Buried Secrets Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mysteries, Book #14 (The Charlie Parker Mysteries) (17 page)

He started to move in for a kiss, saw the lipstick and settled for a chaste peck on the cheek.

Freckles bounded into the room and headed toward me, but Drake grabbed her collar and steered her toward her crate, where she would be perfectly content with a chew bone while we were out for the evening. I shuffled hangers in my closet again, hoping a suitable coat would have appeared but it didn’t, and my down parka certainly wasn’t going to work for this outfit. A shawl would do, and I found a brown cashmere in a drawer. It wasn’t a great match with my glam outfit but at least it was brand new, a gift from some Christmas past, as I’m not normally much of a cashmere-shawl kind of girl.

I joined Drake in the living room where he was pointing to one of the living room chairs. Draped over the back of it was a black velveteen coat, and lying on top of that sat a tiny evening bag and an envelope. I opened the card.

“The dress is a gift,” said the handwritten note. “Sorry, but the coat and bag have to be on loan. Love you, Vic.”

I slipped into the coat and the princess effect was complete. My prince escorted me out to our awaiting carriage which was still, sadly, a Jeep.

Chapter 18

Drake followed two other cars that had pulled off the street and were winding their way along the drive to the porte-cochere at the north side of the mansion. Uniformed valets met each vehicle, assisted the passengers out and took the cars away into the night. When our turn came, I stepped out and took a deep breath. My only true goals for the evening were to check out the other women’s bling, give Drake time to glad-hand some of the city’s prosperous as potential clients, and be ready shortly after the stroke of midnight to get this gunk off my eyelids.

As soon as our Jeep moved away a friendly young woman in black slacks, white shirt, and cropped tuxedo jacket greeted us. We climbed three stone steps and a white-haired man in similar uniform met us just inside the door where he offered to take my wrap. That disappeared into a small anteroom and our attention was drawn to a cluster of people standing near the foot of the elaborate wooden staircase. A small fireplace opposite the front door gave a cheery glow to the richly paneled foyer and gold lights sparkled on a tall, thin fir tree that filled the corner by the stairs. I didn’t remember the tree from our previous visit; Felina had toned up the decorations as well as the dress code. The sounds of big band music came from the second floor.

One of the tuxedoed men stepped forward and I recognized Jerry Brewster.

“Drake, Charlie,” he greeted. “So glad you could make it. Charlie, you look beautiful. I’ll bet you spent the day at the spa like my wife did.”

If he only knew.

Felina appeared at his side, indeed looking as if she’d spent the day at a spa. Her floor-length strapless red dress perfectly accentuated her slender body and the strand of diamonds around her neck must have set Jerry back at least two Mercedes’ worth. The matching bracelet could have easily purchased an ordinary SUV. I admired the jewelry in appropriately reverent tones until Drake gave my elbow a squeeze. I guess I was laying it on a little thick.

“How’s Katie?” I asked, directing the question toward Jerry. “Did she start work at the dealership yet?”

“I gave her a little back-office job, doing some filing and learning a few basic accounting entries.”

The same way Jerry himself had gotten into the business.

“How is she taking to that?” I asked.

Felina spoke up. “I’m sure it’s doing no more than keeping her off the streets. But at least that’s something. Meanwhile, there are bars both upstairs and down, and be sure to go up to the main salon where we’ve got a huge buffet. We’re not waiting until midnight to break out the Perrier
Jouet
.”

Someone distracted her and she turned away.

“Katie will do just fine,” Jerry said quietly.

I smiled, getting the picture. I could certainly see why Katie favored her father.

“The kids are in my study, if you want to pop in and say hello.” He indicated a closed door to the left of the stairs.

I found Katie and Adam seated on a heavy leather couch that dwarfed them. A Christmas movie was playing on a small television set on a walnut bookcase. Katie wore a party dress that was more suited for a seven-year-old than a young lady, and Adam had on a miniature version of his dad’s tuxedo, the jacket concealing the small cast on his arm.

“Hey, Katie,” I said, not commenting on her dress.

“Charlie! Hi.” She got up and came to give me a hug. “We’re supposed to wait in here until Julia comes to get us and then I guess we’re, like, getting introduced to the crowd.” She made a little face.

“Ah . . . very fancy.”

“Adam has to go to bed after that but I get to stay up and have some food.
If
I act ladylike. Otherwise Felina threatened that I’ll go to bed too. You don’t want to mess around with Felina’s threats, I’ll tell you.”

Something in her tone made me think she wasn’t only talking about an early bedtime. The door opened. Julia, the au pair, stepped in quickly and closed the door.

“Oh, so sorry. I didn’t realize there was a guest.” She couldn’t decide whether to stay or go.

“I won’t interrupt your plans, just wanted to say hello. I’ll see you at the buffet, Katie.” I gave her a little wink.

Back in the foyer the crowd had cleared. Jerry must have decided that nearly everyone had arrived because he’d moved on from his duty as greeter. A few people mingled around the living room where the cocktail party had been, but most of the sounds came from above and I remembered that’s where Felina said the buffet was set up. I started up, in search of my date.

The salon ran the entire width of the mansion and the wide doors were fully opened to create a huge room from three that had been merely big. I edged my way in, having one of those awkward cocktail party moments where you’re standing there with no food or drink in hand and no one to talk to. I scanned the crowd for Drake. The only face I immediately recognized was Walt Frasier, an attorney with whom RJP had dealings from time to time. He caught my gaze and waved from across the room.

“Charlie?” said someone behind me.

I turned toward the voice to find that it was Sharon Ortega, an old friend who’d hired us a few years ago to look into the death of her business partner. We did a little oh-my-gosh exchange.

“How’s the restaurant doing?” I asked, a little embarrassed that I hadn’t been there in awhile.

“Great. Two locations now. And a catering sideline. It’s what I’m doing here.”

I hadn’t noticed that she was dressed in the quasi-standard uniform of caterers everywhere, black slacks and a white tuxedo shirt with vest.

“Looks like they ordered up a huge spread,” I commented under my breath.

“And at the perfect time,” she whispered. “This job gave all my employees a decent Christmas bonus.”

I sneaked her a little thumbs-up and she hurried off to check on the food table. Felina was right—there was enough food here to keep a huge crowd fed for a week. I spotted Drake heading my direction.

“You’re going to love that egg dish with the green chile,” Drake said, handing me a fork and a plate he’d loaded at the buffet. He pointed out something that looked like a slice of frittata.

I felt as if I hadn’t eaten anything all day and I think I gave out a little moan when I tasted the heavenly mixture of eggs, potato, chile and cheese. I finished off the slice and then a blintz of some kind and three pieces of fresh fruit.

“I’ll bring you some more,” he said, watching me with an amused expression.

“No, really. I better pace myself. I just can’t remember eating anything after a big cinnamon roll this morning.”

He gave a little shake of his head. He’s constantly reminding me that a junk food diet does not a healthy person make.

“I’ll check out the buffet myself, a little later,” I said.

He wanted to remind me about making good choices but knew I would do whatever I wanted to anyway. When Jerry Brewster walked over to introduce someone to Drake, I used the excuse of putting away our plates as a reason to meander toward that big, enticing table.

Katie was standing there, eyeing the dessert end of the table where everything from traditional flan to delicately decorated French pastries waited in a tempting array.

“That’s my favorite too,” I whispered.

She jumped, then grinned at me. “What, that one?” She pointed to a diamond shaped napoleon with chocolate shavings thinner than tissue paper on top.

I placed one on a plate and handed it to her. “That way, no one can accuse you of helping yourself. It’s a gift.”

Drake found me again and I introduced them.

“I love your dog,” Katie said. “She likes to run in the park with me.”

“She likes to run—anytime, anywhere. So you feel free to run to your heart’s content with her,” he said.

Katie turned to her dessert.

“I’ve met two businessmen who are talking about helicopter work,” Drake said to me when we walked a short distance away. “And, guess who’s here. The governor. I’m dropping a few little hints. More government contracts would be a huge boost to us.”

It was fun seeing him enjoy the party. Normally he’s pretty much all about piloting and safety and worrying about the logistics of a job. I watched him smile as someone walked up with a new introduction.

The room seemed more crowded by the minute and I edged my way to the hall, hoping to catch a few moments of relative quiet downstairs. The coat man must have taken a break. No one was likely to need their wraps until they began leaving, hours from now. Perhaps the guy did double duty by picking up used glassware or taking out the trash. A quieter group lingered around the bar in the ground floor living room, which was softly lit and still boasted the blue and green themed Christmas tree along with flickering logs in the fireplace. It seemed an oasis of calm in the noisy house. I stood in the doorway, noticing a tableful of nibbles but not especially wanting to get wrapped up in a conversation just yet.

A chime sounded somewhere near, bells that didn’t quite fit with the jazzy tunes from the music system. I realized it was probably the doorbell, latecomers. Jerry and Felina were upstairs, engaged with other guests. No one had responded to the door chimes. I slipped out to the foyer and opened the carved door.

Two women in dark coats and a uniformed police officer stood on the porch. All three looked very official.

“Mrs. Brewster?” the officer said.

“Uh, no. I’m just a party guest. Um, she’s . . . inside.”

“We need to speak with Jerry and Felina Brewster,” the woman said, her
perma
-scowl in place. “Child Protective Services.” She held out a business card. A picture of little Adam Brewster with the cast on his arm popped into my head.

A gust of wind sent a frigid blast into the foyer and my instinct was to close the door, but it seemed rude to shut it in their faces and unwise to simply let them in. I had no idea of the protocol in these situations. I took the card and felt a presence behind me. Jerry Brewster to the rescue.

“What’s this?” he asked. I handed him the card and edged away.

He invited the three officials to step inside.

“We need to speak with you and your wife,” said the stern woman who’d given me the card.

Jerry looked at the card and back at the group. “What’s this about?”

“Where is your wife, sir?” This time the police officer spoke.

Jerry turned around and I sensed that I could be useful, so I started up the stairs and waved Felina toward me when I caught her attention. She descended the staircase in her elegant red dress, coming to an abrupt halt when the saw the newcomers. Several people nearby stopped to watch the Brewsters and the music became the prominent sound from the party as voices dimmed.

“Let’s go into my study,” Jerry said, ushering the black-clad bunch toward the door to the left of the stairs. He looked toward those hovering around the living room door. “Please, everyone, get another drink, have some food. This shouldn’t take long.”

He slipped an arm around Felina’s waist and the five of them disappeared into the other room. Among the guests the word spread like a bad odor; wide eyes and slack jaws attested that having the police show up at a neighbor’s holiday party was just not done around here. I watched with some amusement as everyone seemed at a loss. The notes of
Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer
seemed frivolous and tinny in the background.

Finally a man spread his arms and motioned them all back into the salon. “Come on, everyone. Let’s do as Jerry suggested. I’m sure they’ll be out in a minute or so.”

Gucci-clad feet shuffled, Armani tuxedoes hung over hunched shoulders, but the group trailed obediently back.

Walt Frasier, the attorney I’d recognized earlier turned his sharp blue eyes on me. “Who are those people?”

I hedged, not wanting to be the catalyst that set the wildfire of gossip going.

“I’m Jerry’s personal attorney, Charlie. Does he need me in there?”

I shrugged. “Child Protective Services. That’s all they said to me.”

He bit the edge of his lip, made a decision and tapped at the door to Jerry’s study. I caught a glimpse of Jerry seated at his desk with Felina standing behind him drumming her fingers on his shoulders. Walt stepped inside and closed the door.

Hm. I glanced back toward the stairs, where a few folks stood around in small clusters speaking in muted voices. Well, I sure wasn’t going to learn anything juicy standing out here in the foyer by myself. I picked up the wine glass that I’d set on a small table and carried it into the living room.

“I can’t imagine . . .” “What do you think is going on?” “Well, I
heard
—” The comments were flying every which way.

Fifteen minutes must have passed, with the party operating in muted tones and the hosts still behind closed doors with the authorities and their attorney. No one wanted to laugh and drink, but no one was leaving either. Me included. Okay, I’m a snoop. At least I admit it. I helped myself from a tray of canapés.

When the door to the study opened, it was as if a party-bomb had gone off. Everyone suddenly began laughing and chatting, as if the earlier whispers and speculation never happened. Walt Frasier escorted the officials out of the house while Jerry and Felina rejoined their guests. Felina, I noticed, grabbed a champagne flute from the nearest passing server.