“I’ll drink to that.” Cecilia raised her glass, and Drake joined her.
“Would you like a Bloody Mary, Kit? These two are getting ahead of the day by indulging in my favorite recipe, even though the bar isn’t officially open.” Charles winked playfully.
I was no stranger to libations. Sometimes I thought Doug and I singlehandedly supported the entire Northern and Shenandoah wine regions of Virginia. That said, I refrained from drinking in the morning, particularly Bloody Marys. My palate didn’t favor the combination of vodka, tomato juice, and spices.
“No, thank you. I’ll take something with caffeine.”
“My Bloody Mary recipe is as good as it gets.”
“Sorry, Charles. I’ll have a cup of that coffee brewing behind you.”
The eager bartender barely masked his disappointment. Nonetheless, he poured me a steaming cup of java and pushed the cream and sugar packets my way.
I turned toward Cecilia and stated the obvious, “You must be very upset about Grayson’s death.”
Cecilia stared at her drink before answering. “I’m not sure I can articulate my feelings. I’m in shock. I’ve known Grayson for decades.”
“From the Mayflower Society?” I asked.
“No, much further back than that. Grayson and I met when we were both trying to make our respective fortunes. Grayson was climbing the corporate ladder, and I was desperately trying to establish myself as a fiction writer.” She smoothed her shiny brown hair, showing off her perfectly manicured nails.
“You’ve been friends for a long time, then.”
“Friends, lovers, business associates. You name it, we’ve done it.”
I was taken aback by Cecilia’s matter-of-fact tone. I snuck a peek at Drake, who seemed preoccupied with his drink.
“You had a romantic relationship with Grayson.”
“Of course, darling. Everyone knows that. Savannah’s main romantic interest in my series was inspired by Grayson Bancroft.” She smiled devilishly.
“Fascinating,” I murmured.
Drake appeared completely uninterested in Cecilia’s stroll down memory lane, even if it included a revealing description of a significant notch on her bedpost. Cecilia might as well have been talking about the weather or what she ate for breakfast.
“Drake, did you know Grayson Bancroft?” I asked.
His eyes, already glassy from the morning’s indulgence, shifted from his almost empty Bloody Mary glass to the two of us. Perhaps he wasn’t used to being included in the conversation. “Until last night I’d only met him in passing.”
I sipped my steaming cup of coffee, thankful that caffeine was now coursing through my veins and clearing the morning fog. I never scheduled early morning meetings on Capitol Hill without making sure coffee was available or easily obtainable. Some chemical dependencies were perfectly acceptable, and coffee was fortunately in that category.
“What did you think of him?” The question was slightly inappropriate, but without it, I’d learn nothing from Drake, who seemed to struggle with adult conversation.
Drake ran his hands through his golden hair. “Cecilia has a past with him. Then he owned her publisher, so that complicated matters.”
So Drake wasn’t totally clueless. I turned to Cecilia. “Grayson wanted to talk with you about the next Savannah book. Were you able to speak with him last night?”
Cecilia motioned to Charles for another drink. Knowing refills would be welcome, he had prepared a large pitcher and poured her another glass.
After taking a sip of the refresh, Cecilia replied, “No, we didn’t. After the dinner ended, Drake and I came down to the bar for a nightcap. Then we headed upstairs and went directly to bed. Right, darling?”
“That’s what happened. I must have been tired because I slept really well last night. Didn’t hear a peep until the wakeup call from the front desk woke us at eight.”
“We’re both incredibly sound sleepers, aren’t we? Completely dead to the world, no disrespect intended. It’s the busy lifestyle, amongst other nighttime activities. Right, darling?” Cecilia gave me a knowing glance.
Asking a romance writer about her sex life was like asking Donald Trump how he felt about his hair. You just didn’t go there.
“Your writing career must be demanding,” I commented.
“You don’t know the half of it. Between appearances, signings, blogs, fan conventions, and writing the next book, it’s absolutely craaaaazy.” She drew out the last word for emphasis. The second Bloody Mary was talking.
Drake chimed in. “Sometimes she misses our couples’ tennis lessons.”
Cecilia sighed. “Someone has to pay for all this.” She gave a broad sweep of her hand.
Charles had remained silent in the background until now. “And we’re glad you frequently patronize the Continental Club, Ms. Rose.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to be appreciated.” Cecilia delivered this last line with dramatic flair worthy of a Tony Award.
Breakfast couldn’t be delayed too much longer. First, there was my rumbling tummy. Second, I needed to check on Doug to make sure he’d apprised his parents, particularly his father, of the delicate situation brewing. On the other hand, this was a fortuitous situation, especially since Cecilia and Drake had both proven to have loose lips. One or two more questions should do it.
I wondered out loud. “Do you think someone notified Grayson’s wife?”
Cecilia perked up. “Kiki? James Mansfield probably beat the police to the punch.”
I sipped the last of my coffee and indicated with a hand on top of the mug I didn’t want a refill. “What do you mean?”
“Not to put too fine a point on it, but everyone knows about the longstanding affair of the heart between Professor Mansfield and Kiki Bancroft.”
“Not me,” I offered.
“Me either,” said Drake.
Cecilia dismissed our ignorance with wave of her hand. “I mean everyone who is anyone, darlings.”
Cecilia certainly had a winning personality. Still, this was getting more interesting by the minute. “Kiki was committing adultery?” I asked.
Cecilia wavered. “That’s the popular way of describing it. Despite our friendship, I never asked for the sordid details.” Cecilia leaned closer. “But most people viewed it as more of an emotional love affair.”
I rubbed my temple. “An emotional love affair?”
Cecilia’s lip curled. “Yes. I wouldn’t expect someone at your stage of life to understand.”
Thank goodness, Drake saved the day. “I don’t know what you mean, either.”
“Let the best-selling romance novelist explain love to two naïfs. It’s a complicated business. James and Kiki have a deep connection that transcends physical expression. They’re soul mates.”
“So they weren’t sleeping together?” I clarified.
Cecilia looked sharply at me. “I have no idea what they do in the bedroom. That’s beside the point. The focus of their relationship is on emotional intimacy and attachment.”
After taking another swig, Drake spoke. “So they talked a lot but didn’t have sex.”
Cecilia pounded her fist on the bar. “Neither of you understand. You should both hole up in your rooms with my books so you’d learn something about affaires de coeur.”
I’d never been taken to task by a romance novelist before, but there was a first time for everything. A graceful exit was in order. “I’m clearly lacking experience in this department. Thank you, Cecilia and Drake. It has been a pleasure chatting with you this morning. You have my condolences about Grayson.”
They raised their glasses in polite acknowledgment. The police needed to speak with them, but Detective Glass had better hurry. One more round of Blood Marys and she’d likely lose the opportunity to conduct a coherent interview with either of my drinking companions.
Chapter Seven
I sauntered across the hallway to rejoin the Mayflower Society. A beautiful spread of breakfast fo
ods had been arranged as a buffet. Fruits, eggs, pancakes, bakery items, and oatmeal called my name. I spotted Doug in the center of the room, deep in conversation with his parents. Best to fill my plate first and then head over for a potentially riveting convo with my future in-laws. Wedding chatter annoyed me, and I was no fan of high society protocol. However, while stacking my plate with a delectable array of smoked salmon, cream cheese, and a bulky New York bagel, I silently hoped that my father-in-law wouldn’t be clad in a prison jumpsuit when Doug and I eventually said our ‘I dos.’
Judging by the hardly touched food on the plates of the Hollingsworths, they’d lost their appetites. Etiquette dictated that I restrain myself since they weren’t eating. But then the salty salmon aroma wafted up to my nose. No point in resisting. Besides, leaving so much tasty food on my plate would be wasteful. My parents would not approve.
The volume of their voices barely exceeded a whisper. I leaned in closer so I could follow the conversation. Buffy was saying, “Are you sure we shouldn’t just throw the syringes out? We can put them in the Dumpster behind the club.”
Doug shook his head vehemently. “That won’t work, Mother. The police will search this entire city block.”
Winston agreed. “Remember how I make my living, dear. I’m a member of the Massachusetts state bar. If I tamper with evidence, I’ll be tossed out immediately.”
Buffy wasn’t convinced. “Better to be disbarred than in prison.”
After swallowing a piece of bagel and clearing my throat, I interjected, “Sorry I wasn’t here for the whole conversation, but why are you talking about throwing out the syringes? You have a perfectly good reason to have them. There’s no need to contemplate discarding them,” I took a sip of my coffee, “unless, of course, you killed Grayson Bancroft.”
I’d meant the last sentence as a wry joke. Three pairs of eyes stared at me in stony silence. Obviously, my attempt to lighten the mood had failed. I should have known. Joviality wasn’t high on the list for Buffy and Winston.
Doug broke the hush. “You’re going to have to comply with the police’s requests. Kit’s right. Doing something rash will only make them suspect you more.”
At that moment, Detective Glass introduced herself to the Mayflower Society attendees and explained that everyone was now part of an ongoing suspicious death investigation.
Lola Valdez raised her hand and Glass acknowledged her. “We are heartbroken over Grayson’s death. However, many attendees want to know if today’s events will be allowed to continue as planned.”
The detective’s lips twitched. She’d been expecting this question. “This morning’s lecture has been cancelled since we will be conducting room searches and interviews with each of you about your whereabouts last night. However, barring any big breaks in the case, the afternoon trip to Mount Vernon will proceed as scheduled.”
A murmur broke out within the room. The chatter indicated people were annoyed, but most seemed satisfied that the excursion to George Washington’s mansion was still on.
Buffy Hollingsworth raised her hand. “Excuse me, Detective. But my future daughter-in-law and I have an important appointment with a wedding planner this morning at the Continental Club. We will need to keep that commitment.”
Had Buffy lost her mind? Her husband was about to become the prime suspect in the murder of one of the wealthiest men in the United States, and she was concerned about sealing the deal for our wedding? I clenched my fists underneath the table and shot Doug an incredulous glare.
He shook his head slowly but said nothing. Glass raised her eyebrows but kept her voice even. “I understand, ma’am. Talk to one of our officers, and we’ll see what we can do.”
Buffy made an immediate beeline for the cop standing closest to the detective. Her gesticulations indicated she was intent on keeping our appointment.
“Doug,” I hissed, “wouldn’t it make more sense if I could listen to the questions the detective asked your parents? Particularly your father.”
His features tight with resignation, Doug said, “I agree with you, but it’s best not to agitate Mother now. She’s already annoyed with the whole situation.”
“I can’t wait to see her at the murder trial,” I mumbled.
Buffy rejoined us, sporting a confident smile. “We’re all set. Let’s go, Kit. We don’t want to be late.” She pointed toward the door.
“Wait a second. Don’t you need to talk to the police?” I asked.
“Of course. Despite our station in life, I can’t expect different treatment. I’ll talk with them after our meeting.”
Clearly Buffy Hollingsworth believed the concept of ‘equality’ offered a little wiggle room. Doug pursed his lips but said nothing. In a forced voice, Winston said, “You and Kit should enjoy yourselves. I’ll be fine.”
At least Doug could provide moral support. “Be sure to stay with your father when the police search the room and ask him questions,” I said.
“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open,” Doug promised.
Buffy gently put her hand under my elbow and steered me toward the door. It took considerable inner fortitude to resist jerking my arm back and telling Buffy to stuff her wedding meeting where the sun doesn’t shine. Instead, I willed my fists to unclench as we headed down the hallway. Hopefully, Doug had picked up a few of my sleuthing tricks, and he’d figure out if the police considered Winston a credible suspect.
We ended up in a small business office. No surprise, Bonnie greeted us. I’d already figured this whole Mayflower Society sojourn had been one big setup to facilitate a firm plan for our wedding. I remembered my “play nice” pledge to Doug yesterday evening, although now that a murder was in the mix, I had my doubts about its lasting wisdom.
Bonnie soon passed us off to a middle-aged woman dressed in a spring crepe pantsuit. A designer scarf, which she’d twisted into a fancy knot, complemented her outfit. How did women manage to contort scarves into elaborate masterpieces? She looked like someone who had perfected at least thirty specialty knots on her vast neckwear collection. French knot, double-sided twist? Not a problem.
Our host spoke first. “My name is Tammy, and I’m an event planner at the Continental Club.” Turning to me, she added, “Congratulations on your engagement, Kit. What an exciting time.”
Almost as exciting as a dead body showing up in the upstairs library. But I stifled my inner snark and kept it simple. “Thanks, Tammy.”
She pulled out a folder with several brochures inside. “The Continental Club is one of the premiere venues for a Washington D.C. wedding. Do you have a date in mind?”
Before I could speak, Buffy answered, “A fall wedding is ideal, isn’t it? Especially with the weather around here.”
Tammy perked up. “Absolutely. Autumn is the perfect choice. It gives you all the advantages of a shoulder season but it’s not as demanding as the springtime.”
Buffy added, “Plus, the fall colors are lovely.” She turned her head in my direction. “Kit’s brown hair and coloring might look best with those hues. Blondes have the advantage in the springtime.”
Tammy listened intently. “I like your thinking, Mrs. Hollingsworth. After all, this is the bride’s day.”
I slumped in my chair, at a loss for words. Where was Meg when I needed her? Thank goodness I’d invited her along for dinner tonight.
Tammy and Buffy embarked on an extended discussion covering food and drink options, overnight accommodations for guests, string quartets, seating arrangements, chefs, and cakes. I listened halfheartedly. No one directly asked my opinion, which was fortunate, since I had none to offer. My mind wandered to other topics, namely Grayson Bancroft’s murder. The trip to Mount Vernon would be a good opportunity to talk to others who knew Grayson and could be considered suspects. The police would need to pursue top leads, but that didn’t mean Doug and I couldn’t spring into action and develop our own theories.
Buffy interrupted my contemplation. “Kit, Kit. Are you listening? Do you plan
to buy a dress with a long train? That will affect the setup of the aisle for the ceremony.”
Enough was enough. I’d held my tongue and played along with the charade of a high society wedding. It wasn’t fair to Tammy, or Buffy for that matter, to believe I was interested in all the fancy trappings they were debating.
I took a deep breath. “I have no idea what type of dress I’ll wear on my wedding day. In fact, the only thing I’m certain about is marrying Doug. Nothing else matters, quite frankly.”
Two faces slack with utter astonishment stared back at me. I’d managed to silence both Tammy and Buffy, an almost impossible feat. Our most skilled CIA interrogators would have failed where I’d succeeded. They didn’t know the right pressure point.
Tammy straightened in her chair. “It’s quite normal to feel overwhelmed as a bride.” She whispered to Buffy, “I see this all the time.”
“I do feel overwhelmed, Tammy. As you must know, a man was found murdered this morning. I discovered the body.”
Tammy gasped. “I had no idea! You poor girl!” She reached across the table and gave me a shoulder hug.
I felt the tide changing in my favor. “It’s very hard to focus.” For dramatic effect, I fished a Kleenex out of my purse and dabbed my eyes. I sneaked a peek at Buffy. She was fuming.
“Perhaps we should postpone this meeting until our bride is in a more festive mood.” Tammy closed her numerous binders filled with sample menus, table decorations, and floral arrangements.
“Thank you for being so considerate.” I clasped Tammy’s hand and shook it politely.
Buffy glared. “We appreciate your time. The Continental Club remains a top choice for this wedding.” Buffy pronounced the last sentence with defiance comparable to Martin Luther nailing the Ninety-Five Theses to the church door in Wittenberg.
Buffy didn’t speak until we entered the Continental Club lobby. Then she unleashed. “Kit, I need to ask you an important question. Do you want to marry my son?”
Calamity at the Continental Club Page 6