Conundrum (6 page)

“Well, I guess if you can get yourself out there in the afternoon, we could meet then. I’ll be there until five or so. Then I’ll need to go home to change.”

“Okay. I’ll take an early flight and find you in Lincoln. Norman sent directions in the reunion package. Maybe you can give me a tour.”

“Sure. See you.” Damn. So much for playing hard to get…

Chapter 9

I
t was D-Day and counting. The floor finishers and touch-up painters performed a careful ballet during the week leading up to the party. The day before, gardeners had planted vegetation on the roof and Iris’ crew had set the furniture in place following her floor plans. Several full-grown maples had been planted to frame the view of the open field from the living room windows.

Now, as the cleaning crew packed up their equipment, Iris lugged in a large bucket of white peonies and chartreuse lady’s mantle chosen that morning from a Harvard Square florist. She set to work arranging them in two Aalto vases on the dining table, making sure that they were low enough not to block the guests’ views of each other.

She had written out ten place-cards and was slotting each one down into silver Elsa
Peretti
holders when she heard a car drive up. Shoving back her sweater sleeve, she consulted her watch—4:15. Will?

But, a few moments later, it was Luc’s shaggy head that popped inside the door.

“Hi, you,” he said, his arms loaded with bags.

“Can I help? The kitchen’s that-a-way,” she pointed with her head.

“Thanks. There are two more bags in the car.”

She brought in the remaining supplies and joined him at the kitchen island where he was unpacking containers of different shapes and sizes. He moved around the kitchen like a dancer, clad in black jeans and a navy T-shirt, looking relaxed and in control. She settled onto a stool to watch.

“Are you here to be my sous-chef?” he asked, wrapping the strings of a white apron around his narrow hips.

“I’m just getting the table ready. I’ll need to head home soon to change. The red wine’s on that counter and the white and champagne are in the fridge. Where are your helpers?”

“I don’t need helpers to cook for a ten-person party, but Louise is coming to help serve and clean up. Why don’t you open some wine for us and keep me company while I prep?” He started slicing lemons.

“I can stay awhile. I chose an Albino Armani pinot
grigio
to go with the
bronzino
. Should I open that?”

“Sounds like you run a soup-to-nuts operation if you even choose the wine for your clients. By the way, I love this house. I walked around outside before I came in. It’s sort of a
Fallingwater
meets
Neutra
.”

“Well, aren’t you the Renaissance guy? Where did you learn about architecture?”

“Oh, we chef/
restauranteurs
try to keep up.” There went his left dimple.

Iris swirled the wine in her glass and inhaled. “A pretty nose…”

He looked up at her and cocked his head.

She took a sip. “
Mmmm
. Subtle and fruity, but what’s that teaser?
A bit of pear on the mid-palate?
Sorry. I love good wine.”

“Impressive! If you cook too I’m going to be totally intimidated.”

Butter started crackling in a big stainless steel pan on the professional range. Luc began shaking Arborio rice into it. As he trickled in some broth from one of his containers, Iris watched him from behind, sipping her wine.
Such strong arms.
Did hefting crates of produce do that?

“I’m more of a baker,” she told him. “Ellie’s daughter, Raven, is my best fan. She’ll be home from college soon so I’ll ne
ed to whip up her favorite cake—
a Lady Baltimore.”

“An architect, a wine aficionada, and a baker.
Now I am impressed.”

Over the last month Iris found that they had developed an easy rapport even if it had stopped short of romance.

“Should I fill you in on the cast tonight? You’re doubling as my bodyguard, remember?”

“Of course.
Now, this guy Norman.
He’s going to live in this house by himself?”

“Yup.
He’s newly divorced, so this will be his swinging bachelor pad. He’s in a furnished apartment at the Devonshire now and plans to move here next week now that construction is done.”

“Oh, and Ellie mentioned that your old boyfriend is coming.” There was a loud sizzling as he poured in more broth, continuing to stir with a wooden spoon.

“Yeah—
Will. He’d said he was going to stop by here this afternoon, but hasn’t shown up. That’s typical of him, actually. If he comes by in the next hour, you should feel free, as my bodyguard, to rip out his still-beating heart.”

“Ended badly, did it?”

“You could say that.” Iris frowned,
then
hurried on. “Continuing on with the cast of characters, Ell
ie’s bringing her husband, Mack—
a great guy. I don’t think you’ve met him, have you? He’s a doctor, very laid back.”

“I don’t usually think of doctors as laid back. Could you hand me that mitt, please?”

“He’s a pediatrician. You’ll like him. However, on the unlikable side, we have Alyssa and Adam, the class couple. She’s a prima donna. She and Adam married after graduation. But the
male
Alpha role goes to our professor, Gilles Broussard, known as G.B. He’s kind of a self-appointed guru.”

“That’s a little weird—
only one professor coming?”

“He was the professor for this group’s third-year studio and the Friday night dinners are divided up by studios. He’s also been helping Norman organize the reunion.”

“So,” Luc raised his hands. He lowered fingers one by one as he counted “that’s you, Ellie, her husband, Norman, the old boyfriend, the prom king and queen, and the Professor. Who are the last two?”

“I’ve saved the scariest two for last. You can’t miss C.C.
Okuyama
. She’s built like a Sherman tank with the face and voice of Babe Ruth. She’s an editor from
cuttingedgedecor
who’s interested in publishing a piece on this house. Norman will be pestering her all weekend to do just that, but C.C. asked me not to tell him that she’s already interested. I think she likes torturing him.”

“How ch
arming.
But the publishing part—
that would be great for you, wouldn’t it?” Luc looked up from the simmering broth.

“Sure. My career could always use the boost. I’m terrible at marketing. But Norman wouldn’t be doing this for me. He’s trying to repackage himself as a cool dude, living in a hip house from a magazine.
It’s
part of a whole fantasy he’s trying to create.”

“I can’t wait to finally meet this guy, Norman. He sounds like a trip. But hang
on—
who’s the tenth person?”

“I almost forgot our phantom—
Jerry Jensen
. Everything about him is beige—hair, skin, even his eyes—
well, they’re light brown. He even wore a lot of khaki at school. Only his sarcastic smirk stands out. He reminds me of the Cheshire
Cat
in ‘Alice in Wonderland’, all grin and nothing to get a handle on.”

“He sounds almost innocent compared to the rest.”

“Oh no, no one would ever accuse Jerry of innocence.” Iris stared into her glass and swirled the golden liquid gently. “There was someone else in our class who was unusual.” She told Luc about Carey and about her vow with Ellie to try to figure out who had killed him.

At the start of the story, Luc turned the burner to its lowest setting and sat down on a stool to listen. After she finished he stood up and came closer. She stood up and he wrapped her in his arms.

After a minute he looked down at her and said “God, with classmates like these, one even capable of murder, how did you survive?”

“Not all of us did.”

Chapter 10

S
ome
one—Alyssa no doubt—
had decided that black tie would be “fun.” Instead of following directions, Iris squirmed into a slinky, bronze, above-the-knee dress. She sucked on a Tic-Tac as she wound her hair up and plunged a dragonfly comb through it like a saber. After smudging her eyeliner and retouching her lipstick, she slid on leopard-patterned heels. You babe, she thought as she inspected herself in the full-length mirror. Twenty years ago she had fit the term ‘coltish.’ Now what was she—’mare-
ish
’? A li
ttle
rounder,
more filled out—
but still capable of a full gallop.

Driving back out to Lincoln, she fretted about the prospect of making small talk that night.
She hated social occasions—
and this one was going to be a minefield. This was no soft, fuzzy crowd. They would be scrutinizing her and analyzing Norman’s house for perceived “mistakes.” She marveled at Ellie’s ability to ride the top of a conversational
wave—
to view tonight’s party as dinner theater. Why couldn’t Iris care less? These
were people she couldn’t stand—
and one of them was almost certainly her friend’s killer. Last night, she had made Ellie promise not to be late for the cocktail hour so she wouldn’t be stranded with them for long.

She backed her car into a spot that would allow for a quick exit. The evening felt chilly for early June. While hobbling up the pea gravel driveway, she regretted choosing three-inch heels.

Through the door’s sidelights she could see Norman’s silhouette hurrying toward her. The expression on his face as he approached displayed obvious relief. He jerked forward to deliver an awkward peck nearly on her cheek. “Where have you been? They’ll be arriving any minute!”

“Don’t you look nice,
Norman.
” A well-cut tux could hide a multitude of sins.

She moved around the hall and living room, adjusting the lighting to produce a soft glow, then stacked eight Brazilian jazz CDs, brought from her collection, into the embarrassingly expensive sound system. Satisfied, she scanned the room. The stage was set.

“Did Will turn up?” she asked Norman who was looking in the front hall mirror, fiddling with his bow tie.

“No, I haven’t seen him. Isn’t he coming with the others?”

“We’d made a plan to meet here before five while I was getting the house ready. Maybe his plane got delayed.”

“I’ve been here since 5:30 and didn’t get a call from him here or on my cell. I’m sure he’ll show up.”

“He probably just blew off the meeting with me and will show up for the dinner,” she said lightly, inwardly fuming.

The doorbell startled them.

G.B. and Jerry arrived together. Norman morphed into host mode, pumping their hands and making welcoming noises. Jerry gave Iris a wave and smirk. G. B., more gallant, air-kissed her on either check. Iris was not a kisser, air or otherwise. She flashed her teeth instead and tried to look sincere.

“Oh, my dears.
Look at this house. It is magnificent! Iris, I always said you had a gift.” He had never said anything of the sort, Iris reflected, watching him glide over to the windows to admire the view. He slid out his cigarette case and tap, tap, tapped on it.

Who still smoked? Iris couldn’t think of anyone but him.

Over the preceding years, Jerry had progressed from boyish to middle-aged, with little change in affect. His pale,
lashless
eyes watched her impassively, while his lips remained in a tight sneer.

“When did you get in from Chicago, Jerry?” Norman asked.

“I flew in this morning and had lunch with G.B. He seems to have kept tabs on all of us.”

Luc, wearing a chambray chef’s jacket, entered with a tray of brimming champagne flutes and was met with appreciative stares from G.B. and Jerry. Behind him, Louise carried a tray of potato
galettes
with Iranian caviar which she offered around. She wore a long, vintage dress of dusty-rose lace and had removed her nose ring for the occasion.

G.B. leaned in t
oward Luc, “I prefer Grey Goose—
rocks and lemon.”

A sharp knock drew everyone’s attention to the half-open door, and Ellie appeared.

As if following stage instructions, she introduced Mack to the four men, being careful to include Luc.

“G.B. tells me you’re a doctor.” Jerry had done his homework. It was amazing how much G.B. seemed to know, considering how little overt communication the group had had in 20 years.

Ellie sidled over to Iris and whispered “So, all ready for the Donner expedition?”

The introductory chit-chat went on for another ten minutes, punctuated by rounds of food and drink, until the grand entrance of Alyssa and Adam. Alyssa’s little-girl voice preceded them. “I can’t believe it! We’re all together again. This is so exciting!” Her doll-like features were aglow with pleasure. She still wore her hair shoulder-length in blond curls straight from hot rollers.