“The high school has a couple of dozen,” Brett explained.
“And you weren’t home for the three days after Christmas last year,” Kathleen reminded her.
“And Chrissy was,” Susan said slowly. “We left her home alone for the first time. But I can’t believe she would have been involved with Z back then. We didn’t know either Z or Gwen at that time!”
“It’s been years since you knew all of the people your children know,” Kathleen reminded her quietly. “You told me that yourself just the other day.”
Susan pursed her lips. “None of this is proof.”
“She went to a party Z was at—a party in New York City. It was a party for foodies. It was where she met Klaus, in fact,” Kathleen said.
“And Chrissy told you about that?” Susan asked.
“We heard about it first when we were questioning Gwen. She admitted meeting Cameo and Chrissy in New York City last winter. She didn’t mention anyone else.”
“Klaus confirmed that he was there and that he had met Chrissy there,” Brett said.
“You interrogated Klaus Hoffmann!”
“I spoke with Klaus the other night at the hospital ball. I just asked some questions about how they met, and he told me. He didn’t know that I was questioning him. He was very open about everything,” Kathleen said. “And then, of course,” she continued slowly, “there was that note in your hallway.”
“The note?”
“The one that accused you of having an affair with Z …,” Kathleen reminded her.
“But that’s not what it said …,” Susan began.
“No. It said, ‘I know about the affair with Z,’ ” Kathleen said.
“It couldn’t have been Chrissy,” Susan protested, trying hard to believe it herself.
“It could have been. But it may have had nothing to do with his death,” Kathleen reminded her.
“We have been waiting to talk with Chrissy about this,” Brett said. “We hoped, in fact, that it wouldn’t be necessary.”
“Chrissy never said anything about Z,” Susan said quietly.
“This may all have absolutely nothing to do with his murder,” Kathleen reminded her.
“But it may,” Susan said very quietly.
“Yes, it may,” Brett agreed.
TWENTY-ONE
Courtney Sawyer’s sweet-sixteen party made cotton candy look like diet food.
Susan didn’t know whether or not The Holly and Ms. Ivy had originally booked a different location, but this restaurant had been transformed into a nightmare of pink ruffles and lace. At least that’s what Susan thought. Courtney evidently agreed; she was wearing a black Lycra sheath, black stockings, and well-polished army boots. She was sulking in a receiving line between her parents, telling everyone who would listen about her “new Christmas tattoo.” Her father looked like he would like to kill her. Her mother was hoping Courtney wouldn’t tell anyone exactly where the tattoo was located.
Susan exchanged what-can-you-do-with teenagers? looks with Courtney’s parents and headed over to the dessert buffet. She knew her son well enough to assume that’s where he would be. At least, she hoped she knew her son well. Apparently she didn’t know Chrissy in the least. She took a deep breath and continued. Her daughter hadn’t murdered anyone, and Susan wasn’t going to let her be accused of anything so absurd.
Chad wasn’t by the long table of pink-sugared food, but Susan spied him across the room, leaning against the walnut bar. He looked so grown-up, so comfortable standing there that she rushed to his side, determined to find out what was in the tall glass he was sipping. Surely the bartender wouldn’t serve liquor to anyone so young.…
“Chad.”
“Mother.”
Susan was stopped in her tracks by the formal greeting. She glanced at the other young men standing around her son. She had known many of them since they were in nursery school. They all nodded at her with less than remarkable enthusiasm. “Your mother’s here,” a young man whom Susan had once transported, bleeding and with a broken ankle, from a soccer game to the hospital emergency room informed Chad in a flat voice.
“I see her,” Chad answered, not moving.
“I wanted to speak to you for a moment, Chad. It’s important.” Would she kill him if he emitted one of those bored sighs?
She didn’t. He reluctantly put down his glass and walked over to her side.
“I have to ask you some questions about Chrissy. It’s important,” she repeated.
“It depends on what you want to know. Well, Mom,” he continued, sounding more like himself, “if I tell you things about her, she could tell you things about me. Not that my life isn’t an open book, as they say. But, you know.”
She did. “This is important, Chad. It has to do with the murder.”
He didn’t say anything, so Susan continued, after looking around to make sure they weren’t overheard. “Do you have any idea if Chrissy was ever involved in any way with Z Holly?”
“She’s been in Boston.”
“Last year. I’m asking about last year. Around this time—Christmas.”
Chad looked puzzled. “I don’t think I’d even heard of Z Holly until you started talking about your New Year’s party.”
Susan frowned. “Do you remember at all who she was dating over the Christmas holidays last year, Chad? It’s important!”
“I’m thinking.” He leaned back against the wall and furrowed his brow. Susan thought how cute he looked, but she had the good sense not to say anything about it. “She was going out with that guy who played the French horn in the school orchestra. I remember that.…”
Susan did, too. He had once spent an afternoon in her kitchen eating half a batch of chocolate-chip cookies—before they were baked.
“And she was hanging out with the Casella twins—I never could tell those guys apart. I really don’t remember anyone else. She wasn’t mooning around in love with anyone that I remember. Unless she had some reason to keep him hidden. Do you think that could be it?”
“It doesn’t sound like Chrissy … Does it?” she asked, seeing the look on her son’s face.
“Mom, you’re not supposed to know everything about your children—we’re almost grown up, for heaven’s sake.”
“You’re right,” she lied. “But I’m not prying for the sake of prying. Do you happen to remember her going into the city to a party over the holidays? I think it was around the time we were up in Vermont.”
“The party in Greenwich Village! I didn’t think you knew about that. Okay. It wasn’t a big deal, really. But I heard about it because Chrissy tried on every piece of clothing in the house before deciding to wear black leggings and some huge shirt of yours—and then she went out and put a green rinse on her hair.”
“I don’t rem—”
“She did it at a friend’s house. And then it didn’t wash out, and she thought she was going to have to spend the rest of her life away from home.”
Susan’s brow was furrowed. “Did this all happen the night before we left for Vermont?” She remembered that she had been forced to talk to Chrissy about staying alone early that day because the girl was “going to a movie” with friends and wouldn’t be home until late. “But she was in bed when we left in the morning!” Susan protested. “I remember her talking to me when I stopped in before we left. I’m sure of that.”
“She may have talked to you, but I’ll bet she kept her hair under the blankets. My friends who saw her were still talking about it when we came back home a few days later.”
“But this doesn’t have anything to do with Z,” Susan muttered to herself.
“The party in the Village was where Klaus met Chrissy. He said he didn’t mind her hair color—that it reminded him of lettuce. You can tell he’s a foodie, not one of those artistic guys that she usually likes.”
Susan got the impression that her son approved. “Chrissy must have thought that it was a different type of party than it was—artists, not people in
the food business.”
Chad nodded.
“So how did she get invited? If she didn’t even know what sort of party it was.”
“I know that,” Chad said confidently. “She went with a group of friends from the high school. They weren’t even invited to the party. Someone knew about it, and they decided to crash. Neat, huh?”
“Cra— I really don’t think that shows very good manners, Chad,” Susan started, biting her lip. Like sitting on coffee tables, she wasn’t going to be able to protest against this type of thing—not after this week. “But that doesn’t matter now,” she added quickly. “Do you happen to know which friends she went with?”
Chad frowned. “Probably that art class group she used to hang out with. You know, the dyed-hair, earring-in-the-nose clique.”
“Chrissy didn’t look like that in high school. She doesn’t look like that now,” her mother protested.
“Chrissy wasn’t allowed to look like that. She and the mayor’s daughter—what’s her name … ?”
“Cameo Logan?” Susan said, thinking she was finally getting somewhere.
Chad shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t remember. The girl with the terminal case of the preppies—worse than Chrissy. Well, the two of them used to stand out in that group like two virgins among the whores—I didn’t call them that!” he added quickly. “That’s what some of the kids used to say.”
“And Cameo went to this party in New York with Chrissy and the rest of that group?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t stand at the door and wave goodbye. I’m not even positive about any of this!”
“Well, you’ve been very helpful, Chad.” Even if you didn’t mean to be, she added in her head. “I’ll let you get back to your friends.” She glanced toward the group that was still holding up the heavy walnut bar. “How are you getting home?”
“I can hitch a ride with someone,” he answered, moving back across the room without waiting for more questions.
Susan let him go; she had probably already damaged his social standing beyond repair. Things were beginning to fall into place, she thought, accepting a glass of something pink from a strolling waiter.
“Wow!”
“Knocks your socks off, doesn’t it?” the waiter said, smiling. “It’s an old family recipe that we were given by the host. It contains dark rum, light rum, brandy, peach liquor, sugar, and grenadine. It’s the grenadine that makes it pink.”
Susan looked doubtfully at her glass.
“There’s an open bar where you can get something else,” the waiter added. “And a tray next to the wall for empty—or almost empty—cups.”
Susan looked in the direction he indicated and saw a few dozen crystal cups, most containing substantial amounts of the Sawyer’s family tradition. “Thanks. I think I will get something a little less sweet.” She wound her way through dozens of young people, who seemed to think it “cool” to hang out around a bar, and got her drink. A band (punk? heavy metal? grunge?) was beginning to warm up on the platform to one side of the bar, and most of the adults were fleeing toward quiet corners.
Susan followed the general exodus, hoping to find the better half of the Logan marriage—preferably after that half had consumed three or four of those pink abominations. If they didn’t make her sick, they’d surely eliminate any inhibitions Camilla might possess. And Susan hadn’t witnessed any undue restraint on Camilla’s part when it came to alcoholic beverages.
Susan didn’t find anyone from the Logan family, but she was almost instantly greeted by parents of children she had known for years—many wanting to know where she had managed to procure a “real” drink. Susan made the rounds of the room, hoping to run into someone whose child might have been part of the group Chrissy used to spend time with in high school. But one of those people found her.
“Susan Henshaw. You are so lucky!”
The lottery? Maybe the Publisher’s Clearing House sweepstakes? There must be something that was causing Evelyn Montiagne such excitement. Susan hadn’t seen Evelyn so happy since they had found two other suckers to take over the Brownie troop they had run for three years. “Why?” she managed to ask.
“Your daughter’s boyfriend! He’s wonderful. How did Chrissy manage to meet such a wonder?”
“Where did you meet Klaus?” Susan asked, sitting down next to Evelyn.
“Let’s see … First I met them together in Bloomingdale’s. Chrissy was shopping for a Christmas gift for you, and he was helping her. Your daughter has such lovely manners. She introduced him immediately. But, of course, department stores are no place to chat—at least, not the week before Christmas.
“Then they came over Christmas evening. Chrissy had called before that and talked with my daughter, of course—talked for hours and hours just like they used to. But Klaus and she stopped in with some friends, and we all had a lovely time. It’s so nice when your children are grown-up enough to talk with, isn’t it? And I can’t tell you how impressed my husband is with Klaus. They talked like old friends. Jed must just adore that young man!”
Susan smiled weakly. What could she say? “And you’ve seen them since then?”
“Why, they’re here. Didn’t you know? They were heading off to dance the last time I saw them. Klaus was telling me how much he’s looking forward to your party tomorrow night. And we are, too, of course. It’s the best way we know to start the year.”
Susan was glad Klaus and Chrissy were planning on coming to her party, but she had a more immediate problem. “Did you say they were heading to the dance floor the last time you saw them?”
“Yes. He’s a wonderful dancer, isn’t he?”
Susan seemed condemned to compliment a man she had met only once. She just smiled and, with promises to talk longer tomorrow night, hurried back to the bar area. Klaus and Chrissy were dancing energetically to music loud enough to cause the pink ruffles to jump up and down. Susan got into a position to catch her daughter’s eye, but immediately realized that Chrissy wasn’t helping out. Finally, Klaus stopped dancing and spoke seriously to her daughter, and Chrissy reluctantly allowed him to lead the way to her mother.
“Mrs. Henshaw, nice to see you again.”
Chrissy didn’t look as though she agreed with Klaus. “Hi, Mom.”
Susan greeted Klaus, and then asked if her daughter would help her out in the ladies’ room for a few minutes. “I think my slip …” She left the statement unfinished, knowing there was no way her daughter could refuse such an oblique request.
“The ladies’ room is over there.” Chrissy pointed. “The door with the picture of the heifer on it.”
“Cute.” It wasn’t, but Susan was so pleased that her daughter had followed her lead that she didn’t criticize. She was also pleased to discover that they were alone in the room. She started to ask questions immediately.
“Chrissy, I really need to talk with you.” She stopped. “I know these question sound like prying, but I’m not. This has to do with the investigation.”
“Mother, I have to get back to Klaus. Could you just get on with it?” Chrissy pulled a comb from her purse and started to touch up her hair.
“Okay. As long as you understand …”
“Mother!”
“Okay. You met Klaus at a party last year.”
“Yes, in Greenwich Village. We crashed the party—sort of.” She shrugged. “We were in high school and thought it was cool. What can I say?”
“How did you hear about the party?”
“Someone … I don’t know who knew about it. I thought it was going to be this really artistic thing. You know, down in Greenwich Village and all. As though any artists can afford to live in Greenwich Village. I had this beatnik image from stuff I’d read.”
“But it wasn’t a party of artists.”
“No. It was given by a Frenchman who runs a cooking school in the city, and his friends were mostly food people. Klaus was there with his mother.… His father was in Europe at the time, and she asked him t
o accompany her. I thought he was nice, but I had this weird outfit on, and I had put this rinse on my hair, and I looked a little strange. I wanted to hide in a closet, but everyone else thought it was so cool to be there that I couldn’t talk anyone into leaving. Cameo acted like she was going to spend the night. Of course, we all knew how she felt about Z.…”
“How? Were they going together?”
“Mother, he’s got to be at least ten years older than Cameo. And I don’t think anyone believed that it was anything other than a high-school crush.”
“So Z didn’t reciprocate her feelings?” This was serious stuff to Susan, so she didn’t have to work to keep from smiling at her daughter’s newly found perspective on her past.
“Did they have an affair? Is that what you’re asking?”
“Well, I guess that’s what I am asking.”
“I don’t know. There were lots of rumors, but Cameo may have started them herself.” Chrissy shrugged. “She’s like that, you know. Hates to have the attention directed at anyone else. Probably the result of living with such awful parents,” suggested her psychoanalytical daughter.
“She might have told people that she had slept with someone even though it wasn’t true?”
“She might have. It’s status conferral. After all, Z was a very sexy guy. Cameo might have decided that it would help her reputation if people thought they were having an affair.”
“Was Z at that party?” Susan didn’t ask the question that she wanted to ask.
“Yes. Gwen Ivy too. She wears wonderful clothing, doesn’t she? I wonder where she shops.”
“I’ve wondered about that myself.” Susan returned to the subject. “Do you think Cameo was the person who knew about the party—because she had heard about it from Z?”
“It’s possible. I remember that The Holly and Ms. Ivy were catering some sort of annual dinner party that Cameo’s parents were giving. She seemed to think it was a big deal that this famous caterer was being hired by the mayor of a suburb. That’s Cameo. She crabs about her parents and what jerks they are, and then, without taking a breath, she’s bragging about them. She’ll be shocked when she comes back from Switzerland and discovers The Holly and Ms. Ivy working for us, too.
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