In a few minutes, they had all settled down. Klaus had ordered for himself and Chrissy, and Susan was digging through cheese-topped mashed potatoes to the delicious stew underneath. It was turning out to be a wonderful day. She was finally meeting Chrissy’s new boyfriend, and he was everything that she wanted for her daughter.
Klaus Hoffmann wasn’t just extraordinarily good-looking, charming, and competent. He was intelligent, articulate, and obviously smitten with her daughter. He and Chrissy ate steaming bowls of onion soup and crispy croque monsieur, and drank dark beer while he chatted with Susan, talking about his studies (Brown, prelaw), his family (as Chad had reported, owners of one of the most prestigious food emporiums in the city with branches in the more affluent areas on the East Coast), his travels (worldwide apparently), his politics (suitably liberal), and his future plans (possibly politics). Susan tried to avoid gushing. Chrissy was noticeably silent.
So silent, in fact, that Susan decided it was time for her to continue on her way. “I’d better get going,” she said, nodding to a hovering waiter for the check.
“My treat,” Klaus insisted.
“I can’t let you do that.…”
“Mother, let Klaus pay if he wants to,” Chrissy spoke up for the first time.
“But …,” Susan began her protest.
“Please Mrs. Henshaw. My treat. I’ve enjoyed our lunch and meeting you so much, and this is a special day for Chrissy and me.”
“Klaus …” There was a warning implied in the way Chrissy said his name.
“We’re going to go pick out my Christmas present for Chrissy,” Klaus continued. “We waited until today to do it since we met one year ago today.”
“Really? Where did you meet?” Susan asked, knowing that her daughter would think she was intruding, but unable to help herself.
“Here. In the Village,” he answered.
“We met at a party I went to last year,” Chrissy added with a sigh. “You probably don’t remember. You weren’t home. You and Dad went skiing with Chad for the three days right after Christmas.”
Susan nodded. She remembered. Jed had felt it was okay to leave Chrissy, a high-school senior at the time, alone while the rest of the family got in a couple of days of cross-country skiing. She had worried about her daughter for almost every minute of the time they were gone.
“Of course, we didn’t start dating right away,” Klaus continued. “But then I ran into Chrissy at a party in Boston last fall, and well, we’ve been seeing each other ever since then.” He had taken the bill from the waiter while speaking and, adding it to his own, had paid both.
“Well, I thank you for lunch, and I hope we meet again soon. Perhaps you’d like to come to our New Year’s Eve party,” Susan suggested.
“We have plans that night, Mother.”
“But we’ll be sure to stop in for a moment or two,” Klaus said, standing as Susan got up.
It took more than a few minutes to gather all of Susan’s packages and say some parting words. By the time she was back on the street, she could almost feel her daughter’s annoyance, but she was still thrilled. What a nice young man Klaus had turned out to be. She had just decided that there was absolutely nothing to be gained by wondering just how serious their relationship had become since fall, when it occurred to her that the only type of present that couples usually choose together was jewelry—specifically a ring. She stopped dead in the middle of Houston Street, endangering herself and causing a taxi driver to show off the remarkable tone of his car’s horn.
Was it possible that her daughter was getting engaged and keeping it a secret from her family? Had Jed been closer to the mark than he thought when he kidded about reserving The Holly and Ms. Ivy for their daughter’s wedding reception? Were they already too late to get them? Would there even be The Holly and Ms. Ivy by the time Chrissy got married—even if it was soon?
Now wait, she ordered herself, having attained the other side of the street. This was her day off. She wasn’t going to worry about Z’s murder. She wasn’t going to obsess about her daughter’s future. She was going to have a nice day and meet Jed for dinner. She proceeded with a determined step down Greene Street.
Susan didn’t have enough self-discipline to make it through the afternoon without mental distress, but she did manage to enjoy herself before returning uptown.
She got to the restaurant a little late, and Jed was waiting for her at their table. The Sign of the Dove was an old favorite, pretty in any season, beautiful during the holidays. Jed was interested in hearing about Klaus Hoffmann, completely unwilling to believe that their daughter would become engaged without introducing her parents to the young man, and he liked her hat. They had a very nice dinner.
“You’re not going out tonight?” Jed asked, stirring his espresso while they waited for dessert.
“No. Of course not.”
“You’ve been out every night since Christmas.”
“I guess so. But it hasn’t been very much fun.”
“Susan, don’t you think Brett and Kathleen can handle this one without you? There’s the entire police force, too, you know. I hate to see you ruining your holiday this year.”
“I’m not,” she assured him. “I’ve had a nice Christmas. And not cooking for a party has really freed up my time this week.”
“But?”
“But I miss doing it, I guess.”
“If that’s the only problem, we could give a Valentine’s Day party.”
“That’s a good idea. But that’s not all that’s bothering me.”
“I didn’t think so. What else?”
“I don’t feel comfortable being left out of the investigation of Z’s death.”
“Well, of course …”
“No, not of course. Why of course? There’s no reason for me to be left out.”
“You seemed to think Brett and Kathleen …”
“I did, but it doesn’t make any sense. I know Kathleen. She’s crazy about Jerry. She wouldn’t get romantically involved with Brett. It’s simply not like her.”
Jed nodded. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that. I’ve been trying to convince myself that it isn’t true.”
“Did you ever see any signs that they were having any trouble in their marriage?” Susan asked seriously.
“None. In fact, Jerry said something recently that led me to believe that they were thinking about a brother or sister for Bananas.”
“Really? Kathleen didn’t say anything to me,” Susan said, wondering if she knew her friend as well as she thought.
“Jerry just mentioned how nice it was that we had two children and how nice it would be for Bananas if he had a sibling to play with.”
Susan once again wondered how the Gordons had stayed so naive about children after so many years of watching Chad and Chrissy. Not that they weren’t good kids, but they’d had their problems like anyone else. She pursed her lips.
“Are you thinking about this young man of Chrissy’s?”
“No, about the investigation. I’m not at all worried about Klaus. He’s almost too good to be true.”
“Then maybe he is,” Jed said quietly.
“Is what?”
“Too good to be true.”
“Jed, you haven’t even met him, and you don’t like him! That’s not fair!”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like him. I just said that maybe he wasn’t exactly what he seems. There must be some reason that Chrissy didn’t introduce him to us.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, and I’m not sure it’s necessarily a bad reason. She finally has a life separate from her family; that might be very valuable to her, and she might not want to share it with us right away. Or …”
“Or what?”
“Or maybe she’s involved in something she knows we wouldn’t approve of.”
“Like what?” Jed asked.
“I don’t know. But I know if I let myself, I can imagine about twenty things that will make me craz
y. And we still won’t be nearer to the truth.”
Jed dipped his spoon into the crème caramel that the waiter had just set in front of him and tasted it. “You know, Klaus and Z seem to be similar men.”
Susan’s mouth dropped open. “You know, you’re right. I’d never thought of it like that. Do you think Z was a phony, too?”
“I don’t necessarily think Klaus is a phony, but …”
“But it is something to think about,” his wife agreed readily. “It’s actually what everyone says about Z—that he was everything they wanted. And Jamie told me that Gwen left all the schmoozing of hostesses to him because he was so good at it. And Jamie’s aunt said pretty much the same thing when she was talking about how he was such a good tenant because he always said the right thing, but she didn’t have to worry about him because he wasn’t really involved with her—he didn’t actually care, he just acted like it.”
“And you think someone killed him because of that?”
“I think that I don’t actually know anything about him because of that.”
“How can you find out?”
“Gwen Ivy could tell me. She knew him when he was in college. She probably knows him better than anyone else.”
“She’s also the major suspect in his murder,” her husband reminded her.
“I know. Maybe it’s time she thought about that and started telling the truth.” Susan drained her coffee cup and put it down less than gently on the saucer.
“Does that mean you want to go home right away?”
“Actually, I think it means I’m going to be going to another party or two tonight.”
“Ah, the life of a society dame,” Jed kidded her. “Lunch in a small bistro in Greenwich Village, dinner at the Sign of the Dove, and then an appearance at a party or two later in the evening … Where are you going?”
“To find a phone. I think I’d better put in a call to Jamie Potter. She’ll probably be able to tell me where Gwen is tonight.”
“Then I guess I’ll pay the check and get our coats.”
They were back out on the highway, heading for Connecticut, in less than half an hour. Susan’s call to Jamie had been a success, and she was, once again, deciding what to wear. “There are probably women who have whole wardrobes of party clothes,” she commented to her husband.
“Makes a nice Armani tux sound like a simple solution to your problem.”
“That’s an idea. I’ll wear my tux,” Susan said, hoping that the pants would fasten comfortably—or at all.
Jed wasn’t very interested in clothing. “What do you think you’re going to accomplish talking with Gwen Ivy at this point? Hasn’t she told you all that she is going to?”
“Things change. There aren’t a lot of other serious suspects in this case. She’s going to have to tell me more unless she wants to be arrested. Besides, just because I ask the same questions doesn’t mean that I’ll get the same answers.”
“Good point.” Jed nodded.
“I read it in a mystery novel last week. The detective said it while standing over the decapitated body of the latest victim of a serial killer.”
“Doesn’t sound like your usual reading.”
“It isn’t. I gave up midway through and started to reread a Barbara Pym.”
Jed chuckled. “So you’re going to wear your tux, but where are you going?”
“Jamie says there are three places that Gwen Ivy will be.”
“Three parties that The Holly and Ms. Ivy are catering? Is that usual?”
“They work more than one party a lot of nights. But not, I think, when there are big parties—like the hospital ball the other night.”
“So what’s tonight?”
Susan checked out the list she had written down while talking on the phone with Jamie. “The biggest affair today is a huge holiday open house that the Fairfaxes are giving.”
“He’s that corporate lawyer who sued IBM last year.”
“I guess. I know he lives up on the hill in one of the original mansions in Hancock. Anyway, Jamie said it’s a major party. It started at two this afternoon and is expected to run till late tonight—possibly as late as midnight. But most of the guests were to be there between four and eight. So she thought that’s probably when Gwen would have been present.”
“So you’re not going to bother to check that one out,” Jed said, glancing at his watch. It was almost eight-thirty.
“Well, I may just drop in at the kitchen—to see how the party is going.”
“And peek at the house?”
Susan smacked her husband gently with her purse. “You know me too well. But really, Jed, there might be something going on. After all, think how many people have gotten sick at parties this week. And I never would have found out about Cameo and Z if I hadn’t gone to the Logans’ house.”
“Okay. So where else are The Holly and Ms. Ivy working?”
“They have two evening parties tonight. The first is at the Bennigans. They used to invite us to their annual Christmas party—but I don’t think we got an invitation this year.”
“Have we ever accepted one of their invitations?”
“Not the last few ones—we were skiing last year, and the year before there was some sort of conflict.… And there was something else the year before that.”
“No wonder they stopped inviting us.”
“True. Well, the other party is being given by the local historical society down at the old mill. It’s a buffet supper for the thirty largest contributors to the society in the past year. It’s going to be entirely lit by candles.”
“Nice and dark for hiding any evidence.”
“Good point,” Susan agreed, nodding seriously.
“Well, we’re almost there. Are you looking for a date tonight?”
“You want to come with me?”
“If you need me.”
Susan appreciated the reluctance in his voice and his willingness to help her out despite his own desires. She decided to let him off the hook. “I don’t think I’ll need you tonight. I’m not invited to any of these places. I’m going in through the back door, so to speak.”
EIGHTEEN
Entering through the back door has its advantages. For one thing, you don’t have to wait for anyone to pass the food, Susan thought, swiping a tiny, filled cream puff from a large pile waiting to be served. “Ugh. What is this?” she asked when it didn’t live up to her sweet expectations.
“They’re appetizers. Crab and shrimp,” a young man explained, a smile on his face. “Desserts are over there.” He nodded toward a long counter where two people were busily cutting cakes and arranging trays of meringues, marzipan fruits, and chocolate-dipped strawberries.
“I’m Susan Henshaw.”
“Welcome. Jamie said you might be dropping in tonight—that you’re looking for Gwen Ivy.”
“Is she here?” Susan looked around the busy room.
“I don’t think so. She was earlier, while we were setting up, and she might be back.…”
“Do you have a few minutes when I could ask you some questions?”
“Jamie said you might want to talk with other people. I’d be happy to answer if you don’t mind if I keep working.”
“Great.” She leaned back against the counter and tried to gather her thoughts. “You don’t usually have visitors in the kitchen, do you?” she asked, noticing that she wasn’t getting much attention.
“Never. Well, maybe that’s a little strong. There was an article on The Holly and Ms. Ivy in an issue of Vogue last fall, and a reporter and a photographer hung around for about a week. And once in a while we get a mention in the Times or a local paper, and a reporter or two come out on jobs with us. But it’s rare. Usually all of that type of thing is done back at the carriage house.”
Susan wasn’t surprised. This was a private party in a private home. The Holly and Ms. Ivy had obligations to keep it that way for those that employed them. “But doesn’t anyone ever bring friends alo
ng—just to look around and see what a caterer actually does?”
“Well, it’s a rule that gets stretched now and then. There have been boyfriends and girlfriends smuggled in once or twice. We work for some very famous people. It’s impressive if you can let your date peer through an open doorway at Richard Gere or Neil Simon. I’ve never done it—but that might be because my wife is the fish chef. She’s right over there opening oysters.” He nodded at the pretty Oriental woman who was indeed up to her elbows in one of Susan’s favorite foods.
“She’s lovely,” Susan said honestly, and continued her questions. “Does anyone ever get caught bringing a date along on a job?”
“Once in a while.”
“What happens?”
“It depends. Mainly on the circumstances. For instance, my friend Oscar over there”—he exchanged grins with a young man who was arranging steamed baby vegetables on a large platter—“brought his date on a job down in Westport a few months ago—it was a Halloween party as I recall—and Z came in unexpectedly and caught her. He was pretty cool about the whole thing.”
“He told me not to do it again, and that was it. Oh, and not to let Gwen know about it,” Oscar called out, grinning.
“So Gwen Ivy is more likely to get angry about that type of thing?” Susan asked.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Not necessarily,” came a voice from the dessert display. “Remember what happened to Jeffrey.”
“That’s true,” someone from behind Susan agreed.
“What,” Susan asked the room at large, “happened to Jeffrey?”
“Someone else better tell her. I have to get these trays on the tables in the dining room.”
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