Calamity at the Continental Club

by Colleen J. Shogan

  Buffy narrowed her eyes. “Of course not. It’s a gift for our housekeeper, Marta.”

  I should have kept my big mouth shut. Doug broke in, “We’ll see you downstairs shortly, Mother.”

  Back in our room, we collapsed onto the bed. “What a day,” I murmured.

  For a while we rested quietly with our thoughts. Doug broke the silence. “Do you have an idea who did it? Other than my father, of course.”

  I propped myself up on my side to face him. “Doug, I’ll be honest with you. I have no idea. Quite frankly, it’s pretty complicated. We think Grayson died of poisoning, but we have no specifics. On television shows, toxicology reports arrive before the autopsy is completed. That’s not the case in real life, especially in Washington.”

  City services in the District were notoriously underfunded. The constant tug of war with Congress on D.C. funding rivaled the Hunger Games’ fight to the death. Few survived without suffering serious wounds. I doubted the Medical Examiner’s office had emerged unscathed.

  “We don’t need to know which poison killed Bancroft, do we?” Doug fidgeted on his side of the bed.

  “Not necessarily, but it would help. We also don’t have any eyewitnesses, unless Detective Glass uncovered information in her interviews today that we don’t know about.”

  Doug stared at the ceiling. “What should we do, Kit?”

  I reached for his hand. “We work the motive angles, like we’ve been doing. We need to figure out who wanted Grayson dead. So far, we know Frederick Valdez was jealous of his success. Lola was angry about the direction of the Mayflower Society under Grayson’s watchful leadership.”

  “Anyone else?” asked Doug, ever hopeful.

  “Cecilia Rose wanted to talk to Grayson about her next novel. He owned her publisher, and I get the sense Savannah’s sultry liaisons were about to cool down.”

  “What about her husband? What’s his name?”

  “Drake isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. But Trevor warned me not to write anyone off at this point.”

  Doug sat up. “Trevor? When did you talk to him?”

  “I forgot to tell you. I ran into him before we left for Mount Vernon. He’s writing an insider book on Washington, D.C. and he’s a member of the Continental Club.”

  Doug shook his head slowly. “That guy really gets around.”

  “You could say that. In this case, he might be helpful. Trevor has an uncanny knack for picking up all kinds of details when people don’t think anyone is listening.”

  “It can’t hurt. It’s almost time to head downstairs for a drink and then dinner.”

  I’d almost forgotten about Meg. Hopefully Doug wouldn’t mind that she was joining us. “By the way, I invited Meg to dinner tonight. Do you know where we’re eating?”

  “Why did you invite Meg?” I noted the barely concealed whine in Doug’s voice.

  Initially, I’d needed Meg to help resist the forces compelling me toward a society wedding. But Grayson’s death provided another reason to include her. “How am I supposed to solve a murder without Meg?”

  Doug seemed to weigh my argument. Meg annoyed him on a regular basis. However, she’d proven instrumental in my previous crime-solving ventures. I could almost see him tallying up the pros and cons.

  “You have a point,” he said slowly.

  “Yes, I do. She’s resourceful, observant, and quick on her feet.”

  “Of course. When I think of Meg, Lisbeth Salander comes to mind.”

  I ignored his sarcasm. “Where should I tell her to meet us?”

  “A historic restaurant called the Iron Gate in Dupont Circle. Father has already made the reservation.” Doug grabbed a light jacket. “We’ll be dining outside. You’ll need a sweater.”

  “Outside?”

  “The Iron Gate is a treat. You’ll both enjoy it.”

  “Head downstairs without me. I’m going to call Meg to catch up. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  Doug peered around the door before closing it. “Hendrick’s with tonic?”

  “Tell Charles it’s for me.”

  Doug nodded absently and closed the door. I pulled out my iPhone and punched in Meg’s number. By now, she should be home with Clarence and available to talk.

  “Hey, girlfriend.”

  The wonders of caller ID never ceased to amaze me. I was old enough to remember a time when answering the phone had an element of mystery to it.

  “Good evening, Meg. Time to chat?”

  “Sure. Clarence and I got back from our walk a few minutes ago.”

  “He’s being a good boy?”

  Meg hesitated. “Yes, but he seems antsy. You’re still coming home tomorrow, right?”

  As long as Doug’s father was a suspect, it might be tough to dislodge him from the Continental Club. Even so, two nights away was enough for me. “I plan to be home Friday evening.”

  I heard a sigh of relief. “He’s not done anything bad. But he’s looking at me with those puppy dog eyes. He wants you, Kit. I’m a poor substitute.”

  My heart warmed. Clarence missed me. Anderson Cooper had famously been asked on 60 Minutes whether his dog loved him. He thought she might be scamming him for food or attention. Clarence’s behavior was proof he was genuinely besotted. After all, he’d been getting his fill of treats with Meg. With her healthy appetite, she hadn’t stopped with the rom-com and popcorn.

  “He’ll survive. How was work?”

  Meg dove into a laundry list of details about our congressional office staff. House members could only employ a small number of people in Washington. The budget we received from the federal government had to cover our D.C. and North Carolina office expenses. The law prevented our boss from raising more money to supplement the budget. It wasn’t like the Senate. With only one hundred elected members, staff sizes were triple the size of House offices. Due to our restricted numbers, everyone had to answer the phones, make photocopies, and answer mail. Making sure our staff remembered the “team first” attitude often presented a management challenge of epic proportions. After Meg related her final tale of woe, she took a breath.

  “Finished? Or is there more intrigue you’d like to share?”

  “That’s all for now. Don’t worry, Kit. I can handle it.”

  Meg vacillated between complaining about our colleagues’ behavior and asserting her authority as my second in command. A competent and experienced congressional staffer, she deserved the chance to steer the ship, at least during my absence. She’d take care of business.

  “I have updates on Buffy’s wedding obsession and the murder. Which one do you want to hear about first?”

  “Murder, please.” That was no surprise. A free spirit enjoying the life of a singleton, Meg saw little benefit, for either of us, in my transition to marital bliss.

  I caught Meg up on the details of the case, recounting my conversations with Cecilia and Drake in the morning and Frederick and Lola at Mount Vernon.

  “Are they going to arrest Doug’s father?”

  “He’s a person of interest right now. But the longer this goes unsolved, the better he looks as the culprit. You know how this works.”

  “Are you sure you still want me to come to dinner tonight?” Meg asked hesitantly.

  “Absolutely. Besides the murder, I need a buffer to help me fend off the wedding shenanigans.”

  Meg giggled and couldn’t stop.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You need a buffer to handle Buffy! It’s hilarious.”

  My best friend had a way with words. “Save your wit, Meg. With this crowd, you’ll need it.”

  Chapter Ten

  When I arrived at the bar, Doug had my drink waiting. Winston wore the same suit from earlier in the day. Buffy had changed into a simple but elegant long-sleeved crinkly georgette dress with a daisy vermilion print. Her ever-present classic string of white pearls and matching earrings completed the look.

  A long sip of Hendrick’s loosened me up, and
I leaned closer to Buffy. “Your dress is beautiful.”

  She responded with a knowing smile. “Thank Oscar de la Renta.” Knocking back what remained in her martini glass, she asked, “Where do you shop, Kit?”

  This exchange was heading south fast. I should have kept quiet about the dress. “I’m not really that into fashion. My work clothes need to be functional.” Down went another gulp of my gin and tonic.

  Buffy motioned to Charles for a refill. She must be planning to drink quickly if we were going to keep our reservations for seven.

  Apparently, she wasn’t finished with the conversation. “We should talk more about your wardrobe. I’d be happy to take you on a shopping spree as an engagement present. Perhaps tomorrow we could go to a few stores. I remember seeing several suitable boutiques in Georgetown when we visited Doug at the university.”

  I winced. “Don’t you think we should attend the Mayflower Society events?”

  “I marched from one end of Mount Vernon to the other today. I don’t need to repeat that exercise in futility tomorrow.”

  Hearing a lull in the chatter between Doug and his father, I jumped in, “I hope Doug told you I’ve invited a friend to dinner. Her name is Meg Peters, and we’ve worked together on Capitol Hill for many years.”

  Winston’s eyes lit up. “We love surprise dinner guests, don’t we, dear?”

  Buffy polished off her second drink and said in a tight voice, “Delightful.”

  Doug grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. “We’d better head out to the restaurant.”

  Out of habit, I grabbed my phone. “Do you need me to request an Uber?”

  Doug chuckled and pulled me closer. “Father has a driver on call when he travels.”

  “Oh.” I felt a flush creeping across my neck and returned the phone to my purse. Thank goodness Meg was joining us to take some of the pressure off.

  Once we were on our way, Winston asked whether I’d ever dined at the Iron Gate.

  “No, but Doug said it’s a real treat.”

  Winston addressed his son in a scolding tone. “Shame on you, Doug. All these years in Washington with Kit, and you never took her to the Iron Gate?”

  Doug wore a sheepish expression, a little like Clarence after chomping the remote control for the umpteenth time. “Must have slipped my mind.”

  Winston shook his head in benign disapproval. “Not to worry. You’ll enjoy it tonight. Until recently, it was the oldest continuously running restaurant in the District.”

  “How long was it open?”

  “Eighty-seven years. The building was constructed after the Civil War and then the National Federation of Women’s Clubs bought it in the early twentieth century. They ran a tea room in the space during the Prohibition years.”

  Buffy interrupted. “In the seventies, when Winston and I were newly married and he was building the firm, he traveled frequently to Washington on business. I accompanied him, and we often dined at the Iron Gate.”

  “Along with notable diplomats and journalists. That was its heyday,” Winston added, almost wistfully.

  “Did it close down? You said until recently it was the oldest restaurant in the city?”

  “Unfortunately, it was shuttered in 2010. But it reopened a few years ago under the direction of an exciting new chef. The reviews have been quite promising.”

  We pulled up to a carriage house set apart from the bustling N Street corridor. No surprise, an iron gate guarded a long pathway, framed by a row of picturesque lanterns blazing the otherwise dark path to the restaurant’s entrance.

  Meg had already arrived. Spotting us, she waved enthusiastically. Buffy couldn’t fault Meg’s attire. She was clad to the nines in an off-the-shoulder black dress with ruffles. A bolero sweater made it appropriate for springtime outdoor dining.

  My best pal gave me a quick hug and didn’t wait for introductions. “I’m Meg Peters. I’m so happy to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you!”

  Buffy offered her hand and Meg blew past it, instead enveloping my future mother-in-law in an embrace. Winston burst into a belly laugh as Buffy stiffly received Meg’s exuberant welcome. He opened his arms, and Meg gladly hugged him as well.

  “We’re happy to meet you, Meg,” said Winston.

  “We are charmed.” Buffy’s rigid posture had relaxed, but she was still recovering from Meg’s unanticipated welcome.

  Doug watched the unfolding scene with amusement. “Let’s check in with the host.”

  Meg sidled up next to us as Winston dealt with our reservation. “I hear there’s a murder that needs solving,” she said.

  “Did Kit tell you the details?” asked Doug.

  “She filled me in over the phone. I bet you’re not opposed to our sleuthing on this one, are you?” Meg put her a hand on her hip and twirled her designer handbag with the other.

  Doug kept his cool. “The more eyes we have on this, the better. That doesn’t mean I want either of you to do anything risky.”

  “You always say that. Has anything bad ever happened?”

  Doug pressed his finger to his temple as he pretended to contemplate Meg’s question. “Let’s see. I seem to recall two recent life-threatening encounters with murderers. Do either of those count?”

  Doug’s question went unanswered when Winston motioned for us to follow. We entered a beautiful outdoor patio surrounded by a lush garden. A wisteria vine dotted with white lights served as a makeshift ceiling.

  “What a gorgeous space,” said Meg.

  Buffy concurred. “It’s enchanting.”

  “Just as you remembered it, dear?” asked Winston.

  Doug remarked, “According to the popular dining blogs, it’s consistently named one of the most romantic restaurants in Washington D.C.”

  That captured Buffy’s attention. “You’ve given me the most marvelous idea!”

  We took our seats and waited for Buffy to explain. I could only guess where this was headed.

  She was glowing. “We should have the wedding here! I’m sure the owner and chef would be amenable to hosting a private event.”

  Meg and I exchanged knowing glances. She reached insider her purse for her phone. Sure enough, my phone buzzed a moment later. I discreetly peeked at the text Meg had sent: 4 minutes to mention wedding

  I typed back, New world record

  Our clandestine convo over, we rejoined the table’s conversation. Doug had apparently said something to dampen Buffy’s enthusiasm because her cheerful countenance had turned gloomy.

  “Douglas, someone needs to make a decision about the venue and the date.” Wow. I’d never heard either Hollingsworth parental pull out Douglas. Her patience had run out.

  Meg, a neophyte in dealing with the parents of significant others, thrust herself into the debate. “Kit is still exploring her options. We’ve been tied up at work. No time for wedding planning when the nation’s political woes require our full attention!” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it.

  Buffy wasn’t persuaded. “This is why I don’t visit Washington D.C. regularly. Everyone around here is obsessed with work. Doesn’t anyone care about life’s other priorities?”

  Meg certainly did, and it began with the letter L. Not love, but libations. She took Buffy’s hissy fit as a perfect opportunity to signal our waiter she was ready to order a drink. “I’ll have an Across the Aegean.” Iron Gate was known for its Greek and Italian cuisine, which extended to its menu of original cocktails.

  Since we’d already enjoyed strong spirits at the Continental Club, the rest of us ordered a glass of wine. The break offered an opportunity to shift the subject of our table conversation away from the wedding and toward more important matters, such as murder.

  “Meg helped me solve two murders on Capitol Hill in the past year,” I explained.

  Buffy smoothed her hair. “I thought your jobs were so demanding, you had no time for anything else.”

  “In each case, Kit’s job depended on solving the murder. So it became t
he top priority,” Meg said.

  “How thrilling!” Winston said. “We’ve kept up with the headlines from afar. Has Kit told you about the unfortunate death of Grayson Bancroft?”

  Meg nodded. “She filled me in earlier today.”

  Winston leaned in. “And what do you think happened to poor Grayson?”

  Without blinking, Meg answered, “As I understand it, you’re the prime suspect, Mr. Hollingsworth.”

  The waiter served our drinks and took our dinner order. Doug squirmed in his chair. Not many people asserted themselves with Winston, but Meg hadn’t flinched.

  I couldn’t leave my BFF hanging. “What Meg is trying to say is we may have to point to other suspects if the police are going to stop focusing on you. The best way to clear you of all wrongdoing is to find the person who really killed Grayson.”

  Buffy swirled her Sancerre. “The police will figure it out. If they don’t, we’ll simply bring in the best defense attorney in Washington. You don’t need to concern yourself.”

  Doug’s face turned a deep shade of red. “I disagree, Mother. If we need to hire a lawyer, it means Father has already been arrested or has been brought in again for formal questioning. This is the nation’s capital. There are enterprising reporters in every nook and cranny. Don’t you think one of them will get wind of it and write an article about the intrigue of a high society murder, fingering Winston Hollingsworth as the guilty party?” He took a sip of his wine and slammed the glass on the table, almost causing his California blend to spill.

  Buffy remained silent, but the sudden pallor of her skin implied she’d received Doug’s message loud and clear.

  Winston rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he said, “Perhaps it’s not a bad idea to explore alternative explanations of Grayson’s death.”

  Doug breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

  “I have a few questions about the other Mayflower Society members who knew Grayson well,” I said.

  Winston glanced at Buffy, who nodded. He replied, “Ask away, Kit.”

  “Lola and I spent time together this afternoon. She didn’t particularly like Grayson’s leadership of the Mayflower Society. Can you tell me about her difficulties with him? Did you have the same issues with Grayson?”