Finny didn't move. "Cuffy told you I wanted to talk to you. Why didn't you call me?"
Paige laughed in disbelief. "Why should I? I don't deal with people like you."
"Not even when they're trying to prove that your godmother didn't kill your husband?"
The short, sharp turning of her head caused Paige's gold hoop earrings to slap against her cheeks. "You don't know what you're talking about. Twee said she killed William. She confessed! Do you have any idea what that's done to me?"
"Oh, yeah. I could tell in there that it's really slowed you down on the old social circuit." Finny looked at the beautiful face, the expensive makeup and clothing. "You've known Twee since you were a child. Do you really think she's capable of murder?"
The nearby statue had more expression in its face than Paige had in hers. "This is a private matter, and not your concern."
Finny shot out a hand to keep Paige from turning away.
"It is my concern! I think Twee is making some kind of grand, stupid gesture, claiming to be responsible for your husband's death. At this point I don't know whether she wants to protect someone or wishes she'd done it. I would've thought you'd want to find out which. You've got to talk to her."
Paige shook her head. "No. I won't. Twee made her own decision—several of them. I won't see her."
"Won't see who?"
Finny turned abruptly at the voice behind her. Ty Engelman, resplendent in an Armani suit, stared at her in surprise, his thin, poetic face blank.
"Finny? What are you doing here?"
"Trying to get some help for Twee. How about you?"
He ignored her, his gaze seeking out Paige instead. "I thought you might like me to drive you home," he said to her. "You know how tired you were this morning."
Paige's eyes flashed a warning. "I just sounded that way over the phone, Ty. I'm perfectly all right."
"But, darling, you said at breakfast—"
Paige looked back at Finny. "Will you leave now? I've spoken with the police. You have no right to question me."
"Well, actually..." Finny forced a smile. "I'd really like to talk to Ty since he's here."
He took a step toward her. "I told you on the phone that I have nothing to say to you."
"Maybe you ought to reconsider," Finny said. "If Twee isn't guilty, you might appear a little suspicious, hanging out with the bereaved widow and all."
Ty sucked in a breath and took another step toward Finny. Paige grabbed his coat sleeve. "I cannot stand any more strain." Her eyes were awash with tears. "You just can't harass us this way."
Ty's hand covered hers. He looked at Finny, his eyes cold. "You heard her," he growled. "Leave her alone." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and proffered it to Paige.
Paige took hold of the snowy cloth and used it to dab at her eyes. The elaborate monogram waved under her nose.
LTE. The letters were embroidered in flowing script. Maybe insurance wasn't such a bad gig, Finny thought. What kind of first name would he have to go with Ty? Lickspittle?
"Ty," she said gently. Maybe she could try a little divide and conquer stuff. "How about talking to me while Paige finishes with the lunch crowd?"
He looked down at her with contempt. "I don't have to talk to you. None of this has anything to do with you. Get out of here, and leave Paige alone."
Finny glared at him. "Rumor has it that you might have had an interest in seeing Judge Sarandon dead. Like to comment?"
Ty's face smoothed. "You're a crank, Finny. Worse, a half-assed crank, and there isn't a soul who really matters who gives a damn about what you say. Keep away from me and from Paige, or I swear to God, I'll—"
Finny waited for whatever he was going to swear, but he just shot her a look of hatred and put an arm around Paige. They both turned their backs on her and went through the door to the ballroom.
Chapter 14
It was the bronze color of the car that caught Finny's eyes. Kit Landauer was camped out in front of the Bellicombe Mansion in his XKE. Cars like that probably came with an automatic parking place.
This little luncheon was rapidly turning into old home week for Twee's former party guests. What a shame she couldn't ask Landauer what he was doing here; Ty Engelman had just demonstrated the unfashionable aspects of the direct approach.
Finny ignored Landauer's shining XKE and sauntered down the cobblestone walk, under the coach pulled by four horses rendered in the wrought-iron arch spanning the fence. A sparrow balanced itself on the coachman's upraised whip.
When she reached the street, she turned right instead of left toward her pickup and walked unhurriedly in the opposite direction, overcoming the almost irresistible urge to look back over her shoulder. As an uninvited guest, she'd forgone the private parking lot, about a quarter acre of gravel that stretched beside the mansion. Lucky for her. She wasn't sure she'd have noticed Kit if she'd driven out.
She kept up her steady pace until she'd gone around the curve that took her out of Kit's line of sight, then took off her high heels and picked up her pace. It was time to advance to the rear. She'd circle around the block and get to her pickup without Mr. Landauer's watching her every move. She'd be the one doing the watching. Ty Engelman might have rained on her parade, but he hadn't flooded it out.
Finny reached the pickup and sneaked a look at Landauer's car as she unlocked the door and slid onto the hot vinyl seat. All she could see was what she thought was the back of his head. At least he wasn't waving at her. She rolled down the windows and settled into her seat. Now all she had to do was wait for something to happen. With any luck she'd end up knowing more than she knew now.
Nearly ninety minutes later, what she'd discovered was that sitting and waiting for someone gave vast new dimensions to the concept of boredom. She didn't have anything to read—neither the owner's manual nor the Denver street guide counted—not that she could read and keep an unwavering eye on Kit Landauer at the same time.
So her gaze wavered a little. She'd started by memorizing the cunning pattern of slashes and circles engraved on the red bricks of the Hidoresque hovel to her right, and had proceeded to finishing Corinne's cabinet mentally, from setting every nail and filling the resultant holes, to adding an elaborate inlay in the pattern of stags running across the two doors.
She was hot and thirsty and she had to go to the bathroom. Plus, her panty hose had probably sweated five pounds off each of her legs. She'd also begun to fantasize about what would happen if the police decided to wander through. She'd been sitting there long enough to convince one of the residents to call the cops.
Finny was into her fifth version of what she could say to any interested police officer when the castle began to disgorge its inhabitants in clutches of twos and threes. In the afternoon sunlight the women fluttered like pastel leaves in a gentle breeze, grouping here and there for final remarks and quick air kisses beside one another's cheeks. Their high, excited voices evoked memories of afternoon field hockey matches in junior high school.
Now the trick was to keep an eye on Kit's car while the party flotsam lapped toward the parking area. Once all the cars started coming out, she'd have a hell of a time keeping him in sight.
After a preliminary starting of engines, the cars came pouring out of the parking area like the animals must have left the ark. With hands fluttering from open windows, the light reflecting off windshields and recent wax jobs, the horns bidding exuberant farewells, the cream of Denver's society, distaff version, sped off into the afternoon.
Landauer's XKE didn't move. Perhaps he was planning on homesteading, Finny thought. God, how much longer was he—
The gleaming bronze door of his car opened and Kit began to extricate himself. Finny glanced at the castle, and saw Cuffy Sarandon making her way down the cobbled walk.
Aha.
Finny was a fascinated audience of one as Kit walked toward Cuffy. When she saw him, she stopped and half turned to go back to the castle. Kit bounded over to her, grabbing hold of
one arm. Cuffy stopped and stood stiffly in his hold, her head turned away from him.
Kit talked for a while, and then stopped. Cuffy shook her head while she spoke and Kit let go of her arm. Then she turned toward him.
Damn, thought Finny. If only she had one of those long distance mikes.
Kit said something else, then motioned toward his car. Cuffy waved a hand toward the parking area, but she was already walking with Kit. He opened the door for her and waited while she settled herself gracefully into the XKE. When he closed the door, his hands rested for a moment on the handle. Then he went around to the driver's side and got in.
Okay, thought Finny. Here we go. Now was her chance to see if tailing people was as easy as it looked on TV. She waited until she heard the snarl of the XKE, and started her more modest engine. All she could hope was that Kit didn't speed. She'd be left behind in a split second.
But Kit drove his car as though he were transporting nitroglycerin. Considering Cuffy's initial reaction to him, maybe he was simply taking necessary precautions.
Instead of struggling to stay up with Landauer, Finny was hard pressed to remain inconspicuous. Surely the man would notice her pickup if it stayed in his rearview mirror too long, but every time she found a stalking horse to trail behind, it would turn off and back she would be, close behind the inching XKE. Either Kit and Cuffy were having one hell of a conversation, or he'd suffered sudden paralysis in his right foot.
By the time Kit turned into the parking lot of the Moo Goo Fry Pan, Finny felt like swooping out of her pickup and banging his head against his steering wheel a few times. Hey, if it worked for Spenser...
Cuffy and Kit had stopped talking, or at least they weren't chatting as they entered the red-trimmed brick building that sported a curlicued pent roof with the restaurant's name in yellow neon script.
As the large red door closed behind them, Finny was faced with a dilemma. Did she wait here, a prospect that had all the appeal of undergoing dental surgery, or did she go in? And if she went in, how could she keep them from seeing her? Hell, she thought as she pried herself out of the truck, if they saw her she could bluff them, buy them a drink and initiate an innocuous conversation. It had to be better than sitting out here.
It would have required X-ray vision for either Cuffy or Kit to observe her entrance to the exotic confines of Moo Goo Fry Pan. The hostess desk was camouflaged by three of the largest dieffenbachias Finny had ever seen. The plants' leaves were almost broad enough to obscure the serpentine dragon that floated, shining and golden, on the black lacquer screen behind the desk. The air was pure sandalwood.
The small, satin figure of the hostess was nearly hidden. "One for lunch?"
"Uh, yes." Finny smiled while she tried to kick her brain into gear. "I'd like a private table, please. And where is the ladies room?"
The hostess was waiting for her as she exited from the maze that had led to the facilities. "Come with me, please." She carried the oversized menu in front of her as if for protection as they proceeded down a shadowy corridor to the dining room. Finny tried to make herself inconspicuous, trailing closely behind her.
She needn't have worried. Passing from the tunnel-like corridor into the dining room recalled stories she'd read in an old issue of Spelunking Journal she'd found in her gynecologist's office. As she followed the hostess through a labyrinthine pathway among shrouded tables, she began to wonder if she'd even be able to find Cuffy and Kit. The dim candles at the center of each table were just bright enough to prevent running into the furniture. The ornamental lights spaced far apart on the walls were hardly relevant.
As she sat down at the table chosen by the hostess, she heard Cuffy's unmistakable tones and stiffened, ready to seek cover. As the anger in Cuffy's voice became evident, Finny turned her head slowly to look. She and Kit were three tables away, and very engrossed in each other: negatively, by the sound of the conversation.
"—promised you would let me think about this." Cuffy's voice thickened. "You said you'd give me time. And then you pull this kind of—of harassment."
"Cuffy." Finny could barely recognize Kit's shaken voice. "There's too much at stake here. You can't expect me just to sit back and wonder whether you'll decide to—"
"—and that's the real issue, isn't it?" Cuffy snapped. "You don't trust me enough to let me make my own decisions. You're no different from my father." She laughed, a grating laugh that was nibbling on the edge of hysterics. "Isn't that a piece of irony."
"You want a drink?" The waitress beside Finny's table was dressed in sateen pajamas decorated with machine-embroidered flowers.
Finny barely glanced at her. "White wine, please." She could feel her left ear growing larger as she strained to hear what Cuffy was saying.
"—tell by the expression on your face that you know what I mean."
Finny's lip curled. Either Cuffy had been given a better candle, or she had eyes like an owl.
"I love you, Cuffy. I'm not willing to let you make a mistake about us."
"You're not willing to let me do anything. You want it all your own way." There was a muffled sound as Cuffy surged to her feet, the chair upturned behind her. "I've had more than enough of that, Kit, and I won't let you get away with it. I'm leaving."
"No, Cuffy, wait." Kit stood up and went around the table. He grabbed hold of Cuffy's arm.
"Let me go." Cuffy's voice was rising. "I mean it, Kit, get your hands off me, now. Right now—" Her words broke off into a cry of pain.
"Cuffy, for god's sake."
Finny had gotten to her feet and now she went around her own table, her eyes on the two of them. She wasn't going to let him get away with strong-arming a woman.
She bumped into a table, nearly knocking it over. "Cuffy?" The folds of another tablecloth caught at her skirt as she passed by it, and she had to pull it off her to avoid carrying it, candle and all, in her wake.
Finny pushed the candle back into place and glanced up. Cuffy and Kit were staring at her as if she'd just waltzed in from a neighboring crypt. "You'd better not try anything," Finny growled at Kit. "I'll call the cops so fast they'll be booking you before you can ask for your check." She glanced quickly at Cuffy. "Are you all right?"
"What are you doing here?" Cuffy asked as Kit demanded, "Did you follow us?"
Finny raised her hand. "It sounded as though you were in trouble. I didn't want him to hurt you."
"Of all the harebrained—" Kit ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus, I can't believe that you're pulling this—this detective bit. Isn't all this nonsense about Twee enough?"
Finny ignored him. "I have my pickup out front," she told Cuffy. "I'll give you a ride if you want to go."
Cuffy seemed to sag. She bent down and righted her chair, then sat. The dim light created deep shadows over her eyes, masking their expression. "It isn't what it looks like," she said finally. "Kit wouldn't hurt me, at least physically."
"You sounded as though he already had." Finny looked at her over the wavering candle flame. "You didn't want to talk to him when you saw him after the luncheon."
Her face darkened and Finny realized that she was blushing. Cuffy glanced at the man beside her. "It's been a hard time for us lately. We haven't been able to tell anyone and that creates a lot of strain."
"Tell anybody what?"
Cuffy paused and Kit's voice, rough and resentful filled the small silence. "We have every reason to talk to each other. Cuffy's my wife."
* * *
The telephone rang the instant Finny walked through the door. Before she could answer, she heard Barelli's baritone from the living room. As she wandered in Barelli was saying, "Hold it, she just came in." He held out the receiver to her. "Abigail Hunter."
Finny grimaced, taking the receiver with all the enthusiasm of a skydiver being dropped out over the Gore Range. "Abigail?"
"What happened this afternoon?" By the sound of her, Abigail was on the prowl.
"What're you talking about?"
; "Don't get coy with me. I saw Paige Dexter take you out for a confidential chat at the read-your-way-to-riches luncheon. So what happened?"
Finny dropped her handbag onto the table and plumped down onto the sofa. What a pity the woman hadn't found a niche in government intelligence. She was so well suited for it.
"I was politely removed before I could find out much." Finny could hear the click of a lighter, then the quick inhale-exhale of the first draw on a cigarette.
"Come on, you can't tell me that Paige decided to compare social notes with you. What'd you talk about?"
"Once I realized she wasn't going to clap me into the dungeons for crashing the party, things got boring fast. She read me the riot act for intruding and that was about it."
Abigail swore fluently. "It's a good thing you aren't trying to make a living doing my job—you'd starve."
"I guess so," Finny said as humbly as she could. She'd be damned before she'd tell this bitch what she'd learned, not yet, anyway. "I just haven't found out anything worth telling you." Finny caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Barelli stood in the archway between the living room and dining room. He was gesturing "shame-shame" at her with his two index fingers. She reciprocated with a gesture involving only one finger. He grinned and headed back toward the kitchen.
"Well, just make sure you do—tell me, I mean. I've already delivered on my part of the deal."
"I appreciate that, Abigail." Through gritted teeth. "You already have my promise to do the same."
"Okay. Ciao. "
" 'Bye."
"You're going to hell." Barelli sauntered over to the couch, a beer in each hand. He handed her a bottle and sat down beside her.
Finny leaned back into the comfort of the overstuffed cushions. "Who says?"
"The Sisters used to tell me that every time I lied."
"So I'll have company. Besides, if I tell her about what I found out today, she'll splash it all over the paper."
"Really? What'd you get?"
"Cuffy Sarandon and Kit Landauer are married, have been for the last eight months." Finny bent her head so he could get his arm around her shoulders. She kicked off her heels and groaned in satisfaction. "How the hell women are supposed to compete with men and wear those damned instruments of torture is beyond me."
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