Page 20 of Seven Reasons to Murder Your Dinner Guests
“For goodness’ sake,” Matthew cries and snatches the card out of Gordon’s hand.
“What does it say?” Vivienne asks.
Matthew reads the words and then drops the card onto the table.
You will die aged twenty-three.
“I suppose one correct number could be a coincidence, but not two… So we just wait and see if it happens again,” says Gordon, taking his glasses off to clean them.
“Ifwhathappens again?” Matthew snaps, turning quickly to Gordon.
“If another prediction comes true, we’ll know that this is no PR stunt.”
Janet’s head drops into her hands. She lets out a muffled yelp. “I’m going to faint,” she cries.
“You’re all right, Janet!” Melvin calls, dashing around the table.
While Tristan fetches a glass of water and a shot of tequila from the bar, Matthew fans Janet with a wine menu and Melvin clutches her hands, keeping up a stream of reassurances.
After twenty minutes, she has some color back in her cheeks and her hysterical crying has finally abated.
“I was thinking about what Janet said earlier, about Stella’s trolling,” Vivienne says, flicking through her notebook. “Perhaps the dinner partywasan act of revenge by one of Stella’s trolling victims. And we have been unlucky enough to get caught in the cross fire.”
“That does add up,” says Tristan, nodding.
“Like I said, I haven’t seen any evidence of murder,” says Melvin, glancing at his watch. “But I’ll have a word at the station on Monday, see if my colleagues can look into those bloggers Stella offended.”
Vivienne nods. “Yes, please do.”
“I have another theory—” Gordon starts.
“Gordon, please,” Melvin cuts in, his deep voice raised a little. “Today is Stella’s funeral, and it’s just not respectful to be tossing daft theories around. Let’s all agree right now to throw the envelopes away.”
“But what if Vivienne’s wrong and there is a killer on theloose?” Janet cries. She downs the last of her drink and glares across at Gordon.
“Janet, love, there’s no murderer out there. I promise you. You’ll be dancing at your forty-fifth birthday party before you know it,” Melvin tells her, but she’s already standing up and turning away from the table.
“Let’s hope so,” she snaps and then marches toward the exit without looking back.
“I’d better be going too. Elizabeth and I have tickets for the theater tonight,” Gordon announces to the table, then abruptly turns and marches out.
“It’s time I headed off as well,” Vivienne says, pulling her coat on. “Melvin, do email us with any news.”
“I’ll walk to the tube station with you,” Tristan offers, and they both say goodbye.
As the door swings shut behind them, Melvin looks over at Matthew. He thinks back to the dinner party once again and remembers how confident and charismatic he had been. Janet was putty in his hands; even Vivienne shone when he’d deigned to throw some attention her way. And Melvin had to admit, his own gaze was drawn to Matthew’s dark eyes and broad shoulders straining through his shirt. But today his shoulders are rounded, as if his body is falling in on itself, his face wears an expression of downright grief, and he keeps fiddling with his watch. Surely this isn’t the result of Stella’s death—he barely knew her.
“Are you all right, bud? You’re very quiet,” Melvin asks.
“I’m fine, thank you for asking. It’s not been a great week, Imust admit. Pressure at work,” Matthew mumbles.
“I was just wondering,” Melvin begins gently, “why did you lie about your envelope? I saw you open it at the dinner party.”
Melvin can picture him, confidently tearing a corner of the envelope and yanking the card out. His eyes flashed across the number. He shrugged and then tucked it into his jacket pocket.
“What if…” Matthew starts. His voice wobbles, so he stops and tries again.
“My number is twenty-nine. I turn thirty in three months. What if Gordon’s right and I’m next?” he says, the words becoming gradually quieter, so that by the end of the sentence, Melvin is leaning in and the wordnextis hardly uttered, just mouthed, Matthew’s straight white teeth bare as his lips pull wide.
