot weather – the life of a toyboy wasn’t always a bundle of fun.
Foster stepped back and produced another gleaming smile that looked almost sincere – but he was a very good actor, after all.
‘Maggie, my dear. How lovely to see you again.’ I wasn’t convinced that he meant it.
‘I’m sure it is.’ Maggie McBride’s tone was at odds with her smile. In spite of the outward show of affection, I had a feeling there was no love lost between these two.
‘You look stunning, as always.’ I was sure that even Oscar could hear the lack of sincerity in his voice.
Maggie McBride made no comment, and I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. She turned and, before I could take evasive action, grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled me down towards her and slapped a couple of kisses on my cheeks as well. ‘Well, hi there, handsome. How come I haven’t seen you around before?’
I stepped back in my turn and searched for a satisfactory response. ‘I’m not in the movie business; I’m a detective.’ Maybe I was still in a state of shock after her effusive greeting, but for a split second, I saw what might have been a shadow run across her face before she plastered on another smile.
‘A detective! How exciting. And what are you detecting here? Maybe you think I’ve been a naughty, naughty girl.’ She held out her wrists towards me. ‘Clap on the handcuffs and I’ll come quietly.’ She then burst into a peal of raucous laughter and shot a lascivious glance at her boyfriend. ‘Quiet’s not my style though, is it, honey?’
I was relieved to feel a friendly nudge down at knee level and then a tap on my shoulder. I glanced around and saw Oscar and Alice beside me. I ruffled his ears and gave her a smile that probably came across as a cry for help, because she immediately stepped forward and encircled Maggie McBride in an exaggeratedhug that might or might not have been genuine. ‘Maggie, darling, you really are incorrigible. Leave these lovely men alone.’ When she stepped back, I definitely got the impression that she was struggling to maintain the appearance of a warm welcome towards the other woman. ‘You haven’t introduced me to your significant other.’ She turned towards the Latin lover. ‘You must be the handsome Italian I’ve been hearing about.’
