Designer Detective (A Fiona Marlowe Mystery) (6 page)

I nodded.
Us
detectives had to keep a low profile. My mind raced on and construed all sorts
of cloak and dagger scenarios. Albert's a double agent and the other side
poisons him. At least they didn't use radioactive isotopes like that poor
Russian spy. Albert's in financial trouble and starts selling top secrets to
the Saudis. He gets too demanding, and they overload his Chinese takeout.
Albert's the McLean Robert Hansen. It can happen in your own neighborhood.

“Come on,” Jake said. “Let's cruise around and
catch some conversations.” He took my elbow and steered me between groups of
intent discussions.
The rascal.
He was using me as
cover. But I didn't mind. I set my face in a permanent smile, and we small
talked our way around the room.

“Don't you believe for a minute that the stock
market will ever
recover.
”

“Oh, darling, he didn't.”

“I knew it. If she's had one, she's had at
least half a dozen.”

“Papa's had too much to drink. We must be
going,
Dickie
.”

“Really, Reggie, you must go along with us on
the shoot. Namibia is the going place now.”

On it went. We ended up out on the patio to
enjoy what was left of the day. The sun felt delicious on my skin. One of those
beautiful washed autumn days after a week of rain.

“I didn't hear any really helpful conversations,
did you?” I said, as we settled at an empty patio table where a waiter was
clearing empties. The waiter looked at us as I said that, smiled, wiped the
table and left, tray balanced on one hand.

“I've always wanted to be able to do that,” I
said, watching the young man weave through the crowd.

“Fiona, listen,” Jake said.

I turned my attention back to him. “I'm
listening.”

“You got to be careful what you say at a
shindig like this.”

“Right.
Us
detectives can't be giving away secrets.”

“I'm serious.”

“Me, too.
I'm sorry.
It won't happen again. What shall we talk about?”

His eyes shifted from one group of people to
another. He sure was nervous today.

I leaned closer and said, “What are you worried
about?”

“Not worried.
Just edgy.
It's that kind of day.”

“You’ve been looking over your shoulder all
day.”

“Is it that noticeable?”

I nodded. He was saved from further intense interrogation
when Opal walked over to our table.

“Hello, you two. I'm so glad you could make it,
Fiona. I told you Jake would be a good escort. You make a nice pair.”

I pasted on a smile like I had just sat on a
mouse or maybe a snake, and I couldn't figure out which. I wanted to squirm but
I didn't want to be impolite. I didn’t look at Jake. What was it that drove women
to matchmaking?

 
Opal,
still smiling like she was pleased with the match, said, “I want you to meet my
nephew, Cody.”

I
turned my attention to him and lipped all the proper niceties.

“Aunt Opal tells me you are the one who found
Uncle Al,” Cody said.

“Yes. It was most unfortunate. I'm terribly
sorry about your uncle.”

“He was a great guy. We'll all miss him, but it
wasn't too much of a shock. He'd had heart problems for years. He had his
funeral service all planned. All his papers were in order. He knew he could go
anytime. It's just like him to not want to burden anyone with loose ends.”

Another partier caught Opal's attention. Dancing
had broken out on the patio. Someone had put on a Frank Sinatra CD and ole
Frank was singing, “I Get a Kick out of
You
”. Older couples
jitter bugged around the room, the younger set tended to bump, grind, and flail.

“Excuse us,” said Opal. “Stay as long as you
like. Isn’t this a great party? Albert would be so pleased.”

Opal walked off on Cody's arm toward another
group. He was the one who had escorted her down the aisle at the church. He
wasn’t half bad looking in a pale sort of way. With all that sun on the open
range, you’d think he’d look a bit more leathery.

“What
do you think of Cody's take on his uncle's heart problems? He makes it sound
like an accidental death. Surely he must know that Opal hired you.”

“No, he doesn't. Opal didn't tell any of the
family she hired me.”

“What?”

He looked a little squirmy, like he had sat on
the mouse or snake.

I confronted him. “That's why you’re edgy. Opal
hired you to spy on everyone else, and I’m your cover.
Well,
I never.”

“Will you please keep your voice down?” he said
again. He leaned on his elbow and fixed me with a cold stare. “You said you
wanted to help, didn’t you?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

“Then play the part of our couple cover so I
can circulate and eaves drop. Do you think Opal brought this crowd together because
she likes a party? She did it so I can meet the players, so to speak.”

“You mean Opal knows all these people?”

“Pretty much.
She's
Albert’s sister, isn't she? Albert often vacationed at the ranch without the
missus. Whenever Opal visited here Olivia always threw a party.”

My eyebrows did a little stutter on that one.
This was better than
Days of Our Lives
.

“Geez,” I said. “This is getting too
complicated for my small brain. I need a flow chart.”

“I'll show you mine later. C'mon, let's
circulate. Grab a drink and look happy.”

Not a bad idea. Jake motioned to the champagne
waiter, and I took another glass. He left his empty whiskey glass on the tray.

“Would you bring me a glass of whiskey on the
rocks?” he asked the wispy waiter.

“If you follow me, sir, I can show you the open
bar where we are featuring hard liquor.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Be right back. Don’t
move.”

I sipped champagne and studied the crowd while
I waited for Jake to return. The tall, George Clooney lookalike nephew from
London walked over.

“May I have this dance or are you spoken for?”
he asked, all arched eyebrows and quirky smile.

Frank Sinatra was singing September Song. I
could handle that.

“I’d love to dance,” I said, forgetting Jake’s
admonition not to move.

Taking me into his arms and pulling me close,
he said, “My name's Roger. I'm a nephew from Olivia’s side of the family. Are
you family, friend or press?”

“Press?
There's press
here?” I looked around.

“I’m kidding,” he said. “Uncle Albert wasn't
that famous. Some of his associates are.”

He wasn't as good looking as George Clooney face
up. Or, let’s say, not the George Clooney I knew from photographs and movies.
He had
a sharpness
about the eyes that suggested sneaky
intent, though the champagne could be running away with me. He was thinner, too.
Higher cheekbones, narrow face.

I stopped my good looks critique and said, “My
name's Fiona Marlowe. I'm the interior designer who found Mr. Lodge in the
library.”

“Really?
You?”

“Yes. I
found your uncle lying in front of the couch, like he was sleeping. I thought
it odd he chose the floor. He had a noble profile and handsome white hair. When
the medics turned him over he looked very dapper in vest and tweeds, trim, fit.
Such a pity.
I am so sorry.”

“Do you think it was an accident?” he asked,
guiding me out of the crowd of dancing couples to a more secluded corner of the
room.

“I think so,” I said, lying through my teeth.
We detectives had to maintain our cover. “There was no sign of foul play. No
blood.”

“Must have been a horrid
experience for you.”

“Shocking, yes.
Ruined my day.”

“I'm terribly sorry you were involved. Shall we
sit the next one out?
Another champagne
? I'm afraid
they took yours away. The wait staff is frightfully efficient.”

“Champagne would be nice.”

He lifted two from a tray that went by, and I
followed him to a corner settee. The crisp autumn evening cut the closeness of
the crowd. I wondered what this man wanted.

“You're beautiful, has anyone ever told you
that?” he asked, gazing into my eyes.

He wanted an easy touch. He had picked the
wrong broad.

“Thank you. All my dates tell me that.” My lips
danced a twitchy smile, and he laughed.

“I was just testing.”

“Nice try. I think maybe you should hustle
someone your age.”

“I like older women.”

“Lucky me.
Not to
change the subject, but do you think your uncle's death involved foul play?”

“Definitely.”

I arched my eyebrows. “Why do you think that?”

“Because Uncle Albert was a
philanderer.”

“Come now. Wasn't he a bit old?”

“Not Uncle Al. Olivia was a lot younger than he.
Viagra put him back in the running. That might have killed him. He might have
had a few married ones in the string. Maybe a disgruntled husband got wind of
the assignation and did old Uncle Albert in. His latest young thing is here.”
He nodded and I turned to look. “That's her over there with Cody. Stunning, isn't
she?

It was the blond Jake had pointed out at the
memorial service. Full face, she was even lovelier than in profile.

“I don't know how he did it,” Roger said. “I’m
sure the money made him look good to sweet young things. We had hardly cast Olivia’s
ashes to the wind before he had this one.”

“I heard it was more serious on his part than
hers.”

“Did you? Even so, she probably tried to entice
the old boy into leaving her something in his will.”

“Interesting angle.”
I
was filing all this in my sleuthing file. “So who gets the estate?” I was being
very smooth.

He tossed back the rest of the champagne before
answering. “I hope it will be divided up among the family. I could use some.
The financial markets haven't been kind to me lately. We will know tomorrow.”

Aha.
A relative with a
motive.
I went out on a limb. “Do you think someone in the family wanted
him dead?”

He gave me a flashy grin. “Anyone could have
wanted him dead. Whoever gets the money would be suspect in my book. Now if you
will excuse me? I enjoyed our dance.”

He made his way across the room to the dazzling
blond. Good choice on his part, but I could hear the hiss of my deflating ego
as it zoomed around the room like a pricked balloon.

I
wandered toward the kitchen in search of a cup of coffee and my erstwhile
partner, Jake, who had disappeared. As I passed a stand of potted shrubs, I
caught a snatch of conversation and paused.

“I have no idea what is in the will,” a woman
was saying. “Opal has been terribly closed lipped. If the estate gets divided
up, there should be plenty for everyone.”

“I hope that blond doesn't get it,” said
another.

“Why would he leave anything to her?”

“You don't know what gets whispered across
pillows, do you?”

Albert’s money was the big topic tonight. I
could understand why. Money drives the world now, doesn't it?

In the kitchen I retrieved a cup of espresso a
waiter was serving from a side counter and dawdled over the sugar server,
listening to another conversation. A striking woman, a dead ringer for Elizabeth
Taylor, was holding court by the patio doors. Three slick suited men laughed at
something she was saying, which I couldn’t hear since she spoke in hushed tones.
I wondered if she were another of Albert’s conquests. Even though she was dressed
in severe black, hers was the kind of face that would launch a thousand ships.
I wondered if Jake knew who she was and wandered back outside to find him.

  
A
brick path meandered off to the side of the house where the Alice in Wonderland
hedge was located. I had a sudden urge to see diamonds, hearts, spades and clubs.
Who knew what conversations I'd hear on the way? I strolled along the path
keeping an eye and ear peeled for clues. Lights from the pantry passageway cast
a glow on the brick path. The solarium itself was dark.
Odd.
You'd think it would be lit for the party. I mean wake.

Garden lamps lit the card hedge, and I ran my
hand over the sculpted bushes. I detected strange grunting sounds coming from
the solarium. Could someone be in trouble? Was someone being attacked? Maybe
that was why the solarium was dark. I burst through the door without thinking,
intent on rescue, and stopped dead in my tracks. Straddled in the chair was a
couple in various stages of dishabille. The girl yelped. The guy put a finger
to her mouth.

“Gosh,” I said rather lamely. “Sorry to
interrupt. I thought someone was being attacked.”

The guy laughed. The girl giggled. She buried
her face in his hairy, naked chest. I couldn't be sure since the light was dim,
but it looked like the tall husband of the dumpy niece Jake pointed out at the
service. That didn't look like his wife.
Wrong color hair.
I hoped it wasn't one of his cousins.

I backed out and fled, slamming the door behind
me. Good grief, what next? I didn’t want to speculate on what might be going on
in the bedrooms upstairs. I hurried toward to the kitchen, intent on finding Jake
to compare notes. When he wasn’t in the kitchen, I started around the dance
floor looking for him. A young man asked me to dance, and I couldn't refuse. The
disc jockey was playing rap music. Arms flailed and hips gyrated. I was right
in the thick of things.

I had no idea who I danced with but my feet
were sore by the time most of the guests left in the wee hours of morning. The
few left standing scattered about the drawing room and patio. I retreated to the
library where I collapsed on the couch and kicked my shoes off. I loved high
heels but they were hell to dance in. My hand cradled a steaming mug of coffee.
I wasn't sure where Jake had disappeared. He hadn’t been on the dance floor.
Someone had opened the window to the library, and a cool breeze cleared the
stuffy room.