by Cynthia Kuhn
“What happened to him, anyway?” asked Norton, carefully setting his ubiquitous pipe on the table. “Is he okay?”
“Damon was the victim of a prank,” said Francisco angrily. “Someone slipped some anti-anxiety meds into his drink before the reading. That’s the working theory, anyway.”
Gasps broke out among the faculty members.
“I still can’t fathom how someone could do such a thing,” said Calista.
“Unimaginable,” agreed Nate.
“How could that have happened? Was he alone before the reading?” Calista asked.
“Not sure,” said Francisco. “Was anyone back there with him? I couldn’t get my car started and barely made it to the reading on time.”
We all affirmed that we were not with Damon.
I thought back to the span of time before the reading. Jasper had said Damon was backstage with Mina, Jasper, and Tally, none of whom would have done it. And I was fairly certain we could also rule out the chancellor as well. He wouldn’t have sabotaged his own event when there was money to be solicited.
“Campus Security suggested that perhaps one of the students working at Silver’s recognized Damon and spiked his to-go cup,” Francisco said. “Or maybe he didn’t even know who Damon was and did it for kicks.”
There was a long silence, then Spencer took a deep breath and put his hands gently on the table. “Well. That is extremely disturbing. We will have to do our best to make sure the rest of the events go as smoothly as possible.”
Everyone nodded dutifully.
Francisco told us Damon had been released from the hospital and was resting. “He’s still going to try to make it to the reception tonight.”
“Thank you,” Spencer said, “for staying on top of the situation.”
Calista added her thanks as well. I was glad Francisco was getting some confirmation for his efforts.
“We are also most grateful to Lila for getting Damon here in the first place,” Spencer added smoothly, which was kind of him. “And,” he continued, “Simone has also done a wonderful job of helping out by getting the students involved.”
Members of the faculty looked over and smiled at Simone in her cornflower blue cashmere sweater set and pearls. All Simone had done, as far as I could tell, was blame me for not doing what she’d said she would do. I didn’t buy her sweet-as-pie routine for one second. But I would let the people of Stonedale discover what lurked beneath that elegant façade on their own. They wouldn’t believe me, anyway, if I told them what machinations she was capable of. I could hardly believe it myself.
Calista caught my eye and raised her eyebrows a fraction of an inch. She knew.
“We need to go over the final contracts for the vendors,” Spencer continued, motioning to Glynnis, who was standing to my right. She handed me the stack of stapled handout sets, and I passed them along after taking the one on the top. We all sat politely until the papers made their way around the table, though I’m sure a fair majority of individuals had to work to suppress groans at the sight of those thick packets. I had hoped to be able to give my place one last going-over before my mother arrived, but it didn’t look likely.
One hour later, we had completed the project with a minimum of disagreement. We moved on to the new arrangements for Friday night and finalized those details as well. When people began to pack up their materials, I threw my notepad and pen into my bag, then made a run for it.
My key was in the front door lock when I heard a ruckus from the street. A yellow cab screeched to a stop, with my mother, in huge black sunglasses, waving enthusiastically from the back window.
“Lila!” she screamed, as if I wasn’t already staring at her.
“Hi Mom.” I walked down the sidewalk toward her.
“Hello, darling,” she chirped, hopping nimbly out of the cab, despite the stacked heels she’d paired with bright red capri pants. The filmy scarf she’d worn over the red hair cascading down her back added to overall “starlet” impression. Which was of course what she was going for. She tended to dress in character based on her current state of mind. Apparently, this weekend was all about evoking California glamour, even though we were a few states east of that.
She threw her arms around me and gave me a long hug with an extra squeeze for good measure, followed by several hearty smacks on my cheek and a quick survey from head to toe. “You look divine,” she pronounced. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”
Her gardenia perfume surrounded me as we waited for the driver to remove two large suitcases from the trunk and place them carefully on the sidewalk. “I brought a few different outfits,” she explained, at my look of surprise. “I didn’t know what we would be doing.”
“Come inside and I’ll tell you what’s going on,” I said, pulling up the handle of one of the suitcases and rolling it behind me.
When we had lugged the suitcases through the front door, she made an appreciative sound. “This is adorable, darling.”
“Thanks.” I was sure she was shocked at how small the bungalow actually was: just the one small front room with an indentation that served as a dining nook, a galley kitchen at the end, and two bedrooms in the back. The whole thing would have fit into a corner of the first floor of her brownstone, easy.
“And where is your bedroom?”
I led her to the other side of the room into a miniscule hallway, barely large enough to turn around in, with three doors. “That’s my bedroom on the left, the office in the middle, and the bathroom on the right.”
She praised everything effusively. Moms could be nice like that. “How long is the lease?”
“Just a year, but I have the option to renew. The landlord is one of my neighbors, and she said I can have it as long as I want it.”
“I approve. Very cozy.”
“It’s perfect for one person,” I agreed. “And the landlord is great. Sometimes she brings me cookies.”
My mother laughed. “While we’re on the subject of cookies, do you happen to have any? And perhaps some tea?”
“Wouldn’t you rather have lunch to hold you over until the reception?”
She pshawed the idea. My mother had never been what you’d call a regular eater. She often preferred to graze throughout the day with one particularly snacky repast in there somewhere.
I made some peppermint tea and set out Mint Milanos, her favorites, which I’d bought especially for her visit. Thus fortified mint-wise, we settled down at the oak table in my dining nook.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling,” she said. She slid a small box across the table.
“You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Yes, I did,” she said. “Open it.”
I ripped off the wrapping paper and opened the box to find a silver tonneau watch with Roman numerals nestled on a pillow within. Although her gifts had a tendency to demonstrate more of her style than mine, this one was completely on point.
“I love it.”
“Here,” she said, “let me fasten it for you.”
As if I were five. But I obediently held out my arm and let her slide the watch on carefully, then close the clasp. She patted my arm when she finished.
“Thank you so much. It’s beautiful.” I turned my wrist this way and that several times, admiring it, then hugged her. “I sent your gift to New York because I didn’t know you were coming out here.”
“How wonderful it will be to have a gift waiting for me when I go home. And I love it already, whatever it is, because it came from you.”
We smiled at each other.
“Have you heard from Damon?” I asked. “Does he know you’re here?”
“No,” she said, brightening. “Won’t it be fun to see his face?”
“Mom,” I said, “he’s probably still recovering. I don’t know if he’s up for a surprise.”
“What do yo
u mean? Did he go on a bender?” Her forehead creased with concern.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you yet. He was drugged, apparently.”
Her lips formed a perfect “O,” and she blinked a few times as she processed the information.
“How in the world did that happen?”
“No one knows, exactly.” I filled her in on what Francisco had speculated.
“What was the drug? Where did it come from?”
“Benzodiazepine. Anti-anxiety meds. You’d be surprised at what floats around readily available on college campuses.”
“Everyone and their cat seem to be on meds these days. And you know, darling, you can get just about anything on the internet too,” she said.
“Good points.”
“But, oh, poor Damon.” My mother stood up and rooted around in the red leather crossbody bag she’d chosen to match the capris and yanked out her cell phone. Scrolling down to his number, she pressed the send button and shoved the phone up to her ear. She paced back and forth quickly, her face flushing so quickly that I grew concerned.
“Do you feel well, Mom?”
She motioned for me to stop talking—one of those quick, dismissive waves. She could be abrupt when she was concentrating on something, and it was never intended to be hurtful, but it wasn’t my favorite thing about her.
After a minute, she hit the off button and sat back down. She took a sip of tea and shifted gears into plan formulation. I had seen her go into that stage so many times before that I had no doubt what was happening.
She sat up straight. “You know where he’s staying, right, darling? Let’s go over there. I cannot stand this one more minute. He needs to know I’m here to help if he wants me.”
“We only have a few hours until we have to leave for the reception. He’s probably sleeping, anyway. Why don’t you just leave him a voicemail, Mom? Then he can call you back when he’s ready.”
“That’s not how we communicate,” she said. Enigmatic perhaps but par for the Violet O course. She just did things her own way, explanations be damned.
As we pulled up to the Mountain Inn, I couldn’t shake the sense that this was a mistake. Mom insisted on having her window down to “enjoy the mountain air,” so I shivered the whole way there in my wool coat. My mother, however—even with no jacket and her California Girl Capri Look going on—kept saying, “Isn’t this invigorating?” She was in her glory, I realized, looking over at her sitting in the passenger’s side, with her face offered up to the sunshine, her cheeks aglow. Although drama tended to drain the emotional reserves of most people, it gave her an abundance of energy. Probably one of the character traits that made her such a productive artist: she was able to channel disruptions into creative momentum.
I touched her shoulder gently. She opened her green eyes—I’d inherited the same shade—and swiveled her head to get her bearings, then jumped out of the car as if on springs. I needed to ask her how she managed to be so energetic at all times. I tended to feel more like one of those lumbering bears in Yellowstone who backs up slowly and growls about it the whole way.
“I’ll wait for you down—” But she was already gone.
I pulled forward into one of the handy parking spots, locked the car, and went to sit in the warm lobby. Perching on the southwestern sofa next to the chipped table I’d seen before, I checked my phone. There was one text from Calista asking when and where the detective and I would meet them, with a postscript apology for not having followed up with me earlier. That was weird—hadn’t she called this morning? I pulled up my recent call list, which showed the last incoming was not Calista but one Lex Archer.
The person I’d thought was my cousin, when I barked out “Can’t talk” and clicked off in panic mode due to domestic mayhem, was actually my potential date for the chancellor’s reception. And instead of having a civilized conversation like a normal person, I’d hung up on him.
Oops.
Chapter 17
I went into full-on backtracking mode. First, I called Calista and explained what I’d done, begging her to decide where to meet tonight since I could barely think straight, what with my mother in town and the inadvertent pre-first-date rejection of my potential future boyfriend before we’d even had a chance to make arrangements for said initial date. She made some consoling sounds, then some cheerleading noises, then hung up.
I took a deep breath. Needed to be calm, cool, and collected.
I brought up the incoming log again and used the call back function. It rang a few times, but Lex didn’t pick up, so I left a voicemail saying I just wanted him to know, if he were interested, that there were plans being made for tonight. We would be meeting inside the party at the chancellor’s mansion and he was welcome to come. Not that I meant it as a date or anything but people were going to the reception. The same one we’d mentioned when we ran into each other last night. By mistake. Or on purpose. Or whatever that was. Also, I was sorry for the phone call thing this morning, but I thought it was Calista. Not that I usually did that to her either. In fact, that was the only time I’d ever done it. To anyone. In my whole life. Anyway, hoped to see him tonight. Francisco had added his name to the guest list. So he just needed to give his name to the door people. Or the security guards. Or the valets. Really, whoever was working and had a clipboard. At eight. At the chancellor’s mansion. As my date or not. Either way.
I yanked the phone away from my mouth in dismay and stared at it, then clicked off before I said anything else.
My mother rushed up to the sofa, red curls waving wildly around her lovely face. “Damon’s not up there. I don’t know where he is. Can we go to the hospital?”
“No,” I said firmly, surprising myself. “We don’t even know he’s at the hospital. He may just be sleeping. Right now, we’re going home.”
She took a closer look at my face and nodded. As I drove, she listened very sweetly to me relive the awkwardness that was the voicemail message which had been intended originally to correct the morning’s embarrassment but instead had only magnified the humiliation. By the time we got home, I felt better—largely due to her recounting several stories about her own dating mishaps.
The next hour was spent “primping,” as my mother called it, and “dressing,” as I called it, for the reception. Primping led to a burgundy cocktail gown with glittering jewelry and Jimmy Choos. Dressing led to flowing pants beneath a gothic-flavored black velvet jacket and my favorite boots. Her red curls tumbled prettily down her back; my dark locks were parted in the middle and hung below my shoulders. She was Venus to my Wednesday Addams, as usual.
The chancellor’s mansion was a thing of beauty—vast, columned, and spotlighted. It was located west of campus in a gated community. The estate itself had another wrought-iron fence around it for good measure, and we proceeded up the driveway only after our names were checked against the official list at the guardhouse. We pulled up to the portico, and the valet to whom my mother handed the keys gave her a double take. He didn’t think I saw him shake then bite his hand in the wake of her va-va-voomness. Good thing she didn’t. She would have turned around and given him a lecture on the objectification of women on the spot.
My mother and I walked through the massive double doors into the majestic foyer with a long curving staircase and fountain featuring a statue of some gracefully posed mythological goddess. Our coats were taken by red-vested attendants while we gaped at the magnificence.
I’d never been here before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect; we were led through a hallway into a great room with a polished black onyx bar along the left side. The entire back wall was made of windows—I guessed we’d be looking at a spectacular view of the mountains if it weren’t dark outside. As it was, the windows overlooked a patio dotted with trees in large planters, festooned with twinkle lights.
Tad appeared, accompanied by a tall blond man—both wearing tuxedos. They
were a handsome pair. We made introductions all around. Tad’s date was a new Political Science professor from Finland who knew of my mother’s work, so I let them chat for a few minutes while I scanned the room for Lex.
Eventually, I caught sight of Calista and Francisco at the bar, and I grabbed my mother’s wrist and pulled her gently in that direction. With a great deal of maneuvering and many apologies, we slowly made our way through the numerous crowd members, who were loose from cocktails and gabbing loudly around us. Finally we reached the right side of the onyx bar and greeted the couple. Francisco gave us a jaunty wave and returned to his drink. But Calista swooped in like a hawk who has just spotted her prey.
“Aunt Vi!” she screamed over the din. She gave my mother a fierce hug.
“Hello, my darling.” My mother smiled affectionately at Calista, who was lovely in an indigo sheath with an intricate embroidered pattern around the neck. “So happy to see you. How are you?” She gave Calista another hug.
“Just fine,” my cousin said. “Better now that you’re here, Aunt Vi. Can’t wait to catch up. Can I get you both a drink?”
“I’d love a champagne,” my mother said. “Lila?”
“The same.” I leaned against an open space on the bar, scanning the crowd again for Lex in a manner I hoped was unobtrusive.
“He’s not here,” Calista said, reaching behind me to accept champagne flutes from the bartender. And here I’d thought I was being so stealthy. “Yet,” she added. She reached out and stroked the velvet sleeve of my jacket. “Ooh. Now that’s one enticing fabric. Excellent choice. He won’t be able to keep his hands off of you.”