Bonefire of the Vanities (17 page)

“You will not speak to your mother in that way.” I was so angry, my fear fled. And common sense, too.

“Well, so Mother has people who defend her.” Chasley’s voice was soft as silk as he assessed first me and then Tinkie. “Are you paid to be here, or do you truly care what happens to my mother?”

Pluto took that moment to announce his presence. He strolled, or some would say waddled, up to Chasley, looked directly into his gaze, held it for three beats, and then lifted his front paws to Chasley’s expensive pants. He hooked in his claws and then pulled back, an action so deliberate, no one could mistake it.

“You terrible little beast!” Chasley reacted with a kick at Pluto, which Tinkie countered with a very unladylike knee to the groin. In less than five seconds, Chasley was on the floor moaning. Tinkie grabbed the cat and slammed the door.

Electric blue sparks crackled in Tinkie’s eyes. “If Chasley attempts to come in this room, I will see to it that he’ll never be able to procreate.”

“Tinkie!” I was scandalized. She was the head of Delta society. She’d been born and bred to make men feel like conquering heroes, not eunuchs. Outside the door, I heard Chasley moaning. Palk murmured encouragement to get him to his feet.

I faced Marjorie. It was one thing for our client to talk bad about her son, but another for my partner to damage his manhood. “We had to do something, Marjorie.”

“Oh, fiddle-dee-dee. She didn’t hurt him. He meant to kick Pluto. He got what he deserved.” She straightened her shoulders. “His intentions are to fight me. I never thought Chasley would come here. I thought I would be safe. Obviously, he means to have a confrontation. I’ll happily oblige. I should have done this decades ago.”

“We can’t go through with the séance tonight.” I had to reason with her. “If Chasley gets wind of this, if he has evidence you’re trying to talk to the dead, he can have you institutionalized.” There. I’d said it. “He’ll gain total control of your money.”

“I’m not crazy.” Marjorie dared us to contradict her.

“I don’t think you are. Tammy Odom is a good friend of mine. She has prophetic dreams. She sees the future. I have my own—” Holy cow. I’d almost admitted to Jitty.

Tinkie rounded on me. “You have your own what?” Her blue eyes narrowed. “I’ve known for a long time you had a secret, Sarah Booth. Now, tell us.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell Tinkie. There were times when I ached to confide in my friend, but what I shared with Jitty was … private. Our bond, our relationship, was not for others to know. If I told, Jitty might disappear. And damn it, I’d come to rely on her. “I have my own set of issues with calling on the dead. You know I’d love to talk to my parents.” I hated serving my best friend a half truth.

“Oh, Sarah Booth, I know how much you miss them.” Tinkie hugged me, which loaded the guilt even heavier on my shoulders.

“I do, but the point is, most people don’t believe in mediums or departed people or spirits hanging around. If it came to a mental competency hearing, with the right judge, the right circumstances, Chasley can use this against Marjorie.”

“She’s right,” Tinkie said. “Marjorie, we can’t give him this ammunition.”

Marjorie’s chin came up right on cue. “I won’t pass up a chance to talk with Mariam because Chasley might use it against me. I came here to do this, and I won’t be deterred.”

Oh, great. Now she decided to show the starch in her backbone, when twenty-four hours earlier she was ready to lie down and die.

A thunderous knock at the door made Tinkie jump.

“Dinner is served in twenty minutes!” Palk boomed without opening it.

“Do I have to go down?” Marjorie asked. Some of her resolve appeared to melt away.

“Yes,” Tinkie and I said in unison. “You have to face Chasley.”

“Will you come?” she asked.

“Tinkie will. I’ll stay here with Pluto.” I didn’t trust that Chasley couldn’t get to the cat, and I never doubted he meant to see that Pluto went to the domain over which his namesake ruled.

“You’re better at observing people,” Tinkie said. “You go down. I’ll stay with the cat.”

I didn’t agree with her assessment, but I did want to watch Chasley interact with Brandy and Sherry. And I wanted another chance to scope out Sherry. Except for her séance the night before, I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her. Tinkie believed in her sincerity, even if she still had uncertainties about her talent. I was harder. I hoped to discover if she was a charlatan who ripped off grieving people in the worst kind of way. Tonight would be my chance to evaluate her.

“Let me change into a fresh uniform,” I said grandly, making Tinkie and Marjorie chuckle. It was a laugh we all needed.

Our belongings were still in the bunkhouse, and while I was in the servants’ quarters, where Palk insisted we stash our bags, for the sake of expediency, I took a shower and changed. On impulse, I tapped at Amanda’s room. There was no answer, but the door was locked.

I returned to the main house as the guests were being seated. Sherry and Brandy had taken their traditional seats at the head and foot of the table. Chasley was seated beside his mother, which clearly did not please her. Dinner was roasted duck, sweet potato salad, green beans in a vinaigrette, and a pear tart. After serving Marjorie, I stood behind her chair, awaiting her slightest whim. She was the only one with a personal servant, and she played it to the hilt, requesting that I unfurl her napkin, serve her plate, cut up her duck. She had quite the sense of drama.

The two country music singers were more than amused by the show. They watched as I wiped the bottom of Marjorie’s water glass before she drank so it wouldn’t accidentally sweat on her.

“I gotta ask,” Gretchen said. “Do you wipe your own bum?”

Palk snapped to attention as if a cattle prod had zapped him. “I beg your pardon, madam! Such talk is not allowed at table.”

“Do you write your help off your taxes, Mrs. Littlefield?” Lola threw in. “I mean, you’re so dependent on your girl, I would think you might call her medically necessary.”

“Mother was never so helpless before,” Chasley said. “I think those two alleged servants are preying on her. They’re making her weak and foolish.”

“Shut up, Chasley,” Marjorie said. “Each word you speak hammers the nail in the coffin of your inheritance.”

Her threat was effective. Chasley shut his pie hole.

Dinner progressed, and I watched Chasley and Sherry with great interest. Chasley focused on his plate and therefore missed the looks of interest thrown his way by the country music singers and even Amaryllis. Had he made an iota of effort, he could have swept them off their feet. His only interest was his mother. He pushed the food around his plate and cast furtive glances at her. At one point, I felt sorry for him. He wanted Marjorie’s attention. Even negative attention.

Sherry, for her part, seemed preoccupied. Several times I saw her look behind Marjorie and me, and her expression would shift to one of sorrow. It was only a blink of an eye, and I wondered if I imagined it.

“Mother,” Chasley spoke softly.

“I will not speak with you. I can’t believe you tried to kick Pluto.”

“You have more affection for a cat than you do your own son.” The bitterness of his voice spiked with real hurt.

“The cat is more loyal. And kinder. And easier to be with.”

“You’ve never loved me.” Chasley swallowed, and I was stunned by his emotion. He was a grown man—a stunningly handsome man with his swept-back blond hair and hazel eyes—yet he sounded like a young boy painfully rejected.

“I tried, Chasley. I tried.”

“Was I never a child you found the least bit lovable?”

Marjorie wiped both sides of her mouth with her napkin. “No. I’m sorry. Even as an infant you grasped at your toys, at me. Everything was yours. You reminded me of your father. He left me with two small children because he was greedy and immature. And selfish. He couldn’t come off the road. He needed the high of the live audiences and the drugs. He needed to have everything. I saw that in you.”

I wanted to intervene, to stop the brutal conversation. Marjorie acted as if the entire table were a pillar of salt, deaf to the cruelty she spoke. While I understood how Chasley affected her, he was still her son. Flesh of her flesh. How could she treat him so callously? Relief came from an unexpected source.

“Tell them about our new contract, Lola.” Gretchen punched her partner’s arm, knocking over her wineglass in the process. “Oops! Garçon, garçon, another glass, please!” she yelled at Palk, then turned back to Lola. “Tell them! Seven figures. We’ve hit the big time now. We’re gonna be rolling in it. And Lola has started some rap songs that are incredible. If we can corner both markets, we’ll be the biggest names in songwriting since Dolly Parton or Kris Kristofferson!”

Gretchen grasped the fresh wineglass Palk brought her and clinked it against Lola’s. “To us,” she proclaimed.

The girls were more than a tad in their cups. I wondered how this would affect the séance. Sherry scowled at them, but Brandy shot her a warning glance. Sherry’s response was to put her napkin calmly beside her plate and stand. She’d been distracted throughout the meal. For some reason, she’d been staring over Chasley’s shoulder at a blank spot on the wall. Unless, of course, she was channeling a stray spirit as a warm-up for the séance.

“Are you finished eating?” Brandy asked, clearly disapproving of her daughter.

“Excuse me, please. I need to prepare for tonight’s session. Let me remind you all excessive drinking isn’t allowed. You’re spending money here to connect with the spirit world. People under the influence distract me.” She dared her mother to object. “I won’t allow it.”

She abruptly left the table. A few moments later, Chasley also excused himself.

Marjorie had barely touched her plate, but she signaled she was done, so I offered my arm to assist her to her suite.

When we were out of earshot of the others, Marjorie whispered, “Chasley is a vile man. Do you think he’s talking to Sherry? What if he tries to postpone the séance? What if he tells Sherry not to contact Mariam?”

She was in a dither, and I wanted to tell her that Chasley wasn’t the only awful person in her family. “Take it easy, Marjorie. You’re paying a hefty fee to be here. Chasley—who knows why he’s here. Sherry isn’t stupid enough to bite off her nose to spite her face. You’re the client. Chasley isn’t. Still, I think it would be smart if you canceled and waited for Chasley to leave Heart’s Desire.”

“I won’t cancel. Perhaps Chasley being here will encourage Mariam to tell the truth about what happened to her.”

Arguing was pointless. The séance was at midnight, and Marjorie meant to be there come hell or high water.

*   *   *

“What does one wear to a séance?” Tinkie asked, as if she had a choice in the matter.

“Your uniform,” I answered.

“I refuse to wear khaki another minute. It washes me out.”

Tinkie’s rebellion wasn’t unexpected. She could run in three-inch heels almost as fast as I could in athletic shoes. Her wardrobe covered every occasion known to man—or woman. And she’d been in rubber-soled shoes, khakis, and a polo shirt for two days. Enough was enough.

“What would you like to wear?” Marjorie asked in a reasonable tone. I sensed trouble. The two of them, both clotheshorses, would put us in dutch. “I have the most incredible caftan. Paisley. It would be perfect for you. Maybe with a matching turban, gold sandals, a few rubies—nothing could be more appropriate for a séance.”

“Tinkie is a maid, not a guest.”

“She’s my maid and I order her to dress up.”

Marjorie grew more contrary by the minute. I’d seen a side of her I didn’t like. “Marjorie, we have to maintain our cover.”

“Horsefeathers. If Chasley plans on accusing me of being crazy for trying to talk to Marian, then ordering my maids to dress up for a séance won’t make a lick of difference. Both of you, out of those drab work clothes and into something fun. My closet is at your disposal.”

Easy for her to say. I was a foot taller than she was. “Thanks, I’m fine the way I am.”

She strolled past me. “Suit yourself.” She threw open the closet for Tinkie, who squealed in her best sorority pitch as she dived into what had to be fifty thousand dollars’ worth of very nice clothes.

I couldn’t help but grin at the sounds of pleasure the two women gave as they went from one possibility to another. “While you two are playing dress-up, I’m going exploring.” Palk would have dismissed the rest of the staff, and I might have a chance to poke around.

“Be careful,” Tinkie said, her voice muffled by a mountain of sequins, cashmere, and lace.

The house had settled into a creaky silence as I stepped into the second-floor hallway. My goal was the telephone in the library. I wanted to check my messages and see if Graf had called. I’d been able to put my romantic dilemma out of my mind for a while, but it had come tramping back, dragging along a load of anxiety, guilt, remorse, and hope.

Cece and Tammy would both report to Oscar that Tinkie and I were fine. Oscar would report to Graf. But I’d left Dahlia House with too much up in the air between me and Graf. I hadn’t realized I’d be held incommunicado by Palk and the Westin women.

I slipped down the stairs and to the library. The library door opened without a sound. I entered, closed the door, and went to the desk. The phone was where Palk had left it. I plugged it into the wall jack and dialed home.

“You have three messages.”

The first voice mail was from Tammy, saying she was headed to Heart’s Desire with Pluto, obviously left earlier in the day. The second recording was from Sheriff Coleman.

“Sarah Booth, what have you gotten yourself into now? Oscar wants an excuse for me to check into Heart’s Desire. He’s taking good care of Sweetie Pie and Chablis, but he’s worried about you two. Call me and let me know you’re safe.”

Uh-oh. If I didn’t call him, he’d be out at the gate, demanding entrance. Soon.

Graf’s sexy voice was my third call. “Hold on to the ring, Sarah Booth. We can work this out. Call me back when you get this. I love you. Despite the fact that you’re pigheaded and difficult, I love you.”