by A. J. Carton
“I think I’ve got it,” Emma finally said. “We’ll tell them I’ve lost a ring. That after days of searching for it, I remembered taking it off while I was cooking the pasta sauce on Friday, and putting it on a shelf in their kitchen. I happened to hear you were meeting them tonight and suggested I might come along to see if I’d left the ring where I thought I had. Of course we’ll add that we’re terribly, terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”
Julie started the engine. “That’s good,” she said, sounding surprised. “I’m impressed. Do you always lie that well?”
“Whatever works,” Emma replied.
When they were on the highway, heading out of town, Julie resumed the conversation about the Buchanons.
“Funny thing is, Mom,” she said, “Barry was glad I called. He said that he and Lexie had wanted to clarify a few things about the press announcement I was drafting. Before its release tomorrow night. Specifically, Barry wanted to explain that Lexie was back on board with the gift. That I could forget everything that happened at Jardin. The gift was from the Buchanons, plural. In fact, the official designation for the Russian opera series will now be ‘Produced with Funds from The Baxter and Alexandra Buchanon Russian Arts Archive.’”
“Is it an archive?” Emma asked.
Julie shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess it is. Now. Apparently both Baxter and Alexandra love the name. It sounds so, I don’t know, presidential or something. Less crass than: the Buchanons are giving a ton of money to City Opera to ensure their social salvation.” She paused. “My guess is, the name change was all Lexie’s idea.”
“Why?” Emma asked.
“It takes away the sting of donating a lot of money in memory of her husband’s dead mistress. Personally, I think that after the scene at Jardin, Lexie and Barry reached some sort of well-insulated, rich couple, breakfast table agreement. Barry can do whatever he wants with whomever he pleases, in return for a separate Swiss bank account for Lexie and her promise never to embarrass him like that again. And the donation becomes an archive so that Lexie can chair its board for credibility. You know,” Julie took her hand off the steering wheel and swatted the air with it. “One of those deals.”
By then, they had pulled up to the first gate of the Buchanon Estate at the Buchanon Vineyards.
Julie opened her window and punched some numbers into a keypad stationed well back from a huge metal barrier. A few seconds later the gate slowly swung open and they began the initial approach to Middle-earth. It was a well maintained, winding road surrounded by vineyards. Emma had marveled at the setting on the day of the fundraiser when she first visited the Buchanons’ home to make her sauce.
After what seemed like a mile, Julie stopped the car in front of another keypad, opened her window and punched in more numbers. An even more ornate iron gate swung open and the car continued for another mile up a much steeper, more winding stretch of road. This time bordered by a forest of sequoias and pine trees.
Finally, they arrived at what looked like a piece of sculpture. Layer upon layer of multicolored metal formed into clouds. Emma remembered loving the sculpture the first time she saw it the day of the party. This time, in the fading light, she noticed that the colors of the clouds looked completely different.
Once Julie entered the right numbers into the nearby keypad, the clouds magically parted and the car entered a lush plateau. A midsummer night’s dream of gardens set amid ancient redwood groves. The other side of the plateau, the side opposite where they entered, sloped off into another vineyard. The one where Natasha Vasiliev died almost one week before.
The Buchanon’s house was situated beside a man-made bubbling brook. At first sight the old, two story brown shingle appeared deceptively modest. But as Emma had already discovered, the building had been completely redone. The living space almost doubled in back by the addition of a cluster of semi-attached guest houses surrounding the herb and flower garden where the silent auction had been held.
The Buchanons must have heard the car approaching. Or, more likely, they’d seen it on a surveillance screen inside the house. They stood on the front porch, hand in hand, when Julie pulled into one of several guest parking spots serving the main house and cottages. True to Julie’s prediction, waiting for them on the porch, the Buchanons looked the picture of marital bliss.
Barry even draped his arm around Lexie’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze before they descended the steps. Then he dropped his arm from his wife’s shoulder, smiled at Julie and stuck out his hand.
“Glad you could fit into our time slot,” he said, before cocking his head and staring at Emma.
Julie gave the explanation for Emma’s presence that they had rehearsed in the car.
That’s when Lexie leaned forward to give Emma a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered. “I was mortified when I heard all that cheesy gossip about your yummy spaghetti sauce.” She sighed. “Boy, I hope it didn’t hurt sales of your book. I’m ordering a copy for everybody I know for Christmas.”
Barry waved them through the open front door to their home. “C’mon in. Have you eaten? Morena can fix you something. Lexie and I have a dinner engagement, or I’d have suggested you stay with us for a bite. You’ll at least have a glass of wine, I hope.”
Julie good-naturedly refused. “No thanks. We have work to do. And our time is short. Besides,” she laughed, “I have to drive home.”
“Let’s get started then.” Barry ushered them through the living room into a study. It boasted a lovely view of the rear side of the house overlooking a swimming pool built to look like a series of natural springs flowing into enormous granite bowls.
“Sure you don’t want any wine?” Barry asked pouring himself and Lexie each a glass out of a magnum bottle labeled Reserve.
He handed Lexie her glass and motioned for Julie and Emma to sit down on one of two couches arranged facing each other across a narrow marble coffee table. “Now about the press release,” he began.
That’s when Lexie interrupted him. “Wait a minute, Barry.” She turned to Emma, “I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear all this boring stuff, Emma. Do you want to go into the kitchen and look for your ring?” She shook her head apologetically. “Honestly, I haven’t seen it. But then, I don’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen.” She and Barry exchanged amused smiles.
“And Morena didn’t mention it,” she continued. “Oh, don’t worry. Morena’s honest as the day is long. I mean,” she glanced at Barry for confirmation, “we leave all kinds of stuff around and she’s never taken a thing. Of course,” she snorted, “Barry pays her well enough.” She linked her arm around Emma’s. “I’ll show you the way to the kitchen. I hope the ring’s there.”
While Barry and Julie reviewed the draft of the press release, Lexie led Emma into the kitchen where Emma began her charade.
“I remember taking it off so I wouldn’t get it covered with tomato sauce,” she began. “And I put it,” she glanced around the kitchen. Her eyes landed on a high shelf that held two decorative Provencal faience pitchers. “I think I put it up there on that shelf.”
She walked over to the shelf, raised herself up on tippy toe and slid her fingers along the stainless steel surface. Then she turned to Lexie, “Darn! It’s not there. The ring’s not very valuable,” she added. “But it was my mother’s so I hope I can find it.”
She and Lexie spent a few minutes searching the kitchen. Then Lexie said, “Wait a minute. Morena’s in the den watching television. She sleeps downstairs,” she explained. “Why don’t I go ask her if she saw the ring?”
“That’s so kind of you,” Emma answered, somewhat taken aback by the woman’s thoughtfulness.
“As I said,” Lexie repeated, “I know Morena wouldn’t take it. But she might have seen it and put it somewhere thinking it was mine.”
Lexie was about to leave the kitchen when Emma thought of something. This might be her only chance to ask Lexie about the blinis.
“Oh, by th
e way,” she said, “Before you go, I’ve been wondering something. What was that you served in the blinis on Friday? It was delicious. Was it some sort of caviar? I don’t think I’ve ever had it before.”
Lexie shrugged. “It was chicken. Don’t get me wrong. Personally, I love caviar. Beluga, I mean. The rest of it’s yucky. But Barry wouldn’t spring for caviar. Even when Sergio told him to be careful or the Russians might trash the place.”
“But I thought,” Emma hesitated. “Didn’t Vera hand you some caviar?”
Lexie seemed to think for a minute. She frowned as though she’d remembered something unpleasant.
“Oh, you mean right before that drunken bass singer dumped my wine all over my dress?” she said. “Yeah. You’re right. Vera did hand me something. Did she say it was caviar?” Lexie shrugged. “Maybe she did. If so, Barry must have given it to her. I brought him out a really good glass of wine. Not that junk we served. And a little plate of special hors d’oeuvres for us to share. I put some of our own stash of Beluga on Sergio’s blinis. I hate those bacon things. Too much fat! Anyway,” she swatted her hand at Emma. “Let me go down and ask Morena about your ring.”
The second Emma heard Lexie on the stairs, she raced to the refrigerator and opened it. There, way in the back, was a tin labeled what? Yes! Beluga caviar. Emma almost grabbed it and stuffed it in her purse.
But she stopped herself. Steve was right. What was the point? The Buchanons had Beluga caviar in their refrigerator. So what? Lexie said she loved Beluga. The Buchanons could afford it. What did that prove? Nothing. Except that Lexie, who everyone knew hated her husband’s lover, Natasha, had the motive, opportunity and means to poison her.
The caviar was the one thing served at the party that, according to Sergio, was not on the menu. Lexie was the one suspect in the kitchen that night who had access to it. Along with Sergio. Emma thought about that. Wait a minute, she said to herself. What about Barry? She shook her head. Why would Barry kill Natasha?
Emma heard a door close somewhere downstairs. She softly shut the refrigerator door and walked back into the living room. When Julie and Barry looked up, Emma shook her head at them.
“No luck,” she sighed. “I must have left the ring somewhere else. I hope I didn’t wrap it up in a paper towel or something, and put it in my purse.” She assumed a worried look. “I did that once, and threw away a favorite earring.”
Julie rolled her eyes. Then she stood up. “I think we’re just about done.”
Barry motioned her to sit back down. “Wait, Julie. I want Lexie to look over the revisions to the press release. She’s practically adopted the Russian Arts Archive. It’s her baby. She’ll be president of the board.”
Julie shot Emma a knowing look. As if to say, what did I tell you? Then she sat back down just as Lexie entered the room.
Now Lexie was shaking her head. “Sorry, Emma. Morena says she didn’t see it.” She looked at her husband. “Barry, Emma can’t find her ring. She thinks she put it on a shelf in the kitchen. Could you come in there with us and check? We couldn’t see up on the top shelves.”
“Sure,” Barry smiled benevolently at his wife. “But after you approve this, honey.” He handed her the marked up draft of the press release.
Lexie took the press release from him. She read it over two or three times, making one minor change that Julie duly noted. Then she reread it. Smiled. And handed it back to Julie. “All done,” she said.
Whatever the Buchanons’ bargain was, Emma noted that Lexie took her part very seriously.
Emma and Julie were about to leave when Lexie reminded her husband of her request. “Just one last look.” She motioned with a nod of her head towards the kitchen.
Barry looked at his watch. “I’m warning you. We’re going to be late.”
“It won’t take a minute,” Lexie persisted. She looked at Barry and pouted. “I just know that if I lost a ring my sweet dear mother gave me, I’d be sick. No matter how little it cost.”
They walked quickly back into the kitchen and Barry dutifully checked all the top shelves. Of course, no ring was found.
“Darn!” Lexie looked genuinely crestfallen. “I really hoped we’d find it,” she said.
They were walking from the kitchen through a small breakfast room that led to the front hall, when Lexie suddenly stopped like she had noticed something. She turned around, walked back a couple of steps, and stared at the breakfast room wall for a full minute, her arms crossed on her chest. Then she glanced around the room before she asked, “Barry, where’s my cupcake?”
Emma and Julie traded confused looks.
By then, Barry had joined his wife staring at the wall. “Lexie,” he said. “You’re right. It is missing. Rasputin’s Cupcake.” He stopped and seemed to correct himself. “I mean, the little cupcake. It’s missing.”
Lexie was already combing the room looking for it everywhere. On the walls, under napkins, behind furniture, on the floor. “Come on!” she shouted. “Where is it?”
But hard as the couple searched, the cupcake simply was not there.
“Get Morena in here,” Barry ordered.
Lexie went to summon Morena. When she appeared in the doorway, Barry pointed to a space on the wall. “Morena, what happened to Rasputin’s Cupcake?” he shouted.
The poor girl blanched. “Raswho? Raswhose cupcake?” she asked, clearly having no idea what the man was talking about.”
Lexie explained in a gentler voice. “The painting of the cupcake by Wayne Thiebaud, Morena.” She glared at Barry and then continued. “You remember, Morena. The one I was so upset about. The one Barry gave me for Christmas and then wanted to give to Natasha Vasiliev for her birthday.”
“Oh. Jes.” Morena’s eyes got wide. She looked down at the floor and nodded, as though remembering something she would rather forget. “The leetle cupcake painting. The one jou say was so baluble. Ayayay!”
Emma watched Morena and wondered how many things Morena saw in that house and wanted to forget.
Suddenly the girl looked frightened. Like visions of ICE enforcement operations were dancing in her head. “I don’t know Missy Lexie. I…I didn’t touch.” She shook her head. “I didn’t do…”
Julie and Emma exchanged more puzzled looks.
Barry glanced at them. He must have thought he needed to explain.
“It’s a little Wayne Thiebaud painting of a cupcake,” he said. “I bought it for Lexie for Christmas last year. She’d seen a similar one at the museum in San Francisco and liked it.” He flashed Lexie a conciliatory smile. “It has a special meaning. I called Lexie cupcake when we were courting. I thought I’d surprise her with a cupcake of her own. Actually,” he noted unnecessarily, “it’s worth quite a bit.”
“I’ll say,” Lexie added.
“Well,” Barry continued. “Natasha saw it one night when she and Vera were here for dinner. For some reason, she loved it, too. Kept laughing and calling it Rasputin’s Cupcake. You know, because of that Russian. Lexie and I thought it was funny.” He glanced warily at his wife. “Didn’t we, dear?”
“Sure. Until last month when you suggested giving the painting to Natasha for her birthday.”
Emma thought she saw Morena shudder.
“I was joking,” Barry cried, his eyes darting from Lexie to Morena.
“Right,” Lexie replied. Then, as if by force of will, her demeanor resumed the composure Emma had noted when they arrived. Lexie forced a laugh. “I know. You were just joking, sweetie. And I got offended. It was silly of me.” She paused. “But gosh. What do you suppose happened to it? It’s worth a mint. It’s gotta be here somewhere. Unless.”
“Honey?” Barry cut in. “Are you absolutely sure you didn’t put it somewhere? Up in your bedroom?”
Emma wondered if he really meant, in your Swiss bank vault.
Lexie assumed a very innocent look, shook her head and replied. “No, sweetie, did you do something with it?”
Emma figured she really meant,
did you give it to your Russian mistress anyway?
“OK,” Barry looked around the room. “When’s the last time anyone saw the thing?”
Emma and Julie both put their hands up, palms forward.
“I’ve never seen it,” Julie answered.
“Me either,” Emma agreed.
Lexie’s tone turned matter of fact. “Barry, the truth is, I wouldn’t have seen it. I never use the breakfast room. The last time I was in here was when Howard and Lilah spent the night. But that was almost three weeks ago. We had breakfast in here. Wouldn’t we have noticed if it wasn’t on the wall?”
“You’re right,” Barry agreed. “Of course we saw it. Howard pointed to it and said that prices on Thiebaud oils have gone through the roof. But after that, I don’t recall.”
All of a sudden, Barry seemed to remember that Emma and Julie were still standing there. He smiled. “Look, you two don’t need to hear all this. I’m sure the painting will turn up.” He looked at his wife. “And we’re going to be late.”
Julie shook her finger at him. “In light of all that’s happened, my advice is to file a police report if you don’t find the painting tonight. So you can collect some insurance money if it doesn’t show up.”
Barry nodded. “Yes. Of course. You’re right.” Then he showed Julie and Emma out the door.
“What was that all about?” Julie asked as she started the car.
Emma shrugged. “I guess somebody stole their expensive painting.”
“Yeah, but what was all that about Rasputin’s Cupcake?”
“Oh.” Emma swatted the air with her hand. “Natasha was talking about Rasputin, that Russian mystic who was councilor to the last tsar. He got so powerful, his enemies tried to kill him with cupcakes poisoned with cyanide.”
“Tried to? What happened?” Julie asked. “Didn’t he die?”
“No,” Emma explained. “Legend has it he ate the cupcakes but didn’t die. Finally his assassins shot him in the head and dumped his body into the Neva River.”
