Read Sharon Love Cook - Granite Cove 01 - A Nose for Hanky Panky Online

Authors: Sharon Love Cook

Tags: #Mystery: Cozy - Newspaper Reporter - Massachusetts

Sharon Love Cook - Granite Cove 01 - A Nose for Hanky Panky (16 page)

BOOK: Sharon Love Cook - Granite Cove 01 - A Nose for Hanky Panky
7.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

I pulled into a space flanked by a Jaguar on one side and a cream-colored Rolls Royce on the other. The latter’s occupants, a silver-haired couple in evening dress, cast a quick glance as they exited their car. The woman’s tiara glittered in the waning light.

“We scare them,” Kevin whispered. “Look, he’s hiding his wallet.”

“Keep your voice down,” I said. “Remember, this isn’t The Sacred Cod.”

“Right you are. I don’t see many tiaras at the Cod.”

The regal pair swept past us to the walkway, the man holding his companion’s elbow. We couldn’t take our eyes off them. “I’ll bet he didn’t rent that tux,” Kevin whispered.

“Probably not,” I said and adjusted the car mirror to check my makeup. The plum eye shadow nicely matched my dress, I thought, and turned to Kevin. “Well, here goes. You ready?”

We stepped out of the car. Kevin extended his arm. “Madame?” Together we followed a flagstone path that led across a wide lawn to the big stucco house. Faint notes from a piano drifted out into the night. As we neared the entrance, Kevin asked, “Is that them?”

I looked up to see Mr. and Mrs. Phipps standing in the lighted doorway. Myrna Phipps wore a floor-length aqua dress with a long front panel that hung over her shoulder, giving her the appearance of a Roman general. Her powdered bosom was stuffed into a low neckline; the effect was like two loaves of fresh baked bread. In one hand she held a champagne glass, in the other, Raul. Squashed between the billowy breasts, the dog gave us a piteous look.

“Holy shit,” Kevin whispered. “That’s the dog?”

“That’s the one.”

Spotting us, Mrs. Phipps cried, “Rose, how divine to see you!” She turned to the man standing next to her. “Lester, this is Rose McNichols, the girl who saved our darling’s life.”

Mr. Phipps, incongruous in a white Stetson and tuxedo, lifted me off my feet in a hug even though he was four inches shorter. When I introduced Kevin, the man pumped his hand and slapped his back. “This party’s a tribute to your young lady,” he said.

Myrna Phipps chimed in. “Rose, we’ve made a donation to the animal shelter in the newspaper’s name.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said, “But really—”

Lester Phipps waved away my protests. “You two kids run along and get some champagne. Have fun.”

It was an excellent suggestion. “We’ll do that,” I said, but when I yanked on Kevin’s arm, he didn’t budge. Myrna Phipps, standing before him on tiptoe, was gazing up into his face.

“Rose never mentioned she was bringing such a devilishly handsome man,” she gushed, straightening Kevin’s tie.

“I guess I forgot,” I said. “Kevin, let’s go. Our hosts have guests to greet.” With a final pat on his cheek, she released him, allowing me to drag him away.

Inside the house we headed down a long, arched hallway, a thick Persian runner muffling our steps. Stopping before a heavy gold mirror, Kevin smoothed his hair, staring at his reflection. “Devilishly handsome, huh? I think she likes me.”

“Because you’re the only man here under seventy-five,” I snapped. Catching sight of my down-turned mouth in the mirror, I told myself to let it go. The fact that women of all ages come on to Kevin is not his fault. There’s something about him that causes normally proper ladies to become brazen. Maybe his boyish looks make them feel safe. Whatever the reason, it’s damned annoying.

We reached a large, high-ceilinged room where white-haired guests in evening clothes stood in clusters, chatting and drinking champagne served by uniformed waiters. Out on the terrace, a pianist played show tunes from an earlier era.

“Night of the Living Dead,” Kevin said, glancing around. He lifted two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and when a waiter approached with a platter of shrimp, he speared three with a toothpick. “How can I go back to Roach Motels after this?” he said, sighing.

“You wouldn’t have bugs if you didn’t leave food around,” I said, still irritated by Mrs. Phipps’s fawning.

“Hey, everybody’s gotta eat.”

Before we could move into the room, our hostess descended upon us. “There you are! I’m going to steal Rose for a moment, Kevin. My friends want to meet our guest of honor.”

I waved at him as she led me to a gaggle of older women seated in a corner of the room. After the introductions, I found myself entertaining them with newspaper stories, at the same time refraining from mentioning the murder. They seemed fascinated, most likely due to good breeding, and so I held court. After a while my throat became parched. It was time for a drink. Not only that, I’d spotted Spencer Farley standing near the terrace.

I excused myself to the group, departed, and approached him. “You look very distinguished tonight, Spencer.”

“And you are a rose among thorns, if you’ll forgive the pun,” he said, chuckling.

“You’re too kind,” I said. “Where’s Martha?”

“She’s out talking plans for that project of hers at the Dunes.”

“As a matter of fact, I wanted to ask you about that project.”

He leaned toward me and said, “Go right ahead.” I smelled his lime cologne and something stronger than champagne.

“A lot of people assumed that Settlers Dunes is owned by the town until we found out it isn’t so. How many others beside Martha are interested?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll bet there will be more. Of course, no one wants to see the land sold. After all, Settlers Dunes has great historic value to all of us. Be that as it may, we don’t want it falling into the wrong hands, do we?”

“No, we don’t.”

“Smart girl. The way I see it, the appropriate project done right could be super for this town. It could draw some high-end people, increase our tax base and breathe new life into the art scene. You must admit Granite Cove could use new blood.”

So could vampires,
I thought. “Will the town at least make an offer?”

“Let’s hope so.” He wagged his finger at me. “You should be asking Mayor Froggett these questions. He’s in charge.”

“I’d like to, but I can’t get through to him,” I said. “What do you think are the chances Dwayne Frost will donate the land to the town?”

“Ah, that would be lovely, wouldn’t it? Unfortunately, I’m under the impression he’s got a cash flow problem.”

I nodded. “I understand Mr. Frost was in town. I wish someone had tipped me off earlier. I’d have loved to interview the last family member of our town’s founder.”

“He was only here a little while. The Chamber asked Martha and I to put him up. We were happy to do it. After all, you can’t expect a member of the founding family bunking at the YMCA, can you?”

“No, I suppose you can’t,” I said, picturing Martha tucking her guest in at night.

Perhaps sensing my disappointment, Spencer gave me a brief hug. “Just between the two of us, you didn’t miss much. Mr. Frost is a little rough around the edges. When I suggested a tour of the ancestral home, he couldn’t care less.”

“You can’t blame him. The ancestral home is now a funeral parlor.”

He ignored the remark. “Dwayne’s more interested in spending time at The Sacred Cod.” He rattled the ice in his empty glass. “Which reminds me, I’m ready for a refill. Can I get you one, Rose? Remember you’re a guest tonight, not a journalist. Put away the notebook and have fun.”

“I’m going to look for Kevin,” I said. “Nice talking to you, Spencer.”

I found him on the terrace. Together we gazed out at the moon. It cast a silvery path upon the ocean, where nearby the Phipps’s yacht
Rhapsody
rocked gently back and forth. “You know what this feels like—you, me and the moon?” Kevin asked.

“What?”

“Feels like we’re on our honeymoon.”

I glanced at him. Kevin is rarely given to romantic sentiments, let alone intimations of marriage. Before I could respond, we were again interrupted by Myrna Phipps. “So this is where you lovebirds are hiding. Are you enjoying the party?”

“Love it.” Noting the absence of her canine accessory, I asked, “Where’s Raul?”

“He’s resting upstairs. Meeting everyone has worn the little darling out. By the way, did you get a chance to see his bed? It’s a miniature replica of Marie Antoinette’s.” With that, she clamped a jeweled hand on Kevin’s arm. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow your young man for a moment. A light in the pantry has burned out, and he’s the tallest person here tonight.”

“I’m sure Kevin would love to assist,” I said.

“At your service,” he said, bowing.

“Come with me, my dear,” Mrs. Phipps said, slipping her arm through his. “My husband makes an excellent martini, but he cannot change a light bulb.”

Watching her lead Kevin away, I recalled Yvonne’s fear that he wouldn’t fit in.
Au contraire.

On my own, I wandered to the end of the terrace where the buffet was being set up on linen-covered tables. Waiters rushed back and forth from the kitchen bearing silver platters and large chafing dishes My attention was drawn to a young staff person. Her pale hair was worn in a single braid. There was something familiar about the slim build and straight-backed posture. When she turned, I gasped. “Brandi!”

“Rose! I didn’t know you were here tonight.”

“Because I’m too poor for this crowd?” I said, teasing.

“No,” she said, lowering her voice, “because you’re too nice.”

“How long have you worked for Cassandra’s Catering?” Even in the simple uniform of black skirt, white blouse and tie, Brandi looked classy.

“A couple of months. It’s just a few nights a week.”

“And you’re at Stella’s every day? That’s a tough schedule.”

“I’m saving for a car.” She cast a quick glance behind her. “Let’s move to the
hors d’oeuvres
table. I’ve got something to tell you.” When we approached the table, she picked up a tray laden with treats. “Seafood puff pastries,” she said. “Help yourself, and take your time. I want the manager to think I’m working.”

“You are,” I said, studying the array and popping a miniature tart into my mouth. I hoped it wasn’t eel or something raw, but it was delicious, a creamy lobster filling inside a flaky, buttery crust.

“Take another,” she said. “Keep eating.”

I hadn’t had dinner, so stuffing my face with seafood savories was no hardship. “Go ahead,” I mumbled, spraying crumbs. “Tell me.”

“Rusty told me something that might be important. The night Dr. Klinger was killed, he saw someone sleeping in a car in the Harbour Building parking lot, someone who shouldn’t have been there at that hour.”

“Someone he knows?”

She nodded. “He’s reluctant to talk about it, though he told me. I’m one of the few he trusts.”

“Who did he see?” I said, eyeing a fat pink shrimp perched atop a toast point.

She glanced over my shoulder. “I have to go. My boss is looking this way.”

She was right. A stately woman in a flowered smock eyed us like a Brinks guard. I grabbed a toothpick, saying loudly, “Just one more, miss,” and stabbed a tiny salmon mousse turnover, which I crammed into my mouth. “Who did Rusty see?” I mumbled.

“Spencer Farley,” she said, brushing pastry crumbs from her hair.

I gasped, and at the same time, inhaled a bit of crust. This resulted in a coughing fit. When I didn’t stop, Brandi got alarmed. “I’ll get water,” she said, shoving the tray at me and rushing off to the bar. Seconds later she returned with a glass, saying, “Drink it slowly.”

I did as I was told. “I thought you’d have to do the Heimlich,” I said, blotting my mouth with a napkin.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Why was Spencer Farley sleeping in his car, and what time was it?”

“It was getting dark, probably around eight-thirty. Rusty doesn’t pay attention to time. He rapped on the window, thinking maybe the guy was dead. He was snoring, like he was passed out, and he didn’t wake up. When Rusty checked the parking lot an hour later, Spencer’s Mercedes was gone.” She touched my arm. “Don’t mention this to anyone. Rusty doesn’t want any trouble.”

“You know I won’t.” Even if I did, few would give credence to claims made by Rusty Favazza.

As if reading my thoughts, Brandi said, “Rusty’s not crazy, you know. I got to know him when I stayed at the shelter. He’s a decent person. He looked out for me, made me feel safe. Other guys were just looking to use me.”

Brandi didn’t have to convince me. Before the booze and drugs had taken their toll, Rusty had a natural charisma. He was someone who, in the words of my dad, could charm a dog off a meat wagon. Thus, it was no surprise that a young Vivian Klinger had fallen for him. And, judging by Rusty’s recent reminiscings in my car, the attraction was mutual:

Gripping the soggy Dunkin’ Donuts cup filled with scotch, Rusty said, “Vivian had balls, you know? That chick was afraid of nothing.”

I took a tiny sip from my cup. “Were you in love with her?”

He stretched his legs, wincing. “At the time I was nuts about her. I never knew anyone like Vivian. Her old man was a multi-millionaire. They were into culture big time—Museum of Fine Arts, Huntington Theatre, lectures. All that shit. You knew she had class just listening to her. She talked like that actress in that weepy movie,
Love Story
. Come to think of it, Vivian looked like her, too.

“Me? I was a typical college jock, going to bars, frat parties, getting wasted and passing out. Waking up God knows where. Sometimes I’d make morning class, sometimes not. At the rate I was going, I wouldn’t be at BC long. Truthfully, I didn’t really care. I wasn’t cut out for college. I just wanted to party and play football.”

He grinned. “Then I met Vivian. It was at a party at Wellesley College. Normally I wouldn’t go there—bunch of tight-asses. But my roommate was dating a Wellesley girl and invited me. Hell, I’d go anywhere for free booze. Anyway, at this party they only served beer and wine, so I went outside to have a pull from my flask.

“I was standing there drinking Jack and listening to the bullfrogs when I heard this voice behind me go, ‘Do you always bring your own alcohol to parties?’ I nearly pissed my pants. I thought I was alone. I turned and said, ‘Yeah, want some?’ I was thinking it was some smart ass bitch, but she surprised me by taking a couple swigs.” He laughed. “That got my attention. I got a look at her. She was pretty, kinda skinny but like a model. Classy. We stayed outside and finished the pint.”

BOOK: Sharon Love Cook - Granite Cove 01 - A Nose for Hanky Panky
7.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Untamed Desire by Lindsay McKenna
Soul Mates Bind by Ross, Sandra
Witness to a Trial by John Grisham
Fried Chicken by John T. Edge
Unexpected Love by Melissa Price
Raising Hell by Robert Masello
Fatal Inheritance by Catherine Shaw