I gave her a quick scrutinizing look and was glad I’d had only one drink. How many had she had? I couldn’t blame her for wanting to anesthetize herself from the pain of losing Vienna, the daughter she never had. I used to think I was that daughter, but even though Dolce only knew Vienna briefly, she’d really loved her. Despite the fact that Vienna already had two mothers, she had Dolce too. Maybe Vienna needed all that extra attention. But in the end it didn’t help her stay alive. I admit that Dolce’s fickle affection hurt me, but then, I was still alive and Vienna wasn’t.
“Did you hear anything interesting?” I asked Dolce after the burial as we drove south on the freeway toward the exclusive suburb of Atherton.
“No, but guess what? Vienna’s mother asked me to speak at the wake at her house,” she said. “That’s what she called it, ‘the wake.’”
“Really? That’s nice of her. She must realize how much you meant to Vienna. You gave her a job. You were her friend. What will you say?” I was a little worried. Dolce had reclined the front bucket seat and was leaning back with her eyes closed and her shoes off. I was afraid she’d fall asleep or into a stupor and I wouldn’t be able to pry her out so she could give her speech.
“I don’t know,” Dolce said, opening her eyes to peer at me. “I have to write it down or I’ll say the wrong thing. You have to help me.”
“Of course I will,” I said. “You should say something about what she loved to do at the shop and how she was so good at it. And what you remember about her, what you’ll never forget. It’s important to be personal, don’t you think?”
I was glad nobody had asked me to speak. If I had to say what I’d remember, I’d say how proud she was of her sales ability and her taste in clothes compared to mine and how generous she was to give me her benefit ticket. But was that generous, or was it just a way of getting out of a date she didn’t want?
If it were me who’d been asked to speak, I’d go against the tide and take the opportunity to ask if anyone knew what had happened to her necklace. There’s a question I wanted answered. I was sure Jack did too, but he wouldn’t admit it. I couldn’t help but believe that the necklace had something to do with her murder. And wasn’t that the best way to honor the deceased, by trying to find and punish her killer? But no one had asked me, and it didn’t look like they were going to.
When we got to the address on the card they gave us at the funeral home, we pulled into a circular driveway filled with limos and other expensive cars. And a motorcycle. I assumed it must be Geoffrey’s. I looked forward to a chance to talk to him. Dolce and I sat in the car for a few minutes staring in awe at the property with the towering redwoods forming a backdrop behind it. The house was two stories, a historical Tudor estate on several manicured acres of lawn. A place Vienna might have chosen for her wedding, if she’d had one. If she didn’t get married at her father’s house, which I assumed was equally beautiful.
“I can’t go in there,” Dolce said.
“Why not? Of course you can. You’re going to give a speech, which we’re going to write right now.” I was getting worried, but I couldn’t let it show. I pulled a small pad of paper out of my purse and began to write.
“First an introduction,” I suggested. “How you met. What you noticed about Vienna. Why you hired her. How she stood out.”
Dolce nodded, but she didn’t say anything. I wrote a few notes about Vienna’s unique style, her ability to sell snow to Eskimos or whatever the equivalent was in the fashion world. “What else?” I asked Dolce.
This time she didn’t open her eyes. She just sat there without moving. My anxiety level was rising. “Dolce, they’re counting on you. These are family and friends of Vienna. They’re not there to judge you. They’re there to hear your memories of her. Special memories. They might not even know Vienna had a job and that she was so good at it. Tell what a great saleswoman she was. You can do that, can’t you?”
“I don’t know, Rita,” Dolce said in a small, sad voice. “Can’t you do it?”
I froze. Imagine me telling Vienna’s family and friends what a wonderful person she was. I could just hear the crowd saying, “Who’s she?” I was nobody. Not to Vienna.
“They asked you. They want you. You knew Vienna in a way that no one else did. You gave her her first job. A job she was great at. Wasn’t she?” I asked, knowing full well what Dolce thought.
She nodded. “The best,” she said.
I tried not to let the words hurt me. “You’re supposed to say how the deceased made the world a better place,” I said. “You can do that. Everyone knows that fashion is a way of brightening people’s lives and helping them feel good about themselves. Vienna had a special talent for bringing out the best looks in the customers, right?” I jotted that down without waiting for Dolce to comment. If I waited for her to agree, we’d never get through with this eulogy.
I looked up to see more cars approaching, parking, and mourners getting out and going in through the wide front doors.
“You’ll feel better when you get something to eat,” I said as I got out, then walked around the car to open the door for Dolce. This was purely selfish. My stomach was growling and my head was pounding. I just hoped Dolce wouldn’t have anything else to drink. One more drink and she’d be unable to even remember her own name much less read the words I’d written on the scratch pad.
I was not disappointed by the buffet Vienna’s mother had prepared. Just the opposite. I was blown away by the spread and hungrier than ever. Actually Noreen must have ordered it, judging by the presence of the caterer’s truck parked behind the kitchen. As I made my way around the long table in the dining room, I filled two plates with tiny appetizers like salmon wasabi bites, spinach and ricotta tarts, grilled lamb skewers with a spicy chutney, and a few individual-size baby back ribs. Just for starters. There was another table with more selections and an entire room dedicated to desserts. I’d have to come back later.
I moved to the patio then where I saw Dolce talking to Patti, who’d sold the auction tickets, and her friend Caroline, also one of our customers. I was dismayed to see Dolce was holding a drink. Of course, it might be something nonalcoholic, but I doubted it. I greeted Patti and handed Dolce a plate.
“Here you are,” I said. “You must be hungry. Let’s sit down.” I took Dolce’s arm and we walked on a brick path toward a second, covered patio next to a sparkling pool. Caroline and Patti came with us, and we all sat down at a glass-topped table.
“I was just telling Dolce I feel responsible for selling her those tickets,” Patti said, shaking her head sadly. “If I hadn’t…”
“Vienna would have gone to the auction anyway,” I said. “Her whole family was there. It’s not your fault.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” she said. “Her mother was very upset with me.”
“She’ll get over it,” I assured her, taking a bite of lamb from the skewer.
“But Vienna won’t,” she said.
I had to agree. “But whoever murdered Vienna, did he or she have anything to do with the auction? I wonder if it was all about something totally different, an old score to settle, an old dispute.” I looked up, gazing hopefully from Caroline to Dolce to Patti, hoping they’d agree with me because that’s what I wanted to believe. But none of them was any help at all. They just shook their heads. I should have known. These were the subjects I should be discussing with Jack, if only he’d let me. If only he’d ask for my help. If only we could brainstorm. Good luck with that. It wasn’t going to happen. I’d just have to figure it out by myself.
I was glad to see Dolce was eating. That should help her settle her nerves and be prepared to give her remarks. When we’d eaten everything I’d brought, I offered to go get some coffee and dessert for all of us. The more, the better—and a chance to look over the crowd.
The desserts were displayed in the library on a large table. There were about a dozen kinds of cookies, from macaroons to Mexican wedding cookies to classic chocola
te chip to shortbread, oatmeal current, and lemon bars. Then there were several kinds of brownies, and numerous cakes, all labeled in case there was any doubt. Opera, lemon meringue, German chocolate and so many more. I couldn’t decide between fresh-fruit Bavarian with fresh raspberries piled high above the many layers or a simple devil’s food with a rich, thick frosting.
I was standing there, mesmerized by the vast selection of mouthwatering desserts and plates of hand-dipped chocolate candies, when a young man walked in. He didn’t look like Geoffrey—at least, he didn’t resemble the photo I’d seen on Geoffrey’s web site—but in a dark suit and tie, maybe it was him. Or was it Emery or Raold? Whoever it was, however he was connected to Vienna, I had to see what I could learn from him.
“Quite a library, isn’t it?” I said, waving my hand toward the shelves of books that lined the walls. I was impressed by the way the fiction was arranged alphabetically by the authors’ names and the nonfiction by subject matter. I wondered if they employed a professional librarian or had set it up and managed it themselves. Maybe Noreen’s husband Hugh was the intellectual. I hadn’t met him yet.
“I wouldn’t know,” he said. “Not much of a reader myself. Besides, they usually don’t let me in here.”
Sorry I’d chosen the wrong subject for an opening, I tried something else.
“Quite a selection of desserts, isn’t it?” I asked brightly. Who could deny that?
He nodded, then he took a cookie and stood there thoughtfully eating it.
“Are you a friend of Vienna’s?” I asked. I couldn’t go wrong with that unless he just said, “No, I’m the caterer,” or told me he was the DJ in charge of playing suitable music.
“Was,” he said. “She’s dead.”
“I know,” I said.
“You?” he asked.
“I used to work with her at a boutique. We…I’m in sales.”
“You’re the one who sold her that dress she was wearing today?” he asked, brushing the cookie crumbs off his hands.
“No, I can’t take the credit or the blame for the dress. I don’t know where it came from. What did you think of it?”
“She looked good,” he said. “Better than when she was alive. Maybe because she didn’t choose it herself. I don’t know who did.”
“She had a sense of style, and she wasn’t afraid to take chances,” I said. It was something I wouldn’t mind someone saying about me at my funeral.
“Took too many chances,” he said.
“How do you mean?” I asked, hoping no one else would find the desserts and interrupt what could be an important conversation. I stood still as stone, silently pleading for him to say something revealing, though he was hardly the chatty type. Was he going to tell me she was selling drugs? Running a prostitute ring? Robbing banks after hours? Stealing money and a necklace from her grandmother?
“Playing fast and loose,” he said.
“With who? With what?” I asked.
From another room someone was ringing a bell. He jumped as if he’d been burned.
“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes wide with fear.
“It must be time for the program,” I said. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Rita Jewel.”
“I know. I heard about you. I saw you at the shop, but no one knew I was there. I’m Paul.”
“Paul?” I said startled. Yet another man in her life.
“You’ve heard of me? What did they say, I’m her crazy uncle?”
“No. Are you?”
He laughed harshly. “That’s what Vienna called me. It’s her fault I got sent away. We had an argument.”
“Recently?” I asked, startled. Was he going to confess that’s why he killed her?
“I came today to set things straight with the family. They should know the truth about Vienna.”
“Isn’t it kind of an awkward time to do that?” I asked as the bell rang again.
“I have to leave town soon, so it’s my only chance. They don’t even want me here.” With that, he set his plate down and started toward the door. I followed him. I didn’t want to miss the program and the accolades, but I didn’t want to lose this guy either.
Just then Noreen came down the hall. She put her hands on Paul’s shoulders and said, “Where have you been? I told you you could only stay for a few minutes. You’re not supposed to run off. They’re looking for you.”
I strained my ears. So they were connected after all. But how? They walked back down the hall toward the huge living room where chairs had been set up with a podium in front of the fireplace. I was surprised to see Noreen escort Paul out the front door where two burly men were standing, apparently waiting for them. I stepped outside to watch from the front steps.
Paul threw his arms in the air, and the men closed in on him, linking his arms with theirs. Then all three headed toward a long black car in the driveway. Just before Paul got in, he turned toward me. I looked around, hoping he’d fixated on someone else. No, it was me, and only me. Noreen was gone.
“You,” he shouted, twisting his body, trying to get away from his handlers. “Rita Jewel. You’re the one who killed her. She told me you hated her.”
“No,” I burst out, even though I knew I shouldn’t say a word. He was out of his mind. He didn’t know what he was saying. And yet I couldn’t help defending myself. “It wasn’t me,” I shouted.
I watched while the two men hustled Paul into the backseat of the car. They got in the front and took off with a roar of the engine. In a moment the car had disappeared down the long driveway. Was I the only one who had seen this scene, whatever it was? Or was Noreen watching from the window to be sure he’d left? Had my voice carried all the way to the mourners who were assembled inside? From somewhere the classical music that had been only background became louder. I could only hope the music had drowned out my parting words with Paul. I was left to wonder, who was Paul and where had he gone?
Despite my anxiety about Paul and his baseless accusation, I had to be sure Dolce was in place with her speech. When I quietly crept back inside, I half expected everyone to turn and stare at me. They would have horrified expressions on their faces. Maybe even a few wagging fingers. But I was relieved to see they seemed oblivious to the crazy man’s wild statements. No one looked at me, and Dolce was in the front row seated between two of our customers, Monica and Patti. I was torn between making sure she was okay and taking a seat at the rear of the room and fading into anonymity.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Athena walk down the hall. Still feeling unsettled by my exchange with Paul, I followed her into a charming garden room filled with wicker furniture and a fountain splashing water into a small pool. “Athena? Sorry to bother you.”
Startled by my arrival, she dropped a folder she was holding, which I assumed contained the speech she was giving today. She turned and looked at me.
“I just met a man I’m a little worried about,” I said.
“Was it Paul?”
I nodded.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “He’s harmless. It’s all taken care of. He’s gone now. He wasn’t supposed to be here, but he talked them into letting him out for the funeral. He was very fond of Vienna, didn’t want her to get hurt.”
“He said he had an argument with her.”
She sighed. “Who didn’t? Anyway, he says a lot of things that may or may not be true.”
“Who is he?” I asked.
“Uncle Paul, my mother’s half brother. He’s not quite right in the head. He’s been in an institution for years. I hope it didn’t upset you.”
“Was he out the night of the Bachelor Auction?” I asked. If he was, and he was crazy, wouldn’t the police like to know about it? And wouldn’t the family try to conceal it to protect him? Where was Detective Wall when I needed him? I thought he was supposed to be here.
Athena coughed nervously. But she didn’t answer my question. Instead, she said, “We’d better go in. It’s time for the program. I think it will
be quite moving. As long as no one tells the truth,” she muttered.
I took a chair in the back of the room, while Athena stood with her back against the wall. I couldn’t help being nervous. There was no way I could find my way to the front to sit next to Dolce. She was on her own. I only hoped she had the notes in her hand. She wasn’t the only one who wanted to say something about Vienna. Many people stood, went to the podium and spoke into the microphone. As it turned out, there was no program, it was just an open mike. I guessed that was the way the family wanted it. Even Bobbi, who was now wearing a Kay Unger stretch satin sheath dress, got up to say how much she missed her stepdaughter. Had someone told her to change out of her red outfit?
I buried my face in my hands. It was so difficult to listen to Bobbi and know she was lying. Or was she? Had she changed, or was her bark really worse than her bite? Did all stepmothers resent the attention their husbands paid to their first family? I glanced to my right and was surprised to see that Detective Wall was standing to the side of the room, no doubt taking in every detail, every expression, every word that was said.
When had he arrived, and what exactly was he looking for? Probably the same thing I was: a hint as to who was responsible for Vienna’s death. I was sure it was there, hidden behind someone’s sad mask of mourning. Someone who pretended to be crushed by Vienna’s death but who was in fact responsible. If only I was smart enough to figure it out. I’d clear my own name and get some respect for solving the mystery at the same time. I told myself that the murderer was most likely here in this room and I’d better pay attention.
But my mind wandered. The speeches were all so maudlin, so teary and so rambling. For once I wished someone would tell the truth. Vienna had her good points, but she had some flaws too. I guess it was too much to ask that a dead person be criticized at her own funeral. I shuddered to think what they’d say about me.
Rita was selfish and self-centered. She couldn’t cook to save her life, but she was a wonderful salesman. Clothes were her passion, and she was devoted to her job. Until it was taken away from her. Though accused of a heinous crime, two in fact, Rita wouldn’t hurt a fly. She was kind and generous to a fault. Rita had many friends, among them her well-dressed customers, three good-looking men and a self-proclaimed vampire.
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