The Art of Vanishing (A Lila Maclean Academic Mystery Book 2)

by Cynthia Kuhn

  “Calista!”

  She handed me a glass of champagne. “Drink this and relax. He’ll either be here or he won’t. Try to enjoy the night either way.”

  Nate, handsome in a black suit with a red tie, walked up and greeted us. He squeezed my shoulder with his left hand while he pulled his waiflike companion in a rose-colored dress around in a swirl until she came to rest in front of me. It put me in mind of twisting a cone of cotton candy. Her dark blue eyes sparkled as she laughed up at him.

  “Lila, this is Amanda.”

  My stomach tightened. I don’t know why Nate having a girlfriend bothered me. I didn’t want to date him, for goodness sakes. Maybe it was just that I liked having all of his attention to myself. If so, I deserved a stern talking-to.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, with a huge smile to counter my thoughts.

  “You too,” she said in a friendly tone. She gave me what seemed to be a genuinely warm smile, revealing her straight white teeth. Her brown hair was the kind of glossy silk you only see achieved in shampoo commercials, her cheeks a lovely shade of pink, and her lashes so long that they almost touched her perfectly shaped eyebrows. Yet she didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup.

  I chugged the rest of my champagne.

  “I’ve heard so much about you.” She tilted her head toward Nate. “He thinks you’re pretty cool.”

  Nate gave her a tiny shoulder jab. “Hey, you’re not supposed to tell her that.”

  She laughed again, so infectiously I found myself laughing too.

  Dang it. I didn’t want to like her.

  Hearing our laughter, Calista and my mother paused in their animated conversation about Cindy Sherman’s art and drew closer.

  Nate busied himself getting drinks while everyone had themselves a swift meet-and-greet with his girlfriend.

  We learned that she taught literature at Colorado State University, she had already done two Fulbrights—the latest of which was in France—and she ran marathons, which explained her otherworldly slenderness.

  My mother pounced on the France thing—Paris being a subject that made her wax rhapsodic—and the two of them drifted around the corner of the bar, deep in conversation. I caught the occasional French phrase interjected into their conversation and knew Amanda was going to be well occupied for the next few minutes.

  “Did you hear about Damon?” I asked Nate.

  “Francisco told me,” he said, his eyes wide. “That’s insane.”

  “Were you at the reading? I didn’t see you there.”

  “No. On the way home from class, Amanda found a hurt dog on the sidewalk. Someone had hit it with a car and kept going, can you believe it?” Disgust crossed his face. “Anyway, she raced it to the vet. She has such a good heart.” He looked proudly over at Amanda chattering away with my mother. “I was waiting for her, and she didn’t get down to Stonedale until very late, so we missed it.”

  “Well, it’s great she could be here for Valentine’s Day.”

  “I know, right? Perfect timing.”

  “She seems nice.” I meant it, unfortunately.

  “She is,” he said, his expression verging on lovestruck at the thought of her.

  So far, my plan to not care about Nate’s girlfriend was not working very well.

  Soon afterwards, we were urged by wandering red-vested individuals to return to the grand foyer. Caught in the slow shuffle of guests making their way toward the front of the house, I looked around for Lex once again, hoping the throng would shift and there he would be: leaning against the wall, looking suave in some kind of noir-esque suit. Maybe eyeing everyone suspiciously because that’s what detectives did. Or maybe he’d be smiling pleasantly since he was off-duty. Or maybe he would be scowling, annoyed that I’d invited him in such a rambling way, then never actually found him.

  At last we moved into the foyer, where the chancellor stood on the small landing at the bottom of the staircase, facing the guests. The two steps down between him and the crowd were, of course, intentional.

  “Good evening,” Chancellor Wellington said heartily. “Thanks so much for joining us tonight to celebrate one of the twentieth century’s...er...” He faltered for a moment, evidently checking the calendar in his head. “Twenty-first century’s greatest writers, Damon Von Tussel.”

  Everyone applauded.

  The chancellor held his palms out and made a patting motion to indicate that we should stop.

  “Patsy and I welcome you.” He glanced at the blue-gowned and inexplicably tiara-ed Mrs. Wellington, who was positioned to the chancellor’s left, but one step down, facing the crowd as well. She gave a royal wave—the vague kind with minimal wrist movement which says “you’re not worth expending energy for”—and smiled back up at him. “Mr. Von Tussel will be joining us in a short while. In the meantime, please enjoy a libation and an amuse-bouche. The Stonedale University String Quartet will be serenading you with a collection of songs selected specifically for this special holiday—we wish a very happy Valentine’s to all.”

  As the sweet strains of “Some Enchanted Evening” floated into the air, the crowd began to break apart and redistribute themselves between the foyer and the large room with the bar we’d just come from. I paused at the edge of the fountain and surveyed the room, catching sight of Calista and Francisco going through the doorway to the great room, followed by Nate and Amanda. I craned my neck seeking my mother, but she seemed to have disappeared.

  The babbling sounds of the fountain muted the string quartet somewhat, but it didn’t bother me. In fact, I was not really in the mood for romantic songs. Everyone seemed to be part of a couple right now—except me. That hadn’t been an issue for me before, but for some reason, I felt it keenly tonight. Maybe it was the excess of love symbols strewn across Stonedale for Valentine’s Day. You couldn’t go ten feet without bumping into a paper heart taped onto something. I was staring down into the water of the fountain, giving over to the melancholy saturating my state of mind, when someone called my name.

  Mina and Jasper stood before me, holding hands. Her hair was pinned up in a complicated style, and she wore a black corset over a long cinnamon shift. The effect was rather Renaissance Fair but it looked charming on her. Jasper was slightly more subdued in a black suit, but the collar of his red shirt was embossed in the hipster style. They really made the perfect couple, sartorially. I wonder if they’d planned it.

  “Have you seen my father?” Mina asked. She darted glances around the room. “He’s supposed to be mingling, but we can’t find him.”

  “We will,” Jasper said comfortingly.

  “No, I haven’t seen him,” I said. “Would you like me to help you look for him?” Something to do would be nice, actually. I was sort of sick of myself at the moment.

  “Would you?” Mina said, her shoulders visibly relaxing. “We looked all over the first floor already. Let’s go upstairs.”

  “How is he?” I asked as we walked toward the staircase. I wasn’t sure we should be going to the second floor. Typically, parties at places like this were meant to take place on the lower level. I hoped we didn’t run into the chancellor. Or even Patsy.

  Jasper led the way as Mina ascended beside me.

  “He’s a little weak,” she confided.

  “He’s fine,” Jasper shot over his shoulder.

  She made a face at Jasper’s back going around the curve in the stairs.

  “I didn’t think my father should come tonight, but he insisted.”

  “Do you know what happened?”

  Her lips tight, she shook her head. “Just that someone drugged him.”

  “That’s horrible,” I said.

  “Disgusting,” she agreed angrily.

  We took the remaining steps in silence. At the top, all three of us paused for a second and scanned the long hallway. There were about twenty closed
doors. We had our work cut out for us.

  As we began checking rooms down the first side, we passed numerous niches holding white busts in the classical style. I stepped over to one of them, a woman with a graceful curved neck, and saw a copper plate beneath engraved with the name “Juno.” The next one had a more jaunty pose, her head up, alert, as if addressing something head on. Her label said “Minerva.” So these were Roman goddesses.

  Mina slid up next to me. “That’s my mother’s name.”

  “Wonderful name. Is it yours too?”

  “Yes, though no one has ever called me anything but Mina.” She smiled, as if remembering something fondly. “You know, my mother hated the name at first...thought it was far too grand for a girl from Brooklyn.”

  “That was her real name? I thought she’d chosen it when she became a model,” I said. “Because she was so tall and fierce.”

  “It was real. Minerva Babylonia Clark.” She laughed. “My grandmother was Italian, and my grandfather, who was English, pretty much let her have her way with everything. So that’s what she picked. Eventually my mother came to appreciate the name—she found it had a sort of strength—and gave it to me.” She trailed her hand gently over the engraved letters on the copper nameplate. “They’re all gone now though.”

  “I’m sorry.” I still felt horrible for asking Mina about her mother when we first met. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing now, so I wandered away, leaving her to her thoughts.

  We continued checking rooms separately. Near the end of the hallway, I saw a narrow elevator and whistled. Mina came over.

  “Wow,” she said. “That’s handy.”

  I agreed and pushed the call button.

  Her eyebrows rose.

  “Just want to give it a try,” I said. The doors opened noiselessly to reveal a closet-sized space with damask wallpaper in shades of beige and bronze.

  “Fancy,” she murmured.

  The sound of a door opening startled me. Jasper had gone into a nearby room. Mina and I hurried over to join him. It was full of some truly exquisite furniture and tapestries, the kind an interior designer has to have imported.

  “Nothing here,” Jasper said.

  “Except magnificence,” Mina said. “It’s incredible.”

  “I agree,” I said. I couldn’t even fathom having something this luxurious to come home to. Although this was probably just a guest room for the Wellingtons. My mother’s brownstone in New York was very nice by most people’s standards, but this place was on a whole different level.

  As we worked our way down the opposite side back toward the staircase, we heard a thump in one of the remaining rooms.

  The three of us froze and stared at each other.

  There was another thump.

  “What the—” Mina ran to the vicinity of the sound and threw open the door.

  And there was her father. With my mother. Becoming reacquainted.

  Chapter 18

  Mina yelped and slammed the door shut again.

  “Were they...” I couldn’t bring myself to end the sentence.

  “No, no. Thank God. No.” She closed her eyes. “Just kissing.”

  Whew.

  After a long minute, the door opened and my mother came out, squinting in the well-lit hallway. Her clothes were disheveled, and she pushed her hair back into place with both hands and gave me a sheepish smile. I did not smile back. I was so embarrassed I could not have spoken if I wanted to.

  “Hi Violet,” said Mina.

  “Hi Mina,” my mother said, giving us both a hug.

  Damon stepped through the doorway, straightening his tie. His cane was hooked over his lower wrist. “Need something?” It came out brusquely.

  Mina sighed. “You’re wanted downstairs. To mingle.”

  He rolled his eyes but headed toward the staircase without complaint. We followed the Parade of Shame down the stairs, through the foyer, past the fountain, and into the great room.

  Damon was instantly surrounded by people eager to meet him. Mina and Jasper took up a position on either side of him, perhaps to protect him, but it looked like a family portrait. Which I guess was fitting since, after the wedding, they’d be family officially.

  My mother whispered into my ear, “I’m sorry, darling. I’d forgotten how charming he could be—”

  Charming? Were we talking about the same man?

  “—and before I knew it, we were in each other’s arms. Maybe it was the romantic music or the champagne. We were just swept away.”

  I put my hand up to prevent hearing any more. “Please stop, Mother.”

  She chuckled and patted my cheek. “You need to loosen up, darling. Let me get you another glass of champagne.”

  I watched her drift gracefully through the crowd, then wheeled around to get myself some fresh air.

  The chilly air out front soothed my overheated skin. I stood next to a large coach light and tried to calm down. My mother had always done outrageous things; that was part of her modus operandi as an artist. If there was a rule, my mother was going to break it. A line, she’d step over it. It had been very difficult to rebel when I was a teenager because she herself was all about rebellion.

  She practically cheered the one and only time I got in trouble in high school. And the sad thing was, it hadn’t even been true. Someone had misidentified me as the person responsible for scrawling a swear word on the bathroom wall. It made my mother so happy to hear I had finally “broken out of my shell”—as she called it—that I didn’t tell her the truth. Most kids were lying about what they had done; I couldn’t admit what I hadn’t.

  Sometimes it felt like I was the mother and she was the child.

  Yet nothing had prepared me for the day my mother would make out with her ex-boyfriend in the upstairs bedroom of the chancellor of my university’s home.

  We were definitely going to have to talk about that.

  I walked back into the foyer, determined to greet my department colleagues, then make a run for it. It should be clear I had done what was expected, attend the event, but I wanted to go home. The combination of the enforced romantic environment of Valentine’s Day and the actual couples surrounding me everywhere I looked created an overwhelming desire to flee. Plus, there was the humiliation of not being able to stop hoping I’d see Lex coming to meet me. Not to mention my mother and Damon’s disconcerting reunion. Yes, it was time to go.

  For the second time that evening, I found myself standing next to the fountain, unwilling to join the crowd in the other room. I noticed a few familiar faces—Tad and his adorable date, Willa, and Jasper—making their way through the titanic front doors toward the valets. Maybe I could also get away without making another round through the crowd. As I pondered the benefits of either choice, Damon came through the doorway from the great room and headed directly for the staircase. I hoped he and my mother weren’t planning to go for another round. I glanced up to see if she was waiting for him there and caught sight of something hurtling through the air.

  I raced over and pushed Damon against the wall as hard as I could.

  “Hey!” he protested as he flew through the air, his cane clattering noisily on the ground.

  Then the object crashed down on the marble floor behind me, the loud sound ricocheting off of the walls as white pieces exploded around us. After a moment, we both unfroze and peered at the fragments.

  “It’s one of the busts from upstairs,” I murmured.

  “What the hell was that?” Damon bellowed. “What’s wrong with this place? Can’t a man move an inch without being accosted in one way or another?

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I saw it falling and had to push you out of the way.”

  “I don’t mean you,” Damon said, perhaps one degree less belligerently. “I mean that.” He gestured to the fragments scattered over a large por
tion of the foyer.

  We both looked up. No one was there. Obviously.

  People came running from the other room and surrounded us. Damon was waving his arms and trying to keep anyone from touching him. I was answering the questions peppered at me from all angles and simultaneously asking Damon to please stop smacking everyone. It was chaos.

  After a few minutes, my mother and Mina pushed their way to the front of the crowd. I was relieved to leave them to it.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. “Can I get you anything?”

  “A whiskey,” he said. “Double.”

  I nodded and began to walk away.

  He grabbed my left arm, holding me back. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. “Good reflexes.”

  Feeling oddly uplifted by his words—or maybe it was the adrenaline racing through my veins—I made my way through the group of onlookers who had gathered in the foyer. As I journeyed back to the bar once again, I said hello to several colleagues as well as the chancellor. Mission accomplished, workwise.

  And then I ran into Lex. Leaning against the bar, chatting with Calista and Francisco, looking every bit as suave as I had imagined he would. Right before I reached him, he laughed, looking surprisingly at ease for once. Also handsome. I strode up and said hello.

  Coolly.

  He could have called me back, after all.

  Turning my back on Lex, I ordered Damon’s whiskey from the young bartender and drummed my fingers on the onyx while I waited, the picture of nonchalance. Or so I hoped.

  Lex tapped me on the shoulder. I spun around.

  “Yes?”

  “I was looking for you.”

  “Oh?” I inwardly applauded my blasé tone.

  “Yes. Quite hard, actually.”

  “Well, I’ve been here all night. You must not be a very good detective.”

  “Darn it.” He grinned.

  I smiled despite myself, then remembered we had a situation and snapped my fingers. “Actually, we need a professional right now. Someone almost hit Damon Von Tussel with a statue.”