Seeing the caterers hard at work made me think of Elaine’s last dinner party. Maybe that was the cause for some of my jumpiness. In some ways, tonight was not unlike the night she died. Granted, the scale was much grander, but the caterer was the same, some of the guests were the same, even the art theme was the same.
I caught sight of a young man wearing a white bib apron over black pants and a crisp white shirt. I walked up to him and took a shot in the dark. “Trevor?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Keli. We spoke the other day about the dinner party here a couple weeks ago—and your mom’s acquaintance with Celia Meeks.”
He paled and looked quickly over his shoulder. “Oh, man, I shoulda never said anything. Can you just forget we talked?”
Yeah, right. I had to suppress a smile at the boy’s naivete. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Trevor. You only told the truth, right?”
“Yeah, but Mom said I might’ve got Cee Cee in trouble.”
“Is your mom around? I’d like to talk to her.”
Now sweat beads popped out on his forehead. “She’s real busy.”
“I don’t want to get anybody in trouble, Trevor. I’m just trying to confirm what everybody was doing during the time Mrs. Turnbull passed away.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Trevor staggered backward, almost knocking a tray off the table. I had to catch the tray and grab his arm to steady him. The moment I made contact, I tried an energetic technique I’d seen Mila use. I visualized peace and calmness flowing from me to Trevor like a soft, reassuring blue light. It lasted only a second, but he exhaled visibly. I released his arm.
“Okay, l—listen,” he whispered. “I don’t want my mom to get into trouble either.”
“Why would she be in trouble?” I kept my voice and eyes gentle.
“She was only trying to help. Cee Cee is a nice lady, but she’s getting old. She should probably retire. Anyway, she told my mom that after we left that night, she went to her room instead of finishing up her work. She asked Mom to back her up and say she came with us to the food pantry.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, I swear! My mom said she wasn’t under oath when the cops questioned her. But if they ask again, she’ll tell the truth.”
I nodded soberly. “She really should have told the truth in the first place. But I’m glad you’re both being truthful now.”
I reached for a spinach tartlet and raised it like a toast. Then I left Trevor to his work. I didn’t think there was anything more to learn from him or his mother. Either Celia had told Sylvia the truth, in which case she hadn’t killed Elaine. Or else she lied to her friend, in which case she was still a suspect. Given her propensity to tell falsehoods, I was inclined to believe the latter.
By now, the house was filling up. Some of the guests mingled in the great room and upstairs gallery, but most seemed to migrate to the conservatory and patio. I said hello to Mavis, the museum director, who introduced me to her husband. They were chatting with Perry and another member of the Arts Council. As we made small talk, I noticed Ray standing by himself in a corner near a potted palm tree. He appeared to be brooding.
At the first lull in the conversation, I excused myself and headed toward Ray. But before I could reach him, he turned suddenly, as if something had caught his eye. Following his gaze, I spotted Ernesto. Apparently, the groundskeeper saw Ray at the same time—he turned tail and slipped out the open French doors. Ray went after him. What are they up to?
I followed Ray, who trailed Ernesto through the crowd on the patio, then out toward the gardens. At one point, Ray paused and looked over his shoulder. I ducked behind a sculpted tree shaped like a rabbit. When he continued onward, so did I. I shadowed him in this fashion along the outer edge of the English garden. Before long, I realized he was moving in a zigzag pattern. Then he abruptly altered course and headed toward the rear of the carriage house garage. I wondered if Ernesto was toying with Ray. Or maybe he’d noticed him and changed his planned destination.
Ray slowed down, shortening the distance between us. The whole time, I was being extra careful not to make a peep. I watched every step to make sure I wouldn’t crunch on a twig underfoot. I thought I was being the consummate private eye—until my cell phone rang.
Ray whipped around so fast I had no time to hide. All I could do was act as normal as possible. Ignoring Ray, I pulled my phone out of my clutch and answered cheerily. “Hello!”
“Hey, babe.” It was Wes. “I have good news and bad news.”
I walked back toward the house, already forgetting about Ray and Ernesto. “What’s up? Where are you?”
“I’m here in Edindale. My train was on time, but my car is out of commission. Somebody—”
“Slashed your tires?”
“Yeah. Just like Farrah’s. Can you believe it?”
I could definitely believe it. So much had been going on, I hadn’t told him about all the other incidents—or my theory about who was behind it.
“My car was in the railroad station lot all week,” he continued. “So, there’s no telling when it happened. Probably overnight earlier in the week, I’d guess.”
“Me, too.” Did the vandal follow him to the station from our house? Or did the creep already know about Wes’s trip—and know what Wes’s car looked like? I didn’t like either possibility, nor did I want to ponder either one right now. “You’ll still come to the manor, won’t you?”
“Absolutely. It’ll just be a while yet.”
Wes and I said our good-byes as I crossed the patio and entered the conservatory. Farrah was in there, chatting up the bartender. We each gave the other a questioning look. No doubt she wondered where I’d been, while I wondered if she was investigating or flirting. Before we had a chance to catch up, the band stopped playing and Mavis Rawlins took the microphone. We made our way outside to listen.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mavis began. “Thank you all for coming tonight. As you know, this is a bittersweet occasion, as we honor the life and legacy of our own Elaine Turnbull.”
As Mavis spoke, I scanned the crowd for familiar faces. I recognized several people, including Gus, the security guard. He stood on the perimeter of the patio with his arms crossed, like a bouncer ready to block fangirls from storming the stage. I inwardly rolled my eyes and kept looking around. A few guests seemed to be missing—but not Ray. He must have abandoned his pursuit of Ernesto. Solemn and doleful, he stood close to the front, even helping to usher guests on and off the dais. Several people took a turn at the microphone to offer words of praise and admiration for Elaine. Of course, Crenshaw was one of them. I had never known him to pass up an opportunity for the spotlight. Surprisingly, his remarks were short and sweet.
At the conclusion of the tribute, the band played another number, and then began to pack up. Guests moved indoors, but there was no indication the party was winding down. People continued to talk, drink, and move from room to room. Bluesy jazz standards now played through a sound system in the conservatory.
Farrah ordered two martinis at the bar and handed one to me. She raised her glass. “To Elaine, a woman of fine taste and many admirers. I wish I’d known her.”
“I’ll second that.” I took a sip from my glass, then touched Farrah’s elbow. “Hey, look who just came in. Xavier Charleston.”
Xavier glided from guest to guest, greeting people like he was some kind of celebrity. In fact, he looked the part. With his expensive tuxedo and glossy black hair, he exuded confidence. Even his beard appeared stylish, rather than shaggy.
“He doesn’t stay in one place for long, does he?” said Farrah, her eyes following him around the room. A moment later, he headed for the French doors leading outside.
“I want to talk to him,” I said, “and see if I can confirm Perry’s alibi.”
“I’ll do it,” said Farrah, raising her hand like a good little volunteer.
Before I could respond, Crenshaw walked up to us. “Ladies, I’m about
to bring out Harold’s Lalique glass collection to show the Arts Council. Some of the finer pieces are in a curio cabinet in the formal sitting room off the great room. Would you like to come along?”
Farrah withdrew her hand. “On second thought, Kel, you should be the one to question Mr. C this time.” She took Crenshaw’s arm and allowed him to lead her away.
I stepped outside and looked around. The patio was empty now, as everyone had gone inside. As I walked toward the English garden, I perceived a faint, sweet aroma drifting through the air. It disappeared as suddenly as it had begun. Peering through the dimly lit gardens, I spotted Xavier leaning against a fountain ledge in the shadow of a giant mermaid statue. He was vaping on a flavored e-cigarette.
“Hello,” I said, walking toward him. “Nice night.”
“It’s a marvelous night,” he said, his voice soft and gravelly.
“A bit chilly, though,” I added, shivering as a sudden breeze lifted the hem of my dress.
He took a drag on his e-cigarette, releasing a cloud of vapor that momentarily obscured his whole head. Even when it cleared, I couldn’t see his face well in the darkness. Still, I had the distinct impression he was scrutinizing me—like he would a monarch under a magnifying glass.
“You look familiar,” he drawled. “Have we met?”
“I don’t think so. I’m Keli Milanni.” I would have offered my hand, but he made no move in my direction. In fact, he appeared quite content to remain where he was.
“Keli Milanni,” he repeated, slowly, as if tasting the letters of my name.
“And you’re Xavier Charleston, right? Art collector and friend of Perry Warren?”
“It would seem you know more about me than I do about you,” he said, with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Are you single?”
For a moment, I was thrown off guard by the forward question. “Uh, no,” I stammered. “I’m in a relationship.”
“Too bad.”
I swallowed and tried to remember what I wanted to ask him. “So, what brings you to Edindale?”
“I’m here on business.”
“Art business?”
“Yes. Art business. I’m a buyer for a gallery in LA. I’m on a Midwest tour this month, meeting with a few private collectors in the area.” He took another draw on his e-cigarette, releasing the vapor from his mouth like a well-mannered dragon. “Do you think the Turnbull Estate will be settled anytime soon?”
“Good question.”
The patter of paws drew my attention, and Barney came into view. I held out my hand to pet him, but he bypassed me and went straight for the bushes. With one short bark, he sniffed and snuffled until he succeeded in drawing out his prey.
“Go away, dog!” she cried. “Not now!”
I narrowed my eyes when I recognized her. Celia. Again with the spying. As soon as she noticed I was staring at her, she straightened to her full five feet and stalked off without a word. I shook my head.
“She’s something else,” I began—until I realized I was alone by the fountain. Xavier was gone. “He’s something else, too,” I muttered to myself.
So much for my interrogation. Why was everyone avoiding me? If I didn’t know better, I might start weaving conspiracies myself.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I went back inside to catch up with Farrah and Crenshaw. I made it to the great room, and was passing by the staircase, when strong, bony fingers wrapped around my arm. I winced and almost cried out, until I saw it was Winston Betz. He squinted up at me behind thick glasses, looking for all the world like a geriatric owl. He let go of my arm as soon as he had my attention.
“Young lady,” he rasped. “Have you seen Miss Suzanne?”
“Not lately. Sorry.”
“She went upstairs ages ago. I’m going after her.” He put one knobby hand on the bannister and raised his cane to the first step.
“I’ll go find her,” I said quickly. “Why don’t you wait right here. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
This mansion is definitely not elder-friendly, I thought, as I hurried up the steps. How awful it would be if poor old Winston tumbled down the stairs.
Suzanne’s bedroom was in the east wing, next to the guest room Crenshaw was using. I knocked on her door and waited. Then I knocked again.
“Suzanne? Are you in there? It’s Keli.”
She opened the door, looking slightly rumpled. I wondered if she had been taking a nap. “Keli! What can I do for you?”
“Winston is looking for you. I’m just saving him a trip up the stairs.”
“Oh! Good. You’re such a doll. I had to get away and take some aspirin. My head was killing me. Let me just . . .” She trailed off as she reached behind her for a beaded handbag. Standing in the hallway, she pulled out a compact mirror and a tube of lipstick, then touched up her lips while pulling the door shut behind her. She headed down the hall, patting her hair. “I can’t leave him waiting. He’s so impatient.”
I started to follow her, then glanced back at her door. It didn’t shut all the way. Hmm.
I took a few more steps in the direction Suzanne had hurried off. As soon as she turned toward the gallery, I tiptoed back to her room. The opportunity to do a little snooping was too perfect to pass up. Quiet as a whisper, I let myself in and shut the door behind me.
She hadn’t bothered to turn off her light. Apparently, she didn’t bother to do much tidying either. The room was a cluttered mess. Boxes of Carrie Cosmetics vied for floor space with discarded clothes. The tops of both nightstands and the dresser were a jumble of hair accessories, jewelry, and knickknacks. The bed was unmade.
Where to begin?
Halfheartedly, I pulled open a dresser drawer and stared at a pile of filmy lingerie. I closed the drawer. I was rapidly losing my nerve. This didn’t feel right. Who was I kidding? It wasn’t right.
Gazing around the room once more, I noticed two closed doors—presumably the bathroom and closet. I opened the closet, then quickly closed it, lest I release an avalanche of clothes and shoes. With my back to the closet door, my eyes fell upon an open rolltop desk in the opposite corner. I moved closer. The writing surface was covered with customer invoices and receipts for Suzanne’s makeup sales. The top shelf served as a display table for framed photographs of Suzanne herself: in her tennis outfit, dolled up in an evening gown, and even a glamourous headshot.
Without touching anything, I peered into the desk’s cubbyholes. Nothing struck me as particularly interesting, until I noticed a slightly crinkled portfolio lying on an inner shelf. Carefully, I pulled it out, opened the cover, and turned a few pages. It was an artist’s portfolio, filled with pencil drawings. They seemed quite good to me, in my non-expert opinion. I glanced at the signature: Lana T. No wonder the portfolio had an aged look to it. It must have been more than fifteen years old.
As I gently turned the pages, I noted the wide variety of subjects, from botanical still lifes and figure drawings to abstract cubist designs. It was touching to me that Lana’s mother was keeping this reminder of her daughter in her room.
A sound from the bathroom jolted me back to the present. I froze, as I stared at the bathroom door. Not again. This was the third time I’d heard a noise on the other side of a closed door. Was I going crazy?
Gingerly, I replaced the portfolio on the shelf where I’d found it. If Suzanne’s bathroom was like the others I’d seen in this house, I knew there would be a small anteroom, with a dressing table and shelves, which led to the actual facilities. From what I’d seen of Suzanne’s housekeeping habits, this space was probably overflowing with clutter, too.
Another noise broke the silence. This time it sounded like a shoe dropping. I started across the room, making a beeline for the exit. I was even with the bathroom, when the door swung open.
I found myself face to face with Ernesto Cruz. He appeared as stunned as I felt. Though, by the look of things, he might have been even more surprised than me. His hair was damp, his shirt was open, and h
is belt was loose. He looked as if he’d just gotten out of the shower.
Why would Ernesto be taking a shower in Suzanne’s room?
Ohhh. There was only one plausible explanation. Suzanne and Ernesto were having an affair. No wonder she didn’t want anyone to come upstairs.
After a fleeting standoff, Ernesto made the first move, bolting from the room. I didn’t go after him. I was just glad I didn’t have to explain myself. At least for now.
I left the room and closed the door behind me. Ernesto had probably taken the back stairs. I made my way to the front stairs and down to the great room, as casual as could be. Several guests still mingled around the paintings, but the party seemed to be winding down. Suzanne and Winston were nowhere in sight.
I was on my way to the sitting room to find Farrah, when I sensed a strong male presence at my shoulder. Turning, I took in a snazzy, charcoal suit, a skinny tie, and alluring dark stubble across the lower half of a heartbreakingly handsome face.
“Wes!”
We embraced, and just like that I felt a million times better.
“You look amazing,” he said, holding me at arm’s length. “Why was I gone for so long? I must have been out of my mind.”
Grinning, I slipped my hand in his. I was about to lead him upstairs, when Celia sidled over. She looked from Wes to me with a strange glint in her eye. “Who’s this? I thought the other gentleman was your beau. The one you were whispering with, all alone in the garden.”
I stared at her, dumbfounded. What was her problem anyway? She eyed Wes, waiting for his reaction. He raised his eyebrows, then frowned.
“Where is that scoundrel, Crenshaw?” he asked, in mock frustration. “I need to challenge him to a duel—not pistols at dawn, but cameras. I’m sure I can out-shoot him.”
I tossed my head like a tease. “Actually, Crenshaw isn’t the man Celia saw. It was someone else.”
“Oh, ho! You’ve been busy, have you?” He draped his arm over my shoulders, and we sauntered off together, leaving Celia befuddled at this turn of events. Apparently, she wasn’t accustomed to a couple who actually trusted each other.
Autumn Alibi Page 20
