Murder on the Thirteenth by A.E. Eddenden Page A

moving,” Tretheway said.
    â€œGood for the soul.” She whirled Tretheway around exuberantly, or at least as much as anyone could whirl a two-hundred-eighty pound partner.
    â€œGentlemen, dance with the lady behind,” King Chauncey chanted.
    Tretheway released the Major, who began to whirl Beezul around. He, in turn, was claimed by Cynthia Moon. The music increased in tempo.
    â€œGood party,” Cynthia Moon shouted over the noise of her jangling costume jewelry.
    They bumped into more couples now but nobody seemed to mind. Through the rising smoke and glittering reflections on the spinning revelers, Tretheway caught sight of Mary Dearlove dancing with Mayor Pennylegion. He remembered the cryptic message.
    â€œJoin in fours. Make a circle.”
    Tretheway and Cynthia obediently joined hands with Doc Nooner and Zoë Plunkitt.
    â€œSkip to the right.”
    It was almost impossible to carry on a conversation during such wild activity. Tretheway lost sight of Mary Dearlove in the frenzied circling. Zoë Plunkitt squeezed Tretheway’s hand as she smiled widely and skipped around the imaginary circle in time to the music. Cynthia Moon was just as restrained. Doc Nooner wheezed dangerously but still smiled.
    â€œEverybody reverse.”
    Tretheway noticed with concern the bulging eyes and florid face of Doc Nooner as they all skipped in the opposite direction.
    â€œYou okay?” Tretheway shouted.
    All Doc Nooner could manage was a weak smile. He continued to sweat and skip.
    â€œGentlemen, dance with the opposite lady.”
    Tretheway enjoyed the respite of the slower fox trot and he was sure Doc Nooner appreciated it even more.
    â€œThe good doctor’s not in good shape,” Zoë Plunkitt said.
    â€œI know,” Tretheway said.
    â€œAnd he’s so overweight.”
    Tretheway didn’t answer.
    â€œI mean, some men can carry it. Big men. With big frames. And still be in good shape.”
    â€œI suppose.” Tretheway tried to hide his shortness of breath.
    â€œIt can be very attractive.”
    Tretheway noticed how effortlessly Zoë danced—she was as sprightly as she had been at the beginning of the evening. The diamonds of light flitted over her face and hair as they moved in time to King Chauncey’s rhythm. But it was her eyes that Tretheway noticed more than anything; how they stared at him, unblinking, luminous, deep, bordered by dark makeup. He had seen that look before at an animal farm, in a soft rain, when a deer had wandered too close to the barricade—a doe, a wet-eyed doe…
    â€œGrand March,” King Chauncey shouted. “In fours.”
    Tretheway shook himself. Zoë Plunkitt began to blink. The music changed to fast martial. They joined the nearest couple—Addie and Garth Dingle.
    â€œGreat party.” Garth spoke in his normal voice, which was loud enough to be heard above the din. He still had his party hat on. Addie smiled happily and squeezed her brother’s arm.
    â€œNow in eights.”
    Another foursome joined them, making eight abreast. Tretheway looked across the rank to see the Squire with Mrs. Pennylegion. An unusual pairing, he thought, but in a Paul Jones, anything’s possible. Tremaine Warbucks and Mary Dearlove completed the eightsome. Mary winked at Tretheway.
    â€œMake a big circle.”
    The ballroom immediately filled with rings of eight people, facing inward, hands joined, feet stomping in time to the music. Garth Dingle let out a yell he had heard in the latest Gene Autry movie. Mrs. Pennylegion screamed with glee. Others joined in. The music became louder.
    â€œNow who…” King Chauncey looked around the room at the expectant faces during his dramatic pause.
    â€œWho is…the birdie in the cage?”
    This was the signal for the boisterous merrymakers to choose one of their eight to be in the centre of the circle—their birdie—for the frenzied finale of the