Murder and Marcella

“I know someone’s in danger,” Eleanor stated as her uncle indelicately poured the spilt tea back into his cup from the saucer. She popped the cherry into her mouth, and deposited the stem back into her glass. “And, now I know it must be Marcella!” She had somehow managed to chew and talk at the same time.

“Now, why would you figure that?” Harry asked in his most patronizing tone. Normally he would have chided her for talking and eating at the same time.

“Eleanor explained that she had heard the word “danger” while swinging on the porch. “And, I figure you were trying to get Dr. Corbeau to tell you something!”

“Harry studied his niece for a moment while he sipped his tea. “You’ve been reading too many Hercule Poirot novels!” he commented. In truth, he was surprised at how perceptive Eleanor had become. She’s twice as smart as I was at her age, he thought.

“Why, my dear Harry, you can never read too many Hercule Poirot novels!” The voice was Lady Rena’s, and she was radiant. She stood near the center of the staircase, looking down on them. With deliberate ceremony, she descended the steps, as though with her approach, a camera glided back into the foyer. It was clear that she calculated the elegance of her entrance for maximum effect.

“Both Harry and Eleanor stood up from their seats by the fireplace. Although her uncle took his hostess’s arrival in stride, Eleanor was utterly overwhelmed by the magnificence of Lady Rena’s attire. She looked like she had just stepped out of a Hallmark Channel costume drama.

“Lady Rena always dressed in Victorian, Elizabethan, or Louis XIV period gowns, ornately appointed and embroidered with lace and other fine fabrics, with matching shoes, wigs, hair ornaments, and incredible jewelry, usually self-designed. She often mixed periods and styles, blending centuries and countries, with an abandon that made her all the more elegant and imposing.

“For this afternoon’s tea, she was decked out in a mauve-colored gown of embroidered silk with a swath of ivory lace down the front. The wide skirt was hooped elaborately, complete with bustle and a short train. The low neck and long sleeves were trimmed in ivory lace. An elaborate amethyst and diamond necklace accentuated Lady Rena’s ample bust magnificently. She wore a blonde wig, intricately coiffed in piles of curls on top, and one dangling down in front of each ear.

“She had a perfect rosy complexion, amazingly unlined for her fifty-some-odd years. Her slightly rounded face told Harry that she was between ten and twenty pounds heavier than in their school days, but her waist was still fashionably narrow.

“She had long fingers with perfectly manicured nails. Eleanor was enthralled with the bulky dark purple amethyst on her right ring finger, and the magnificent diamond on her left.

“Her dark blue eyes sparkled with vitality and warmth. Harry considered her stunning. Eleanor was speechless in the aura of her elegance and grace.

“Lady Rena was the quintessential hostess. She directed them to the other side of the staircase where Dr. Corbeau and Marcella had arranged a sumptuous repast that included a variety of fruits, various cheeses, finger sandwiches and petit fours. They sat on a comfortable semi-circular sofa surrounding a heavy mahogany table with elaborately carved legs. The sofa faced the arched windows overlooking the garden onthat side of the house.

“Lady Rena and Eleanor hit it off immediately. “What’s your favorite Hercule Poirot novel?” Eleanor had asked their hostess while Dr. Corbeau poured tea, and provided her with a second cherry coke.

“Murder on the Orient Express,” Lady Rena answered without hesitation. She was drinking chamomile tea with honey and a hint of lemon, to which she added a dollop of cream in the British fashion.

“Mine, too!” Eleanor exclaimed just before she devoured a petite crab salad sandwich, and chased it with several large purple grapes. Despite her enthusiastic appetite, and her youthful indifference to the social graces, she was watchful of her new dress with its white cotton blouse and pastel blue skirt that her Aunt Rosemary had purchased for her at the Morehead City Wal-Mart the previous day.

“I’m rather partial to Death on the Nile,” Harry offered to play the devil’s advocate. Dr. Corbeau had served him his favorite tea, decaffeinated herbal flavored with cinnamon, and spiked generously with sugar.

“For a few minutes, they discussed the genius of Hercule Poirot, Agatha Christie’s Belgian detective with his marvelously immaculate mustaches and his accurately active gray cells. Then, Lady Rena turned the conversation to certain local issues reported in the current edition of The Carteret County News-Times.

“The County Commissioners are bickering, as usual,” their hostess remarked casually as she waited for Dr. Corbeau to finish pouring her third cup of tea.

“Harry’s ears perked up immediately. He swallowed his wedge of brie, and looked at the grand dame expectantly. “You mean about the proposal to rezone the crossroads there in Smyrna?” It was where Highway 70 turned ninety degrees to the right on the way to Beaufort. The road that branched off ended in another down east community on the water called Marshallberg.

“Eleanor, not interested in this turn of the conversation, concentrated on her dessert of petit fours. She was amazed at the variety, all of which she found delicious. Presently, she asked where the bathroom was, at which time Dr. Corbeau escorted her through the double French doors at the back of the room.

“I can’t remember when there wasn’t a gas station there,” Harry was aying. “And, of course Gerald’s Store just across the road.”

“The Times mentions that Gerald’s Store might be selling out to Food Lion,” Lady Rena commented. She was finishing her teatime with cantaloupe and cheddar. Harry was always gratified that his hostess displayed a healthy appetite. He didn’t feel at all bashful about the bounty he himself consumed.

“I read that part of the article to Rosemary today before she left for work,” Harry interjected. “She could transfer there, and it would mean she’d be working really close to home. Well, compared to driving all the way to Beaufort.”

“Lady Rena smiled as she set down her teacup one last time. “Want to take a walk in the garden?” she asked suddenly.

“Harry looked around for Eleanor, and realized that they were alone in the room. Easy listening music piped out inconspicuously from hidden speakers. He recognized the satellite music channel that was Rosemary’s favorite. Lady Rena might dress like a diva from another era in a house full of antique furnishings, but her electronic gadgetry was absolutely state-of-the-art.

“His hostess caught his eye. “Don’t worry about your niece. Dr. Corbeau will give her the grand tour!”

“Harry grabbed a couple of petit fours for the road, and followed Lady Rena through the arched French doors to the sculpted garden on that side of the house. Mindful of past gaffs, Harry gingerly avoided stepping on the silk train that trailed his hostess.

“They walked at a leisurely pace along a winding brick path that followed an artificial pond stocked with plecas and goldfish. It was a perfect spring day, sunny, with a slight breeze, and just a hint of clouds gathering toward the east.

“Harry realized that here was the perfect opportunity to try to probe Lady Rena about Marcella. But, his hostess was still on the subject of the news article.

“The real controversy with the Commissioners is the service station site,” she was saying. The path had curved around, and through the trees, you could see the boathouse on the creek.