A gorgeous young redhead strode over to me, her pale green skirt fluttering around her like wings. “And you are?” she asked, taking a long sip of her champagne.
“Belinda Blake. I’m here with Chloe Vail—I’m her assistant,” I answered.
She clasped my arm with her French-manicured hand. “How nice to meet you, Belinda. I just took my Duke over to your dad’s clinic a little over a month ago. Duke’s my Dachshund.” She dropped her voice. “Duke had the worst gas—you can’t possibly imagine! I knew he was in terrible pain but I didn’t put two and two together. Your dad figured it out so fast—it was those stupid vegetable doggie treats I’d bought him. He was allergic, can you imagine? Anyway, once I cut those, poor Dukey was just fine.” Her monologue completed, she waited for my response.
“Yes, my dad’s the best.” I felt a familiar swell of pride to be recognized as Drew Blake’s daughter, but I still wondered who on earth I was speaking to.
A man glided up behind the woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. The man was so unbelievably beautiful, I was at a total loss for words. He had long, dark hair and a gaze that seemed to go straight into my soul. He wore a thin bead choker with a feather on it and his dress shirt was open, exposing his tan chest.
“Peter Bear,” he said, amiably shaking my hand as if he didn’t notice my discomfiture. “And this is my fiancée, Rosalee Meier.”
“Rosalee,” I repeated, trying to gather my wits about me. And I needed to gather my wits, because I’d come here in order to talk to these two. It was just so rare to run into anyone so breathtaking in real life, like he walked straight out of Hollywood.
“And you are?” Peter asked.
“This is Belinda Blake,” Rosalee interjected. “Her dad’s the vet I took Duke to.” She stopped and waved at her mom, who was motioning her to her side. “Excuse me, but Mom’s worked out a schedule for tonight and I’m probably not following it properly. Peter, I’ll come get you when you’re needed.”
I thought it odd how Rosalee discarded her fiancé like he was yesterday’s news, but Peter’s jovial expression didn’t budge. Apparently, he was used to Rosalee’s rather imperious orders.
“So…Dr. Blake’s daughter, are you?” Peter sipped at his drink. “Did you grow up in Larches Corner?”
“I did,” I said, unable to shake the feeling it was a gift to enjoy just one moment of this extraordinary man’s attention. No wonder both Claire and Rosalee had fallen for him. I recalled what Tracy van Dusen had told me about Peter’s father being high up in the Oneida tribe, not to mention the head of a huge advertising company. Peter marrying Rosalee represented wealth marrying wealth, I supposed. Yet I could easily envision him in an outdoor setting, which fit in with the fact that Tracy had said he lived on a horse farm.
He nodded, as if he understood some deep meaning behind my simple answer. “Larches Corner is a little insular,” he said. “But I think the Meiers have embraced me as one of their own.”
I wanted to ask if he’d felt the same way with the van Dusens, but I didn’t. “I’ve heard you’re Oneida?” I asked. “I’d love to find out more about that aspect of your heritage. I knew someone in high school who was half-Seneca, but he didn’t like to talk about it.”
I realized that sounded bad as soon as I said it, as if being half Native American was something to hide. But the reality was that I’d always been entranced by the Native American culture in our area, and I wanted to learn more firsthand.
Peter generously overlooked my awkwardness and began to tell me about the history of the Oneida people, and how, after a long period of attempted neutrality, they’d actually supported the rebels in the American Revolution. He explained how they had fought alongside the colonials for a time, but then some had eventually gone to help the British and seek their protection.
I was captivated with his tales of heroic Oneida acts when Rosalee reappeared, a fresh flute of champagne in hand.
“Darling, we need to say something before we open gifts,” she said. As if seeing me for the first time, Rosalee looked me over. Her eyes narrowed a tiny bit. “You won’t mind if I steal him away, will you?”
It seemed Rosalee was indeed aware of Peter’s magnetic charm.
“Of course not. Have a wonderful evening, and congratulations,” I said.
I wandered off and milled through the crowd, looking for Chloe. Peter Bear didn’t strike me as a flirt, although I could see how Tracy van Dusen might have thought it looked that way. He was like a walking work of art, and he had the kind of warm, unassuming personality that naturally drew women in. He wasn’t the kind of guy who seemed overly conscious of his effect on women, like a player. Instead, it was just who he was.
Chloe snagged my arm, pulling me out of my reverie. “I saw you talking to Peter,” she said. “Isn’t he a dream? Did you get any useful information out of him?”
I shook my head. “Not really. But I did get a better feel for the kind of man he is.”
Chloe gave a brief nod, then looked toward the happy couple. “I’d better talk to them before they dive into that tableful of gifts.” She sighed. “Opening those could take all night.” Gripping her camera, she plunged back into the crowd.
Suddenly aware of the press of bodies around me, I craved a breath of fresh air. Every introvert bone in my body was screaming. Pushing my way through a cluster of people, I stumbled into a cool, darkened room. When my eyes adjusted, I realized it was some kind of indoor patio that gave way to the outdoor pool.
I heard someone following me into the room, so I spun around. The person bumped right into me…and a cool wetness spread across my chest.
“Oh, no! I’m so sorry,” a woman exclaimed. “Let me find the light.”
In a moment, she’d turned on the light and I took a long look at her. She had a dark ponytail and blunt-cut bangs, and she was wearing large glasses and a long skirt.
She looked at my dress and gaped. “Oh! My drink got all over your gorgeous dress. I’m so sorry! Let me get some napkins.”
She raced off and quickly returned, bearing a pile of napkins. We dabbed at the dress and I tried not to think about what Chloe would say. I’d offer to have it dry-cleaned.
“I’m terrible in social situations,” the woman said, taking the pile of wet napkins over to dump them in a wicker trash basket. “I’m sorry, I never introduced myself. I’m Tori Beekman.”
How convenient. The final member of the literature club had literally run into me.
I pulled at my damp dress bodice and fanned it, hoping it would air dry a bit more before I had to rejoin the party. “I’m Belinda Blake,” I said, waiting for a response to the last name.
It took a moment, but Tori shook her finger at me. “You’re related to the vet?” she asked. “Rosalee’s been talking about what a great vet he is. Is he your dad?”
“He sure is,” I said. “And you’re friends with Rosalee, right?”
“Close friends,” she said. “Actually, I’m close with Peter, too. We were in a literature club together.”
There was the open door I’d been waiting for. “Wait—hadn’t I heard that guy—Jackson Hait?—was in that club, too?”
She peered at me through her lenses, blinking slowly.
“I work with Chloe Vail, the local reporter,” I said, trying to justify why I was so well-informed. “I ran across a mention of the club when I was reviewing the news stories.”
Tori nodded. “You’re right. Jackson was in our group. It was so unbelievable, what happened to him.”
She didn’t seem the least bit weepy over Jackson’s sudden death. Either she was a master of disguising her emotions—which didn’t fit with her sort of bumbling persona thus far—or she hadn’t liked him very much. That would fit in with Professor Baruch’s impression that Jackson was a bully.
“So you go to the community college?” I asked.
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“Yes, we all do—or did. Peter and Rosalee graduated last year. Jackson was in his senior year, like me.” She paused.
I pushed a little harder. “Were you friends with Jackson?”
Her eyes flitted to the side. “He was a hard person to get close to.”
Before I could probe into her vague answer, the crowd’s volume increased. I glanced into the main room, and people were parting like the Red Sea to let someone through. I caught a glimpse of a light-haired man striding forcefully toward the engaged couple. When I made out his stubble beard, I realized exactly who it was.
Adrian van Dusen.
His mom was trailing in his wake, but people had returned to their positions, closing the gap between Tracy and her son. But I could see the look on her face, and it was downright fearful.
Good heavens, what was Adrian going to do? Why was he here?
I didn’t have to wait long for an answer.
“It wasn’t an accident!” Adrian shouted, shoving his way up to Rosalee and Peter, who stood frozen in front of the gift table.
Chloe stood next to Rosalee, her face drained of color. I figured she was anticipating that Adrian might do something crazy, which was the same thing I was thinking. It was like we were all powerlessly watching as the wicked fairy began to curse Sleeping Beauty.
“Jackson’s death was no more an accident than my sister’s was,” Adrian accused. He pointed at Rosalee. “I wish you as much happiness as my sister had with him,” he said gruffly, jerking his thumb toward Peter. “And may his undying love last just as long as it did for Claire.”
Like a panther striking, Peter Bear stretched out his hands toward Adrian. Tracy van Dusen managed to break through the crowd to grab Adrian. She dragged him out of Peter’s way, while Rosalee tugged Peter back toward her.
Tracy muttered something I couldn’t hear, but it seemed to be an apology. The crowd parted once again to let the humiliated mother and her wayward son beat a hasty retreat. I felt horrible for Tracy, but I was thankful she’d caught up to her rogue son at last.
I glanced at Tori, who was still standing behind me. She looked more horrified than I’d expected, like she’d suffered a personal blow. I couldn’t imagine why she’d feel that way, but I tried to talk her down, nonetheless. Giving her shoulders a quick squeeze, I said, “It’s okay. Everyone can tell he was…unhinged or something. Look, the party’s already back in swing.”
Rosalee had sat down in front of the gift table and was motioning for everyone to take a seat. “Time for the presents,” she said, in a cheery falsetto. It was obvious she was trying to sweep Adrian’s surprise visit under the rug. Peter reluctantly sat down next to her.
I navigated Tori to a seat of her own. “Would you like something to eat or drink?” I asked.
She turned to me. “What if he’s right?”
I knew she was talking about what Adrian had said, but I didn’t want her focusing on it in her shaken state. The last thing Peter and Rosalee needed was for someone to pass out during their already-ruined party.
“I’m going to get a snack for you,” I said, hoping to distract her. “Everyone’s had a bit of a shock tonight.” I walked away, grabbing a napkin and a couple of finger sandwiches from the food table. By the time I handed them to Tori, she seemed to have calmed down and was laughing along with everyone else about an oversized, chubby ceramic chef someone had gifted Peter and Rosalee.
“I can tell you that wasn’t on the gift registry,” Tori whispered.
Chloe was at the front of the room, angling around to snap pictures of the engaged couple, so I took an empty seat near Tori, hoping to keep a covert eye on her. The gift-opening seemed to drag on for hours. Every time I glanced at Tori, it seemed her bespectacled gaze was fixed on one person.
And that person was Peter Bear.
I suspected that Tori Beekman was suffering from her own little infatuation with Mr. Hollywood. I wondered if he had any clue—or if Rosalee did.
Just when I thought the boring ordeal was over, the wait staff carried in fresh armloads of presents. Since Tori now seemed right as rain, I stood and slipped into the darkened patio room behind us. Waning light trickled in from the pool area, so I opened the door and walked out to look around.
The hand-tiled pool was surrounded by a tall, clipped hedge, so guests inside the large room wouldn’t readily notice me from the windows. My feet were so hot and tired from being stuffed into Katrina’s shoes—although we wore the same shoe size, her feet were narrower than mine. I couldn’t resist the pull of the crystal-clear water, so I took my shoes off, sat by the pool steps, and dipped my feet in. I was surprised to find that the water was heated, but not uncomfortably so. It must be incredibly expensive to heat an outdoor pool in October in Upstate New York.
Numerous solar lights glowed brighter as darkness started to fall, and I heard someone’s heels clicking toward me.
Chloe heaved a huge sigh. “I finally found you. I was looking all over. Why didn’t you text me where you were?”
“You were up front, taking pictures. I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
She dropped into a lounge chair. “Trust me, it’d be no interruption. They still haven’t opened all their gifts, if you can believe it. I’m pooped and hungry. Want to get some real food? We could grab pizzas and you could hang out at my place.”
My stomach rumbled at the thought of pizza. “Sure. I’ll let my mom know first,” I said.
I was a grownup now, but I knew my mom. She’d worry if it got really late and I was still out. And maybe this time she actually had good reason to be apprehensive, since according to what Adrian had said, I might have been right about Claire and Jackson’s deaths being connected. In which case, I’d been the only one going around town, asking questions about them.
I was getting closer to the truth. I could feel it.
11
On the way home, we picked up a pizza—my half was meat lover’s and Chloe’s was pepperoni. It was good to realize that time hadn’t changed some things.
Chloe parked outside a quaint, mint-colored Victorian house in town, and we walked up metal outdoor steps to her apartment, which was the entire second floor. She went into her room and found leggings and an oversized shirt for me to wear, so I could finally get out of the still-damp purple dress.
After Chloe changed, she came out and joined me on the couch, where I’d set out paper towels for the pizza.
“So, what did you think about everything?” she asked, propping her bare feet on the table. Her toes were the same shade of magenta as her fingertips, and they were perfectly polished. I kept my feet on the floor—because it seemed more polite, and because I hadn’t had time to touch up my chipped blue toenail polish.
“Well, I guess my first impression is that the Meier family must be pretty wealthy.”
Chloe snorted. “That’s not what I meant—we already knew that. I meant what did you think of the people?”
Ah, so Chloe wanted the psychological aspect of things. I’d take a stab at it.
“Peter Bear is gorgeous, obviously. But did you realize that Claire and Rosalee aren’t the only ones who’ve loved him?”
Chloe’s dark eyes were huge. “No! Who else?”
“Tori Beekman,” I announced victoriously.
“Was she that nerdy girl you were talking to?”
“Just because someone has glasses doesn’t mean they’re nerdy, Chloe. And they were trendy glasses.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said. “It wasn’t just the glasses that were nerdy.”
I waved it off. “Whatever. But it appears that our nerdy, somewhat klutzy literature buff has her heart set on Peter.”
Chloe took a huge bite of pizza and chewed. Finally, she said, “Let me guess. I’m betting Tori’s the type of girl who’d secretly get Peter’s name tattooed on her shoulder blade and she
has a stash of photos she’s sneaked of him on her phone.”
“You’re saying she’s a stalker?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Chloe said rather haughtily.
I laughed. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your raging crush on Kyle Mulligan. And speaking of sneaky photos, I seem to recall a certain teen girl who wrecked her digital camera when she got water in it, taking pictures of Kyle at the pool…”
Chloe huffed. “You’re harsh, Belinda. But seriously, don’t you agree that Tori seems the obsessive type?”
“Sure, but so is Rosalee, in her own way. She seemed jealous that Peter was talking with me.”
“Touché,” she said. “Speaking of Rosalee, what’d you make of her? I’ll admit there were a couple of times when she was driving me nuts—mostly after the Adrian appearance.”
I sat back on the couch. “The Adrian appearance. Yes, that was crazy. And as far as Rosalee, I just think she’s the jealous type, like I said. Other than that, she didn’t strike me as the killer type. But bringing things back to Adrian—do you think he knew what he was talking about?”
She nodded. “Probably—I mean, Claire was his sister, after all. Maybe he knows something no one else does. But here’s the weird thing—why’d his mom bring him to the party in the first place?”
“What do you mean, bring him?”
She looked surprised. “You mean you didn’t know that Adrian has never gotten his license?”
“That wasn’t really something that came up in my conversation with Tracy. We were more focused on discussing kitchen utensils I didn’t actually need.”
Chloe laughed. “So that’s how you wormed your way in with the van Dusens.” She shrugged. “I just figured your mom might’ve mentioned it—the whole town knows that Adrian never got around to getting his license, because he’s had problems ever since Claire died. He tried to start college this fall and apparently had such bad panic attacks, he had to drop out.”
Belinda Blake and the Birds of a Feather Page 8
