Rivals on the Edge

Extract

The small bell in Simon’s hand announced that everything was ready. Its shrill sound summoned the guests for a drink in the lounge and marked the start of the game at the same time. As both host and moderator of the evening, Simon had chosen to wear a plain, dark suit. That his guests would dress up for the evening went without saying because it was part of the game. His friend Lucas had not appeared yet; however, Simon had at least come up with an idea as to how to explain his disappearance and therefore the lack of musical entertainment. It was not great but it was the best he could do at such short notice.
And there they came! First Mona Winter descended the staircase. She had arranged her grey hair in a bun at the nape of her neck and was wearing a tweed suit. She also wore white gloves and a sword around her hips. Simon smiled and held out his hand to her as she reached the last step to lead her into the lounge.
“Miss Marple, it is an honour for me to welcome you to my modest home.”
“I look a bit ridiculous in this suit,” she chuckled, “but I’m looking forward to the game. I’m really excited; I can’t wait to see what you’ve lined up for us.”
“You should be excited.” Simon took a gallant bow and went back to wait at the stairs where his next guest had already appeared.
He had almost not recognised the person, but it was actually Andrea Kirst. She was wearing a grey wig, had draped her slim body in a grey costume and covered her long, straight legs in thick woollen tights. Her shoes were realistic imitations of the comfortable shoes Miss Marple wore. She clutched a matching handbag in her hands.
“Am I not the spitting image of the real Jane Marple?” she exclaimed, beaming, “I’ve spent the past few weeks watching all her films and I had these things made to measure. I love Miss Marple!”
“You look magnificent!” Although Simon had preferred her in her white, tight-fitting ski suit with her hair loose, it was the truth.
Behind her, Martin Harrison stomped down the stairs, scowling. He looked very unhappy in his dark suit and tugged nervously on the small walrus moustache stuck on to his upper lip, “I look so foolish! No man has ever looked so foolish, not even Hercule Poirot!”
“Don’t listen to him!” Andrea Kirst rolled her eyes, “He’ll soon get used to it.”
“No, I will not because I don’t want to get used to it!” He pinched his girlfriend’s tweed-covered bottom. “That’s not why I’m here,” he whispered in her ear while she swatted his hand away. Yet the more-than-obvious gesture did not seem to have any effect on him. “Let’s go back to our room,” he murmured, “We’ll come back down for dinner later.”
However, Andrea Kirst ignored him and went into the lounge, undaunted. Martin Harrison followed her with a greedy look on his face. Simon moved discreetly over to one side and caught sight of Cleopatra Jenkins at the top of the stairs. She was wearing another black suit, but naturally a different one from the one she had arrived in. Even her eyes were made-up darkly. This time she had dispensed with her hat and for the first time, Simon saw her short grey hair that was neatly shaved at the back of her neck. Her leather shoes with white gaiters clattered softly on the stairs as she descended.
“Monsieur Poirot,” Simon greeted her.
“Mr Frost,” she greeted him in return with a slight nod of her head in the typically nasal voice for which Poirot was known before following Martin Harrison and his girlfriend sedately into the lounge.
When all the Miss Marples and Hercule Poirots were assembled before the fireplace, Simon stepped forward and cleared his throat. Grand speeches were not his forte. It was something he did not like about his job and for this reason had hoped that Lucas would take on this role for him instead. Yet since his friend had left him completely high and dry, he would just have to take the bull by the horns. He cleared his throat once more and the room became so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.
“Honoured guests. Today is a truly special day because not only are we ending the old year, but we’re also here to solve a heinous crime. All of you, the most intelligent minds and the craftiest investigators of all time, have gathered here to discover and solve a terrible murder. In this room, you will find hidden clues that will lead you, along with certain powers of deduction, to a crime that was committed in this house. Seek out the signs, investigate them and find out who the victim is. If you overcome this task, you will find further clues that will lead you to the perpetrator. Whoever solves the entire case first, wins the prize – a week’s holiday in this hotel, free of charge, whenever you like. Is everything clear so far?”
“Of course, we’re not stupid, you know!” The booming voice of John Smith broke the silence. Someone snickered. All the others stared expectantly at Simon.
Andrea Kirst squinted against the blazing fire in the fireplace. “And when will the famous pianist be here?”
“Unfortunately, I cannot tell you that, otherwise I would give too much of the game away. I’ll say this much though: perhaps he’s part of the game,” Simon lied. “In the meantime, you’ll have to make do with me. Some refreshments are placed behind you. Once you’ve fortified yourselves, you’re free to look for the first clue.”
The Marples and Poirots did not have to be told twice. In addition to glasses of champagne, there were bite-sized morsels of food, diced cheese, olives and canapés on several small tables that had been placed against the wall. While the guests descended hungrily on them, Simon sat down at the piano. He was not an accomplished pianist by any means, but he was certainly good enough to create a mood. A couple of particularly eager detectives skipped the refreshments and immediately started hunting for the hidden clue. While Simon’s fingers ran over the keys after a fashion, he checked out of the corner of his eye to see whether someone had already noticed the scarf that lay on the mantelpiece – it was the clue. It was meant to lead the guests to the supposed murder victim, played by the shy chambermaid, Stefanie. For this reason, she would leave the lounge after serving the refreshments. At the moment, however, nobody was showing any interest in the scarf. Amused, Simon saw some of the guests diligently examining each knife on the large dining table and even crawling under the small tables, causing them to totter precariously. Others marched across the carpet, armed with large magnifying glasses, finally even banishing Simon from his piano stool. That might also have been because it was no real pleasure to listen to his play. Simon’s playing sounded so dreadful that Mona Winter placed one white-gloved hand sympathetically on his shoulder.
“You are very brave, Mr Frost. We really appreciate it.”
Simon was irritated. Previously, he had always played competently, why did it sound so disharmonious today? He could only put it down to the fact that something was wrong with the piano. Some of the keys had not reacted in their usual way to his touch; others had sounded muffled or tinny. Simon was still wondering about it when the joy of discovery of one of the Miss Marple detectives knew no bounds, even in the face of the piano, and when she opened it up. A triumphant shout was heard. All stopped abruptly at what they were doing and stared spellbound at the Miss Marple, who, grinning broadly, produced a sheet of paper from among the piano strings and held it aloft like a trophy. Simon joined the keenly whispering detectives who were now all clustered curiously around the significant sheet. It had a crossword puzzle on it.