Worth

Chapter 9 (Pt. 1)

Violet awoke from her nap in a state of dreamy drowsiness. She slipped languidly off her bed and changed into the casual yet elegant outfit selected for her. "Last Night", it was labelled. She inhaled deeply. Closing night was more like it, and her last performance, she had decided, would be without the usual anxiety if for no other reason than that it was within her power not to care. She sat at the old vanity to tie a ribbon in her hair, and said to her reflection, "So, what are the symptoms?" Violet dabbed a little colour on her lips and a hint of blush to her cheeks. "Well, doctor," she answered herself, "there was a slight swelling of the lips, a minor heart flutter, maybe a tingly sinus or two." A spritz of perfume tickled her nose. "It sounds like a bug," she counselled herself, and thought immediately about how she'd rather like to be infected. With only one good way to decipher her true feelings about James, she left her dressing room for the dining room.

She allowed herself a fruity cocktail, even though her stomach was empty. Whatever veggie dish she might be served wouldn't provide that much more padding for the alcohol, and it was so refreshing on a balmy evening. Elizabeth, whose character was still on the wagon, was in a corner sneaking sips of her father's cocktail beyond Philroy's detection. Violet's other ally was alone, already at the dinner table.

"You seem quiet for once, John," she remarked.

"It's a new type of yoga," he said moodily.

"What are you drinking?"

His answer was a terse, "Scotch."

"Hmm," she mused. "Maybe it's drinking you." He gave her only an empty smile and shrug.

Philroy lead the other guests to the table to be seated. His poor scalp had nearly been burned magenta that afternoon. On the way to his own seat, James stealthily managed to pull Violet's chair out for her without making it a topic of discussion. She had the excuse of laying her napkin on her lap to smile to herself.

"Everyone's looking rejuvenated and sun-kissed," Philroy said.

"Thank you," said Joan, beige tan by nature.

"But before you all relax into dangerous vulnerability, may I remind you there is still a murderer among us."

"Why wouldn't the murderer just kill you?" Paul asked.

"Leo's murder was an act of perceived necessity. The killer may be in complete denial that there was a crime at all."

"Philroy?" Elizabeth said, taking her seat. "As a, um, detective, being around all us entertainment types, haven't you ever wanted to act? You're so good with public speaking." Philroy appeared flattered to no end and fell momentarily speechless. Elizabeth pressed, "Don't you think actors, not just celebrities, but, well, that acting is a noble profession?"

Before Philroy could utter a single theory, Vera eyed her youngest and said, "Forget it. You are saving this money for your education abroad. Travel and culture. Don't you want to be able to shop while you're in Europe next year? If you're going to eat boiled eggs in Berlin you might as well stay home."

Still considering his opinion, Philroy let the lapse in role-play slide.

"Givenchy in Paris," Elsa sighed happily.

"You'll never be able to economize with the way that Michelle Halliday attracts con-artists."

"A penny saved is a penny earned," Rolph said.

"Why earn them if you can't spend them?" Elizabeth said with an adolescent sneer.

"Leverage!" Edie said.