Free A Friendly Game of Murder by J. J. Murphy Page A

caring—and smart.”
    “I’ll bring them both,” Case said, walking quickly out the door. “Perhaps two inadequate doctors will add up to one good one.”
    After he left, Fairbanks smiled ruefully, rubbing his hands. “Well, isn’t this a lovely kettle of fish! Mary’s going to just treasure this—” He paused, dismayed. “Say, where is Mary?”
    Benchley looked around as if Mary Pickford would suddenly pop up from behind the sink.
    Dorothy said, “I saw Mary down in the lobby just before midnight. She told me she was coming up here to pry Bibi out of the tub.”
    “She did?” Fairbanks’ handsome face looked worried. “So where is she?”
    Dorothy shrugged. “We haven’t seen her.”
    Without a word, Fairbanks left the bathroom and called out in the apartment, “Mary! Darling, are you here?”
    It took Fairbanks only a minute to walk through the entire apartment. When he didn’t find his wife, he went out the front door without a word to the trio in the bathroom.
    “So,” Benchley said, “what brought you two up here at midnight on New Year’s? Funny place to celebrate.”
    Dorothy glanced again at Bibi’s dead body. “Yes, absolutely hilarious place to celebrate the New Year.”
    But had she detected a note of disappointment in Benchley’s voice? Did his lightheartedness actually mask a wish for her to be by him at the stroke of midnight?
    Woollcott appeared irritated. “Mrs. Parker, you told me that Douglas and Mary needed my discreet help. Clearly that was a lie. What do you mean by sending me up here?”
    She leveled her eyes at him. “To murder you, of course.”
    “Aha! I knew it! In the kitchen, you—”
    “Shut up, Little Acky. We have bigger fish to fry. The game’s over.”
    Woollcott raised an eyebrow as he eyed Bibi’s body. “And perhaps another has begun.”
    Benchley ignored this. “Then what happened? Woollcott took the elevator up here, and you followed?”
    “On the contrary,” Woollcott said, turning to Dorothy. “How
did
you arrive here before me?”
    “Took the service elevator,” she said. “When I arrived on this floor, the suite was wide-open. But the bathroom door was locked. I had heard Mary say there was a key in a kitchen drawer—” She held up the key ring, which was still in her hand.
    “Just a moment,” Woollcott said. “The bathroom door was locked?”
    “Yes, I just said that.”
    He turned and closed the door. There was no keyhole on the inside of the door, just a standard doorknob and a handle to lock the deadbolt. “So it would appear the door was locked from the inside?”
    “Who knows?” she said.
    “Whoever locked this door, that’s who knows!” Woollcott replied. “So if the door was locked from the inside, that means Bibi got up from the tub, locked it, then got back in the tub and died?”
    “I doubt it,” Dorothy said. “The floor is dry, and it was dry when I got here. If Bibi had gotten out of the tub, she’d have left wet footprints all over the floor, or at least quite a few drops behind.”
    They examined the floor, especially right in front of the tub. It was bone dry.
    Woollcott took the keys from Dorothy’s hand. “So you found this in a kitchen drawer?”
    “Yes, that’s right,” Dorothy said. “What are you implying?”
    “I imply nothing. I merely state the facts—that someone locked this door to prevent or delay the discovery of Bibi’s dead or dying body. Isn’t that how you see it?”
    They stood looking at the door when it suddenly swung open. Frank Case, Dr. Hurst and Arthur Conan Doyle entered.
    Dr. Hurst’s white hair was disheveled, his high collar was undone and his necktie was loosened. He looked pale and sick. When he saw the body of Bibi, he looked even sicker.
    “Get her out of there!” he croaked, pointing at the body but looking away. “Carry her to the bed. Cover her up.”
    Woollcott opened his mouth to protest, but when no one moved, Dr. Hurst spoke even more loudly. “Get her out