by Nancy Martin
“So that’s the truth of the matter. You envy his clothes.”
“Which Claudine buys, for the most part. And I envy his youth. He’ll still be Adonis when I start looking like Liberace in Sansabelt pants. Did he astound you with his clever banter?”
“He tried to threaten me, I think. I’m not sure, though. It’s been a very trying morning for me, Hadley, so be nice, please.”
He was instantly sorry and reached over to touch my hand. Spike gave him a warning snarl, so he pulled back. “My dear kitten, tell me your troubles. Shall we go find a drink somewhere secluded and confess our sins to each other? Do you belong to any clubs we could invade? Some place posh, I hope.”
“I don’t belong to anything that costs money. I’m broke, remember? And getting more threadbare by the minute.”
He shot me a look of arch dismay. “You can’t be broke as long as you hold the deed to Rancho del Blackbird. Hasn’t a shopping tycoon offered you millions for the old homestead yet?”
“I can’t sell the place, Hadley.”
“Oh, don’t let sentimentality ruin your fun.” He glanced at me more shrewdly. “How despondent you look. Is it Emma? How is she feeling?”
“I can’t even guess because she’s disappeared, Hadley.” I threw caution to the wind and said, “She walked out of the hospital, and I don’t know where she’s gone. Neither do the police.”
“Were they planning to put her in a lineup?”
“Yes. She flew the coop instead, and now it’s up to me to prove she’s innocent before they catch her again.”
“Courage, kitten.” Hadley sounded genuinely sympathetic. “Let’s cozy up for an hour and I’ll spoil you a bit. Do you mind rubbing elbows with the unwashed masses?”
Without waiting for an answer, he pulled into a parking lot across from the Reading Terminal Market and hopped out of the old car to assist me. He ducked the lot attendant with casual expertise, and in a few minutes we were across the street and making our way through the crowd of tourists and neighborhood people who had flocked into the old railroad building that now housed a noisy food bazaar. I shoved Spike deep into hiding so we wouldn’t be arrested by the sanitation squad.
Behind me and with his hands on my hips, Hadley guided me past the counter-service restaurants and the line that had formed for cheesesteak sandwiches and French fries. We wound our way past the Amish women who were shyly selling baked goods like shoofly pie and homemade biscuits. The noise deafened me, but the heavenly smells made me suddenly ravenous. Spike whined from captivity.
“Next stop, coffee,” Hadley said in my ear.
He pushed me onto a stool and raised two fingers at the unshaven man who ground coffee beans on the other side of the stainless steel counter. “Nothing fancy, barkeep. Two javas, no additives.”
Then Hadley slipped onto the stool beside me. He tugged off his gloves and neatly tucked them into his pocket. “Tell me why the police think Emma was the one to put Strawcutter in cold storage.”
“You mean besides finding her near his body, covered in blood and unable to explain herself?”
“She wasn’t holding a dagger and moaning about hand washing, was she?”
“Not quite. But her riding crop was there, also bloody.”
“Are they doing DNA testing?”
“Yes. Meanwhile, the police have something almost as damning.” With Hadley gazing at me with such empathy, I felt a rush of warmth for my old friend. “Can I trust you, Hadley?”
“With your life and chastity, cross my heart.”
I took a chance and told him about the white envelope and blackmail photographs that had been on Rush’s body. And the letter I had received after Rush’s death. I was careful not to mention Tim Naftzinger’s name. I allowed Hadley to assume the blackmailer had photographed me with Michael.
Hadley wasn’t surprised by my news. He took the revelation calmly. “I’ve heard rumors,” he said. “About several fat cats getting blackmail letters.”
“Really? Anyone I know?”
He put one finger to his lips. “Sworn to secrecy, kitten. Let’s just say they are people of influence, not to mention big bucks.”
“Have you seen any of the photographs?”
“Sorry, no.”
“I thought you might be able to tell me something about them. The pictures have a unique flavor.”
“You know I’m a complete ninny with cameras. I’m all thumbs with any kind of mechanical gadget, actually. I never took to the family trade.”
Our coffees arrived, fragrant and steaming. I waited while Hadley pulled a silver flask from his pocket and poured a little nip into each cup. Calvados, was my guess by the scent. I took a sip and found the drink tasty and stimulating.
“The photos look pretty,” I said finally. “Not the kind of grainy, unpleasant pictures you imagine coming from a criminal. They’re actually good—almost character studies.”
“So the blackmailer isn’t just some amateur with an empty wallet?”
“No, he’s got talent. Do you think Rush was a photographer?”
“He hardly seemed the type.”
“No. And he couldn’t very well take his own picture with Emma, either, I suppose. Unless he had an accomplice.”
“On the other hand,” said Hadley, “it would make sense, considering how barefoot Gussie kept him.”
“I know.” I drank my coffee and looked longingly at the blueberry muffins on display. But dressing for the Christmas gala loomed before me, so I asked, “What do you remember about the hunt breakfast? You were there early, right? Did you see anything happen?”
Hadley drank and looked thoughtful. “I arrived earlier than most of the horseless guests, but I didn’t see much except crimes of fashion. Including ding-a-ling Dougie Forsythe.”
“What was he doing there?”
“Looking for a photo op, I presume. Or a girlfriend more connected than Claudine, if that’s possible. I hate a blatant gigolo. Later, of course, we both saw Tottie acting like a Cape buffalo.”
“Right. This whole murder thing would make more sense if Tottie were the dead man, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes. He’s got more enemies than a city council-man.” Hadley poured more liquor into his cup.
“I understand Tottie and Rush were compatriots in a business scheme.”
“I heard that, too. On Friday night I spent the cocktail hour with a couple of financial boy geniuses celebrating the end of the work week. Once they partook of some little white lines of high spirits, they revealed all kinds of gossip.”
“Such as?”
Hadley shrugged. “Tottie has a girlfriend. I suppose if silverback gorillas can have a tryst in the mist now and then, so can he, but it comes as a shock to imagine him cuddling up to anything but a mutual fund.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Hadley raised his brows. “You have insider information?”
“I believe Tottie had a full dance card, that’s all. But listen, do you think Tottie and Rush could have had a falling out?”
“Tottie murdered Rush? Before going off on the foxhunt? My goodness, kitten, I never thought you had such a devious imagination!”
I smiled grimly. “Necessity. I need to find someone who rode in the hunt, someone who remembers seeing Tottie before it started.”
“You know Tim Naftzinger, right? He was there. You could ask him.”
“Yes,” I said, carefully noncommittal.
“Or we could ask some of Tottie’s chums. In his newfound quest for sainthood, Tottie’s throwing a party this afternoon. I thought you might be going.”
“I haven’t been invited.”
“It’s not that kind of party. It’s Koats for Kids. Tottie’s the new sponsor, and they’re having a mad tea party for children. It’s bound to be a gas. I’m hoping Tottie puts on a Santa suit.”
“You’re going?”
“Of course. You know how I love irony. Want to come along? There’s bound to be food. Cookies for
the kiddies and tidbits and cheap chardonnay for the rest of us, I suppose. You might get a chance to do some detective work.”
It was a chance to see Tottie again, too. “I’m in,” I said.
Chapter 9
Before setting off with Hadley, I phoned Libby. She had had no word from Emma, and was ready to launch into another meltdown, so I signed off quickly.
The Pressley, a stately hotel with gas lamps out front and crystal chandeliers in the marble lobby, had been knocked down and replaced by an extremely generic glass-and-steel chain hotel that catered to large families of tourists who came to see the Liberty Bell and eat cheesesteak sandwiches. In the off-season, the new hotel tried to stay in black ink by renting out its ballrooms for conventions. It was known around town as a good place to get a party room and so-so food on a budget.
Hadley and I rode the escalator up to the mezzanine, drawn by tinny Christmas music and Mylar balloons. At the top of the stairs, I saw my friend Delilah Fairweather issuing commands into her cell phone. We crossed to her. She snapped her phone shut and hugged us both.
“A total disaster,” she said, as if we’d arrived in midconversation. “Why did I take this job? It’s a total disaster. I should know better. Never take a party at the last minute. And never take a job somebody else started and screwed up.”
“What’s the catastrophe? Everything looks fine.”
Delilah wore a red minidress with a beaded bolero jacket and white boots. Her hair was cornrowed tight against her skull, then exploded into a top knot of braids at the crown of her head, decorated with a twist of tiny silver stars. The taut hairstyle made her almond eyes seem more slanted than usual, but they were sparkling with anger. “Tottie Boarman’s people coordinated this party with the hotel, but they realized nobody was going to come, so they asked me to step in to round up the usual suspects. I had a day free, so why not? The pay’s astronomical. Just goes to show I should never take a job for the money. These people are idiots!”
“What people?”
“Tottie’s crew! They know nothing about event planning.”
“What do you expect?” I asked. “Tottie probably never threw a Christmas party in his life.”
“If it weren’t for such a good cause, I’d walk out right now. But Koats For Kids—ever hear of it? It used to be a charity that gave away coats and mittens to underserved families every Christmas. But it fell apart last year when the organizers retired. Tottie stepped in this week and donated a big chunk of change to the organization. He wanted a party complete with the Cratchit children singing carols, but his people dropped the ball. I hate having my name attached to a bomb.” She checked her watch. “I’m waiting for the kid chorus now. They’re late.”
Hadley said, “If Tottie shows up with a sack of gifts, I’m going to puke in the sleigh.”
“Yeah, reeks of Christmas spirit, doesn’t it? He’s buying goodwill, but what else is new?”
“Can you get us in, Delilah?”
She waved us toward the open ballroom doors. “Of course. The crowd is going to be thin because there’s a Monsters on Ice show this afternoon. Anybody who’s here has been bought and paid for by Tottie’s people, who wanted a mob for the sake of photographers. Any extra bodies will be more than welcome.”
“Count on us.” Hadley took my arm. “Let’s go.”
The ballroom had been set up with a small stage with a piano at one end, no doubt for the children’s chorus that hadn’t yet shown up. An artificial tree, decorated with childish drawings pasted on lace doilies, stood in the center of the room, looking too small and slightly crooked. A few children in expensive holiday clothes wandered listlessly around tables that had been set up with games. Three college girls in elf costumes tried to entice the children into tossing rings over bottles and dimes into goldfish bowls. I figured the kids were the children of Tottie’s staff members. The adults stood around in Christmas finery trying to make the best of the enforced festivities while keeping their offspring under control.
One little boy, dressed in a brass-buttoned vest, tartan pants and red bow tie, hung on his father’s hand and whined that he wanted to go home to his Xbox. A little girl in layers of tulle bawled brokenheartedly while her mother knelt and whispered in the child’s ear soothing promises of treats to come. Two more boys were batting each other with spoons stolen from the refreshment table, making light-saber noises.
Spike woke up and poked his head out of my handbag. He peered with predatory interest at the children.
Hadley plucked a sugar cookie from the buffet and sniffed it suspiciously. “Think I could get a real drink from someone?”
I pointed at the punch bowl. “Fruit juice.”
He shuddered. “What a waste of perfectly good maraschino cherries. Why put them in anything but a Manhattan?” He tossed the cookie back onto the buffet and went in search of alcohol.
Across the room I saw Tim Naftzinger, of all people, standing awkwardly by himself with an empty punch cup in one hand. I went over to him.
“Hi, Tim.”
“Nora.” He was surprised to see me.
“Is Merrie here with you?”
“No, she’s at home. I—The hospital asked me to stop in. The staff is giving a donation, and they wanted me to present the gift.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“It’s all part of the promotion process.” He looked sheepish. “I think this is a test to see if I’d make appearances as Chief of Pediatrics.”
Of course, I wanted to ask Tim all kinds of questions. There was a chance he knew something about the blackmail photos I had received. But it would have been heartless. He looked overwhelmed already.
“Do you really want the new job?”
He started to sip from his punch cup and seemed puzzled to find it empty. “I don’t know. I enjoy working with patients, but the top job would mean more administrative duties, with hours I could control. I’d get to spend more time with Merrie.”
“That sounds like plenty of incentive.”
He tried to smile, but it looked forced. “I hoped to make a quick appearance and go home to her, but I understand all the donors have to wait for Tottie Boarman to show up.” With more feeling, he said, “I hate being on parade like this.”
“I’m sure the organization will accept your check even if you leave early.”
He perked up. “Think so? I hate to spend any extra weekend time away from Merrie. I see so little of her during the week.”
His schedule was brutal, I was sure.
But he lingered for another moment. “I heard Emma left the hospital without being discharged. Is she all right?”
“Actually, she gave her police guard the slip and took off,” I confided. “I’m going to keelhaul her if she ever turns up.”
Tim’s face went slack. “You haven’t heard from her?”
“She’s fine,” I assured him. “I appreciate what you did to help her.”
“I wish I could have—I’m just glad she’s all right. I hope she—I mean, Merrie is very fond of her.”
“Emma has that effect on people.” I smiled at Tim. “She’s a natural instigator, and kids respond to that.”
Quite seriously, Tim said, “It’s more than that. She’s got a lot of heart, I think. She tries to hide it, but she has something to offer other people.”
He caught himself, but I found myself watching Tim’s face. For an instant, I had seen honest emotion there. Did he care differently about Emma than I’d first thought? But his fleeting expression was gone.
“Well,” I said, “I hope this mess blows over soon. I know the police think she’s mixed up in Rush Strawcutter’s death somehow, but that’s ridiculous. She’ll be cleared soon. And then—well, Emma needs a chance to get her life back on track.”
Tim considered saying something, but stopped himself.
He looked very vulnerable standing there, out of his element and longing to be at home with his daughter. Looking at him, I knew for certain I could
never tell Tim about the photographs I’d received in the mail. Tim didn’t need another burden to carry.
But should I warn him? Was his family in danger because I couldn’t pay the blackmailer?
We were interrupted before I could speak. The late-arriving chorus trooped into the ballroom, led by a very short, stout woman in a stiff black cape and a fur toque set at a jaunty angle over her stern face. She carried a folder of sheet music under her arm and marched straight for the stage, followed by two dozen children all wearing neat white shirts, black pants and Santa hats. The last boy in line—perhaps ten years old and less than pleased to find himself paraded into the room looking silly-had snatched off his hat and hidden it behind his back. The conductor directed her singers into place and plopped the boy’s hat on his head when he passed by. He rolled his eyes.
Spike wriggled in my bag, keenly absorbed by the puffy white balls on the Santa hats.
“I think I’ll take your advice and go home,” Tim said beside me.
“Okay,” I said. “Merry Christmas, Tim.”
I moved to kiss him on the cheek, but he flinched away. Without another word, he walked rapidly for the door.
Hadley strolled over again. “No booze at all,” he reported. “How can we have holiday spirits without holiday spirits?”
I was about to answer him when I noticed Kitty’s new assistant, Andy Mooney, lurking nearby. He was so short that he blended in with the kids, but he snapped a picture, and his camera’s flash caught my attention.
“My God,” Hadley cried with delight. “A real elf! No, perhaps more of a gnome.”
“Andy,” I called. “Come meet a friend of mine.”
Andy came over with a big smile. He still had a cell phone earpiece, but only in one ear this time. “Miss Blackbird! Awesome to see you again.”
He desperately needed a breath mint. I introduced Andy to Hadley, who looked amused when Andy pin-pointed the Pinkham bloodline right away.
“Oh, I’ve admired the Pinkham photographs for years,” Andy gushed. “I’m a bit of a shutterbug myself.”
“A shutterbug,” Hadley crooned. “How awesome. Don’t you think, Nora? Do you have a portfolio, Mr. Mooney?”
