Murder in the Winter by Steve Demaree Page B

that he
became unnerved when he learned that a murder had been committed?
     
    +++
     
    As we finished lunch, Longworth informed me that I had
a phone call. I told him I would take it in the conference room. The call was
from Sam.
    “Boy, you’re really quick this time Sam. Maybe I
should bother you more often on the weekend.”
    “Maybe you shouldn’t. I don’t have much to report.”
    “Then why’d you call me?”
    “I’ve got this much, Cy. You might be at a dead end.
None of those out-of-town people exist. Oh, I don’t doubt that they’re real
people, Cy. It’s just that there’s no one matching those names who live in any
of those towns. Well, except for McArthur. He lives here in Hilldale, all
right.”
    “When I found out all those people were wearing disguises,
I suspected as much. I think the real people are a little closer to home, like
McArthur. I assume you don’t have anything yet on those who work here.”
    “Not yet, Cy. You want me to wait until I get everything?”
    “You might as well. Thanks, Sam. I’ll talk to you later.”
    I hung up, made another call. I wanted to get a fingerprint
crew out here to check Claude Williams’s room for prints. Why did a man check
in, then leave soon thereafter? Had I scared him? I’d told Longworth that all
rooms once occupied by the newly deceased and the recently departed were off
limits to anyone, including him, until further notice. He wasn’t pleased, but
it wasn’t like he had no vacancies in case a busload of elderly travelers
descended upon the inn after leaving Cracker Barrel on their way to some
gambling haven.

 
    11
     
     
    While we waited on the fingerprint crew I talked to
McArthur again. I sent the good sergeant to retrieve him.
    “Well, Mr. McArthur. So good to see you again. I suppose
you liked your lunch.”
    “Not bad. I understand dinner will be even better.
We’re having Coquille St. Jacques, and tomorrow night they’re serving
chateaubriand.”
    Not being a wine drinker, I hoped we were through with
this place before tomorrow night. I wondered if chateaubriand was a cheap or
expensive wine. It sounded like a red wine, but I hoped that I wouldn’t be
there to find out. I planned to ask Betty McElroy when we returned to
civilization. In the meantime, I would get the good sergeant to find out what Coquille
St. Jacques is. It sounds like Dachshund On a Stick marinated in a white wine
sauce.
    “Lieutenant, I assume you invited me here for some
reason other than to ask me about the food. Otherwise, you could have asked me
at the table. After all, we were the only ones there.”
    “Sorry, Mr. McArthur, your mention of the menu made me
think of something. You mentioned in our previous conversation that you came
because you thought Mr. Longworth would soon be having tryouts for a play.”
    “We actors think of them as auditions, and yes, I
heard that he would soon be scheduling plays. I contacted a former actor just
before I left town and asked him if he would be willing to get the word out. I
even suggested that it would be fun if some of the guests came in character, in
order to perform for Longworth and see if he’d recognize them. That’s the
reason I couldn’t be sure if I knew anyone else at the table last night.”
    “Who’s the actor you contacted?”
    “Arthur Rothschild. He was one of the finest actors in
this area until his accident.”
    “Accident?”
    “Yes, he fell and broke his leg during a production.
There aren’t many parts for actors confined to wheelchairs, so Arthur has
pretty much retired.”
    “Confined to a wheelchair? Most people I know who
break a leg recover.”
    “Yeah, but Arthur had some complications. He couldn’t
get to a doctor to get it set right. Because of that, he has an unbearable pain
anytime he puts any pressure on it.”
    “Did you talk to him later to see if he passed the
word on?”
    “I didn’t have time. I was busy the whole time I was
in Chicago, and I stopped by my