String of Lies

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “She seems old enough to make decisions of that sort for herself,” Jo said, stiffly.

  “You would think so, wouldn’t you?” Alexis said, clearly not picking up on Jo’s meaning. “But despite being, oh, way over thirty, she’s clearly still thinking like a teenager, which is what probably got her into those few problems in the past. Like that one incident, for instance –”

  “Excuse me, Alexis, I promised to get back to someone about this time.” Jo made a move in the direction of the buffet room.

  “Oh, certainly,” Alexis said, but her fingers pressed into Jo’s arm even harder. “But before you leave, did you know that man is here? The one the police have been questioning in connection with Parker Holt’s death? I saw him myself, in this very kitchen!”

  “What were you doing in the kitchen?” Jo asked, amazed at the amount of ground Alexis was able to cover.

  “I went to speak with the chef, of course, to inquire if any of the foods contained MSG. Monosodium Glutamate gives me terrible headaches, you know, all quite avoidable if the chef simply uses natural seasonings. Anyway, there this man was, working at the sink, scrubbing up pots. I can’t imagine Mallory is aware of that, do you? Have you spoken to her yet?”

  “Yes, and please, Alexis, don’t say anything to her about Xavier being here. He’s simply trying to earn a few dollars which he needs badly, and Mallory doesn’t need to know anything about it.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. But then again, Mallory doesn’t seem all that concerned, does she, about finding the person who murdered her husband. I mean, she could hardly get Parker in the ground fast enough, and here she is flitting about, with that artist friend of hers here too. They didn’t actually come together, you know, but they haven’t been more than ten feet apart all night.”

  “You seem quite aware of everything going on here tonight.”

  Alexis took Jo’s comment as a compliment, her eyes lighting up. “I’ve never been one to just stand in the corner and ignore the world around me. Life is just too fascinating! Oh, by the way, Jo, I’ve made progress on tracking down Max McGee.”

  “You have?” That was something Jo wanted to hear.

  “Yes. I haven’t learned exactly where he is right now, but I discovered he had a knee replacement recently. It was more difficult to go through than he expected and he decided to treat himself to a vacation in the Bahamas. But I’m still working on precisely where and for how long.”

  “Great.” Jo didn’t ask how Alexis managed to get that far, and at the moment didn’t really want to know. “Let me know when you find out.”

  “I certainly will. Now Jo,” Alexis said, “I’d love to stay and chat, but I really can’t.” She released Jo’s arm and began to move away, then stopped. “Oh, who did you say brought you to the ball?”

  Feeling the woman deserved that little innocuous nugget in return for her work on Max McGee, Jo told her.

  Alexis nodded, then looked across the room. “Well, there’s Heather Bannister. And with her husband. How interesting. I wonder if Mallory is aware she’s here?” And with that she hurried off, leaving Jo to breathe a sigh of relief and free to reconnect with Rafe.

  She found him, not surprisingly, near the buffet table, chatting with an attractive young woman, his plate holding a fresh selection of edibles. He turned as Jo came up.

  “Oh, there you are. Jo, I don’t believe you’ve met Tara Miesner.” The two acknowledged each other and Rafe explained, “Tara is interested in trying out for one of our future plays.”

  Jo smiled and wished her best of luck. She hoped for Rafe’s sake that Tara worked out. He was in need of strong leading actors after what the playhouse had suffered last fall.

  “Excuse me,” Jo said. “I think I’ll try a couple more things from the buffet.” Jo’s stomach had begun reminding her she hadn’t eaten much before Rafe picked her up, and that the single strawberry and cheese square weren’t doing it.

  She took a plate and began filling it with various goodies – caviar, stuffed tomatoes, pasta salads - glancing around occasionally for any sign of Russ Morgan but not finding it. She wished she had managed to learn if he’d come with someone to the ball. Alexis would find out by the end of the evening, Jo was sure, but she had no intention of seeking the woman out to ask. Jo had just scooped up a forkful of pasta when she spotted Mallory Holt heading toward her. Mallory looked somewhat less hostessy than she had on their initial meeting, and Jo wondered what was up.

  Mallory simply said, “Come with me,” and drew Jo by the arm to a quiet spot in the corner of the room.

  Jo assumed Mallory intended to finish their original conversation which had been interrupted, and so complied without protest. She was completely taken aback, therefore, when instead Mallory turned blazing eyes on her and asked in an ominously low voice: “What do you mean by pretending to be someone you’re not, to get into Sebastian’s studio?”

  Oh, oh, Jo thought. Sebastian Zarnik had obviously spotted her and asked questions. Jo decided to play it cool.

  “What do you mean? I never pretended to be anyone other than Jo McAllister.”

  “Oh, really? And do you intend to commission a painting from Sebastian? Or buy one of his finished works? Your little craft shop must be doing extremely well if that’s the case.”

  “I appreciate art,” Jo protested. “If Mr. Zarnik’s prices were higher than I expected or than I can afford right now, I at least enjoyed seeing his work.”

  “Don’t tell me that! You misled him completely. I don’t know what you think you’re getting away with, but rest assured you won’t. Sebastian doesn’t appreciate such tricks, nor do I.”

  Mallory paused ominously. “If you were at all worried,” she said, “about your building having been bought, Ms. McAllister, your worries have just increased tenfold. I suggest you start looking around for a new shop location, and the farther from Abbotsville the better.”

  Jo felt her jaw drop.

  As quickly as Mallory had spit that out, so did her face rapidly change from an expression of fury to one of total ease. “Yes, that would be wonderful, Ms McAllister. Let’s follow up on that. Delia!” she called to a woman passing nearby. “Just the person I was looking for. I wanted to ask…”

  Mallory moved off without a second glance in Jo’s direction, leaving Jo reeling from what had just slammed into her. Had Mallory Holt just threatened her? Was she saying that the Holt Corporation had in fact bought her building from Max McGee? Or was it something she planned to press for, now that Jo had angered her.

  And what, exactly, was Mallory Holt angry about? Was it simply that Jo had wasted the time of her artist lover? Or was it that Jo had come too close to a murderous secret?

  Jo realized she had been standing open-mouthed, so she snatched a caviar-topped cracker from her plate and bit into it. She moved back into the crowd, and seeing Rafe still in close conversation with the aspiring actress, veered away, searching for a friendlier face than what she had just encountered. Or perhaps a bit of quiet, where she could pull herself together. She eventually found herself in the hotel foyer, which was empty at the moment except for staff. One of that staff wore gold braid and was blowing on his cold hands. She headed toward him.

  “Getting warmed up?”

  Randy Truitt looked up and nodded.

  Jo peered through the glass in the hotel’s front door, and saw the snow coming down steadily. Randy had done a good job keeping the immediate walkway cleared, but elsewhere she saw the snow had accumulated a few inches.

  “Have you had anything warm to drink?” Jo asked. “If not, I could grab some coffee back there for you.”

  “That’s okay. Someone brought a cup out to me.” He smiled. “She’s also gonna sneak out something for me to eat, but don’t tell anyone.”

  That must be Lisa Williams, Jo thought. She wondered if Lisa had brought the coffee before or after Alexis Wigsley had her intrusive talk with her, and if she had mentioned it to Randy.

&nb
sp; “I’m glad you’re being looked after. Looks like the worst of your job is over, huh?”

  “Nah, I’ll be hopping again when people start to leave. Which might be soon if they’re worried about the snow.”

  “Good point.” Looking out at it once more, Jo wished she could have borrowed Javonne’s super-traction SUV along with everything else. How, she wondered, would Rafe’s aging sports car fare on the slippery streets?

  Jo felt more than ready to leave the ball, but not just because of the weather. The thought of going back and having to see Mallory with her “gracious hostess” mask firmly in place was unnerving. But she needed to get over it. She had more work to do. Randy got a signal from a hotel staff person to return to his snow clearing, so Jo wished him well and headed back to the ballrooms.

  Rafe, she saw, had been joined, in addition to Tara, by another attractive, possibly aspiring actress, so she changed direction, not interested in more theater talk. She decided to try for a word with Xavier – to see if he’d followed up on Carrie’s suggestion to get a public defender, and ask after Sylvia.

  She slipped behind the buffet table and pushed through one of the swinging kitchen doors into a large room of stainless steel efficiency. Jo walked past warming tables and hanging pots, searching for Xavier, the noise and clatter of the ongoing work echoing about her until she spotted him at the far end of the room. She also spotted Alexis Wigsley and Mallory Holt hovering over him. Their backs were to Jo, but Mallory’s words rang clearly.

  “I’m appalled that this hotel, knowing what I’ve gone through so recently, actually hired this man to work at my ball!”

  A managerial type in navy pinstripes stammered out placating phrases: “Extremely sorry - had no idea - a terrible mistake.” A chef in a tall white hat stood to the side, hands on his hips, his face a picture of extreme annoyance.

  Alexis Wigsley chimed in with, “Inexcusable, totally inexcusable. I was certain you’d want to know, Mallory.”

  The focus of all this, Xavier, stood quietly, looking miserably from one to the other.

  Jo began to rush forward, but a kitchen worker, unaware of her presence, stepped back from his workstation with a large wire basket of clean plates, blocking her path. By the time she squeezed by, the pinstriped man had Xavier by the arm and was marching him out a back door.

  Mallory and Alexis waited until the door slammed behind the two, then turned and headed toward the door Jo had just entered, Mallory flush-faced and Alexis babbling on about having to watch everything like a hawk or heaven-knows-what would be slipped by a person. Neither seemed to notice Jo as they hurried by on the opposite side of a wide, center work island with tall kettles atop it, which was just as well. Jo felt as furious as Mallory presented herself to be, but with far greater justification, and she couldn’t predict what might have come out of her mouth if Mallory had stopped at that moment. Jo willed herself to cool down and think.

  Mallory’s reason for ridding the hotel kitchen of Xavier’s lowly-paid presence was obviously that she suspected him of her husband’s murder. But did she really, Jo wondered? Was she truly convinced of Xavier’s criminality, or was it merely a smokescreen to cover a murderous plot of her own? Mallory hadn’t been too upset over her husband’s murder to meet with Sebastian Zarnik, or to carry on “bravely” with the Founders Ball. And her outrage, as Jo had seen, could be turned on and off when it suited her. Pointing the finger at Xavier, who already had several fingers conveniently pointed at him, certainly aimed people away from looking too closely at her.

  Mallory, Jo was learning, was a very clever woman, but had she been clever enough? Jo got a revealing look at her tonight. But a lot more, she was sure, remained hidden. How was she going to sniff it out?

  After taking a few minutes to regain her composure, Jo rejoined Rafe in the buffet area, finding him, for once, standing alone and with no mound of food in hand. He looked over at her approach and smiled just a bit guiltily.

  “Sorry, I seem to have been neglecting you,” he said.

  “No problem. I’ve been having a very interesting time.”

  “Did you want to have a dance?” he asked, with no discernable enthusiasm.

  “Thanks,” Jo said, “but I think I’d rather just stroll around and listen to the music.”

  Rafe obligingly held out his arm for her to take, and they wound their way through the crowd toward rooms neither had yet seen.

  “So,” Jo asked, thinking of the aspiring actresses, “will you be getting some good new blood for the playhouse?”

  “That remains to be seen. Having played the second lead in a high school production of Grease doesn’t automatically translate into working on a professional level.” Rafe sighed. “Sometimes, though, I have to take what I can get.”

  Jo noticed Heather Bannister standing alone on the other side of the room, and followed the woman’s gaze to see Heather’s husband, Kevin, putting in an order at the nearby bar. Suddenly Alexis sidled up to Heather, and Jo watched them talk, Heather looking not terribly pleased. Jo could sympathize, and wondered what was being said.

  “Ah, Rulenski,” a male voice boomed. A tall, large-chested man stepped up to shake Rafe’s hand. “I hear you’re doing Barefoot in the Park next. Any room for the wife in it?”

  As Rafe went into a diplomatic explanation of the sparseness of roles for the play and how they had already been cast, Jo glanced over toward the Bannisters and saw Kevin heading toward Heather, two stemmed glasses in his hands. He stopped abruptly, possibly on seeing Alexis, and veered off in another direction. Interesting, Jo thought.

  Rafe was introducing her to the large-chested man, and Jo turned back to find her hand quickly swallowed up in his much larger one and heartily pumped up and down.

  “Crafts, huh?” the man, whose name Jo missed, said. “The wife likes crafts. I’ll have to send her over. Where did you say your shop was?”

  By the time Jo explained her shop’s location and answered several follow-up questions, Alexis was no longer to be seen, and Kevin Bannister had delivered Heather’s drink. The two looked to be in close consultation, and Jo could only guess as to its nature.

  Large-chested man moved off, to be replaced by several others, all interested in Rafe’s theater plans, and most offering suggestions for changing them. Mallory Holt was nowhere in sight, nor Sebastian, nor Alexis. Given their early bird habits, Ina Mae and Loralee were likely tucked in their respective beds by now, and Jo began to long for the comfort of her own soft pillow as well.

  When the last of a seemingly endless stream of theater-enthusiasts took off, Rafe turned to Jo and asked, “Had enough?”

  “Absolutely!” she answered, and they headed to the coatroom to retrieve their wraps. They weren’t the only ones, unfortunately, and they had to wait in a slowly moving line, then join a second line to wait for Rafe’s car. Jo glanced around several times, wondering if Russ Morgan had left already, and if so, with whom, but saw no sign of him.

  When the Miata was driven up, Jo and Rafe scurried out through the cold to it, and Randy Truitt opened the door for her to slide in.

  “Thanks, Randy,” she called out, her breath fairly freezing in place.

  Randy only nodded, looking somewhat grim, and Jo supposed the pace might be getting to him, not to mention the cold. Her own toes had turned numb in that short run and she hoped the Miata’s heater would kick in rapidly.

  Rafe, thankfully, drove off with care. The streets, despite evidence of having been plowed once or twice were slippery and Jo felt the car do a slight fish-tail on a curve. Rafe chatted on, though, seemingly more concerned with a few criticisms he had received that evening than with the driving conditions.

  “That tall woman,” he groused, “what’s her name? Used to be some kind of teacher.”

  “Ina Mae?”

  “Yeah. I think she’d like to see us put on a stream of G-rated Pollyanna-type stories. How does she think I’m going to get an audience for that kind of stuff?”

&n
bsp; “From the families of Abbotsville, I suppose.” Jo reached down to rub her chilled toes.

  “Right. The families who stay home to watch their rented DVDs. They’re not going to drag themselves to our playhouse. The people that do come want sophistication, they want mind-blowing drama, they want….”

  Rafe ranted on about the supposed preferences of his audience, and Jo wondered when he had actually offered them such things at his playhouse? Not as long as she’d been in Abbotsville, which admittedly hadn’t been very long.

  They came to Jo’s street, and Rafe groaned at the sight of its unplowed surface. He gamely turned into it, though, and, bumping through high ruts, pulled up in front of Jo’s house. He reached for his ignition to turn it off, but Jo stopped him.

  “Never mind walking me to my door. There’s no use you ruining your shoes.”

  “You’re sure?” Rafe asked, unable to completely cover his relief.

  “Absolutely. Thanks for inviting me, Rafe. It was a highly interesting evening.”

  Rafe grinned. “That’s one way of putting it. Thanks for coming along.”

  Jo gritted her teeth and pulled off her sandals. It would be a frigid run in bare feet, but she couldn’t afford to ruin her good shoes. She hopped out, holding Javonne’s dress up knee-high, and made her way up the snowy walk as rapidly as she could manage. She knew she must look like a duck on drugs, but her appearance, at this point, was the least of her concerns. She waved to Rafe once she’d reached her door and had turned the key in the lock, then watched him drive off, after a worrisome but brief tire-spin in the snow, and sincerely hoped he’d make it home without trouble.

  Jo dropped her shoes in her little foyer and made a mad dash to the bathroom to wrap her icy feet in a warm, fluffy towel. Once the feeling returned to her toes, she carefully removed her borrowed finery, returned her silk camellia to its wreath, wiggled gratefully out of her “corset”, and flopped into bed to soon find images of her dance with Russ Morgan inexplicably weaving their way through her dreams.