Cheddar Off Dead (15 page)

“Did you know him?”

“As Santa. I also know his wife; she and I both took tickets at a community theater, years ago. I think that's how she met Brad in the first place.”

“Ah.”

“Poor Cleo. She was just smitten with Brad. I'm afraid that's the effect he had on all the ladies. Still, it was Cleo he chose. She comes from a rather prominent Chicago family, I heard.”

The red-haired man, no longer at the piano, approached us. “Hannah, do you need to sign this card, or can Emma seal it up?”

“I already did, thanks, Peter. And can you do me a favor? Lilah and I are both out of eggnog.”

He nodded and disappeared with his envelope. He returned two minutes later with two little cups. “You're all trying to get me drunk,” I joked.

“Well, that big smile tells me we're halfway there,” Hannah said.

Peter sat down with us in the window seat. “Here we are,” he said. “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.”

I turned to him; my head felt heavy. “Which one are you?”

“Let's see. You saw evil, so you've got to be one of the other two. And I've been speaking my share of evil, so I can't be that one.”

“Peter is a terrible gossip, is what he means,” said Hannah fondly. “But he amuses us.”

“I actually didn't see evil. I just heard it,” I told them.

“Right. So we'll say Lilah doesn't speak it, I don't hear it, and Hannah doesn't see it.”

“That passed the time,” Hannah joked.

“What sort of evil are you speaking about?” I asked Peter.

He leaned toward me, clearly ready to dish. Parker probably loved people like Peter the music teacher as a means of getting information. “Listen, I didn't know Brad that well, but I do know Cleo a little better. She's a nice girl, and I happen to know that Brad cheated on her.”

“But lately things were better,” I said. “He was turning over a new leaf. He even spoke about it, on the day he died.
He told me he was a philosopher Santa, or Zen maybe, and—”

Peter pressed his lips together. “I don't buy that, but I'm not going into it here. Oh, shoot, there's Cleo. I never said a word,” he said, springing up from his seat and moving to the door, pasting a sympathetic expression on his face.

Cleo Whitefield was indeed there. She looked pale and wan and small next to the tall, dark-haired man on her left.

“That's her brother,” Hannah said. “I think she's staying with him, which is a good thing.”

Cleo was thanking Emma and Dave. “It's so sweet of you, really—all of you—thank you so much. We can't stay. Ed and I are going out for a quiet dinner, and then he's making me go to bed. I'm lucky to have all these people to take care of me.” Her eyes swept the room and lighted on Hannah and me. She brightened with recognition and waved. Hannah and I waved back. She said something to her brother and moved toward us, still wearing her coat. “Hi—Hannah, right? It's been a long time.”

“Yes,” said Hannah, shaking her hand. “I'm so sorry for your loss.”

“And I met you the other day—what a coincidence! It's Lily, right?”

“Lilah. Yeah, isn't this weird? Jenny—the first grade teacher—is my best friend, so I'm here with her. She's the one currently making out under the mistletoe. And as far as I can tell, Dave Brent is taking blackmail photos.” I realized too late that liquor had loosened my lips, and that perhaps Cleo didn't want to see a young couple in love while she was grieving for her own husband.

Cleo turned briefly and looked at Jenny, who was kissing Ross with some abandon, although they'd had the decency to move to the shadows of a corner. She turned back to us; her little freckled face had become sad. “I was planning to spend Christmas doing that. Kissing on a Hawaiian island.” We sat in an uncomfortable silence, listening to the music one of the Brents had put on their iPod. Right now Leon Redbone was singing “Christmas Island.” Cleo smiled wryly at Redbone's lyrics, pointing at the ceiling, as though the song emanated from there. Then she shrugged. “Anyway, it was nice to see you again. What are you both doing for Christmas?”

Hannah sipped her eggnog. “I'll be hosting the family, as usual. Three daughters, two sons-in-law, four grandchildren.”

“Sounds lively,” Cleo said. She turned to me.

“Oh, just hanging with the family. Nothing special,” I said.

She nodded, scanning the room, then froze. “I know that tall man in Emma's den. He's a cop. He talked to me the night that Brad—after it happened. Asked me a bunch of questions. What's he doing here?”

I touched Hannah's hand and said, “Oh, he's not here as a cop. I think he's dating someone here. No worries—he won't interrogate you.” I made it sound like a joke, and Cleo looked relieved.

“Isn't it weird, though? I keep seeing the same people. You,” she said, looking into my eyes with sudden perception, “and now him. I guess life is just full of coincidences.”

“It is. Especially at Christmastime, when everyone is going to parties.”

She nodded, looking weary again. Her brother came to join us. “You ready, Clee?”

“Yeah.” She touched her brother's sleeve and said, “This is Ed. He's been my rock in all of this.” She patted his arm, then held a hand up in farewell. “Have a good Christmas.”

“You, too.”

Her brother's face had not creased into a friendly smile, as Cleo's had. Still, he seemed protective of Cleo; he slid an arm around her shoulder, and they walked away. At the door she hugged Dave and Emma, and the latter whispered something in her ear. Dave slipped an envelope to Cleo's brother, who shook Dave's hand. Then the siblings departed into the bitter air.

“That was interesting,” Hannah said.

“Hmm?”

“Not only that your boyfriend is a policeman, but that you didn't want Cleo to know he was your boyfriend.”

I looked into her kind and curious eyes. “If you could stick to the speak-no-evil plan, I'd appreciate it. There's enough gossip at this party.”

Hannah nodded. “No problem.”

Jenny appeared in front of us, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining. “Lilah, can you go with me to the bathroom?”

I sent a wry glance to Hannah, who giggled, and I got up from my comfy window seat. “Sure, Jenny. I'd love to hear about your tempestuous love life.”

She dragged me all the way upstairs, where it was oddly silent and where our feet made no sound on the blue-carpeted hallway. I found myself peering into an elegant bedroom, then walking into it. This, too, was carpeted in a delicious
plush, and I floated toward a window to see a sheen of ice shining on the long driveway. Cleo and her brother were getting into a black car, stepping carefully to avoid slipping. “Weird, to see Cleo twice in such a short time,” I said.

“Who?” asked Jenny, who had followed me.

“Cleo. And where's the Christmas clown? I wanted to talk to her.”

“Apparently she's in Delaware visiting her grandchildren.”

“Doesn't sound very sinister.”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind. Did you ask me to this party so that I could watch you make love to a man?”

Jenny put her hands on my shoulders and hugged me against her, saying something like, “Eeeeee,” into my ear. Then she let me go. “I asked you here so that you could get a sense of whether he liked me or not. And then he just—grabbed me and kissed me, and neither of us stopped, and it just kept going!”

“Geez. I could have saved a trip out in the cold. I told you; I knew he liked you when I delivered the macaroni and cheese. The guy looks at you like you're steak and he's a Rottweiler.”

“Are you drunk, Lilah?” she asked, giggling.

“No. Are
you
? Which of us was just making out in front of a large group of people? And which of us was sedately chatting in a window seat of a rich person's home?”

Jenny shrugged. “I don't even care. I'm just so happy!”

“Then why aren't you with him?”

“He said we should probably make the rounds and pretend we hadn't just become the gossip of the school for the next two years.”

“Did he look happy, too?”

“Yes.” Now her face was smug.

“Well then, I think you should go down there and grab your new boyfriend and go home. Then you can make out to your heart's content.”

She danced a little dance on the soft carpet. “Lilah, I'm so glad you're here. Even if we haven't really been talking.”

“Yeah. It's sort of a weird night, but I intend to get a catering client out of it.”

Jenny gave me a kiss. “Hang on—I really do have to use the bathroom.” She ran into the master bathroom, and I tried out the springs on the large bed.

Jenny emerged minutes later. “Lilah, you can't go to sleep there! Come on, we're going back downstairs.”

She pulled me up from my prone position and hooked her arm through mine. “You haven't spent much time with your cute date.”

“No—we tend to avoid each other. That's what keeps the attraction alive. I'm sure if I ever spent more than an evening with him I'd hate his guts.”

We reached the stairs and began our descent. She squeezed my arm. “You are the greatest friend,” she said.

“I know. Go find Romeo.”

She didn't have to look far. Ross was walking around with a yearning expression. Jenny practically threw herself at him; I shook my head, slightly ashamed.

Parker appeared in front of me. “Have a minute to exchange notes?” he asked.

“Sure, boss.”

He took my hand, as Jenny had just done, and led me down a long hallway, this one on the first floor.

“Do they want us going in this part of the house? And also, how big is this house?”

“You throw a party, you have to assume that people will wander,” he said. “Ah, here we go. What do we call this? A mudroom? A study? A library?”

“The chapel where Hamlet finds Claudius at prayer?”

“What?”

“I don't know. This house has a lot of rooms.”

“Are you drunk, Lilah?”

“No. Are
you
?”

Parker sat down on a leather couch in a small but cozy room. The brick fireplace was lit, and some dishes of candy sat on the oak coffee table—so Emma did indeed think people might end up in here. “No. I didn't make the mistake of trying that 80-proof eggnog.”

“Uh-oh. You might end up firing me as a junior detective.”

“I don't know. You're the prettiest junior detective I've ever worked with.” Parker shot me a smile and twinkled his blue eyes at me.

“So, you need my report?” I faced him, my hands on my hips.

“Yeah. Come sit here.” He pulled me down on the couch next to him. The leather was even more comfortable than the bed upstairs had been. I resisted the temptation to lean on Parker and start snoring.

“Who did you talk to?”

“With whom did I talk, you mean.”

“Okay.”

I lifted my hand and listed names on my fingers. “Tara, Andrea, Hannah, Peter—oh, and Cleo and her brother. Then
Jenny. Sorry, I guess I didn't get far. But I do have some theories.”

Parker's eyes were still twinkling. “I'd love to hear them.”

I leaned back on the delicious couch. “Relax, Parker. This might take a
while.”

P
arker slid an arm around my shoulders and said, “I'm all ears.”

“Okay. First of all, Peter the music teacher knows something, but we got interrupted by Cleo. He's convinced Brad was cheating on his wife, and it sounded like he has evidence. We need to talk to him again.”

“Got it.”

“And here's the thing. Cleo and Brad were going to visit the Hawaiian Islands over Christmas. Maybe it was an attempt to save their marriage, or maybe it meant that their marriage was solid. But the funny thing is—will you stop
kissing
me, Parker?”

“I'm not,” he said, but his lips were pressed against my cheek and moving around.

“This is—we're supposed to be, like—staking things out. Why are you always confusing me?”

He pulled away and waited until I looked at him. “Maybe we should be straight with each other.”

“Okay. About what?”

“Are you still hung up on Angelo Cardelini?”

“What? No! He broke my heart. I could never trust him again, and I'm not attracted to him anymore. I happen to be hung up on you—but you broke my heart, too.”

“Wow. That stuff is like truth serum.”

“Now you be straight with me.”

“Okay.”

“How come you said you were proud of me to everyone here, but you've never said it to me? And when I was on television, and Fina and Cam were saying how good it was, you just left the room? I never know what's going on in your head.”

Parker leaned back and looked at his hands. “Fair enough. I'll tell you why, Lilah. Because I was jealous.”

“Of me?”

“No. Of your brother, and his wife, and everyone who had—the right—to tell you how great you were. But I'm just the guy who treated you badly and . . . now I hear that I broke your heart, too. So no one wants my opinion, even though I have one.”

“
I
want your opinion.”

“Okay. I thought you were great on that TV show. Amazing. Photogenic, charismatic, funny, sweet. I wasn't thrilled to see Cardelini leering at you, but—you were great. The truth is, Lilah—I think you're wonderful. I think you're going to accomplish great things, and that you could do
anything you set your mind to. And I—would you stop
kissing
me, Lilah?”

“I'm not.” But I was—rubbing my lips on his slightly whiskery cheeks and inhaling the scent of his aftershave.

“You are. But I take it back; don't stop.”

I slid my arms around him, and he clasped his hands behind my back and yanked me against his chest, and for the first time in months we had a proper kiss—warm, lively, seductive, enthusiastic. “Parker,” I said eventually, my mouth moving to his ear.

“Mmm?”

“I think I might be a little drunk.”

“How many glasses of that eggnog did you have?”

“Three.”

“Oh God.”

“I'm not much of a drinker.”

“Clearly.” He was laughing at me, but then his face grew serious. “You're not going to forget this, are you?”

“No.” I squeezed him. “I'm going to replay it like a happy little movie. But wait—there's something I should be mad at you about. I can't remember what it is.”

“I hope you never do.”

“Huh. I can't remember, and you're distracting me with your handsomeness. And your blue eyes. And that scent. . . .” I rooted around near his collar, trying to find the source of his lovely cologne.

“Lilah, don't. I mean, do, but not here. Are you
licking
my neck?”

“It
tastes
good, too.”

“I think we need to get you home.”

“Mmm. But wait, I didn't finish with my theories.”

“Okay.” Parker's expression was a cross between amazement and hilarity, like someone watching monkeys at play.

“So, where was I? Oh yes, the island. You see—on the day he died, Brad Whitefield spoke to me of an island. He said he had found his own little island of escape. That's why he was advising me to follow my dreams.”

“Okay. So he was talking about his vacation.”

“Well, that's what I'm not sure about. Because you see, I read
The Tempest
in high school, and again in college. I was an English major, did you know?”

“I guessed after that
Hamlet
reference a while ago.”

“So the whole play takes place on an island, you see? The main character, Prospero, has been stranded there for twelve years.”

“Okay.”

“So maybe he was talking about his vacation, but maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was being philosophical. He implied he was into philosophy. He quoted Shakespeare. And if he's speaking of the island metaphorically, then he's not escaping into something
new
—he's escaping into something he already has, right? Like, something he values and has now decided to pursue? He said he was leaving the Mainland forever—but that too could be a metaphor. Prospero became a great sorcerer on his island. He achieved power like he'd never known before, even though in Italy he was a duke. Yet he ended up leaving it all behind. The question is: was Brad staying on his island, or leaving one island for another? Is the island his talent? Is it his life?”

“Those are pretty deep questions for one who's had so much eggnog.”

“Jot this down, Parker. There's the music teacher and
whatever he knows. Then there are the multiple references to islands. To what was Whitefield referring, and was it important? Enrico Donato's son mentioned that Whitefield had a special talent, and that the Donatos were great patrons of the arts. They wanted to patronize Brad as an artist, and to help him rise to the ranks of the great actors. But the other side of that coin is that Donato Junior is possessive of his wife and clearly aware that Brad had charisma with women. So despite his warm assertions that he and Whitefield were the best of friends, I think you should investigate that area, too.”

“That's good to know.” Parker was writing now, on a little pad he pulled from his pocket.

“And then there are the rings.”

“What?”

“Brad Whitefield had a little hematite ring on his pinkie finger. Sort of distinctive. When Wendy and I had lunch with all the actors, I saw that Isabel had one, too. Same ring, same finger. Seems like an important coincidence.”

“Yes.”

“And then there are the weird strings of connection.”

“What?”

“Everyone we've met has known either Brad or Cleo or both. Is that odd?”

“Not really. We're only seeking out people who had links to them.”

“Huh. Oh, and then there's Tabitha.”

“Yes?”

“She's in love with one of the actors. I don't know if it's Brad, or maybe Dylan, or heck, one of the female leads. I don't know her sexual preferences. But I did see a photo of
her with an absolutely smitten look on her face, and she was gazing at the four actors. And yet Tabitha claimed to just be a friend to Brad, and she didn't seem to have feelings for anyone at the table when we were all together. Which means that Tabitha is hiding something. She also lied to me; she said she ‘heard' that Brad was in
The Tempest
, but she was actually working on the production. Do you have your phone handy?”

Parker handed it to me, and I logged on to the Internet to find Brad's Facebook page. “There's the cast,” I said. “Look at that woman—make the picture bigger and look at her face.”

Parker studied Tabitha in her headset, standing in the wings. “Interesting,” he said.

“Right? And did you know that Dylan Marsh tried out for the role of Prospero, but it went to Brad? And did you know that Marsh will now have the part? Which is noteworthy, because in the play, Antonio plots to kill Prospero for his throne. Could this be a case of art reflecting life? Or vice versa?”

Parker thought about this, puffing out his cheeks and then letting the air out again. “I spoke with Dave at great length tonight. He's an administrator as well as a teacher, and it was he who hired Whitefield. But he did it on the suggestion of a friend—I still need to get that connection clarified. Someone who is reputed to be one of Whitefield's best pals, but who is not in fact an actor. His name is Mark, or Mike, or something. Did that come up in your conversations?”

“No, but—it did somewhere. I can't recall right now. I should take notes, too.”

“Lilah, this is impressive work.”

“I can impress you in a lot of other ways.” I leaned against him, wanting to seem flirtatious, but instead closed my eyes.

“I'm looking forward to it, but right now I think we need to leave. Sleep does wonders for an eggnog overdose.”

“Hmm.”

“Lilah?”

“Yip.”

“I really am proud of you.”

I opened my eyes and met his beautiful blue ones. “I'm proud of you, too. I think you're dedicated and smart.”

He smiled. “Then I should be able to close this case before Christmas, don't you think? I've got three
days.”