The Mystery Guest

I hurry over. There it is—the same ordinary, stainless-steel spoon. “That’s the one,” I say.

The detective and Mr. Snow approach. Stark looks at it, then leans forward and pulls open the drawer of the bedside table. Inside, tucked into an open-faced, red-satin-lined box, is a silver Regency Grand honey pot.

“Oh no!” says Lily the moment she spots it. “I washed the bedside table. The whole thing was slick and sticky,” she says. “I wiped it down thoroughly, just the way you taught me, Molly—deep cleaning to give meaning. I didn’t know. I didn’t know what was in that drawer!”

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “You did everything as you were supposed to.”

Detective Stark’s face is drawn, her eyes wide. “So the killer kept the weapon. She put it in a satin-lined box. This is officially the strangest murder trophy I’ve ever seen,” she says. She turns to me. “Molly, we always knew the crime. And the location.”

“Murder. In the tearoom,” I reply.

“Now we have a motive,” Detective Stark adds.

“Revenge,” I say. “Revenge for rejection.”

“I’m afraid I’m not following,” says Mr. Snow. “How on earth have you deduced that the occupant of this room is guilty of murder? All you’ve uncovered is a piece of silver a guest was trying to steal.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Snow,” Detective Stark says. “We found the murder weapon. It’s right here.”

“But it’s just a honey pot and an ordinary spoon,” says Mr. Snow.

Detective Stark reaches forward and plucks the pocket square from Mr. Snow’s breast pocket. “Do you mind?” she asks.

He shrugs and adjusts his glasses.

Detective Stark unfolds the pocket square, then gingerly removes the silver lid of the honey pot, all without ever touching it with her fingers. A sweet, burnt odor instantly fills the room.

“It smells strange. The honey is off,” says Mr. Snow. “And it’s not quite the right color.”

“Because it’s not plain honey,” I say.

“Then what is it?” Mr. Snow asks as he looks back and forth between me and the detective.

“Honey mixed with another key ingredient,” I offer.

“What?” he asks.

“Household antifreeze,” says Detective Stark.

Chapter 26

When I was a child, Gran and I watched Columbo while curled up on the couch. Gran used to love it when the murderer began to lie.

“Don’t you smell it, Molly?” she once said.

“I don’t smell anything,” I replied.

“I smell a rat,” she chimed in her singsong voice.

“We must trap it, quickly!” I was deeply concerned that a new pestilence had invaded our apartment.

“I don’t mean it literally, Molly. I mean the murderer on Columbo. Watch her behavior. Can you see how she’s lying? How she’s trying to cover everything up?”

The shifty eyes. The changing details. The desire for secrecy competing with the great need to have her criminal genius acknowledged. “Yes,” I said. “I see it now.”

“Watch what Columbo does next,” Gran replied. “Watch the way he lures the rat from its nest.”

“How?” I asked.

“With words. He baits the trap.”

It’s this memory that gives me the idea for what to do next.

The four of us are standing by the reception desk in the lobby—Mr. Snow, Lily, Detective Stark, and me. We have left Room 404. Detective Stark has just ordered three of her special agents to secure the evidence inside.

“Beulah’s not in her room, but she’s probably lurking nearby,” I say.

“The important thing is to take her by surprise,” Detective Stark advises.

“How?” Lily asks.

“We bait the trap,” I suggest. “We make an announcement about a free seminar on Mr. Grimthorpe.”

“Smart,” says Detective Stark.

I can’t quite believe she said that word, at least not in relation to me.

“We can plan that for tomorrow,” Mr. Snow offers.

“No. We do it now,” Stark says. “In fact, you do it, Mr. Snow. You make the announcement on the hotel’s intercom, right away.”

Beads of sweat collect at Mr. Snow’s hairline. “We can’t create a seminar out of thin air. Event planning takes time.”

“I’m not asking for doilies and those damn finger sandwiches,” Stark says. “Just make the announcement. And be quick about it.”

Mr. Snow goes behind the reception desk, turns on the microphone, and speaks. “Calling all Regency Grand Hotel guests. This is a special announcement for J. D. Grimthorpe fans. There will be a free seminar on the life and times of the famous author to be held in the Grand Tearoom…” He pauses, covering the mic with his hand. “When?” he whispers to Stark.

“Now!” she mouths.

“…in five minutes,” he says into the mic. “Tea will be served. And finger sandwiches. Also: the event will feature a live VIP guest.”

He clicks the mic off and leaves the desk as the questioning eyes of the reception clerks follow his every move.

“VIP guest?” I ask when he returns to my side.

“I couldn’t very well say ‘detective,’ could I?” he explains.

“You promised tea,” Lily tells Mr. Snow.

“And finger sandwiches,” I add.

“Oh dear. So I did. Lily, please alert the kitchen. And ask for Angela’s help, too.”