DISCLAIMER: The Facts of Life and its characters are the property of Columbia Pictures Television and Sony Pictures Television. No infringement is intended. Original characters belong to the author. Historical characters belong to history.
SPOILERS: References and some spoilers FOL Seasons 1 – 5. Reader feedback is welcome.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To zblitzreiter@gmail.com

Lost in the Masquerade
By Blitzreiter

Part 3

"Chloral hydrate," said Portia. "That's my best guest."

"A Mickey?" Jo demanded incredulously. "Somebody slipped me a Mickey at a swank wingding like this?"

"What's a 'Mickey'?" asked Blair.

"It's chloral hydrate," said Portia. "Usually, anyway. Not fatal in small doses, but if one overdoses … well, it's nitey-nite forever. Mixed with alcohol it renders victims unconscious, and they're nauseated, confused and irritable when they wake. Long a preferred weapon of house girls and sharpers."

"Of whom?" asked Blair."

"Crooks," Jo said simply. "Ow! When the hell does this wear off?"

"Stay in bed for the rest of the morning, Princess," Portia advised. "Drink a lot of fluids. We'll postpone the hockey match; not much point without you." She turned to Blair. "Open that window, will you? Let's give her some fresh air."

Blair went to the bow window, turned the old-fashioned crank handles. The window panels swung outward, admitting a crisp breeze fragrant with fallen leaves, apples, pine and wood smoke.

Jo inhaled deeply. "Nice," she said. "Yeah. That's better."

"You'll be feeling much better by lunch," Portia predicted, "but don't eat too much. Easy does it for the rest of the day."

"Who the hell would slip me a Mickey?" Jo demanded of the world at large.

"I don't know," Portia said grimly, "but as soon as I leave you I'm going to tell Petal what happened. Let's keep this quiet, for now. She might have to call the police."

"Might?" asked Blair. "Might? Someone tries to poison my, my, best friend, and you think we might need to call the police?"

"It's OK," Jo told Blair. "I'm gonna be fine."

"No thanks to whoever drugged you!" said Blair, outraged at the thought of anyone hurting Jo.

"Could've been a stupid prank," said Portia. "Or someone trying to, well, let's just say that in the past some men have used similar means to put women in an agreeable mood."

"That's appalling!" said Blair.

"Yes," said Portia. "Whatever happened, we have to get to the bottom of it. I'll see you at luncheon."

Blair squeezed Portia's hand. "Thank you," she said.

"Anything for Princess. We need her at full power if we're going to the state championship. Princess – rest!" Portia told Jo severely.

"Aye, aye," said Jo, wincing. Resting – not a problem! Don't feel like I could get out of the damn bed!

"I'll see myself out," said Portia.

Blair waited until she heard the main suite door close in the distance, then climbed onto the bed next to Jo. She put her arms around the brunette, kissed her softly.

"My poor Jo," she said. "Whoever did this, we'll get him! Or her!"

"I'll be fine," said Jo. "Don't fuss. You know I hate fussing!"

"I'm not fussing," said Blair. "Do you have enough pillows?"

"Aw, for cryin out loud!"

"Thank God Portia was here. I can't believe there's not a single real doctor at this party. At least Portia's a pre-med senior."

"She's so tiny," said Jo. "I had no idea she's a senior! Gotta say, the one upside of my bein drugged … Portia's got somethin important to think about now, instead of moping about Gerald!"

Blair slowly ran her fingers from Jo's shoulder down to her hip and back again. Somebody tried to harm her. My Jo! "Darling?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Who would slip you a Mikey?"

"A Mickey. Short for Mickey Finn."

"Who cares what it's called? Who would do that?"

"Dunno. Who have I pissed off more than usual lately?"

"I guess it could've been a prank – a very stupid prank. Or a random thing. But I can't stop thinking about, well …"

"Well?"

"Becker looked so angry earlier. She was glaring at us all throughout dinner."

"Huhn." Jo mulled it over. "Interestin thought. We were pretty mean to her. But does Dina run around carryin chloral hydrate with her? I mean, she didn't arrive here all pissed off. It's cause we teased her at the cocktail party."

"True."

Jo closed her eyes. The pain was lessening, but it still hurt like hell. It was like the top of her skull was being squeezed in a vise. Another wave of nausea washed over her.

"Honestly, Blair, I don't feel up to playin Nancy Drew just now. We need to put the Snoop Sisters on the case. You talked to them yet?"

Blair shook her head. "Just Alec. He knows everyone here, at least by reputation; I knew he'd find someone to help you."

Jo scowled. "Alec. Alec was sittin right near me, come to think of it."

"Jo, Alec did not put a Mikey –"

"Mickey."

" – a Mickey in your drink. You should've seen his face when I told him you were ill. You might not like him, but he thinks a lot of you."

"Yeah, well, give him a medal, why doncha?"

"Don't get all worked up. Portia says you're supposed to rest."

"If you don't want me to get all worked up, don't talk about Alec."

"All right. Calm down, Jo."

"I'm calm. I'm very friggin calm."

"Who gave you the second drink?" Blair asked thoughtfully. "The one you didn't finish? I mean, did one of the guests bring it to you?"

"I don't know. I was kinda drowsy already and I finished the first stinger and suddenly someone was standing near me and handed me a drink and I took it. I figured it was one of the servants but I didn't really look." She smiled ruefully. "Guess I'm really startin to fit into high society, huh? Servants are becomin wallpaper, instead of people."

"Servants aren't wallpaper to me," Blair bristled.

"True, true," Jo said hastily. And it was. Jo had noticed that most rich folks treated servants like they were invisible. But Blair always noticed the people that waited on her, knew their names. "Gimme a break, huh, babe? I'm kinda delirious here."

"What you need," said Blair, skinning out of her silk robe, "is a distraction."

Jo lifted her eyebrows. "Intriguin. What kinda distraction do you got in mind?"

Blair slipped out of her silk pajamas. "This kind."

"Very, ah, resourceful," Jo said approvingly.

Completely nude, Blair stretched herself full length on top of Jo.

"Am I too heavy, Joey?"

"Never." Jo's hands rested comfortably on Blair's hips.

Blair held Jo's face between her hands, kissed her.

"Thanks for takin care of me," Jo whispered.

"Any time," said Blair.

They kissed for several minutes, deep, lingering kisses. Jo's hands drifted up and down Blair's naked back, coming to rest on her posterior.

"So, how's the patient?" Natalie asked brightly, pushing open the bedroom door. "What seems to be the – oh my God!"

Natalie whirled, crashing into Tootie, who was right behind her.

"Retreat! Retreat!" cried Natalie. "Oh, my eyes!"

"What's wrong?" demanded Tootie, craning her neck, trying to see over Nat's shoulder.

"I just saw Blair's butt!"

"Nat, we roomed with Blair. We've seen her butt before."

"Not like this!"

"For Pete's sake," groaned Jo. "Can a poisoned person get a little damn privacy?"

Blair snagged her silk robe from the floor, shucked into it. She hastily tied the silk belt.

"All right," she said, "it's OK now. Natalie, you can turn around. Tootie, you can come in."

"I'll, ah, stay in the doorway," said Natalie.

"Well I'm going in," said Tootie, pushing past Nat.

Tootie found Jo lying under the covers in her blue silk pajamas, dark circles under her eyes, beet red in the face, looking completely pissed off. Blair sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a silk robe, hair mussed, looking pretty pissed off herself.

"Hey – the door was unlocked," Tootie said. "We figured with Jo being sick we should just come in."

"We figured with Jo being sick you wouldn't be rolling around like dogs in heat!" said Natalie.

"We weren't 'rollin around' like anythin!" said Jo. "We weren't 'rollin around' at all."

"I saw what I saw!"

"Well, Nat, you've got a very active imagination. Blair was just lyin on top of me. She was just, you know, takin my mind off my pain."

"Hey, whatever floats your boat," said Natalie. "I just don't want to see it."

"Then you might wanna try a little thing called knockin!"

"Everybody calm down," said Tootie. "Why are we fighting? Jo's sick."

"Portia must have left the door unlocked," said Blair. She squeezed Jo's hand. "It's not their fault."

"They could still knock before they bash open the bedroom door!"

"I didn't 'bash open the bedroom door'," said Natalie. "It was ajar."

Blair sighed. "Natalie, Tootie – from now on, just knock before you come into our rooms. All right? Just assume we might be having … an intimate moment. That way nobody will be surprised."

"Perfect," snarked Natalie. "Lesbian etiquette!"

"A little etiquette wouldn't kill you," snarled Jo. "Lesbian or otherwise."

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Knock it off – both of you!" said Blair. "Jo, it's very nice of Natalie and Tootie to drop by to see how you're doing."

"I'm gonna be fine," said Jo. "Someone slipped me some chloral hydrate. No big deal."

"Someone slipped you a Mickey Finn? Oh, Jo." Concern conquered squeamishness. Natalie stepped into the room. "Who? Why?"

"Wish I knew," said Jo.

"We're trying to keep it relatively quiet right now," said Blair. "Petal will likely call in the local police. But if the Snoop Sisters want to do a little investigating – "

"Consider us on the case!" said Tootie.

"Dina Becker was giving you the evil eye all through dinner," Natalie told Blair.

"I know. That was one of my first thoughts. But Becker wouldn't just happen to be carrying chloral hydrate."

"Still," said Tootie, "we should do a little digging. Who else is upset with Jo?"

Jo shrugged. "You're the chief snoop, Toot. We'll leave that up to you."

"Boots was all weirdly chummy with you," mused Natalie.

"She wants me to join Gamma Gamma," Blair explained.

"No. I meant Jo. Boots was all weirdly chummy with Jo. Practically sat in her lap after you went up to your room, Blair."

Blair waved one hand dismissively. "Boots was practically sitting in Jo's lap before I went up to my room. She's just very touchy-feely. And maybe she thinks if she's nice to my friends, I'll be more likely to pledge Gamma Gamma house."

"Maybe she thinks if I'm dead, you're more likely to pledge Gamma," said Jo, laughing.

"People do get a little psycho about their sorority or fraternity," Tootie said thoughtfully.

"Aw, come on," scoffed Jo. "I'm jokin. It's a joke!"

"Just do what you do best," Blair told Natalie and Tootie. "Ask questions. Be nosy. Uncover information that's absolutely none of your business."

"You can count on us," Tootie said stoutly. "We can compare notes at lunch. Come on, Nat."

"Take care of yourself," Natalie told Jo. "A Mickey Finn! Unbelievable."

"Eh, I'll be fine. You take care of yourselves. Watch out for Tootie. I don't want someone clonkin you on the heads if you ask the wrong person the wrong question."

"Clonked on the head? Please. Have you met us?" Nat asked. "Nellie Bly and Nancy Drew are on the case!"

"Amen!" said Tootie.

"Christ, Nat," grumbled Jo, "Nancy Drew was always getting kidnapped – and Nellie Bly got herself thrown into the loony bin!"

"But they always got their story! And the crooks!"

"Well just be careful is all I'm sayin."

"You too." Natalie raised one eyebrow, looked significantly at Blair. "Carry on, Florence Nightingale."

Blair actually blushed.

Lunch was a serve-yourself spread of light dishes like cold pheasant and salad, arrayed along a massive walnut hutch in the massive dining hall.

Jo picked at slices of cold turkey and drank glass after glass of water. Blair and the Langley Lions sat with her.

"Damn sorry this happened," Petal told Jo quietly. "The police are sending someone to talk with you. He'll be in plain clothes. If you could keep this quiet for now …"

"Sure," Jo said. "We'll play it close to the chest."

Natalie and Tootie joined them halfway through the meal. Tootie was practically vibrating with suppressed excitement. Natalie looked more serious.

"Guess who has insomnia?" asked Tootie. "And guess who's studying to be a veterinarian?"

"Who?" asked Blair.

"Your old pal Dina Becker!"

"And that's interesting because … ?"

"Chloral hydrate is sometimes prescribed for insomnia," explained Natalie. "And it's a key ingredient in animal anesthetics."

"So," said Jo, "good ol' Becker might be carryin some type of chloral hydrate in her purse. Interestin."

"But don't get too excited," cautioned Natalie. "Apparently Dina left the Great Hall after the first ghost story – right around the time you left, Blair."

"So Dina wasn't around to poison my second drink," said Jo.

"But if anyone had shoved Blair down a staircase, Dina would've been the perfect suspect!"

"I'm tryin to picture Dina as a vet," said Jo. "I can picture her huntin animals, and makin coats out of 'em, but I can't see her takin care of 'em."

"Becker loves cats," said Blair. "And horses. She had a lonely childhood."

"No kiddin! So … who else besides Doctor Doolittle would want to clean my clock?"

"You four just have adventure after adventure, don't you?" Portia asked admiringly. She sighed. "I wish my life were that exciting."

"Gerald will call," Jackrabbit said waspishly. "At least I hope he will. You're becoming very tiresome on the subject, Lefty."

Mrs. Garrett joined them. Although she appeared concerned for Jo, she looked healthier and happier than the girls had seen her look since before her resignation from Eastland.

"What happened, Jo?"

"Eh, someone slipped me a Mickey. I'm fine, Mrs. G. No need to worry."

"Jo, chloral hydrate can be very dangerous."

"Nah, it's nothin."

"Jo Polniaczek, don't try to pacify me. I'm a registered nurse."

"Oh. Yeah. I always forget that."

"People have died from chloral hydrate! We're very lucky you weren't given a stronger dose."

"Mrs. G, you were at the ghost stories last night. You're real observant. Did you see who gave me the second drink?"

"I'm sorry, but no, I didn't. I was focused on the stories, and the people I was sitting with."

"Like that hunka-hunka with the salt-and-pepper hair?" teased Natalie.

"Nat, we're discussin my brush with mortality," groused Jo. "Can we hold off on the hunka-hunka discussions?"

"Natalie is correct, though," said Mrs. Garrett. "I was paying quite a bit of attention to Dante." She smiled. It hit Jo, hard, how long it'd been since she'd seen Mrs. G really smile. "Dante's a TV producer. He's developing a cooking show for the New York morning market." Mrs. Garrett patted her bun of red hair. "He seems to think I might make an interesting on-air personality."

"Mrs. Garrett!" cried Tootie. "That's wonderful!"

"You got plenty of great personality," Jo agreed with a grin. "A cookin show, huh? That'd be right up your alley."

"But it can't just be cooking," said Natalie. "You've got to throw in some of your great advice!"

"I wish I had some great advice to give you now," said Mrs. Garrett, her smile fading. "All I can say is, please be very careful, girls. I'm very sorry someone did this to Jo." She clenched her fists. "It makes me spitting mad, anyone trying to hurt one of my girls! Who could it have been?"

"You know it's not one of the Lions," Jackrabbit said, "for selfish reasons, if nothing else. We need Jo in one piece for the state championships!"

"Don't worry, Mrs. G, we'll get to the bottom of this," said Jo. "Why don't you get yourself some grub? Go on. We'll be OK."

"Well, I am a little hungry. Maybe just a bite …" Mrs. Garrett bustled off toward the buffet.

"I'm so sorry this happened in my home," Petal told Jo. "I've already questioned the housekeeper and the butler."

"Did the butler do it?" Natalie declaimed.

Everyone groaned.

"They assured me that all of the staff members have been here for at least five years," said Petal, "and some of them since long before I was born. All very reliable and professional. No one's been fired or given notice recently."

"Did you hire an outside bartender?" asked Blair. "Mother usually does that for her parties."

Petal shook her head. "Cook prepared all the drinks herself, in batches – she's something of a mixologist – and the footmen poured them out and served them on trays. No outsider touched the drinks. And no one besides Jo was drugged – at least, no one else has reported feeling ill."

"So someone in the room did it," said Tootie. "Wow. This is so Agatha Christie!"

"Glad my poisonin can entertain you, Stretch," Jo said wryly.

Alec dropped into an empty chair next to Jo. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Jo. I was so sorry to hear what happened."

"Sorry, eh? That an admission?"

Alec blanched. "Jo, I hope you know that I would never – "

"Aw, keep your shirt on, Blitheridge. Poisonin is a pretty cowardly way of hurtin someone. I believe if you were ever really mad at me, you'd have the guts to pop me one in the jaw."

"Thanks. I think." He squeezed her shoulder. "Do you need anything, Jo?"

She glared meaningfully at his hand on her shoulder.

"Done." Alec released his grip on Jo. He slipped his arm around Blair and kissed the heiress' cheek.

"This must be very upsetting for you, dear," he said to Blair.

"I'm fine," said Blair. "As long as we find out who did this, and as long as no one else is hurt."

"Pardon me," said a deep voice.

A tall man in a dark suit stood beside Jo's chair. He was about forty, dark hair trimmed in a military-style buzz cut. "My name is Skip Martin. I'm, uh, an old friend of the Von Schuylkill family."

Sure you are, thought Jo. One thing Jo had learned growing up in the Bronx was how to spot a cop from a mile away. Martin's suit was brand new – it might as well have still had the price tag on it. Obviously he'd purchased it to blend in. But his buzz cut, his cool demeanor and his cold eyes screamed cop.

"Hello officer," Jo said quietly. "Want to join us?"

Martin nodded. Alec slid over, allowing Martin to sit down next to Jo.

"What's your name?" Martin asked her without preamble.

"I'm doin real well, thanks for askin," said Jo. "How's by you."

Martin didn't crack a smile. His expression didn't change at all. "What's your name?" he repeated.

"I'm Jo Polniaczek. The victim. And this is Petal Von Schuylkill." Jo indicated Moose. "Our hostess."

"I filed the report," Petal told the officer. "My parents are overseas and our estate manager is on vacation, so I'm in charge for the weekend. You have carte blanche, of course; do whatever you need to do. But the more discrete you can be …"

"When did the incident occur?" Martin asked calmly.

Yeah … robot-man really blends right in, thought Jo. Her lip curled. She really, really disliked cops.

Blair, sitting on Jo's other side, elbowed the short-tempered brunette in the ribs. Behave!

Jo behaved. She gave the details of the incident without overtly insulting the officer.

As Jo expected, Martin seemed more interested in things like whether she was old enough to drink than the fact that she had been drugged.

"My license," she said, holding it under his nose. "I'm nineteen. See? I'm legal."

"I have to check. Underage drinking is a very serious concern," Officer Martin said coldly.

"So is poison," drawled Petal. "Officer Martin, all of my guests under nineteen were served hot chocolate last night. When my parents allow me to host a weekend party, I take it very seriously. This isn't 'Animal House'. All laws are obeyed."

"Of course," Martin said indifferently.

He took a small notebook from the breast pocket of his new suit jacket. He flipped through it slowly, methodically, finally pausing on one particular page.

"You're from the Bronx," Officer Martin said to Jo. It was a statement, not a question.

And here we go, thought Jo. Let the fun and games begin!

"Yes," she said, keeping a firm grip on her temper. "I'm from the Bronx." And damn proud of it!

"Got into a little trouble there, didn't you?"

"Not lately."

He turned the page. "You were running with, let me see, the Young Diablos."

"Yes," she said.

"Truancy, B&E, and assault."

"The assault charges were dropped," said Jo. "It was self-defense."

"Which time?" asked the officer.

"Every time," she said.

Officer Martin flipped to another page.

"Got into a little trouble in Peekskill, too. Auto theft. Underage drinking. Assaulting an officer."

"I assaulted the officer," said Tootie.

"Tootie was eleven years old," Blair explained. "It wasn't like she stabbed him. She just poured a pitcher of beer on his head."

"Not the whole pitcher," Tootie clarified.

"Who gives a damn who poured beer on whom when they were eleven bloody years old?" Alec demanded, his color high. "A young woman has been drugged, Officer Martin. What are you prepared to do about it? Or do we need to speak to your superiors?"

Wow. Guess jackass really is worried about me, Jo mused.

Martin closed his notebook with a snap. He leveled his steady, almost icy gaze on Alec.

"Lord Nethridge, isn't it? You have an interesting record of your own."

Alec blushed, but he held the man's gaze. "I don't poison young women," he said evenly.

"Not yet," said Martin. "More of a confidence artist, aren't you?" He turned to Petal. "Ma'am, I'm going to talk to your staff – quietly of course – and I'm going to interview the guests that were near Miss Polniaczek when the incident allegedly occurred."

"Allegedly?" asked Natalie. She looked to Tootie. "Did he just say allegedly?"

"Yes. I did," Martin said placidly. "Miss Von Schuylkill, I will keep an open-mind, but when the dust settles I think you'll find you narrowly escaped being the victim of a flim-flam."

"What flim-flam?" Blair demanded. Now her color was rising.

Ah! I see where he's goin now, thought Jo.

"He thinks we're settin Petal up for a lawsuit," Jo explained. "A kinda variation on the ol slip-and-fall."

"What's the 'old slip-and-fall'?"

"When someone falls down in a big mansion," said Jo. "Or a restaurant. Some place with bucks. 'Oh, my back!' Get it? People sue for millions."

"What does that have to do with this?"

"He thinks I'm gonna sue Petal cause I got drugged in her house. Allegedly."

"But that's ridiculous!" Blair turned to Martin. "Now see here, officer. I'll have you know –"

"You're the Warner girl," said the officer. "You were in on the whole Chugalug roadhouse escapade."

"Well … yes. I was fifteen years old!"

"Some interesting incidents in Texas, too. In the Dallas-Fort Worth area."

Blair turned beet red. She lowered her eyes.

She's thinkin of Mimi, thought Jo. That girl she kissed. But I thought they hushed that up?

Jo's foot itched to plant itself squarely on the seat of Officer Martin's pants.

Martin stood up, sliding his notebook back into his breast pocket. "I'll be in the kitchen, questioning the staff," he said. "In case anyone needs me. Miss Von Schuylkill, my recommendation is that you ask Miss Polniaczek, Miss Warner and Lord Nethridge to call it a weekend. Any 'mysterious' incidents will stop as soon as they've left the premises."

After he left, Blair buried her face in her hands. Alec put a comforting arm around her shoulders. He looked angrier than Jo had ever seen him.

"What a colorful crowd you are," said Petal. "And have been for some time, apparently!"

"Petal, I swear to God – " Jo began, but Petal held up one large hand.

"Princess, you don't have to say anything. I don't care what any of you did when you were younger. We all have little escapades tucked away in the odd corners of our permanent records. I know you didn't lie about this. Someone here drugged you – one of my guests – and we need to find out whodunit. Or, at the very least, keep anyone else from being hurt."

Jo grinned. "You're OK people, Petal."

"I'm a good judge of character, at any rate. So … how do we find out who drugged you?"

"I think I got an idea," said Jo. "My brain must be clearin a little bit."

"I'm all ears," said Petal. "Figuratively speaking."

"That's what we need," said Jo. "Lots of eyes and ears – on everybody! We need to turn the whole house into an amateur detective corps, but without freakin everyone out."

"And how do we do that?"

"A murder weekend!" said Blair, catching Jo's drift.

"Exactly!" said Jo. "Tell everyone there's been a 'murder' – a phony murder, of course – and everyone has to be play detective. Look for clues, watch what everyone else is doin."

"I love it!" said Petal. "With everyone watching everyone else, someone would have to be a complete imbecile to try to harm anyone."

"We need a victim," Natalie said practically. "Who's willing to be stabbed or shot or whatever and spend the rest of the weekend in their suite?"

Portia sighed. "I'll do it," she volunteered. "I'm not having much fun without Gerald anyway."

"Ripping!" Jackrabbit said excitedly. "Can I be the killer?"

"Why not?" said Petal. "You do have a sort of desperate intensity. So Portia's the victim, Jackrabbit's the killer … We don't really have to cook up much of a plot, just announce the game and get everyone watching everyone else as soon as possible."

"Let's make it poison," said Jo. "Portia's gonna be poisoned. OK? So everyone'll be payin extra attention to who's touchin their food and drink."

"Brava, Princess," Jacqueline said approvingly. "Consider your slot in Zeta Zeta assured."

Jo blushed. Even after three years of accolades at Eastland, public praise still embarrassed her. "Yeah, OK, let's discuss that after we all get through this weekend in one piece."

"You're pledging Zeta Zeta house?" Natalie demanded. "What next? Is Blair joining the roller derby?"

"That depends," said Blair. "What's a 'roller derby'?"

"I'll tell you later," Jo said. "Now, when are we gonna get the murder game goin? After lunch?"

"Why after lunch? No time like the present," Jacqueline said briskly.

"I'm game," shrugged Portia. "And I've finished my lunch."

"Your poisoned lunch!" Tootie said dramatically.

"Tootie, you're the actress," said Petal. "Why don't you take the lead on this?"

"Me? Well, this is so sudden. And so unexpected. But, all right, I'll –aaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyyy!"

Tootie let loose with a blood-curdling shriek that reverberated through the grand dining hall, echoing and ricocheting from the weathered stones.

"God's teeth!" muttered Alec, covering his ears.

Taking the scream as her cue, Portia flopped forward, lying half across her plate of salad and cold duck.

Everyone in the room gasped and turned to stare at Tootie and her friends.

"Portia's been murdered!" Tootie cried, in a voice that carried to the furthest corner of the dining room.

"Eh, don't forget about the poison," muttered Jo.

"She's been poisoned!" Tootie cried. "Some foul drug has been placed in her food or her drink! There's a foul fiend afoot!"

"'Foul fiend,'" murmured Alec. "Tootie, my dear … are you sure you want to be an actress?"

Tootie stamped on Alec's foot under the table. He bit back a curse. Jo stifled a laugh.

"It's supposed to sound phony, jackass," Jo whispered to Alec. "So everyone knows it's a game."

"Ah!"

Sure enough, a jumble of excited voices swept through the room.

"A murder game!"

"The murder game!"

"I told you there'd be one!"

"How thrilling!"

"The butler did it!"

"No, the housekeeper! Why is it never the housekeeper?"

Tootie held up her hands authoritatively.

"We must call in Inspector Smythe! Until he arrives, we must go about our day as we usually would. But we must be very, very careful of everything we eat and drink! And we must be very, very careful to watch everyone around us. For … there is a killer in our midst!" Tootie put a hand to her heart.

The guests broke out into applause.

Tootie blushed, pleased. She made a half-bow.

The guests resumed eating their food or filling their plates at the buffet, talking animatedly among themselves about the murder game.

"Now that was some fine-quality Baltimore ham," Natalie told Tootie, impressed. "They gave you a bigger standing O than you got for 'South Pacific'!"

"Improv is my specialty," Tootie said with mock-modesty, buffing her fingernails on her blouse.

"So now everyone's on their guard," Jo said, nodding with satisfaction. "Nice work, Toot."

"What about me?" Portia asked, voice muffled by the table cloth.

"Oh, you were great," Jo said hastily. "Great work as a corpse there. Soon as the room clears out, you can sit back up normal, and we'll get you up to your room."

"And then," said Natalie, "the Snoop Sisters really get to work."

"Secret poisoner, look out!" said Tootie. "The four musketeers are on the case!"