“Such as?”
“Maybe she’s protecting someone. What if that’s why she needed to be there? Okay, that’s a bit of stretch, but the whole thing is pretty surreal.”
Lance said, “Or maybe she was blackmailed into it.”
We explored these possibilities until we finished our food, brainstorming and bantering a bit. At the end, we ordered cappuccinos. As our server hurried away with the empty plates, I reached for the photo.
“Now. Let’s get back to talking about Shelby and her connections.” I took a hard look at the photo. There was still no one who could have been the false Chadwick or Thomas. I was sure of that.
“Talk about the connections, Lance. What are all those tantalizing lines you’ve put on the photo?”
“Removable tape.”
“I can see that, but who are they indicating?”
“They’re people that she probably knows and that know her and that I can identify.”
The light finally went on over my head. “You mean so that I meet them and try to get—”
Lance said quickly, “I was thinking that I might talk to them.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons, Jordan. First, because I have met them and can arrange to bump into them in some social situation.”
“That’s one.”
“And the second reason is because you have been known to go over-the-top.”
“Don’t be—”
“Yes. Over-the-top! Disguises. False pretenses. You love all that stuff.”
“Let’s get serious here, Lance. The entire situation we’re in is because of false pretenses and disguises, and your friend Shelby—”
“She’s not my friend.”
“—is in it up to her pretty blond neck.”
“But these other people aren’t.” He pointed to a couple of smiling faces in the photo.
“The people in this photo will know Shelby. That’s the biggest lead we have.”
“So I’ll find a way to connect with them, and I’ll bring up Shelby’s name in the conversation and—”
“I want to be there.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said before?”
“I’m the one who’s got the problem because of this Shelby and her co-conspirators.”
Lance sighed dramatically. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought he’d missed a great career as an actor when he went into librarianship. “Chadwick got the shorter end of the stick.”
“I’m serious,” I said.
“But if you’re breathing down their necks, it’s harder for me to look natural. First of all, they’ll wonder who you are.”
“I’m your girlfriend.”
“What?”
“Whenever and wherever we meet them, I’m your girlfriend. Why do you have that look on your face?”
“Because I don’t need fake girlfriends, thank you very much.”
“Your date, then. I’ll be your date when we accidentally run into these people. And trust me, they won’t recognize me.”
“Not the red wig,” he said. “We can’t have that. I would never date a woman who wore that.”
“The red wig is not the only game in town.”
“Fine, but I don’t want you to take notes or stare obviously at anyone.”
“No worries.”
“And I don’t want Uncle Kev leaping out of the bushes with a camera or something.”
“Uncle Kev is in the wind. Don’t get me started.”
“The less I know, the better.”
I said, “So tell me about these people.”
Lance pointed to an unsmiling but handsome, preppy-looking guy in the third row. “This is Shelby’s ex, Andrew Wilson. He’s apparently been brokenhearted since she ditched him around the time this was taken.”
“He looks heartbroken.”
“They say he was devastated. They were on track to get married as soon as he moved up a rung in his law firm.”
“He’s staring at her.”
“Yup.” Lance grinned. “Fixated.”
I said, “Good stuff. And do you know him well enough to sit down and talk?”
“I don’t know him at all.”
“But you have him—”
“I know. I connected him. I know his cousin.”
He pointed at a bright, dark-haired woman with million-dollar hair. “Poppy. She’d know most of these people. She’s an acquaintance. An artist.”
I stared at him. That Lance had his little secrets.
He smiled and answered a question I hadn’t asked. “Mixed media. Acrylic and bits of hardware as far as I can tell.”
I wasn’t in the mood for a discussion of contemporary art techniques. “Can you get to the point?”
“Well, Poppy’s having a vernissage tonight. It’s in Grandville at that little gallery by the river. I saw it on Facebook. A vernissage is a—”
“I know. And I’ve been to many openings. So we’re going to help her celebrate her new show? Oh wait, did you get an invitation?”
“I messaged her to congratulate her and she insisted that I come.”
“But did she insist that you have a date?”
“She didn’t, but she’ll be cool with it, as long as my date doesn’t look too much like the person whose face was all over the news or like an escapee from Cirque du Soleil.”
“I’ll choose my cover with care. So you think the ex-boyfriend will be there?”
“There’s a good chance, but if he’s not, there will be—”
“Lots of people who know Shelby?”
“Even better, she just got home from shooting her film. Maybe she’ll show up. I tried to suggest that.”
“You’ve earned your lunch, Lance.”
“We’d better pick up the pace here a bit. Whether I earned it or not, I have to get back to work. Nancy doesn’t mind covering for me, but there are limits.
Our server hovered nervously out of reach. Lance gave her what I can only describe as a “come-hither smile,” and she darted over and dropped the list of our dessert choices in front of us before fleeing around the corner.
“I predict a career change for that girl,” I said, ignoring the menu. “She seems to be very anxious.”
“Let’s be nice, then.” He beckoned to our server and pointed to his choice. “I’d like the trio of crème brûlées.”
I laughed. “I think that’s for sharing.”
“Get your own, m’lady. I found Shelby and Poppy.”
“That is worth celebrating. I’ll have the Molten White and Dark Chocolate Surprise. We’d better fill up. There’s never enough to eat at a vernissage.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AFTER OUR LUNCH, I avoided Van Alst House in case the police showed with an arrest warrant. I really needed to get to that art reception and, with luck, the mysterious Shelby.
I called Vera to see if everything was all right and got the usual brusque brush-off. That was good news.
I said, “I’m pursuing information relevant to our current inconveniences.”
“Whatever that’s supposed to mean, Miss Bingham, I am busy.”
If Vera was busy, it was with the crossword or her book collection, so I didn’t feel guilty about interrupting. I would have added, “I expect to be back tonight,” but I was speaking to the dial tone.
This was not a job for someone who was easily offended.
Instead I popped into Uncle Mick’s place, where I keep my surplus wardrobe. I knew I had a little black dress in my closet, and that would probably do for the art opening. I figured I could scavenge something to update it between my own accessories and the treasures in Uncle Mick’s.
It didn’t take long to find my little black dress, hanging in the closet of my pink-and-white room. By some miracle it still fit,
despite the signora’s cooking. It may not have skimmed my figure quite the way it used to, but it would be fine. I located a pair of dark, sheer hose in my drawer and found my black stilettos in their shoe box. For some reason, I’d never found a place to wear them since moving back to Harrison Falls. They’d been waiting patiently. I would show them a good time tonight.
Best of all, I located a set of eyelash extensions that I had bought on ridiculous impulse but never worn. If not now, when?
I assumed the gathering would include some wealthy and stylish people and I’d need to blend in. In Uncle Mick’s antique store, in the “Estate Jewelry” section, I found a small pair of diamond cluster earrings and a tiny vintage clutch with exquisite black beading, barely big enough for a comb, a lipstick, my iPhone and, of course, the necessary burner. My big find was a cut-velvet shawl in a rich garnet. Not the color of spring, but the night was promising to be nippy, and the resulting outfit was chic and dramatic. My uncles never minded if I borrowed things. The items always came back, and with a bit of adventure attached to them. I cleaned the earrings with alcohol and steamed the shawl.
As the red wig was off-limits and I wasn’t supposed to look like myself, that left blond. Not the tightly curled blond wig I used in my short-lived role as Kathryn Risley Rolland, but an angled bob with long bangs. It was a bit dated, but I tucked one side behind my ear and twisted a long strand on the other side and fastened it with a jeweled clip.
I was checking out my look in one of the antique mirrors in the shop when the proprietor blew through the door from the kitchen. As everyone knows, we Kellys don’t come in through the front door unless we’re up to something, such as throwing the police off our plans.
“Don’t you look artsy-fartsy, my girl,” he said. With his wiry and faded red hair, bright blue eyes under out-of-control brows, ginger chest hair poking out from the shirt with the three open buttons and a gold chain nestling in it, Uncle Mick looked anything but artsy-fartsy, but I thought he was perfect the way he was.
“That’s the plan, Uncle Mick. I figured you wouldn’t mind me borrowing a few items.”
“Help yourself to anything anytime. That’s always been our way.”
“I’ll bring back the diamond earrings after the event tonight. It’s an opening at an art gallery.”
“An art gallery, my girl?” He brightened.
“Conceptual art, I think.”
“You can keep it.”
“No, thanks. So I have to look good but not at all like myself. What do you think?” I examined my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t know how I felt about being a blonde. Although I’d always liked the flame-red wig, I was happy with what I saw. There wasn’t a glimpse of my dark, curly hair. And my pale skin was fine with the spun pale yellow of the wig. The earrings, small as they were, seemed to make quite a difference. I’d never given a moment’s thought to diamonds, but already I could feel their emotional pull.
“You’ll be the belle of the ball. But you’re looking a bit peaky. How about a bite to eat? I can whip up a pot of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese as quick as you can say ‘diamond studs.’”
“No, thanks, Uncle Mick.”
“I can fry up some baloney.”
“Um, no, I’m good.”
“Beans and franks?” This is Uncle Mick’s signature dish (secret ingredient: ketchup).
“Thanks so much, but Lance took me to lunch.” There was no point in explaining the dining experience we’d had at Mr. Grimsby’s. It would only alarm Uncle Mick.
“Lance? Well, I hope there was something on the plate. That fella’s a bit too fancy for my liking.”
“The lunch was great. I think I’ll head out now.”
“Take the new Beamer,” he said, magnanimously. “Arrive in style.”
A Beamer as well as an Infiniti? Things must be going well. “Don’t mind if I do.” A BMW would be perfect. I didn’t ask where the new cars had come from. Discretion is the better part of valor, as they say. “By the way, any word on legal help for Vera and Kev?”
“That’s right, my girl. Talked to a fella named Cory Corrigan for our Kev. He’s as good as they come and not too uptight, if you know what I mean. And Laurence Sternberger for the Van Alst woman.”
The Van Alst woman? Uncle Mick has relented quite a bit about Vera and her family over the past year, but this sounded like his old attitude resurfacing.
“And is he as good as they come too? Because Vera is absolutely innocent, and if the police come after her or us, she needs to be well taken care of.”
“He’s good for the job. But he’s a bit full of himself and on the pricey side. But I can’t say I’m happy about her dragging you into this mess, my girl.”
Only in the Kelly family could anyone construe what happened at Summerlea to be a case of Vera dragging me into a mess.
“He’ll be in touch,” Mick added. “Ready if she needs him.”
I was secure in the knowledge that we would all have lawyers who measured up.
Uncle Mick said, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that the so-called police officer engaged our Sammy for you. If it was anyone but Sammy, I’d think you could trust him as far as I could throw a piano.”
“But it was Sammy, and Tyler did call him for me.”
“My point, my girl, is that you have family to look after your legal issues. You don’t have to rely on the forces of—”
“Don’t say ‘darkness,’ Uncle Mick. Tyler wanted to help, even if he did dump me. And don’t even think of any kind of revenge.”
He puffed out his substantial chest. “The Kellys do not get dumped.”
“It must have been my Bingham side that took the hit, but you know, doing well is the best revenge, and tonight I’m going to this very special event with Lance.”
Uncle Mick glowered. “Don’t get too involved. I always wonder if he’s a bit light in the loafers.”
“I assure you his loafers are as heavy as yours, Mick. And who cares anyway?”
“Humph.”
“So, do I look okay?”
“You do the Kellys proud. The Binghams too, wherever they might be. You’re better with your own dark curls, but you’re still gorgeous, my girl.”
“Thank you. I’ll let you know what happens.”
“I think those artsy-fartsy things are known not to serve much food. Couple of Oreos for the road? Make your old uncle happy?”
Who could turn down an offer like that?
* * *
LANCE DROVE THE Beamer. It was the least I could do. He was at his most elegant, with that hipster vibe, but without having to resort to a beard. He wore a charcoal double-breasted blazer over a light knit black turtleneck, tailored straight-leg pants and Chelsea boots. I was proud to be at his side and grateful that he would be the focus of attention.
The gallery was in a renovated nineteenth-century bank on the main street of Grandville. The exposed brick and industrial lighting was now fashionable, as was the expanse of pale pine flooring. The white gallery walls were hung with vast aluminum creations. I wasn’t entirely sure how the artist had managed to attach feathers and bits of wood to each one.
Six-foot cast iron candelabras with flickering tapers provided a nice contrast to the stark modern atmosphere.
We’d been served Grey Goose martinis, instead of the usual white wine or generic “champagne.” The appetizers were entirely unfamiliar except for the little black clumps of caviar with something leafy. “Foraged greens,” Lance whispered. “This caterer is the hottest thing north of Brooklyn.” This reinforced Lance’s view that Poppy’s family had more money than the Federal Reserve. I would not mention them to my uncles. They might consider it open season.
Poppy’s dark hair was cut no more than a half inch long. Luckily, she had a beautifully shaped head and she was stunning in a simple white silk slip dress and a pair of incred
ible Christian Louboutins. The trademark red soles flashed every time she shimmered her way through the guests. They echoed her brilliant red gloss lipstick. Girl had style.
I might have looked pretty good back in Uncle Mick’s antique shop mirror, but here I was definitely not worth a second glance. Not in a league with the moneyed princessy types and wealthy matrons, but not so down-market I’d rate a curled lip. I was counting on simply blending, and there were plenty of people who must have been old school friends of the artist. I noticed some nervous and uncomfortable glances from people who would have done anything to be home watching The Real Housewives of New Jersey.
We were waiting to pounce on the first person who might know Shelby Church. Lance has no trouble pouncing. He’s so often on the receiving end of pounces at work that he has developed techniques from the pros.
We found ourselves talking to GiGi and Henry, another couple, our age, looking like they’d rather be anywhere but here. After a few vague comments about the artworks of the “so interesting” and “isn’t it?” variety, Lance quickly got to the point. “I thought I’d see Shelby here tonight.”
They both shrugged in unison. It seemed obvious that Lance was waiting for an answer.
“No worries,” he said. “I know she and Poppy are tight. I was hoping to get her alone to talk about a charity thing I’m planning.”
“She has the new guy,” I interjected. “Maybe she’s off somewhere with him. Not sure if he’s the gallery type.” I would have suggested somewhere they might be, but I had no idea how people like Shelby Church spent their time.
“What do you think about him, anyway?” Lance said, glancing around. “I wouldn’t have thought he was her type.”
“I don’t think anyone’s actually met him. That’s kind of weird in itself,” GiGi said, “but I haven’t seen her anywhere. She’s supposed to have been in a film in Europe.”
“It is weird,” I said. “Usually you’d want to show off the new guy.” I batted my eyelash extensions at Lance. He looked horrified. I batted a bit more. Lance’s horrified glance shifted from my eyes to my martini. Was that black spidery thing what I thought it was?
The Marsh Madness Page 18