Death Comes Darkly by David S. Pederson

Author:David S. Pederson [Pederson, David S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2016-02-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

We hurried up the porch steps and cleaned the mud and dirt from our shoes as best we could using the old iron boot scrape beside the door. Then we pushed on into the front hall, noticing Bishop was putting the finishing touches on the table in the dining room. With a nod to him, we climbed the two flights of stairs to the attic and disappeared into our prospective rooms, only to reemerge fifteen minutes later changed and ready for lunch.

“Well, you look smashing, anyway,” Keyes said, looking warmer and more comfortable.

“Thanks, but so do you.”

“You are too kind. I only have the one suitcase, and I had to fairly cram everything into it. I’m afraid my clothes got a bit wrinkled.”

“No one will notice.”

“I wish I would have had time to hang them up or get Bishop to press them.”

“There will be time after lunch. You look fine, honestly.”

“You’re such a good liar!” Keyes laughed. “Come on, I’m too hungry to worry about it.”

We entered the dining room at one after one by my pocket watch and found our seats, indicated as they were the night before by handwritten place cards. Today I was seated on July, between Mrs. Atwater and Dr. Atwater, and Keyes was across from me, between Woody and Mrs. Darkly. Alan and I were the last to arrive except for Mr. Darkly. I noticed no one was yet sitting, but rather standing behind their prospective chairs, making idle chatter and fidgeting with their neckties, dresses or what not. I caught Woody’s eye and gave him a shrug of my shoulders.

“It’s customary to wait until the host is seated before anyone else sits down,” he told me, leaning across the table a bit.

I nodded and checked my pocket watch once more. Three minutes after. Keyes, I noticed, had introduced himself to Mrs. Darkly and Woody, and Woody seemed to be wasting no time in chatting him up.

At ten after, people were growing impatient, and some suggested perhaps Mr. Darkly may have fallen asleep and someone ought to go check on him. Others thought perhaps we might give him five more minutes. At quarter after one precisely, Mrs. Darkly summoned Bishop and asked him to please check on the whereabouts of Mr. Darkly as everyone was getting rather hungry and the food would be getting cold.

Bishop went out into the hall and each of us fell rather quiet, except for Woody, who seemed not to notice nor care that Mr. Darkly hadn’t arrived yet, and Keyes, who was obliged to listen to Woody and respond to his seemingly unending questions. The rest of them glanced about or drummed their fingers on the backs of their chairs impatiently. As for me, I tried not to look annoyed at Woody, so I concentrated on the view out the windows. It had started to rain outside, and the freezing drizzle pelted the glass panes.

“Maybe he’s waiting to make a grand entrance,” I suggested.

“Not Dexter. He’s always the first

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