Free Lost and Fondue by Avery Aames

You’ve got Poe on the brain because Grandmère’s putting on her quirky show.”
    Rebecca mulled that over. “Do you think one of the guests lured Harker to the cellar?”
    I glanced at the people who lingered in the hallway. One cluster was making a wager about how long they’d have to wait. I flashed on the conversation yesterday in The Cheese Shop when Edsel had revealed that Harker was a gambler. Did he have debts he couldn’t repay? He owed Dane Cegielski. Did he owe others? Had someone followed him from Cleveland to recoup the money? Had that person lured him into the wine cellar?
    From my vantage point in the hall, I could see into a number of rooms. Just inside the living room Winona whispered to Freddy. Although I was glad to see him, he looked wild-eyed. His gaze ping-ponged from Winona and back to the hallway door. Was he worried about his daughter or his alibi? Edsel paced the living room carpet, hands jammed into his pockets. He stopped, kicked an end table with his toe, then started up again, back and forth, as if working out a problem. Where was he at the time of the murder? Harker had verbally abused him at The Cheese Shop. Had Edsel taken all the abuse he could suffer? Had he snapped?
    Guests spilled into the hallway from the dining room, some carrying plates of food. Though my appetite was all but squelched, I worried that there wouldn’t be enough fondue to feed the crowd. However, I was not the hostess, and making everyone comfortable was not my problem.
    Poor Meredith. She hugged Matthew near the front door, her face awash with tears. Matthew stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. I heard Meredith say, “It’s ruined,” at least three times.
    Beyond the opened door, a number of smokers had convened on the front porch, Dane among them. He leaned against a pillar in profile. Wisps of gray smoke spiraled around his head. Had he run past me on the stairs, not in search of Quinn, but because he was running from the crime scene? He cut a look in my direction, as if he knew that I was thinking about him. To my surprise, his somber eyes were pooled with tears.
    I spun away, my pulse ticking double-time, and gazed at the door to the cellar. What was taking Urso so long?
    A minute later, he lumbered from the stairwell, his beefy hand gripping Quinn’s slim arm. He guided her to a straight-back chair against the wall. She sat, shoulders hunched and trembling.
    The trio from the living room hustled to the foyer. The throng from the front porch extinguished their cigarettes and reentered the building.
    Dane sprinted to Quinn. Edsel, too. As they squatted beside her, I envisioned the scene in Gone With the Wind when Scarlet was besieged by men who wanted to take care of her. Freddy made a move toward Quinn, but Winona stopped him.
    Urso clapped his hands. “May I have everyone’s attention, please?”
    I perked up my ears, hopeful that Urso would tell us he had found the killer and this horrible ordeal could end right now.
    Someone shouted, “Was he really strangled?”
    Wolford, who stood beneath the arch leading to the dining room, said, “Is the treasure real?”
    Urso raised his hands. The crowd quieted. The hush was disconcerting.
    “I’d like to talk to everyone individually,” Urso said. “This could take time.”
    The guests groaned in unison.
    “Folks, please be patient. I’m sorry for any inconvenience. Kid.” Urso eyed his sole deputy, Rodham, who reminded me of the Road Runner, slim and leggy, with beaky lips and a tuft of funky hair. He had attended the party with his fiancée, a prissy woman who looked less than happy to be detained. “Go downstairs and guard the crime scene.” He turned to Meredith. “Could you round up some paper and pens for me?”
    Looking relieved to have a mission, Meredith broke from Matthew and raced off in search of the requested items.
    “The rest of you, let’s gather in the dining hall and take a seat. It could be a long night.”
    While the