Free The Cliff House Strangler by Shirley Tallman

who were at the séance. You said Lieutenant Ahern and Senator Gaylord were upset when Moss turned up. Given Moss’s tattle sheet, that’s hardly surprising. But did anyone look especially disturbed—enough to kill the man, I mean? Let’s face it, Sarah, whoever tightened the wire around Moss’s neck was desperate enough to chance it with eleven other people in the room. Unless the killer is an accomplished actor, I have to believe hatred that intense would be difficult to hide.”
    I thought back to the night before, trying to remember everyone’s reaction when Darien Moss made his melodramatic appearance. I’d seen surprise, dismay, and anger. And something else, I realized. Fear! In fact, now that I put my mind to it, I decided fear had been the pervading emotion.
    “Have you read Moss’s columns lately?” I asked. “I was wondering if there was any particular person or issue he’s been focusing on over the past few weeks.”
    Samuel considered this. “I don’t remember any specific issue. Of course, he’s written one or two derogatory articles about spiritualism in general and Madame Karpova in particular. Let me see, what were his exact words? Oh, yes, he accused her of being a ‘self-proclaimed Russian aristocrat who performed circus tricks any child could see through.’ He went on to promise that he would personally expose her tomfoolery in an upcoming column.” He laughed. “I can see why Madame Karpova might have wanted to slit his throat.”
    “Or her brother, Dmitry Serkov,” I said thoughtfully. “He’s quite a character, by the way. He was dressed entirely in black, and looked like one of those villains pictured in your
Police Gazette
s. Robert is convinced Serkov is the culprit, and I have to admit the Russian certainly possessed motive and opportunity. Remember, he left the room when Moss arrived, and was free to move around the place pretty much at will. Yet, why in the world would he want to kill his niece?”
    “You’re assuming that whoever killed Moss also attacked Yelena.”
    “It seems a bit much to assume there were two murderers present last night,” I replied dryly. “By the way, what do you know about Madame Karpova and her family? You must have done some background work for this article you’re writing.”
    A look of frustration crossed my brother’s handsome face. “I tried to dig up information on them, but I didn’t have much luck. Following their trail since they arrived in the States six months ago was easy enough. And it appears they spent the previous three years traveling through England and Europe. Piecing together their earlier lives in Russia was another matter. I ran into one dead end after another.” He grinned. “Let me put it this way, Sarah, if those three are members of the Russian aristocracy, I’ll eat my hat.”
    “Moss certainly seemed to consider Madame Karpova a fake. But I’m not yet ready to place the blame on the Russians. Almost everyone at that séance had a motive to kill Moss.”
    “Popular fellow,” Samuel put in with a derisive smile. “As a matter of fact, I’d be hard-pressed to name one person who actually liked Darien Moss, and that includes his coworkers at the newspaper.”
    “There are ghosts in everyone’s closet, Samuel. That’s why journalists like Moss are so feared. As Rosencrantz says in
Hamlet,
‘many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills.’ ”
    “Yes, their pens wield an enormous amount of power. Perhaps too much power. Still, it took a lot of temerity to murder the manin front of so many potential witnesses. And since you claim no one knew Moss was going to attend the séance, his murder had to have been a crime of opportunity.”
    “I think you’re right. The problem, of course, is figuring out which one took advantage of the situation.” I thought for a moment, then asked, “Samuel, would you see what information you can find on Darien Moss? I’ve read his column a few times, but I know next to