Page 51 of Seven Reasons to Murder Your Dinner Guests
“I’m so sorry. Something came up at work,” he says. “Let’smake another date, and I’ll be there. Drinks on me.”
Watching Dave make his loping way through the pedestrianized campus, Tristan wonders what to do next. He glances back across the foyer and sees Vivienne and Melvin perched on stools by the bar. Vivienne is clutching Melvin’s hand with both of hers, nodding as she talks. Tristan knows they will be discussing the numbers. Her mystery number is on her mind more and more, especially as her health seems to be deteriorating (although she’s never admitted that to him). Ever since he’d told her his number is forty-five, she regularly turns soppy eyes on him, often accompanied with the words, “Forty-five is no age to die.” He can’t bear to see and hear it again. Once he’s sure that Dave is out of sight, he pushes through the door and runs.
Melvin
Vivienne’s dry hands feel strange in his. Her fingers are longer than Mary’s, and rather than Mary’s perfectly painted nails, Vivienne’s are plain, cut in neat lines. Practical, no-nonsense hands.
“You’ve got to take this seriously now, Melvin,” she says, her blue eyes paler than ever, fixed intently on his so that it would feel impolite to look away. “I know you said you weren’t taking any notice of it, but that’s four dinner guests gone now, and your number’s up next.”
“For all we know,youcould be next,” Melvin says. Vivienne rips her hands away from his. As she reaches for the notebook in her bag, he sees she’s shaking.
“Is that so?” she snaps.
“Well, yes, unless you’ve found your envelope since I last saw you…” Melvin says, confused by her sudden animosity.
“Let me ask you, Melvin,” she says, glancing down at some notes in her book. “Is it true that the pie that killed Gordon was put into a certain bakery’s box but wasn’t actually made by them?”
“How did you know that?” he asks.
“Another of my Miss Marple moments, I suppose you would say,” she tells him. “So it’s true?”
“From what I’ve heard,” he says with a shrug. “What does it matter anyway?”
“What does it matter? You’re a police officer, Melvin. It’s the difference between murder and accidental death!”
“Don’t tell me you still believe there’s a killer out there?”
“How else would you explain it?” she snaps. “Four deaths, all different but all made to look like accidents. All predicted two years ago.”
“Calm down, Vivienne,” Melvin sighs. “You’re right—I can’t explain it.”
“So why won’t you help me investigate, to try and stop it?” she cries. “At first, I thought you genuinely believed the deaths were accidents; then I thought you just couldn’t be bothered. But now I’m starting to wonder if…”
“Wonder if what?” Melvin says, suddenly understanding. “If I’m the killer, is that it?”
“Well, are you?” she cries. “Maybe a killing spree is the perfect way to end your police career!”
Melvin can’t help the laughter bursting from him. It is such a ridiculous notion.
“No, Vivienne,” he says eventually. “And I can’t believe you would think that. I thought we were friends. Besides, I spent the week Gordon died in Barcelona with Christian. I’ve even got pictures on my phone—look.”
He hands her his phone, and she quickly scrolls through. There’s Melvin grinning outside La Sagrada Familia, with Christian at Futbol Club Barcelona, eating giant prawns by the sea…
Vivienne sighs. “I’m sorry, Melvin. This mystery is clearly driving me mad.”
“That’s OK. I’ll confess, too, that Janet’s comment about you being the only one who didn’t know your number got me thinking at one point…”
“Me?” Vivienne gasps but then sees Melvin is stifling a laugh.
“I couldn’t picture it, to be fair,” he says.
“When I found Janet’s glove on that roof, I was convinced it was her. Then I started to look outside the group but couldn’t find anyone who linked us all together. And now we’re down to three…”
“I don’t believe in psychics, as Janet suggested, but every number has come true, every death has been different. It all just feels so…inevitable,” she says.
“Maybe you should take my approach. I feel like I’ve had a good life, I’m retiring soon… I can’t complain,” he tells her.
She shakes her head.
