by Joan Hess
I retrieved the bottle. “And Daphne’s. She stands to inherit half the estate.”
“You’ve been reading the will, haven’t you?”
I nodded. “What’s to keep Baybergen from going public?”
“Why would he do that? He told me he was writing a book about the history of the county. He brought me a botde of vodka, a box of chocolates, and a little fern to put on the windowsill in my kitchen. So few people come to visit these days.”
I felt a flicker of sympathy for her, but not enough to ignite even the smallest fire. “So you told Daphne about the map, and she came here to find it. Did you tell her where to look for it?”
“He stored boxes all over the house,” she said. “I didn’t tell her to shoot him, but I don’t blame her.”
“And you believe that she did?”
“From what I’ve been told, I suppose I do. Anthony was once a good-natured man with a semblance of a sense of humor. He and I used to go on picnics, fly kites, rescue kittens, make love in the morning and again that evening. But something happened to him as he began to make money. We joined the country club so he could make deals in the locker room. His taste in music changed. He shopped with me to make sure I was buying clothes that were competitive. An interesting concept, don’t you think?” She stopped for a long moment. “I knew it was a matter of time before I was replaced, and I have to admit I did not handle it well. Odd, being condemned as an anachronism at thirty-nine.”
This unexpected turn in the conversation was making me uncomfortable, to put it mildly. “But why did you abandon Daphne?”
“Early retirement. I’d like to leave now.”
“How will you get home?”
“My driver is waiting at the road. If you’ll give me the bottle, I won’t make a scene, as entertaining as it might be.”
“One last question,” I said, keeping the bottle out of her reach. “Do you have any idea where Daphne is staying at the present? Tell me the truth, Sheila, or I’m going to water the plants.”
She struggled to her feet and tucked an errant asparagus spear back in place. “I have not seen or heard from her since the day after Anthony was killed and the police found her at my house. I haven’t the slightest clue where she may be.”
“You’re not worried about her or Skyler?”
“Oops, you’re out of questions. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to hand me the bottle, I’ll be on my way.”
I did as she’d demanded, then guided her to the front porch and asked an officer to help her navigate the driveway to the cab awaiting her. A carriage it was not, and most certainly not chauffeured by Prince Charming, who’d seemingly forgotten to return it to its rightful operator. Arnie would always be a frog (or a loathsome toad), no matter how many kisses he coaxed out of misbegotten princesses.
As I headed for the backyard to once again try to find Peter, Jacque burst out of the kitchen. Although he was not waving a cleaver, I suspected it was an oversight on his part.
“Are you through barging into my kitchen like a drunk at a pool party?” he demanded. “I have tried very hard not to lose my temper, but this is too much. Food presentation is an art. I must have space to express myself.”
‘The space you have is between your ears,” I said. “Those people out in the backyard may be impressed by your displays of temperament, but I am not. Why don’t you mettez un haricot vert ou le soleil ne brille jamaisT
“That was dirty, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, yes,” I said, then went outside to find Peter.
He was hovering at the fringe of what was becoming a festive occasion despite the darkening sky and flashes of lightning in the distance. I gave Adrienne a quick nod to let her know that she and her friends would not be interrupted by such pesky intrusions as an ex-wife or a homicidal stepdaughter, then joined him.
“Is there anything you’d care to share?” he said.
“Such as un haricot vert or un coeur d’artichauf! If you’ll wait here, I’ll fight my way to the buffet table and come back with a plateful. We can find a quiet spot and nibble ourselves crazy. How much do you think this costs? Two, three thousand dollars? Jacque’s probably charging a dollar apiece for the crab puffs.”
“Would you please stop this?”
“Yes,” I said as I sat down on a brick wall bordering a flower bed. “It’s all too complicated. There are things I have to tell you, things I want to tell you, and things I can’t tell you. Can you understand that?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“If you start threatening me—no, you don’t.”
Peter managed a smile, although I could see it required effort. “So let’s start with the things you have to tell me.”
He was no longer smiling after I’d told him about Chantilly’s disappearance. “She was with Adrienne when they saw Daphne run out of the house,” I added, “but I’m starting to think she might have seen someojje else. It seems logical that Adrienne hurried inside to make sure that Anthony was all right, which he most surely wasn’t. Chantilly probably parked the car, combed her hair, touched up her lipstick, and took their gym bags out of the backseat.”
“That’s not what she told us, but I agree that she wouldn’t have voluntarily disappeared like this. I’ll put Jorgeson on it, even though it’s his day off and he promised to stain the deck. What else do you feel compelled to tell me?”
“I saw Daphne about forty-five minutes ago,” I said in a very small voice. “You what?”
“Don’t bluster, please. People are staring at us, and I’m hoping to be invited to the fashion show at the country club next week. I could end up as the president of the Junior League if Adrienne proposes me. She is my best friend, you know.”
Peter was perilously close to spontaneous combustion. “Where did you see Daphne? Here?”
“Caron thought she did, but she’s never met Daphne. After the gunshot, I went down—”
“The gunshot?”
I held up my palms. “Miss Parchester assured me that it was a backfire from a pickup truck, so I may have been mistaken.”
“I should have you arrested right this minute.”
“If you try it,” I said, offended, “I shall swoon. You’ll need four officers to carry me off, and an equal number to restrain Caron, who is giving us a very beady stare as we speak. What’s more, when I recover, I won’t remember anything. After years of psychoanalysis, I may be able to recall a few details. Your move, Sherlock.”
“You have many attributes which I dearly love,” he said. “You are warm, witty, passionate when it suits you, quasi-fluent in French, well-read—”
“Quasi-fluent? Hey, buster, la plume de ma tante est surle table. Sur le pont d’Avignon. Crepes suzette. Haricot vertr
For some reason, he sighed. “Let’s backtrack to Daphne, the gunshot, and Miss Parchester. Forty-five minutes ago, you said?”
“Roughly. I was searching Anthony’s office when I—”
“You were what?”
“Am I not allowed to finish a sentence?”
“By all means, please continue.”
“I shall,” I said, “but before I do, you need to take out that tiddlywink of a cell phone and call Jorgeson. Chantilly would not have just vanished like this. Adrienne can give you the information about her car.”
I pondered the pansies until he returned. “About Daphne,” I began cautiously. “She seems to have become friendly with Miss Parchester. She was on the platform when I went down there earlier, but she ran off and drove away. It’s very curious that she has access to a vehicle. It’s certainly not Joey’s, since she can’t drive a—”
“Joey’s?” he said.
In that I’d concluded Joey had nothing to do with the current events, I decided to sell him down the river and hope he wouldn’t mention Skyler. “Her boyfriend. He’s out at some dumpy trailer park, shacked up with your worst nightmare. He swore he hasn’t seen her since the day before Anthony was killed.”
Peter was beyond
displeased. “So you tracked down
the boyfriend and questioned him? Did it occur to you to share this with us?”
“No, not really.” I yanked up an unsightly weed and tossed it over my shoulder. “It only took me a few hours, and I lack the pervasive resources of the Farberville Police Department. Deductive reasoning, a few questions here and there, and then—voila! It’s merely a matter of ingenuity, Lieutenant Rosen.”
“And interfering with an investigation.”
“When did I interfere?” I said. “Are you accusing me of tackling an officer as he sprinted for the trailer?”
Peter was clearly not appreciating my wit. “Where is Daphne staying?”
“I don’t know. Based on what Sheila said a few minutes ago, I don’t think she’s—”
“A few minutes ago?”
“This habitual interrupting is beginning to annoy me. Why don’t you find Adrienne and allow her to paw all over you? She had a very good reason to wish for her husband’s demise. She’s at least a few million dollars richer than she was a week ago.”
Peter caught my wrist before I could stand up and stalk away like a proper Regency debutante. “How do you know that?”
“I read the will, or at least a summation of it. After a few bequests, she and Daphne split the estate. I don’t really know how much money is at stake, but I should think a lot, considering all the real estate and developments. Daphne won’t inherit if she’s found guilty, of course, so Adrienne may well end up with everything.”
“She has an alibi,” he said. “She and her sister were at the fitness center until ten o’clock, and then annoyed the holy hell out of the employees at some Mexican restaurant until midnight. When they drove up, they both saw Daphne come running out of the house with a gun in her hand—and Daphne admitted as much/'
“Everybody could have been lying,” I said loftily.
“And everybody could grow up to be president,” Peter said in a remarkably unfriendly voice. He took out a notebook and a pen. “Give me the details about Joey.”
I did so, although I omitted any mention of Cannelletti’s garage, the biker bar, or Bocaraton. “I truly have no idea where Daphne’s staying,” I added.
“Does Miss Parchester?”
“I would think so, but I wish you luck trying to convince her to tell you.”
Thunder rumbled as Peter stared at me. “Have you told me everything?”
“I’ve told you quite a lot, haven’t I?” I said with a few flutters of my eyelashes, which has driven him to impetuous lust on occasion. I hadn’t mentioned Finnigan Baybergen’s expectations of a crippling lawsuit if he found the map, or Sheila’s vision of blackmail should she find it first, but I doubted either of them had been in Anthony Armstrong’s office the night of the murder. Well, unless either of them had been there, or a posse of Green Party members, or a disgruntled condo owner such as Jillian Scarpo. Or the ghost of Riccardo Zorelli. Or Daphne. Or Sheila, while Arnie let the meter run outside.
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” said Peter, feigning contrition. “I suppose I’ll have to see what Miss Parchester is willing to tell us about Daphne, although I don’t suppose she’ll be much help. Would you like me to have an officer drive you and Caron home?”
“No, that’s not necessary,” I said. “I came here in my car.”
“I had it towed half an hour ago. Are you sure you don’t need a ride?”
“You did what?” I said loudly enough to garner some nervous glances from the guests. “You had my car towed? How could you?”
“Just impeding your investigation, ma’am. We do what we can.” He gave me a smile, then stood up and left me fuming on the wall.
If looks could kill, I thought tritely, he might survive—but he’d certainly have scorch marks all over his back and his curly hair would be singed, if not smoldering.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I waited until Caron finished splashing white wine in a glass, then quietly said, “We’re leaving in a few minutes.”
“Suits me,” she said. “I’m getting tired of all these old goats leering at me and asking me how old I am like they’re thinking about taking me to the prom. Their wives, in contrast, only stop talking to each other long enough to demand a drink. I could be covered in scales for all they’d notice.”
Randy gave her a wry smile. “One of the women at the country club called me Roger for two years. Then again, I overheard all kinds of lurid stories about botched plastic surgery, affairs, pending bankruptcies, hot checks, and shoplifting. I could write a helluva expose if I thought anybody cared about these people.”
“You and Adrienne were friends, weren’t you?” I said.
“Yeah, for a while. She felt like she was out of her league when she first married Armstrong. She’s a lot younger than most of them, and she didn’t know how to play golf or bridge. I guess that’s why she started spending so much time at the fitness center.”
“And helped you get a job there?”
“She just told me about the opening.”
I told Caron I’d be back shortly, and went into the house. I opted to use a telephone in the living room, since Jacque might have chanced upon a French-English dictionary and deciphered enough of what I’d said to determine I had not wished him a pleasant afternoon.
“Luanne,” I said when she answered the phone. “I’ve got a problem.”
“That’s one way to put it. I was thinking more along the lines of a catastrophe.”
“He just did it to annoy me, which it did.” I hesitated for a few seconds. “How do you know about this?”
“Because I was here, dammit! I tried to call you, but some bizarre man disavowed any knowledge of you. I’m very close to ripping out my hair, Claire, and it’s already started to fall out of its own accord. Would you please stop making all these cryptic remarks and tell me what to do?”
“About what?” I said, bewildered.
“Skyler, of course. What else would I be talking about? How soon can you get here?”
“Is he okay?”
“What is wrong with you?” Luanne said, her voice shrill enough to shatter the antique crystal pendants in her display case. “Skyler’s been kidnapped! Should I call the police? Is Peter there? I just don’t know what to do!"
I felt as though I’d been slapped. “He was what? Kidnapped by whom?”
“How should I know? Just get here—okay?”
“You’ll have to come pick us up. We’ll be out at the end of the driveway in five minutes. Don’t run into any pickup trucks on the way.”
Despite her sputters, I hung up and made my way back to the bar. Rather than proffer any explanations (because I didn’t have any), I grabbed Caron’s wrist and hauled her through the house and out to the sidewalk. The two uniformed officers stared at us as we headed toward the road.
“What is wrong with you?” Caron demanded as she disengaged my hand and cradled her wrist as if I’d destroyed her hopes at Wimbledon.
I repeated as best I could the conversation I’d had with Luanne, then said, “She’s hysterical, and I’m close to lining up right behind her.”
“But who could have done this?”
We reached the road. The KFAR van was long gone, as was the cab. I sat down on the gravel shoulder. “I don’t know. You did see Daphne earlier, and I tried to talk to her, but she bolted. Her mother crashed the luncheon and left half an hour ago. There’s no way Skyler’s father could have known where …”
“This guy named Joey who’s living in a trailer park?”
I flapped my hand at her while I tried to think. “We went out there in Luanne’s car. He didn’t strike me as a promising candidate for international accolades in biochemistry, but he could have written down the license plate number and come up with her name and address. We never implied we had custody of Skyler, though.”
Caron sat down beside me. “Is there any possibility Daphne got in touch with him? If she went to that biker bar, she could have found out
everything you did. She went out there and persuaded him to grab Skyler.”
“Why would he risk it?”
“How should I know?” said Caron, her face puckering. “Because deep inside he’s overwhelmed with guilt for abandoning them. Because Daphne told him she was going to be rich.”
“Not if she’s convicted.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know that. She’ll arrange to meet him, collect Skyler, and promise to send him a check. Not everyone is cognizant of the finer details of inheritance law, Mother.”
I got to my feet. “There’s Luanne. Don’t start yelling at her, please. She’s as upset as we are, if not more so. We’ll find out what happened and then decide what we ought to do.”
Luanne pulled up as if she were driving a getaway car. I got in the front seat and Caron flung herself in back as we squealed away, a la Bonnie and Clyde.
“Slow down,” I said as I battled the recalcitrant seatbelt. It seemed prudent to buckle it.
“I think I should be at the store,” she said, passing a van on a hill. “What if someone just borrowed Skyler and is overcome with remorse—or wants to demand a ransom? We have to be there to answer the phone. Did you tell Peter? Shouldn’t the police be doing something?”
“Either slow -down or pull over and let me drive,” I said.
“Good idea,” chimed in a thin voice from the backseat.
Luanne eased up, although her fingers still gripped the steering wheel so tightly the plastic was in danger of deforming from the pressure. “Don’t you want to know what happened?”
