Susan chose from the tray offered and continued her questions. “Thanks. So you allow all your employees equal access to the carriage house?”
“Pretty much. We have to be very careful who we hire. Everyone who works for us is bonded. They have to be. They work in homes where there are many opportunities to steal valuables. If they’re not honest, we’d have a serious problem. Actually, we did once. One of the girls we hired to serve was stealing. Just small things, so it wasn’t picked up at first. You know, a silver teaspoon here and there. But then she stole a candlestick that had actually been made by Paul Revere. Naturally, it was noticed immediately, and we conducted a search. It was found in her locker. We apologized profusely to the person that employed us, of course. Our employer that night was a famous psychiatrist, and as the young woman agreed to go into treatment for whatever her problem was, the whole affair was dropped. Of course, we didn’t charge for our services that evening. He hired us when his daughter was married two years later, in fact. That was in the city.”
“New York?”
“Yes. We do a lot of work there as well as in Connecticut and some in Westchester County.”
“But you’ve never had problems with things vanishing from the carriage house?”
“No. What is there to steal here? Food? Some expensive kitchenware? No, I think whoever broke in here just plain made a stupid mistake.” The phone on her desk rang, and Gwen excused herself and picked up the receiver. “Hello. The Holly and Ms. Ivy.”
As the frown on Gwen’s face became a scowl, Susan got up and left the room. Curious though she was, it was obvious that Gwen needed some privacy. She strolled out into the hallway, once again looking at the photographs of previous parties. She recognized Henry Kissinger in one photo and the view of Central Park that only an East Side penthouse affords in another. It was fairly obvious that these were posed publicity photographs, and it occurred to Susan that there wasn’t any name dropping at The Holly and Ms. Ivy. She must ask Gwen if the confidentiality of her clients was guaranteed as well as the safety of their belongings when The Holly and Ms. Ivy catered a party.
As it seemed the conversation was going to continue for a long while, Susan moved farther away from the small office. The end of the hallway opened onto the large space that Gwen had mentioned yesterday. Here a round table was encircled by six chairs, where discussions could be held and decisions made. To help make those decisions, the walls were lined with shelves displaying dozens of napkins, swatches of tablecloth fabric, and many vases. There were rows of books that Susan knew contained photographs of balloons, floral displays, and the like. She hadn’t planned her party here. Gwen had come to her house bringing those books along with her.
Susan picked up a linen napkin with tiny flowers embroidered around the hem and thought about the murdered man. She’d known her share of charming men, but even she had to admit that Z was at the top of her list. He was the type of man who expected to be liked, the type of man who called her Sue immediately after meeting her (although, in fact, she was known as Susan). He was probably a man who had always been liked by women. Sensitive, charming, good-looking, he was almost too good to be true, like the hero in a bad novel. Susan had been a little surprised to find out that Jed liked him.
Initially, she knew, Jed had been put off by the fact that Z was only known by his first initial, but they had met one evening when Z was checking out Susan’s kitchen equipment, and that had been the last criticism she’d ever heard. Jed had been pleased when Susan hired The Holly and Ms. Ivy, saying that she deserved a break. He was smart enough to quickly add that he would miss her wonderful food and … uh, everything else.
That’s when Susan began planning the fun she was going to have the week after Christmas. No longer one long session in the kitchen, which, let’s face it, was a lot of tiring work, no matter how much she enjoyed doing it. Free from that, she had accepted invitations to every party she was asked to attend, more than one on some nights. Thinking about all this reminded her of their engagement this afternoon. She walked back down the hall and, hearing Gwen’s voice raised in anger this time, sped up as she passed that doorway and went back downstairs. Maybe she could find out something from Jamie—wherever she was.
Fortunately, the long red braid was easy to find in the sea of chef’s jackets, and Susan hurried over to Jamie’s counter, hoping she wasn’t interrupting something important.
“Thank goodness you’re here. I tried to call your house, but your husband said you’d already left,” the woman muttered, not looking up from the basket she was fashioning from chou paste. “You didn’t tell Gwen about last night, did you?”
“About last night?” Susan repeated, not understanding the concern.
They had been joined by the young man who’d served dinner at the Logans. “She didn’t say anything, did she?” he hissed.
“About what?” Susan insisted on knowing.
“About last night. About being here,” he said, apparently thinking that was an explanation.
“She must know you were here,” Susan insisted.
“We don’t want her to know you were here. We’re not supposed to have people in the building outside of regular working hours,” Jamie explained. “Of course, you didn’t know that, so if you said anything …”
“I didn’t,” Susan reassured them, and the young man went back to his own work with a look of relief on his face. “But why doesn’t she want people around?”
“Oh,” Jamie began, “that’s not true. This was designed to be seen. Believe me, most catering firms are nothing like this. Everything is clean, of course, but utilitarian. The stoves aren’t colored; the pots and pans are hung up for convenience, not as an attractive display; the employees wear clean white clothing, but not with this fancy embroidery; and the rooms they work in are nowhere near as attractive as this one.”
Susan looked around. “So this is … ?” She didn’t know how to finish the question.
“This is part of the charm of The Holly and Ms. Ivy. Part of what makes this firm unique.”
Susan nodded. “And part of what you’re selling.”
“Exactly. And no one is supposed to see behind the scenes. It ruins the illusion.”
“And Gwen insists on all this?” Susan asked, becoming interested in the extraordinary skill Jamie was displaying in her work.
“Well, Gwen will now, but I think it was Z’s idea to begin with. When I first came to work here, he was the one who explained to me that all this had been designed to be seen. That’s why the customers who come to the carriage house have to walk through all this to go upstairs and talk with Z.”
Susan wondered if Z had created illusions about other things as well—perhaps even himself. But she didn’t have any time to think about it. There was a loud yell, and Gwen got the attention of everyone in the room at the same time.
“I want an exact list of who made what for the Logan’s party last night,” she called down in an angry voice. “Which one of you is trying to kill our clients?”
ELEVEN
“And so it turned out that two people were complaining about upset stomachs this morning? That’s all?” Jed was driving carefully as the unpaved road leading to the Gordons’ cabin followed a winding stream. One skid on the snow-covered surface could send them into the partially frozen water.
“It sounded more serious than that,” Susan said, peering out the window at the road ahead. “Is it snowing harder?”
“I was just thinking that it was slowing down,” Jed answered, gripping the wheel tightly. “But I don’t recognize any of this, do you?”
“Places always look different without any leaves on the trees,” his wife answered, then returned to the original subject. “I think it was more serious than that. One of the guests went to the hospital. Dan something or other …”
“You’re not talking about Dan Irving, are you?”
“That’s it! Dan Irving. He went to the emergency room in the middle of the night.
He tho—”
“—thought he was having a heart attack.” Jed surprised her by finishing the sentence. “Dan always thinks he’s having a heart attack. He’s a hypochondriac. I used to play golf with him, but listening to his many symptoms made me sick. Some of the doctors at the club kid about the emergency room having forms made up ahead of time with his name and insurance information. The symptoms are left out—but not the diagnosis. Indigestion. That man believes every gas pain is fatal.
“I think we’re lost,” Jed added, changing the subject.
“What? Where are we?”
“If I knew that, we wouldn’t be lost, would we?” Jed said, so patiently that Susan wanted to scream at him. “I do know that I’ve seen that barn up there more than once today.”
Susan peered out the window. “I don’t remember it.”
“You were looking at the directions,” Jed reminded her.
“Jerry’s handwriting is very artistic, but it’s impossible to read. What’s this word? Ridge? What does ‘Right on the ridge’ mean?”
Jed slowly applied his foot to the brake and glanced over at the sheet of paper his wife held. “That says ‘Right at the bridge.’ That’s what we did wrong. We were supposed to turn back at that sign that says one-lane bridge ahead. You said left.”
“There was a sign there that pointed to Ridge Way Farm. I thought it said ridge. I thought we were supposed to turn toward the farm. You work with Jerry. You know his handwriting. Why didn’t you just let me drive? We might even be there by now.”
“You said you didn’t want to drive. You wanted to look at the pretty Christmas decorations in all the little New England towns, remember?”
“Not over and over. I didn’t want to see the same towns more than once. I never said that.”
“Maybe we should have stopped for lunch.”
Susan scowled. Her irritation didn’t necessarily have anything to do with low blood sugar. At least that was all he would accuse her of having. They’d been married well over twenty years; Jed knew that one more mention of PMS would be fatal. “I’m sure Kathleen will have lots of food,” was all she said.
They were quiet for a while before Susan spoke again. “There was a lot of drinking going on, but I don’t suppose anyone would confuse a hangover with poison.”
“Maybe someone had a hangover, but didn’t want to admit to drinking so much and decided to blame the food,” Jed suggested. “Besides, I don’t see why this is so much of a problem. Someone gives a dinner party, and one or two people are sick afterward. What’s the big deal? It could be the flu. It could be that they were allergic to one of the ingredients in something. I always wonder what’s in those odd-colored pâtés—not the ones you make,” he added quickly. “Anyway, it could even have been something they ate for lunch.”
“Gwen seemed to be worried about the reputation of The Holly and Ms. Ivy.”
“That’s the catering company you hired to do our party on Saturday night? Well,” he continued at his wife’s nod, “I don’t think they have to worry about business. Even I’ve heard of them, and from what I’ve heard, we were damn lucky to get them. Someone at work wanted them to cater his daughter’s wedding next summer, and the company was fully booked. I suppose we should start thinking about where Chrissy is going to get married.…”
“What? She’s barely started college. What did she say to you?”
“Just kidding,” Jed assured his shrieking wife. “She didn’t say a word to me about getting married or anything else.”
“Don’t scare me like that.”
“I suppose you and Kathleen are going to spend the afternoon trying to figure out who killed Z. Jerry and I will have to amuse ourselves—and take care of Ban.”
“Kathleen and I aren’t involved in this investigation.”
“You’re not trying to convince me that you weren’t running all over town asking questions while I was in the city yesterday. I know you better than that, hon.”
“I did a little checking around,” she admitted, “but not with Kathleen. Kathleen is helping Brett. They don’t want me involved—not this time.”
“What’s different about this time?”
Susan just realized what she’d gotten herself into. What was she going to do? Tell her husband that Kathleen and Brett thought she had a crush on Z? But wouldn’t he hear sooner or later? “It’s a question of attachment,” she began slowly, and glanced over to see her husband’s reaction.
He nodded. “Kathleen and Brett. Right?”
Susan was so stunned that she couldn’t think of anything to say immediately.
“I suppose it’s not a surprise,” Jed continued. “She and Brett were involved when they first came to town. Jerry is a lot older than she is. Maybe it’s just something that was bound to happen. I sure hope Jerry doesn’t hear about it. It would kill him.”
Susan had no idea what to say, but she knew she couldn’t let her husband believe this. “Kathleen would never have an affair with anyone! She loves Jerry,” she insisted.
“I know that, but sometimes people find someone else attractive and they … they flirt.”
Susan glanced over at her husband, wondering exactly what he was talking about. Or who he was talking about.
But she didn’t think about it for long. The small log cabin tucked in the grove of white pine miraculously appeared in front of them. Jerry and his son were busy building a snowman next to the pine-draped porch railing. Wood smoke curled from the stone chimney as Jed parked the car. Susan got out and waved hello and, as her husband walked over to join the males, headed into the house.
As she expected, a large fire burned cheerfully in the fireplace, warming the room. A small pine tree had been cut and stood on an old bench across the rear wall of the room, its trunk wrapped in a red and green striped linen dish towel, tiny brass and pewter ornaments hanging on its boughs. Antique elves marched in a line across the heavy fir mantel toward bayberry candles standing in birch holders, Susan’s gift to the house. But not all her expectations were met. She had certainly thought Kathleen would be at home.
The first floor was almost entirely a great room that served as both living and dining areas; behind that lay a long red-and-white kitchen; a tiny half bath was tucked under the stairs that led to four small bedrooms and two minuscule baths on the second floor. It didn’t take long for Susan to realize that she was alone—and that no one had been busy preparing their dinner. The kitchen was immaculate except for an open bottle of apple juice on the counter near the refrigerator and an empty glass in the sink. Susan decided Kathleen must be out buying or picking up dinner. And hopefully she’d get back soon. It looked like the snow was coming down more heavily.
Susan peered out the window. Jed’s navy wool cap was now on top of the finished snowman, and an energetic snowball fight was taking place. She wondered if she should look around the kitchen for the ingredients of a hot drink or whether, as a guest, she could flop on the plaid couch near the fireplace and begin reading the paperback she’d stuck in her pocket before leaving home.
She had just chosen the book when she heard another car drive up. Kathleen! Thank goodness the men were still outside. They could carry in all the groceries, deli, or whatever Kathleen was planning to serve for dinner. She was just opening her book when the door opened, and Jerry’s parents appeared. Bananas was being held high in the air by his grandfather, and Jerry’s mother carried a large, white bakery box tied with red ribbons. Jed and Jerry tagged behind, their arms full of brown grocery bags.
“I hope,” Mrs. Gordon said, after wishing Susan a merry Christmas, “that Kathleen told you what she planned for dinner. We bought everything on the list, but I have no idea what she was planning to concoct.…”
“Where is Kathleen?” Susan got up from the couch, feeling fairly certain that her lounging time had ended.
“Didn’t she call? That good-looking young detective appeared at the door in Hancock, and she just asked if we would stop on the way
up and buy the groceries. Then she took off. I suppose we’d better get everything put away and dinner started. It sure didn’t look like she was planning to come up today.”
Susan followed the other woman’s gaze toward Jerry and watched as he turned his back on his mother. What was going on here? Was it possible that Jed was right—that Kathleen and Brett were involved? She stared into the fire, oblivious to the activity going on around her.
Kathleen had claimed that Susan couldn’t be part of this investigation because of her feelings for Z. But Susan knew that her relationship with Z had been a professional one and that any other thoughts or fantasies on her part were just that—fantasies. And there hadn’t been any reason for anyone to think anything else. In fact, now that she thought about it, there was no way Kathleen could have even imagined that Susan and Z meant anything personal to each other. So the only other reason for Susan to be excluded from the investigation was—she stopped, unwilling to accept the next thought. Kathleen and Brett?
She had met them together years and years ago, both members of the state police, on duty in Hancock to investigate a murder. Kathleen had appeared to disdain what she imagined were the lives of suburban women. And Susan might never have seen or heard from her again if Kathleen hadn’t been so attractive. Because when a police department is looking for an officer to speak at an elementary-school career day, they look second for competence, third for speaking skills, fourth for charm, and first for good looks. Kathleen, a stunning blonde, had fulfilled all the requirements.
When Susan had run into Kathleen in the city, a week before the program was scheduled to occur, she’d suggested that they make plans to lunch together after Kathleen’s visit. That hospitable gesture led to an introduction to Jed’s coworker and good friend, a widower. Jerry and Kathleen had married within the year.
When Brett had returned to Hancock, Susan had allowed herself to wonder (very briefly) about what sort of relationship had existed between Kathleen and him. But they had been friendly, nothing else, and Susan, slightly embarrassed by her thoughts, had gone on to other things. And now, years later, Jed had raised a question she thought was dead.
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