“Everything is perfect, Mitzi, as usual,” Barbara said. “You’re an artist when it comes to parties. Now, I must introduce Rosalyn to some other friends. Speak to you soon.” She kept hold of my hand and led me a few yards away, near the topiaries.
“Stay away from that man,” she whispered. “He had one too many bourbons at the country club Spring Fling. I’ll spare you the details, but suffice to say I won’t be using the pool anytime soon.”
Ew. And she had the nerve to bag on my friends?
She stopped and faced me. When she started fluffing my peplum, I slapped her hand. “Stop it, Mother. I’m not six.”
“Carlucci is here,” she said in a low voice. “And he arrived with bodyguards. Maybe you saw them out front.”
“I thought they were bouncers.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. A few months ago, he started bringing them everywhere he goes. Like a status symbol or something.”
“What about Al Bosworth? Is he here too?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
My mother edged closer. “That man is always glued to Will’s side. It’s quite rude, as he’s never invited.” My mother raised both shoulders in a what can you do shrug.
“Is Wyatt Sanders here?”
She discreetly glanced at various groupings of people. “No, I haven’t seen him. He rarely attends. Occasionally, his wife turns up, but not tonight. She’s a vegan or something. Runs a yoga studio and drinks disgusting health water by the gallon.”
“Birch sap water.”
“It sounds vile.”
“Mom, do you know a Dr. Cadewell?”
Her left brow nearly moved. “Yes. As a matter of fact, he’s here tonight. But how on earth is he involved with this little case of yours? Rosalyn, what exactly are you investigating?” Her blue gaze bore into mine.
“I can’t go into all the details. Client confidentiality. So…Dr. Cadewell?”
She humphed. “Ethan. He’s only an ER doctor, but he married the granddaughter of Thaddeus Langford.”
That one sentence told me a hell of a lot. Physicians, just like everyone else in Huntingford, were locked into a hierarchy. ER doctors were on the bottom of the pyramid; however, he’d married a Langford—and that family was like freaking nobility. They owned the jewelry store in town, specializing in one-of-a-kind pieces that were a must-have for a Huntingford wife of means. The necklace draped around my mother’s throat right now, dripping with diamonds, was a Langford piece. Not that she bragged about it. That would be gauche.
So why was Ethan Cadewell patching up fighters in his spare time? Only two reasons I could think of—he was either in debt up to his eyeballs or he had a nasty habit he wanted to keep hidden.
“Rosalyn, casually peer over my left shoulder. See the blond woman in the white dress?”
Standing near a full-sized Greek statue, several women clustered together. I spotted the blond. She stood on the fringe, apart from the others, with her shoulder turned away from the group. I didn’t need Andre’s expertise in body language to tell me she wasn’t part of the klatch. “I see her.”
“That’s Jennifer Carlucci. And if you must ask impertinent questions, do so privately.”
“I know how to question people, Mom. I have done this a time or two.”
She pressed her lips together. “That’s not something to boast about.”
“Where’s Carlucci’s daughter?”
“I don’t know, but you can’t miss her. It hardly seems possible, but her dress is worse than yours.”
“Any more arrows you want to sling my way or can you introduce me to Jennifer now?”
“I’m simply stating the obvious, dear.”
I didn’t bother defending myself. As she spun around, I subtly flung the contents of my glass into the grass and followed, strolling by several marble Greek statues.
My mother gracefully slid into the loose circle of five women and made introductions. Jennifer Carlucci barely acknowledged me as she gazed off into the distance, looking bored. I smiled nicely for the audience. As they chatted, I sized up Will Carlucci’s second wife. With hair so blond it was actually white, it provided a stark contrast to her deeply tanned skin. The layers of her sheer white dress floated in the breeze and the bodice was slashed at the neckline, revealing her bony chest. Her makeup was a little too heavy, her lipstick bright orange. At her neck, she wore a diamond lariat and paired it with diamond chandelier earrings. Total bling overkill.
I touched her elbow to get her attention. “Your dress is lovely. Jennifer, is it?”
“Yes, and thanks. It’s Gucci.” From the corner of my eye, I saw another woman smirk. It was one thing to wear a label, it was another to talk about it. Jennifer’s hand fluttered over her barely-there bodice, and her big honking diamond engagement ring nearly blinded me.
The evening light waned just a bit. Standing near the statues, the shadows lengthened. “Damn it, have you seen a waiter?” I held up my empty glass. “I could use another hit.”
She glanced around. “There.” She pointed with her flute. “Personally, I could use something stronger.”
I lowered my head and leaned a little closer. “Could these parties be any duller?”
She smiled. “I think I like you.”
“Come on. Let’s go find some brandy or something.” Together we set off down the path and headed toward the bar.
“What’s your name again, honey?”
Honey? The woman was only ten years older than I was. “Rosalyn. You can call me Rose.”
She held out her hand, flashing her ring under my nose. “What do you think of this? It’s twelve karats. Cartier.”
I held her fingers and tried to appear properly impressed. “It’s stunning. Your husband must be smitten.”
She took her hand back. “Let’s just say I know how to keep him happy.” With a little smile on her lips, she watched me. I suspected she was trying to shock me. It took a hell of a lot more than innuendo to do that.
“I bet you do. My mother’s very impressed with your husband’s generosity. She says he’s one of the most charitable men in town.”
Reaching the makeshift bar, Jennifer whisked the flute from my hand and handed it to the bartender. “Two brandies, please. And give us the good stuff.” She leaned toward me. “Yeah, Will is loaded. He loves coming to these parties and throwing his weight around. Personally, I’d rather just write a check and be done with it.”
I nodded sympathetically. “These soirées can get old pretty fast.”
She gave an eyeroll that would make Roxy jealous. “You have no idea. Those other women are absolute bitches to me, but I don’t pay any attention. Will wants to fit in, get some respect from people like Mitzi and Hank. Me? I couldn’t care less what these people think. No offense to your mother or anything.”
Jennifer wasn’t sophisticated, but she was refreshingly honest. Happy with her new status in life, she didn’t give a crap who knew it. I kind of respected that.
“None taken. Oh, by the way, I was so sorry to hear about Rob Huggins.” I watched her closely.
Recognition flashed across her tanned face. Her brows, a few shades darker than her hair, raised into twin question marks. “What happened to Rob?”
“He’s dead.” I threw a hand over my mouth and tried to act contrite. “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.”
“No.” When the bartender placed two snifters of brandy in front of us, Jennifer grabbed hers and downed half of it. “Will didn’t mention it. What happened?”
“I’m not sure. Were the two of you close?”
“No, but my husband’s always been fond of Rob. He came over for dinner at least once a month. I wonder if Will’s heard the news.” Without even glancing at me, she took off, cutting a swath through a crowd of people.
Without waiting for an invitation, I picked up my glass and trotted after her. From the corner of my eye I noticed Jacks, but kept moving forward, not slowing my gait.
Jennifer walked across the garden to the stone fountain, where Will Carlucci, Al Bosworth, and a younger man stood in a tight circle. What struck me immediately was Carlucci’s hair. The man had a freaking fab head of hair. Thick, dark puffy waves of it, expensively cut and styled. He wore a navy tailored suit and diamond-studded cufflinks. As we closed in on the men, even from several feet away, he threw off waves of charm and charisma.
Al Bosworth stood next to him, frowning and nodding at whatever Will was saying. Upon seeing us, Al pointed in our direction. Will and the other man glanced up and stepped away from each other, making room for us to join them.
Annoyance registered in Carlucci’s sky blue eyes for a brief second, then it was gone. He smiled in greeting. “Jennifer, darling, what’s wrong?”
She stopped next to him, and with her free hand, rubbed his upper arm. “I just heard the news. Rob Huggins is dead. I’m so sorry, baby.”
Instead of responding to her, Carlucci’s gaze fell on me, sailing over my face, my breasts. Not sexual, merely calculating. “You’re Rose Strickland. I saw you last night. It’s nice to meet you in person.” I could only presume that Carlucci compiled as much research on his business associates as Sullivan did. Therefore, I was certain he knew everything about me, from my job with Andre to my shoe size. Though Andre had warned me to be careful, there was no reason to. We both knew the score.
When Will shook my hand, he made eye contact and held it for a moment, not in the sexually suggestive way Hank Rutherford had, but with sincerity. Carlucci had a knack for making you feel like you were the only person in the room. My bullshit meter was flashing like a siren, yet I could see where he might fool some people. No wonder his business had flourished. You weren’t just buying a sedan, you were making a friend for life. “Al here says you’re in the market for a new car.”
How very strange. Will’s wife just told him that Rob was dead, but instead of grief and shock, he was trying to make a sale.
“I’m sorry to hear about Rob,” I said. “How devastated you must be.” My tone implied otherwise.
“Yes, I am devastated. Rob was a good man and a hell of a fighter. He’ll be missed.”
“Especially by his fiancée and daughter,” I said. “They’re struggling right now, but then you know that, don’t you? I’ve heard about your dedication to charity. Do you plan on extending that same attitude to Sofia?”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll make sure they’re taken care of.”
For some reason, I wasn’t reassured. Those words could be taken as a threat or a concession.
“You’ve met Al,” Carlucci said, tipping his head toward Bosworth.
Jennifer glanced between us, a scowl on her orange lips. “How do you all know each other?”
“Rose came into the complex, looking for a car and asking about Rob.” Al flashed his teeth in a bright grin. “I take it you found what you were looking for? No need to search any further?”
He wasn’t referring to cars. He stood there smiling, talking about a man’s death like it wasn’t a big deal. Sick bastard.
Carlucci pointed his champagne flute at the third man in the group. “Dr. Ethan Cadewell, this is Rose Strickland. I believe she’s a close friend of Sullivan’s.”
Up close, Ethan Cadewell was superficially handsome, but I sensed a ruthlessness in him. Maybe it was his reptilian eyes—bright green and slightly bloodshot—or the cruel angle of his smile. Either way, I disliked him on sight.
“How do you do?” I said. Sullivan was every bit as dangerous as these three men, but this trio made my skin crawl. How could Sullivan stand to be in business with them? I wouldn’t trust Carlucci with the spare change at the bottom of my purse, let alone hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Ethan gave me a smug nod. “I do very well. From what I heard, Sullivan picked you up and dragged you kicking and screaming out of the building last night. You must have made him very angry.” My fingers itched to slap the smirk off his face.
Jennifer followed the conversation with a look of utter confusion. “Who’s Sullivan? What happened last night?” She turned to Carlucci. “I thought you had a business meeting.”
He spared her an indulgent glance. “I did, darling. Rose crashed it. Very brave of her.”
“Or very stupid,” Ethan said.
They all stared at me, waiting for something. A show of anger? A flash of embarrassment? They’d be waiting a long time. I was tired of being the source of their amusement and decided to go for the jugular.
“The cops believe Rob committed suicide. But I’m thinking it’s murder.”
Not one of them even blinked, except for Jennifer, and I’d discounted her long ago.
“What are you talking about?” she asked. She smacked Carlucci’s arm. “What is she talking about, Will?”
“I have no idea. Now, I really should mingle. Good to meet you, Rose.” He took Jennifer’s arm and steered her away. The other two men followed, with Ethan Cadewell glancing back at me, sadistic mirth glimmering behind his evil eyes.
Utterly defeated, I watched them leave. I hadn’t learned a damn thing. No confessions. No overt signs of guilt. Nada.
As I walked toward the house, the strains of music stopped mid-song and Mitzi Rutherford walked in front of the orchestra. She picked up the microphone, thanked everyone for coming, and introduced an opera singer.
If I had to stand in this heat and listen to an aria, I’d lose what little patience I had left. Ergo, time for a bathroom break.
With everyone’s attention diverted, I slipped into the house. The cool air was a balm. Between the hot sun and facing off with Will Carlucci, I’d worked up a sweat.
I set my glass on an end table and dashed down a hall before a waiter could check me. The first room to my left, a large living room, was occupied. A girl I judged to be two or three years younger than me sat in a brocade chair, her legs draped over the armrest. The lime green dress covered in sequined lace was so damn short, I was subjected to a view of her bare hip. She wore her blond hair long and straight. And her skin tone reminded me of a slice of cantaloupe. Unless I was way off-base, I’d just found Candi Carlucci.
She texted feverishly, which was a feat in itself, considering her right hand was encased in a hot pink cast. Shoulders hunched forward, her pouty lips pulled downward into a frown, Candi’s thumbs were a blur across the screen.
I moved into the room, noting the expensive antiques—a grandfather clock and a portrait of a sixteenth-century man with his hunting dog.
“Hi,” I said.
She finished texting, then glanced up. Like her stepmother, she applied her makeup with a heavy hand. Eyelids should not shimmer that much. Even her long fake nails were coated in crystals. Everything about her was blingtastic.
“Hey.” Her smile was as bright as her body glitter, her eyes devoid of intelligence. “Who’re you?”
I plopped down on the sofa and kicked off my shoes. “Rose Strickland.”
“Candi Carlucci.”
I tipped my chin. “Nice to meet you. I see you’re as thrilled about these shindigs as I am.”
Something changed then. The smile dimmed. As her eyes swept over me, there was a canniness to them that hadn’t been there a moment before. “They suck.”
I glanced at her cast. “How’d you wing yourself?”
“I wrapped my car around a light pole.”
“Yikes. I guess you got lucky then, huh?”
She’d begun texting again, and her thumbs paused. “The police said if I’d driven the car just a few inches to the left, I’d be dead. So yeah, I got off lucky.” Texting resumed.
; “I met your mom and dad outside. They seem nice,” I lied.
That finally got her attention. She swung her legs forward, and the skirt hiked up past her hooha. Lime green panties. Nice touch.
After tossing her phone into her beaded bag, she whipped a hank of hair over her shoulder. “Don’t get it twisted. That bitch is not my mother. They’ve only been married for a couple of years.” She said it with such venom, I knew I’d touched a nerve.
“Wicked stepmother, huh?”
“If by wicked you mean she’s a disgusting slore, then yes.” A slut whore. Redundant, but telling. Candi really hated her stepmonster. “Who dragged you to this thing?”
“My mom. She’s like Martha Stewart, but not as nice.”
She stared down at her nails. “My dad will get bored with Jennifer soon enough. He’ll trade her in for a younger model with less mileage. Just like he does with his cars.” Ouch.
“I met Al at the dealership the other day,” I said. “He had a picture of your parents in his office.”
“Uncle Al and my dad grew up together. He’s always around.” Standing, she tugged on her skirt and finally covered herself. She was obviously tired of walking down memory lane. I needed to find out if she knew anything about the fight club before she slipped away.
“I’m sorry about Rob Huggins. I take it he and your dad were really close.”
Surprise flashed across her features. “Rob? What happened?”
I stood as well. “He’s dead. I thought you must have heard by now.”
“Are you serious?” Moisture glimmered in her eyes. “Rob’s dead?”
As hastily as I could, I pulled a tissue from my purse and thrust it into her hand. “You two were friends?”
“We were much more than that.”
Chapter 16
Tears spilled onto her cheeks, leaving behind inky mascara trails. “Rob was so…He listened, you know? When my mom died, he was there for me. Then we kind of slipped into a relationship. Not a serious one,” she said hastily, leading me to believe it had been serious on her end.
Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4) Page 18