“That’s because they want something from you and I don’t.”
“You sure about that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Not even a hint about the way Tessa and I have been fussing and feuding for the past couple of years?”
Molly caught the unexpectedly mischievous twinkle in his eyes and grinned. She had a hunch she could get to like Jason Jeffries. She hoped like hell he wasn’t the murderer. “Okay. You caught me,” she admitted. “I would like to know more about that.”
“You interested just for the sake of gossip or you have a better reason?”
“I’m interested because my friend cares about every single environmental cause that stands to benefit from tonight’s event and this murder could put her and her causes in jeopardy.”
“Loyalty, huh? Can’t remember the last time I saw much evidence of that in this crowd,” he said, echoing Harley Newcombe’s opinion. “Most of ‘em would sooner stab each other in the back than lend a helping hand.”
Even though she’d heard the complaint before and seen evidence of it herself, she didn’t want to believe it. She wanted to believe that everyone was like Liza, who was totally committed and honestly believed it was her obligation to make the world a better place. Surely others who signed up for one of these charitable boards or committees felt the same way.
“Don’t you think you’re just a little bit cynical?” she said hopefully.
“A little bit? Hell, girl, I’ve lived a long time and I’m damned cynical. I have cause to be. Human beings have a tremendous capacity for hurting their fellow man, to say nothing of God’s creatures. What they’ll do to them is a crying shame.”
“Didn’t you and Tessa agree on that much at least?”
“Sure we did.”
“Then what was the problem between you?”
“To understand the answer to that you’d have to go back thirty years or so, before your time, I suspect.”
“Barely,” Molly admitted with great reluctance. Her thirtieth birthday was less than two weeks away. She was not looking forward to it. Too much of her life was not the way she’d planned for it to be. “So what happened between you and Tessa thirty years ago?”
Jason Jeffries knew how to draw out suspense. He ate the last bite of his sandwich, wiped his pudgy fingers delicately on a pristine white handkerchief he drew from an inner pocket, folded it neatly, and put it away. Then, with an air of nonchalance that had Molly gnashing her teeth, he took her arm and led her deep into the shadows on the terrace.
Considering that Jason Jeffries might very well be a suspect in Tessa’s murder, Molly knew she should have been terrified at being lured farther away from the crowd. A distant rumble of thunder and the dimming of the outdoor lights emphasized the warning. Instead of being frightened, however, her anticipation soared the way it always did when she knew some major clue was about to be revealed.
Only when they were alone and the bay was spread before them did he speak.
With his unflinching gaze pinned directly on her, he said quietly, “It all started when I married the damned woman.”
CHAPTER
THREE
Discovering that Tessa Lafferty and Jason Jeffries had been married was like discovering that a tiger and a bumble bee were distant cousins. Molly spent a full two minutes processing the image of the unlikely relationship before she managed a coherent word.
“What?” Okay, it was weak, but it was the best she could do given the astonishing nature of his revelation.
Jason Jeffries grinned. “Hadn’t heard that one, had you? Not many people have. Tessa liked to keep it a deep, dark secret. She hated failure, and believe me, our marriage was a doozy of a disaster from the first day.”
“Do the police know?”
“They do. Why would I try to hide a thing like that? Folks may not recall much about it, but there are records down at the courthouse.” He waggled a finger under her nose. “Let this be a lesson to you. There’s no use denying the truth. It’ll just backfire on you, when you least expect it.”
“But revealing it might move your name to the top of the list of suspects and distract the police from the real killer.”
He beamed at her. “Thank you for assuming that I’m innocent. You’re a good judge of character. I didn’t do it. If I was planning to murder Tessa, I would have done it years ago when I discovered she loved money, hated sex, and used men the way folks with a cold use tissues. Took me less than a month to catch on. We were divorced six miserable months later. Can’t for the life of me figure out how a man as smart as Roger Lafferty got himself married to her.”
“You did.”
“But I was young and naive at the time and I didn’t stay married to her the way Roger has.”
“You must have been …”
He scowled at her with feigned ferocity. “Don’t waste your energy trying to count backwards, young lady. I was forty-two. Should have known better, but Tessa was a decade or more younger and she was a beauty. That blond hair of hers was natural then, and just like silk. She had a figure that would stop men dead in their tracks. She had a way of making a man do things that were downright foolish.”
“Then don’t you suppose that’s the same effect she had on Roger?”
“By the time they met, she’d been around the block a few times. The word was out, especially in our crowd. He ignored it all. His wife had just died. He was lonely. And Tessa took advantage.”
“But you said yourself, men in love do foolish things.”
“They do indeed,” he agreed. “That’s why I avoided another folly like that one. After Tessa, I steered clear of women with marriage on their minds. Can’t trust ‘em to behave the same way, once they have their hooks in you.”
“You never married again?”
“No.”
She regarded him speculatively, searching for signs of regret, some hint of sorrow over his ex-wife’s death. “Some might think that indicates you never got over Tessa. Were you still in love with her?”
“Good lord, no!” he said with genuine horror at the notion.
“Then why the fights?”
“She was a vain, silly woman. Lately she actually latched on to a little power, thanks to Roger’s standing in the community. Power and stupidity are a dangerous combination. I warned her again and again that she didn’t know what the hell she was doing. I’m on a lot of boards in this town. I know a thing or two about fund-raising and a lot about business. I got my hands on the books after a couple of these fund-raisers and threw a holy tantrum over the waste. I threatened to expose her as a fraud if she didn’t start bringing the profit margin in line before we had the IRS staring over our shoulders, eyeballing every little thing, questioning our nonprofit status.”
That might have been reason for Tessa to fear Jason, perhaps even a motive for her to murder him, but Jason wasn’t the one who’d been found floating in the bay.
“Did you two quarrel tonight?” Molly asked, wondering if perhaps Tessa had lured Jason to that secluded spot intending to clobber him with something, only to have the tables turned on her in a struggle. Not that there was any indication from Jason Jeffries’s perfectly tailored, unmussed tuxedo that he’d struggled with anything more taxing than that oversized roast beef sandwich. Of course, to a man of his girth and height, a woman of Tessa’s fragile frame would be little more than a pesky nuisance. He could probably have nabbed her by the nape of her neck and tossed her aside without even breathing hard, even if he was in lousy shape.
“Nope. No quarrel,” he said.
The flat denial shattered the volatile scenario Molly was envisioning.
He elaborated. “Never said a word to her. I spent most of the evening talking to that perky young gal who’s after my money to help save the manatees.”
“Liza Hastings,” Molly said, wondering how Liza would take to being described as either “perky” or a “gal.” She was close to ten years older than Molly. Thanks to incredible gen
es and an exercise regimen that would do in Jane Fonda, she didn’t look her age. However, she did not suffer sexist little euphemisms kindly. Of course, chances were good that Jason Jeffries knew that and simply refused to mend his ways to suit her.
“Liza,” he said. “That’s the one. Girl’s got a head on her shoulders. If she’d been running this thing tonight, they’d have made a bundle.”
“I suspect she’d agree with you about that.”
He regarded her with renewed interest. “Is she your friend, the one you mentioned earlier?”
“Yes.”
He nodded approvingly. “I like that. A couple of tough cookies. You keep in touch. Tell your friend to make her plans. Don’t schedule anything before the height of the winter season, though. Might as well take all those snowbirds for all they’re worth. She can send me the bills. I’ll underwrite whatever she wants to put together to save the manatees. Sign up that Buffet person to help. We’ll teach this town a thing or two about fund-raising.”
He turned and strolled away with astonishing grace for a man of his age and size. Judging from the direction in which he went, Molly had the distinct impression Jason Jeffries intended to try to slip away from the murder scene. She warred with her conscience over whether she ought to try to prevent him from going, then decided that this would be the perfect time to turn over a new leaf. She would leave his capture in the hands of the police.
• • •
As she made her way back to the central courtyard, enclosed in recent years to protect it against the ravages of salt air and humidity, Molly toted up the suspects so far. It was an incredibly short list, and two people she happened to like were on it—Jason Jeffries and Liza. Before the evening was out she had to see to it that they were cleared or, at the very least, that the suspects list grew to a sufficient number to assure reasonable doubt.
Based on what Jeffries had told her, she wondered if Roger Lafferty was still as enamored of his wife as he had been. Perhaps his patience had been wearing thin and some incident tonight had sent him over the edge. The only way to find out would be to talk to him. Since that seemed unlikely given the cadre of protectors surrounding him, she decided a little chat with the Laffertys’ closest friends would be in order. Surely Carl and Mary Ann Willoughby were around here someplace. Hopefully, not right at Roger’s side.
Molly eased around the fringes of the courtyard, hoping to spot the couple who usually cochaired every event involving the Laffertys. Instead she ran smack into Michael.
“Where the devil have you been?” he demanded.
She regarded the tense set of his jaw with some surprise. “You sound upset.”
He muttered a curse in Spanish, one Molly had made it a point to look up since he used it so often. If her son had used the English version, she would have grounded him for a month. She had less say over Michael’s choice of vernacular.
“Upset?” he said finally in English. “Why would I be upset, amiga? A woman was killed less than two hours ago. Someone in this crowd likely did it. And given your foolish penchant for snooping—”
“Sleuthing,” she corrected. It was a fine distinction, and an important one to her way of thinking.
Eyes black with anger glared back at her as Michael ran through his entire repertoire of colorful curses, at least one of which Molly suspected implored the gods to lend divine assistance. He looked as if he were just itching to shake some sense into her. Molly’s chin went up.
“Don’t use that sort of language around me,” she said huffily, and turned on her heel.
“You don’t speak Spanish,” he shot back, though he looked somewhat chagrined when she peeked at him over her shoulder.
“I speak enough,” she informed him.
His gaze narrowed. “Enough to carry on a conversation? Or just enough to get yourself into trouble on the street?”
“Tío Pedro says I order dinner in perfect Spanish.”
“Tío Pedro would tell you that if you mangled every word. He’s a gentleman.”
“A gentleman who would be appalled by the language you just used around a lady.”
“Okay, yes,” he conceded. “I apologize. But that does not negate the stupidity of your going off alone in the dark in the midst of a murder investigation.”
“I wasn’t alone,” she said, and recounted her conversation with Jason Jeffries. As she’d expected, the information she’d gleaned took Michael’s mind off what he’d viewed as her foolish disappearance.
“By the way, I’m sorry if you were worried,” she added at the end. It had been a long time since anyone had genuinely cared what happened to her.
“I was worried,” he said emphatically. “You tend to think you’re indomitable. It’s a dangerous State of mind when you’re messing with a murderer.”
Molly conceded the logic in his warning. “I know you’re right. I just assume everyone will dismiss me as some naive, slightly nosy single mother and spill their guts to me without thinking anything of it.”
“They might have done that six months ago, but I suspect most of these people know all about your involvement in solving those other murder cases. They’ll be on guard with you, or worse, they’ll consider you an enemy who’s getting too close to the truth. The good Lord may protect fools, but even He can do only so much. For your sake and the sake of your son, stay out of the investigation, Molly. I can’t put it any plainer than that.”
“But Liza could need my help.”
“I still wish you’d tell me why you’re so convinced she needs help.”
“I’ve explained that,” she said stubbornly.
“She’s openly stated that she detested the woman,” he repeated. “Okay, then, the best way you can help Liza is by being supportive and staying alive. Meddling in the case won’t do it.” He watched closely as if to assure himself that she’d gotten the message. Finally, he nodded in satisfaction. “I want to go fill the police in on what Jason Jeffries told you.”
“He said he’d already told them.”
“And you believed him?”
“Yes.”
“Molly, a man who just committed a murder might not be above a little lying.”
“He didn’t do it,” she said staunchly. “Not any more than Liza did.”
“I’m glad you’re convinced, but I think I’ll share the information with the police just the same. Stay put,” he said when she started to wander off in the opposite direction.
She stayed where she was until he was out of sight, then set out to mingle some more. Inside. In plain view of lots of witnesses. There was no telling what she might overhear. Listening wouldn’t be breaking her vow to Michael. Not exactly, anyway.
Besides, she really wanted to get a better sense of what Tessa Lafferty had been like. Clearly Liza and Jason Jeffries had pretty jaded views of the woman. Her own contact with her had been limited. Surely there were others who held more kindly memories.
Then, again, if all the rumors she’d heard over the years were true, maybe not.
CHAPTER
FOUR
Tessa Lafferty was a bitch. Everyone said so, according to Liza’s frequent, biased reports over the months of planning for this gala. Everyone had a story to tell about how Tessa had slighted them, run roughshod over them, offended them, or, in some instances, even betrayed them. They discussed her lousy behavior as if tolerating it were some kind of badge of honor. Molly was surprised half the women on the committee hadn’t gone out and purchased buttons declaring I SURVIVED TESSA LAFFERTY.
And yet, to Molly’s amazement, they worked with her. When she’d asked why, Liza had pointed to her powerful name, her sizable bank account, and her formidable determination to get the job done. Mary Ann Willoughby had also run interference.
Despite the enjoyment her committee had once taken in ripping her to shreds, apparently things had changed now that the discovery of her body indicated some discretion was called for. As Molly circled through the rooms surrounding the courtyard on Vi
zcaya’s lower floor—the Adam Library, the Renaissance Hall, the East Loggia, the Music Room, the Banquet Hall, and then finally the Tea Room—she was astounded at how many of these previously declared enemies suddenly adored the woman.
“So generous,” said one aging dowager, who only a few weeks ago had cut Tessa dead in a Bal Harbour boutique favored by the society matrons. Word of the slight by Patrice MacDonald had spread like wildfire. Even Molly, who was not normally plugged into that particular rumor mill, had heard about the incident by nightfall. Liza’s report had been especially gleeful.
“Such an organizer,” commented another, who’d battled to have Tessa removed as chairwoman for one of her own pet charity functions.
“A class act. Truly a class act,” noted yet another, whom Molly recognized as the wife of a man who’d just recently had a widely known, passionate fling with the ever-so-classy Tessa.
The three women managed to deliver their praise with straight faces, a feat that Molly felt was deserving of some mention. She joined them against the backdrop of a stained glass wall beyond which the lit gardens were on display. Since all that glass reminded her of a church, perhaps it would be enough to inspire a few confessions.
“I’m sure you all must be distraught,” she said, lacing the observation with a heavy dose of somber sympathy that she hoped would cover her inexplicable nosiness. “I know you all traveled in the same social circle. How long have you known Tessa?”
She glanced first at Patrice MacDonald, whose platinum blond hair had been lacquered into place with sufficient spray to withstand a hurricane. Her beaded gown dipped low in front to reveal an impressive amount of cleavage. It was a daring display for someone of her age. Not even the diamond and pearl necklace at her throat could draw attention upward.
“Years,” the dowager said with a frosty smile. “I recall when Tessa moved to Miami.”
There was every indication from her tone that Patrice still considered Tessa to have been an interloper, even though Molly knew for a fact that Tessa’s family had settled in Miami at least fifty years earlier. The two women had grown up within blocks of each other in Coral Gables, had attended the same private schools and the same coming-out parties. Their fathers had both served on the prestigious and very exclusive Orange Bowl Committee, which only in recent years had reluctantly begun to add women and minorities to its membership.
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