The Body in the Moonlight Read Online Free PDF Page A

into shape in an amazingly short period of time. In addition to the revenue from the ticket prices, Paula had scoured the area for silent-auction items. She planned to run it all evening, confiding to Faith that as people imbibed, they’d up their bids.
    â€œThat sounds wonderful, dear,” she said, congratulating the woman who had done the seating. Faith would be in the kitchen, so she hadn’t been paying much attention to the table arrangements. Paula didn’t intend to be seated, either. She and her husband, Sydney, would be roving about the room, making sure everyone was at approximately the same point in the game.
    Faith wanted to get the timing down. Paula had coordinated the courses to coincide with the unraveling of the whodunit.
    â€œCould you give me a final timetable? I know you want drinks and hors d’oeuvres before everyone sits down and starts playing.”
    â€œThat’s right. In the foyer, but the ballroom will be open so people can check out the auction items on the tables by the windows and start making bids. And they’ll be introducing themselves, both in character and out.”
    Faith hadn’t read the script, yet she had a generalidea of what would be happening. Paula had sent each ticket holder the name of his or her character, a description, and genial encouragement to dress up and bring props. The mystery was set on a large Long Island Gatsby-like estate during the twenties. Tom planned to borrow his father’s black-and-orange-striped Princeton blazer and had himself, somewhere along the line, acquired a straw boater. His name was Willoughby Forbes III. Each round table seated eight and, accordingly, there were eight suspects. The “crime” had already occurred—the murder of Willoughby’s grandfather Willoughby Forbes—a crusty but likable curmudgeon with no known enemies. Paula had asked one of the mystery writers, a former actress, to read the description of the scene of the crime; then everyone was to do his or her best to fool everyone else while unmasking the “real” killer. Paula had obtained elaborate scripts for each player, including facts about themselves or the others that could be revealed in answer to questions and facts about themselves that could be concealed—things like so-and-so was overheard arguing fiercely with the old man the night before he died, and various relevant hobbies, such as the study of plant poisons. It sounded rather complicated to Faith and the plot was not exactly Conan Doyle, but Paula had assured her that everyone would love it.
    The notion of combining a game, any game, with the kind of dinner Faith had planned was an alien one. Each course was meant to be savored, and conversation, possibly witty, the only accompaniment required. She seriously doubted whether anyone would notice that the game hens had been smoked with apple wood or that Niki’s panna cotta dessert—that luscious Italian cream—had homemade crushed amaretti biscuits on top. Faith was tempted to tell Niki to use imported Lazzaroni biscuits instead, but they’d know. Maybe they should have some of them on the table anyway with the other cookies and small pastries that would accompany coffee at the end of the meal to sweeten the denouement. They were so pretty, wrapped in brightly colored tissue paper. After eating the cookies, you flattened the paper, rolled it into a tube, set it upright on a saucer, and gently lighted the top. In a darkened room, watching it rise, glowing, toward the ceiling was lovely. If they wanted a game, this should be sufficient. Then Faith thought of possible fire code violations and nixed the idea.
    â€œSoup at eight,” Paula instructed. “They’ll have had an hour to arrive, drink some champagne, chat, and bid before sitting down. Then the main course at eight-thirty, dessert at nine-thirty?”
    â€œI’d planned on serving a salad course after the main