OUT ON A LIMB (27 page)

The postfuneral party had arrived, and there did seem to be more than a hundred people buzzing about the buffet and bar, sipping wine and cocktails, and chatting at the tables with centerpieces of exemplary height. Caron was behind the bar with Randy, her lower Up extended and her face flushed. Jacque’s army moved deferentially among the guests, retrieving platters to be replenished, discreetly gathering abandoned plates and glasses, resetting tables, their eyes glazed and their smiles carved like those on moldy jack-o’-lanterns. I wondered if Jacque kept them in cold storage until he needed them.

I spotted two of the women I’d seen at the fitness center, and the lawyer who’d been at Anthony’s side during the press conference. Farberville’s esteemed mayor was present, slapping backs and shaking hands as if at a political rally. Other faces were vaguely familiar, perhaps from feature stories in the newspaper about community luminaries who read books once a year at elementary schools and sponsored golf tournaments to benefit the victims of disabling diseases.

Not my crowd.

It seemed impossible to find Peter without shrieking his name or firing a nonexistent weapon. I was about to go inside and call Jorgeson when Adrienne grasped my arm and dragged me aside.

“You have to do something!” she whispered so urgendy that I felt the need to dry my ear with the nearest napkin. “This is so awful!”

“It seems to be going nicely,” I said, trying not to wince as her fingernails dug into my arm. Bruises, if not scabs, were inevitable.

“She’s here.”

I stared at her. “Daphne? Where is she?”

“Not Daphne. Jacque told one of the waiters to tell me that Sheila’s in the kitchen, making herself a sandwich. How on earth could she have found the nerve to show up at a time like this? Why is she doing this to me? What if Jacque storms out? I won’t be able to show my face at the club ever again!” She gulped down what appeared to be a martini (sans olive, which was lucky, since I’d never learned the Heimlich maneuver). “This is going to be a total disaster, and it’ll be her fault. Promise me you’ll make her leave, Claire. I’ll buy you whatever you want—a new car, a trip to Tahiti, a decent wardrobe, anything!”

I extricated her fingernails from my flesh. “I’ll see what’s going on in the kitchen, Adrienne. Pull yourself together and go talk to Mary Margaret or one of those relatives you mentioned. I can probably convince Sheila to leave without causing a commotion.”

“A commotion? Do you think she’ll barge out here and start ranting? I am really, really having a bad day. I hope you appreciate that.”

I had not the slightest idea what I thought Sheila might do, but I gave Adrienne a reassuring smile and said, “Deal with your guests.”

I gave her a gentle shove in the direction of the bar, then went inside and into the kitchen. Sheila was indeed slathering pate on a slice of bread, seemingly oblivious to Jacque’s livid glare. For the occasion, she’d chosen a black taffeta gown seen more often at formal affairs frequented by those who spend daylight hours in coffins. And the cowboy boots. And a tattered mantilla.

It was not a fashion statement that would speak to the crowd in the backyard.

She glanced back at me as I approached. “My goodness, you do get around. I’m not surprised to find you here, though. This house must be overrun with vermin.”

I took her sandwich, put it on a plate, and growled, “Follow me.”

When we were in the dining room, I handed her the sandwich and told her to sit down.

“But I don’t have anything to drink.”

“Don’t move,” I warned her, then went outside and elbowed my way to the bar. “A double vodka straight up,” I said to Randy. Caron gave me a quizzical look, but I could only shrug in response. I took the glass, loaded a plate with hors d’oeuvres from the buffet, and hurried back to the dining room.

Sheila was greedily eating the sandwich. I set the glass and plate within her reach, and sat down across from her.

“Why did you come today?” I asked her.

She swallowed what was in her mouth and took a gulp of vodka. “I may not have been fond of Anthony these last three years, but I was married to him for almost twenty years. Those people outside used to be my friends. They came to my parties and I to theirs. I just thought Fd stop by so we could share our remembrances of Anthony and the good old days.” She adjusted the mantilla. “Do you find this overly dramatic?”

“How did you get here? Did you drive yourself?”

“Heavens, no. My car hasn’t run in years. I’d get rid of it, but several cats have had their Utters in it. It’s as though I’m providing a homeless shelter for our litde feline friends.”

“Then how did you get here?”

“Why don’t you be a good little exterminator and fetch me another drink? Anthony refused to give me enough money for expensive vodka, so I might as well enjoy this while I can. Better yet, bring a bottle and I’ll take it with me to the cemetery. Anthony might roll over a few times while I sit on his grave and tell him what I’m drinking.”

She was stuffing mushrooms and asparagus spears down the front of her dress as I went into the kitchen. “Is there a liquor supply in here?” I demanded.

Rumbling like a pressure cooker, Jacque pointed at a cabinet below the shelves of cookbooks. I grabbed a bottle of vodka and returned once again to the dining room.

“I’ll let you have this after you answer my questions,” I said with all the compassion of a prison matron. “First, how did you get here?”

“Do you think I saddled up a mule and rode out here? I called a cab, of course.”

“A cab?”

“The driver was half an hour late, and very peculiar. He claims to manage the local office of a United States senator. When I pointed out the absurdity of him driving a cab, he said he was keeping his finger on the pulse of his boss’s constituency. I made it very clear that he was not going to put his finger on my pulse or anything else of mine. I think I shall write a letter of complaint to the cab company.”

She reached for the bottle, but I shook my head and said, “I’m not finished. Did you come here in hopes of finding the geological map?”

“I’ve never heard of that kind of map, and if I had one, I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea what to do with it.”

“Oh, yes, you would. Finnigan Baybergen told me all about it In fact, I discovered him in Anthony’s office this morning, searching through the filing cabinet.”

Her face turned pale. “You did? But he wasn’t supposed to do that. He came to my house a few days ago— I don’t remember when—and said he was researching the history of the property. I told him all about how my grandfather moved his family here from Sicily and bought the land to start a vineyard. When the soil wasn’t right, he had to settle for vegetables and some chickens. My parents weren’t interested in farming, so they rented the property over the years. Then it came into my possession, and I sold it to that son of a bitch. The house that my grandparents built was in this exact spot. When I was a child, I used to come out here all the time and play in the woods or climb around in the barn. When I was six or seven, I fell out of the loft and broke my arm. I still have a scar.”

“What about the purported fault line?”

“Oh, that,” she said, laughing. “There were stories from other families who lived out here about dishes tumbling off shelves and pictures crashing to the floor. My grandmother swore the farmhouse was haunted, so my father went to the geology department at the college and they gave him a map. She never forgave him.”

“What happened to this map?”

“My father folded it up and stuck it in the abstract, and it was still there when it came to me. When I found it, I told Anthony all the silly stories about poltergeists and disgruntled ghosts with an aversion to carnival glass. In his contemptuous way, he thought it was all very amusing, as though my grandparents had been nothing more than superstitious peasants.” She picked up her empty glass and studied it. “I wanted to punish him.”

“By blackmailing him?”

“Well, yes,” she said as she reached for the bottle. I passed it to her and waited. Once she’d filled her glass, she continued more cheerfully. “He had a major financial investment in Phase One, and enough acreage to eventually have condos all the way down the hillside—as long as the information about the fault was not made public. I mean, who’d want to buy a unit that might catch on fire or slide over the bluff? And of course there might be pesky little lawsuits from tenants who’d already suffered damages. I used to sit back and imagine his expression when I told him what it would cost to keep me quiet.” She drained the glass and refilled it. “But now, alas, he’s not here and poor Adrienne’s financial future is in danger. What a shame.”

I retrieved the bottle. “And Daphne’s. She stands to inherit half the estate.”

“You’ve been reading the will, haven’t you?”

I nodded. “What’s to keep Baybergen from going public?”

“Why would he do that? He told me he was writing a book about the history of the county. He brought me a botde of vodka, a box of chocolates, and a little fern to put on the windowsill in my kitchen. So few people come to visit these days.”

I felt a flicker of sympathy for her, but not enough to ignite even the smallest fire. “So you told Daphne about the map, and she came here to find it. Did you tell her where to look for it?”

“He stored boxes all over the house,” she said. “I didn’t tell her to shoot him, but I don’t blame her.”

“And you believe that she did?”

“From what I’ve been told, I suppose I do. Anthony was once a good-natured man with a semblance of a sense of humor. He and I used to go on picnics, fly kites, rescue kittens, make love in the morning and again that evening. But something happened to him as he began to make money. We joined the country club so he could make deals in the locker room. His taste in music changed. He shopped with me to make sure I was buying clothes that were competitive. An interesting concept, don’t you think?” She stopped for a long moment. “I knew it was a matter of time before I was replaced, and I have to admit I did not handle it well. Odd, being condemned as an anachronism at thirty-nine.”

This unexpected turn in the conversation was making me uncomfortable, to put it mildly. “But why did you abandon Daphne?”

“Early retirement. I’d like to leave now.”

“How will you get home?”

“My driver is waiting at the road. If you’ll give me the bottle, I won’t make a scene, as entertaining as it might be.”

“One last question,” I said, keeping the bottle out of her reach. “Do you have any idea where Daphne is staying at the present? Tell me the truth, Sheila, or I’m going to water the plants.”

She struggled to her feet and tucked an errant asparagus spear back in place. “I have not seen or heard from her since the day after Anthony was killed and the police found her at my house. I haven’t the slightest clue where she may be.”

“You’re not worried about her or Skyler?”

“Oops, you’re out of questions. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to hand me the bottle, I’ll be on my way.”

I did as she’d demanded, then guided her to the front porch and asked an officer to help her navigate the driveway to the cab awaiting her. A carriage it was not, and most certainly not chauffeured by Prince Charming, who’d seemingly forgotten to return it to its rightful operator. Arnie would always be a frog (or a loathsome toad), no matter how many kisses he coaxed out of misbegotten princesses.

As I headed for the backyard to once again try to find Peter, Jacque burst out of the kitchen. Although he was not waving a cleaver, I suspected it was an oversight on his part.

“Are you through barging into my kitchen like a drunk at a pool party?” he demanded. “I have tried very hard not to lose my temper, but this is too much. Food presentation is an art. I must have space to express myself.”

‘The space you have is between your ears,” I said. “Those people out in the backyard may be impressed by your displays of temperament, but I am not. Why don’t you
mettez un haricot vert ou le soleil ne brille jamaisT

“That was dirty, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” I said, then went outside to find Peter.

He was hovering at the fringe of what was becoming a festive occasion despite the darkening sky and flashes of lightning in the distance. I gave Adrienne a quick nod to let her know that she and her friends would not be interrupted by such pesky intrusions as an ex-wife or a homicidal stepdaughter, then joined him.

“Is there anything you’d care to share?” he said.

“Such as
un haricot vert
or
un coeur d’artichauf!
If you’ll wait here, I’ll fight my way to the buffet table and come back with a plateful. We can find a quiet spot and nibble ourselves crazy. How much do you think this costs? Two, three thousand dollars? Jacque’s probably charging a dollar apiece for the crab puffs.”

“Would you please stop this?”

“Yes,” I said as I sat down on a brick wall bordering a flower bed. “It’s all too complicated. There are things I have to tell you, things I want to tell you, and things I can’t tell you. Can you understand that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“If you start threatening me—no, you don’t.”

Peter managed a smile, although I could see it required effort. “So let’s start with the things you have to tell me.”

He was no longer smiling after I’d told him about Chantilly’s disappearance. “She was with Adrienne when they saw Daphne run out of the house,” I added, “but I’m starting to think she might have seen someojje else. It seems logical that Adrienne hurried inside to make sure that Anthony was all right, which he most surely wasn’t. Chantilly probably parked the car, combed her hair, touched up her lipstick, and took their gym bags out of the backseat.”

“That’s not what she told us, but I agree that she wouldn’t have voluntarily disappeared like this. I’ll put Jorgeson on it, even though it’s his day off and he promised to stain the deck. What else do you feel compelled to tell me?”

“I saw Daphne about forty-five minutes ago,” I said in a very small voice. “You what?”

“Don’t bluster, please. People are staring at us, and I’m hoping to be invited to the fashion show at the country club next week. I could end up as the president of the Junior League if Adrienne proposes me. She is my best friend, you know.”