“Something splashy, Carlo,” Vanessa said. “For a party. You know what I like.”
“But of course,” he said, turned, and snapped his fingers at two assistants hovering nervously in the background. “The red with sequins,” he ordered. “The white Grecian drape. The fringed black.”
They scurried, and hustled back with the three gowns. I’d have given my eyeteeth to own any of them, but of course I could never have gotten into them. I would have looked like an elephant in rompers.
Carlo exhibited them with dramatic flair, caressing the fabrics with his fingertips, shaking the hangers so the dresses billowed and swayed.
“Amusing,” he said. “No?”
“What do you think, Dunk?” Vanessa asked.
“I love them all,” I confessed.
“Mmm,” she said, inspecting the gowns critically. “The drape is a little too full for me, and the sequined red is hookerish—don’t you think?”
This from a woman with a record of loitering for the purpose of prostitution. It was to laugh.
She selected the fringed black: a short sheath with spaghetti straps, cut reasonably high in front and no back at all. Wear that thing backward and you’d be in biiig trouble. The fringe hung in tiers, and moved, swayed, flipped as the wearer walked.
“Let’s try it on,” Vanessa said, and I wanted to say, “Both of us?”
We went into a dressing room as elegantly appointed as a Roman vomitorium. All right, I’m exaggerating, but it war splendidly furnished, with more mirrors than a fun house. Vanessa began to undress, casually, which made me a little uneasy. Despite my basketball team experience, I’ve never been an uninhibited locker room type.
“Tell me,” she said, unbuttoning, unsnapping, unhooking, “have you found out who ripped off the Demaretion?”
“No,” I said, “I haven’t.”
“Orson’s murder really shook me,” she chattered on. “I didn’t like the man—I told you that—but even so, I was devastated by his death. Do they know who did it?”
“They’re investigating.”
“Tell me about it,” she said bitterly. “I had a two-hour session with the homicide detectives. My God, I hope they don’t suspect me. I wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
A zippered fly? I was tempted to ask.
By then she was stripped down to high-heeled shoes, little white bikini panties, and nothing else. I’m one long hunk of cartilage, but she had a body that just didn’t stop. I mean, it gleamed. Perfectly proportioned with a narrow waist, flare of hips, a luscious tush, and a really exceptional pair of lungs. Incidentally, I didn’t see that tattoo Orson Vanwinkle had mentioned.
She inspected her practically naked body in the three-way mirror, turning this way and that, lifting her arms.
“What do you think?” she said. “Not so bad for an old dame—right? The thighs are still firm.”
“So is everything else,” I said.
She touched her breasts lightly, a brief caress. “There’s a little silicone in there,” she said, “but that’s just between us girls. Do you think Orson did it?”
“What?” I said, startled. “Oh, you mean steal the Demaretion. No, I don’t think he did it. He couldn’t have.”
“Natalie then,” she said, her voice muffled as she pulled the fringed dress over her head. “She’s nutty enough. Or Ruby Querita. There’s a freak for you.”
She was pointing fingers in all directions, and I wondered if she was just running off at the mouth or had good reasons for her suspicions. But maybe the theft of the Demaretion and Vanwinkle’s murder were the most dramatic things that had happened in her life in a long time, and she was trying to keep the excitement alive. Good party talk.
She turned her back to me. “Zip me up,” she ordered, and I did. Then we both inspected the result in the mirrors.
Some result! The dress looked like it had been painted on her, and the tiers of fringe made it sexier. I don’t know why, but I thought of a striptease dancer with tassels on her pasties.
“What do you think?” Vanessa asked.
“Beautiful,” I said. “But about an inch too long. They can take up the hem.”
She looked at me with astonishment. “You’re absolutely right,” she said. “Will you call Carlo and the fitters, please.”
Within minutes, there were four people hovering around her, clucking and murmuring and rolling their eyes. The hem would be shortened, certainly. “And perhaps, signora,” Carlo said, “if I may suggest it, the straps taken up. Not a lot—no! A trifle. To fit snugly. Ah, what a glory!”
After things had been chalked and pinned, Vanessa undressed, dressed, and we moved out into the main room. She didn’t even flash a credit card.
“Bill me, Carlo,” she said gaily.
“But of course, signora,” he said, bending to nibble on her fingers again. I may have been imagining it, but I could have sworn he passed her a little folded slip of paper—just like the headwaiter at that Tudor pub on Third Avenue. Then he released her hand and shook mine.
“Signorina,” he said, really not interested.
I never did find out what that fringed black cost. Probably more than my entire savings account at Chemical Bank.
I was willing to admit that Vanessa Havistock had a lot of talents, and one of them was obviously the ability to get a cab. She had no sooner stepped off the curb and held up one finger languidly than a Checker pulled up with a screech of brakes. I wish I had that gift.
On our way to the Russian Tea Room, she suddenly said, “Are you a close friend of Roberta’s?”
“Close?” I said, surprised. “Hardly. I think I’ve seen her twice.”
“Be careful,” Vanessa said darkly. “She’s not exactly the Flying Nun, you know.”
Roberta Minchen was at a table, waiting for us. The Christmas decorations were still up, as always, in the back room. The place was already crowded, and the clack of conversation was rising.
“Look what I’ve got,” Roberta said, giggling and holding up a glass. “Peppered vodka. It’s delicious.”
She was wearing one of her high-collared, flowery chiffons, and I tried not to remember what she had looked like in that videocassette I had seen. Not Academy Award material—unless all those men would nominate her for Best Supporting Actress.
Vanessa had her very, very dry martini straight up with a single olive, please, and I asked for a vodka gimlet. Then, to keep things simple, we all ordered the same luncheon: avocado stuffed with crabmeat salad. Kiddo, I told myself, you’re living.
It took about three seconds for the talk to get around to the Demaretion robbery and Orson Vanwinkle’s murder. The Havistock women thought both events were connected.
“It stands to reason,” Roberta Minchen said, rabbity teeth gleaming. “I mean we were all living such a nice, peaceful existence, and then those two awful things happened, one right after the other. There must be a link between them.”
“I agree,” Vanessa said. “And I still think Orson was involved in stealing the coin. He was such a creep.”
“Wasn’t he?” Roberta said, blinking. “I just never did understand why Daddy kept him on. Do you know, Vanessa?”
“Why, no,” she said tightly. “How in hell would I know something like that?”
That was my first intimation that there was a tension between the two. Maybe not outright hostility, at the moment, but a kind of wariness. The sparring kept up after our luncheon plates were served.
“Even Mother didn’t like him,” Roberta said. “But he was Archibald’s nephew, and I guess she didn’t want to say anything. Did you know his girlfriend, Vanessa? Dolly LeBaron?”
“I met her once,” Vanessa said. “Once was enough. You had them over to your place, didn’t you?”
“We tried to be friends. Briefly. But they really weren’t our kind of people.”
“Oh? I’d have thought you’d hit it off.”
I was silent, listening to this dueling with fascination.
&
nbsp; “He just drank too much,” Roberta said. “And she’s a flibbertigibbet.”
“Do you really think so?” Vanessa said. “As I said, I only met her once, but my impression was that behind the Marilyn Monroe exterior was a real barracuda.”
“It takes one to know one,” Roberta said, smiling sweetly.
Vanessa stared at her coldly, then turned to me. “Have you met her, Dunk? Dolly LeBaron?”
“Yes, I’ve met her.”
“What was your take?”
“Not too bright.”
“Bright enough,” Vanessa said grimly, “to latch on to Orson and take him for whatever she could get. That’s where all his money went.”
We were silent then, digging into our avocados. But the truce didn’t last long.
“How is Luther?” Roberta asked. “The last time I saw him he looked so pale and thin.”
“Luther is fine,” Vanessa said.
“Is he still biting his fingernails?”
Vanessa glared at her. “Is Ross still cracking his knuckles?”
I prepared to push back my chair if dishes started flying. But their jousting remained verbal.
“After all,” Roberta said, “Luther is my brother, and I am interested in his welfare. You shouldn’t let him drink so much.”
“Butt out,” Vanessa said, her face becoming almost ugly with anger. “Just butt out. I don’t tell you how to manage that nerd you’re married to, do I? Advice from you I don’t need.”
“Ladies,” I murmured, but it did no good.
“At least,” Roberta said, “Ross is a good provider.”
“I won’t ask what he provides,” Vanessa said nastily. “After all, you’re paying for the lunch, and I never insult the woman who pays the bill.”
“Or the man either,” Roberta said. “You’re always very sweet to the one who picks up the check.”
“What that’s supposed to mean?” Vanessa demanded.
“If the shoe fits, wear it.”
Thank God the waitress arrived just then to remove our empty plates. I swear that if that snarling had gone on much longer, I’d have stood up and stalked out with as much dignity as I could muster. It was embarrassing. But the waitress saved the day, and we all ordered coffee, no desserts, in calm, controlled voices.
“Ruby Querita,” Vanessa said, looking at Roberta with no expression. “What do you think?”
Roberta pouted her lips. “Yes,” she said, “I think it’s very possible she took the coin. Her brother’s in jail, you know. She needs money to get him out.”
They both turned to stare at me.
“And killed Orson Vanwinkle?” I said. “Why would she do that?”
“Maybe he saw her do it,” Vanessa said. “He was going to turn her in to the cops, so she shot him.”
“Yes,” Roberta said, nodding wisely, “that makes sense.”
Again I had the feeling of being pushed in directions I didn’t want to go.
“It doesn’t make sense to me,” I said. “Letters were written to the insurance company, offering to make a deal: the Demaretion returned for cash. I don’t think Ruby would be capable of that.”
“Maybe she got someone to write the letters for her,” Vanessa said.
“Now you’re reaching,” I told her. “Ruby is very religious. She lives by the Ten Commandments. I really don’t think she’d steal.”
“Then it was Natalie,” Roberta said firmly. “She’d steal—as a kind of joke, you know. I hate to say it about my own sister, but she’s capable.”
What a family!
I was never so glad in my life when that awful luncheon finally ended. I told them I had an appointment uptown, and left them together on the sidewalk as soon as I decently could, after thanking Roberta for her hospitality.
“We must do it again soon,” she said brightly.
In about 1998, I thought.
I walked away from them as fast as I could, not looking back. If they started pulling hair after I was gone, that was their problem. And if it came to a knockdown and dragout fight, I’d have bet on Vanessa; she was the ballsier of the two.
I had time to kill before my appointment at Grandby & Sons, so I sat for a while on a bench in Central Park. Then an ancient dodderer came along, dropped his newspaper in front of me, bent slowly to retrieve it, and tried to look up my skirt. Just an average day in the Big Apple. I rose hastily and strode over to Madison where the weirdos were younger and better dressed.
What a lunch that had been! But valuable, I thought. It gave me new insights into the stresses and pressures within the Havistock family. I didn’t know what it all meant, but I never doubted for a moment that it was significant. If I could understand those enmities, I might be a lot farther along in finding out who copped the Demaretion and who knocked off Orson Vanwinkle.
Madison Avenue, from 57th Street northward, is really something: my favorite window-shopping tour. All the riches of the world: art galleries, boutiques, antique shops, jewelers, wine stores, swank hotels, and crazy little holes-in-the-wall where you could buy things like polo mallets, porcelain picture frames, and furniture made of Lucite. Bring money.
I still had a lot of Des Moines in me, and a street like this was an invitation to a world I’d never known. I couldn’t help laughing, because I knew I’d never know it—but I could admire it. That didn’t depress me. I was happy just to be able to goggle at all those baubles, dream, and go home to my Lean Cuisine. Things are nice, but they’re not everything. Right?
I timed my stroll and got to Grandby & Sons a few minutes before three o’clock. If the meeting didn’t take too long, I planned to stop in and give Hobie Juliana a big hug, in thanks for all his help.
We all met in Grandby’s conference room, an austere chamber that needed only candles and a casket on a trestle to pass as a funeral parlor. We sat at wide intervals around a polished table, and lawyer Lemuel Whattsworth, Mr. Congeniality himself, opened the game.
“Miss Bateson,” he said, “you have been employed by Archibald Havistock to investigate the theft of the Demaretion. Is that correct?”
I nodded.
“You realize, of course, that technically you are still employed by Grandby and Sons, on temporary leave of absence.”
“Technically,” I said. “Meaning I’m not getting paid.”
“There is a conflict of interest involved here,” he said, sucking his teeth happily. “It is quite possible that Grandby’s and Archibald Havistock may, eventually, if this matter is not speedily and satisfactorily resolved, be in litigation re the loss of the Demaretion and recompense demanded for its reserve value as stated in the auction contract.”
“So?” I said.
“Surely you can see the awkward position into which you are placing your legitimate employer,” he droned on. “I refer, of course, to Grandby and Sons. You have, in effect, become a hireling of a party who may very well become our adversary in a court of law.”
“Hireling?” I said. “Watch your language, buster. All I’m trying to do is clear my name.”
Stanton Grandby, looking more like a plump penguin than ever, gave a little cough and tried to smile. He didn’t succeed.
“What we’d really like to know,” he said, “is whether or not you’ve made any progress in your investigation.”
“Not much,” I said casually, sitting back. Let them sweat.
“Dunk,” Felicia Dodat said, “you have no suspect?” She really was wearing green nail polish.
“Oh, there are a lot of suspects,” I said. “Too many. But if you’re asking me if I know who stole the Demaretion, the answer is no, I don’t.”
They looked at each other, then all three looked at me.
“But you feel you are making progress?” Stanton Grandby asked anxiously.
I considered that. “Yes,” I said finally, “I think I am. I’ve collected a lot of information. I agree with Detective Georgio and investigator Smack: the robbery was committed by a member of the Havistock f
amily.”
“Ah-ha,” lawyer Whattsworth said with some satisfaction. “You’re sure of that?”
“No,” I said, “I’m not sure of anything.”
His confidence evaporated. “How long,” he asked in his papery voice, “do you anticipate your investigation will continue?”
“As long as it takes,” I told him.
Again they exchanged glances. If a signal passed between them, I didn’t see it.
“Under the circumstances,” the attorney said, “it seems somewhat unfair to you that your income should derive solely from a party with whom Grandby’s may very well find itself in an antagonistic position.”
After digging through that tortured syntax, I gathered he was saying that I wasn’t making enough money.
“I agree,” I said.
“Therefore,” he continued, “we suggest that you terminate your employment by Archibald Havistock. Your leave of absence will be ended, and you will be returned to a salaried position with Grandby and Sons. It will be understood that you shall be relieved of all your regular duties, allowing you to continue your investigation into the theft of the coin.”
“No,” I said promptly.
“No?” Stanton Grandby cried.
“No?” Felicia Dodat cried.
“No,” I repeated firmly. “The Havistocks put me on salary after you people took me off. I promised them I’d do everything I could to solve the crime. I intend to keep that promise.”
“But didn’t they demand certain conditions?” the attorney said slyly. “That you weren’t to investigate too closely members of the immediate family?”
“Absolutely not,” I said. “I asked for a free hand, and I got it. The only condition to which I agreed was that, if a member of the family turned out to be the criminal, I would inform Mr. Havistock before I told the authorities. I assumed the reason for that was so he could arrange legal representation for the accused family member before he or she was arrested and charged.”
“Yes,” Whattsworth said dryly, “I would say that is a logical assumption. However, it is extraneous to the basic interests of Grandby and Sons. What I now propose is that you continue your employment by Archibald Havistock, if you insist, but at the same time you return to a salaried position with Grandby’s. With the absolute understanding, of course, that we shall become privy to the results of your investigation at the same time you reveal those results to Mr. Havistock, and that you shall provide us with weekly written reports on your progress.”
The Eighth Commandment Page 21
