Engaged to Die

by Carolyn Hart

  Annie didn’t need Edith’s excited pronouncement. All she had to do was follow the gazes of Irene and Susan as they stared at the slender woman framed in the doorway. Annie scarcely recognized Virginia Neville as the somber widow in black who had stood quite alone at Nathaniel Neville’s graveside while the rest of his family—son Carl, daughter-in-law Irene, daughter Susan, son-in-law Rusty, sister Louise, and grandchildren—gathered at the other end of the bier. At the funeral, Virginia had been an indistinct wraith. Tonight she sparkled, seed pearls twined in her coronet braids, her delicate face eager and happy, her pale cheeks tinged with pink. Her dress—a swirling silver georgette—was artfully cut to give her thin form unexpected fullness. She swung toward Irene and Susan. For an instant, her glow dimmed. Then, lifting her chin, she swept toward a group of guests, pausing to receive enthusiastic accolades with the grace of a queen.

  Edith finished the celery stick. “To the manor born. Not. But a pretty good imitation. Wonder if she’s been watching old Di film clips?”

  “Don’t be mean, Edith.” Annie spoke lightly, but she meant every word.

  Edith gave a whoop. “Honey, I’m always mean. That’s what—oh, hey, here comes lover boy. Wouldn’t Irene like to scratch his eyes out. Or worse. Susan looks pretty grim, too. Even Carl isn’t a happy camper. To see the family fortune scooped out of your grasping hands would turn most people nasty. Of course, Virginia may not leave everything to her new husband—when and if the wedding occurs—but I think by law, he’ll get some of it when she kicks off.”

  As soon as Virginia Neville turned, the georgette dress rippling like a silver cloud, Annie understood. The older woman and her young lover. This was what Boston Mackey had told them about, the April-September love affair. Bright lights aren’t flattering to older women, even a slender woman in a beautiful dress. The brilliance spilling down from the chandelier made clear her age, possibly in her late forties. She was attractive, and happiness added an aura of youthfulness. But she was youngish, not young. Opposite her, the focus of her unashamed adoration, was a very handsome and very young man with dark curly hair, chiseled features, and a flair for elegance. He bent toward Virginia with a smile, completely at ease in a beautifully cut tuxedo with a dramatic green paisley cummerbund. She looked old enough to be his mother. Well, maybe not quite. But old enough to be a big sister or an aunt. Annie pushed the thought away. Okay, society thought it was fine when older men married very young women, often younger than the children they’d fathered in a first marriage. Why shouldn’t Virginia Neville choose a younger man for a husband? April-September marriages, including those of young men to much older women, sometimes succeeded fabulously, witness Agatha Christie’s marriage to a man fourteen years her junior. But Virginia Neville was more than likely twenty years older than the man she planned to marry.

  Edith popped a glazed pecan into her mouth. “Annie, the pecans are scrumptious.” She wiped her lips with a red paper napkin, flapped it toward Virginia and her young lover. “Quite the dandy, isn’t he? Of course, it’s hard to recognize him without his cap. If I had gorgeous hair like Jake’s—look at those curls—I wouldn’t always hide it under a cap. But he’s not satisfied with drop-dead good looks. He must think he’s a modern Beau Brummell. He dresses like a matinee idol from the thirties, a white suit and panama hat in the summer and an argyll sweater and a golf cap in the winter. Not your usual good old—”

  Annie stared at the doorway and remembered Chloe’s husky, eager, love-struck voice: “…wears a cap. You know, the kind golfers used to wear years ago.”

  Annie reached out, grabbed Edith’s thin arm. “Who is he?”

  Edith raised a quizzical eyebrow. “My, my, should I warn Max that you too are smitten by the undeniable charm—”

  “Edith, knock it off. Who is he?” Annie’s voice was grim.

  Edith’s eyes narrowed. “Do I detect a decided interest in the young man since the mention of his headgear?”

  Annie gritted her teeth. Nobody ever said Edith was slow. Maddening, yes. Slow, no.

  “Okay, okay, simmer down, Annie.” Edith was brisk. “His name is Jake O’Neill. He works for the Neville Gallery and he’s a so-so artist. Actually, he does good portraits. He did one of Ken”—Edith’s voice softened as she mentioned her teenage son—

  “and it’s wonderful. Anyway, Jake arrived on the island last summer, and Virginia fell for him when he did her portrait. As you can imagine, the Neville family is less than thrilled. I understand they really have their collective nose out of joint since Virginia’s combining the announcement of her engagement to Jake with Boston’s reception tonight.” Edith smoothed out the crumpled red napkin and held it out to Annie. “See?”

  Annie glanced at the fire engine red napkin. At the top in green letters was the name: Neville Gallery. Below the name was an outline in green of the ante-bellum house. Down one side in gold letters were the names Virginia and Jake. Below the names were two gold rings intertwined. Down the other side in silver letters was Boston Mackey’s name. Below his name glittered a silver artist’s palette.

  “Gaudy as hell.” Edith’s fingers closed around the napkin, reducing it to a tight red ball. “The Nevilles pride themselves above all on tastefulness. Maybe they’re afraid Virginia will start putting out knickknacks for sale. Little ceramic porpoises or a miniature of Parotti’s Bar and Grill.”

  Annie didn’t, at the moment, give a damn about the Neville family’s concerns. She scanned the dining room and the visible portion of the central hallway. Was Chloe here? “Edith, have you seen Chloe Martin tonight?”

  Edith blinked. “The girl who works for you over the holidays? Nope. But I haven’t been looking.”

  “If you see her…” Annie broke off, shook her head.

  “Never mind.” She swung away, left Edith staring after her in surprise.

  In the central hallway, admirers crowded around Boston Mackey. His arm was firmly draped around the bare shoulders of a young woman who gazed up at him with heavy lidded eyes and a sleepy smile. People drifted up and down the stairway, easing past the musicians on the landing. In the drawing room, the tall windows were open to the cool January air, but the high-ceilinged room was warm, loud, and crowded. Annie, smiling, called out quick hellos, but she kept moving and looking. Near the buffet line in the library, Annie resorted to several quick jumps into the air to see over the heads and shoulders of taller persons.

  “Ballet?” a husky voice inquired. “Or perhaps a version of perpetual motion. Oh dear, I hope not indigestion, though the holidays are notorious for challenging delicate systems.”

  Annie smiled at her mother-in-law, who, as always, looked beautiful and elegant, her patrician features quite classically lovely, her ice blue gown a perfect foil for Nordic blue eyes and spun gold hair. “Laurel, I grew up eating lamb fries.”

  “The prospect appalls.” Husky laughter gurgled.

  “Have you seen Chloe?” Laurel and Chloe had enjoyed discussing authors at the store Christmas party.

  “No.” Laurel touched Annie’s arm lightly. “You look worried. Is there anything I can do?” Her blue eyes, which often were spacey and sometimes impudent, were filled with kindness.

  Annie found her mother-in-law unnerving, fascinating, and dear. She gave her a swift hug. “If you see Chloe, tell her I need to talk to her.”

  “Of course.” As Annie slipped past, Laurel called after her, “If you discover perpetual motion, my dear, do please share.”

  In the hallway, more guests were arriving. Annie frowned. Chloe could be anywhere, upstairs or down. They could have passed each other in the crowd. Annie debated stationing herself on the front verandah, decided instead to survey the second floor.

  She was stepping onto the second floor porch when Max found her. “Hey, I’ve been looking everywhere. Ma pointed me upstairs.” He looked puzzled. “She murmured something about jeté and her pleasure at your grace and agility. What was she talking about?”

  “Darling,
if you don’t know your mother by now…” It was a familiar—and effective—response. Max’s mother was prone to sudden enthusiasms, ranging from communing with the saints to night vision photography. Some pastimes resulted in situations Max found unnerving, and he remained vigilant to monitor Laurel’s more peculiar pursuits.

  Max was not quite defensive. “Well, she seemed perfectly…” he paused.

  “Normal?” Annie inquired sweetly. Then felt ashamed. After all, it wasn’t Laurel who’d been hopping about making a spectacle of herself. Quickly, Annie explained. “…and the guy Chloe met on the pier is the same one Virginia Neville’s going to marry. If Chloe shows up and sees him, it will be dreadful for her. Oh, Max, I wish I’d called her this afternoon.”

  He shrugged. “Even if you had, you probably wouldn’t have found the guy.”

  But Annie couldn’t shake the feeling she’d let Chloe down. She knew how much Chloe had invested in those romantic meetings on the pier. She should have been willing to help in the search. If she had, quite possibly Chloe would not have come tonight. Annie had a deep sense of foreboding. She looked anxiously at Max. “Did you see Chloe when you were hunting for me?”

  “Nope. Maybe she changed her mind about the party. Come on, let’s get some food.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s already half past eight. There’s a program at nine.”

  “Program?” Annie looked around. “Where?”

  He waved his arm in the general direction of outdoors. “There’s a big tent set up in the north parking lot. That’s why everybody parked up and down the road.”

  Annie shivered. The night air had to be in the low forties. “Outside?”

  “It’s okay. I poked my head into the tent when I was looking for you and there are heaters. It smells kind of oily”—he wrinkled his nose—“but it’s pretty warm. Anyway, there’s a platform and chairs for an audience and a dance floor. Somebody said Boston’s going to give a painting away and then Virginia is going to thank everyone for coming and announce her engagement. The tent company will pick up the chairs and a band will play and everybody will dance. So let’s go get some food.”

  Annie was always interested in food. She loved to graze buffets. Who knew? There might be salmon caviar or mushrooms stuffed with snails or pears with curried crab filling or smothered alligator. She stepped inside. The buffet beckoned. They were almost to the stairs when she stopped. “No. I’ll stay on the porch, keep a lookout for Chloe. Will you get us some plates? Anything will do.”

  Max reached gentle fingers to touch her face, as if to smooth away her frown. “Annie, she has to find out about him sooner or later.”

  “I know.” Her voice was sad. “But Chloe thought he was wonderful. Obviously, he’s not. If I see her, at least I can keep her from finding out right in the middle of a crowded room.”

  Max bent down, kissed her lightly. “It will work out.” His voice was hearty. “After all, she’s lucky to find out his ratlike qualities before it’s too late. You return to your post, and I’ll get the food.” As she moved toward the porch, he called out, “Carrot sticks?”

  She grinned. “Only if slathered with cream cheese.” Her smile faded as she walked to the edge of the porch, leaned on the balustrade to look down at the circular drive. She was still there, though shivering, when Max returned. She nodded her approval at the coconut-fried frog legs, crab cakes, salmon strips, chilies rellenos, and pistachio-stuffed mushrooms. Nary a carrot stick in sight.

  Annie kept her gaze on the drive as they ate and tried to ignore the damp cold of the night. She waved the coconut-encrusted frog leg. “Max, this is divine.”

  “Not for the frog,” he murmured.

  She paused in mid-munch. “Let us not put this on a personal level.” She dropped the half-eaten leg and speared a salmon strip. After all, salmon in her mind were fuzzily somewhere far distant in Washington State rivers, while there were platoons of lusty—Max was always admiring of their passion for the ladies—deep-throated frogs who inhabited the lagoon behind their house.

  The food was excellent, and Max had brought coffee, which helped against the chill. When they finished eating, Max pointed at his watch. Almost time for the program. Annie hesitated, then nodded. As they stepped into the upstairs room—a lovely room with faded green walls and dark green drapes and the lovely glow of Mackey’s muted yet warm Low Country paintings—she felt relaxed. Chloe hadn’t appeared. It looked more and more likely that she’d decided not to come. Tomorrow Annie would have to tell her. That wasn’t a pleasant prospect. But Annie was inclined to let tomorrow take care of itself.

  There was a general movement toward the stairs. Annie took Max’s arm, smiled up at him. The program might be interesting, and later there would be a band. She and Max did a polished tango. Okay, maybe their performance was just this side of campy, but they had loads of fun and always ended to a round of applause from onlookers. If Max had a thin black mustache and she had a rose to grip in her teeth…Annie was smiling as they reached the stairs, merging into the thick stream of guests beginning to descend.

  Henny, elegant in a high-necked black chiffon, waved a black lace handkerchief. Over the crowd, she called, “I know this is too easy for you, Annie. Red-haired, loves the ladies, photographic memory, his boss’s answer to physical effort.”

  Annie was casual. “Archie Goodwin.” Nero Wolfe’s office assistant added great charm to the Rex Stout novels.

  Henny laughed and moved on down the stairs.

  “Annie!” Edith Cummings was on the landing. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I thought you’d want to know. Chloe Martin’s here. I saw her a little while ago. She’s really pretty with that dark red hair.” Edith’s tone was admiring. “Looks like polished mahogany in the sun. And what a dress! Kelly green taffeta, low cut, but with this gorgeous matching stole. Shades of Tara. And talk about drama—I was only a few feet behind her when she came face-to-face with Jake O’Neill.”

  Annie took a deep breath. “What happened?”

  Edith’s eyes glistened. “Big-time shock, I’d say. His face froze. He gulped. She ran up to him, excited as could be. He looked around, and then he took her by the arm and pulled her into the study. I’d love to have been a mouse with big ears on the scene.”

  The stairs were packed. The crowd moved slowly. On the ground floor, Annie once again made little leaps to scan the surroundings. Max, too, was searching.

  A throaty voice called out, “Still leaping. Dear Annie, how marvelous to know you have such spirit, such élan, such indefatigability.”

  Annie grinned at her mother-in-law. “Practice makes perfect.” But her smile slipped away as she poked her head into the study. Nope. Neither Chloe nor Jake were present. Annie backed into the hall, took Max’s arm. They spilled out with the crowd onto the back porch. Annie gazed out into the foggy night. Was Chloe out there somewhere with her midnight lover? The guests were simply dark forms, indistinguishable in the pale smudges of color from the Japanese lanterns. Anyone could be part of that mass of guests moving slowly toward the tent.

  The tent was set up to the left of the back porch in the north parking lot. The path was marked by luminarias. Straight ahead lay the gardens, famous for crimson azaleas in the spring. The land stretched away to the ocean, hidden now by the fog. Strings of tiny white bulbs sparkled in the nearby live oak trees, little glimmers of soft light in the fog.

  Running footsteps sounded to the right. A dimly seen figure burst out of the foggy darkness and veered away from the house to disappear behind the pines that screened the service area from the gardens.

  Annie gripped Max’s arm. “Was that Chloe?”

  He swung around, but the figure was gone, disappearing around the end of the house.

  “Max, we’d better see.” Annie hurried down the steps. She knew the area fairly well. The gallery was a popular site for teas and meetings. Oyster-shell paths went in several directions. Tonight the fog hung damp and thick near the house, but Annie knew that one p
ath led along the back of the house to the north parking lot where the tent had been erected. Straight ahead was another path. As Annie recalled, this path curved in a lazy figure eight among banks of azaleas and ponds. To the right, another path curved toward a grove of pines, ending ultimately at the ruins of the Civil War fort that overlooked the ocean. The girl Annie had glimpsed—the girl in a green dress—was running toward the house on the fort path, but she veered away near the kitchen and disappeared behind the pines that screened the service area.

  “Come on, Max.” Annie hurried toward the kitchen area. She and Max moved against the stream of guests heading toward the tent. Slams and bangs from the kitchen signaled the cleanup of the buffet. They followed a twisting path through the pines and reached the service area. The pines threw dark shadows over much of the blacktop, but the back end of the caterer’s van was open and its interior light flared over a burly man shoving closed bins in place. Annie recognized him. Tony Hasty was one of the premier caterers on the island. Annie picked up speed and skidded to a stop beside him. “Tony, did you see a girl just now?”

  He swung around, stared at Annie. Close-cropped iron gray hair covered a blunt head with a light fuzz. Yellowish eyes glowed in a mashed-up face that suggested contact sports or barroom brawls. “What the hell’s going on?” His voice was deep and brusque.

  “A girl in a green dress came this way. Did you see her?” Annie looked past him, but there was no one else in the area.

  He slapped big hands on his hips, poked his head forward. “What’s up, Annie? You’re the second woman to run this way. Somebody bothering you?” His massive shoulders tensed as he looked past her at Max, his face disdainful of any man who couldn’t protect his woman.

  “No. I’m okay.” She realized Tony had never met Max. “Tony, this is my husband, Max. We’re hunting for that girl.” Annie looked around the shadowy service area. Only a few cars were parked there. “Was she wearing a green dress?”