Belinda Blake and the Snake in the Grass

by Heather Day Gilbert

  The sight of the holster might have made some people nervous, but I felt just the opposite. It was comforting to know that Red was prepared for anything, and I made a mental note of it. Even though I knew next to nothing about Red, besides the fact he’d been in the Army, I was sure he wasn’t pulling any punches with me. In fact, he seemed almost protective of me, in his reserved way.

  But as Katrina would point out, I was sometimes too trusting, so I kept my guard up when Red walked me to my car. After he pulled out ahead of me, I let out a huge breath. It was exhausting, being suspicious of everyone. I didn’t know how Katrina managed to be so wary all the time. My sister expected people to earn her trust, because she certainly wouldn’t bestow it on them otherwise. I preferred to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, until they let me down in some major way.

  I imagined what a relief it would be if Katrina could come live in my carriage house. She could be observant and distrustful and cautious for me. I could live the carefree life of exotic pet-sitting and video gaming I’d signed up for. Stone the fifth and I could have dazzling picnics on the beach and eat at the best Manhattan restaurants.

  But of course, reality had already given my leisure-life dreams a swift and hard kick to the pants. I had to gear up with my own armor and charge forward, weighing each story and each person’s intentions, just like Katrina would.

  Besides, I wasn’t entirely incompetent. I’d been on my own for years, starting with college and the Peace Corps. Sure, I tended to live like a hermit, but I’d learned that I needed significant blocks of down-time—alone-time—and if I didn’t have those, I never recharged and I became a grouchy brute.

  Life in the carriage house hadn’t left me much time alone. I seemed to constantly be interacting with people here, from the Carringtons and their staff to Stone’s billiards friends.

  I broke from my thoughts as I pulled back into the gate at the manor house. Val sat in the Security booth, so I slowed and rolled down my window. “Any news?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Far as I know, they’re still holding Stone. Oh, and you have a visitor.”

  Puzzled, I drove around to my carriage house. A shiny white BMW sat in my driveway. I edged up behind it and stepped out.

  Ava Fenton rolled down her window, sliding her oversized sunglasses down her nose. “Belinda. I heard about Stone and it’s dreadful. And Melly told me about Mrs. Lewis—the poor woman is hanging on by a thin thread. Now, listen—I’ve determined to give you a proper thank you for cleaning Margo’s room and for...being honest about what you found in there. Besides, I thought you would probably like to get away from all the uproar around here. So I’m extending an invitation for a meal at our house tonight. Please don’t say no—cooking helps me take my mind off things.”

  I started to refuse, but Ava’s hopeful look spoke volumes. The poor woman only wanted to cook for me. “You know, that sounds wonderful. I’d love to visit.”

  “Excellent. Let’s say six o’clock? I just bought the ingredients. We’ll have prosciutto-stuffed chicken with mushroom sauce, green beans with brown butter, and plenty of other deliciousness.”

  I could practically taste it. “I can’t wait. Thank you.”

  Ava pulled away, and instead of driving toward the house, she circled back to the gate. She must’ve already visited with Melly. I wondered how Melly was doing, given what Red had said about her angry exit from the police station. Maybe Ava had stopped by to help her calm down. I imagined Stone the fourth had offered little support, given his near-constant state of inebriation.

  Why would Margo have fallen for someone like that? How long had Stone the fourth been a drinker? Stone the fifth had said his dad was going through a rough patch, so maybe the drinking had picked up after Margo’s death.

  Maybe it was because he was grieving—or guilty.

  Just as I got in the door, my cell phone rang. Dietrich was calling to see if there had been any new developments today.

  Had there ever.

  I told him about Stone’s arrest, and he gave a small screech. “Should I drop by, maybe stop in at the station?”

  “I doubt it. Stone is probably lawyering up and I figure things are crazy at the station right now. But you could help by giving me Sophie and Jet’s phone number, so I can ask them a few questions.”

  Dietrich rattled papers in the background. “You’re still digging into that night? I hate to say this, but it sounds pretty conclusive that our chum Stone jumped the rails somewhere and started killing people.”

  “I can’t quite believe it,” I said.

  “I do, and I’ve known him for years,” Dietrich said calmly. “He was drinking that night, and like I said, he’s a bad drunk.”

  “Whatever. Can you just give me the number?”

  Dietrich clicked his tongue as if unable to believe my naiveté, but he retrieved Sophie and Jet’s phone number for me. I scrawled it down and we said our goodbyes.

  Even as I punched their number in, I had the sinking feeling that whatever the lovebird couple saw, if they’d seen anything that Monday night, would only corroborate the theory that Stone was drunk and had followed Margo outside.

  But I would go down every trail to find out what really happened. And hopefully, I’d stumble onto a trail or two that didn’t point to Stone the fifth.

  Chapter 27

  Sophie picked up the phone after the fourth ring. She sounded stoned. When I explained that I was Stone’s friend, she seemed fairly disinterested.

  Until I told her Stone was in jail, at which point she perked up considerably and shouted to someone in the other room. Presumably it was Jet.

  “Guess what? Stone-boy got himself thrown in the slammer,” she yelled.

  A man with a deep voice responded to Sophie, then he took the phone. “Who’s this?” he growled.

  After explaining who I was and why I was calling, the man seemed to calm down. “This is Jet,” he said. “Yeah, we were there that night. Played some pool—I mean billiards—and hung out.”

  “And did you notice when Margo left?”

  “You know, the cops asked us that, too. Honestly, Sophie and I were kind of otherwise engaged.”

  Sophie gave a nervous giggle, and I realized Jet had put me on speakerphone. I directed my next question to both of them.

  “Was there anything unusual about that night? Did Margo or Stone act strangely?”

  “I don’t think so,” Sophie said.

  Jet spoke up. “Yeah, I mean the weirdest thing that night would’ve been Dietrich. Usually he’s hanging around Margo like a leech, but they went out to talk and when Dietrich came back, he’d turned into the Ice King. Margo wasn’t with him.”

  “The Abomadorable Snowman,” Sophie said, in a sleepy voice.

  Jet continued, ignoring Sophie’s made-up word. “Dietrich didn’t want to play anymore, so he went and spoke with Frannie, who was also sulking around, but that’s nothing new. Not long after that, Stone said he had to go to bed—he was smashed as usual—so we had him call his driver to take us home.”

  “We were smashed, too,” Sophie added helpfully.

  Their side of the conversation abruptly digressed into kissing noises. I made a desperate attempt to pull things back on-track.

  “Did Dietrich do anything out of the ordinary, though? Or he was just sulky?”

  After one particularly smacking-loud smooch, Jet answered. “Let’s see. He walked Frannie out to her car while we waited on Red. Frannie drove off, I know that much—that girl drove like a maniac—but Dietrich never left, even after we pulled out.”

  Sophie said, “Yeah, Dietrich the artiste is usually the first to roll. He always has to get back to his precious parking place in the city. Too good for the subway. We’re not like that, are we, angel-eyes?”

  More kissing ensued, and it was obvious I wasn’t getting either of th
em back. I murmured a brief thanks and hung up.

  So Dietrich hadn’t been as honest as he’d seemed. He had stuck around after Frannie left...to meet up with Margo?

  And had Stone the fourth or Stone the fifth followed Margo outside that night? If only Mrs. Lewis would have elaborated on that. I was inclined to think it was Stone the fourth, and Melly swore Mrs. Lewis to secrecy so her husband wouldn’t be incriminated. But would her husband have inspired such an outburst of tears?

  Maybe I could go over and talk to Melly. She’d seemed so concerned about me this morning. I could play up my distress, maybe fill her in on what happened with Mrs. Lewis, and try to probe around for information. If Stone the fourth was wrapped up in this, he surely wouldn’t harm me in front of his wife.

  I slid my pepper spray in my pocket and walked briskly toward the manor house. I was crunched for time due to Ava’s meal, but I wanted to do as much sleuthing as I could before I headed to Manhattan tomorrow. Who knew how long they’d hold Stone in jail?

  I rang the doorbell, hesitated, then tried the knob. The door wasn’t locked, so I quietly stepped into the hallway. I really needed a map to this place. Without Mrs. Lewis around, how would I ever locate Melly?

  As if in answer to my thoughts, Stone the fourth waltzed into the room. “Thought I heard someone ring the bell,” he said. “We need to get a butler or something, don’t you think?”

  What I thought was that it was extremely rude for a father to be cracking jokes the same day his son had been thrown in the slammer.

  I forced a slight smile. “It would be helpful, especially now that Mrs. Lewis is in the hospital.” He seemed oblivious to the seriousness of the situation.

  “Of course,” he said, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. That was one thing he had going for him, I guessed. I scanned his face, wondering afresh what he had that could have possibly attracted Margo. His eyes were blue, only bloodshot. His face looked haggard and his pants rode down on his thin waist.

  I glanced at his hands. He had long fingers, like his son’s, but they were bony. It seemed the only realistic thing Stone the fourth could’ve tempted a younger woman with was his wealth.

  And if what Frannie had told us was right, wealth could very well have been Margo’s biggest temptation. Had Stone the fourth pledged his love to her? Declared he would divorce Melly? That’s what I understood older men did in these kinds of affairs. Then the mistress was left high and dry and the men stayed unhappily married to their society wives.

  I stood up straighter, determined to complete my mission. “I’m looking for Mrs. Carrington.”

  “Ah, my beloved wife,” he said, and I wanted to smack his facetious mouth. “She’s up in her room, but I’ll warn you, she’s been crying and shouting for hours. I’m staying away from her, and you might want to follow suit.”

  I narrowed my gaze. “I believe Ava Fenton visited earlier,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “Really? I didn’t see Ava. But sure. I’ll take you upstairs.” He gestured to the stairs so I could go first, but I had a sneaking suspicion he just wanted to check me out as I walked.

  I stayed rooted in place. “Please, lead the way.”

  As I followed him up the curving staircase, it was even more evident how slight his frame was. Was there any way he could’ve overpowered young, tall women like Margo or Frannie? Or cruelly beaten the daylights out of Mrs. Lewis?

  He glanced back at me. “Have you visited the conservatory lately?” His tone was charged with amusement. Clearly, he was letting me know he hadn’t overlooked my little spying expedition.

  I remained unflappable. “No.”

  “Poor Mrs. Lewis,” he said, abruptly switching tracks. “She might not make it.”

  He made me sick. Even though Mrs. Lewis was a blackmailing piece of work, she’d suffered a brutal attack—in Stone Carrington the fourth’s parking lot.

  “I hope you have insurance,” I spat out.

  He turned, giving me a surprisingly astute look. “I assure you, I do, Miss Blake. Our company is one of the wealthiest around.” His lips curled into a scornful smile.

  So he did have some pride, despite his pajama-clad, housebound days of wine and roses. Even if it was only pride in the business his son was basically running for him.

  Skimming around a glossy-finish Queen Anne table in the center of the hallway, he led me to a door and banged on it several times. Placing a hand to the side of his mouth, he whispered, “Good luck.”

  When glass cracked and shattered into other side of the door, Stone the fourth tore off as if he’d personally been hit. I gave a gentle knock and shouted, “Melly? It’s Belinda.”

  After a moment, I heard someone crunching over glass to open the door. When Melly opened it, I couldn’t help but gape at her.

  What stood before me was a woman I hardly recognized.

  Chapter 28

  If I hadn’t met Melly Carrington before, I would’ve mistaken her for a teenager. No longer did she look like a well-heeled matron of Greenwich society.

  Melly’s hair tumbled around her in a dark, unruly cloud. Every speck of her makeup had been cried off and her face was reddened and puffy. She wore flat slippers, making it noticeable that she didn’t stand much over five feet tall.

  She snuffled. “Belinda, I’m so sorry you have to see me like this.” Her gaze traveled down to the pile of broken glass on the floor. “This is something Mrs. Lewis would’ve taken care of,” she said, launching into a fresh fit of sobbing.

  Thankful I hadn’t taken my shoes off, I crunched into the room. “Do you have a broom? I’d be happy to sweep.”

  Melly sniffed again, but her practical side was beginning to take over. “Come to think of it, I believe there’s one hanging in my bathroom. Hang on.” She walked into a side door and finally emerged with a broom and dustpan. “You’d think I would’ve thought of that,” she said hoarsely.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It must’ve been a shock, what happened to Mrs. Lewis. And then with the police and Stone...you’re not yourself.”

  “That’s so true,” she said. “My poor Stone. But trust me, he has the best lawyer money can buy. And anyway, I don’t think the police have anything on him.”

  I hoped she was right. I gave long, gentle strokes with the broom, distracted by the lustrous colors of the glass shards. “You seemed so upset with Mr. Carrington,” I observed, trying to sound nonchalant.

  She dropped into a chair. “Yes. Stone has been under my feet from the moment I got home, suggesting this and that, driving me up the wall. I simply couldn’t stand it anymore and I told him to get out.”

  To me, Melly seemed to be the one who’d taken a long dive off a short plank. But I didn’t mention that.

  I changed the subject. “Have you heard anything about Mrs. Lewis?”

  She fiddled with a pillbox on her table. Maybe she’d already taken a couple of Xanax too many. That would explain her unusually moody behavior. Then again, being married to Mister Cheater Pants could also explain her behavior.

  “Mrs. Lewis’s daughter called and she said her mother’s prognosis is grim. She seems to have slipped into a coma.”

  I picked up the full dustpan and glanced around for a trash can. “I feel horrible. I must’ve been the last one to see her when she was lucid.”

  Melly gave me a sharp, curious look. “I’d forgotten they’d said you found her.” She clasped her hands together. “Did she say anything to you?”

  She probably wondered if Mrs. Lewis had spilled the story of Stone’s chasing Margo out the door the night she was killed.

  “Nothing important,” I said.

  Melly looked unconvinced. “But surely it took an effort to say anything at all?”

  I attempted to smooth her ruffled feathers. “Like I said, it was literally nothing that made sense. Are we a
llowed to visit Stone, do you know?”

  She shook her head. “Just his lawyer. He’s the only one Stone’s asked for.”

  It didn’t take a psychology degree to pick up on the pettiness in Melly’s tone. It seemed I was just one more nuisance in her life today.

  “I understand,” I said easily. “I’ll head back over to my place. Thanks for filling me in.”

  Melly scrunched deeper into her chair, picking up her cell phone as I pulled the door shut.

  I wondered who she was calling, given her exasperation with Stone the fourth.

  * * * *

  Outside, the weather had shifted. The sky had faded from blue to dove gray and it smelled like a snow front was moving in. I pulled up my hood and jogged toward the carriage house. Just as I shoved thick curls out of my eyes so I could actually see where I was going, I ran full-force into Jacques.

  Thankfully, the solid man didn’t teeter. Instead, his hands shot out to grab my elbows and he steadied me. “Miss Blake! Where are you rushing off to, mademoiselle?”

  “I’m so sorry, Jacques! I’m just getting cold and I need to get ready to go to Mrs. Fenton’s house tonight and I’m kind of in a hurry.”

  I wasn’t sure if I’d made sense, but Jacques gave me a knowing nod. “Of course. You are a busy woman, Miss Blake. I, too, must get back to my work.”

  I gave a vigorous nod. “I saw you leaf blowing this morning, even with so few leaves left on the ground. You certainly are a meticulous gardener.” I hoped it was clear how impressed I was.

  He gave me a strange look and stalked off. Had I offended the Frenchman somehow? I’d thought we were getting along royally.

  I’d spent my Peace Corps years in China, which undoubtedly had different social norms from France. Still, I’d always been openly friendly with Jacques, the man who’d extracted me from Rasputin’s vise grip. Maybe my friendliness was lost in translation.