Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) (13 page)

Gracie wasn’t sure how it happened, but she was going to Isabelle’s house for tea. In the back of her mind, a vague recollection of Isabelle mentioning the afternoon soiree nagged at her. For all she knew, she’d pitched the invitation. Isabelle had swept into the office, alternately chastising and begging her to attend. Gauging her cousin’s insistence, Gracie’s best guess was that Isabelle had forgotten to invite her and just realized her error. So, by rights, she should’ve been thoroughly insulted by such a last-minute summons for what she knew would be an uncomfortable and formal affair. It was just to show off some redecorating Isabelle had done. Why it was so urgent was unclear. But Isabelle had verbally bludgeoned her with guilt—how she needed Gracie’s support during her grief recovery, which was unlikely, and then warbled about how fabulous Carla Jenkins was as a decorator. However, the deciding factor was who else was on the guest list.

She smoothed back a few stray curls that always managed to escape her ponytail. Teatime was at four o’clock. She could only hope Jim would be back, and she’d have time to shower and change. The familiar diesel rumble of his truck caught her attention. She shuffled a stack of papers together and dumped them into her in-box for later. Haley trotted out to reception to greet Jim.

He strode into the office, his eyebrows knit over stormy blue eyes. Patting Haley’s head, he stood by his recliner as if deciding whether to sit or stand. Haley flopped down by Gracie’s desk chair. Gracie clicked the shutdown on her computer. She looked up, surprised by his surly expression.

“Whoa, what’s going on?”

“Toby’s done it this time. He’ll be back in jail by tomorrow.” Jim tossed his baseball cap onto the desk and grabbed a Coke from the refrigerator.

“What’s he done now?”

“Threatened Ben Richter with a shotgun or
possibly
threatened him. He says he didn’t. Who knows? Between Toby and Roscoe, I don’t know who’s lost more marbles.” He slumped into the recliner and took a swig from the can.

“Why would Toby threaten Richter?” Gracie locked her desk drawer, dropping the key in a paperclip container.

“It’s that stupid land. Richter is bound and determined he’s going to get it. Today he only wants the back portion, which is a new twist.”

“What’s the big deal with that land? There’s something more to the whole thing.”

“I don’t know. Toby’s lawyer called while I was up there. He told me that Kim discharged the mortgage today.”

“I knew she wanted to do it. I guess she didn’t waste any time. The land is his free and clear now. That must be a relief.”

“Ha! Not likely. Toby will do something to ruin his good fortune. I just don’t know …”

She swiveled the chair, back and forth, looking at the wall clock. “Well, I hate to break up this meeting, but I received a royal summons for afternoon tea.”

Jim looked at her in surprise, pushing his baseball cap back from his forehead. “Really? What brought that on?”

“Isabelle just
has
to show off some redecorating project, which needs to be properly oohed and aahed over. It’ll probably be a real snorer except that she told me Ms. Harkness, Streeker’s aide, would be there along with the wife of the New Energy guy. Knowing Isabelle, she’s got something up her sleeve with these women. It might be an interesting intelligence-gathering opportunity.”

“Might be,” Jim agreed. “We need to find out the real story soon, because Toby isn’t going to sell that land to anyone. He told me today. They’ll have to pry his cold, dead fingers off the deed.” Jim finished the Coke and tossed the can in the wastebasket.

“You be careful,” he warned.

*****

Cars lined the one side of Crescent Lane you could park on legally. No parking signs guarded the other side of the street. And parking was at a premium for this event. Gracie was late and not fashionably so. It was almost 4:45 by the time she walked up to the heavy oak door of the huge arts-and-crafts style house. A large wreath of fresh peonies hung on the front door. Her stomach churned with nerves. She hated these kinds of social gatherings. She’d rather be throwing tennis balls for dogs.

A caterer’s van sat under the shade of the maples that stood in the middle of the circular driveway. A black Mercedes was parked in front of it. The door opened, and Gracie was greeted by a frazzled looking woman wearing a white shirt with “Kate’s Katering” embroidered on the pocket. Isabelle hadn’t messed around with this tea event.

The sound of voices came from the dining room, which was to the right of the foyer. Steeling herself for disapproval, Gracie smiled at the caterer, smoothing her French-braided hair. She could only hope that her navy blue Shantung silk-cropped pants with the matching short, fitted jacket passed muster. The chatter in the dining room momentarily stopped when she stepped through the doorway.

Her mother, who’d predictably been looking for her, scurried to greet her and whisper, “You’re late. Really late, Gracie.”

“I know, Mother. It just couldn’t be helped. I found out two hours ago I was coming,” she hissed back.

Theresa frowned. “You should have gotten the invitation weeks ago.”

Gracie shrugged. “What do you think?” she asked, motioning to her outfit.

“It looks perfect on you. I told you that was a good buy.”

Gracie nodded distractedly. She was more interested in looking around to make sure her targets were in attendance.

The wives of the deep pockets in Deer Creek were present and accounted for, but she didn’t see Cynthia Harkness anywhere. Everyone was dressed to the nines, mostly in pastel dresses or suits. It was a good thing she hadn’t come in what she really wanted to wear.

Petit fours, scones, shrimp, mushroom caps, and tiny sandwiches were on fine china tea plates. There wasn’t much tea to be found, but most were enjoying what looked like pink champagne. Silver trays of graceful champagne flutes were staged in strategic places. She looked toward the large living room, which was a straight shot from the dining room. Isabelle was in deep conversation with Carla and another woman whom she didn’t recognize.

Theresa touched Gracie’s elbow and whispered, “Go get some food. It’s wonderful. And mingle.”

She rolled her eyes at her mother, who was already talking to her sister-in-law, Marlene. Her aunt glanced over at her and smiled. Aunt Marlene was looking downright spring-like in a linen lavender suit. Her father’s sister was tall with wavy steel gray hair that brushed her shoulders, and she had a bosom you could park a casserole on.

Gracie turned her attention back to the food. Darlene Evans buttonholed her as she picked up a napkin and plate to start through the buffet line.

“Isn’t this a great room?” she gushed. “Make sure you get Carla’s card.” She flashed a black and gold business card from her jacket pocket. “They’re at the end of the buffet.”

Gracie nodded and saw a silver dish with a pile of cards near a teapot. She hadn’t even noticed the room when she walked in. She had to admit it was a beautiful dining room. A bay window had been inserted in place of the old picture window. A border of stained glass trimmed the top and bottom of the window. The trim and crown molding looked properly arts and crafts. The hardwood floor gleamed with an aged patina. Gracie wondered if it was reclaimed flooring or new. The area rug under the obviously custom table was deep red. The rug pattern had been picked up tastefully in the stained glass.

“It is beautiful,” Gracie admitted.

“Isabelle spent some serious money on this room,” Darlene said appreciatively. Her eyes swept over the elegant peony centerpiece and candles on the long dining table.

“No doubt. She never does anything halfway.”

Most of the women were gradually moving to the large patio area at the rear of the house. Darlene and Gracie went with the flow. The warm afternoon was inviting, and Isabelle’s HGTV-perfect gardens were the envy of many. Isabelle, of course, had a gardener who came weekly. She’d ruin a perfectly good manicure otherwise, Gracie ruminated tartly. It seemed everyone ahead of her was commenting on the landscaping. The waterfall was the real attention grabber. Gracie filled her plate with cucumber sandwiches and a delicate pink-iced petit four. She caught sight of the caterer, who looked exhausted. She leaned against the kitchen counter with her eyes half-closed. Gracie slid into the kitchen, a grin on her face.

“My cousin can wear you out in no time,” she joked.

The woman looked startled and backed away from the counter.

“I’m sorry. Was there anything you needed?” She was plump, with rosy cheeks, a straight short nose, and a neat pageboy cut that just brushed the collar of her shirt.

“Not a thing. I’m trying to avoid the crowd, but appear social at the same time. I’m Gracie Andersen. The hostess’ cousin.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Kate.” Her face remained guarded.

“I know from long experience that Isabelle is a challenge to work for,” Gracie said, stuffing another sandwich in her mouth.

“Well, ‘challenge’ is a good word for it. Plus one of my assistants called in sick just before the party. It’s been a wild day.”

“Ooh. That
is
tough. Everything is delicious though. Have you been doing this long?”

“Thanks. I was working at a restaurant in Geneseo and decided to strike out on my own last fall. Even with the bad economy, I’ve been pretty busy. Mostly political fundraisers and some weddings.”

“Political fundraisers. Really?”

“Surprising, right? A friend of a friend got me hooked up with Congressman Streeker’s aide, Ms. Harkness. I’ve done several for them, which has made getting my business going pretty smooth … so far.”

Gracie stopped mid-bite. She wiped the corner of her mouth with a white linen napkin. “Cynthia Harkness? Is she here today? I think Isabelle told me she was going to be around.”

“She’s been outside on her cell phone for the last few minutes.”

Kate pointed through the kitchen windows. Gracie peeked through the brown tab curtains and caught a glimpse of the tall, athletically built woman, talking intently on her phone.

“How is
she
to work for?” Gracie picked up a stuffed mushroom from a silver tray on the counter.

“Tough, but okay. She definitely knows what she wants. Ms. Harkness got me a job with New Energy too, so I can’t complain.” The caterer turned to grab trays of sandwiches and skewered shrimp. “Excuse me. I’ve got to replenish the table.”

Guests were filtering back into the house for more food and drinks. Isabelle caught sight of Gracie in the kitchen and immediately made a beeline for her. Gathering her intestinal fortitude, Gracie pasted on a smile and walked from the kitchen.

“Where have you been?” Isabelle demanded. “Your mother said you were here, but I haven’t seen you anywhere.”

Her blue eyes were blazing. She was perfectly dressed in a watery blue nubby silk skirt and creamy silk blouse. Pearls adorned her ears and neck. Her blond hair was pinned in an elegant French twist. She was like June Cleaver on steroids.

“Sorry. I was hanging out by the food. I really wanted to meet Cynthia Harkness, but I guess she’s not around.” Gracie tried to get the focus off herself.

“She’s got a business call, but come and meet Ann Marie, Mitch Allen’s wife.”

“The windmill guy’s wife?”

“Yes.” Isabelle said curtly, and then her expression softened. “She could use a little company right now,” she added. “Maybe you could show her the gardens. I really could use some help with her.”

“Sure. Why not?”

Isabelle looked at her cousin in surprise, one eyebrow arched doubtfully.

“Really?”

“Yes. Anything wrong with that?”

Gracie picked up a glass of what she hoped was lemonade in an attempt to look nonchalant. She wanted a clear head, so none of the pink stuff for her.

“Why, no.”

Isabelle regained her composure and led Gracie to a short, mousy-haired woman, who looked well into middle age. She held an empty champagne flute in her hand and had a slightly silly smile on her face. After appropriate introductions, Mrs. Allen was immediately chummy, a sure sign that she’d had more than one glass of bubbly. Gracie felt sweat begin to seep into the underarms of her jacket. She’d reached the limits of her socialization for at least a week but she had to carry on. She reminded herself that amidst this torment was a treasure trove of information just waiting to be discovered.

“I love your hair. Is it natural?” Ann Marie asked a little giddily.

“Why, thanks. Yes. I grew it myself. I understand your husband is the CEO of the wind farm company.” She couldn’t waste any time. A few women had already left, and it wouldn’t be long before they’d all be heading to their cars.

“Yes. It’s my dubious claim to fame.” The woman frowned and grabbed another glass of champagne from a nearby tray. “I’m a windmill widow. Business is demanding … very demanding.” Her gaze went to the gardens outside, and she took a sip from the glass.

“I can imagine. New Energy has had quite a time trying to get that wind farm built on Jemison Road. There’s been so much controversy. It must be hard to deal with it all.” Gracie was surprised at how easily she’d slipped into the role of Ann Marie’s confidant.