The Body in the Casket

by Katherine Hall Page

  She was casually dressed in black leggings, an orange chiffon shirt, draped low and cropped high, with a soft gold suede jacket, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Both wrists were adorned with what looked like multiple gold David Yurman bracelets. She was wearing opened-toed high-heeled cork sandals—a boon for Max’s parquet floors and the carpets, Faith thought. She’d also pulled her long hair up into a topknot with a few tendrils artfully escaping. All she needed were Jackie O sunglasses.

  “Am I the last?” she asked with a slight yawn. “Such a treat to sleep in. No early calls.”

  Faith was pretty sure it had been a long time since any studio had required Eve’s presence, early or late, but she merely asked her what she would like to eat, listing the choices. Remembering how much the woman had drunk the night before, she added mineral water to coffee, tea, and juice.

  “A little fruit. Mangoes if you have them. And toast. Wheat, no butter. Pomegranate juice and some Perrier. You can mix them together.”

  When Faith put it all in front of her with another plate of selected fruits she seemed disappointed. As if Faith had passed a test she was expected to fail. Before she could ask for anything more exotic, Alexis and Max entered the kitchen. Together. Very much together.

  Alexis was wearing a short dress that could also have been nightwear and her hair was down again—and tousled. No makeup that Faith could detect and still the woman looked radiant. Max was dressed in his usual chinos, sweater, and open-necked shirt. He was grinning.

  “I’ve just been giving Max his birthday present,” Alexis announced. “And it was just what he wanted.”

  Eve made a noise that was somewhere between a choke and a scream, then left the room, overturning the stool she had been sitting on when the two had entered. No one went after her.

  “Temper, temper,” Alexis said.

  “Hey, what’s with Eve?” Phil Baker said. “She just about knocked me over. I asked her what the rush was and she told me to drop dead. Well, an equivalent that I wouldn’t want to say in front of the ladies present. Anyway, I missed breakfast—great bed, Max. Slept like a baby. I looked in on the card players and Betty says they need sustenance. Can I get in on it? I’m going to take Adrian’s place for a while.”

  “Of course,” Faith said. He had a just-got-out-of-bed look, but it was very different from Alexis’s—and Max’s. Phil needed a shave and he hadn’t combed his hair. “I can give you brunch or lunch.”

  “Betty says club sandwiches are the only thing to eat when you’re playing bridge. Is that okay? And they’re out of ice.”

  Betty Sinclair seemed to have appointed herself hostess for the weekend. Faith gave him a fresh bucket of ice and told him she’d bring in the food soon. First she needed to take care of Max and Alexis.

  As suspected Ms. Reed, or Abbot, only wanted some fruit, yogurt, and green tea. Max said he’d grab a sandwich when Faith brought them to the others and left.

  Faith’s hopes of engaging Alexis in conversation were soon disappointed. After a few nibbles of fruit and sips of tea, the actress left, too, saying something about a long soak in the tub.

  Faith added a few Reubens to the platter of club sandwiches Betty had demanded. It was a somewhat childish gesture of rebellion but made her feel better. In addition to the platter she added bowls of coleslaw, potato salad, and other deli items with small plates and utensils. Ian came in as she was taking the first tray out and picked up another.

  “This looks good. Max loves Reubens,” he said. “I’m going to check the rooms to see if anyone needs more towels. I’ll look in on poor cousin Charles, too. Max added him when, well, others weren’t available. I’d never heard him mentioned before. Some sort of family falling-out I believe, but kin is kin I suppose,” he said.

  He sounded ironic, and maybe a little miffed. Chip might be family, but Ian seemed much closer. Faith put the thought from her mind, focusing instead on her disappointment at Ian’s first words. She’d hoped to do the housekeeping herself and engage in some subtle sleuthing. “I’m quite free now, so I can do the rooms,” she said.

  “That’s not necessary. I believe the kitchen is your domain.” He softened his somewhat abrupt words with a compliment: “Everything is going splendidly. The food couldn’t be better, and you are making everyone very happy. I know tonight’s dinner will most certainly be the icing on the cake.”

  No mention of the reason for the birthday party and Faith didn’t bring it up. She thanked him and started to get some of the preparations for dinner out of the way. She was whipping egg whites for Angel Food Cake when Angela came into the room.

  “Hi, good morning, or I guess it’s afternoon. I’ve been catching up on some reading for my courses. Max said I could use his office on the other side of the house. I didn’t bring my laptop, so he’s made one available. He has a Keurig there and I’m swimming in coffee. Could I make myself something to eat?”

  “No,” Faith said, “but I will, happily. That’s what I’m here for this weekend. Breakfast or lunch? If you want to skip breakfast I could make a panini or another kind of sandwich, and there’s split pea soup or more chowder.”

  “The chowder was great. I’ll have that and a grilled cheese and tomato. I don’t have very sophisticated tastes.”

  “You will.” Faith laughed. “I’m sure as a student you exist on instant ramen and other microwavables.”

  After a moment, Faith added, “I was very sorry to hear about your mother. It’s hard to lose a parent at any age, but especially difficult when you are so young. I know she did the costumes for Heaven or Hell and other shows. She must have been very talented.”

  “Thank you.” She gave Faith a grateful look. “I still can’t believe she’s gone, even though she was sick for so long. And yes, she was a design genius.”

  “It must have been fun for you growing up. Lots of dress-up clothes from the productions.”

  “She never worked on another show after Heaven or Hell.” Angela’s voice was filled with acid—so strong a drop would have eaten away the thickest surface. “My mother sacrificed her career for me. Costume design wasn’t steady enough, so she worked two jobs—tailoring for a small dry cleaning chain and doing alterations for a bridal shop near us.”

  Faith put the food in front of her. It was hard to know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. But it was what it was, although at the moment I’m not sure about even that anymore. What it was. I suppose you heard me—and Max’s answer—when I came in last night?”

  Faith nodded.

  “Well, we had a nice chat in his library afterward. He’s very kind and I learned that although he’s no relation, he has been supporting us in part all these years plus paying my tuition at NYU. I’m a senior and have been commuting from our apartment.”

  She ate some of the sandwich.

  “The problem now, Mrs. Fairchild, is I have absolutely no idea who I am.”

  CHAPTER 10

  By now, Faith had been sure she would be able to point to the casket culprit. Or at least have a strong inkling about who sent it. Nothing. Not even a slight hunch.

  With no immediate demands, she made herself a sandwich and sat looking out at the darkening sky. It was a good time to take stock and go over the guests. Funny to think that both Pix and Niki had been excited that she would be rubbing shoulders with stars, because aside from Alexis Abbot, none of the others had broad name recognition now. It was no longer a stellar group. Adrian alone was world renowned, but not under his given name. Would some have gone on to fame and fortune if Heaven or Hell hadn’t been such a flop? A jinx?

  And always, always the question of whom among them hated Max enough to both send the warning and carry out the implicit threat. She felt safe in eliminating Angela. Aside from the logistics of the casket delivery, and cost, the young woman believed Max was her father. She came to confront him, but patricide was a long way from “Hello, Daddy.” So what about the others? “Grudges,” Max had said, lethal ones.


  Adrian may have had dreams of seeing his plays produced on Broadway and in Covent Garden, but he also would not have achieved the heights he had if H or H had succeeded. In mystery novels, it was always the husband—or wife. Chat had said Max was much married. Was there an ex here out for revenge? Personal information about Max online was sparse. His Wikipedia entry was surprisingly brief, perhaps because the heyday of his career was before the online tool? No mention of spouses. Among this group, Alexis was too young and Betty was married to Phil at the time—an affair with each possible, but not a ring on the finger. What about Eve? Faith repeated the question to herself. What about Eve? She certainly seemed to have an agenda. If she wasn’t married to Max once, Faith was convinced she wouldn’t mind being Mrs. Dane now. Maybe not tucked away at Rowan House, but with the wherewithal to go someplace else.

  James Nelson was a conundrum. What had he been doing all these years out of sight? He seemed tailor-made for a long-lasting animus. His career had definitely been cut short, and he blamed Max. So had Tony Ames’s and Travis Trent’s. Talented men, but stalled after Heaven or Hell. Faith knew that box office poison meant just that, and a colossal failure would keep an actor out of work for a long time, maybe always. Betty Sinclair and Phil Baker had been extremely successful before H or H, so the musical’s closing so soon might not have mattered as much to them. Yet everyone wants to decide when to leave the party—not be thrust out. Which left cousin Chip. He’d been a walk-on in the show and was the same here—not on the original guest list. He would know Rowan House—or Frostcliffe in his parents’ day—well. Therefore, he was the person most likely to know how to spirit the casket through the woods to the front of the house, and he did have a Boston, as well as a New York, address.

  Both Jack Gold and Bella Martelli had been on the original list. Both dead. Maybe Faith shouldn’t be so quick to eliminate Angela. Max must have thought Bella had a good reason to wish him dead. A reason she told her daughter? Up in Max’s office studying, plotting?

  Sleet began to rattle against the windows. Max had said cocktails at six, dinner at eight. Faith thought she’d better check on the card players. Ian had brought the dishes and empty platters into the kitchen almost an hour ago. Where was everyone now? And what were they all doing?

  “Getting a bit nasty out,” Max Dane said, entering the kitchen. “I’d like your help, Mrs. Fairchild. Not that you haven’t been anything but helpful, but I wonder if you could go get Angela and pick out something for her to wear tonight? She’ll feel out of place with everyone else in formal dress.”

  Faith was puzzled. She didn’t have anything that Angela could wear, and while the notion of rifling through the other female guests’ closets was an entertaining one, the owner would be bound to notice if Angela borrowed a frock.

  Max saw her confusion and laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to grab some velvet drapes and do a Scarlett O’Hara. The Frosts were savers, and there’s a big cedar closet at the end of the second floor, near my office where she’s been studying. I should get rid of the stuff in it—clothes from who knows who across the generations. Well, I do know one, because she used to show it off. The white dress my grandmother was wearing in her portrait in the foyer. She would put it on and brag that she could still get into it.”

  “You’ve kept the portrait of her where you see it every day?” Faith blurted out. It struck her as masochistic in the extreme.

  “First of all, it’s a damn good—and valuable—painting. Although she was no looker, even at that age. Later it got worse. Mouth like sucking lemons. And next and last, I take pleasure in knowing how much she would hate my having it. But we’re getting away from the topic here. Could you go get Angela and see if there’s anything there she could wear for the party? There are even shoes.”

  It sounded like fun—and Faith had wanted an excuse to go to that part of the house. “Of course. And good thing about the drapes. I’m not handy with a needle.”

  “One more thing. I know I said Ian would do all the serving, but I’ve changed my mind. I want you in the dining room as much as possible. Leave only when you need to get more food and drinks. We’re still having cocktails on the landing, and of course you’ll be there passing things around. You notice I haven’t asked whether your suspicions have fallen on anyone yet.”

  “They haven’t,” Faith admitted.

  “They will after tonight,” Max said and left.

  “I wish my mom could have seen some of these. Look at the beading on this one.” Angela was holding up a dress that a flapper must have worn. The closet was a treasure trove of fashion. The Frosts had indulged themselves with only the best. There was a Worth wedding gown and postwar Diors. Faith thought one of these, full-skirted after fabric wasn’t rationed—the “New Look”—would be perfect on Angela. Knowing what the other women would most likely be wearing, Faith didn’t want Angela to appear as if she was in a costume. Dior was timeless.

  As soon as she’d seen the girl hunched over her laptop, Faith had crossed her off the list again. She’d looked young—and very vulnerable. Angela couldn’t be a killer. But Faith would select a killer dress. A My Fair Lady Pygmalion urge was taking over, and she wanted Angela to outshine everyone else.

  “How about this?” Angela asked, pulling out a long gown. “Should I try it on? It looks like it would fit.”

  The dress was a Dior, a pale pink satin sheath erupting just above the knee in a swirl of darker taffeta pleats—what was called a “mermaid gown” these days. When Angela put it on, Faith nodded in approval. Just as she was, in stocking feet, no makeup, Angela could have been on a catwalk.

  “Look at these! Too much?” Angela had unearthed a glove box and was pulling on a pair of long white kid ones.

  “Not at all, especially for the cocktail hour. And here’s a stole to go with the dress, it’s the same fabric as the ruffles,” Faith said. “Let’s see if we can find some shoes.”

  Reluctantly putting aside a pair of black suede Joan Crawford–type heels from the 1940s, Angela agreed to Faith’s choice—simple white satin heels that may have been a bride’s.

  “I’ll take everything and air them out,” Faith said. “Why don’t you get dressed in the housekeeper’s suite? It’s off the kitchen, and if you need help with anything, I’ll be close by.”

  “Thanks. This is so not what I usually wear! What should I do with my hair? Up or down?”

  “Hmmm,” Faith said. Betty’s hair was short, and the other two women would probably wear theirs up—the better to show off their tans and cleavage. “How about pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of your neck with a few strands loose around your face?”

  “Good. I wouldn’t want anything too fussy.”

  There was no need to select any jewelry. Angela was still wearing the wedding ring on a chain that Faith had noticed the night before—a piece she was sure the girl hadn’t taken off since her mother’s death and perhaps even before that. She was wearing simple gold hoop earrings now, and they would have to do.

  “Having a good time, ladies? Everybody decent?” Max called out before he stepped into the room.

  “Yes,” Angela said. “The clothes are incredible. Thanks, Max.”

  He handed her a small box. “I thought you might like something sparkly. Don’t want you upstaged.”

  Angela opened the box and took out a large diamond stud. Even in the room’s somewhat dim light, the earring shone. “These are fantastic, but I would be too nervous that I might lose them.”

  “They’re for you, kid. I want you to have them. And you won’t lose them.” Max walked toward the door. “Now, I need to talk to Ian, then it will be time for me to get myself gussied up.”

  Angela put out her hand to stop him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

  Faith shooed her off. “Take a long bath or shower. Whatever relaxes you. No more schoolwork tonight.”

  “Aye, aye, Mrs. Fairchild,” Angela said, saluting.
Faith gave her a quick hug. “Go on, now—and call me Faith, please.”

  She made sure everything was stowed in the cedar closet and went out into the hall. When she went to get Angela, Faith hadn’t had a chance to get a good look at Max’s office and she also wanted to see his bedroom. She was curious to find out if it was as beautifully decorated as the rest of the house.

  The office occupied a room that stretched from the front of the house to the back. A large arched triptych window overlooked the meadows. The top panes were Tiffany stained glass. Elsewhere the room was adorned with what Faith had expected to see all over the house—framed posters of Max’s hits, awards, photos with stars and other famous figures. She didn’t linger. Max would be back soon to get dressed, so she walked rapidly down the hall, opening doors as she went—more closets and one small bath—until she found the bedroom.

  It wasn’t sumptuous, although it was large with a picture window overlooking the view from the front veranda outside the summer parlor. But the room was spartan. It looked more like a monk’s cell than a Broadway luminary’s. Or, Faith realized, like the room assigned to him as a boy. The bed, a simple double one, had been neatly made. There was a chest of drawers, an armchair by the window, several bookcases, and an uncarpeted floor with a small plain beige throw rug by the bed. This wouldn’t have been the setting for Alexis’s birthday gift earlier. That must have occurred in her room.

  Faith couldn’t risk exploring any longer. There must be a dressing room, given the clothes she’d seen him wear, and a bath. She didn’t want to be caught prying.

  Max Dane the ascetic. Was there no end to the roles this man played?

  Although it had been late when she got home—after the movie, a drink at the Sligo Pub had seemed like a good idea—Samantha was up early the next morning and called her grandmother.

  “Hi, Granny, it’s going to be another cold one and they’re talking about sleet and freezing rain moving in. I’m on a later shift today and I thought I’d drive in, so I could come straight to you and spend the night afterward.” She hadn’t had a sleepover at her grandmother’s in years. But if Austin Stebbins were still there, it wouldn’t be the kind of fun she had in mind. Popping some corn and watching their favorite movies. With this in mind, she added, “Um, do you still have company staying?”