A Date With Death: Cozy Private Investigator Series (Flora Lively Mysteries Book 2) (4 page)

She kept both these thoughts to herself.

They came out from the cover of the trees and the house sprang into view. Flora stopped abruptly.

‘Wow,’ she said. ‘It’s beautiful.’

The grand old building had been decorated along its entire length with Chinese lanterns and fairy lights – a string of glittering, shimmering white and blue and green stars, punctuated by the red glow of the lanterns. Forming a path up to the main entrance were two rows of candles, each pressed into a silver bowl that sat on the ground. The effect was stunning, if a little intimidating.

‘What exactly is a gala, anyway?’ Marshall said, as they rounded the side of the house and made for the back entrance – Celeste had mentioned that Sidney preferred them to come in and out that way. Flora, in her dress and her heels and her few pieces of jewellery, felt as though they should be walking arm in arm, but Marshall hadn’t offered his and she wasn’t about to initiate anything.

‘You mean, what’s a gala in general, or what’s this particular one in aid of?’

Marshall laughed. ‘Glad to see you’ve got your pedantic head on tonight. It would be great if you used your powers for good, though, not evil.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Sure you do. That friend of yours, she talks down to you, Flora. Are you telling me you haven’t noticed?’

‘Celeste? She does not.’ Flora laughed. ‘She’s just a bit –’

‘Full of herself? Downright rude? All that “still a stranger to make-up” crap. Turning up her nose at your hair, just because it’s a bit … unusual and all.’

‘You heard that?’ Now Flora’s laugh was more relaxed. ‘You idiot. That’s just her way. It doesn’t mean anything.’ She smiled to herself. Marshall being protective of her – she could get to like this. It made a change from him having a go at her, anyway.

‘Just watch out for yourself,’ he said. ‘I don’t trust her.’

‘You hardly know her. She comes across as all snarky and cutting, but she’s a pussycat underneath.’

‘With very sharp claws.’

‘It’s a front, that’s all.’ Flora paused. She’d never confessed to anyone before how painful she’d found the whole experience of university; even now, the memory of those first few months had the power to make her skin burn with embarrassment. Celeste had offered her a lifeline – popular and attractive, with a doting group of admirers, Celeste’s friendship had seemed like a miracle to Flora. Different though they were, the two girls had bonded, eventually sharing a small house off campus, and sharing their hopes and dreams for the future. If Flora had ever wondered why Celeste chose her as a friend, had ever questioned what she brought to the table, she told herself that her job was to be steadfast and loyal, and to overlook her friend’s sometimes acerbic attitude.

It wasn’t as if she had so many people in her life these days that she could afford to shake that friendship off too lightly.

‘Deep down she’s a good person,’ she said to Marshall. ‘And I owe her. Okay?’

‘Fine. Whatever you say, Miss Lively. I’m going to find the bar – coming?’

‘I think I’ll go up and see Celeste. She mentioned something about helping me get ready, or maybe it was me helping her get ready. I can’t really remember.’

‘Maybe she wants to give you a makeover,’ Marshall said, smirking. ‘Paint your nails, fix your hair, that kind of thing.’

‘Get lost, Goodman.’ Flora sent him on his way with a shove, then headed for the stairs, still smiling.

Celeste opened her door almost as soon as Flora knocked.

‘So, how’s your love-nest?’

Flora couldn’t think of a clever retort – she was too taken aback by Celeste’s appearance.

‘Wow. Don’t you look every inch the film star.’

Celeste wore a strapless red cocktail dress that fitted as though sprayed on. Her hair, piled on top of her head in an elaborate design of curls and ringlets, shone with silver glitter. As she twirled on the spot, Flora’s mouth dropped open when she saw the back of Celeste’s gown – it was cut away as low as her knicker line.

‘Celeste! Is it wise to wear that? I mean, with all the problems you’ve been having with Alberto?’

‘What, I should wear an old sack just because that goat might get turned on by me? I don’t think so.’

Flora reddened. She had noticed the way Celeste’s eyes dropped to her tea dress when she said
old sack
.

‘Did you do your make-up yourself?’ Flora said, mainly to change the subject. She peered up into her friend’s face. ‘You look like one of those girls on the beauty counters at Boots.’

‘Get over yourself, Flora. You’re just jealous that some of us know how to apply foundation.’

‘Apply it? You mean shovel it on with a trowel.’

‘Gabriella did it, okay? It’s important that I look the part tonight.’

‘You certainly look the part,’ Flora said, grinning to show she was just teasing. ‘I’m just not sure what part. Hey, don’t get defensive. You look great.’

Celeste perched on the bed and started checking the contents of her bag. She looked up at Flora and smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Thanks. So do you. I love your hair, actually. It’s really vibrant. I had to wear a red wig for a role when we were in Italy and it completely washed me out. But on you, it looks nice.’

Coming from Celeste, this was a massive compliment. Flora sat in front of the dresser, mollified. ‘Who’s Gabriella?’ she asked.

‘Our wardrobe girl. Well, our new one. The old one resigned just before we left Spain. Nick found her, and just in time too. She’s quite good,’ Celeste added, leaning over Flora’s shoulder to admire herself in the mirror. Her eyes strayed to Flora’s face, and she frowned. ‘You know, I’ve picked up a few tricks over the years. A little bit of concealer would really even out your complexion, and some blusher would give your face that bit of definition it so desperately –’

‘Say, how about that bag of yours!’ Flora jumped up, latching onto yet another change of topic. ‘It’s awesome. I’m sure I saw one like that in Vogue.’

‘You read Vogue?’ The scepticism in Celeste’s voice made Flora bristle.

‘At the dentist, sure. But I wouldn’t waste good money on it.’ Nor would I waste good money on a designer handbag, she didn’t add. Celeste picked up the bag and turned it around in her hands.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Chanel. All the A-listers have these.’

‘What colour is that?’ Flora said. ‘Beige? Pink?’

‘Nude,’ Celeste said. She looked perplexed when Flora burst out laughing.

‘Nude! Oh well, that figures.’

Flora brushed off Celeste’s attempts to lend her an equally showy handbag for the evening, saying she preferred her trusty old vintage clutch.

‘Right, then.’ Celeste laid a hand on her chest and inhaled slowly. Then she let out her breath and fixed a bright smile on her face. ‘Time for action. Come on, Flora. Let’s go and meet our public.’

***

Tempting though it was to observe the reactions of every man in the room when Celeste walked in, Flora demurred. She remembered too clearly what it had been like at university, always being in the shadow of her glamorous friend – her clever, popular, confident friend – and it wasn’t an experience she intended to repeat. She would wait, and then make her own entrance. By herself, and not as some kind of frumpy sidekick. She told Celeste she needed to use the toilet, and said she’d follow her down straight after. Celeste hovered for a moment, and Flora could see she was torn between offering to wait for her friend, or getting started on her evening as soon as possible.

Eagerness won out, and Celeste grabbed her bag and headed off, throwing Flora a kiss over her shoulder.

Flora waited in the corridor until her friend was out of sight, keeping her eyes trained on the worn patterned carpet. Watching Celeste shimmy down the hall in her unbearably high crimson heels, her back toned and tanned and sparkling with yet more glitter, made Flora feel kind of shrivelled up inside. And dowdy. She pressed the toe of her sandals into the squashy carpet and wondered whether she should slip back inside Celeste’s room and borrow some of her make-up after all.

Wouldn’t that just make Marshall’s day? She could imagine his face, the sarcastic tilt of his eyebrows. Finally, Flora Lively gets a makeover.

No way.

A door opened further down the hall and someone stepped out into the corridor. It was the woman with the wild hair again. She looked about twenty, maybe twenty-five, with big round eyes and darkish skin. She was wearing some kind of utility trousers, like army combats, in a faded grey-green, and a plain white T-shirt that showed off her wiry frame. Flora began to smile, a greeting forming on her lips, but as soon as the younger woman saw her she broke into a run.

‘Wait,’ Flora called. ‘What’s wrong?’ But it was too late. The woman had already reached the top of the stairs.

Flora shrugged and made her way to the ground floor, musing. This girl must be one of the cast, if she was staying in the main house, but her behaviour was really odd. Celeste had told Flora that only she and Eduardo, Alberto and his wife, and Nick Gibson the producer had rooms inside Hanley Manor. Vincenzo – or Vinny, as Celeste called him – was staying in the other yurt, and their wardrobe girl, Gabriella, had a room in a nearby B&B. Maybe the mystery woman was Alberto’s wife, but she didn’t match Celeste’s description at all.

The sun had slipped down behind the hills by the time Flora stepped out into the gardens. She stood for a moment, taking in the peculiar silence of the countryside in the late evening. An owl hooted, and a train rattled in the far distance. The sound of revelries seeped out of the house, carried on the wind, but faintly. An animal howled in the distance, and Flora shivered, then laughed at herself.

‘Typical townie,’ she said under her breath, and she hugged her bare arms around herself, despite the humidity.

She followed the glow of lanterns towards the front of the house. The driveway was rammed with cars, and Sidney stood under the showy porch, welcoming the guests and bowing so often he looked like a marionette. Flora was still about a hundred yards from the lit-up driveway when a noise to her left caught her attention. Voices raised, arguing. One of the voices was a woman’s, but Flora didn’t think it was Celeste. She took a step towards the house, just to make sure.

It wasn’t Celeste, but the man’s voice belonged to Alberto, and this time the target of his anger was a handsome woman wearing a silver ball gown with a large chiffon sash. The French windows – leading into the music room, if Flora’s geography served her right – had been thrown open, and Flora, standing in the shadows outside, could hear every word.

Unfortunately she couldn’t understand many of them because the couple were arguing in Spanish. The object of Alberto’s wrath had on her head the most incredible piece of jewellery Flora had ever seen. It was a diamond tiara, which must have been fastened very tightly to the elaborate black hair because no amount of head-shaking seemed able to dislodge it. The light from the chandelier sparkled off the tiara’s diamonds, one of which was almost the size of a newborn baby’s fist. Flora stared, unable to take her eyes off it. The diamonds must be fake, she thought. But the way they sparkled, the way the tiara shone, like a beacon, dipping and weaving as the woman shouted and waved her arms at Alberto.

Transfixed, Flora barely noticed when the director threw up his arms in a final gesture of disgust. By the time she realised the pair were marching towards her, it was too late to get out of the way.

‘Ah,
amiga de Celeste
! Flora,
no
?’ Alberto drew to a halt when he noticed Flora, but his companion let out a stream of incomprehensible Spanish, then fairly screamed when Alberto reached for Flora’s hand. He was clearly going in for another kiss. Flora snatched her hand away, but not before the woman in the tiara had turned on her.

‘
Déjalo en paz
,’ she cried. Or rather, snarled.

Flora held out her hands, palms up, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re saying. I’m sorry, I was just walking past. This is nothing to do with me.’

The woman swatted at Alberto, all the time letting off a stream of what Flora could only assume were Spanish swear words. But when she turned to Flora and said, ‘Whore!’, even with the word split into two – ‘Who-rah’ – Flora figured she got the meaning pretty clear.

Alberto jumped to her defence, throwing one arm around Flora’s shoulders while gesturing at the woman with the other. Flora, now close enough to smell his breath – garlic and whisky, not the nicest combination – and close enough to see the sheen of sweat on his upper lip, pushed him away.

‘That’s not helping,’ she told him.

‘Is my wife,’ he said, pulling an apologetic face. ‘She crazy.
Loco
.’ He made a sort of finger-twirling sign around his ears – the international symbol for off-your-rocker.

‘
No estoy loca – tu estás loco
!’ his wife shouted, and then she thrust herself towards Flora, pushing past her to re-enter the house. Flora, knocked off balance in more ways than one, staggered backwards and fell into the flower bed.

‘
Dulce corazón, espera
.’

Flora watched in amazement as Alberto followed his wife back into the manor house, his voice conciliatory and pleading.

‘Fantastic,’ she said, lifting up her hands to inspect them. She’d tried to break her fall, but now not only was her dress covered in dusty soil, so were her fingernails. Celeste would certainly not approve of this.

‘Need a hand?’

Flora looked up, startled. Standing over her, extending a long-fingered, manicured hand, was Jack Harding.

Chapter 3

While Jack helped her to her feet, Flora took in his changed appearance. When she’d last seen him, about two years after they’d graduated from university, he’d been the same skinny, geeky guy she and Celeste had hung around with from time to time – sweet, perhaps even good-looking, but also a little annoying in his eagerness to please. Now, the only thing that remained was the good-looking part. He’d filled out some, and gone were the geeky glasses and the pale skin that spoke of too many hours playing computer games. This Jack seemed assured and confident, and he was looking at Flora with more than just a touch of amusement.