Murder in the One Percent

by Saralyn Richard

  The sounds of music and voices, the blended smells of seasonings, the energy of party preparations brought her no comfort. “Where is Preston when I really need him?” she mumbled to herself. As she drifted into another pill-induced sleep, she fought against the notion that perhaps marrying Preston had been a gigantic mistake.

  ***

  Kitty and Gerald were the first to descend the stairs for the party. “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” from the Big Chill soundtrack pulsed through the house.

  “One of my favorites,” Kitty said, bopping her shoulders and ample chest to the music.

  Gerald took her left hand in his right and swung her into a jitterbug step. The flounce at the bottom of her gold pencil skirt floated around her tanned legs.

  “Ooh, it feels like a party for sure. Love this music,” Kitty gushed. She stopped dancing as she caught sight of the sleeping beauty on the couch. “Oh, how insensitive of me,” she said, “dancing while poor Nicole is in so much pain.”

  “It won’t be much of a birthday celebration if we focus on Nicole, instead of John E.,” Gerald said. “Besides, Nicole looks like she is in another world at the moment. Those pills must be very strong.”

  “Who’s very strong?” John E. asked, as he entered the room. He was dressed in gray wool slacks of the finest thread, the collar of a white-on-white pinstripe shirt peeking through the V-neck of a soft red cashmere sweater. He was impeccably groomed, his hair and goatee as perfect as if he had been barbered just minutes ago. Even his fingernails were perfectly shaped and finished with a matte shine. He might be crossing over into Medicare, but he didn’t have to look like it.

  Gerald replied, “I was saying Nicole’s medication must be very strong, since she seems oblivious to the music and our voices. It’s such a shame about her injury.”

  Kitty said, “Don’t you think she’d be more comfortable in a bedroom, away from all of the noise of the party?”

  “Caro asked her earlier. We could have moved things around to accommodate her, but she insisted she’d be just fine on the sofa. Besides, she couldn’t bear the thought of having her foot touched in any way. I can understand it,” John E. said. “Anyway, she’s probably in la-la land from that oxycodone. It’s the strongest painkiller in pill form.”

  Kitty saw the bartender pouring champagne into crystal flutes and excused herself. Returning, she held the glass aloft. “Let me be the first tonight to toast you, John E. May all your birthdays be as joyous, and may we celebrate many more happy occasions together.” She leaned over to plant a kiss on John E.’s cheek before tasting the fizzy libation. “Mmmm...this is go-o-o-d,” she exclaimed. “I may forego dinner altogether.”

  “Better pace yourself, Kitty,” John E. warned. “The best is yet to come.” He chuckled with the confidence of a man who had memorized the nine-course meal and wine pairings.

  Chapter 15

  By seven-thirty, Andrea and Stan had arrived, and the party was in full swing. Everyone was dressed in winter finery, dressy casual, and aside from Nicole, whose locomotion had been all but non-existent, and Preston, who had been too busy in the afternoon hours, everyone looked refreshed and ready for fun. Everyone, except for Margo, who hadn’t yet come downstairs.

  Staff was passing steaming hors d’oeuvres and icy champagne. Nat King Cole’s mellow voice filled the background with golden notes about love. Libby and Les, holding hands, approached to offer sympathy to Nicole, who decided she should have a little something to eat after so much medicine. She downed a large tidbit of tangy ramaki. “Better than hospital food,” she mumbled.

  “Well, I hope you get to feeling better,” Libby said.

  “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll feel better when Preston and I get back home,” Nicole said, suddenly realizing that Preston was nowhere to be seen in the roomful of people. “Preston knows the best doctors and hospitals. He’ll make sure I get excellent care.” She flinched and grimaced as the pins dug into her flesh. Just where is he, anyway?

  ***

  Preston had wandered into the office, hoping to find Margo. Instead, he bumped into Andrea, who was stalling before having to mingle with the other guests at the long night’s dinner party. She was flipping through a local magazine featuring Brandywine Valley events, The Hunt. In the latest issue were pictures of Bucolia.

  “Oh, hi, Preston,” Andrea said. “I’ve been wanting to ask you about Nicole’s prognosis. They didn’t tell me much when I left the hospital.”

  Just what I need, another busybody interfering with me and my life. “The doctor says she’ll be fine. Don’t forget, Nicole is young and healthy.”

  “Well, if she needs anything, I’ll be glad to help out. After this morning’s accident, I feel a bit attached to Nicole, and I do know most of the local physicians.”

  “Very nice of you,” Preston replied, looking beyond her toward the staircase.

  “Are you looking for someone in particular?” Her tone was that of a schoolteacher who’d caught someone cheating.

  “Uh, um, no,” Preston replied. “I just have a lot on my mind with Nicole and all.”

  ***

  Just as Preston was about to climb the stairs to see what Margo was up to, she appeared at the top of the stairs. Her winter white dress was an off-the-shoulder embossed fabric that clung to her in all the right places. Her burnished hair was combed over her right shoulder, and her emerald eyes sparkled. She is stunning, Preston thought for the second time that day. Maybe not in the way that Nicole is with her smooth skin and her athletic figure, but stunning nonetheless. Margo’s beauty defied her age. The feathery lines on her face were barely perceptible, and her eyes shone with some secret joy. Preston could hardly wait to get her into bed.

  “Hello, Preston,” Margo said, as if she were merely greeting an old friend, and descended the stairs, graceful long legs in the lead.

  “I was just wondering what was taking you so long to come downstairs,” Preston began, taking Margo’s elbow.

  Margo disengaged her elbow from his grasp and made eye contact. “I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup and outfit. By the way, how is Nicole feeling?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet,” Preston whispered. “But I will. Don’t worry.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried at all,” Margo oozed with coolness. “Either you will, or you won’t.”

  “Let me get you a glass of champagne,” Preston offered.

  “I’m perfectly capable of getting my own champagne.” Margo walked around Preston and into the family room, where she made a grand entrance on the scale of Audrey Hepburn’s at the ball in My Fair Lady.

  ***

  “Don’t you think you should be in there taking care of your bride, Preston?” Gerald taunted, as he pushed his way past on his way back from the powder room.

  “Mind your own business,” Preston retorted, his eyes following Margo’s shapely bottom as she sashayed over to speak to Kitty.

  Following his glance, Gerald mistook the target of Preston’s longing look, thinking it was Kitty. “Listen, you. Don’t get any ideas about my wife. You won’t live to see the light of day if you mess with her.”

  Preston grinned wickedly, revealing arctic white implants and deep dimples. “Be careful making threats, Gerald. You never know who might be listening.” He headed for a waiter with an hors d’oeuvres tray. As an afterthought, he tossed over his shoulder, “Besides, you might jeopardize that big career of yours.”

  Gerald clamped his fists at his sides. I really want to kill this guy, he thought, not for the first time. He vocalized, more to himself than to anyone else, “This time, you have really gone too far--way too far.”

  Chapter 16

  After Preston’s remark about all of their friends being losers, Caro had reexamined the seating chart for dinner. With nine courses, the dinner would take approximately five hours, a long time for dinner partners to have to get along--or not. She wanted to preserve the boy-girl-boy-girl pattern as much as possible, and s
he wanted to split married couples up, just to make for more interesting dynamics. She knew she couldn’t seat Preston next to Vicki, Margo or Julia, and probably Libby wasn’t a good idea either. Nicole would probably not be at the table for long, if at all. Even then it would be best to have her placed at the end of the table, where she could prop up her leg. That left Kitty and Caro, herself. What a shame, she thought, that I have to use a negative seating arrangement, instead of a positive one, but with Preston as a guest, that is how it has to be.

  The seating arrangement looked like this:

  Andrea--Leon--Margo--Gerald--Julia--Les--Vicki

  Caro John E.

  Preston--Kitty--Marshall--Libby--Stan--Nicole

  As cocktail hour wound down, one of the servants sounded a miniature xylophone, calling everyone to the table. Vicki downed her champagne, taking Leon’s arm with her free hand. “Let’s go, darling. Believe it or not, I am starving.”

  Marshall had been talking to Gerald about the fluctuations in the futures market. Each was asking questions of the other, most likely trying to gain some insight that could be used to enrich his own personal portfolio. Both men gesticulated with enthusiasm, as though imparting economic wisdom with every sentence, but neither gave up anything of value in the exchange. That was one of the unwritten rules of the one percent. “We’ll have to pick this up later,” Gerald said, nodding his head toward the dining room to signal to Kitty that he would meet her there.

  Libby, Les, and Margo were talking to Julia, who reported on the latest Broadway hit, Strychnine, at the Imperial Theatre. The three ladies rose from a grass-cloth sofa as if joined at the hip, the fabrics of their chic outfits falling sleekly about them. Together they headed in the direction of the dinner gong.

  Andrea and Stan walked in with Caro. Stan commented, “What a lovely table, Caro, dear. You always entertain so exquisitely.” Unlike the dinner of the previous evening, which had been country casual, tonight’s place settings and centerpieces were pure elegance. The silver and crystal sparkled in the light that emanated from centerpieces consisting of water-filled tubes displaying floating orchids and protea flowers. Battery-operated lights shone at the bases, while floating candles topped each. The effect was fairyland.

  Preston assisted Nicole into the rented, freshly delivered wheelchair and pushed her to the end of the table, where she could sit with her leg propped up on an ottoman. His manner was brusque as he lifted her from wheelchair to dining chair. As she eased her arm from around his neck, she whispered, “Preston, what’s wrong?”

  “We’ll talk later. Now isn’t the time.”

  “I have to know. Are you upset with me?” Her voice, dimmed by the oxycodone, came out as a soft whine.

  “I just need to get through this night, Nicole. It’s been a long day, and I just want to get this over with.”

  “Seriously?” Nicole replied. “You had a long day? You bastard!” The volume of Nicole’s voice had risen from a whisper to an almost-normal utterance, causing everyone seating themselves around the table to suddenly silence their conversations and turn their eyes toward the head of the table.

  Preston’s anger traveled at the speed of light from his eyes to hers, and apparently getting the message, Nicole clamped her mouth, if not her feelings, shut.

  Margo, overhearing the tail end of Nicole’s remarks, smiled primly, certain Preston had done what she had asked. Preston was soon to be hers again. As much as this pleased and excited her, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for Nicole. She remembered all too well how it had felt to be abandoned by Preston Phillips.

  Gerald, seating himself on Margo’s left, shot scathing looks at Preston as he took the seat next to Kitty. Of all the people at this table, why did Caro have to put Kitty next to the devil incarnate? Assessing the way Kitty tilted her head as she smiled at Preston, he felt the familiar tickle of jealousy.

  Similarly, Preston gazed across the table at Margo, seated next to that jerk, Gerald, and wished his cousin had been more intuitive in designing seating arrangements.

  Margo, catching the look of wishful thinking on Preston’s face, and thinking that playing hard to get was working spectacularly well, decided to flirt a bit with Gerald. She knew her friend Kitty wouldn’t mind. After all, Kitty was already flirting shamelessly with Preston.

  Vicki held the impressive menu at eye level, candlelight flickering through the delicate paper. “Wow, John E.,” she said to her table partner, “you and Caro have outdone yourselves this time.”

  “I hope everyone enjoys it,” John E. replied. “Fine foods and wines for my fine friends.”

  Nicole, on John E.’s other side, inhaled to push back the faint nausea that came from the smell of bouillabaisse as it was being served. “I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  John E. wondered why Caro had placed him next to the two women who would be least likely to enjoy his company for this five-hour meal. Nicole would probably excuse herself from the table soon, and Vicki would likely imbibe enough to be there in name only. So much for being the man of the hour. Well, I’m not going to let anything spoil this extravagant meal. He lifted his soup spoon to signal for everyone to begin.

  ***

  Andrea was into the third course, halibut cheeks, when she realized with a sudden ping of insight that she was actually having a not-half-bad time. If she couldn’t be seated by Stan, she at least had her second choice in Caro, one of the most gracious people she knew. Preston and Kitty, across the table, furnished an ongoing source of amusement with the kind of witty repartee rich, intelligent people specialized in. Kitty’s lilting giggle at Preston’s White House stories kept them rolling ceaselessly. Even poor Leon, seated to her left, served as an interesting dinner partner. His new protocol for electronic medical checkups might really take off. His optimism, at least, was refreshing. She noticed, too, how Leon kept leaning over to check on Vicki.

  It was touching to see how solicitous he was of her needs after so many years of marriage. Of course, their mutual grief over losing their only son in that tragic accident had probably brought them closer than most couples their age.

  Gerald and Margo were laughing about remembered fraternity pranks. “Do you remember the time someone put a fiber laxative into the barbecue sauce at Friday night dinner? Everyone had the runs for the next two days.”

  As the servers removed the fish course, replacing it with a light salad, Leon looked toward Vicki as if to signal something. She stood up, teetering a bit on her Stuart Weitzmans. Leon rushed to her side, putting an arm around her and holding her close. He was the keel to Vicki’s ship. Her balance absolutely depended on him.

  Leon looked at John E., silently asking the professor for permission to speak. John E. smiled and nodded, and Leon began. “Well, I know you’ll agree with me this is quite a birthday celebration.” The guests applauded softly. “Vicki and I can’t thank you enough for including us.” He looked back and forth from John E. to Caro. “Like most of you, our friendship with the Campbells goes way back, and it has survived some great and terrible times.” Vicki’s eyes filled at the mention of “terrible times,” but she nodded. “John E., you are a brilliant professor, entrepreneur, and gentleman farmer, but most of all, you are a great friend. In over forty-five years of friendship, I can’t think of a single bad moment to roast you with.” He paused to look around the table, his eyes pausing when they landed on Preston. “Anyway,” he continued, “you all probably noticed on the menu that Vicki and I brought a birthday gift for everyone to share at the end of this fantastic meal. We hope you enjoy the home-made truffles.”

  “Thank you, Leon and Vicki,” John E. replied, lifting his glass in a toast-back. “I hope everyone is enjoying the food and drink. The secret is to go slowly and drink lots of water along with the wines. Of course, at our age...” And he paused to look at Nicole, Libby, and Les. “...well, at most of our ages, going slowly is not a problem.”

  As eating, drinking, and conversation resumed, Andrea
noticed Nicole was pushing the pricey food around on her plate.

  John E. must have noticed, too. “You really have no appetite, my dear,” he said. “I’m sorry you can’t enjoy this feast.”

  Nicole shrugged. “I guess I should’ve stayed in the hospital after all? I’m totally not hungry, and my foot is killing me. Back hurts, too, from sitting in this position so long.”

  “Why not excuse yourself from the table and make yourself more comfortable? We certainly understand.”

  “Yes, I think I will. You and Caro have been very nice.”

  “Preston, why don’t you help Nicole get settled in the other room? She’s had enough partying for tonight, I’m afraid,” John E. called.

  Preston looked up. “I’ll be right back,” he said directly to Kitty’s cleavage then met Margo’s eyes across the table as he rose to do his husbandly duty.

  Nicole remained silent as she slipped her arm around Preston’s neck, and he lifted her into the wheelchair. Every slight movement brought a grimace, but no cries.

  Andrea sympathized with Nicole. In her shoes, she would have hated being a party pooper and a burden to her husband, so much so that she might have had to howl with self-pity.

  ***