Aunt Sis pushed back the length of her kaftan’s left sleeve and held out her hand.
A diamond the size of an aircraft carrier sparkled on her ring finger.
Mother’s eyes widened. “Have you set a date?”
Aunt Sis nodded, and a wicked smile curled her lips. “We have.”
“When?” Mother’s jaw snapped into place and she sorted through her mental Rolodex, arranging the florist, booking the club, choosing a wedding cake, finding a dress.
“Friday.”
Mother sat back in her chair and did the blink-shake-blink thing again. “Friday? You can’t get married Friday.”
“We can.” Aunt Sis smiled at Gordon. “We’ve spent too long apart.”
“But the church—”
“We’ll be married at City Hall,” said Gordon. “Mayor Wheeler agreed to officiate.”
“Friday.” Blink. Shake. Blink. “But the reception? There’s no way—”
“Much as I love a party, we’ll celebrate the wedding with a family dinner on Friday night. I hope you’ll come.”
“Of course I’ll be there.” An army of spiders couldn’t keep Mother away. “But—”
“It’s what I want, Frances.”
“It’s what we both want.” Gordon gazed at Sis with I’m-the-luckiest-man-in-the-world eyes. “We’ll have a big party later in the year. Besides, we leave for Paris early Saturday morning.”
Blink. Shake. Blink. “Paris?” Mother’s voice was a ghost of its usual self.
“April in Paris,” Gordon replied. “We need to hurry. There’s not much April left.”
“Paris is always a good idea.” I quoted Audrey Hepburn.
A mistake since it brought Mother’s attention. “Did you know about this?”
Suspect? Yes. Know? “I did not.”
The waiter arrived with the Champagne and showed Daddy the bottle.
Daddy nodded, and the waiter popped the cork.
Heads turned.
The waiter poured six glasses (Daddy included Grace, and I didn’t argue) and served each of us.
When he left us, Daddy raised his glass. “To Sis and Gordon. We wish you every happiness. Gordon, welcome to the family.”
We clinked glasses and sipped our Champagne.
People at nearby tables stared openly.
“Where will you live?” asked Mother.
“Kansas City, Vail, and Key West,” Gordon replied. “Depending on the weather.”
“Don’t forget Ibiza,” said Aunt Sis.
“That’s right, dear. Your house. I can’t wait to see it. How’s the weather there in March?”
“A bit chilly. It’s better in the summer.”
“Let’s spend July in Ibiza.”
Aunt Sis glanced at Mother. “Of course, we’ll be in Kansas City for holidays.”
“Of course.” Mother’s voice was faint. Mother’s voice was never faint.
“It sounds marvelous to me.” I smiled at my aunt. “I plan on visiting you wherever you are.”
“You and Grace are always welcome.”
“We’ve never been to Key West, Mom.”
“Come over Christmas break,” said Gordon. “The week after Christmas. The weather will be perfect.”
“Can we?” Grace’s eyes pleaded with me.
“Of course.”
Mother’s lips pinched. How had I finagled an invitation to Gordon’s Key West house before she did?
I snuck a peek at my watch. “Would you please excuse me?” I stood. “Don’t get up.”
Daddy and Gordon ignored my request and stood.
I left them, weaved through the dining room, and passed too close to Jane Addison’s table.
“Ellison,” she called. “What are you celebrating?” Jane’s eyes glittered like a robin with a juicy worm caught in its beak.
“Happy news.” I didn’t stop.
My trajectory took me past the table where Stan sat with his brother.
The poor man looked haggard. I stopped. I had to. “Stan—” What did one say to a man who made zombies look healthy?
“Stan told us you’re reading at Phyllis’s service.” Christopher Goddard rose from the table. “That’s kind of you.” He glanced at his brother who stared at the omelet on his plate as if it contained the secrets to the universe. “We appreciate it.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Trite sentiments were a godsend. “Your family is in my thoughts and prayers.”
“Thank you,” said Christopher. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
I continued to the ladies’ lounge where Libba waited for me with the patience of a hungry toddler.
“Took you long enough,” she said.
“Crowded room.” I shrugged and checked my lipstick. “I stopped at Stan’s table. He’s in bad shape.”
“And how.” Libba glanced in the mirror, frowned, and picked a piece of egg from her hair.
“Why are you brunching with Daisy’s children?” Libba usually avoided children.
“I’m Margot’s godmother and her birthday is Tuesday. We’re celebrating.” She spoke through gritted teeth.
“What did you give her?”
“A doll and ten shares of IBM.”
I nodded my approval. Libba might fail on her promise to help guide her goddaughter in faith, but her fabulous gifts made up for it. “You’re a good godmother.”
“I know.” Libba studied my reflection in the mirror. “What’s up with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean?” she mimicked. Then she poked a finger at me. “You’re glowing.”
“Glowing?” I too studied my reflection.
“Don’t deny it. You worked things out with Anarchy.”
I didn’t reply.
“Well?” she demanded.
“Well what?”
“Did you, or didn’t you?”
“Do what?”
“Don’t be coy, Ellison.”
The lounge door swung open and Nan Roddingham came in.
Libba and I both tightened our holds on our handbags.
Nan was a lovely woman. Funny. Charming. A complete kleptomaniac.
She blinked when she saw me. “Is it true?”
“Is what true, Nan?”
“Is your aunt marrying Gordon Thayer?”
“What?” Libba skewered me with her gaze. “You didn’t tell me?”
“It’s true.”
Nan smiled sweetly. “Gordon is a lucky man.”
Kansas City’s divorcées and widows might say Aunt Sis was the lucky one. She’d landed—in a few days—the man they’d all pined after for years.
“I hope he’ll make her very happy.”
“They’re head over heels in love.”
“When were you going to tell me?” Libba demanded.
“You were the one who wanted to discuss glows.”
Libba grumbled.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Despite three dead bodies, tomorrow’s reading, and Pansy’s continued presence in my house, everything seemed right with the world.
“Ellison!”
I turned.
Stan stood behind us. In the direct sunlight of the parking lot, he looked worse than he had inside the clubhouse. Red lines webbed the whites of his eyes, and the smudges beneath those eyes were as purple as the bruises on my neck. Also, his shoulders slumped as if he carried a heavy burden.
How certain was Anarchy of Stan’s alibi? To me, the man looked guilty. Of something.
“Hi, Stan.”
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
I handed Grace the car keys. “Grab the car, honey?”
She looked doubtfully at Stan.
“See you in a minute, Grace.”
Stan watched her walk away then rubbed his face with both his hands. “I didn’t kill my wife.”
“No one thinks you did. You have an alibi.”
“I didn’t want her dead.”
Okay.
; “Is Christopher still here?” I asked.
“Christopher doesn’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“What it’s like. No one does.”
“Have you talked to Ted Ivens? I bet he understands. You two might help each other.”
Stan stiffened. “No.”
“Are you sure? You’re enduring the same hardships.”
“No!”
I needed to avoid parking lots. Nothing good happened in parking lots. I found bodies. Men deranged with grief wanted answers I didn’t have. “Stan.” I used the voice I saved for times Grace had the flu—empathetic, concerned, caring.
“I didn’t kill her.”
Could I get in the car and leave Stan alone in the parking lot? I could not.
I laid my hand on his arm. “Let’s find Christopher.”
“Christopher?”
“Your brother.”
“He doesn’t understand.”
Neither did I—Stan’s disintegrating psyche was beyond my capabilities. He might need a doctor. No might about it. “Let’s find him anyway.”
“She follows me,” Stan mumbled.
That stopped me. “Who follows you?”
“I didn’t kill my wife.”
“I believe you, Stan. Who’s following you?”
“You don’t understand.”
“So explain it to me.”
“I can’t.” He shook off my hand and stumbled toward a black Mercedes.
“Stan!”
“What?” He tilted his head as if I’d disturbed him.
“You can’t drive.”
“Of course I can.” He patted his pockets, and his face fell. “My keys are gone.”
“Let’s find Christopher. I bet he has your keys.”
I expected an argument, but Stan’s shoulders slumped to his knees and he nodded. Together we walked into the clubhouse.
“There you are!” Christopher’s wife Laura wore a pinched expression that relaxed when she saw us.
“Stan’s misplaced his keys.”
She barked a short, frustrated laugh. “Thank you, Ellison.”
With Stan safely stashed with his family, I returned to the parking lot.
Grace idled next to the door.
I opened the passenger’s door. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Is he okay?” Grace drove down the long drive at a sedate pace.
“No. He’s not. Christopher should investigate clinics after the funeral.”
“I’ve never seen anyone fall apart like that.”
I nodded. I couldn’t help but note Stan’s descent into absolute cuckoo, which began with Phyllis’s death, took serious hold with Carol’s.
Grace played with the radio, pausing at Phoebe Snow’s “Poetry Man.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“It’s about a cheater.”
She fiddled with the dial, and B.J. Thomas sang “Another Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song.” “No?”
“No.”
Again she fiddled. Barry Manilow came on. We sang “It’s a Miracle” with him. With gusto.
Grace pulled into the drive but braked near the street. “Whose car is that?”
“No idea, but I have a bad feeling.”
Grace parked near the door, and I sat for an extra twenty seconds. I didn’t need another problem.
“Maybe someone’s delivering something,” Grace suggested.
“It’s a Lincoln. Too nice to be a delivery vehicle.” With a sigh, I got out of the car.
“Do you think it’s Ms. Davies?”
Ugh. “It could be.”
“Max will be heartbroken.”
The front door opened, and Prudence exited my home. Alone.
She paused, and we stared at each other.
“I dropped off Pansy’s things.”
“You what?” Blink. Shake. Blink.
“You said you’d keep her.”
I tilted my head. Had everyone in the city lost their minds? “You’re giving me Pansy?”
“You took her,” Prudence accused.
“Not exactly. I kept her. What’s going on, Prudence?”
She lifted her chin. “Mother doesn’t like her. She barks and digs and hides things in the sofa cushions. She’s not welcome. But if I leave Mother’s, I’ll need a job. If I work, Pansy will be cooped up all day. She’d be miserable. She’s better off with—she’s better off here.”
“You’re sure?”
Prudence wiped under her eyes. “I’m sure.”
“Thank you.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you mocking me?”
“No. The opposite.” Prudence doing something selfless? Who’d have thunk it? “Thank you for caring about Pansy and for trusting me to take care of her.”
She sniffed. “You’re welcome.” Then, with her nose planted firmly in the air, she brushed past me, climbed into her car, and drove away.
“That was weird,” said Grace.
“You have no idea.”
Max and Pansy met us at the front door. They wore matching grins, and Pansy’s long tail wagged so fast her fur blurred.
“Happy to be staying?”
Woof!
“I have rules, Pansy.”
She gave me a doggy eyeroll. Yeah, right.
“I wasn’t kidding about obedience training.”
Woof! You’d send this face away? She regarded me with her enormous grin and liquid eyes.
“Stay off my kitchen counters. No digging. Come when you’re called.”
Grace handed me my keys, crouched, and rubbed behind Pansy’s ears.
Pansy’s whole back end quivered with delight.
Two dogs. One was a challenge. What had I done? Still, it was impossible not to smile at Grace and the smiling dogs.
Grace looked up at me from her spot on the floor. “You seem happier today.”
“Do I?”
She studied me for a moment. “You sang a love song in the car.”
“Did I?”
She nodded. “And you were nice to Ms. Davies.”
“She gave us her dog.”
“Your cheeks are pink.”
“I’m wearing blush.”
Her eyes widened with realization. “You and Anarchy. It’s about time.”
“We talked.”
“About?”
“Since when are you so nosy?”
“I’ve always been nosy.” She grinned at me. “I want you to be happy.”
“Thank you, honey. That’s what I want for you. And I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh?”
“I am happy. I have a career I love. I have you. I have wonderful friends. I have Mother and Daddy. My happiness doesn’t depend on a man.”
“What about Anarchy?”
“If Anarchy went back to San Francisco, I’d be sad, but I’d be okay. I wouldn’t fall apart like Mr. Goddard.”
“I never thought you would.”
That made one of us.
“Are you a couple now?”
Ding dong.
I opened the front door.
Anarchy stood on the front stoop, and I couldn’t ignore the rightness that filled me when I saw him.
“You look nice,” he said.
“Brunch at the club.”
“Ah.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek.
Grace stood. And grinned. “I have homework.” She ran up the front stairs with the dogs at her heels.
“What’s up with her?”
“His name is Hodge. How’s the investigation?”
“We’re nowhere. The motives and opportunities don’t match.”
“At least Gordon is cleared.”
“Gordon?”
I nodded. “He was with us when Carol Schneider died.”
Anarchy’s face clouded. “Carol was killed in the afternoon, her body stashed in her car. She’d been dead for hours when we found her.”
I’d pictured Carol like Bobbi—slumped on chi
lly pavement. “So Gordon could have killed her?” My stomach, filled with country club brunch, churned.
“I suppose. But why would he?”
Chapter Nineteen
I arrived at the church early, sat in the car, and stared at the dark side of a stained-glass window. My thoughts tripped over each other in their eagerness to beat against my brain.
Phyllis’s body lay in that church.
Had Gordon Thayer killed her?
He couldn’t have, Sis loved him. And Gordon had an alibi for Carol’s death. Could he have paid someone to kill her?
No. Of course not.
If not Gordon, who?
I plodded inside without an answer.
The reverend stood in the narthex. He greeted me with a warm handshake. “Ellison, thank you for doing this.”
I offered him a weak excuse for a smile.
“How’s Grace?”
“Fine, thank you. How’s your family?”
“The kids get bigger every day.”
“That they do.”
“Stan and his brother and sister-in-law are in the front room if you’d like to—”
“I’ll speak with them after the service.”
Reverend North’s answering grimace said he understood human frailties. Human frailties such as being too cowardly to face a grieving widower who reeked of desperation.
“I’ll sit near the front.”
I left him, found an empty pew five rows back, and claimed an aisle seat.
“Scooch,” Mother directed.
“I can’t.” I stood and waved her into the pew. “I’m getting up during the service.”
She nodded with poor grace and took a seat a few feet from the aisle. Then she reviewed my clothes—a black dress, black pumps, nude hose, pearl earrings, and a muted Hermès scarf at my neck. Unable to find fault, she sighed. “Ellison, you’re blocking the aisle.”
I reclaimed my seat. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“The reception.” Mother took charge of coffee and cookies, making certain there were plenty of both. The job included policing cookie consumption—one look from Mother could stay the hand of all but the most determined gluttons. “My car is in the shop, and your father dropped me off. You can take me home when it’s over.”
I hadn’t planned on staying till the end, but one quick glance at the determined set of Mother’s chin told me resistance was futile. “I’d be delighted.”
“We need to discuss your aunt.”
Now? “What about her?”
“She can’t get married on Friday. What will she wear?”
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