Porter’s wife, Lacey, owned a lingerie shop called UnderStatements, located next door to Janey’s Place. Lacey had donated a thousand-dollar shopping spree. Considering her store’s prices, I figured that spree would cover a garter belt, a pair of naughty knickers, and a single silk stocking. Porter had contributed a shopping spree of the same value at Vargas Sporting Goods.
I spied Victor at last, sitting at a small table on the far side of the room with…
I muttered a bad word. He was sitting with Chloe. How was I supposed to fill him in on Meredith’s tale with the subject of said tale sitting right there? Well, there was no help for it, that conversation would have to wait.
The two of them seemed to be getting along. Did Chloe still believe Lee’s nonsense about Victor accusing Chloe of murder? It didn’t appear so. Of course, now I was in the position of wondering how much of it was nonsense. Lee’s vindictive taunt might have been closer to the truth than even she imagined.
As I made made my slow way around the packed tables toward them, Kyle started the bidding on Dom’s donation: a Janey’s Place smoothie every day for a year, easily worth fifteen hundred vegetarian clams. Sophie Halperin trounced the other bidders to snag that one, a nice win for her which netted the Friends of the Waterfront eight hundred bucks.
Victor’s smile when he saw me made me feel all warm and silly inside. He rose and pulled out the chair next to his, being kept warm by Sexy Beast, who greeted me as if I were a long-lost pack member. I knew Kyle wouldn’t mind us bringing SB. Kyle liked me. I’m the reason there’s a brass plaque with his name on it at the Smithsonian, for heaven’s sake.
I greeted Chloe, who looked surprised to see me. She wore a green dress that complemented her red hair and was sipping white wine. “I thought you were tied up and couldn’t make it,” she said.
“I had an appointment in… New Jersey,” I said as I settled SB on my lap. Best not to mention Connecticut, where Chloe had gone to college and might or might not have offed her prof. “It didn’t go as long as I thought it would. Sorry I’m late.”
“You were meeting with a client?” Victor sipped his red wine.
I nodded. “That’s me, the tri-state Death Diva.” I hadn’t told Victor about the info Bonnie had passed me since it had been illicitly obtained and was ultrasecret and not to be divulged on pain of death and all that. He knew nothing about Meredith Dorn’s phone tips to Cullen.
At the podium, Kyle was in the process of auctioning Ben Ralston’s donation: two thousand dollars’ worth of investigative services. Lots of tittering and pointed comments for that one.
Chloe said, “If I had employees, I’d probably bid on that and use it for background checks. You can never be too careful.”
“Some people do that when they start seeing someone, yes?” Victor said. “To make sure the person they’re dating doesn’t have a criminal record.”
“Or a spouse,” Chloe said. “It’s sad, but people lie about that sort of thing all the time.”
The little devil who lurks in a dark corner of my brainpan, where normally she just crouches there stroking her forked tail and snickering, decided to speak up. “Has that ever happened to you, Chloe? Where you, you know, were dating someone and found out he was married?”
She didn’t hesitate. “No, thank goodness.”
Victor said, “That probably means you’re a good judge of character.”
She smiled at the compliment. “I like to think so.”
None of us mentioned what we all had to be thinking. Even if she’d never been involved with a married man—Meredith’s accusations regarding her late husband notwithstanding—there was still the small matter of Swing’s active social life, right up until the end. So it’s not as if she’d never been deceived—if he and Chloe had actually been engaged, that is. As it stood now, that was a big if.
My brain hurt trying to sort through it all. I reached for the pitcher of beer, then thought better of it. I wanted my wits about me when I told Victor about the latest development. I reached for the cola instead and poured myself a glass. I tried to top off Chloe’s wineglass, but she declined, explaining she was driving. Victor allowed me to refill his glass, although he already looked a tad bleary. I wondered how much he’d had before I’d arrived.
Sexy Beast was now standing on my lap, avidly hoovering all the enticing smells and entreating me with his eloquent gaze. “One chip. Make it last.” I offered him a potato chip, which he sniffed and delicately took from my fingers before settling back down on my lap to dissect it.
“Sold!” Kyle announced. We joined the crowd in applauding Mal Wallace, Nina’s husband and the high bidder for Ben’s investigative services. Sure, Mal had two daughters of dating age, and a nervous dad might view background checks as a valuable tool for vetting their suitors. But he also had a pregnant wife—and little doubt as to the identity of the baby daddy. Sadly, it was not someone he greeted in the mirror every morning.
Nina managed to ignore the sly looks and whispered conversations rippling through the room, though her color spiked. Damn the woman, she even looked pretty blushing from embarrassment. Everyone present had to be thinking the same thing: With a wife like Nina, the investigative services of someone like Ben Ralston could come in handy.
Kyle announced the next item in the program: a dozen two-hour children’s art or cooking lessons to be given in your own home. The donor? Kari Faso. I looked around the room and found her sitting with Dom and her mother, Lana, as well as Dom’s third ex-wife, Meryl Hanover, the poet. Well, wasn’t that cozy. The fact that my ex and all his exes got along so well—one big, happy ex-family—sometimes irked the heck out of me. I didn’t know why that was, and chose not to explore those uncomfortable feelings. Does that make me immature?
Gee, thanks. I really didn’t need you to answer that.
Kari looked blasé, but I knew that girl and didn’t doubt she was nervous and excited as bidding commenced. A couple of well-heeled local matrons started it off, which prompted others to join in. Kari was well liked in the community, despite her association with a possible killer, her boyfriend Tucker Nearing. Most people who knew Tucker assumed he’d somehow been railroaded.
Suddenly Maia Armstrong joined the bidding, pushing the price for Kari’s lessons into the high three digits and causing the other bidders to fall by the wayside, one by one. Gone was Kari’s carefully cultivated façade of boredom. Her expression was a wide-eyed grin as she took in the action.
“Sold to Maia Armstrong!” Kyle hollered at last. The room erupted in applause as Kari accepted congratulatory backslaps and kisses. She was the youngest donor by far, and she’d managed to outshine most of the others.
“Good for her!” I turned to Victor, who appeared to be having trouble focusing on his surroundings. “Hey.” I placed my palm on his back. “You okay?”
He offered a sleepy smile. “Too much wine on an empty stomach. I’m fine.”
I pushed his wineglass away and shoved the bowl of chips in front of him. “Eat.”
I watched Kari rise and make her way over to Maia, no doubt to thank her. They hugged and chatted animatedly as Kyle introduced the next item on the agenda, this one donated by Martin McAuliffe: local chauffeuring on that big old Harley of his for a year or a thousand miles, whichever came first. The response was immediate and intense. Kyle had trouble controlling the bidding as women of all ages practically leapt out of their seats in their determination to snag this particular prize.
One of the bidders was sitting at the next table. Her perplexed husband asked, “What’s the appeal of a few motorcycle rides? You have a brand-new Lamborghini sitting in the garage.” Having personally clung to the padre’s muscular torso while riding behind him on that big, sexy, rumbling machine, I could have told him what the appeal was. He probably didn’t want to know.
The commotion was so lively and loud, it was impossible to conduct a conversation. Martin, shy and retiring as always, came to his feet and encouraged the ladi
es, winking and blowing kisses and driving the bidding skyward. For effect he wore his black leather motorcycle jacket over snug jeans and a black tee-shirt, with his helmet tucked under his arm.
“The man is shameless,” I muttered. It wasn’t a value judgment, it was more of, you know, an observation.
I glanced back over at Maia’s table and saw that Kari was no longer there. She wasn’t sitting with her parents either. I assumed she’d gone to the ladies’ room. I stood and placed SB on my chair, grabbing my purse and admonishing him to lie down and behave. “I’ll be right back.”
Victor mumbled something in French. My confusion seemed to register and he said, “Is it over already?”
“No, I’m just going to the john. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.” I met Chloe’s gaze. She cut her eyes to the carafe of red wine. The level didn’t look too low, but it might have been refilled. Victor wasn’t a heavy drinker as far as I knew, but again I asked myself, how well did I really know him? And he’d been under a lot of stress lately.
“Think you could get hold of some coffee?” I asked her, nodding toward Victor. “I’m thinking that might be a good idea.”
She got the message. “I’m on it.”
In the ladies’ room I found Kari washing her hands. We hugged and I congratulated her.
Her grin was a mile wide. “Maia’s going to bring me in for children’s birthday parties that she caters. I’ll do cooking and art lessons as, like, a party activity. If it works out, she might hire me as a part-time assistant.”
“You told me you want to be a chef,” I reminded her. “This could be a great first step.”
“I know,” she squealed.
A stall door opened and Maxine Baumgartner emerged. “Hey, congrats, kiddo,” she told Kari, her voice as rusty and grating as always. “You have the makings of a fine businesswoman. How old are you now?”
“Sixteen.”
“Well, in a couple of years maybe you can work the kitchen at Murray’s.” She turned off the water and grabbed a paper towel. “You know, part time. How does that sound?”
“It sounds great. Thank you, Ms. Baumgartner.”
She made a face as she lobbed the wadded towel into the trash. “It’s Max. You make me feel a hundred years old with that ‘Ms. Baumgartner’ crap.”
After Maxine departed, I checked that the stalls were vacant and we were alone. Something had occurred to me, and I needed to find out whether I was on the right track. “Kari, I have to ask you something. It’s about that party your dad gave last summer. When you met Swing. Remember? You told me you brought hors d’oeuvres and he said they were good?”
“He said they were great.” She blushed, then sobered. “He was a nice person. He didn’t have to say that. He didn’t have to talk to me even, he was this big, famous chef. But he was just…” Her eyes glistened. “He was just really nice.”
I sensed that Kari had moved past her adolescent crush and was viewing Swing from a more mature perspective. “It was a pool party, right?” I asked. “Do you happen to remember when it was?”
“Sure,” she said. “The Fourth of July. Why?”
I thought I’d prepared myself for this possibility, but her answer still felt like a fist to the gut. I grabbed a sink to steady myself.
“Jane?” She touched my arm. “Are you all right?”
It was the same question I’d just asked Victor. My friend who’d had too much to drink. Only, I’d never seen him have too much to drink, and in the nearly three weeks he’d been living in my home, he’d had ample opportunity. I hauled in a deep breath and forced myself to think.
Swing had proposed to Chloe on July Fourth, according to her. He’d taken her to a fireworks display out east. Candles. White tablecloth. Champagne.
They’d toasted their engagement with Dom Perignon. His favorite. Only, she’d never actually mentioned the brand, had she? Victor had deduced it from Swing’s cryptic calendar entry.
Dom p.
Shorthand for “Dom’s party.” My initial response to Swing’s calendar entry had been correct. “Dom” literally meant Dom, as in my Dom. It had nothing to do with any damn champagne.
“When?” I asked Kari.
“What?”
“When was the party?”
“July Fourth, like I said.”
“No,” I said, “I mean what time of day? Afternoon? Evening?”
“Evening,” she said. “Well, all night. It went real late.”
“How long did Swing stay?”
Her frown told me she knew this was important even though she didn’t know why. “A long time. He got there around six—he brought ribs and beer brats—and he was still there when I went to bed about two in the morning. He and some others were horsing around in the pool, like, for hours.”
So Swing hadn’t been out east with Chloe that night, proposing to her during a fireworks display. The only accurate part was her calling the evening “magical,” since magic is nothing but tricks and lies.
“I asked my dad why you weren’t there,” Kari said. “He told me you were out of town.”
I nodded. “I didn’t even know about the party. My aunt and uncle live in North Carolina. My folks and I were down there that whole week visiting them and my cousins.”
On the drive back from Meredith’s place in Connecticut I’d taken a fresh look at a few things, including Swing’s texts. His emails. Not only had he and Chloe only talked business, there’d been not one reference to their engagement or anything romantic. I’d paid too little attention to the discrepancy. At the time I’d been more concerned with Victor’s feelings, his dismay over the discovery that his brother had been a philandering jerk.
If Chloe’s relationship with Swing, their engagement, was indeed a product of her demented imagination, then he had not in fact been a philandering jerk. He’d been what his friends and fans had believed at the time: a studly bachelor living it up with a variety of willing partners.
“I’ve got to get back.” I yanked open the door and hurried back to the restaurant’s dining room, where Kyle was directing the bidding for one of Norman Butterwick’s landscape paintings, this one an exquisite rendition of a sun-spangled beaver pond in upstate New York.
“Three seventy-five,” Kyle hollered. “Do I hear four hundred?”
Russell Appell bid four hundred, and immediately Nina shouted, “Four fifty!” I was pretty sure the painting would end up selling in the mid four figures. I also suspected that many of the folks bidding on it were counting on it increasing in value once Norman kicked the bucket. They might have a bit of a wait. Norman might be in his nineties, but his parents both lived well past one hundred.
I maneuvered around tables, bumping into people and apologizing, as I raced back toward my table. When I was almost there, I stopped short. The table was vacant. Victor and Chloe were gone.
17
“Nine-One-One, What’s Your—Hiccup—Emergency?”
“WHERE ARE THEY?” I spun around, addressing everyone within earshot. “Where did they go?”
“Who?” asked the young woman who, along with her husband, owned the pottery studio on Main Street. We’d been introduced, but I could never recall their names, and I was always too embarrassed to ask.
“Are you looking for the couple you were sitting with?” Pottery Man said. “They left.”
“He was acting funny,” Pottery Lady said.
“Funny how?” I asked.
“Dizzy,” Pottery Man said. “Stumbling. Hammered would be my guess. His wife said she was taking him home.”
As I ran for the exit I heard Pottery Lady correct her husband. “She’s not his wife. Didn’t you recognize him? That’s Swing’s brother.”
Outside, I shielded my eyes from the blinding sunshine and looked all around, hoping to spot Victor and Chloe. If I could stop them before she got him into her car…
They were nowhere to be seen. I ran around the side of the building, scanning the cars parked alongside the dock.<
br />
“Jane!”
It was the trio of fan girls, leaning against the building. True to their word, they’d waited outside the restaurant. As they strolled toward me, I saw that Ariel was cuddling Sexy Beast.
“SB!” I took him from her and gratefully accepted his enthusiastic doggie kisses, though they did nothing to calm me.
“We didn’t know who he belonged to,” Phoebe said. “He was, like, wandering around out here all alone.”
“Did you see him?” I demanded. “Did you see Victor? He was with a red-haired woman.”
Mandy nodded. “Swing’s agent, right? We saw her on TV.”
“Victor was super drunk,” Ariel said. “He could barely walk.”
“He looked ready to face-plant,” Phoebe said. “She had to, like, hold him up. We offered to help, but she said she had it under control.”
“She’s taking him home to sleep it off,” Mandy said.
“Kind of depressing to see him so wasted,” Ariel said. “I thought he had more, I don’t know, class.”
“It’s worse than that,” I said. “I think he’s in danger.”
All three came to attention at that, staring wide-eyed. Their beloved Victor, in danger?
“Did you see them leave?” I asked.
“Yeah, her car was right there.” Ariel pointed to any empty spot in the middle of the parking lot. “They left, like, a couple of minutes ago.”
“I’m parked—” impatiently I gestured down the street “—practically in the next town. Do you have a car here?”
“Come on.” Ariel produced a key fob and beeped a bright blue Lexus parked a few feet away. The girls must have been among the first to arrive, in order to snag a spot so close.
Perforating Pierre (Jane Delaney Mysteries Book 3) Page 22