by Sasscer Hill
She nodded. She'd corralled her hands in her lap, the fingers tightly entwined, her lips compressed. Tears slid down her cheeks but she didn't say anything.
"You said their names were Todd and Tim?" I ignored Lorna's don't-go-there expression.
Bunny dragged in a breath. "Todd was the oldest. He'd be nineteen now. And Tim, Tim . . ."
"How long ago did they die?" I asked, before she broke again. Lorna looked ready to strangle me, but I had a strong sense Bunny needed to talk.
"A year ago last August. They went out to meet that Duvayne boy and never came home."
I darted a glance at Lorna. She wouldn't look at me, but the hand dunking a tea bag stopped.
Bunny's voice grew stronger. "Bobby always said they never met up. Chuck believes him, but I don't know. The police think it was drugs." Her voice trailed off.
Lorna rushed the table with two mugs of steaming tea, spoons and napkins. I hustled over to the cabinet, grabbed the bourbon bottle and dosed my cup until it overflowed.
"They were good boys," Bunny said. "Tim was only fifteen."
I could almost see the wall of pain building around Bunny, locking her in. She grew very quiet.
"Someone's coming." Lorna moved to the kitchen window and stared outside. Headlights flashed through the top of the café curtains.
"Is it Bobby?" I asked.
"Uh, no. I'm seeing him tomorrow night. Looks like Mr. Cheswick." She stole a glance at Bunny, who seemed to have grown smaller, shoulders hunched, chin almost down to her chest.
I could hear Chuck's footsteps approaching. The door shook with a loud rap. Lorna opened it.
"Have you gals seen – Bunny! You had me worried half-to-death." He moved quickly across the room, stopping next to her.
"She was just having some tea," I said.
"She needs to come home. This is the last place she should be!"
Bunny began to rock back and forth, her gaze firmly on the hands clasped in her lap. An odd humming noise started in her throat.
"Oh, Christ!" Chuck said, staring down at Bunny. His thick silver hair flopped on his forehead as he dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills. He leaned over and set two pale pink ones in front of his wife. "Take those with your tea, Bunny. Now."
She continued staring at her hands and rocking. I thought she said, "no." A tiny plaintive sound. Lorna and I exchanged glances. I poured a big slug of tea down my throat, shivering as the strong whiskey hit me.
Chuck grabbed one of Bunny's hands, yanked it onto the table and put the two pills in her palm. "Don't make me force you."
"You make her take pills?" The words were out of my mouth before I knew it.
He gave me a sharp look through his heavy black glasses. "Look at her. This is what happens when she gets off her meds. I don't like making her take this stuff, but the doctors say she has to have it."
"Is it because of your sons?" I asked.
His eyes widened, but he nodded.
"It's been over a year. The doctors still want her drugged?" Why was I interrogating him like this? Maybe the strong feeling someone needed to stand up for Bunny.
"Look," he whispered. "You weren't on the psych ward. They kept her there for almost two months. She's a suicide waiting to happen." He almost sounded disgusted. He let out a long breath.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bunny moaned. Her hand moved slowly to her mouth. She pushed the pills through her lips and took a sip of tea. Her body slumped in resignation, but her eyes lifted for a second, so pleading I thought she'd said something out loud.
Chuck's long fingers grasped her shoulder. "I need to get her home." He strong-armed her out of the chair, pulled her through the cottage door, outside into the darkness.
I bolted from my seat, ready to go after them. I had to help her.
Lorna, already standing, got to the door first and blocked it. "Nikki, don't." She shook her head. "Don't do it."
I released a long breath, nodded. My need to help the helpless could get me into trouble. Maybe it was time to rein it in.
Chapter 21
I drove to the Baron's party at dusk the next day, turning through Vindenberg Hall's stone entrance gates onto an oyster shell drive. The road wound past an apple orchard, greenhouses, and acres of pasture enclosed by five-board fences. The setting sun cast a clear gold light onto the fields, which gave way to manicured shrubs, neatly pruned trees and varieties of miniature evergreen I'd never seen before.
I came around a last curve, astonished to see an enormous castle looming behind a circular drive. Austere pairs of evergreen trees stood guard on either side of the white stone building I suspected was new. Colorful little flags waved from its turrets. Perhaps the senior Waechters had failed to take their child to Disneyland.
I stopped behind a long platinum-colored Jaguar. A man in a gold-braided uniform approached my car window. His lips curled slightly as he took in the battered Toyota.
"You have an invitation?"
I dug into the velvet bag I'd borrowed from Lilly Best. When I found the invitation, I handed it to the man, hoping the makeup I’d used earlier still hid the last traces of my bruising from the speed addict.
The parking guy handed me a valet ticket and held my door open. As he drove the Toyota behind the castle, a black stretch-Hummer with tinted windows rolled into the driveway. Who'd want such an ominous looking vehicle?
I hurried toward entrance steps carved from stone and fell in behind the silver-haired couple who’d emerged from the Jag. She wore a full-length fur, stiletto heels. Her perfume floated behind, rich and floral.
I had on a wool peacoat, Lorna's wedge-heeled boots with rhinestones, and eau de backstretch.
As I followed the couple through a massive set of oak entrance doors, the woman's perfume mingled with a light scent of wood smoke. Inside, the ceiling soared at least two stories. The walls flanking a center staircase were hung with tapestries of unicorns and other mythical figures. Some kind of Mastiff slept on a rug in front of a huge fireplace that burned logs the size of tree trunks.
Light spilled from an archway to our right, and as the older couple and I moved toward it, two uniformed maids offered to take our coats. Static electricity charged through my wool jacket, snapping my hand as I pulled the peacoat off. A maid reached for it, her hand pausing uncertainly as clumps of gray cat fur stood at attention on the wool, tilting in her direction. She took the coat and remained expressionless as she handed me a ticket. A stray rooster feather drifted to the floor.
Five or six young men in black trench coats came through the entrance doors. Several sported gold earrings and most of them wore dark glasses even though the sun outside had set. Ostentatious, just like the Hummer they'd undoubtedly arrived in, they gave me the once over. I turned away and moved through the stone arch into a large well-lit room decorated with marble statues and ornate gilded furniture. Silken floral carpets in vibrant shades of turquoise, gold and purple covered much of the stone floor. People actually walked on these things? I dragged my gaze from the floor and checked out the crowd.
Men in dark suits or tuxedos, women in long dresses, the fabrics formal and extravagant, reminding me of the crowd from the Baron's suite, only dressier. My turquoise top looked pretty sharp with the carpets, but I was the only woman in the room wearing pants. Should I hide in a closet now?
"So, you got an invitation." The shrewd-eyed Katherine Crosby studied me through the smoke curling off the tip of her cigarette. She wore a black dress with a plunge neckline edged in gold lace. The facets of her diamond earrings sparkled, and amusement lit her eyes.
"Nice boots, baby." A Hummer guy had moved next to me. Dressed in a black suit, he wore dark glasses and a neon orange tie. He grinned down at me and gestured toward Lorna's boots. "My kind of shoe, sexy."
"You must work at the Baron's plant." Katherine's lips formed a pleasant smile, but something in her eyes made the guy uncertain.
He shifted back a step. "Matter of fact, I do. B
ottling manager."
"How nice," I said.
No one attempted to exchange names and Katherine's gaze on the man remained cool and steady. He looked around the room. Probably for a way out.
"See you ladies around," he said.
Katherine's mocking expression eased as he lost himself in the crowd. She turned to me. "Great outfit, Nikki. Would you like a drink?"
"Yes," I said, "I would." Her kindness surprised me.
We threaded through the crowd to the nearest of several bars. Katherine ordered a champagne cocktail, and I asked for bourbon-and-water. The bartender had a waxed, handlebar moustache and wore a tux. When he reached for a bottle of Gilded Baron, I must have winced.
"Something else I can get you?"
"What've you got?"
He winked at me, reached under the bar and flashed the label on a bottle of George Dickel. "You've got a great smile," he said, and poured a stiff one.
I followed Katherine into a knot of people discussing the upcoming stakes races at Colonial. A thin woman, wrapped in beaded blue satin, dominated the conversation. Her eyes seemed overly bright.
"Oh, yes," she said, "they're having a stake for Virginia-bred fillies. The Princess. Has a $500,000 purse. Same day as the special stake they wrote for older males, The Virginia’s King."
My antennae went up. "Is the filly race on the turf?" I asked. When she nodded, I said, "How far?"
"A mile-and-a-half." Perspiration webbed her forehead, and her hands gestured excessively as she spoke. "You'll need a horse that can run all day."
Daffodil. I lost track of the conversation for a moment as I worked on an idea. What were the chances? Could I get around Amarilla? Where was the guest of honor, anyway?
"Nikki, hey."
I turned, surprised to see Susan Stark behind me. She had the same bright-eyed look as the woman in blue. Her voice reminded me of a rubber band stretched tight enough to snap. If possible, she looked more emaciated than the day Stinger ran.
"I don't have to worry about weight any more." She grabbed at a shoulder strap of her too-large black dress. The strap drooped halfway to her elbow. The waist hung loosely down by her hips.
"You giving up riding?" I asked, hoping that's what she meant. She was too tall and heavy-boned to make jockey weight without starving.
She blinked, her eyes moving rapidly, then leaned close, her breath hot and unpleasant. "No. I got the stuff."
"What stuff?" I asked.
"Not cheap, but man, does it work. You want to try it? You can get it here, like tonight." Her answer, a spittle-filled whisper, sent me back a half-step back. Something in her breath made my eyes water.
"Here?"
"Oh, yeah! Way cool." Dilated pupils darted under pale lids in a face blotched by internal heat. "I can fix you up."
"No. Susan, you don't want to do this." I felt like shaking her.
Katherine stared at us through the smoke of a fresh cigarette and I fell quiet.
Susan tugged at her strap again. "Of course I want to. It's the greatest, it's –”
"Ladies and gentlemen."
I knew that voice. A bell tinkled across the room near the entrance arch. Pemberton stood there, head and shoulders above the crowd. He must have climbed onto a box. His small hand clutched a bell, which he rang until the surrounding voices lowered to murmurs and grew quiet. He wore a tuxedo, its cummerbund hot pink.
"Please step into the grand hall and allow me to introduce our guest of honor, Ms. Amarilla Chaquette."
I leaned closer to Katherine. "Why the intro? She new around here?"
"Old friend of the Baron's from South America, but these people don't know her."
Guests crowded through the wide stone arch into the high-ceilinged hall. I lost track of Susan in the shuffle, but nabbed a position with Katherine just inside the hall. On the wide staircase, six ebony statues of scantily-dressed men held candelabra carved with fruits and flowers. Dozens of candles cast flickering light onto the cold stone steps.
The baron appeared at the top of the staircase, a cleverly-cut tux diminishing the size of his belly. Pipeless, he extended an arm to his side and Amarilla stepped from the shadows and joined him.
She had shrink-wrapped her body into a sleeveless brown silk dress with a low bodice. A cape of fur dyed to a rich yellow flowed from her shoulders. Her skin sparkled with some kind of glittery powder and a tiara with yellow jewels perched on her slicked-back dark brown-and-blonde streaked-hair. I'd never seen her look more like a yellow jacket.
"Oh. My. God." Katherine said under her breath.
A buzz of voices and a restrained titter had Pemberton ringing his bell furiously. He raised his voice to drown the low hum of derision. "The Baron Helmut von Waechter and Ms. Amarilla Chaquette."
He set his bell down and began to clap his hands. Tight wrinkles bracketed his mouth. I felt sorry for the guy. After a slow start, the audience set up an enthusiastic round of applause. After all, they were getting free food and booze.
The baron and Amarilla swept down the stairs and launched into the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging greetings. I shrank back against the stone wall. I didn't want to talk to either one of them.
As guests wandered back into the main room, an austere grey-haired woman latched onto Katherine and pulled her away. Snatches of their conversation floated back to me, " . . . and that tiara! The woman's without class . . . ."
I kept my place against the wall and finished my drink, having a grand time watching the crowd. The younger women wore dazzling strappy gowns, reminding me of plastic Christmas flowers dipped in glitter. The booze flowed, the laughter rose, and the smell of perfume and whiskey swirled around me. A waiter came by and I set my empty drink on his tray.
"Where could I find a ladies room?" I asked. He pointed at two smaller archways opening onto corridors.
"One on the left," he said. "Go through the first room and look on your right."
I hoped I wouldn't get lost and wind up in a dungeon. I wished Lorna had come with me, but when I'd offered to sneak her into the party, she'd said she had a date with Bobby. She had it bad for the guy. Really bad.
I walked through the hall the waiter had indicated, passing wall sconces, flickering candles, and long wooden tables loaded with fancy nicknacks. I entered a room full of gilded mirrors and backless couches. I looked to the right, saw what I hoped was the bathroom door. The knob wouldn't turn. Locked. I moved into the next hall and heard voices, laughter and music ahead.
The room was wood-paneled and apparently an entertainment center. Some pop diva, wearing a few small patches of cloth, gyrated and sang on a movie screen that covered most of one wall. Leather couches faced away from me toward the screen. Guests with drinks and little plates of food lolled in the deep leather. Damn, I’d missed the food.
On one side of the room people danced to the music. Some of the women had a peculiar light in their dilated eyes and wore goofy smiles. Were all the women in New Kent County on drugs?
Susan Stark startled me by appearing at my elbow. "Did you see a cop?" she asked. "Is there a cop here?"
"Why, do you need one?"
"No," she said, eyes jittery. "I, like, can't deal with it!"
"Easy," I said. This girl needed help. The drug coursing through her must be spinning her brain like a top. As I stared, paranoia built on her face, and I thought she'd lose it in another moment. Then, just like that, she refocused.
"Hey. Meant what I said about fixing you up. Premium weight loss stuff." She nodded, a big grin spreading across her face. "Real rush, too."
"I told you, I'm not –"
She darted a shaky hand toward me. "He's right here, you can get it now."
I stared at the dancers and backs of heads on the couches. "Who's here?"
On one of the sofas a man shifted sideways. Jolted, I made an involuntary little sound.
Bobby Duvayne, fully engaged, but not with selling drugs. His hands gripped the shoulders of a pretty woman almo
st old enough to be his mother. She appeared to be giggling as he pressed her down into the maroon leather. Before they sank out of sight behind the back of the couch, his eyes slid to mine. Then the bastard smiled.
Chapter 22
I stormed the couch. "Thought you had a date with Lorna. Remember her?"
Diamonds flashed on the neck of the woman beneath Bobby. I glared at her. "Who's this one, Bobby? Your pet pedophile?"
The woman pushed at him and tried to sit up. Bobby rolled off her and faced me. People nearby stared. A woman in black satin tugged at her date's arm, nodded in our direction. Didn't want him to miss the show.
"For God's sake, Nikki, we were just partying. Doesn't mean anything."
Bobby's paramour turned on me. "You're an intrusive little bitch, aren't you? And so provincial. Did you come from a hog farm?"
"Sure," I said. "You were the prize pig."
I shifted my attention to the real problem. At least he had enough heart to look uncomfortable. "Want me to give your regards to Lorna?" I asked him.
Bobby scanned the room, then the hallway beyond. "Is she here?"
"Of course not. She's at the cottage waiting for a jerk-off drug pusher who’s going to break her heart. That would be you," I said.
Confusion filled his handsome face. "Drug pusher? What are you talking about?"
"Aren't you the one selling diet cocktails?"
"What?" Either he could really act or he didn't know. Miss Piggy fluffed her short blonde hair and casually adjusted the low bodice of her emerald green dress. She daggered a nasty look at me and stalked away.
Movement from the side of the room caught my eye. A tall figure scuttled toward a door built into the wood paneling. I caught a glimpse of a black jacket and light-colored hair before the man slipped through the opening.
I studied the dancers, people on the couches. Had Susan meant Bobby when she said her dealer was in the room? If not Bobby, who?
"Nikki, let me talk to Lorna first,” Bobby pleaded.
I left without answering. I had to get out of there. I looked for Susan, but she'd disappeared.
