“No.” Estelle’s lips formed a firm line.
“She wasn’t seeing anyone?”
“I couldn’t say.”
I suspected she could, but loyalty to her friend kept her silent.
Was Carol having an affair? With whom? From a distance she looked like Joan Mardike. Had Jane Addison mistaken Carol for Joan? Had Carol and Stan been a couple?
I signed for my dress, accepted the hanging bag, and searched out Grace. “Ready?”
She nodded.
“Let’s find Aunt Sis.”
We located her in the jewel salon.
She waved us over to the counter. “Which ones?”
She pointed to a velvet cloth. Robin’s egg blue chalcedony and gold chandelier earrings lay next to diamond encrusted hoops.
“To go with the Mollie Parnis?” I confirmed.
“Yes.”
“The blue ones.” Grace and I spoke as one.
Aunt Sis completed her purchase. “I need shoes.”
“This is quite the date you’re planning,” said Grace.
Aunt Sis answered with a twinkle and a secret smile.
“Why don’t you two head to Woolf’s? I want to stop by Joan’s.”
Grace’s forehead wrinkled. “By yourself? Will you be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” Saturday shoppers crowded the sidewalks—no strangler could get close to me. “I’ll meet you in twenty minutes.”
“If you’re not there, we’ll come looking.”
“I’ll be there. Shoe department.”
With a doubtful tilt to her head, Grace walked toward Woolf’s with Aunt Sis. I hurried around the corner to Joan’s shop.
She looked up from a ledger when I walked in. She was pale, and lavender smudges darkened the skin beneath her eyes, but she smiled a welcome. “I thought you’d drop by.”
“You heard what happened to Carol Schneider?”
Joan’s expression turned grim. “I did.”
“She looked like you.”
“I know.” Joan dropped her pen onto the ledger’s pages and laced her fingers together. “I can’t think about that anymore.”
Once again, my gaze caught on the size of her hands. “Can you think of any reason—”
“I can’t. I spent last night staring at the ceiling and came up with nothing.”
“You’re here by yourself?”
“For the moment. Plaza security checks on me every fifteen minutes.”
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
She nodded toward the street outside her shop window. “There are so many police officers on the Plaza today, the shop is probably the safest place I can be. Besides, Bill will be back soon.”
“Bill is here with you?”
“He ordered lunch and went to pick it up.”
Husbands. Priorities.
“Promise me you’ll be careful.”
She nodded.
“Did you know her?” I asked.
“Carol?”
“Mmmm.”
“I’d met her.”
“Is there any chance she and Stan—”
Joan wrinkled her nose. “Anything’s possible, but she was young and attractive.”
“A man’s age matters less when there’s a checkbook involved.”
“You’re right,” she ceded. “It’s possible.”
The door to the shop opened and two women entered.
I left Joan to help her new customers and walked toward Woolf’s, lost in thought. Was there a reason Stan might want Carol dead? It wasn’t as if she could tell his wife about their affair. I stopped on the sidewalk and squeezed my eyes shut. Who? Why? Three dead women, no clear motive, and my best suspect was a woman I genuinely liked.
A breeze snuck past the scarf tied at my neck, and I shivered and hurried to Woolf’s.
We arrived home, and Aggie opened the back door before our feet touched the stoop.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” The skin at the corner of her eye twitched. “Mrs. Walford has called six times.”
Uh-oh. “Did she leave a message?”
“She expects you for brunch at the club at eleven thirty tomorrow morning. She’s out for the rest of the day, but you’re to call and leave a message confirming.”
Aunt Sis grinned and patted my shoulder. “Have fun, dear.”
“Mrs. Walford asked me to tell you she included Mr. Thayer in the invitation. He accepted.”
Aunt Sis’s grin ran away.
“Me, too?” asked Grace.
“She specified a family brunch.”
“Sounds fun.” Sounding bright took effort. Effort required coffee. I stepped into the kitchen and winked at Mr. Coffee. “What’s everyone doing tonight?”
Aggie smoothed her kaftan. “Mac and I have tickets to a jazz concert. There’s a roast in the oven. Just take it out when the timer dings.”
“Hodge is taking me to a party.”
Aunt Sis twinkled (she couldn’t help it). “Gordon’s taking me to the American Restaurant for dinner.”
“That means you’ll be home alone,” said Grace.
“Max will be with me. And Pansy.” I turned to Aggie. “Did Prudence call?”
“Not a word.”
The dogs’ gazes begged me not to call her.
“What a mess.”
“I’ll cancel, Mom. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“You will not cancel. I will curl up on the couch, watch TV, and write thank-you notes. Doors locked. Dogs on alert. Completely safe.”
“But—”
“No buts. Besides, Anarchy will come home.” Eventually.
No one moved.
“Go.” I shooed them along. “Get ready. I’ll be fine.”
“But—”
I cut off Grace’s objection. “Go.”
Grace huffed up the stairs.
“She worries.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Aunt Sis’s brows rose to an insulting height.
“I’ll lock the doors, keep the dogs with me, and stash my gun in my pocket.”
“I can stay home.”
“Has he asked you yet?”
“Not officially.”
“And he’s taking you to the American? No way are you skipping that dinner. Go. Get ready. Change your clothes. Freshen your makeup. Comb your hair.”
“I hate leaving you.”
“I’ll manage,” I said dryly.
Aunt Sis ceded and climbed the stairs.
“I can cancel.”
“Don’t you start too. I could do with some time alone.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
In the next hour my daughter, my aunt, and my housekeeper left on dates. I took the roast out of the oven and carved myself a slice, added a roast potato and a handful of carrots to my plate, and ate at the kitchen counter.
“Don’t even think about going for that roast,” I warned Pansy.
I don’t trust her, said Mr. Coffee.
That made two of us.
She’s a bad influence.
I glanced at the dogs who wore matching angelic expressions.
“If you stay—”
Pansy’s tail wagged wildly.
“—there are ground rules.”
She grinned.
“You follow the rules, or you get sent to obedience training.”
She glanced at Max. Was I serious?
He yawned. She’s been threatening me for years.
“This time I mean it.”
Ding dong.
I rose from my stool. “You two are coming with me.” Leaving them alone with the cooling roast tempted fate.
With a gun in my pocket and two dogs at my heels, I approached the door.
The front light illuminated Anarchy, casting deep shadows beneath his eyes and drawing lines from his nose to the corner of his lips.
Seeing him loosened anxious knots in my neck and shoulders. I pulled open the door. “Hi.”
“Aggie made a roast. Are you hungry? Wait—” I glanced around the empty front hall “—where did the dogs go?” I ran to the kitchen.
Pansy stood on her hind legs and reached for the roasting pan.
“No!”
She ignored me.
Anarchy closed his hand around her collar and tugged.
I pushed the roasting pan well out of her reach. “You are a naughty dog.”
Pansy grinned.
“Want to go to obedience training?” Not an idle threat.
“A dog trainer?” Anarchy asked.
“A three-week intensive.”
Max regarded me in horror.
“No roast beef for you two.”
“Have you talked to Prudence?”
I handed him a knife. “Will you carve?
As he sliced the roast, I watched the dogs.
Max’s brows wrinkled with worry.
Pansy focused on the roast.
“She’s pretty,” I said to Max. “But how smart is she?”
He grumbled.
“We haven’t heard a word from Prudence. Aggie thinks she let Pansy go on purpose.” I held out a clean plate.
Anarchy transferred two perfectly cooked and cut slices and added potatoes, onions, and carrots. “Aggie may be right.”
Pansy’s tail wagged.
“How was your day?” A stunningly domestic question—one I wanted back.
“Frustrating. Those with motives have alibis.”
“Wine?”
“Please.”
“Red?”
Anarchy nodded, and I poured him a glass.
We sat side by side at the island and ate.
“What did you do today?”
“Shopping with Aunt Sis and Grace.”
“Buy anything?”
“A dress I can wear to funerals.”
“That’ll come in handy.”
We smiled at each other over our wine glasses’ rims.
“I think Carol Schneider was having an affair with Stan Goddard.”
“Wow. Why?”
“Because Jane Addison said Joan was. But Jinx said she wasn’t. And Jinx is usually right. But what if Jane saw Carol with Stan and mistook her for Joan?”
Anarchy closed his eyes.
“Also, Estelle behaved strangely when I asked her about Carol.”
“Estelle?” Anarchy’s eyes opened, and I stared into their coffee-brown depths.
“The saleswoman at Halls.”
“You went to Halls?”
“We went shopping.” Halls was part of the experience.
“Is that where you bought the dress?”
“It is.”
“Where else did you go?”
“Swanson’s, where Aunt Sis bought a darling Mollie Parnis ensemble. Woolf Brothers—Aunt Sis found darling sandals, and Harzfeld’s—I found the perfect scarf to go with my new dress. Oh, and I stopped at Joan’s shop.” Anarchy looked dazed, so I pressed on. “About last night…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” I held up a hand. “Don’t apologize. Someone was murdered. You had to work. But what did you mean to tell me?”
Anarchy looked at his near-empty plate. “I’ve told you about my family.”
A brother. A sister. Two parents. “Yes.”
“I didn’t give you the full picture.”
“Oh?” My fingers gripped the counter’s edge.
Anarchy noticed and peeled them away, claiming my hand. “You’ve heard what they say about generational wealth?”
“Something like seventy percent is gone in the second generation, by the third generation ninety percent.”
“I’m fourth generation.”
“I don’t care if you don’t have any money.”
Anarchy rubbed his face. “The thing is—”
“Yes?”
“I do. My great-grandfather set up trusts.”
“Your big secret is you’re rich?” That couldn’t be it.
“You know a thing or two about family expectations.”
I did.
“My parents—my father—expected me to do something noble. Stage sit-ins to save trees or write folk songs or write books to raise the collective conscience.”
I kept my lips sealed and waited for more.
“They hate that I’m a cop. They don’t understand.” The pain in Anarchy’s eyes swept away the trite reply that poised on the tip of my tongue.
“Why spend my days enforcing big brother’s rules when I don’t have to?”
Mother would see it differently. Why spend his days with the dregs of humanity when he didn’t have to?
His family was wrong. Mother was wrong. “You found a useful way to give back to society. That’s admirable.”
“My family doesn’t agree. We don’t speak.”
“They’re idiots.”
He scooched his stool closer to mine—closer to me. Close enough for me to smell the traces of his aftershave.
“I think—” Anarchy was nothing like Henry. Nothing. I could trust him. With my life, with my heart. “I think you’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
Our gazes caught and the air between us danced with electricity.
My lips parted.
Brnng brnng.
“It’s Mother.”
His hold on my hands kept me on the stool. “How do you know?”
“The ring, it’s strident. Also, I forgot to call her back.”
He ran the pad of his thumb across my cheek. “Are you going to answer?”
I made a choice. “She can leave a message on the machine.”
Chapter Eighteen
Mother watched us cross the crowded dining room. Was the tightness in her mouth due to Grace’s short skirt or Aunt Sis’s vibrant Thea Porter kaftan? My navy suit and silk blouse with a jaunty bow couldn’t be responsible for that disapproving expression.
I stopped at a table where Libba brunched with Daisy, her husband, and their children. “Good morning.”
Daisy’s husband stood immediately, and Daisy’s oldest reluctantly rose. Her youngest boy took the opportunity to flick scrambled eggs at his middle sister.
“Stop that. Now.” Daisy used her best approximation of Mother’s voice. It didn’t carry the terror-inducing power that Mother’s did, and the boy reloaded his spoon and turned to another sister.
“That egg leaves that spoon, and you don’t leave your room for a week.”
The boy glanced at his father, measured his resolve, and rested the spoon on his plate.
Libba sucked on the straw extending from her bloody Mary.
I smiled and nodded toward the window which revealed a golf course painted with spring sunshine. “Lovely day.”
“Is it?” Libba’s eyes narrowed. “You seem chipper.”
“I won’t keep you. Enjoy your Sunday.”
I took a small step and Libba’s hand grasped my wrist. Tightly. “Did you see?” she whispered.
“See what?”
“Stan Goddard, four o’clock.”
I couldn’t turn and stare. “Who’s he with?”
“His brother and sister-in-law. Stan looks like death warmed over.”
“Losing Phyllis has been hard on him.”
Libba smiled at Daisy’s passel of children, then whispered, “Ladies’ lounge in twenty.”
“Fine.”
I said my goodbyes to Daisy’s brood—Enjoy your Sunday. Enjoy your brunch—and caught up with Grace and Aunt Sis at Mother’s table.
Daddy rose and pulled out Aunt Sis’s chair.
Grace and I managed on our own.
“What are you sitting on, Grace?” Mother used her scandalized voice.
Grace’s forehead creased, and she looked at her lap. “A chair.”
“All the girls are wearing their skirts shorter these days.” I kept my tone mild.
“All the girls? If all the girls went skydiving, would you let Grace d
o that too?”
“Lighten up, Frances,” said Aunt Sis. “Grace looks lovely.”
“In our day—”
“Our day was forty years ago. Times and fashions have changed.”
Mother glanced at Daddy who’d resumed his seat.
My father had better sense than to engage in a debate over skirt lengths. “Grace always looks pretty.”
Having lost the skirmish, Mother switched battles. “You weren’t in church this morning.” She parceled out her scowl—a sliver for Grace, a third for Aunt Sis, and the remainder—the largest part—for her daughter who should have attended Sunday services.
“Grace and Aunt Sis had dates last night. We slept in.”
Mother turned her laser vision on Grace. “A date? With whom?”
“Hodge James.” Grace smiled her way around his name. “Would you please pass the lavosh?”
“Jonathan’s son?” Mother took a tiny sip of bloody Mary. “How long have you been seeing him?”
Daddy passed Grace the bread.
She helped herself, snapped a piece of the crisp cracker in half, and put the sections on her butter plate. “A couple of weeks.”
“Ellison, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’ve been busy.” Also, Grace didn’t appreciate gossip.
“The gala was a week ago.” Mother ignored two bodies and a trip to the hospital. Instead, she narrowed her eyes. “Have you finished writing thank-you notes?”
“Almost,” I lied.
“Hodge James,” Mother murmured. Then she smiled her approval.
Grace broke off a small piece of lavosh and buttered it. “He asked me to prom.”
Mother beamed. She was still beaming when Gordon arrived and presented her with a box of chocolates. “Sorry I’m late.” He exchanged a secret smile with Aunt Sis.
Mother accepted the chocolates. “These look delicious, and you’re not late.” He was. “We’re delighted you could join us.”
Gordon took the empty chair next to Sis’s and searched for her hand. “Did you tell them?”
“Tell us what?” Mother’s brows rose.
“Sis has agreed to marry me.”
Mother’s jaw dropped (good thing the table was there to stop its fall). Her eyes bugged. She blinked, shook her head, and blinked again.
“Aunt Sis!” I leaned over and kissed my aunt’s cheek. “Best wishes.”
“Congratulations, Gordon. Wonderful news.” Daddy nodded at a passing waiter. The young man stopped, and Daddy said, “A bottle of Champagne and six glasses.”
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