Death Loved A Woman (Happy Holloway Mystery Book 2)

by Audrey Claire

  The Witman house was an old-styled one. From the outside, Annie would guess it held at least five bedrooms, if not more. The stone exterior walls matched great with the lavish grounds. Wesley’s family had gone all out by designing the bushes to look like various animals.

  “Pretentious,” Omen muttered when they stepped out of the car. “I wonder if they’ll consider us beneath them.”

  He pulled a large invitation from his jacket, and Annie read the glossy script. The card looked authentic. Not that she doubted it, but nerves stirred in her stomach. Omen worked as a teller at a local bank, and Annie was a mystery writer, not even a New York Times best selling one. Neither of them had money.

  As Omen handed his keys to a valet, Annie gazed around at the other cars arriving. She winced at the fact that Omen drove a Smart Fortwo, while Jaguars, Porsches and BWMs among other expensive car models arrived after them. These weren’t the vehicles she saw zipping around Mars Cove. They must have come from farther away.

  “I’ve never felt so common,” Omen muttered, his expression tense.

  Annie tugged him in the direction of the house. “I wouldn’t think this kind of thing would bother you.”

  His eyes widened. “If you tell me you’re not nervous, Annie, I’m going to ask you to marry me right now.”

  She grinned. “It’s all in the attitude, Omen. I’m an international plus size model, and you’re a bank manager.”

  “But—”

  “We’re not going to say it. Unfortunately, they’ve already met me.” She snapped her fingers. “Pretending to be a model would have been fun for the night. Darn, maybe next time.”

  He shook his head, and then the tension drained from his face. “Okay, I’m Hinkle.”

  “Huh?”

  He laughed. “That’s my boss’s name. Not very romantic, but he thinks he’s top shelf. So it doesn’t matter. I’ll project his confidence.”

  She patted his arm. “Good for you. Let’s do this.”

  They strode into the house and handed the doorman their invitation. Annie experienced a moment of panic with the man whose nose was higher in the air than Mr. Witman’s last time she had seen him. The doorman nodded and waved them in after they gave their names.

  Annie paused to take in the opulence. The house was larger than she’d at first thought. Her Victorian included five bedrooms and a den, but the Wesley’s foyer was easily bigger than her living and dining rooms combined.

  Omen stared up at the chandelier highlighting a painting of a woman with a sheet hanging off both bare shoulders. Annie estimated the canvas was taller than her or even Flynn. The woman’s face looked familiar, but young and pretty with smooth porcelain-like skin.

  “You there. Don’t gawk in the hallway. You’re blocking the entrance!”

  Annie looked down from the painting into the muse’s face. Mrs. Witman was far from young and beautiful, although Annie didn’t judge her harshly. She’d just aged quite a bit from whenever she’d posed for the portrait. She wondered how the woman felt seeing herself immortalized, a reminder of what was gone forever.

  “I apologize, Mrs. Witman,” Annie said, stepping forward, “and I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Annie Holloway, wasn’t it?” Racine frowned at her. “You’re a friend of Flynn’s. I hear you’re a writer, and your aunt is Bridget Blankenship. How is Bridget?”

  “You know my aunt?”

  “She used to make the same rounds with her husband but fell out of sight. I haven’t seen her for many years.”

  Annie wouldn’t tell the woman that Aunt Bridge had all but forgotten her existence, except when Nan brought her up. Then again, Mrs. Witman could just be pretending to recall Aunt Bridge. She seemed like the kind of woman who armed herself with information before facing her audience.

  Annie started to answer, but Mrs. Witman dismissed them and moved on to another guest arriving. She didn’t acknowledge poor Omen’s presence.

  He grumbled as they headed into a room where Annie spotted others milling about with plates. “I didn’t get to put on my Hinkle performance.”

  “Aw, maybe later. She knows I’m a writer, so I didn’t get to perform either. Plus, I had wanted to question her about her son. Coming face to face, it felt inappropriate. Let’s look for someone else to impress with our natural charm.”

  He grinned. “Lead the way.”

  Annie first made a beeline for the appetizers. She couldn’t resist a crab ball or two. Omen at her side, piled a small serving of caviar onto her plate.

  “Try this,” he said.

  She noticed he didn’t add any to his own plate. The little black balls touched one of the crab puffs, and her appetite died. She gazed around the room. “Oh, look, isn’t he a congressman?”

  Omen swung away to look the direction she pointed. A waiter passed nearby, and Annie deposited her plate onto his tray. Her appetite sprang to life again, and she fixed herself a new plate sans the fish eggs. By the time Omen turned back to her, she wandered the room, looking for someone who knew Wesley.

  Annie came across two young women in their twenties or so, and she smiled as she drew near. Both women were slender, with long bare legs revealed in short, stylish dresses. Their hair was piled atop their heads, uncovering delicate shoulders and long, graceful necks. Annie was glad to find, despite their beauty and possible wealth, they seemed approachable.

  “Hi, I’m Annie Holloway.” She held onto her plate with both hands.

  “Connie.”

  “Jamie.”

  “I love that bag, Connie,” Annie gushed. “I feel like I’ve seen it at Antoine’s.”

  Connie’s face brightened, and she hugged the purse. “Yes, I got it for a steal.”

  Annie had no idea if Antoine’s was anything. She threw out the word that sounded kind of exotic. Connie named a figure that had Annie’s head swirling. If the price she named was a steal, then she must mean walking out of the shop without paying.

  Jamie rolled her eyes. “I wish I was in Paris instead of here. I always hate coming home. I will never let anyone know I’m from anywhere as provincial as North Carolina.”

  “I tell people I’m from New York when I travel.” Connie laughed. “It’s more fun that way.”

  Both girls giggled, and Annie hated to tell them they each spoke with a distinct southern twang, common to North and South Carolina. She happened to love the south and would proudly speak of her origins if someday she chose to travel away from home again.

  “So did either of you know Wesley?” Annie asked, for wont of any other way to lead into the conversation that interested her most.

  Both women pouted, but Connie spoke. “Our families have known each other forever. Jamie’s dad is Mr. Witman’s lawyer, actually.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Yeah, we’re not on their level exactly, but Dad does okay, and at least Mr. Witman invites us to these things.”

  “What kind of man was Wesley?”

  The girls seemed not to notice Annie’s great interest in Wesley, so she decided to keep questioning them.

  Again, Connie acted as the mouthpiece for both. “He was kind of a wimp.”

  Jamie snorted and smacked her friend’s arm. “Keep your voice down, stupid. If we don’t get invited back, it’s your fault.”

  Connie gazed around the room and ducked her head closer to Annie’s. “He was, though. Wesley didn’t have to make one decision for himself. Mommie and Daddy decided everything, especially Mommie. We were all surprised when he started dating Barbara Jean.”

  “Maybe it was his way of taking charge of his life as a man,” Annie suggested.

  They blinked at her, and Jamie laughed.

  “A man?” Connie shook her head. “Barbara Jean led him around by his nose. All she needed to do was put a ring in it.”

  “No, she was trying to get that on her finger,” Jamie said.

  They cracked up.

  “You think Barbara Jean didn’t love him?”

 
“Who would?” Connie appeared genuinely curious. “Sometimes Wesley got bold and stood up to Flynn, but we all knew it was just show. He knew Barbara Jean loves Flynn. All Wesley ever did was throw around his daddy’s name.”

  Jamie disagreed. “No, he never needed to do that much. Everyone knew who he was, and they just stayed out of his way and gave him what he wanted.”

  Annie noticed Omen heading their way, but she didn’t feel she had learned anything useful yet. She cut to the chase. “Can either of you think of anyone who would want to hurt Wesley?”

  “Racine,” they chorused together and then slapped hands over their mouths, eyes wide and staring around the room. Several heads turned in their direction, but Annie had asked her question low enough for just the girls to hear. As far as anyone else was concerned, they were just mentioning the hostess.

  “Not Barbara Jean?”

  “She wanted him for his money,” Connie explained. “She wasn’t unwinding her hooks until she sealed the deal. They’re not married, so he should be alive.”

  To Annie’s relief, Omen stopped to speak with a rotund man in an old-styled brown suit.

  “Why would you think his mother would want to kill him?”

  Jamie squeezed Connie’s arm to silence her. “I can answer that. Racine is a witch.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Literally?”

  “Probably.” Both ladies laughed. “No, she’s cold-hearted, and the only one she loves is Mark.”

  “But he’s not her son.”

  “Maybe love is too much. Like might be a better description. He’s similar to her in personality, manipulative and conniving. I think she’d love it if he were her blood son and not Wesley. She and Mark were always closer, or that’s the way it looked to me. Plus, her mother left her money to Wesley and skipped right over her own daughter. Racine has to depend on Mr. Witman for everything.”

  Annie tried to digest what Jamie told her, but it was hard to believe Racine would prefer her stepson to her actual son. Of course, she could see the woman might wish her son were of a stronger nature, but any more than that was unthinkable.

  Could Racine have resented Wesley enough to kill him? Even if she did, why wait? Her mother died six years ago. Then she remembered. The money wouldn’t go to Wesley until he turned thirty or he got married. He was in no danger of marrying until he started seeing Barbara Jean, who would get him to the altar one way or another.

  Omen at last reached them, and the three dropped the subject. Annie’s date brought over the older man, and she thought it amusing that the two of them appeared to be opposites but alike.

  The old man was as round as Omen was long and thin. Neither of their suits fit well, and the two seemed completely unaware of it.

  “Daddy, this party is duller than I thought it would be,” Jamie said, wrapping an arm about the older man’s shoulders. “I’m thinking about skipping out for the rest of the night.”

  Daddy? So this was Mr. Witman’s attorney. The man’s face reddened, and he produced a handkerchief to mop his neck and head. Now that he drew closer, Annie saw that his head was wet from sweat. Did he need a three-piece suit in mild North Carolina fall weather, or at a party for that matter?

  “We’ve only just got here, Jamie, and I never get to see you,” the old man whined. “Stay a while. You’re always gallivanting about.”

  “I don’t gallivant.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine, but you have to make it up to me. Shopping tomorrow should do it.”

  The older man sighed. “I’m not made of money, Jamie. You have to live within your means.”

  She grumbled. “You work for Mr. Witman. If he doesn’t pay you enough, ask for a raise.”

  Longsuffering eyes swung to Annie, and she thought he was asking her to rescue him from a daughter who threatened to make him bankrupt. She had no such experience, so she couldn’t help.

  “How are you, sir?” She offered friendship instead. “I’m Annie Holloway. I just met your daughter and her friend. I’m…” For the life of Annie, she couldn’t bring herself to say she was an international model in front of these beauties, even a plus size one. “I’m a friend of Flynn’s.”

  “You’re friends with Flynn?” Connie demanded. She latched onto Annie, and Jamie took the other side. “I’ve been trying to get him to look my way forever. Is he coming tonight, do you think?”

  “I…” Annie began.

  “Enough, Jamie, Connie,” the attorney demanded. “Let the woman breathe. You both have enough young men hanging around you. Annie, I’m Percy Kelley, this one’s father as you probably have figured out.”

  He held out his hand, but thank goodness the girls gripped Annie’s arms. After a moment, he mopped his head again. Annie swallowed a few times.

  “Hello, ladies, I’m Omen Nobleton.” Omen smiled, but Annie thought it appeared more ominous than anything. He still fit her ideal for a serial killer, and Jamie’s slight tremor at her side concurred.

  The woman surprised Annie when she released her and moved to Omen’s side. “Oh, you’re interesting. Come talk to Connie and me. So what do you do for a living?”

  Annie coughed and muttered, “Hinkle.”

  Omen winked, and the three of them moved off together.

  “Young people.” Kelley sighed. “They take the energy out of me, and as much as I want to give my daughter the world, I can’t afford it.”

  “She seems to be happy and intelligent.”

  “She’s brilliant,” Kelley corrected, “but she has no ambition. All she wants to do is try to keep up with the Joneses as it were. You’ve heard the old expression?”

  Annie had, and she told him so.

  “Money isn’t everything. Look at what happened to the Witmans’ son. It can get one into terrible trouble.”

  “Or love.” The old man seemed to enjoy contradicting everything she said. She wondered if he did it with everyone. “Love can get a man in trouble.”

  “Has it ever gotten you into trouble?”

  “That remains to be seen.” He stared after his daughter, and Annie laughed.

  “You mean she hasn’t gotten you into too much trouble yet.”

  “She’s gotten me into a number of pickles.” He tapped his temple. “I’m clever enough to get myself out of them. That’s why Mr. Witman trusts me. I’ve rescued him a time or two as well.”

  A bragger, huh? Annie chewed on her bottom lip. A waiter happened by and held out a tray of fresh crab puffs. Annie dove at them and gestured to Kelley. He drew back as if repulsed. “They don’t agree with me.”

  Annie shrugged, and grabbed another for good measure. When she had enjoyed two, she got back to the conversation.

  “So you’ve rescued Mr. Witman. Does that include his family? Everyone’s speculating on Barbara Jean Stanford wanting Wesley for his money. If they were married—”

  “They weren’t! I made sure of that myself.”

  Annie started at the vehemence.

  He scowled and then glanced at Annie before his face turned red. “No, I didn’t mean it that way. I checked.”

  “Checked what?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t share attorney client privileged information. I take my job very seriously. Then again, I don’t want you leaving here and thinking I was saying something I didn’t intend. All I need is the police thinking I got my hands dirty with some silly business. No!”

  He rambled. Annie questioned if it might be time for him to retire.

  “I checked the county register. There’s no record of Wesley and Barbara Jean being married, so that’s that.”

  “I’m not so sure. Barbara Jean says they were married three days before he died. It’s possible she just didn’t have time to file the license. Or her minister didn’t.”

  Kelley shook his head, but he watched Jamie as she focused on something Omen told her. Connie responded to him more often, while Jamie listened.

  “No, the license would have turned up before now if it ever happened,” Kelley
said. “I’ve only met that young woman once or twice, but she didn’t come across as very bright. I dare say she thought she could get away with just saying she married Wesley, and that would be enough.”

  “No one’s that naive.”

  “You’re wrong,” he snapped.

  Annie waited for him to elaborate, but he excused himself and moved away. She wandered around the room some more, trying to pick up bits of conversation. Many guests mentioned Wesley once or twice, but most were more interested with their own concerns.

  Annie decided to leave the main room and wander around a bit. Guests crowded what looked like a ballroom, complete with space cleared for dancing. One couple took advantage of it. Others stood in groups of three or more, chatting. Some debated loudly, and a few discussed topics in a more sedate manner.

  Waiters moved among the crowd with silver trays held aloft. Their stiff posture and crisp burgundy and black uniforms impressed Annie. As one passed by, she grabbed a glass of champagne to wash down the puffs.

  In the main hall, she came into view of the winding stairs to the upper floor as well as the front door. She halted when the butler opened the door to Flynn, and on his arm was a very sexy Barbara Jean.

  “Wow, he’s bold,” someone said at Annie’s elbow. She didn’t look to see who spoke, but she felt the same.

  “Flynn, how dare you bring that woman into my house?” Racine shouted.

  Annie glanced over her shoulder at the stairs. Racine stood at the top, glaring down at the two of them like the queen mother. She descended the stairs one step at a time, and Flynn stood in the entryway with his feet planted and slightly apart.

  Aside from Flynn’s attitude of readying himself for war, Annie noted the dark suit that fit well over his broad shoulders. He had shaved since last she saw him, and his hair lay in perfect order yet with a windswept appearance.

  Barbara Jean flipped her long hair over her shoulder and raised her chin with angry eyes snapping at Racine. “I want to know what happened to my husband! One of you killed him, and I’m going to find out who.”