“So when’s he supposed to have dosed himself ?” asked Woody.
“I vote for dinner,” said Jackie. “I bet he dumped the crushed tablets into his own soup.”
“But no one knew the police dragnet was tightening until Rob made his announcement before dinner,” I reminded them. “Victor was already in the lounge when that happened, so he had to have been carrying the stuff with him already to pull it off.”
“And if that’s the case … it means he definitely had plans to use it.” Jackie went white with the implication. “On one of his dinner companions.” She riveted a look at each of our faces. “On one of us.”
“But we still don’t have motivation,” I complained. “Even if Victor pulverized a thousand blood thinner tablets into powder, it still doesn’t explain why he’d want to kill any of us, and certainly not four women whose sales efforts have kept him a wealthy man.”
“Maybe it has nothing to do with wealth,” offered Jackie in a tentative voice. “Maybe it has to do with the other thing Rob told me in the strictest confidence that I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”
I waited a half-beat.
“Okay, I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell anyone else. When the police did a background check on Victor, they were able to verify some of his work history, but prior to 1950, they came up with nothing. Prior to 1950, there’s no record of Victor Martin. It’s like he’d never been born.”
_____
“Did you read what’s on this leaflet what they slipped under our door last night?” asked Nana as she caught up with me at breakfast the following morning.
We’d set sail at midnight and were scheduled to arrive in Vernon, pronounced VerNON, in a couple of hours, where we’d board a bus to tour Claude Monet’s famous lily pond and gardens in the tiny village of Giverny. I’d slept only sporadically last night, so I’d opened up the restaurant this morning, hoping to load up on enough caffeine to keep me functional throughout the day. The last person I’d expected to see at this early hour was Nana, but I was tickled for her company. She always had a way of making things seem less troubling than they actually were.
“I read it, all right,” I said as she seated herself in the chair opposite me. “But that’s not even half the story.”
The leaflet informed us in a nutshell about the unfortunate departure of Victor Martin and his wife from the tour, but soft-pedaled the hard facts so as not to implicate Victor more than they had to. “Although Mr. Martin is expected to recover fully from the hemorrhage he suffered in the restaurant last night,” the notice read, “he will remain in the hospital for observation until an undetermined date. We will keep you updated about the investigation into Ms. Krystal Cake’s death as new information is released.”
“What’s the other half of the story?” Nana asked as she consulted the menu.
“I wish I could tell you, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy until such time as the information becomes public knowledge.”
“Don’t you fret none about it, dear. Better you keep your word. That way you don’t gotta rassle with a guilty conscience.” She stabbed an item on the menu with her finger. “I’m gonna order the waffle. I wouldn’t mind toodlin’ around the buffet, but we’re gonna be doin’ a lot of walkin’ in them gardens this mornin’, so I’m gonna pace myself.”
“I’m doing the buffet. I haven’t eaten anything since the soup course last night.”
“Speakin’ about last night”—Nana lowered her voice—“have you heard the latest?”