Murder on the First Day of Christmas (Chloe Carstairs Mysteries) (9 page)

    
“So I’m like, oh yeah? Well, guess what? You’re…”

    
But the silence wasn’t around us and moving outward. It had started at the door and moved toward us, until finally Dana was the only one speaking.

    
“…such an asshole!” Dana covered her mouth.

    
“That’s telling him.” Mom quickly put down her plate. “Excuse me dear.” She made her way to the Browley’s soaring foyer.  There, looking both nervous and defiant, stood Robin Woodall.

    
Rustling in peacock blue taffeta, Nancy reached Robin at the same time as Mom.

    
“Robin, you came!” The consummate hostess, Nancy made it sound like a good thing, not the utter surprise it obviously was.

    
“I just wanted to get out of the house tonight.” Robin’s tone was almost apologetic.

    
“I’m glad you did,” Nancy stated firmly, though a tightness around her mouth told a different story.

    
“And you look lovely,” Mom added.

    
True. Her jade gown - Narciso Rodriguez, if I wasn’t mistaken - was a little over the top for woman in mourning, but it did set off her green eyes quite nicely.

    
“Come look at all the good things on the buffet.” Mom took her arm. “Nancy’s put out quite a spread.”

    
“I am a little hungry,” Robin said gratefully.

    
They headed for the dining room, and the crowd noise picked up, although it carried an anxious, whispering tone with it. I didn’t even have to guess at the topic of conversation.

    
Instinctively, my eyes searched the crowd for Angela as I, too, headed for the buffet. She wasn’t talking to Jack Lassiter anymore. He was staring intently at Robin, while Dad waited patiently for him to resume their conversation.

    
Mom smiled at Dad, and he smiled back, a hundred things communicated in their exchange, not the least of which was we’ve got to get some new friends.

    
Finally, I spotted Angela back in her chair in the keeping room. Her smile was mocking, and I turned away. That chick needed a life.

    
Robin said she hadn’t eaten much in the past week, but filled her plate, the brave girl, and smiled at Mom sweetly.

    
“You’re always nice to me, Amanda.”

    
“I’m so sorry about Saul,” Mom said.

     “Me too.” I added.

     “It’s just awful.”

    
“Have the police told you anything?” Mom’s tone was gentle.

    
Robin shook her head. “They’re investigating. They think I’m some kind of black widow.”

    
Even Mom didn’t know how to respond.

    
“Are you sure Saul hadn’t taken his medicine earlier?” I met Robin’s gaze.

    
Mom gave me a look that indicated I had been less than subtle.

    
Robin chewed on a sesame-studded prawn, eyes closed as if she were trying to relive the day. “I kept only necessities over at Saul’s, so I went back to my house to get ready for the evening, needing the heavy duty stuff for the party.”

    
It made sense. The strapless bra, the body shimmer, and hair jewelry she had for special occasions would stay at her house. I was with her so far.

    
“All I did when I got to Saul’s was slip into my dress. He could’ve taken his medicine while I was gone, or even while I was there, without my knowing it. But he never did that. You saw him. He had to be hounded to take it.”

    
It felt like she was going over it with us so we could get our stories straight.

    
“I don’t think the police would even be pushing this if Oscar hadn’t caused such a fuss. Where is our host, anyway?”

    
My heart sank as I pictured Oscar ho-ho-hoing his way into the party and catching sight of Robin. Would there be one of his naughty little gifts for her in his bag?

    
Bunny came over with Nancy hot on her heels, probably intent on making sure Bunny kept her wicked tongue firmly in check. As if a barrier had been broken, Dad and Jack Lassiter joined our little group in the dining room. Angela hovered nearby, staring at us as if she were writing the scene in her head.

    
Everyone extended awkward condolences to Robin, which she accepted graciously. The spotlight suited her, and I couldn’t help thinking that she knew it.

    
The only person who seemed uninteresting in the little drama unfolding around us was Gavin Beaumont. He called to us from the keeping room, “Nice touch, Amanda, putting a Santa Claus by the pool.”

    
I did the math. Three thousand Santas, front yard in a sleigh and on every conceivable flat surface inside, but out back by the pool? That one wasn’t ours.

    
Ah…

    
“I didn’t put a Santa by the pool,” Mom announced, gladly helping Oscar pull off his little joke.

    
The crowd caught the import of her words, and with much laughter, all fifty of us headed onto the deck, down the stamped concrete steps to the patio and over to the pool. In the moonlight, we could see the cheerful bulk of a red-suited Santa waiting patiently.

    
Dad, Mom, Robin and I were at the back of the crowd. For some reason, we felt protective of Robin, sincerely hoping Oscar wouldn’t cause a scene in his sanctimonious way.

    
“Oscar, you scamp, we wondered where you were.” Bunny rushed to be the first to sit on Santa’s lap, then stopped short, causing a traffic jam of bodies behind her. “Fake!” She pointed dramatically. “Fake! I can spot it in diamonds, and I can spot it in a Santa.”

    
Sure enough, the Santa was a fake - a realistic, life-sized fake, but a fake nonetheless.

    
The crowd turned on Mom as if she had misled them. “That’s the Santa from the sleigh out front,” she said.

    
“No, we saw that Santa when we came in,” Gavin protested.

    
Apparently when we came to the party, we had all walked past Oscar in his sleigh and been none the wiser.

    
The crowd divided in two. Half went around the house toward the front, while the rest of us made our way back inside and out the front door.

    
On the front lawn, Bunny tramped (and I use this word deliberately) through the fake snow to where Oscar waited.

    
“He’s real alright!” Bunny hiked her gown up to mid-thigh and climbed into the sleigh on top of Oscar. “Alright big boy, give me my present.”

    
But Oscar had been given a present all his own. One of our clear Lucite icicles, having once hung artfully from the eaves of the Browleys’ house, was now plunged deeply into his back.

    
Bunny’s screams went on and on, as she scrambled out of the sleigh and fell face first into the faux snow.

CHAPTER 9

    
It was a testament to Bunny Beaumont’s resilience (and to the strength of double-stick tape) that she pulled herself together so quickly. I mean, had I hopped into the lap of a dead man, I’m not sure I would have recovered as well.

    
But Bunny picked herself right up, checked that her boobs were where she had left them and stalked past the stunned crowd back into the house, not even giving the devastated widow a second glance.

    
Mom stopped Nancy from rushing toward her husband, who was obviously past the point of resuscitation. It was a clear, brisk night with just enough moonlight to see how grey Oscar’s face was and how lifeless his eyes looked. The blood had long since dried to a muddy brown down his back. Nancy, sobbing uncontrollably, let herself be led back into the house, while Jack Lassiter (how had Oscar Browley put it last week?) locked down the scene.

    
More police. More questions.

    
With Nancy resting upstairs under her doctor’s care, the rest of us gathered in the living room as the investigation got under way. Detective McGowan seemed particularly interested in which guests had been present at both parties. The list was a short one: my family, Nancy, Robin, Jack Lassiter, Angela Jannings, Gavin and Bunny Beaumont, my friend Dana and a handful of other people I didn’t know. A few members of Eloise’s catering crew had also worked both nights.

    
“I’m not sure it matters,” Dad said quietly. “Anyone could have killed Oscar tonight. With Saul, it had to be someone in the house, but anyone could’ve come by and killed Oscar while he was sitting there.”

    
“So,” Mom finished, “if Saul’s death was murder…”

    
“It wasn’t!” Robin insisted.

    
“But if it was,” Mom pressed forward gently, “and if both men were killed by the same person, it had to be someone at Saul’s party, whether or not they were here tonight.”

    
“Like Tony Trianos,” Jack Lassiter said grimly.

    
“I think it’s obvious now that Saul was murdered,” Angela said from her place at the edge of our group.

    
“Obvious?” Robin protested. “I don’t see how!”

    
Angela flashed a superior smile. “Two men, two friends, die one right after the other at holiday parties. It’s a little too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

    
“Oh, I don’t know,” Gavin Beaumont commented. “The holidays can be a rough time of year. People drink too much, eat too much. Emotions run high. Lot of suicides.”

    
“I hardly think Oscar stabbed himself in the back,” Angela scoffed.

    
“And Saul didn’t kill himself either. It was an accident,” Robin insisted.

    
Angela made a derisive noise. Robin glared at her.

    
Gavin wanted to finish his point, even if he looked less comfortable with all eyes upon him.  “I’m just saying that Saul’s death could have been an accident.” Robin looked triumphantly at Angela. “Or it could have been murder.” Angela nodded with satisfaction. “But a murder completely unrelated to what happened tonight. The holidays can bring out the best and the worst in people. They can be happy, or they can be tragic. I think they’re hard for more people than we’d like to admit.”

    
I wondered if he spoke from experience.

    
“Are you saying murder’s contagious?” Angela was intrigued. “That whoever killed Oscar got the idea from Saul’s murder?”

    
Gavin shrugged. “They say suicide is contagious. Why not murder?”

    
An uncomfortable silence settled over our group, as we watched the police do their thing on the front lawn.

    
Finally, Bunny Beaumont spoke up, clearly cheered by a thought that had just occurred to her, “Amanda, sweetie, you poor thing.”

    
Mom took a deep breath as if she knew what was coming. “I think Nancy’s the one who deserves our sympathy tonight,” she said quietly.

    
“But, darling, two murders in houses you decorated can’t be good for your business.”

    
The police didn’t think so either.

    
At first, Detective McGowan seemed satisfied when we explained our connection to Oscar, but then his questions became more pointed.

    
“Remember what I was telling you two about opportunity? Once again, you’re both near the top of a short list of people with opportunity. We have to ask ourselves who was standing right there when Saul found that hand? Who was standing right there when Saul collapsed? Who knew Oscar would be in the sleigh?”

    
“We didn’t know Oscar would be in the sleigh,” I pointed out.

    
McGowan shrugged. “You knew about the sleigh and the icicle. You knew both men’s routines.”

    
“Is there an accusation in there?” Mom asked.

    
“Not at all. Just trying to go over the facts. Fact is, no one saw how that hand got on Saul’s back step. No one even knew it was there, till you two found it.”

    
“That’s right. We found it there,” Mom said. “We didn’t put it there.”

    
“Any idea who did?”

    
“None.”

    
“Know of anybody who had a reason to kill either Saul or Oscar?”

    
“No.”

    
McGowan looked at me.

    
“No.” I seconded. “On both counts.”

    
McGowan stared at us for a long moment. I don’t much care for blond hair on guys, and he had a head full of it. He looked older than me and in good shape. I wondered what gym he belonged to. Strictly out of professional curiosity, I assured myself.