“He told me.”
Relieved but not daring to say anything else about her interaction with Gideon, she said, “You must enjoy having him in Ohneka.”
“He’s an outstanding young man. I’m glad he’s rid of Tamara.”
“Is that his former fiancée? You told me she . . . that they broke up.”
“Yes. She was a nice girl, mostly, but I could tell there were things about Gideon she wanted to change. He’s not a DIY project.”
“Absolutely.” Natalie felt disingenuous not mentioning that Gideon was coming over for lunch tomorrow, but since he planned to discuss things Felicia didn’t want him to talk about, she didn’t want to stir conflict between stepmother and stepson. Keeper of the world’s secrets.
A man dressed in a tailcoat opened the door to Maison du Canard. “Good evening, ladies. May I see your invitation?”
Natalie took her invitation out of her silver evening clutch and handed it to the man. Felicia didn’t offer hers, thought Natalie knew she’d received one. She didn’t need to show it; Natalie’s invitation covered herself and a guest.
The man scanned the barcode on Natalie’s invitation and handed it back. “Thank you, Ms. Marsh.”
Natalie and Felicia stepped through the doorway. On the dais set against one wall of the octagonal building, a jazz band was playing “Take Five.” Classic jazz seemed tame for Chapman. The band must be background entertainment, not the pièce de résistance.
Felicia headed for the coat check. Natalie followed but kept her shawl on. It was by far the dressiest part of her outfit.
“My lady! Paragon of loveliness, sorceress of the human mind!”
Smiling, Natalie pivoted toward Bob Chapman. His white hair was so wild tonight that she wondered if he’d escaped his house before his wife had had a chance to corner him and fix it. “It’s good to see you, Bob.”
Chapman took her hand, bowed, and kissed it. “Ah, Dr. Natalie, it’s always good to see you, especially as a glittering beauty in silver and purple. I am, alas, unchivalrous enough to mix business and pleasure, so I will take this moment to suggest a possible psychiatrist for you to court for your still-imaginary clinic. My wife recommended a doctor by the name of Marianne Avery. She knows Dr. Avery socially but has heard stellar feedback from those who know her professionally. She has a charitable heart and might be interested in donating time. Her office is in Canandaigua.”
“I haven’t worked with her, but I’ve heard her name,” Natalie said. “Thank you; I’ll contact her.”
Felicia returned to her side. Natalie touched her arm. “Bob, this is my longtime friend—”
“Yes, indeed, I recognize her.” Chapman grasped Felicia’s hand. “The elegant and savvy Felicia Radcliffe, clothed in velvet and stars.” He kissed her hand. “Dear lady, I was deeply sorry to hear of your husband’s death. He was a treasure, and my beloved Mel will never cease to mourn the absence of his good nature, his charming inventory, and his advice.”
Felicia said nothing. Natalie glanced at her. Her expression was blank and cold.
“MaryLisa’s was a lovely store.” Natalie jammed her own words in place of what should have been Felicia’s response. “Unfortunately, just peeking in the window was enough to overdraw my bank account.”
Chapman released Felicia’s hand, showing no sign that he’d been offended by her silence. “Ah, Frau Seelenklempnerin, if you desired riches, you should have chosen a profession that paid in gold, not in the currency of satisfaction for succoring the struggling. Ladies, please enjoy the party, eat and imbibe, dance and sing, and prepare yourselves for a mind-expanding performance brought to you from the peaks of the Swiss Alps.” He bowed and strolled toward the next group approaching the coat check.
“Swiss Alps.” Natalie smiled at Felicia. “Do you think he’s imported yodelers? Or Alpenhorns?”
Felicia didn’t reply. Her gaze stayed locked on Chapman, who was greeting the arrivals with animated handshakes and graceful hand kissing.
Natalie brushed her fingers against Felicia’s shoulder. “Are you all right? Parties can be overwhelming, and Bob is pretty much always overwhelming.”
“I’m fine,” Felicia said, her voice steady. “What did he call you?”
“What do you—oh, the German. ‘Ms. Psychologist.’ ‘Ms. Shrink.’ I made the mistake of telling him I wanted to learn German, and now he’s forever throwing phrases at me. And he’s right that nobody who wants to get rich goes into this profession.”
“He’s the expert on getting rich,” Felicia said. “Excuse me, but I’d like to approach this on my own for a while. I’ll wander around, see if there’s anyone I feel like talking to, maybe sit in the lounge if I need a break.”
“Whatever you’d like.”
Felicia walked away. She stayed close to the periphery of the room, her pace slow, her gaze skimming the guests.
Hoping Felicia might find some friends—and greet them with more enthusiasm than she had Chapman—Natalie scanned the room herself. Was Camille here yet? She spotted Kirk and his wife, Deborah, talking with Skyler and Vicki and wandered toward them.
“Lookin’ amazing, Nat!” Skyler kissed her cheek.
“Thanks. You too,” Natalie said. “That must be the new tux.”
“The ridiculously expensive new tux.” Vicki hugged Natalie. “I’m not sure what was wrong with his old one.”
“I wanted a new one. That’s what was wrong with the old one.” Skyler patted the satin lapels on his ash-gray jacket. “I’m a height-of-fashion man, and I’m worth every penny. Invest in making me look good and you can’t lose.”
“Not true,” Kirk said. “I invested in Get Hudson a Decent Haircut stock and lost my shirt.”
“The shirtless look got you that flabby, rotting-flesh-zombie role in the next blockbuster, so you should thank me,” Skyler said.
Deborah grimaced at Natalie. “I’m so sorry for what you have to put up with at work.”
“Natalie’s sorry for what you have to put up with at home,” Skyler said.
Vicki sighed. “Ignore him. New suits make him think he’s a comedian emceeing the Oscars.”
“Hey, how can I not invest in my appearance when I’m side by side with this gorgeous brunette?” He grinned at Vicki. “Just trying not to embarrass her.”
“Tape your mouth shut,” Kirk said. “That will prevent embarrassment a lot better than a new tux.”
Natalie laughed. “Truce, guys. Vicki, that’s a gorgeous necklace.”
“Thank you.” Vicki ran her finger along the sparkling red crystals and scallops of silver filigree.
“I have great taste, right?” Skyler said. “Got it to go with her dress.”
“You gave it to her?” Natalie asked. “You do have great taste. Where did you get it?”
“Uh . . . that fancy little store downtown . . . forgot the name. You know the store, Nat; we both know . . . knew . . . the owner.”
“MaryLisa’s,” Natalie said.
“Yep, that’s it.” Skyler gave Kirk’s wife an impish smile. “Deb, if you want stunning jewelry for your next birthday, slip me Kirk’s credit card and deputize me to do the shopping. My taste will make up for the last thirty years of irons and frying pans that Kirk’s been—”
Vicki clamped her hand over Skyler’s mouth. “Truce, remember? Be nice for the rest of the evening, and I’ll bribe you with coconut bread. Okay?”
Eyes gleaming with greed, Skyler nodded. Vicki lowered her hand.
“Does that apply to me too?” Kirk asked. “I’ve heard about your legendary coconut bread.”
“It applies to you too,” Vicki said.
“Wait, Vic,” Skyler said. “You’re messing with me. You’re climbing on an airplane at the crack of dawn tomorrow. When are you going to have time to make coconut bread? I ain’t waiting a week for my bribe.”
“I have several loaves in my freezer. You can have one. And take one of them to work for Kirk.”
“What? I didn’
t know you had a stash!”
“Where are you traveling to?” Deborah asked.
“Boston. Marketing seminar,” Vicki said.
Skyler was still goggling at her. “You’re a dragon hoarding gold. I can’t believe it.”
“Excuse us.” Vicki linked arms with Skyler. “I’ll feed him. That should calm him down.” She drew him toward the food tables.
Kirk gestured across the room. “Deb, there’s Gwen. Better catch her before she disappears.”
“Oh! Excuse us, Natalie. I’ve been trying to get some information about the Harvest Faire for weeks; I’d better corner Gwen now. Good to see you.” Kirk and Deborah hurried away.
Natalie glanced toward the food tables. Talk of coconut bread had stirred her appetite, and the themed food at these parties was always interesting. Last year’s Scottish fare had included smoked salmon, roasted partridge, butter-rich shortbread, potato scones, and haggis. Trying to think of what foods, besides chocolate, she associated with Switzerland, she walked toward the first of the food tables.
“Nat!” Camille swished up from behind her. She was wearing a royal-blue silk dress and heels decorated with blue and clear crystals. “Your shawl. That is divine! Where did you get it?”
“Andrea.”
Camille winked. “Of course.”
“Did I tell you she’s trying to send me to Alaska?”
“Temporarily or permanently?”
“Temporarily. On a cruise.”
“Take her up on the offer. I’ll come with you.” Camille held out her purse. “Here’s my pride and joy.”
“Oooh.” Natalie tucked her own purse under her arm and took Camille’s. “This is spectacular.” No wonder Lacey wanted to make more of these, though she’d definitely need to find a bigger market than Ohneka.
“Isn’t it breathtaking?” Camille beamed as she took the purse back. “Do you think Dante is shocked at how much he spent on my frivolous gift?”
“Dante knows that if you’re serving as his gift-buying agent, you aren’t going to give yourself a toaster.”
“I bought the dress to match the purse.” Camille held the purse against her skirt. “And I think . . . I think I might even flirt tonight, if I can find prey. I think . . . maybe I’m ready.”
“Dante would approve.” Natalie shifted her purse back into her hand and straightened her shawl. “Flirt away.”
“I will if you will. If you won’t, I won’t.”
“Oh boy.” Natalie grimaced. “No pressure. If I sort of have a date tomorrow that isn’t really a date but does involve a single man, does that get me out of flirting tonight?”
“Oh brother. By that definition, you could count the plumber coming to fix your toilet or the guy on the porch trying to sell you solar panels.”
“Felicia’s stepson is worried about her and wants my insights. I invited him to lunch so we can talk.”
“Good job, lady! How’s Felicia doing? That’s wonderful that she came tonight.”
“Yes, it is. She’s stressed, but she’s here. I’m sure Gideon will be glad to hear that she came to a party.”
“His name is Gideon? I like that. It has that something-hundred-B.C.-meets-trendy flavor. Nice guy?”
“Seems like it.”
“Then I can’t wait for your report. Hey . . . Nat.” Camille’s tone went so serious that Natalie feared she’d already changed her mind about flirting and was planning to slip off to one of the lounges and scroll through pictures of Dante on her phone. “Earlier this evening, I started sorting through some of Dante’s papers that I hadn’t gotten to before. I thought it might be therapeutic. Filing things I wanted to keep, shredding things I didn’t. Clearing out some space, I guess, physically and mentally.”
“Did it help?”
“Yes . . . well, it wasn’t too intense. There were things like old notes from law school and the rental agreement from his first apartment. All our current financial information is in a different cabinet, so I hadn’t had a reason to look through this one. Dante was something of a pack rat. An organized pack rat, but still. I barely made a dent in his paper collection, but it was satisfying to get started on it. The strange thing is, I found a letter for you.”
“For me?”
“It was in one of his law-firm envelopes but didn’t have a full address—just your name written in his handwriting.”
A sweaty, dark feeling settled over Natalie, as though she were standing in a pitch-black swamp, not a bright, climate-controlled reception hall. “Why would he write me a letter and stick it in his filing cabinet?”
Camille squeezed Natalie’s arm. “I’m thinking the same thing you are. Something about your mother. I was planning to give it to you here, but . . . I’m guessing you probably don’t want it at a party?”
“No.” Natalie tried to fathom what Dante would have said to her in a letter he’d never delivered. She’d never dealt with him over her mother’s will—why would she? She wasn’t a beneficiary.
“Are you okay?” Camille asked.
“Yes. Just confused. The estate was settled before he died.”
“It can’t have been official law-firm business,” Camille said. “He wouldn’t have kept that type of correspondence in a blank folder in a filing cabinet he hardly ever used. But I do wonder . . . Dante was such a sweetheart . . . I wonder if it was a personal letter to you saying how sorry he was about your mother’s behavior.”
“How would he know I didn’t deserve to get cut off?”
“He didn’t know until he met you. He didn’t know anything about you. But then he heard me singing your praises and telling him stories of what your mother was like when you were growing up. I’ll bet he felt so bad for you that he wanted to express his sympathy.”
“But he didn’t send the letter.”
“Yes . . . he would have felt terrible for you, but he was also very professional. My guess is he wrote the letter, then waffled on giving it to you, realizing he was mixing business and personal life and shouldn’t go there. I’m sorry. I know this is a painful topic for you, and I know how hard you tried with your mother, and it’s not something you like to dwell on. If you don’t want the letter, I’ll just shred it.”
“If I don’t read it, I’ll keep wondering about it.”
“Do you want me to read it first? See if it’s something you’d want to see? If it’s not, I can summarize it for you and destroy it and you can forget it more easily.”
Natalie felt she shouldn’t agree—she was a bigger chicken than Dante if she couldn’t even handle opening his letter. But what benefit would she find through reading it? Even sympathetic words would embarrass her more than comfort her.
“There’s not a right or a wrong answer,” Camille said.
Natalie steadied herself, imagining cool wind blowing muggy misery away. “Vet it for me. Read it and call me tomorrow.”
“I’ll do that. Now forget about it, and let’s go check out the food and talk more about who you’re going to flirt with tonight.”
“I thought we agreed that I—” Natalie’s purse buzzed in her hand, interrupting her.
Camille poked the silver clutch. “You’ll have better luck flirting if you turn off your phone entirely.”
“Nice. From refusing to even consider getting interested in anyone to deciding you might want to flirt to lecturing me about flirting, all in the last fifteen seconds.”
“When I decide on a goal, I go for it. And I’m teasing you about the phone. I know you get edgy if you’re completely unreachable. I’m going to grab a drink while you check that.” Camille sailed toward the bar.
Reluctantly, Natalie opened her purse and took out her still-vibrating phone, hoping it was a call she could ignore.
Her answering service. Not ignorable. As she lifted the phone to her ear, she hurried toward one of the glass doors that opened onto a wraparound deck. “Hello, this is Natalie Marsh.”
“Hi, this is Deanna from HealthSupport. We received a call
from Mr. Jonas Egan. He said his wife, Lacey, is a client of yours. Lacey has been missing since this afternoon, and he’s concerned. I suggested he call the police, but he refused. He wants to talk with you. He was very agitated.”
“More worried, or more angry?”
“He seemed more worried to me.”
Natalie stepped closer to one of multiple patio heaters. Despite the heaters, no one else was using the deck, and she was glad she hadn’t had to go far to find privacy. “Did he clarify why he’s so concerned at her being gone for a few hours?”
“I asked if he thought she was in danger, either from herself or others, but I couldn’t get a straight answer. He kept demanding to talk to you. I said I would pass on the message but repeated that if he feared his wife was in trouble, he should call the police.”
“Okay. Thank you, Deanna.” Natalie took a notebook and pen out of her purse. “Give me his number.”
Deanna offered it. “Have a good evening.”
“I hope so. Thanks.” Natalie hung up.
Cold wind blew her hair and rippled the obsidian water. Natalie edged closer to the heater, prepped herself mentally, and called Jonas.
“Yes, hello?” His voice was curt.
“Mr. Egan, this is Natalie Marsh. I understand you’re concerned about your wife. I can listen to your concerns, but please understand that I can’t—”
“She’s gone.” Jonas’s voice trampled hers. “She’s been gone since this afternoon, gone for seven hours. I can’t call her. She left her phone, smashed it—threw it. It broke a mirror and broke the phone. She’s never done anything like that. Have you heard from her? She might call you. She said she likes you. Has she called you?”
Natalie bypassed that question; she wanted more information first. “What happened to provoke her leaving?”
“We . . . a fight. We fought. Just yelling. I didn’t hit her. I’m not her psycho dad.”
“She left because she was angry with you?”
“Yeah, I guess, or maybe scared . . . I don’t know. She was upset, crying.”
“Are any of her possessions gone? Clothes, for instance?”
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