Cheddar Off Dead

by Julia Buckley

  Apparently people still weren’t finished asking me about Whitefield. Two young women sidled up to me and introduced themselves as Tara and Andrea—the kindergarten teachers.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  Emma whisked past again and stuck a glass of eggnog in my hand, then moved on to her buffet table and began arranging things.

  The woman named Tara, a small blonde person with red glasses, said that she knew Brad. “We used to go out sometimes, a big group of us from Pine Haven. Brad and Cleo would go, too. Just to a pub somewhere, and we’d all watch a football game and have beer and chat.”

  “Ah.”

  “Did he—did Brad say anything to you? Before he—?” Tara blushed.

  “No. No, he—wasn’t conscious. I shouldn’t really talk about this at a party.”

  “No, of course not.” The women exchanged a glance. Then the one named Andrea, who was also blonde, and plump, said, “I just can’t imagine seeing someone die. I’ve never even been to a wake. I’ve never seen a dead person.”

  I sipped the glass of eggnog; it was spiked with something, but it was delicious. I drank it in about three gulps.

  “Isn’t that great?” Tara said. “Dave makes it every year. Talk about holiday spirit. He’s bottled it.”

  I was feeling a little more Christmassy; when Emma came past five minutes later with a tray of cups, I grabbed one and deposited my empty. Then, with liquid courage, I began making the rounds. I asked Tara and Andrea how well they knew Brad, aside from the occasional drinks at pubs. They both shook their heads. “I never saw him outside of a group,” Tara said.

  Andrea consumed a little meatball off of a toothpick—standard party fare. I needed to get a look at Emma’s buffet table and see who had catered this shindig. “I didn’t know him at all. Just as Santa. But the kids loved him. He really did talk to each child. He was good at finding out the Christmas wishes of each one, and then we would take their picture, and I’d jot down the wishes on the back, for their parents. It was a cute tradition that we had. I’ll miss him.”

  I thanked them and moved farther into the room. It was a lovely space, and the Brents had decorated with elegant flair. The long food table, covered in a red cloth and festooned with gold bows and glitter, held the basics of a high-class catered event: a large shrimp tray with a fancy-looking cocktail sauce; little baked wontons filled with walnut chicken; grapes rolled in cheese and coated with pistachios; fried ravioli with a marinara dipping sauce; a baked Brie with a cranberry topping and a scattering of bread and crackers. It was admirable, but nothing that Haven hadn’t produced, and I felt confident that Esther and Jim could have made this table shine more brightly. I would be giving Haven’s card to Emma before the evening was over.

  I looked for Jenny, but she was with Ross, and they were precariously near the mistletoe that hung in the grand doorway. It seemed that he was trying to maneuver her over there. I was confident that Jenny was aware of his game and enjoying it. Considering what was probably about to happen, now was not the time for me to make small talk with her boyfriend. One of the middle-aged women moved past me, and I followed her. “It’s a lovely party,” I said.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I’m just aiming for that window seat over there. Isn’t it pretty? I love the way this room is lined with books and places to read them. But with Emma’s stressful job, I wonder if she finds the time.”

  “That’s a Catch-22,” I said. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

  “It’s Hannah Ford. I teach fourth grade at Kennedy.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Lilah.”

  “I heard the introduction when you came in. You and your husband make a lovely couple.”

  “What? Oh, Jay? No, he’s not my husband. We—he—Jenny invited me, and—”

  “Oh, just dating, hmm? Well, you have time.” She looked at me with a placid expression that was somehow comforting. There was a certain stillness about her that made me expect her to produce a ball of yarn and start knitting. “I’m sorry to hear that you witnessed Brad’s death.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “As Santa. I also know his wife; she and I both took tickets at a community theater, years ago. I think that’s how she met Brad in the first place.”

  “Ah.”

  “Poor Cleo. She was just smitten with Brad. I’m afraid that’s the effect he had on all the ladies. Still, it was Cleo he chose. She comes from a rather prominent Chicago family, I heard.”

  The red-haired man, no longer at the piano, approached us. “Hannah, do you need to sign this card, or can Emma seal it up?”

  “I already did, thanks, Peter. And can you do me a favor? Lilah and I are both out of eggnog.”

  He nodded and disappeared with his envelope. He returned two minutes later with two little cups. “You’re all trying to get me drunk,” I joked.

  “Well, that big smile tells me we’re halfway there,” Hannah said.

  Peter sat down with us in the window seat. “Here we are,” he said. “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.”

  I turned to him; my head felt heavy. “Which one are you?”

  “Let’s see. You saw evil, so you’ve got to be one of the other two. And I’ve been speaking my share of evil, so I can’t be that one.”

  “Peter is a terrible gossip, is what he means,” said Hannah fondly. “But he amuses us.”

  “I actually didn’t see evil. I just heard it,” I told them.

  “Right. So we’ll say Lilah doesn’t speak it, I don’t hear it, and Hannah doesn’t see it.”

  “That passed the time,” Hannah joked.

  “What sort of evil are you speaking about?” I asked Peter.

  He leaned toward me, clearly ready to dish. Parker probably loved people like Peter the music teacher as a means of getting information. “Listen, I didn’t know Brad that well, but I do know Cleo a little better. She’s a nice girl, and I happen to know that Brad cheated on her.”

  “But lately things were better,” I said. “He was turning over a new leaf. He even spoke about it, on the day he died. He told me he was a philosopher Santa, or Zen maybe, and—”

  Peter pressed his lips together. “I don’t buy that, but I’m not going into it here. Oh, shoot, there’s Cleo. I never said a word,” he said, springing up from his seat and moving to the door, pasting a sympathetic expression on his face.

  Cleo Whitefield was indeed there. She looked pale and wan and small next to the tall, dark-haired man on her left.

  “That’s her brother,” Hannah said. “I think she’s staying with him, which is a good thing.”

  Cleo was thanking Emma and Dave. “It’s so sweet of you, really—all of you—thank you so much. We can’t stay. Ed and I are going out for a quiet dinner, and then he’s making me go to bed. I’m lucky to have all these people to take care of me.” Her eyes swept the room and lighted on Hannah and me. She brightened with recognition and waved. Hannah and I waved back. She said something to her brother and moved toward us, still wearing her coat. “Hi—Hannah, right? It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes,” said Hannah, shaking her hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “And I met you the other day—what a coincidence! It’s Lily, right?”

  “Lilah. Yeah, isn’t this weird? Jenny—the first grade teacher—is my best friend, so I’m here with her. She’s the one currently making out under the mistletoe. And as far as I can tell, Dave Brent is taking blackmail photos.” I realized too late that liquor had loosened my lips, and that perhaps Cleo didn’t want to see a young couple in love while she was grieving for her own husband.

  Cleo turned briefly and looked at Jenny, who was kissing Ross with some abandon, although they’d had the decency to move to the shadows of a corner. She turned back to us; her little freckled face had become sad. “I was planning to spend Christmas
doing that. Kissing on a Hawaiian island.” We sat in an uncomfortable silence, listening to the music one of the Brents had put on their iPod. Right now Leon Redbone was singing “Christmas Island.” Cleo smiled wryly at Redbone’s lyrics, pointing at the ceiling, as though the song emanated from there. Then she shrugged. “Anyway, it was nice to see you again. What are you both doing for Christmas?”

  Hannah sipped her eggnog. “I’ll be hosting the family, as usual. Three daughters, two sons-in-law, four grandchildren.”

  “Sounds lively,” Cleo said. She turned to me.

  “Oh, just hanging with the family. Nothing special,” I said.

  She nodded, scanning the room, then froze. “I know that tall man in Emma’s den. He’s a cop. He talked to me the night that Brad—after it happened. Asked me a bunch of questions. What’s he doing here?”

  I touched Hannah’s hand and said, “Oh, he’s not here as a cop. I think he’s dating someone here. No worries—he won’t interrogate you.” I made it sound like a joke, and Cleo looked relieved.

  “Isn’t it weird, though? I keep seeing the same people. You,” she said, looking into my eyes with sudden perception, “and now him. I guess life is just full of coincidences.”

  “It is. Especially at Christmastime, when everyone is going to parties.”

  She nodded, looking weary again. Her brother came to join us. “You ready, Clee?”

  “Yeah.” She touched her brother’s sleeve and said, “This is Ed. He’s been my rock in all of this.” She patted his arm, then held a hand up in farewell. “Have a good Christmas.”

  “You, too.”

  Her brother’s face had not creased into a friendly smile, as Cleo’s had. Still, he seemed protective of Cleo; he slid an arm around her shoulder, and they walked away. At the door she hugged Dave and Emma, and the latter whispered something in her ear. Dave slipped an envelope to Cleo’s brother, who shook Dave’s hand. Then the siblings departed into the bitter air.

  “That was interesting,” Hannah said.

  “Hmm?”

  “Not only that your boyfriend is a policeman, but that you didn’t want Cleo to know he was your boyfriend.”

  I looked into her kind and curious eyes. “If you could stick to the speak-no-evil plan, I’d appreciate it. There’s enough gossip at this party.”

  Hannah nodded. “No problem.”

  Jenny appeared in front of us, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining. “Lilah, can you go with me to the bathroom?”

  I sent a wry glance to Hannah, who giggled, and I got up from my comfy window seat. “Sure, Jenny. I’d love to hear about your tempestuous love life.”

  She dragged me all the way upstairs, where it was oddly silent and where our feet made no sound on the blue-carpeted hallway. I found myself peering into an elegant bedroom, then walking into it. This, too, was carpeted in a delicious plush, and I floated toward a window to see a sheen of ice shining on the long driveway. Cleo and her brother were getting into a black car, stepping carefully to avoid slipping. “Weird, to see Cleo twice in such a short time,” I said.

  “Who?” asked Jenny, who had followed me.

  “Cleo. And where’s the Christmas clown? I wanted to talk to her.”

  “Apparently she’s in Delaware visiting her grandchildren.”

  “Doesn’t sound very sinister.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Never mind. Did you ask me to this party so that I could watch you make love to a man?”

  Jenny put her hands on my shoulders and hugged me against her, saying something like, “Eeeeee,” into my ear. Then she let me go. “I asked you here so that you could get a sense of whether he liked me or not. And then he just—grabbed me and kissed me, and neither of us stopped, and it just kept going!”

  “Geez. I could have saved a trip out in the cold. I told you; I knew he liked you when I delivered the macaroni and cheese. The guy looks at you like you’re steak and he’s a Rottweiler.”

  “Are you drunk, Lilah?” she asked, giggling.

  “No. Are you? Which of us was just making out in front of a large group of people? And which of us was sedately chatting in a window seat of a rich person’s home?”

  Jenny shrugged. “I don’t even care. I’m just so happy!”

  “Then why aren’t you with him?”

  “He said we should probably make the rounds and pretend we hadn’t just become the gossip of the school for the next two years.”

  “Did he look happy, too?”

  “Yes.” Now her face was smug.

  “Well then, I think you should go down there and grab your new boyfriend and go home. Then you can make out to your heart’s content.”

  She danced a little dance on the soft carpet. “Lilah, I’m so glad you’re here. Even if we haven’t really been talking.”

  “Yeah. It’s sort of a weird night, but I intend to get a catering client out of it.”

  Jenny gave me a kiss. “Hang on—I really do have to use the bathroom.” She ran into the master bathroom, and I tried out the springs on the large bed.

  Jenny emerged minutes later. “Lilah, you can’t go to sleep there! Come on, we’re going back downstairs.”

  She pulled me up from my prone position and hooked her arm through mine. “You haven’t spent much time with your cute date.”

  “No—we tend to avoid each other. That’s what keeps the attraction alive. I’m sure if I ever spent more than an evening with him I’d hate his guts.”

  We reached the stairs and began our descent. She squeezed my arm. “You are the greatest friend,” she said.

  “I know. Go find Romeo.”

  She didn’t have to look far. Ross was walking around with a yearning expression. Jenny practically threw herself at him; I shook my head, slightly ashamed.

  Parker appeared in front of me. “Have a minute to exchange notes?” he asked.

  “Sure, boss.”

  He took my hand, as Jenny had just done, and led me down a long hallway, this one on the first floor.

  “Do they want us going in this part of the house? And also, how big is this house?”

  “You throw a party, you have to assume that people will wander,” he said. “Ah, here we go. What do we call this? A mudroom? A study? A library?”

  “The chapel where Hamlet finds Claudius at prayer?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. This house has a lot of rooms.”

  “Are you drunk, Lilah?”

  “No. Are you?”

  Parker sat down on a leather couch in a small but cozy room. The brick fireplace was lit, and some dishes of candy sat on the oak coffee table—so Emma did indeed think people might end up in here. “No. I didn’t make the mistake of trying that 80-proof eggnog.”

  “Uh-oh. You might end up firing me as a junior detective.”

  “I don’t know. You’re the prettiest junior detective I’ve ever worked with.” Parker shot me a smile and twinkled his blue eyes at me.

  “So, you need my report?” I faced him, my hands on my hips.

  “Yeah. Come sit here.” He pulled me down on the couch next to him. The leather was even more comfortable than the bed upstairs had been. I resisted the temptation to lean on Parker and start snoring.

  “Who did you talk to?”

  “With whom did I talk, you mean.”

  “Okay.”

  I lifted my hand and listed names on my fingers. “Tara, Andrea, Hannah, Peter—oh, and Cleo and her brother. Then Jenny. Sorry, I guess I didn’t get far. But I do have some theories.”

  Parker’s eyes were still twinkling. “I’d love to hear them.”

  I leaned back on the delicious couch. “Relax, Parker. This might take a while.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Parker slid an arm around my shoulders and said, “I’m all ears.�
��

  “Okay. First of all, Peter the music teacher knows something, but we got interrupted by Cleo. He’s convinced Brad was cheating on his wife, and it sounded like he has evidence. We need to talk to him again.”

  “Got it.”

  “And here’s the thing. Cleo and Brad were going to visit the Hawaiian Islands over Christmas. Maybe it was an attempt to save their marriage, or maybe it meant that their marriage was solid. But the funny thing is—will you stop kissing me, Parker?”

  “I’m not,” he said, but his lips were pressed against my cheek and moving around.

  “This is—we’re supposed to be, like—staking things out. Why are you always confusing me?”

  He pulled away and waited until I looked at him. “Maybe we should be straight with each other.”

  “Okay. About what?”

  “Are you still hung up on Angelo Cardelini?”

  “What? No! He broke my heart. I could never trust him again, and I’m not attracted to him anymore. I happen to be hung up on you—but you broke my heart, too.”

  “Wow. That stuff is like truth serum.”

  “Now you be straight with me.”

  “Okay.”

  “How come you said you were proud of me to everyone here, but you’ve never said it to me? And when I was on television, and Fina and Cam were saying how good it was, you just left the room? I never know what’s going on in your head.”

  Parker leaned back and looked at his hands. “Fair enough. I’ll tell you why, Lilah. Because I was jealous.”

  “Of me?”

  “No. Of your brother, and his wife, and everyone who had—the right—to tell you how great you were. But I’m just the guy who treated you badly and . . . now I hear that I broke your heart, too. So no one wants my opinion, even though I have one.”

  “I want your opinion.”

  “Okay. I thought you were great on that TV show. Amazing. Photogenic, charismatic, funny, sweet. I wasn’t thrilled to see Cardelini leering at you, but—you were great. The truth is, Lilah—I think you’re wonderful. I think you’re going to accomplish great things, and that you could do anything you set your mind to. And I—would you stop kissing me, Lilah?”