Cecilia, Pete, and I had received our music degrees from Belmont University, and upon graduation, Cecilia began working at a video production company on Music Row. Her job was to secure the most famous clients she could possibly reel in. From the way Pete described it, all she did was go to power lunches and suck up to celebrity musicians. I couldn’t envision how that kind of experience would translate to her new position as CEO of a furniture company.
She narrowed her eyes at me, but laughed airily as she waved away my comment. “Oh, I have plenty of experience in the corporate world, Juliet. There are some things that can’t be taught in business school.” Cecilia gave me a pitying smile as she added, “Not that I’d expect a waitress to understand.” And there it was. Yet another reminder that I didn’t belong here. Granted, I’d snipped at her first, but come on.
Evidently I wasn’t the only one feeling the hostility in the air, because Stan, Savannah, Carl, and Pete were all either sporting fake smiles or uneasy stares as they listened to our little exchange. None of them had the balls to stand up to Cecilia, so it was up to me to defend myself. My temper rising, I was opening my mouth to make a fiery retort when Pete, sensing my mood, stepped in.
Ever the peacemaker, he took hold of Cecilia’s arm. “Oh, hey, your mom’s calling you. She must have run out of scotch or something. Let’s go see what she wants.” He threw me an exasperated look over his shoulder and steered her away from our little group. Savannah and Carl quietly slipped off, too, leaving me alone with Stan.
He looked at me and pulled me close. “Thank you for defending me. You know, no one’s ever stood up to the ice queen for me before.”
“Really? Well, I’ll be happy to do it anytime. It was fun.”
“Maybe I could properly thank you later.” Stan nuzzled my jaw and kissed my cheek. It wasn’t at all unpleasant, but I wasn’t ready to sleep with him. Nothing against him, I just didn’t want to dive back into a relationship just yet.
I joked, “I accept all forms of jewelry.”
“I’ll remember that.” He frowned. “Sorry about that waitress comment. It was over the line. She’s usually a bit more subtle with her put-downs.”
Shrugging, I said, “Oh, I’m used to her. But she has been acting particularly odd today.”
“Today? Try the entire week. She’s been bananas.”
“Do you think she’s upset about your grandmother? Were they close?”
He shrugged. “Not especially. I don’t know. Maybe her new title as CEO has thrown her for a loop.”
Cecilia appeared in the middle of the room, graciously inviting everyone into the dining room and attached sunroom for the meal. The buffet was overflowing with artfully arranged gourmet food, just like at a cocktail party, and there was a bartender pouring drinks from fancy liquor bottles at the wet bar in the den…just like at a cocktail party.
After we got our food, Stan escorted me into the sunroom, where we found seats near Savannah and Carl. The four of us made quiet small talk about nothing in particular, but we were still having a better time than poor Pete. He was stuck between Cecilia, who ignored him, and an ancient lady who was obviously very deaf and very smitten with him. He kindly chatted with her during the meal, but I could tell from his expression and the longing glances toward our table that he would much rather have been sitting with us.
Once dinner was over, Stan excused himself to go speak to some of his out-of-town relatives and I headed to the bar. I wanted to go home, but Pete was my ride, and he was still trapped between the old woman and the shrew.
As I sipped my drink and hid from the gossiping socialites, I wandered around the main level of the house. It was completely stunning. There were more rooms than I could count, all decorated in different color schemes, and each had its own Christmas tree adorned to match seamlessly with the décor. The entry hall was gigantic, with a beautifully curved staircase, a gleaming marble floor, and a two-story Christmas tree reaching nearly to the ceiling. I was perusing the thousands of books in the library when Pete found me.
“Are you as ready as I am to get the hell out of here?” he asked wearily.
Punching him on the arm, I said, “It’s your fault that we’re even here. If you would get your head out of your ass and break up with that hag, both of our lives would be a lot easier.”
“I thought you said you’d try to give her a chance.”
“I have,” I lied.
He snorted. “Yeah, right. The only reason you’re dating Stan is to piss her off.”
“That’s not true. I like Stan.”
“You don’t like Stan. He’s not your type.”
“I don’t have a type.”
He grinned at me. “Sure you do. You like guys who are funny, brilliant, handsome, and nice to old ladies.”
“Oh, right. Like Ryder.” That would shut him up.
A vein in Pete’s forehead popped out. “Ryder Likeapony? Are you freaking kidding me?”
Pete absolutely hated the last guy I went out with, whose name was actually Ryder Hamilton. Detective Ryder Hamilton, to be more precise. Our relationship lasted about five minutes, but that didn’t mean I didn’t miss him sometimes and think about him way more than I probably should.
“The man took a bullet for me—”
I didn’t get to finish my sentence because a scream rang out from the entry hall. We hurried out of the library in time to watch Cecilia and Stan’s sister, Abigail, crash down the last few stairs and sprawl onto the hard marble floor, motionless. Pete and I rushed to her.
He called, “Abigail! Abigail! Can you hear me?”
I knelt down next to her and checked her pulse. Looking up at Pete, I said, “She’s just unconscious. Call 911.”
His attention was focused at the top of the stairs, rather than on the situation.
I snapped, “Pete!”
“Oh, sorry. I’ll call them.”
He took out his phone and started dialing. I continued to keep close tabs on Abigail’s pulse and breathing. Her pulse was a little weak for my liking, and her breathing was shallow. I took first-aid training yearly to keep up my skills, since restaurants were a great place for customers to choke or for workers to get cut or burned and need immediate medical attention. I didn’t dare move her because she very likely had broken a bone or two on the way down, or at least hit her head. However, if necessary, I was prepared to keep her heart beating and her lungs pumping.
“Abigail!” cried a distraught voice behind me. Cecilia ran toward us and shoved me aside. She took Abigail’s hand and screamed at me, “What did you do to my sister?”
Why was her first assumption that this was my fault? “Nothing. Don’t touch her, Cecilia. She might have some broken bones, so moving her could make things worse,” I warned.
Pete put his phone away and hurried back over. He knelt down next to Cecilia and put his hand gently on her arm. “Cecilia, sweetheart, we need to stay calm for Abigail’s sake. She took a tumble down the stairs and she’s unconscious, but I’m sure she’s going to be okay. An ambulance will be here any minute.”
Cecilia looked down helplessly at Abigail. Her eyes streaming with tears, she pleaded to Pete, “Get Carl! He’s a doctor!”
Pete dutifully left to go find Carl. Guests had begun pouring into the entry hall, crowding around us and gasping and whispering to one another, wide-eyed. The voices of the gawkers grew louder, bouncing around the cavernous room, creating a din that was beginning to hurt my ears. Suddenly a hush fell over the room as Cecilia’s mother, Delta, stumbled through the crowd, drink in hand.
When she focused her eyes and saw Abigail lying on the floor, she rushed over and screeched, “What happened? Abigail!”
Cecilia tearfully turned to her mother. “She fell down the stairs, Mama.”
“Is she…?” asked Delta fearfully, clutching her chest with her free hand.
Shaking her head, Cecilia replied, “She’s just unconscious.”
“Well, we need to wake her up!” D
elta roared, raising her glass.
Uh-oh. I could see what was coming. Delta tipped her full glass of liquor, aiming for Abigail’s face. I lunged in between the two of them, the drink drenching me from the neck down. Aside from the fact that I was trying to keep a woman alive and from further harm, I wasn’t sure that my involvement in this mess was such a great idea.
“What did you do that for?” Delta demanded. “Get away from my daughter!” She was swaying and glaring at me through squinted eyes. I wasn’t convinced she recognized me from our earlier conversation. This lady was beyond blitzed.
I stood my ground. “The ambulance is on its way. Throwing booze in her face is not the proper way to revive her. Leave it to the professionals.”
Carl strode in, and he kindly but firmly cleared all of us away from Abigail. He surveyed the situation, checking her pulse and breathing. Pete consoled Cecilia, and Stan came over to put an arm around his hysterical mother. The ambulance arrived a moment later, followed by a police car. The EMTs and uniformed officers pushed everyone back into the living room so that they could work on Abigail without any onlookers. They did, however, pluck Pete out of the crowd and escort him across the entry hall and into the library.
I needed to find a towel to dry myself off. After dripping my way across the living room, through the butler’s pantry, and into the kitchen, I was able to talk one of the caterers out of a dish towel. I hid in the kitchen for a while, wiping myself off and downing a drink before forcing myself back out into the craziness. When I finally returned to the living room, Savannah came over to me and stared at my ruined dress. The red, silky fabric showed every drop of splattered liquid, making me wish I had gone with traditional funeral black.
She clucked her tongue sympathetically. “Oh, sweetie. What happened to you?”
I looked down at myself and sighed. “Delta happened to me. She had the bright idea of trying to wake up Abigail by tossing a drink in her face. I stopped her. Or, rather, my dress did.”
Shaking her head, Savannah said, “Girl, you are a trouble magnet.”
“Tell me about it.”
She looked behind me and smiled. “You’re also a man magnet. There is a sizzlin’ hot guy checking you out.”
“Who?” I asked, not remembering any men here that could have been described that way.
“Juliet?” said a familiar voice behind me. I turned. Speak of the devil. It was Ryder Hamilton.
Every great mystery needs an Alibi
eOriginal mystery and suspense from Random House
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Death Before Decaf Page 29
