I frowned. “But if she was after his money and didn’t care about these parties, why bother having this one?”
“Probably because her lawyer, Christian Tellitocci, put her up to it.” The sneer he gave told me what he thought about Mr. Tellitocci. “Those two were always far too close for my liking.”
“Is he here?” I asked, looking around as if I knew what he looked like.
One of the younger men laughed. “He never comes to these things,” he said. “Thought it might be in bad form.” He didn’t expound on the comment, though I got the gist.
The aviator trio pointedly turned so they were no longer facing me, shutting me out of their conversation. That was okay; I was getting tired of their self-righteousness, anyway. Their disdain for Mrs. Yarborough left a bad taste in my mouth, but it did give me something to think about.
Margaret would have inherited quite a lot of money upon her husband’s death, I would think. The house itself had to be worth close to a million, if not more. Could she have really killed her husband so she could inherit the money? Had she been cheating on her husband with her lawyer like the young aviator had insinuated? And if so, who all knew about it? And who would benefit if Mrs. Yarborough were to die next?
I hadn’t seen or heard anything that indicated the Yarboroughs had any children. It was possible the kids were all grown up and had moved away, yet a part of me didn’t think that was the case. Margaret didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would want children, though I’d only spoken to her briefly. And I couldn’t imagine trying to raise kids in a house like this.
But what if there was a son or daughter out there somewhere? Could they have gone after their mother, only to accidentally kill Jessica Fairweather instead?
It was a stretch, but at least it was something to go on. Up until now, the only motive we’d found for Jessica’s murder was the way she treated others, especially her boyfriends.
“You don’t know what you are talking about!”
The bark of angry words came from a few feet away. I turned to find the man dressed as Clark Gable whom Will had pointed out earlier, Terry Blandino, glaring at the man in the horn-rimmed glasses and fedora I’d seen him argue with earlier. Apparently, whatever their trouble, they had yet to work it out because Terry was whispering something harsh at the man, finger pointing accusingly. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the man in the glasses wasn’t happy about it.
I started their way, hoping to catch what Terry was saying, but he was finished. He spun on his heel and stormed past me without a second glance, face red and angry. The other man’s eyes fell on me and he grimaced.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Was that Terry Blandino?” I knew for a fact it was, but I was curious to see how he’d answer.
He didn’t disappoint. “What is it to you?”
I plastered on a smile. “He seems upset. I was just wanting to make sure everything is okay. My name’s Krissy, by the way.” I held out a hand.
He eyed it a moment before shoving both his hands into his coat pockets. “Terry thinks he knows something. He’s a fool. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
“What does he think he knows?” I tried to make it sound like an innocent question, but it came out as prying, which it was.
His eyes narrowed at me behind his glasses. “Who are you again?”
“No one,” I said. “I’m just trying to get to know everyone.”
“Might want to be a little less nosy.” He started to push past me.
Okay, I had to admit, their fight was really none of my business, but once I get started, it’s hard for me to shut it off. Until proven otherwise, everyone was a suspect, and that included Mr. Horn-Rimmed Glasses and Terry Blandino. Could their fight be about Margaret Yarborough? About the dead girl? Or was it something else completely?
Either way, their argument wasn’t the reason I was there. I still had a Marilyn Monroe to find.
“Hey,” I said, stopping Horn-Rimmed. “Have you seen a girl in a white dress? She looks like Marilyn Monroe.” I paused, remembering how the last girl dressed like Mrs. Monroe had looked. “Not the dead one.”
He glanced back at me, frowned, and then walked away without comment.
“Gee, thanks,” I muttered.
“Try over by the drinks.” I turned to see a little old woman smiling at me. “I think I saw her there.”
“Thank you,” I told her. “You’re a big help.” And then I hurried over to where she’d indicated.
At first, I didn’t see her. There were a few party guests by the drinks, talking, but no white Monroe dress. My heart sank, thinking the old woman had either been mistaken, or had led me astray for some unknown purpose, but then I saw her, standing against the wall as if she were trying to sink through it.
As I noted before, her dress wasn’t as nice as the other Monroes’, and she wasn’t wearing nearly as much jewelry. That didn’t mean she wasn’t pretty, however. Even with her limited, less expensive necklace, and with a nose that was a little too long, a little too pointed, she still looked stunning.
“Hi,” I said, approaching her carefully. She looked like she might startle easily. I wondered if I’d had that same deer-in-the-headlights look on my face when I’d first arrived. I’m guessing I did. “My name’s Krissy Hancock. Mind if I talk to you for a moment or two?”
The girl shrugged. “I suppose.” She hesitated, then added, “I’m Elaine, by the way.”
“Hi, Elaine.” I smiled reassuringly at her. “Did you come here alone?” I asked. On both occasions when I’d seen her, she hadn’t talked to anyone. I wasn’t sure many people came to a party like this without a date, but if she had one, she wasn’t spending a lot of time with him.
Elaine nodded. “I was invited.” She said it like she thought I might contradict her or accuse her of sneaking into the party. “But I don’t know why.” Her brow furrowed. “I’m not anyone.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
A dainty shrug, followed by, “Sure.”
Even though she clearly didn’t want to talk, I plowed ahead with my questions anyway. “Did you know the girl who was killed?” I asked. “Jessica Fairweather was her name.”
Elaine shook her head. “I didn’t. She was wearing the same thing I am.” She touched her dress as if wearing it somehow made her guilty of a crime. “What if the killer had found me first? He might have mistaken me for her.” A hint of hysterics came into her voice then. “I could be dead right now.”
I reached for her to put an arm around her shoulder, but she flinched away. “I don’t think you’re in any danger,” I said, returning my arm back where it belonged. “Is there anyone here you could stick close to, just in case?”
She bit her lip before answering. “Yeah, I guess. My dad is here.”
“Your dad?” I didn’t know why that surprised me. Maybe it was how her clothing looked just as out of place as my own did. This didn’t appear to be a girl with a lot of money, and since she hadn’t come as some rich guy’s plus one, I wasn’t quite sure what I expected. Maybe her dad had gotten her an invite. Could he have cut her off for some reason, left her without a lot of money? She looked old enough to live on her own, early twenties maybe, so it could be he decided to let her see what it was like to live on her own, without having everything handed to her, for a little while.
“He doesn’t talk to me,” Elaine said. “He left me and my mom years ago, left us with nothing.” She sighed and a profound sadness filled her eyes. “I thought he sent the invitation, which was why I came. But when I tried to talk to him when I first got here, he pretended like he didn’t even know me.”
I winced. That was pretty harsh, even from a father who was willing to leave his wife and child with nothing. “Who invited you then, if he didn’t?”
“I don’t know. I got a letter in the mail. I got a phone call a few days after that, asking if I was coming. They didn’t say who it was, just said it was impo
rtant that I made it.”
“Did they give you a name?”
“No,” she said. “I figured it was one of Dad’s assistants. He usually has them do things like that for him.” She glanced past me and practically whispered, “I’m going to go get something to drink.”
I nodded absently, trying to put everything together. The poor girl looked so timid, so frightened, I felt bad for her. Could someone have been playing a cruel joke on her, inviting her to a party where she would stand out and be ostracized from everyone, including her dad? Or was something else going on? Had her invitation come from someone trying to get father and daughter back together?
And if so, could any of it have anything to do with Jessica Fairweather’s murder? It was hard to see how, but like Terry Blandino and Horn-Rimmed’s argument, I wasn’t going to dismiss it out of hand.
“Krissy?”
I jumped, startled, and turned to find Will standing nearby. His friends—and their wives—were nowhere in sight.
“I’m sorry,” I told him before he could say anything. “I’m not ignoring you on purpose.”
He smiled. “It’s okay.” He glanced toward where Elaine was getting a drink of punch. “Do you know her?”
“No,” I said. “Do you?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t seen her before. She doesn’t look like she wants to be here.”
“No, she doesn’t.” I watched as she sipped her punch. She glanced my way and then retreated to a lonely corner where someone wouldn’t ask her painful questions. “Do you have any idea who her father might be? She said he’d left her mom a few years ago, but I didn’t get a chance to ask her who he is.”
“I wish I did,” Will said. “But in these circles it’s no real surprise her parents are separated.” His brow furrowed as he watched her. “Though looking at her, she does remind me of someone. I just can’t place who.”
“Huh.” I tried to come up with a face that matched hers, but came up blank. It wasn’t surprising, really. I was a stranger here and knew practically no one.
“Anyway,” Will said, drawing my eyes back to him. “I have something to ask you.”
“Uh-oh.” I played it off as light, but something in his voice scared me. He was suddenly nervous, fidgeting and looking everywhere but at me. It was making me nervous.
“It’s not bad,” he said. “Well, I don’t think it is.”
“Okay,” I said. “What is it?”
“Well . . .” He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. “My parents are here.”
I stared at him. “Your parents?”
“Yeah, they didn’t tell me they were coming. They dressed up and were wearing masks, so I didn’t recognize them. They were going to approach me earlier, but then the girl died and, well, things got weird.”
I was getting a sinking feeling in my stomach. “And?”
“And, well, they saw us together and know we came here as a couple.” He looked up and gave me a sheepish look. “They want to meet you.”
And there it went, right through the floor. “I . . .”
“It’s not a meet-the-parents kind of thing!” he hurriedly said. “I mean, it is, but not in the way you’re thinking. They know who you are, have heard about you from me and, well, from the news. They just want to say hi and whatnot. There’s no pressure.”
No pressure. Right. As if meeting a guy’s parents for the first time was easy. What if they didn’t like me? What if I said something so stupid, they forbade him from ever talking to me again?
Stop it, Krissy. He’s a grown man. He can make his own decisions.
“Where are they?” I asked, plastering on a smile that shook just as much as my insides were shaking.
Will looked relieved that I wasn’t running in the opposite direction. “Here,” he said, holding out an arm. “I’ll take you to them. They’re going to love you.”
11
“Mom. Dad. This is Krissy Hancock.”
Will’s parents turned at the sound of his voice and smiled. I was immediately struck by how different each of them was from one another. Will’s dad stood at least six feet and looked lean and strong. His skin was a deep, midnight black, as were his eyes. When he smiled, his entire face lit up.
His wife—Will’s mom—was shorter than me, putting her at five feet at the most. Her hair was a natural red, slowly fading to gray, and freckles specked her cheeks, making her look younger than she really was. Her eyes were a bright green that sparkled in the overhead lights.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I said, finding my voice. I was surprised it didn’t shake.
“The pleasure is ours,” Mr. Foster said. His voice held a heavy accent I couldn’t place, but it made me think of Zimbabwe for some reason—TV more than likely.
“She is pretty,” Will’s mom said with a radiant smile. Like her husband, she had an accent, though hers was decidedly Irish.
“Krissy, these are my parents, Keneche and Maire Foster,” Will said, pointedly ignoring his mother’s comment.
“Call me Ken,” his dad said. “Everyone does.”
“We’ve heard quite a bit about you,” Maire said, gently touching my forearm. “William is quite taken.”
Will cleared his throat, a clear, albeit lighthearted, warning for her to stop.
Maire laughed and moved back to her husband’s side. “William doesn’t like it when I speak to his friends so bluntly. Says it embarrasses him.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” Will said, obviously lying.
“So, Krissy,” Ken broke in, resting a hand on his wife’s shoulder. I had a feeling if he let her, she’d talk my ear off. “Will has said you own a coffee shop in town?”
“I do,” I said, thankful to be talking about something else. “Well, I co-own it with my best friend, Vicki. She’s around here somewhere.” I glanced around, hoping to spot her.
“I have yet to make it downtown,” Ken said. “We’ve been on vacation, and then spent more hours at home than we probably should have.” He gave his wife a loving smile. “But I promise to stop by soon. What is the name of your shop?”
“Death by Coffee,” I said, wincing just a little. No matter how many times I said it, I kept thinking about my dad’s book and the murder that had happened not long after we’d opened. I sometimes wish we’d change the name, but knew it would never happen. It was already a part of Pine Hills, and would stay that way until we were forced to close up shop—something I hoped wouldn’t happen for a very long time.
“What a cute name,” Maire said. “We’ll definitely be stopping by soon.” Her smile faded and she gave me a serious look. “I’m sorry we’ve met under such unfortunate circumstances.” She glanced toward the hall that led to where Jessica’s body lay. “It is quite dreadful.”
“Have we seen you with the officer investigating the case?” Ken asked.
“Yeah.” I glanced at Will, worried. Of what? I wasn’t sure. That they’d ask if Paul and I had a history together? Of something more, something regarding Will himself? I think a part of me wanted him to speak up for me. To defend me? To say that it was okay I was spending most of the party running around with another guy?
Either way, he seemed to notice my worry and spoke up. “She’s been helping him look into the murder,” he said, pride in his voice. “Apparently, she’s gained a reputation around town. This is what? Your third murder investigation?”
I felt myself flush. “I’m not really investigating. I’m just helping.”
Both Ken and Maire were beaming at me as if I were the most precious thing they’d ever seen.
“I’m sure you’re doing everything asked of you,” Maire said.
“There’s no need to be modest with us,” Ken added. “I find it refreshing that you’re willing to help. So many people stand aside and do nothing when a tragedy hits. It’s impressive that you are willing to take the time to assist.”
I lowered my head. I didn’t feel worthy of the praise, but said, “Tha
nk you,” anyway.
“We should let them go,” Maire said, suddenly. “I wanted to meet you, not interrupt your date.”
Ken chuckled. “You’re right. It was a pleasure to meet you, Krissy. I hope we get a chance to sit down and have a longer conversation sometime very soon.” He looked meaningfully at his son.
“I’d like that,” I said, and I meant it. I liked both his parents. They seemed friendly and accepting of me, which was something I hadn’t expected. Will had money. I didn’t. Not every parent would approve of the pairing.
It’s not like we’re going to get married, I told myself, though a little part of me wasn’t totally against the idea. I mean, Will was great. If things continued to work out between us, why not look toward the future.
Maire took Ken by the arm and with a farewell wave, they turned and blended in with the crowd.
“I’m sorry about that,” Will said. “I really didn’t know they were going to be here.”
“It’s okay,” I said, smiling as I watched them walk away. “I like them.”
“Good.” He sounded relieved.
“They’re an interesting couple,” I said. “How did they meet?”
Will seemed to know exactly what I was asking, and why. “Dad moved to England from Africa when he was twenty. Mom was going to college there, having moved from Ireland. They met there, got married a year later, and had me a year after that. They moved to the U.S. shortly after I was born.”
“And they kept both their accents.” It was a statement, but he answered anyway.
“They did. When they go on vacation, they visit their respective homes, staying about two weeks in each place. They are often gone months at a time.”
“And what about you? You don’t have an accent.” I would have thought living in a house where everyone else spoke with one, Will would have picked up a thing or two.
“I used to,” he said. “But I went to school here, and not many people speak like my parents. Every now and again I let it slip out, though I prefer not to.”
“Huh.” It appeared Will Foster was far more interesting than I’d first thought—and I’d always thought him special, so that was saying something.
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