Designer Detective (A Fiona Marlowe Mystery)

by Thelen, Marjorie

  I dialed Jake's cell phone. He picked up on the first ring.

  “You were expecting my call,” I said.

  “Right. Have you seen Hudson?”

  “No, why would I have seen Hudson?”

  “You go out there, don't you?”

  “Sure, but not today.”

  “He seems to have left town.”

  “You mean as in disappear?”

  “That's right.”

  “I called earlier today and left a message for him to call me, but had no call back.”

  “Opal hasn't seen him since he served dinner last night. When she went down to the kitchen this morning, he wasn't there. She checked the garage for his car, and it's gone. She thought he ran an errand, but he still isn't back as of an hour ago. I thought maybe he was with you, doing the library thing.”

  “Nope, haven't seen him. So it was the butler in the library with an overdose.”

  “What?”

  “My friend Judith said it is always the butler that commits the crime. So it couldn't have been Colonel Mustard. Hudson murdered Albert with an overdose in the library.”

  “Fiona, you have a very active imagination.”

  “You're not the first person who's told me that. Have you called the police to report Hudson missing?”

  “Not yet. We'll give him a day to show up. But it’s very unlike him to disappear.”

  I hung up and stood looking out the windows across the Potomac at the lights of D.C. The monuments stood stark white against the black of night. Light reflected off the river. Red lights blinked from atop the Iwo Jima Memorial.

  Hudson gone missing. Now there was an interesting plot twist Olympia would like.

  * * * * *

  Shirley at Colonial Furniture was delighted to see me on Sunday afternoon. She always saw dollar signs when I walked in. After a tussle over a number of high priced offerings, I ordered two great off white loveseats with a chicken wire bas relief pattern in the same color. I know, it doesn’t sound haute coteur but trust me, it will look great. Working a deal with Shirley is always exhausting, so I took the rest of the day off.

  All afternoon I worried about Hudson and couldn't resist a call to Jake that night.

  “Find Hudson yet?”

  “Yes, he came back late last night. Opal said he’d gone to his sister's again in West Virginia around Harper's Ferry. She’d had a relapse. He forgot to tell Opal he was leaving. Or Opal forgot that he told her he was leaving.”

  “Don't you think that’s strange?

  “Apparently there a serious case of memory loss in the Lodge household.”

  “But that is strange. Opal seems pretty sharp to me. Unlikely to forget the butler was leaving for the day.”

  No answer.

  “Jake?”

  “Yeah. There's some things not making sense to me. Maybe it's because there's a boatload of relatives descending on the house, and everyone is stressed out. This is traumatic for all of them. Plus Hudson’s sister is going downhill, and he’s worried about her.”

  “He runs the household.”

  “Right. They hired a maid and a cook through a temp agency to help with the relatives. There’s a relative a minute showing at the front door. Everyone’s running around like coyotes after sage rats because the memorial service is tomorrow afternoon, and the reception is at the house.”

  “Are you going to the memorial service?” I asked.

  “You bet.”

  “I'll look for you there. We can sit together and you can point out the cast of characters.”

  “I can't wait.”

  Chapter 4

  The memorial service was held at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, one of those nice old Tudor style churches with lots of pointed arches and mahogany trim. Sun lit the stained glass. The place glowed. Nice touch for a funeral. I arrived early to get a good seat toward the back to watch the parade of people. I was not disappointed. The turnout included men in severe business suits and matching women in stylish black and hats. Jake slid in beside me. He had poured himself into a dark suit, stretching a bit at the buttons.

  “How are things at the home ranch?” I said for openers. I smoothed down his collar that was standing up in the back. This man needed a butler. Or a wife. Butler would be less trouble.

  “Chaotic.” Jake was watching people walk down the aisle as he spoke.

  “See anyone you know?” I asked, following his gaze toward an eye catching blond in tight black skirt, matching jacket, super high heels and black bolero hat.

  “That's Albert’s girlfriend.”

  “Where?” It couldn't be the blond.

  “The blond.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. I talked to her yesterday. She says they were just friends, that Albert thought there was more to it than she did. She's older than she looks. Probably in her forties somewhere.”

  “I wonder what she does to keep looking so young.”

  “Maybe it's in the genes.”

  I looked at him. “More likely in surgical tools. Does she have a name?”

  “Lisa Lundgren.”

  I watched her sitting alone, toward the middle of a row way in front of us. She, too, seemed interested in the parade of stars.

  “There's the niece that lives in Arlington,” Jake said. “She came by the house yesterday while I was there.” He nodded at a woman leading a little boy by the hand, followed by a tall, Ivy League looking guy. She was way shorter than her lanky husband and a bit on the plump side. They sat in front with the family, which was getting more extensive by the minute.

  Opal entered escorted by a youngish man in a gray suit.

  “Nephew from Oregon,” said Jake out of the side of his mouth. “He arrived Saturday and has been helping Opal with arrangements.”

  The church was large, but a respectable crowd filled it. The people looked Washington think tank, white haired men in bow ties, Capitol Hill types with billboard smiles. Albert had friends in high circles. During the eulogy several men spoke in admiration of Albert's work and life that included postings as political attaché for a number of embassies. That might mean he was doing work for the Central Intelligence Agency in his diplomatic postings. One could never be sure in this town. Several of the nephews spoke of their uncle as a mentor, how kind he was, what an inspiration, his droll sense of humor. The usual. It could make a person wish they had known the old guy while he was living.

  In the receiving line at the end of the service, Opal pressed my hand. “You will come over to the house, won't you, dear? You can meet some of the family. Have Jake bring you. He's a good escort.”

  I smiled. “Sure, I'll stop by for a few minutes.”

  I waited for Jake who was behind me in line.

  “Opal says you should be my escort to the reception.”

  He held out his arm. “My pleasure. Leave your car here. I'll drive you over.”

  The crowd at the reception seemed bigger than the memorial service, or maybe it was because they were spread all over the house. Valet parking, waiters in black and white with trays of champagne, maids in black and white with canapés. The din rivaled the Met on opening night. People spilled into the patio to the back of the house where the swimming pool sparkled in the afternoon sun. These folks were seriously into celebrating Albert's life.

  I hung on the outer edge of the chaos with Jake and sipped champagne, engaging in my favorite past time of people watching. Washington crowds can be boring, but this one showed promise.

  “I think it was an accident,” I heard a nearby matron say. She clutched the arm of a young man. Her accent might be South African. Could this be the wife of Olivia's brother? “Albert was terribly forgetful. He must have slipped up on his meds, don't you think, dear?” She was smiling at the most attractive man I have ever seen in my life. If he wasn't George Clooney, no one was.

  “Not for us to say,” he said. “The old boy's gone and there's nothing to be done for it.” His accent was definitely L
ondon. I've spent time in England sorting out accents, and I know a London accent when I hear it. This was one of the infamous nephews.

  I nudged Jake. “Did you catch the conversation in front of us?”

  He looked at me over his glass of champagne. “Yeah. You've already figured out who they are, I bet.”

  “Her side?”

  He nodded and looked at his empty champagne glass. “I got to get some real booze. This fuzzy stuff just doesn't do it for me.”

  “I thought you were on the wagon.”

  “Only when it suits me.” He gave me a wicked grin that made him look almost handsome although he would have looked better in a Stetson and Tony Llama boots.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked.

  “Glass of red wine, please.”

  He sauntered off toward the bar located at the far end of the drawing room where the celebrants, I mean, mourners were congregating three deep. A waiter came by with tray of champagne.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” I said as I lifted a fluted glass and replaced it with my empty. What the hell, I thought. I'm not driving, and I do so love the bubbly. Besides, they were small glasses.

  I surveyed the crowd for faces I knew from the news. I thought I recognized a congressman or two, maybe a senator from New England. If Albert had been connected to the intelligence community, I wouldn't know those faces. They were a closed group. That set me to wondering what Albert did at his think-tank job and which think tank it was.

  Jake returned with the red wine. That put me in the embarrassing position of having two drinks in my hands. I tossed down the champagne and set the glass on a side table.

  “Doing some serious drinking, I see,” said Jake. “Don't let it get away from you. There probably are some real leeches in this crowd. I guess I'll have to look out for you.”

  I smiled into his eyes. He had disgustingly long lashes for a man. I hate when men have nice eyes and don't have to wear makeup. On the other hand, I do so love to apply eye makeup in the morning. It entertains me and isn’t life all about entertainment? All those marvelous colors of shadow, eyeliner, mascara. All those wonderful shades of blusher and lipstick. But I digress.

  Jake looked away from my smile. I guess the smile was too flirty.

  “Look, big boy, I've been watching out for myself for a long time. I won't mention how many years.”

  He didn't say anything.

  “But I appreciate the offer.”

  He smiled. “Nice dress.”

  I smiled back. “Do you like the plunging neckline?” I take wicked lessons from Kathy the waitress, and the champagne helped.

  His eyes rolled around trying not to look. “Yeah,” he said in a whisper. “Kinda fancy, but it fits with this crowd. You'd think Teddy Kennedy died again.”

  “Truly. By the way, where did Albert work?”

  “The Pinnacle, conservative think tank in D.C.”

  “Pretty elitist. Do you think he was in intelligence?”

  Jake glanced around, looking to see who might be listening. “Keep your voice down.”

  I leaned over and whispered in his ear. “That doesn't answer my question.” Nice aftershave. I couldn't quite put my finger on the scent. This had to be my last glass of wine. My mind was leading me in dangerous directions, and I was feeling as rubby as a cat in heat.

  He hid behind a show of sipping his whiskey on the rocks. “Albert might have had his fingers in some stuff he shouldn't have.”

  “Are you going to tell me what that might be?”

  He turned to face me and put his mouth next to my ear. “It's making me edgy talking about this here. Later.”

  I nodded. Us detectives had to keep a low profile. My mind raced on and construed all sorts of cloak and dagger scenarios. Albert's a double agent and the other side poisons him. At least they didn't use radioactive isotopes like that poor Russian spy. Albert's in financial trouble and starts selling top secrets to the Saudis. He gets too demanding, and they overload his Chinese takeout. Albert's the McLean Robert Hansen. It can happen in your own neighborhood.

  “Come on,” Jake said. “Let's cruise around and catch some conversations.” He took my elbow and steered me between groups of intent discussions. The rascal. He was using me as cover. But I didn't mind. I set my face in a permanent smile, and we small talked our way around the room.

  “Don't you believe for a minute that the stock market will ever recover.”

  “Oh, darling, he didn't.”

  “I knew it. If she's had one, she's had at least half a dozen.”

  “Papa's had too much to drink. We must be going, Dickie.”

  “Really, Reggie, you must go along with us on the shoot. Namibia is the going place now.”

  On it went. We ended up out on the patio to enjoy what was left of the day. The sun felt delicious on my skin. One of those beautiful washed autumn days after a week of rain.

  “I didn't hear any really helpful conversations, did you?” I said, as we settled at an empty patio table where a waiter was clearing empties. The waiter looked at us as I said that, smiled, wiped the table and left, tray balanced on one hand.

  “I've always wanted to be able to do that,” I said, watching the young man weave through the crowd.

  “Fiona, listen,” Jake said.

  I turned my attention back to him. “I'm listening.”

  “You got to be careful what you say at a shindig like this.”

  “Right. Us detectives can't be giving away secrets.”

  “I'm serious.”

  “Me, too. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. What shall we talk about?”

  His eyes shifted from one group of people to another. He sure was nervous today.

  I leaned closer and said, “What are you worried about?”

  “Not worried. Just edgy. It's that kind of day.”

  “You’ve been looking over your shoulder all day.”

  “Is it that noticeable?”

  I nodded. He was saved from further intense interrogation when Opal walked over to our table.

  “Hello, you two. I'm so glad you could make it, Fiona. I told you Jake would be a good escort. You make a nice pair.”

  I pasted on a smile like I had just sat on a mouse or maybe a snake, and I couldn't figure out which. I wanted to squirm but I didn't want to be impolite. I didn’t look at Jake. What was it that drove women to matchmaking?

  Opal, still smiling like she was pleased with the match, said, “I want you to meet my nephew, Cody.”

  I turned my attention to him and lipped all the proper niceties.

  “Aunt Opal tells me you are the one who found Uncle Al,” Cody said.

  “Yes. It was most unfortunate. I'm terribly sorry about your uncle.”

  “He was a great guy. We'll all miss him, but it wasn't too much of a shock. He'd had heart problems for years. He had his funeral service all planned. All his papers were in order. He knew he could go anytime. It's just like him to not want to burden anyone with loose ends.”

  Another partier caught Opal's attention. Dancing had broken out on the patio. Someone had put on a Frank Sinatra CD and ole Frank was singing, “I Get a Kick out of You”. Older couples jitter bugged around the room, the younger set tended to bump, grind, and flail.

  “Excuse us,” said Opal. “Stay as long as you like. Isn’t this a great party? Albert would be so pleased.”

  Opal walked off on Cody's arm toward another group. He was the one who had escorted her down the aisle at the church. He wasn’t half bad looking in a pale sort of way. With all that sun on the open range, you’d think he’d look a bit more leathery.

  “What do you think of Cody's take on his uncle's heart problems? He makes it sound like an accidental death. Surely he must know that Opal hired you.”

  “No, he doesn't. Opal didn't tell any of the family she hired me.”

  “What?”

  He looked a little squirmy, like he had sat on the mouse or snake.

  I confronted him. “T
hat's why you’re edgy. Opal hired you to spy on everyone else, and I’m your cover. Well, I never.”

  “Will you please keep your voice down?” he said again. He leaned on his elbow and fixed me with a cold stare. “You said you wanted to help, didn’t you?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Then play the part of our couple cover so I can circulate and eaves drop. Do you think Opal brought this crowd together because she likes a party? She did it so I can meet the players, so to speak.”

  “You mean Opal knows all these people?”

  “Pretty much. She's Albert’s sister, isn't she? Albert often vacationed at the ranch without the missus. Whenever Opal visited here Olivia always threw a party.”

  My eyebrows did a little stutter on that one. This was better than Days of Our Lives.

  “Geez,” I said. “This is getting too complicated for my small brain. I need a flow chart.”

  “I'll show you mine later. C'mon, let's circulate. Grab a drink and look happy.”

  Not a bad idea. Jake motioned to the champagne waiter, and I took another glass. He left his empty whiskey glass on the tray.

  “Would you bring me a glass of whiskey on the rocks?” he asked the wispy waiter.

  “If you follow me, sir, I can show you the open bar where we are featuring hard liquor.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Be right back. Don’t move.”

  I sipped champagne and studied the crowd while I waited for Jake to return. The tall, George Clooney lookalike nephew from London walked over.

  “May I have this dance or are you spoken for?” he asked, all arched eyebrows and quirky smile.

  Frank Sinatra was singing September Song. I could handle that.

  “I’d love to dance,” I said, forgetting Jake’s admonition not to move.

  Taking me into his arms and pulling me close, he said, “My name's Roger. I'm a nephew from Olivia’s side of the family. Are you family, friend or press?”