“Thanks, Frank Costanza. I’ll try.”
Winston Hollingsworth entered, carrying a bouquet of flowers. “Good evening,” he boomed out.
“Oh, it’s you,” said Buffy.
“You sound so enthused,” said Winston.
“I thought you were one of our guests.”
“Sorry to disappoint. Kit, please accept this as a paltry gift for hosting the best of the Mayflower Society tonight.”
“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
Doug appeared at my side and took the gift. “I’ll put these in a vase.”
Buffy grabbed her husband’s arm. “Our assignment this evening is to figure out if Frederick and Lola Valdez killed poor Grayson.”
Winston looked surprised. “I thought this was a dinner party for Kiki.”
“Yes, darling. That’s what we told her. But we’re really trying to solve the murder. Please keep up.”
“I’ll try my best.” Winston turned to Doug. “Can you pour me a Scotch? Balvenie?”
Doug nodded. “I believe we have a bottle of twelve year.”
Winston blew out a resigned puff of air. “That will do.”
Doug turned toward me and rolled his eyes. He kept a liquor stash for guests since we were wine drinkers, save my infrequent gin and tonic indulgences. Winston would have to put up with mediocre Scotch while we tried to prove his innocence.
Another knock on the door, and Buffy rushed to answer. I didn’t even budge. It was Kiki Bancroft and Professor Mansfield. Buffy fawned over them and placed Kiki’s purse in our bedroom for safekeeping.
After pleasantries were exchanged, Kiki approached me. She’d changed out of her black dress from earlier today into a fitted black pantsuit and an exquisite multi-colored scarf. Was it cashmere? I didn’t have much time to ponder Kiki’s fashionable accessories before she addressed me.
“When I met you earlier today, Kit, I hadn’t realized you were the one who discovered Grayson’s body on Thursday morning.” Mansfield returned with a glass of wine. Kiki accepted the drink and waited for my answer. She had a steely blue stare second only to Superman’s.
Caught off guard, I stammered, “Yes, I didn’t want to t-tell you. Um, I mean, it didn’t seem appropriate, given the circumstances.”
Her expression remained unchanged. “Of course. We’d only just met.”
What was I supposed to say? That Grayson looked like he’d been frozen stiff in the midst of a dying convulsion? Instead, I opted for a more benign version of events. “He seemed at peace.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Grayson was never at peace. That’s why he built a multibillion-dollar fortune.” She sipped her wine. “But I suppose death is the great equalizer. Don’t you agree, James?”
“All stories, if continued long enough, end in death,” he said.
We both stared at him in uncomfortable silence.
“I didn’t make that up,” he protested. “It’s Ernest Hemingway.”
Kiki touched his arm lightly. “James, you’re so intelligent. Always ready with a moving quote or observation.”
Professor Mansfield blushed.
Trevor approached our group. After giving him a proper introduction to Kiki, I excused myself. Buffy was ushering in the next set of arrivals, Cecilia Rose and her husband Drake. I signaled to Meg that these were her targets for the evening. She was munching away on cheese and crackers while juggling a glass of wine, but she caught my drift and headed in our direction.
“Cecilia and Drake, may I introduce my best friend, Meg Peters,” I said.
Meg was finishing her last bite of appetizer. She extended her hand as she chewed. After a big gulp, she smiled. “Pleased to meet you.” She turned toward Cecilia. “I’m a big fan of the Savannah series.”
In a bubbly voice, Cecilia said, “How delightful. Which one did you like best?”
Meg sipped her wine and thought for a moment. “I enjoyed Savannah Sizzles. But Night of the Scoundrel was pretty hot, too.”
Meg’s comment seemed a little off-color for a dinner party doubling as a wake. Cecilia didn’t seem to mind. She piped up, “Fascinating! I love feedback from readers. What did you think of Naked Cowboy, by the way?”
Meg tilted her hand from side to side. “So-so, if you want my honest opinion. I’m not much for Western romance.”
Cecilia nodded. “It was a diversion for the series. There are only so many hunks Savannah can sleep with in the South.”
Meg laughed. “I see your point. Sometimes I think I’ve gone through all the guys in Washington D.C.”
My bestie and Cecilia were two peas in a pod. I snuck a peek at Drake, who appeared absorbed in the conversation.
“What do you think of all this talk about romance novels?” I asked him.
“As long as it sells more books, I don’t mind.” Drake drained his glass. “Excuse me, I need a refill.” He scurried off in the direction of the kitchen.
Cecilia sighed heavily. “Drake isn’t a big reader. Then again, I didn’t marry him for his intellect.” She winked at both of us.
“When’s your next book coming out?” Meg asked.
“I’m not exactly sure. Ask me after I’ve had a few more glasses of vino. I’d better find my husband. Ta-ta, ladies.” She fluttered her fingers.
“What a trip,” said Meg.
“Good job. Keep at it. After another drink, she might sing like a canary,” I said.
With ten people carrying on lively conversations in the confined space of our condo, the rising din had prevented me from noticing that Frederick and Lola had arrived. “I’d better greet our last guests. Let’s regroup soon,” I whispered to Meg.
“I need more pecorino and another glass of Prosecco. Then back to the interrogations!” Meg declared.
At least she had her priorities straight. I weaved over to Frederick and Lola, who had been ambushed by Buffy. Winston stood next to his wife, fidgeting with his cufflinks. Despite his reputation as an ultra-successful attorney, perhaps Winston was uncomfortable with the prospect of interrogating suspects. I’d tried not to pay too much attention to the details of the elder Hollingsworths’ lives, but I was almost certain Doug had told me his father made his fortune on corporate deals, not in the courtroom. Matlock, he was not.
Frederick spotted me first. “Thank you for hosting us this evening, Kit.”
Doug appeared behind me. “We’re happy to do it.”
Lola had on a deep purple maxi dress and large hoop earrings. Not exactly the outfit I’d select for a wake, yet it fit her free-spirited personality.
After everyone had been provided a glass of wine, Winston said, “How’d you like the Archives visit today?” He gazed pointedly at Frederick. Maybe the elder Hollingsworth had decided to embrace the objective of the evening gathering.
Frederick adjusted the lapel of his sporty linen blazer. “Remarkable, simply remarkable.”
His perfunctory response didn’t satisfy Winston. With his eyes round and wide open, he asked, “Anything in particular, Frederick? What about the Declaration?”
I leaned back and whispered to Doug, “Your father’s attempt to rile Frederick Valdez is a little obvious.”
“Let him go. He’s having fun. Just look.”
Winston Hollingsworth did appear pleased with himself. He’d successfully suppressed a grin, but his entire visage glowed with anticipation.
“Yes, of course. It’s not in good shape, though.” He shook his head vehemently. “Too many years of exposure and getting jostled around. I’m not sure how much longer the Archives will be able to keep it on display.”
That was exactly the entry Buffy needed. She’d watched the verbal volley on the sidelines in silence. A black panther cloaked in Prada, she saw her opening and pounced. Frederick Valdez was nothing but an unassuming antelope grazing on Italian cheese.
“I’d say long enough for Kiki to make sure the Bancroft wing of the Archives is built,” Buffy said.
Frederick noted Buffy’s smirk, a
nd heaving a sigh, said, “It was a surprise to learn that Kiki is going forward with the donation.”
“Yes, I thought so. Kiki never seemed that interested in Grayson’s philanthropy,” said Buffy.
“Why don’t we find out why she decided to proceed?” asked Winston.
Buffy didn’t need a second invitation. Kiki was standing only a few feet away, deep in conversation with Professor Mansfield, their heads only inches apart. If their relationship had been purely platonic thus far, it seemed to be taking a carnal turn. Perhaps I could persuade Doug to play Olivia Newton-John’s “Physical” on our sound system to enhance the moment. Nonetheless, the fairly obvious air of intimacy didn’t deter Buffy.
She tapped the widow Bancroft on the shoulder. “Kiki, can you join us briefly over here? Winston would like to ask you a question.”
The elder Hollingsworth grimaced. Kiki joined the conversation, the good professor trailing behind her. Winston cleared his throat. “Ah, Kiki. Once again, I’d like to express our sincere condolences.” He paused, perhaps searching for the right words. “Grayson was a successful man. Many people admired him, and he certainly was devoted to the Mayflower Society.”
Buffy rescued her husband. In a loud voice, she announced, “Hear, hear! That sounds like our first toast of the evening. Let’s raise our glasses and drink to our dearly departed friend, Grayson Bancroft.”
Kiki bowed her head in acknowledgment. After the toast, Winston picked up the conversation. “Some of us were quite,” Winston faltered for a second, “shocked when we heard you wanted to continue with the commitment at the National Archives.”
Kiki’s face remained placid. “It’s true that American history was Grayson’s passion, not mine.” She reached behind her and touched Professor Mansfield’s shoulder. “But James convinced me the project was too important to abandon.”
Mansfield’s mouth fell open and his eyes shifted to those listening to the conversation. He started to speak but must have reconsidered. Buffy didn’t let him off the hook so easily, though. “Professor Mansfield, you saved the Bancroft wing of the Archives. How delightful! Will you serve as a special history advisor to the project?”
“I’m not quite s-sure yet,” he stammered. “There’s a lot up in the air these days.”
“Well put, Professor. I couldn’t agree more,” said Buffy.
Frederick Valdez said, “I hope you will have the time and enthusiasm for the project, Kiki. It’s no small endeavor.”
Standing next to him, Lola nodded vigorously. I had a feeling she was responsible for Frederick’s interest in the Archives donation. Had Lola also roped her husband into murder?
Kiki sipped her drink. “Now that Grayson is gone, I expect I’ll spend more time at home. Trotting the globe doesn’t seem appropriate.” I noticed that she shifted her gaze ever so slightly in the direction of Professor Mansfield when she spoke. It was definitely an unconscious reaction, but perceptible nonetheless.
“In Washington? Or one of your other houses?” Frederick asked, a touch of annoyance in his voice.
“You know, here and there. Whatever strikes my fancy,” she said nonchalantly.
“Our son is an esteemed professor of American history at Georgetown. He’d be happy to help with your Archives project. Isn’t that right, Doug?” Winston raised his voice to get Doug’s attention.
My fiancé raised his hand when he heard his name. His hands were full, quite literally, with drink refills for our guests. He definitely hadn’t heard his father’s offer. If he had, Doug would not have waved amiably in response. Doug had a one-track mind when it came to his scholarly work, and it didn’t include acting as a consultant for tourist destinations.
“What a marvelous thought,” said Kiki. The tightness in her face indicated the exact opposite. “Georgetown is a fine institution, but I hope to persuade Yale to take the lead. I hear the faculty is tremendously satisfying to work underneath.” She moved closer to James Mansfield.
Everyone in our group stared at the professor, who glanced quickly at Kiki and then looked in the opposite direction. After a long moment, he said cautiously, “I’ll have to discuss the proposal with the department chair.”
Kiki’s face fell. But she recovered almost instantly. “Of course. It’s a big-time commitment, after all.” She turned to me. “Darling, can I ask you for a refill?”
After asking what wine she was drinking, I made a beeline for the kitchen. Meg was pouring herself another glass of champagne while fiddling with her iPhone. If my best friend woke up one morning and found herself transformed into Supergirl, sparkling wine would be her Kryptonite. A close second might be prolonged separation from her smartphone.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Do you have a minute to chat?”
“Sure. As soon as I deliver this refill to Kiki.”
“Let’s meet in your bedroom in two minutes.”
“Is that a proposition?”
Meg hit me playfully on the arm. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Kit.”
I giggled.
“And grab mine while you’re there, too,” Meg added.
Chapter Seventeen
I carefully cracked the bedroom door. Clarence was a master at escape, and I didn’t trust him. I sneaked a peek and then swung the door open. Meg was petting Clarence on the bed.
“How’s he doing?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. He seems antsy.”
Sure enough, Clarence got up and paced back and forth. I sat down, caught him by the collar, and drew him close. “What’s wrong, buddy?”
He nuzzled my neck, then drew back and jumped off the bed. Going over to the door, he sat next to it and growled.
Let me out.
I’d nabbed several doggie treats in the kitchen. “Clarence, come here.” He froze, clearly torn between the promise of food or the possibility of escape. No big surprise, he opted for the food.
I fed him a treat and patted him on the head. “What did you find out, Meg?” I asked.
“I focused on Drake. He’s definitely a piece of work.”
“How so?”
She took a sip of her drink and then placed it on my nightstand. “For starters, he wasn’t shy about telling me he’s always preferred older women.”
“Cecilia has to be twenty years his senior.”
“Twenty-two, actually. She offered that detail.” Meg wrinkled her nose. “I think she might view him as some sort of conquest. A boy-toy man trophy.”
“You make it sound distasteful,” I said. “Men boast about bedding younger women all the time.”
“I know, I know. Gloria Steinem is going to revoke my subscription to Ms. But it’s not any less obnoxious when a woman does it.”
“Good point. He also mentioned another detail.”
Clarence growled. I fed him a treat. “Go on. But make it quick. I’m running out of biscuits.”
“Drake said something about Cecilia wanting to work on a new project instead of the Savannah series.”
“Popular writers write standalone books all the time.”
Meg sighed heavily. “Duh, Kit. I’m not stupid. What I’m trying to tell you is that Drake hinted about her ending Savannah’s Sultry Nights.”
That would be big news. “Was he upset about it?”
Meg reached back for her drink. “You betcha. He was not pleased. That series is a goldmine. By the way, he shared that tidbit when Cecilia left the conversation to use the restroom.”
Clarence jumped up and leaned next to me. I squeezed him playfully. “Interesting, isn’t it, Clarence?” He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Drake might have thought Cecilia and Grayson had a chance of getting back together,” Meg said. “By eliminating the competition, he’d feel more secure. That makes him a good murder suspect.”
“Precisely.”
“But I’m not sure how the sunset of the Savannah series fits in,” said Meg.
“Me, neither. Let’s find out. By
the time we have dinner, maybe Drake or Cecilia will be ready to talk.”
“You know what they said during World War II?”
“What?”
Meg grinned. “Loose lips sink ships.”
“We need someone with lips loose enough to sink an aircraft carrier if we’re going to solve this murder. Let’s drink to that.” I raised my glass and clinked Meg’s.
We got up from the bed. She turned back and looked at Clarence. “Are you sure he’s okay?”
“He’s fine. Doug had him out for a walk before the guests arrived. Clarence just doesn’t want to miss out on the fun.” I bent over the bed to ruffle his ears. “Trust me. Dealing with Buffy Hollingsworth is not a barrel of laughs.”
Clarence responded with a low growl.
“See?” I said. “He understands.”
Meg chuckled, and we left the room, making sure to close the door firmly behind us.
A line had formed around the dining room table as our guests helped themselves to the buffet. Doug and I hung back, making sure everyone had a full plate before we sampled the fare. Kiki and Cecilia passed by with their food. Kiki’s plate was half empty, with a scoop of chopped salad and small piece of trout. Maybe she didn’t like our dinner offerings or suffered from a food allergy.
“Kiki, did you find enough to eat? I’m afraid we didn’t have time to check with you about the menu,” I said.
Kiki waved me off with her fork. “Everything is delightful. It’s time for me to lose the five pounds I gained during my recent trip.”
I would have thought that her husband’s unexpected death provided an excuse to abandon whatever diet she’d put herself on. If my boss’s poll numbers dropped two points, I felt justified in eating a pint of ice cream. Of course, I doubted my willpower amounted to one-tenth of Kiki Bancroft’s. She was twenty years my senior but maintained a killer physique.
Cecelia made a face. “Didn’t you trudge through the Amazon for three weeks? Surely you burned serious calories.”
“Yes, and I also feasted every night on grilled meat, chorizo, fried plantains, and exotic ice creams.” Kiki patted her stomach. “It was worth it.”
Calamity at the Continental Club Page 15
