by Joan Hess
“You can’t come now?” asked Chantilly.
Not with Skyler. “No, but I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I promised.
Once they’d gone outside, I fetched Skyler, paid the four-fifty minimum, and drove to Luanne’s store. Ignoring a small bevy of sorority girls pawing through molted fur coats, I pulled Luanne into the back room, told her what had transpired, and said, “You’ve got to watch Skyler.”
“Do you really think Adrienne will recognize Skyler?”
“I don’t think I can explain why I have an infant in my care. What’s more, I’m putting on a luncheon for a hundred people, and I won’t have time to warm up bottles and change diapers.”
“So how many crab rolls will you be ordering?”
“Just stay by your phone,” I said with some degree of urgency. “When we get around to ordering quantities, I’ll need you. Skyler, on the other hand, needs you now. His diaper was not changed at the fitness center. I think I’ll cancel my membership in the morning.”
“You didn’t buy a membership.”
“Whatever.” I swept past the sorority girls and went outside, gazed sadly at the Book Depot down the street, where nov lucrative financial transactions were taking place, then drove home to change into slacks and a blouse in order to fend off funeral directors, florists, caterers, and reporters. Maybe. Medieval literature was my forte, popular culture my frailty.
I was heading out the door when the phone rang. Envisioning scenes of a SWAT team on the roof of Farberville High School, I snatched up the receiver.
“Claire,” Peter said.
“Name,” I said, “but rank and serial number unknown, having been issued neither. Social Security number, possibly. License plate number if you want to hold while I run down and look.”
“It’s been two days.”
“Two days since you made dire threats at the police department?”
He took a deep breath. “Is something going on? I thought we’d gotten past the situation with Leslie and were moving ahead. Now, you won’t see me. Jorgeson told me that you were at Sheila Armstrong’s house only hours after you promised me you’d stay out of this case. You’ve been evasive, and I don’t know what it means. I’m a guy, after all. Show a little compassion.”
I wanted to collapse in a puddle, babble endearments, and suggest that we meet at a sleazy motel for a steamy afternoon romp. However, circumstances precluded such a thing. “I did go by Sheila’s house to ask her about Daphne. She didn’t say anything useful. Did Jorgeson do any better with her?”
“Not really. She acknowledged that Daphne moved in with a boyfriend last summer, but she didn’t know his name and Daphne won’t tell us. We’d like to talk to him, but we have no way to find him without more information.”
“Surely he’ll come forward,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I was on the way out the door for an appointment. We can continue this later.”
“An appointment?”
“Not with a neurosurgeon or anything like that. I’ll call you this evening and we can talk. It’s complicated, Peter.”
He exhaled loudly. “Tracking down potential suspects, I assume.”
“I have to go now,” I said, and then replaced the receiver. I did not allow myself to consider the implications of my actions as I grabbed my purse and went out to the car. But as I drove to Anthony and Adrienne Armstrong’s house, it was challenging not to remember my sanctimonious remark to Caron only an hour or so earlier. Oh, no, I never lied to Peter; I merely hedged. And her parting shot had hurt. I put it on the fist of things we’d have to discuss in the future.
I found the road to the Armstrong house without problem, and parked next to a police car. I reluctantly acknowledged my name to an officer, who looked at a notebook and then waved me up the sidewalk. Chantilly opened the door before I reached the porch.
‘This is so super of you,” she said as she caught my hand. “I just really don’t know how to do this sort of thing. I can book a European tour or a Mediterranean cruise, but I am not a party person. It’s all I can do to buy a veggie platter when I have people over.”
“So you’re a travel agent?”
“In Atlanta. Would you like a glass of iced tea?”
“I’d love one,” I said, then followed her across an artfully decorated living room cluttered with potted plants and flowers, and into a kitchen that would cause many a chef to weep. Double this, double that, an island to rival Capri, an extensive range (on which the deer and antelope actually could have played), ice maker clunking steadily, dozens of cookbooks neatly aligned on hardwood shelves above a desk with a telephone and a small television.
“Goodness,” I said as Chantilly took a pitcher out of a dauntingly large refrigerator that might have contained a couple of corpses. “Does anyone cook?”
“I don’t think so. Adrienne certainly doesn’t. Sugar or lemon?”
“Neither, thank you. She and Anthony were married three years ago?”
Chantilly handed me a glass, then sat down on a stool. “Something like that. They took off to an exotic island without telling anybody except Daphne. Well, he must have told his secretary, and Adrienne left a message on my machine. It’s not like any of us were invited, though. Strictly romantic.”
“Had you met Anthony before they were married?”
“Claire!” Adrienne said as she came into the room, limping just a bit. “I am so glad you came. Why don’t we all just settle down right here and get to work? Chantilly, would you be a sweetheart and get me a glass of tea? I’ve been on the phone with some newspaper reporter, and my mouth is so dry I could spit cottonseeds. Claire, look in that drawer in the desk and find us some paper and something to write with.”
I did as instructed, reminding myself that I was on a mission of significance. Adrienne’s limp was unconvincing, but I was not a physical therapist qualified to diagnose the extent of her injury—if any.
“Thank you, sweetie,” she said as I produced a pad and several pens. “There’s so much to be done, and I just won’t be able to hold my head up if this luncheon is a disaster. Mary Margaret is going to propose my name to Junior League next fall.” She paused to blot her forehead with a napkin. “Unless, of course, she thinks this business is too sordid. Poor Anthony, killed by his daughter’s hand. It’s like one of those tacky daytime soap operas.”
I saw a tiny slit. “And you drove up just as Daphne ran out of the house. Did you wonder what had happened?”
“I was simply bewildered,” Adrienne said, shaking her head. “Chantilly, I’d like just a squirt of lemon in my tea, if it’s not too much trouble. I’d do it myself, but my ankle’s swelling up like a ham hock.”
“No trouble at all,” said Chantilly. “Why don’t we all go out to the conservatory so you can elevate your foot? I’ll bring an ice pack.”
Adrienne allowed me to cling to her arm as she hobbled through the living room and out to a glassed enclosure filled with wicker furniture and well-doctored houseplants. “I know you think I sound callous,” she said as she lowered herself onto a sofa. “I’m still in shock. Anthony and I loved each other very dearly. I fell for him the day he hired me, and I guess I didn’t hide it well. He was so smart, so savvy, so much more mature than the jocks I dated in high school. He knew everything about fine wines and gourmet food. I was just a kid with a degree in communications, hoping to find an office job to pay the rent. When I saw what was going to happen between the two of us, I should have quit and left town. But I didn’t, obviously. Do you think I’m a terrible person?”
“He was married,” I pointed out quietly.
“And miserable. His wife drank to excess, communicated with spirits, ran around the property stark naked, and had been arrested for shoplifting the week before Anthony hired me. He said they’d had separate bedrooms for ten years. It wasn’t much of a marriage.”
“What about Daphne?”
“Anthony really believed that she and I could be friends and that I could steer her in t
he right directions. Her mother had neglected her. Even before Anthony filed for divorce, I tried everything to convince Daphne to trust me.”
“Daphne’s a disaster,” Chantilly said as she came onto the porch with a pitcher of iced tea and an ice pack. “If you step back, she’s not all that unattractive. With a decent haircut, makeup, clothes from someplace other than a Dumpster, she might not look like something no respectable cat would drag in. I suppose if I’d been sent to that puritanical academy I’d slink around and whine, too.”
“And get yourself pregnant?” added Adrienne. “If I’d had any idea she was sexually active, I would have hauled her off to a gynecologist.”
I pulled over an ottoman and eased Adrienne’s foot onto it. “Did you and Anthony ever meet Joey?”
“Was that his name?” she said, wincing as Chantilly settled the ice pack on her ankle. “I don’t think I even heard that much. When Daphne and Anthony had the blowup, I retreated to the bedroom and stayed there until he came upstairs. He was so angry that I didn’t dare ask him what had occurred until the next morning. He felt betrayed by her irresponsible actions. Even in my role as the wicked stepmother, I did, too. If she had only come to me instead of her father, I could have helped.”
Chantilly put the pad and pens on the glass-topped table in front of the sofa. “I don’t think we can serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches tomorrow.”
Adrienne smiled wanly. “No, I suppose not. Claire, if you don’t mind too dreadfully, would you please call the caterer, run through the menu, and remind him that we’ll need ten tables and eighty chairs to be set up in the backyard tomorrow morning by nine o’clock? Tablecloths, linens, utensils, glassware, and so forth. Tell the florists we prefer centerpieces to those dreary arrangements. Randy Scarpo has agreed to bartend, but he’ll need the necessary paraphernalia. The liquor store will deliver, but they must absolutely be here by ten and not one minute later. We’ll need plenty of ice, as well as limes, lemons, olives, and all that sort of thing.”
“Sounds like we’re set then,” Chantilly said. “The reverend should be here in an hour. Why don’t you rest?”
I trailed her back to the kitchen. “Do you have the names and numbers of all these people I’m supposed to call?”
“They’re in here.” She gave me a leather-bound address book. “Adrienne’s already made the arrangements, but she doesn’t quite trust them—or anyone else these days. She cried all night after we found Anthony’s body. I finally had to force her to take a sedative.”
“You were with her?”
Chantilly nodded. “I came last week to stay for a few days. We were supposed to meet at this fabulous resort in Cancun, but she decided at the last minute not to leave Anthony on his own. He could get so caught up in his business affairs that he’d forget to eat without her around to nag him. She was devoted to him.” Her voice dropped. “I’ve always wondered if he was kind of a father figure. Our parents died while we were in elementary school.”
“And the night you two came home and saw Daphne…”
“Adrienne insisted that we catch a late aerobics class at the fitness center. Afterwards, we stopped at a Mexican restaurant and had margaritas. When the waiter started mopping the floor under our feet, we figured out that it was time to leave. Even though she left a tendollar tip, the manager positively glowered at us. It wasn’t even midnight, if you can believe it. Clubs in Atlanta stay open until two. This town is so provincial.”
“That it is.” I began to flip through the notebook. “Do we need eight tables with ten chairs each, or ten tables with eight chairs each?”
“I don’t think it matters. If you don’t mind, I’m going to dash upstairs and take a shower. The telephone’s been ringing off the wall. Just keep a list of everyone who calls to offer condolences. If a delivery boy shows up with a plant or arrangement, stick it in the dining room and jot down the name on the card. Tell anyone who shows up with some gawd-awful casserole that Adrienne’s resting and can’t see visitors.” She surprised me with a quick kiss on the cheek. “You are such a wonderful friend, Claire.”
What I was, I told myself as Chantilly left the kitchen, was such a wonderful hypocrite, even worse—I gulped— than that Princess of Facetiousness, Jessica Princeton. Unfortunately, it did seem that Adrienne and Chantilly had alibis for the time of the shooting. Daphne had said that she found the body, then raced outside as their car came up the driveway. The surly staff at the Mexican restaurant would be able to supply a fairly precise time for their departure, which Peter or Jorgeson would have already confirmed. The medical examiner would have been able to rule out a much earlier time of death.
I looked at the list of calls to be made. Dealing with the caterer was too daunting, so I opted for the liquor store. Adrienne’s name was enough to give me quick access to the manager, who seemed to know exactly what was expected. I then called the three florists listed and requested centerpieces rather than funereal displays. Although I could see their eyes rolling, all acquiesced. I had a feeling we might be able to grace more than eight (or ten) tables.
I was trying to find the nerve to tackle the caterer, one Jacque Chambrun, when the doorbell chimed. Most likely the reverend, I assured myself as I went to answer the door. He could be ushered to the conservatory. Wellmeaning friends would require more tact. If Mary Margaret had proposed me for Junior League and I’d gone to their boot camp, I might have felt more confident. I was well out of this league.
I pasted on a sad smile and opened the door. On the porch stood Assistant Professor Finnigan Baybergen, tweedy hat in hand.
“You?” he said, stepping back. “What are you doing here?”
“Same question. You go first.”
“I came by to offer my condolences.”
“I came by to call the caterer,” I said. “1 thought Anthony Armstrong was your avowed enemy, the despoiler of the forests, the ruination of the quasi-bucolic ambience of Farberville.”
Finnigan regarded me without much warmth. “I would like to speak to Mrs. Armstrong and assure her that the Farberville Green Party is appalled by this senseless act. Violence is in violation of our basic tenets.”
“Miss Parchester has a gun.”
“Only to protect herself. We condemn all acts of aggression that do not infringe on our civil liberties.”
“Don’t start reciting the Constitution,” I warned him as I stepped aside. “Adrienne is resting. Why don’t you come into the kitchen and have some iced tea? Your face is flushed.”
“This isn’t easy for me,” he said. “Armstrong and I were avowed enemies, as you suggested. I’ve been informed that the development will continue, despite any complications of probate. It seems Mrs. Armstrong is a full partner in Oakland Heights, Phase Two.”
“Did you come to offer condolences or to try to persuade her to call off the project?” I said as we went into the kitchen. “Which is it?”
He sat down on a stool. “Both, I guess. Today is Miss Parchester’s fifth day on the platform. We have been able to get necessities to her, but none of us can afford to keep getting arrested. Bail is one hundred dollars for the second offense, and five hundred for the third.”
“Is there anything critical that she needs?”
“By tomorrow she’ll be running low on food and water.”
I poured him a glass of tea. “Bribe Howie to look the other way. That’s what I’ve been doing.”
Finnigan gave me an embarrassed look. “Howie’s not fond of me. After our conversation three days ago, I realized I had to get the key to Miss Parchester. He objected, and I’m afraid I took a swing at him. I’m not very good at that sort of thing, as you may have guessed, but I managed to connect with the tip of his nose. He pushed me hard enough to send me sprawling in a thicket. If Mr. Constantine hadn’t been there to argue with the police officers, I might have been charged with assault.”
“Oh, dear,” I said, trying not to giggle as I envisioned the bout of playground bluster. “But y
ou did get the key to her?”
“Yes, and was arrested shortly thereafter.” He took a swallow of tea. “Maybe we should talk her into coming down. I don’t want to be responsible for endangering her health.”
I did not point out that it was a bit late to be locking the barn door. “I saw her yesterday, and the only thing she needed was lemons for her tea. I’ll go by later and check on her.”
“If you’re as concerned about Miss Parchester as you’ve been professing for the last four days, what are you doing here? Anthony Armstrong deserves full responsibility for this situation. If he hadn’t cozied up to the planning commissioners, inviting them to watch football games from his skybox and arranging deep-sea fishing trips in Baja, do you honestly believe he would have gotten the variances? That was how he operated.”
“That was not how he operated!” said Adrienne as she came into the kitchen. “Anthony never invited anyone who was not a close personal friend. Business was never discussed. Should we have lived in a social cocoon on the off chance we might run into a city official? This is a small town, Mr. Baybergen. You and your kind may be content to sit around and whine about petty politics, but Anthony and I preferred a more sophisticated lifestyle.” She shot me an icy look. “I have no idea why Claire allowed you in my house, but I would like you to leave. I am mourning the loss of my husband, and I will not tolerate insinuations about his character.”
He stood up. “I just wanted to offer the Green Party’s condolences, Mrs. Armstrong, and assure you that we had nothing to do with this.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she said. “Anthony’s daughter shot him. I really would appreciate it if you’d leave now. Claire will show you out.” She turned her back on us and opened one of the refrigerator doors.
Finnigan and I retreated to the front door. I was going to suggest we have a few words on the porch, but it occurred to me that the police officer at the end of the walk might mention it to Peter.
