The she I was referring to was in the seating area around the massive stone fireplace. The early birds had just rejoined me, now with their room numbers and keys. They stuck with me as I moved toward the woman in the seating area.
“I guess you figured out that there is a 1963 retreat also going on this weekend,” I said with an apologetic smile to the three of them.
“It should be fine. It doesn’t matter what they’re wearing,” Scott said. “If any of them want to learn how to knit, I’m still game.”
The four of us stopped at the reddish brown leather couch. The coffee table in front of it had a selection of Life and Look magazines with 1963 dates. There were several books as well. The titles were unfamiliar to me, but I guessed The Bell Jar and The Spy Who Came in from the Cold were from 1963, unless Kevin St. John had screwed it up.
“Oh, good you’re here,” Madeleine Delacorte said, looking up at me. I tried to hide my discomfort as I greeted her. I was sure she was glad I was there because she wanted me to do something. She was one of the Delacorte sisters, the family I’d described as local royalty. She and her sister, Cora, were the last of the family, and they controlled the estate and owned Vista Del Mar.
I had thought of Madeleine Delacorte as the quiet sister, until recently. She’d been more than quiet, and at times I actually wondered if she talked at all. That is, until she’d gone through a transformation, which she somehow connected to me.
It had turned out that Madeleine had been a knitter, and thanks to the last retreat, she had rediscovered her love of the craft, as long as she did it with me. I had been surprised to learn that she was actually the older sister, and while I genuinely liked her and was happy to spend time with her, I felt a sense of obligation. She and Cora were the ones forcing Kevin St. John to continue giving me a great deal for the retreats. And she was used to having someone accompany her, which more and more, had become me.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said to Madeleine after introducing her to my group. That was a nicer way of saying, “What are you doing here,” which was really what I wanted to know.
“Are you kidding? As soon as I heard what Kevin had arranged for this weekend, I had to be here. Nineteen sixty-three was a great year for me.” While she talked, she kept glancing at the crowd and smiling. “Look at the gloves that woman is wearing.” I followed her gaze and did a double take at the long white gloves one of the women was wearing. “And all the pillbox hats. Everybody wanted to look like Jackie Kennedy then. It’s good they’ve made a point of celebrating the summer of 1963. It was still a happy time.” Her smile dimmed. “Then that November, it all changed.”
She came back to the present and looked at my group. “Casey has told me all about you. Now who’s who?” She laughed as she pointed to Scott. “Well, of course I know which one you are. But you two . . .” Her voice trailed off as she studied Bree and Olivia. “Casey said one of you has young kids. That has to be you,” she said, pointing at Bree. “You look like a kid yourself, though I guess it is all relative. Compared to me, you are.” She nodded toward Olivia. “So that means you are the one who has turned great unhappiness into a new purpose in life. I think your name is Olivia Golden.”
Madeleine turned to me. “See, you’re not the only detective around here.”
I blushed at the reference and told her I was hardly a detective. “I love that you are a sleuth. It’s so fascinating. This town was pretty dull before you moved here.”
I blushed again as she patted the seats around her and urged my group to sit.
Madeleine had gone from mousy quiet to almost bossy, and the three of them followed her suggestion. I was about to excuse myself when Madeleine looked across the room with a start. “I’d know those green eyes anywhere.” Green eyes? I’d heard that before from Wanda when she’d been complaining about the singer the resort she worked at had hired. I followed Madeleine’s sight line. A man in a suit that seemed to change colors when the light caught it was standing in the front of the cavernous room. He had his arm over one of the large posters and was posing for pictures with the retreaters. Most of them were using real cameras. The kind that used film that had to be developed. They seemed like relics from the stone age compared to the instant gratification we’d gotten used to with digital photography. Norman plowed through the group and snatched a cell phone out of someone’s hand with a severe shake of his head. I actually saw his point. There was something out of sync about seeing someone trying to manipulate her cell phone camera through elbow-length black gloves.
Bobbie Listorie’s hair seemed a little too dark and full and didn’t quite work with his tanned complexion. If he was a singing sensation in 1963, he had to be around Madeleine’s age. No one ever spoke of the two sisters’ ages, but I thought they were into their seventies, though seventies weren’t what they used to be. Nobody fits the image of an old granny in a rocking chair anymore, or some old grandpa clacking his false teeth. The singer appeared quite fit, but then Wanda had said he played a lot of golf.
“Sing for us, Bobbie,” some people began to plead. He did a whole act of trying to appear humble and then promised he’d perform on Saturday night.
Sally Winston, the 1963 retreat leader’s assistant, was standing near me and I overheard her telling the people around her about the singer. I thought she was doing it more to be the center of attention than offer necessary information. Did anyone really care that he’d started out being part of a duo with his cousin? But I was impressed that their retreat had actual researchers.
The early birds seemed anxious to go to their rooms and drop off their stuff. They were familiar with the place, and as they left, I heard them talk about meeting shortly for a knitting session. The building their rooms were in had a comfortable lobby with a fireplace and was a perfect place to hold their get-together. I wondered if Madeleine wanted to join them, but she seemed too immersed in the scene from the other retreat to even notice their departure.
Madeleine grabbed my arm and got me to sit next to her. “I can’t believe Bobbie Listorie is really here. I have to talk to him and show him this.” I noticed that she had taken out an old 8 by 10 photo, which she put in front of me. It showed Madeleine in the middle of two men and all three were holding up champagne glasses. “That’s him,” she said, pointing at one of the men. “And that’s my brother, Edmund.”
As she went on about how special the night was, I looked more closely at the photograph. The second man was Bobbie Listorie, who was much thinner and younger looking, with no pouches below his eyes and a chin that didn’t sag below the dimple in it, but his basic body shape was the same. Yet I was really more interested in Edmund Delacorte—who wasn’t so much handsome as dashing. Madeleine was all aflutter about Bobbie Listorie for a few more minutes, but then she began to talk about her brother.
She started on a story I’d heard before about how her brother had bought Vista Del Mar and saved it. By then it had gone from its original incarnation as a camp to a run-down resort. Edmund had loved the place, and instead of modernizing it, he had refurbished the place and captured its original rustic charm. “Edmund would appreciate how much Kevin St. John cares, but he’d probably tell Kevin to lighten up.” Madeleine’s eyes started to dance as she looked at me. “Edmund was so much fun.” My attention lagged as she talked on about how her mother was so concerned that the three siblings behave so properly and act as an example to the people of Cadbury and would have been horrified if she knew what she and Edmund had done on a trip to San Francisco.
“We went there because he was giving a speech about saving Monterey Bay. But he also took me to Fisherman’s Wharf and we ate fish and chips with our fingers. I took off my scarf and let my hair blow all over the place on the ferry ride to Sausalito. We ran and jumped on the cable car as it was going up Nob Hill. And finally we ate moo goo gai pan in Chinatown before we went to Bobbie Listorie’s show. Edmund had connections e
verywhere. That’s how we ended up drinking champagne backstage.”
“Did Edmund’s wife go with you?” I asked. Madeleine’s eyes clouded.
“No. She was nothing like my brother.” The Delacorte sister stopped for a moment to consider her words. “You see my mother had big plans for Edmund to run for governor and she helped him find the right sort of wife.” It was pretty clear that Madeleine hadn’t really liked her, but understood why her brother married her. It was a strategic match for his political aspirations.
Madeleine seemed to have something else on her mind. She checked the area around us and then leaned closer. “I’m going to tell you something that nobody else knows.” I leaned closer to her in anticipation of the big secret. But when I heard what it was, I felt like rolling my eyes in frustration. I was hoping she’d divulge something about Edmund’s woman on the side, but instead it was just a story about how she’d seen Bobbie Listorie perform another time. She seemed so excited about it I couldn’t really follow the story and just smiled and nodded in response. When she took a breath, I tried to change the subject.
“What about Edmund’s family?” It was another case where I knew the answer, but was curious on her take. She blinked a few times at my off-subject question.
“He had one son, James. Barely a year after Edmund died from an infection, his wife and son were killed in a car accident. There was a rumor that he had a mistress and another child . . .” Her voice trailed off. “There is just no proof. Cora was certainly happy when that whole story died.” Madeleine looked at me directly. “Edmund had specified in his will that Vista Del Mar was to go to his children. So if there had been a secret child, they could make a claim on the place.” She glanced around the interior of the Lodge as if she was imagining a new owner. “Who knows what some stranger might do to the place.”
“You keep talking about Cora’s reaction to a secret heir. How would you feel about it?”
Madeleine took a moment to think about it. “I suppose it would depend on who the person was.” She seemed suddenly puzzled. “Why are we even talking about this? It’s a dead subject.” And just like that, she went back to talking about how excited she was to see Bobbie Listorie again. She seemed pretty interested in Jimmie Phelps, too, which surprised me. He was the baseball player from 1963 that Crystal had mentioned. Had Madeleine been a Giants fan?
A woman with bright platinum hair had just come in and Madeleine squealed. “Dotty Night is here, too. She was one of the only actresses Mother approved of. She barely got to kiss her leading man.” Madeleine seemed intent on watching the three special guests of the retreat.
I made a move to get up. “I have to drop these off,” I said, holding up the dessert carrier. “Then I’m going to go.”
Madeleine appeared stricken. “Oh, there is a mixer in a while and I was hoping you would stay and then you would take me over to meet them.” She gestured toward the three celebrity guests.
“I saw the two men outside before talking to that woman.” Madeleine indicated the woman in the gauzy skirt and big earrings. “I went over to join them, but they ignored me.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “They were talking about the concert and fireworks show at the baseball park, but Bobbie had it all wrong. I was going to say something, but I’m not used to breaking into a conversation. It would be completely different if you introduced me.”
Inwardly I rocked my head in frustration. Madeleine had come out of her shell and even changed her look. Her dark hair was cut in a swingy bob and she was wearing one of her first-ever pairs of jeans. But she still required a certain level of attention. She was accustomed to someone accompanying her to sort of clear the path.
“I really have to go,” I said.
Madeleine let out a disappointed sigh. “What’s the rush?” Then her eyes lit up. “That’s right. I heard you have a date with that handsome cop.”
I felt color going to my face. Did the whole town know I was having dinner with Dane? “It’s not really a date. It’s just dinner.” I caught Madeleine’s eyes as they did a tiny disbelieving roll. “I’m sure Kevin St. John would be glad to make sure you meet everybody,” I offered.
“I suppose he would do it because we own the place,” she said, sounding disappointed. “But you’d do it because we were girlfriends.”
When she put it that way, what else could I do? “Okay,” I said. I didn’t really mind helping Madeleine meet the celebrities or make new social connections. It was actually exciting watching her start a new chapter in her life. Maybe it gave hope to me. “How about this. I’ll go home and change for my whatever it is. Then I’ll come back for the mixer and help you meet them.”
Madeleine’s face lit up in a big smile. “Perfect.”
I wish she hadn’t said that. It seemed like she was daring fate.
5
Since I was going to do a girlfriend thing for Madeleine by handling her introduction to the singer, baseball player and actress, she wanted to do a girlfriend thing for me and offered to come home with me and help me figure out what to wear. Girlfriends? I hadn’t exactly thought of our relationship that way, probably because of the age difference. I was thirty-five and she was seventy-something. It surprised me, too, that it seemed no matter how old women got, they still used that term. Anyway, I appreciated her thought but I had convinced Madeleine to stay at Vista Del Mar.
Much as I had argued to the contrary, it was really a date, although a short one with a defined ending since we both had to go to work afterward. I rummaged through my closet wondering how there could be so many clothes but nothing to wear. There was a package stashed at the back of the closet. A gift from my mother. I opened it and looked at the long cotton turquoise dress before shoving it back in the box. I wasn’t twelve anymore with my mother picking my clothes. The thing was, I kind of liked the dress. But it didn’t seem to be me. I took it out and held it up against myself and looked in the mirror.
Julius had come in and was making figure eights through my ankles before sitting down next to me. “What do you think? Should I wear it?” I asked. He blinked a few times and then I swear it was like he nodded. Was I really going to wear something my mother sent me?
I generally wore black or blue jeans. Nothing really girly. The dress was linen with spaghetti straps and had long narrow lacy inserts on the front and back and slid on easily. I had to admit that it fit perfectly and looked great. I added a black crocheted choker with a pearl in the middle that my aunt had made and found a pair of sandals. Bare shoulders didn’t work with the weather here, so I finished it off with a triangular-shaped shawl made with colorful yarn that complemented the color of the dress. Another of my aunt’s creations, of course.
Because of the white sky, the light looked the same as it had hours ago. As I went back across the street, I needed to look at my watch to tell that it was late afternoon. Once I was back on the grounds of Vista Del Mar, I noticed people coming down the sloped roadway toward the Lodge. Their attire surprised me. Because of the camplike feel and weather of Vista Del Mar, most of the guests usually dressed in casual clothes like cargo pants and jeans topped with Windbreakers or fleece jackets. Now I watched women in black sheath dresses totter in heels over the asphalt. The men wore suits or sport jackets. It made me glad I wasn’t around in 1963.
“Hey, Casey,” a voice called from the small parking area. I turned just as Sammy got out of his black BMW. Seeing him wearing a tuxedo didn’t really surprise me. It was what he wore when he was performing as the Amazing Dr. Sammy. He caught up with me and I saw him giving my outfit the once- and twice-over.
“You look nice,” he said. He paused for a breath. “What’s the occasion?”
Could he be the only one in town who didn’t know about my dinner with Dane? I hoped so. Sammy was Dr. Sammy Glickner and my ex-boyfriend. He’d relocated to Monterey claiming it was because he loved the area and had nothing to do with me or any possibil
ity of us getting back together.
He joined a local urology practice for his days and then pursued his real passion—magic—at night. I’d had mixed feelings when he’d gotten a regular gig performing table magic on weekends at Vista Del Mar. It was a more appreciative audience than he’d had at the biker bar in Seaside, but it put him in the middle of my business.
I liked Sammy. I liked him a lot. Just not as a boyfriend.
I gestured toward the Lodge building and mentioned meeting Madeleine and the mixer without actually saying that was what I’d dressed for.
“Kevin St. John hired me to mingle and do tricks. He insisted they had to be classic tricks. The kind that would have been around in 1963.” Sammy seemed pleased. “Those are the fun corny tricks.” He patted his sleeves and the magic wand sticking out of his pocket.
He opened the door and let me go in first. The crowd had swelled and people were standing around in small groups. Some were examining the row of placards that had been set up along the back wall featuring news stories of the time, lots of old pictures, and magazine ads for old products. The biggest crowd was at the end hovering around the movie poster of Bridget and the Bachelor, a blown-up rendition of Jimmie Phelps’s baseball card and finally a poster of Bobbie Listorie’s 1963 album cover. It probably helped that the three celebrities were standing next to their posters.
Wound Up In Murder Page 4
