Murder at Midnight by C. S. Challinor

“The mysterious visitor.”
    The one who had not made an appearance.

8
flying death
    Finding upon their return to the living room that no headway had been made at the guests’ end, Rex asked the men, under Alistair’s supervision, to turn out their pockets and the women the contents of their handbags, unless they had any objections. None did, or made it apparent that they did.
    They should bring in the coats from the hall as well, he said, in case any weapon was concealed in one of them. Still receiving no opposition, Helen piled the ladies’ bags on the coffee table.
    Flora pointed to hers, a lacy cream affair stitched with fake pearls. “Be my guest,” she told Rex.
    He snapped on a pair of transparent latex gloves from under the kitchen sink that Helen used for cleaning. They were a tight fit, but he didn’t want to compromise any evidence in the event some was found. The police would not appreciate his interference as it was, but time was of the essence. The killer might strike again.
    Inside the reticule were Flora’s laminated student identity card, a purse, a smartphone, a brush, and a tube of mascara, which Rex untwisted with her permission, only to find that it was indeed a tube of mascara, containing a wand whose tip was coated with black makeup. He felt a trifle silly holding it up in his beefy hand, and the younger women giggled.
    “Sorry,” Zoe said. “I expect it’s nerves. I always want to giggle when I get stage fright.”
    “Put something on,” her mother scolded. “You’ve got goose bumps all over your arms. It’s making me cold just looking at you.”
    “I’m fine, Mum. Don’t fuss!”
    In his notebook Rex compiled a list of the bag’s contents under Flora’s name and returned everything with his thanks.
    “Zoe, is this yours?” he asked, picking up a green leather bag that matched her filmy dress and strappy sandals. She nodded, and he asked her permission to go through it, to which she shrugged in resignation. As the other guests looked on, he upended the bag onto the table and shook it. A compact, a lipstick in the unfortunately designated shade of Killer Red, and an ornate silver money-clip spilled out, along with some loose change and a small packet of spearmint gum. Also, a green velvet ribbon. Rex made an inventory of the items. People started to yawn.
    “Thank you, Zoe,” he said, carefully replacing everything once he had checked there were no inside pockets. Zoe retrieved her bag and clutched it protectively to her chest. Alistair, directing the men’s operations, went from guest to guest patting down pockets, first Cleverly’s, then Drew’s, turning up nothing of interest, mainly wallets, keys, and an assortment of cellular phones.
    Rex took hold of the next evening bag that came to hand. “And whose is this?” he asked.
    “Mine,” said Vanessa.
    Murmuring apologies, he unfastened the gold clasp and emptied the contents, which were similar in substance to her daughter’s but more expensive, and included a tin of cough drops instead of chewing gum. A curious object dropped out from among the clutter. At first he thought it was a fly fishing lure, such as he kept under lock and key in his study at the lodge.
    “Oh, I forgot about this,” Vanessa said, picking it up off the table before Rex could prevent her. “Did anyone here lose it? I found it on the floor.” She looked expectantly around the table. Alistair had suspended his search and was gazing at the pointed, feathery-tailed object in her hand.
    “What is it?” Julie asked. “Did it come off a dress?”
    “At first I thought it was from an earring,” Vanessa explained. “Rather exotic, I thought. I assumed it belonged to Margarita, and then I saw she was wearing amber stones.” She looked at the woman’s ears to make sure. The señora averted her dark eyes. “I suppose I thought it was hers because it matches her black sequined bag with the tassels, but I never got the opportunity to give it to