by Brynn Bonner
I glanced at Conrad and Phoebe’s empty seats, and Dinah Leigh smiled. “Lovebirds, you know,” she said. “They’ll be down, eventually.”
“I haven’t seen Chelsea today,” I said, gesturing toward her place card. “Please thank her again for organizing your family memorabilia. It’s a big help.”
“Poor Chelsea’s sick,” Patricia said.
“Patricia,” Dinah Leigh said, her voice rising.
“I’m not being snide, Mother,” Patricia protested. “I mean it, she was green to the gills this morning. I felt bad for her.”
“Which should tell you,” Dinah Leigh said to me, “how sick Chelsea is if Patricia’s being sympathetic. I hung the Do Not Disturb sign on her door and let her sleep. If she’s not feeling better by nightfall, I’m taking her to urgent care.”
I saw that Lenora had apparently given up on trying to find Lincoln and was back at the head table. The food would be coming out at any moment, and I decided now was my chance to find out what her big surprise was. I thought maybe she’d gotten a nice telegram or some flowers or something but the surprise was a human being—two, actually.
“Sophreena, this is my son, J.D.,” Lenora said as a thirty-something man rose to shake my hand. He was wearing a loose cotton shirt with ornately embroidered vertical panels down the front. His hair was longer than the current fashion and he had a scruffy beard. But he was attractive and I saw in him his mother’s warm smile and easy manner as we exchanged nice-to-meet-yous.
“I wasn’t expecting him,” Lenora said, which I already knew. She’d lamented the fact that one of her children would be missing the celebration many times over the past months.
“Well, this is a nice surprise,” I said.
“Oh, he’s not the surprise,” Lenora said. “I mean I’m tickled pink he could make it, but the real surprise is that I have a new daughter-in-law. This is Gabriela.” She motioned toward the woman seated next to J.D. as he sat back down and put his arm around her shoulders. She had dark, exotic features and without any apparent assistance from the cosmetic industry was hands down the most beautiful woman in the banquet hall. And more lovely still when a radiant smile lit her face.
I offered my congratulations and chatted a moment, and when I walked away Lenora came with me, renewing her search for Lincoln.
“This the first time you’ve met J.D.’s wife?” I asked.
“This is the first time I even knew J.D. was contemplating a wife,” Lenora said. “He’s always been so devoted to his work he’s had no time for serious relationships.”
“Are you pleased?” I asked tentatively.
“I’m ecstatic,” Lenora said. “I’ve only had a little time to adjust to the news but already I see the changes in J.D. Positive changes. She’s good for him, I think. I look forward to getting to know her. Judith loves her already and I value her judgment. Oh dear,” she said, looking toward where the senator stood with a small cluster of people. “Stan’s gotten buttonholed by Ardeth Wilkins. She’ll talk his ear off. I’d best go rescue him.”
* * *
Reaching octogenarian status did little to dim Senator Stan’s ardor for the microphone. Despite Lenora’s request that he keep his “speechifying” to a minimum, he’d been running on for more than thirty-five minutes now.
His family was seated on the raised platform behind him. I was as happy as everyone else to learn that Lily Rose had been able to come. She gazed at her husband with that adoring-spouse smile politicians’ wives are required to cultivate. Except in Lily Rose’s case, it seemed authentic.
Their only child, Sarah Sawyer Lowell, sat to one side along with her two children. Her son, Damon, was in his late twenties. I’d met him a few times, but hadn’t gotten to know him very well. Emma, whom the senator called the “splendid bonus” due to her late entry into the family, had just turned sixteen. Ordinarily I’m not a big fan of teenagers; angst-ridden teens set my teeth on edge. But there was something about Emma. I’d been drawn to her, despite her self-absorption, and we’d become unlikely friends.
I watched as she slipped a smartphone from her pocket and started surreptitiously texting until she looked up to see her mother giving her the stink eye. She turned back toward the podium with what appeared to be rapt attention and let the phone slide back into her jacket pocket.
Esme leaned over and whispered, “Where’s Sarah’s husband?”
“Couldn’t make it,” I whispered back. “He’s a petroleum engineer and he’s somewhere in the Middle East on a sensitive project. The company didn’t want him to leave right now.”
“Priorities,” Denny said, leaning in to join the whispered conversation. “And after all, Senator Stan’s got no room to criticize. I bet he’s missed a few family events because of his job over the years.”
“Speaking of job obligations,” Jack said, nodding toward the doorway. “Isn’t that Jennifer out there? I think she’s trying to get your attention, Denny.”
“Oh for pity’s sake,” Esme said, her whisper turning into a hiss. “Can they not get along without you for one blessed day?”
“I’ll just go see what she needs,” Denny said, sliding his chair back and leaving the table as unobtrusively as a man his size could manage.
“It better be something big,” Esme muttered, “and I mean big. A bank robbery or something.”
“Esme!” I scolded. “You’re not ill-wishing some poor bank teller, are you?”
Esme sighed. “Well, no, of course not, but it better not be a cat-stuck-in-a-tree case. Or Ida Ruth Butterfield calling in another burglary report ’cause she sees her neighbor’s handyman cleaning the rain gutters and thinks he’s breaking in.”
Detective Jennifer Jeffers was Denny’s partner at Morningside PD. She’s a capable officer and I didn’t think she’d bother Denny at this event unless it was important. From my sliver of a view, I could see they were having an intense conversation and when they finished Denny walked away with Jennifer instead of coming back to our table. “Definitely not a cat in a tree,” I whispered.
* * *
Senator Stan finally wound down, though I hadn’t taken in much of what he’d said from the time Denny was called away. People began to mill about, laughing and talking and sharing stories about the senator, and a half hour later Denny still hadn’t returned.
I could tell Esme was ticked, though she tried to hide it. Jack and I both tried to make plausible excuses for Denny’s sudden departure but Esme wasn’t placated. She argued that he could’ve at least done her the courtesy of saying good-bye.
I had to concede her that point.
A few minutes later, a hotel employee told us Detective Carlson would like us to join him in the lobby. Esme was not happy about being summoned and less happy still when we got to the lobby and were left cooling our heels as Denny talked with an older gentleman wearing the hotel’s official blue blazer. When he caught sight of us, he broke off the conversation and came to meet us. He had on his grim face and it made my heart race. I wanted to pepper him with questions, but knew that would only delay getting answers.
He steered us to a more private corner and wasted no time with the social niceties. “It’s bad,” he said. “A murder. Or more accurately, there was a death that will in all likelihood be ruled a murder. The ME’s still got to make the call. Newlyweds out for a run spotted the body at the bottom of the overlook off the exercise trail. As you’d expect, the owner of this place”—he jerked his head in the direction of the man he’d been speaking with—“is interested in keeping this as low-profile as possible. And that suits me fine. Fewer people who know about it right now, the better. I’d like to get the investigation going without interference, but I need your help. We’re setting up a system for questioning the guests as to their whereabouts last night, but we don’t have the manpower. That’s a problem because the longer people are detained, the more agitated they’ll get. The hotel’s getting us a list, but I need you two to screen the people leaving the senator’s
event. I just need their contact information and to know if they were out on the grounds at any point last night and if so, did they see or hear anything unusual. That’s all.”
The whole time Denny was talking, Esme and I were both searching for an opening to ask the pressing question. I’m sure we looked like goldfish at feeding time, our mouths opening and closing. Denny was too focused to notice. Finally Esme grabbed his arm. “Denton!” she said, her voice sharp. “Who’s dead?”
“Sorry, didn’t I say?” Denny asked, reaching up to pull at his tie. “It’s Lincoln Cooper, the senator’s—”
“Ghostwriter,” Esme whispered.
She and I both let loose with questions. When? How? Was he sure it was Lincoln? An accident? Denny put up a hand to stop the onslaught. “It’s definitely Cooper,” he said. “From what I saw, there was some kind of scuffle, and I’m more than half convinced he was pushed over the railing. I’ll know more once we process the scene. Can you help or not?”
“Yes, of course,” Esme said. “Does the senator know? Lenora?”
“Jennifer made the notification and is escorting them up to the senator’s suite now.”
The next two hours passed in a blur. Esme and I were stationed at one exit of the large banquet hall while hotel employees were at the others. Uniformed officers had been brought in to speak with people at the valet queue as cars were being brought around.
I didn’t have time to take in the fact that someone we’d worked with and liked was dead. I was on autopilot, but a part of me knew the numbness would wear off soon. I needed to be someplace else when that happened.
We kept the questioning low-key, giving out only that there had been an incident on the grounds and we needed to know everyone’s whereabouts for the previous evening in case they might have observed something helpful. Everyone was cooperative, still basking in the good-time-had-by-all glow of the event. That is, until an elderly woman with a Marge Simpson bouffant—which was almost as blue as Marge’s—reached the table. She must’ve been devout about her calcium supplements, because her spine was straight as a rod. She smiled at us in a knowing way and I noticed there was nearly as much lipstick on her teeth as on her lips. I gave her the same spiel I’d given everyone else and she reared back and gave a mirthless laugh. “An incident?” she said. “Is that what they’re calling it these days? By that you mean the dead man they found at the bluff?”
“Mrs. Douglas,” I said, referring to the contact info she’d given me, “we’re just here to help gather information and—”
“Who was he?” she demanded. “Did he die of exercise? God knows he could have. It’s hot out, and there’s dreadful humidity. People ought not to be exerting themselves in this weather. Or did somebody kill him? Was it a murder?”
“Thank you for your cooperation, that’s all we need,” Esme said, trying to move her along.
But it was too late; the buzz was spreading through the crowd and soon the whole place was humming. The drone was no longer punctuated by peals of laughter or the mellow murmurs of contented conversation. It had dissolved into a worried grumble.
* * *
The mood in the senator’s suite was somber. Any small hope I might’ve had that this was all a big mistake was immediately snuffed when I saw Denny talking with the senator’s daughter, Sarah. He had on his cop face and was scribbling in his faithful notebook. Sarah was pale and holding on to her mother’s hand as Lily Rose softly wept.
Lenora was twisting a crumpled tissue and trying to keep her composure. “Stanton’s on the phone with Lincoln’s father. It’s the hardest call he’s ever had to make,” she said. “They haven’t even moved the poor boy’s body. Who could have done such a dreadful thing, Esme?” she asked, clutching at Esme’s arm as if she might actually have the answer.
“I don’t know, Lenora,” Esme said gently, “but I can promise you that Detective Carlson and Detective Jeffers are very good at what they do.”
“I’m sure that’ll be a comfort down the line,” Lenora said. “But right now we’re all in shock. Poor Chelsea is so broken up, they’ve had to sedate her.”
“And you, Lenora,” I asked, “how are you holding up? I know you were fond of Lincoln.”
“Oh yes,” she sniffed. “I know people say this all the time, that someone is just like family, but it was true in this case. We’d gotten to know Lincoln so well and spent so much time together, he did seem like one of us.”
“We need to speak with Detective Carlson when he’s available,” I said, “but is there anything we can do in the meantime? Do you need anything?”
“Not that I can think of,” Lenora said. “Cyrus Hamilton has been very attentive. He’s been sending up food and beverages, and the doctor from the spa attended to Chelsea. As soon as the detective is finished speaking with them, Sarah will take Lily Rose to her room to rest. Poor thing. I daresay she’d come to regard Lincoln as the son she never had. She knew his parents from years ago. She and his mother were fast friends and Lily Rose was very sad when she died a few years back. Now Lincoln’s gone and she’s heartbroken.”
Denny came toward us and I could practically feel Esme vibrating with suppressed questions, but she didn’t get the opportunity to ask any of them. Instead, Denny collected Lenora and took her off to a private corner to talk, giving Esme and me a look that begged forbearance.
Damon, the senator’s grandson, was sitting in a side chair near the desk scribbling furiously into a notebook as the senator occasionally covered the phone’s receiver and relayed information. Emma was staring stonily out the window. She looked peculiar. Not sad, but more a combination of stunned and angry. A subdued J.D. sat on one of the sofas alongside an obviously bewildered Gabriela.
After what seemed like an eternity, Denny pulled Esme and me into the hallway. “I’ve gotta get back out to the scene,” he said. “The wagon’s here and they’re getting ready to move the body. Jennifer’s on-site, but apparently the word’s out and the looky-loos are getting brassy. I’ve called for some uniformed officers to keep them back, but it’ll be a few minutes before they get here. Here’s what I know: the death will almost certainly be ruled foul play and he died instantaneously. The height of the fall was survivable, but the rock pile below the overlook was not, time of death between midnight and two a.m. I’m going to be tied up on this one no telling how long, Esme. I’ll call you when I can.”
“Go on,” Esme urged.
He punched the button for the elevator, but was too impatient to wait. He jerked open the door to the stairwell and his footfalls on the metal steps faded away within seconds. Just then the elevator dinged and Patricia and Marc Benson stepped out wearing matching frowns.
“What are they saying about what happened?” Patricia asked. “Do they know who did it? This is just awful.”
“Do they have any suspects?” Marc asked.
“You know as much as we do,” Esme said.
“I doubt that,” Patricia said. “You and that detective are a couple, aren’t you?” She was unable—or unwilling—to keep the sharp edge from her voice. Marc had an arm around her shoulders and I noticed he gave her a squeeze, which seemed to adjust her attitude.
“I mean, surely he’s told you what’s going on, Esme,” Patricia said.
“The investigation is under way,” Esme said. “And Denton is very good at what he does. That’s all I know.”
“I’m sure that’ll be some comfort to the family and to all of us who knew Lincoln,” Marc said. “If there’s any way we can help, we’re available. We’ve cleared our schedules to stay on with Dinah Leigh for a few days. She’s insisting on staying near Lenora and the senator. Please call on us if there’s anything we can do.” And with that he steered Patricia toward Lenora’s room.
“Scariest words a politician can utter,” Esme whispered as she watched them walk away, “I’m here to help.”
“Well,” I said with a sigh, “it doesn’t appear there’s anything we can do here.”
Esme sighed. “I know. Let’s go say good night and go on home. We do have work to do, though it doesn’t seem as important as it did a few hours ago.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I said as I felt my shield beginning to disintegrate.
I glanced out the window at the end of the hallway and was surprised to see darkness had fallen. I tapped lightly on the door to Lenora’s suite. Emma answered, her phone in her hand and her eyes red-rimmed.
“We just wanted to let your aunt Lenora know we’re leaving,” I said.
“She’s talking to Grandpa,” Emma said. “You want me to get her?”
“No, it’s okay,” I said. “Just tell her if she needs anything she can call us anytime.”
“I will,” Emma said, glancing at her phone. She started to close the door but as we turned to go, she called after us. She looked back over her shoulder, then slipped out into the hallway. “Do you think it was somebody who knew Lincoln who, you know, did that to him?”
Esme and I glanced at each other. “I don’t know, Emma,” I said. “Is there a particular reason you’d ask that?”
She pulled the door almost closed, keeping it from latching so she could get back in. “I just can’t figure out what would be so bad that a person would kill somebody over it. Lincoln was a good guy. He talked to me like I’m a person. He was like that with everybody. Why would anybody want to hurt him?”
Suddenly Emma wasn’t a sullen teenager living in her phone, but a vulnerable girl whose tender feelings were being overlooked in the hubbub surrounding her. Tears were welling in her eyes and as one spilled onto her cheek, she swiped it away with such force it sent her long golden hair swinging in an arc back over her shoulder.
“You’ve lost a friend and that’s a terrible thing, Emma,” Esme said. “You don’t need to be ashamed of tears, or being mad, or feeling helpless.”
The girl burst into great racking sobs and moved into Esme’s arms. She cried until she had no tears left as Esme stood and rocked her from side to side. When Emma had control of herself again, she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweater, a gesture so childish and vulnerable it made my heart hurt.
