Died with a Bow (15 page)

“Quite a library, isn’t it?” I said, waving my hand toward the shelves of books that lined the walls. I was impressed by the way the fiction was arranged alphabetically by the authors’ names and the nonfiction by subject matter. I wondered if they employed a professional librarian or had set it up and managed it themselves. Maybe Noreen’s husband Hugh was the intellectual. I hadn’t met him yet.

“I wouldn’t know,” he said. “Not much of a reader myself. Besides, they usually don’t let me in here.”

Sorry I’d chosen the wrong subject for an opening, I tried something else.

“Quite a selection of desserts, isn’t it?” I asked brightly. Who could deny that?

He nodded, then he took a cookie and stood there thoughtfully eating it.

“Are you a friend of Vienna’s?” I asked. I couldn’t go wrong with that unless he just said, “No, I’m the caterer,” or told me he was the DJ in charge of playing suitable music.

“Was,” he said. “She’s dead.”

“I know,” I said.

“You?” he asked.

“I used to work with her at a boutique. We…I’m in sales.”

“You’re the one who sold her that dress she was wearing today?” he asked, brushing the cookie crumbs off his hands.

“No, I can’t take the credit or the blame for the dress. I don’t know where it came from. What did you think of it?”

“She looked good,” he said. “Better than when she was alive. Maybe because she didn’t choose it herself. I don’t know who did.”

“She had a sense of style, and she wasn’t afraid to take chances,” I said. It was something I wouldn’t mind someone saying about me at my funeral.

“Took too many chances,” he said.

“How do you mean?” I asked, hoping no one else would find the desserts and interrupt what could be an important conversation. I stood still as stone, silently pleading for him to say something revealing, though he was hardly the chatty type. Was he going to tell me she was selling drugs? Running a prostitute ring? Robbing banks after hours? Stealing money and a necklace from her grandmother?

“Playing fast and loose,” he said.

“With who? With what?” I asked.

From another room someone was ringing a bell. He jumped as if he’d been burned.

“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes wide with fear.

“It must be time for the program,” I said. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Rita Jewel.”

“I know. I heard about you. I saw you at the shop, but no one knew I was there. I’m Paul.”

“Paul?” I said startled. Yet another man in her life.

“You’ve heard of me? What did they say, I’m her crazy uncle?”

“No. Are you?”

He laughed harshly. “That’s what Vienna called me. It’s her fault I got sent away. We had an argument.”

“Recently?” I asked, startled. Was he going to confess that’s why he killed her?

“I came today to set things straight with the family. They should know the truth about Vienna.”

“Isn’t it kind of an awkward time to do that?” I asked as the bell rang again.

“I have to leave town soon, so it’s my only chance. They don’t even want me here.” With that, he set his plate down and started toward the door. I followed him. I didn’t want to miss the program and the accolades, but I didn’t want to lose this guy either.

Just then Noreen came down the hall. She put her hands on Paul’s shoulders and said, “Where have you been? I told you you could only stay for a few minutes. You’re not supposed to run off. They’re looking for you.”

I strained my ears. So they were connected after all. But how? They walked back down the hall toward the huge living room where chairs had been set up with a podium in front of the fireplace. I was surprised to see Noreen escort Paul out the front door where two burly men were standing, apparently waiting for them. I stepped outside to watch from the front steps.

Paul threw his arms in the air, and the men closed in on him, linking his arms with theirs. Then all three headed toward a long black car in the driveway. Just before Paul got in, he turned toward me. I looked around, hoping he’d fixated on someone else. No, it was me, and only me. Noreen was gone.

“You,” he shouted, twisting his body, trying to get away
from his handlers. “Rita Jewel. You’re the one who killed her. She told me you hated her.”

“No,” I burst out, even though I knew I shouldn’t say a word. He was out of his mind. He didn’t know what he was saying. And yet I couldn’t help defending myself. “It wasn’t me,” I shouted.

I watched while the two men hustled Paul into the backseat of the car. They got in the front and took off with a roar of the engine. In a moment the car had disappeared down the long driveway. Was I the only one who had seen this scene, whatever it was? Or was Noreen watching from the window to be sure he’d left? Had my voice carried all the way to the mourners who were assembled inside? From somewhere the classical music that had been only background became louder. I could only hope the music had drowned out my parting words with Paul. I was left to wonder, who was Paul and where had he gone?

Despite my anxiety about Paul and his baseless accusation, I had to be sure Dolce was in place with her speech. When I quietly crept back inside, I half expected everyone to turn and stare at me. They would have horrified expressions on their faces. Maybe even a few wagging fingers. But I was relieved to see they seemed oblivious to the crazy man’s wild statements. No one looked at me, and Dolce was in the front row seated between two of our customers, Monica and Patti. I was torn between making sure she was okay and taking a seat at the rear of the room and fading into anonymity.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Athena walk down the hall. Still feeling unsettled by my exchange with Paul, I followed her into a charming garden room filled with wicker
furniture and a fountain splashing water into a small pool. “Athena? Sorry to bother you.”

Startled by my arrival, she dropped a folder she was holding, which I assumed contained the speech she was giving today. She turned and looked at me.

“I just met a man I’m a little worried about,” I said.

“Was it Paul?”

I nodded.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “He’s harmless. It’s all taken care of. He’s gone now. He wasn’t supposed to be here, but he talked them into letting him out for the funeral. He was very fond of Vienna, didn’t want her to get hurt.”

“He said he had an argument with her.”

She sighed. “Who didn’t? Anyway, he says a lot of things that may or may not be true.”

“Who is he?” I asked.

“Uncle Paul, my mother’s half brother. He’s not quite right in the head. He’s been in an institution for years. I hope it didn’t upset you.”

“Was he out the night of the Bachelor Auction?” I asked. If he was, and he was crazy, wouldn’t the police like to know about it? And wouldn’t the family try to conceal it to protect him? Where was Detective Wall when I needed him? I thought he was supposed to be here.

Athena coughed nervously. But she didn’t answer my question. Instead, she said, “We’d better go in. It’s time for the program. I think it will be quite moving. As long as no one tells the truth,” she muttered.

I took a chair in the back of the room, while Athena stood with her back against the wall. I couldn’t help being nervous. There was no way I could find my way to the front to sit next to Dolce. She was on her own. I only hoped she had
the notes in her hand. She wasn’t the only one who wanted to say something about Vienna. Many people stood, went to the podium and spoke into the microphone. As it turned out, there was no program, it was just an open mike. I guessed that was the way the family wanted it. Even Bobbi, who was now wearing a Kay Unger stretch satin sheath dress, got up to say how much she missed her stepdaughter. Had someone told her to change out of her red outfit?

I buried my face in my hands. It was so difficult to listen to Bobbi and know she was lying. Or was she? Had she changed, or was her bark really worse than her bite? Did all stepmothers resent the attention their husbands paid to their first family? I glanced to my right and was surprised to see that Detective Wall was standing to the side of the room, no doubt taking in every detail, every expression, every word that was said.

When had he arrived, and what exactly was he looking for? Probably the same thing I was: a hint as to who was responsible for Vienna’s death. I was sure it was there, hidden behind someone’s sad mask of mourning. Someone who pretended to be crushed by Vienna’s death but who was in fact responsible. If only I was smart enough to figure it out. I’d clear my own name and get some respect for solving the mystery at the same time. I told myself that the murderer was most likely here in this room and I’d better pay attention.

But my mind wandered. The speeches were all so maudlin, so teary and so rambling. For once I wished someone would tell the truth. Vienna had her good points, but she had some flaws too. I guess it was too much to ask that a dead person be criticized at her own funeral. I shuddered to think what they’d say about me.

My mind skipped around when I knew I should be paying attention. This was my big chance to catch someone out and out lying or saying something that was just a little off. I sat up straight when Dolce got up. She was holding the notes I’d written for her. I held my breath and willed her to get through it without falling apart.

To my relief, she did a fine job, saying that Vienna was eager, ambitious, helpful and hardworking. Then she deviated from the notes. I so hoped she wouldn’t go off topic to talk about the clothes she sold many of women here in this room.

“Vienna was our super saleswoman at Dolce’s, my boutique,” she began. I winced. I thought
I
was her super saleswoman. Never mind. This was not my funeral. And it was good PR for her to mention the shop. In case any woman here didn’t know about us, they would now.

“One of our customers once asked Vienna why it was that women had to wear uncomfortable clothes like tight skinny jeans, clingy shirts and five-inch high heels that made them trip over themselves while guys got to dress in loose, baggy clothing and shoes as comfortable as slippers. It just didn’t seem fair.”

Dolce paused, and everyone including myself waited for
the answer. I held my breath. Was Dolce making this up, or had it really happened?

“I’ll never forget what she said,” Dolce said. “‘Beautiful clothes don’t have to be uncomfortable. You just have to find the right brand and the right size of jeans, pants, sweaters and shirts and dresses. That’s my job,’ she said. ‘To help you find what you’re looking for so you can look and feel your best.’”

Dolce looked around. I caught her eye and smiled encouragingly while I thought, when had Vienna said that and why hadn’t I heard about it? Dolce smiled back. “That was Vienna,” Dolce continued. “Always thinking of others. Always helpful and kind. We’ll miss you, Vienna.” She left the podium, her eyes filled with unshed tears, and sat down. I was so proud of her. I couldn’t wait to tell her what a great job she’d done. But I had to wait for yet more endless, tacky, sentimental memorials that I was sure Vienna would have ridiculed. I must remember to make out a will and leave instructions for my funeral. No open mike. No sappy testimonials to how wonderful I was. Just lots of good food and humorous, self-deprecating remarks about me.

When the last person had finally spoken, Noreen stood and thanked everyone for coming. Many left, but some headed back to the tables for more food and drink. In the foyer with its polished mahogany floor, bold striped wallpaper on one wall, and a spectacular lady’s slipper orchid with dark purple flowers dramatically placed in front of a huge oval mirror, I grabbed the opportunity to speak to the well-dressed detective.

“What did you think of Dolce’s remarks?” I asked Jack, knowing any question about who he thought the murderer
was would go unanswered—not just unanswered, but ignored and greeted with a frown and another warning.

“She has a point,” he said.

I looked him over. “But you don’t fit the pattern. No loose baggy clothing for you or shoes like slippers. You don’t dress like a typical cop.”

“How many typical cops do you know?”

“Professionally—too many. Socially, not enough.” I stared at him, willing him to remember the dinner he’d promised me. When he didn’t say anything, I swallowed my disappointment and continued. I was not here to socialize or to eat, I was here to learn something about Vienna’s murder.

“How did you like the program?” I asked. “Learn anything?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Did you?”

“I thought you didn’t want my input.”

“I don’t want you to go off investigating. But if you hear anything or see anything suspicious, then of course I’m all ears.”

“In other words, this is a one-way street. I tell you what I know and you tell me nothing. Except that I’m your number one suspect. Or am I?” I asked. Of course he wouldn’t answer, but I had to keep trying. What did I have to lose?

Instead of answering, he asked, “Who was the guy who left before the program?”

I should have said I didn’t know. Jack didn’t deserve my help, but I blurted out everything like a gushing fountain. I couldn’t help it.

“His name is Paul; he’s a relative and a little bit crazy. In fact, he’s gone back to his institution. He said some interesting things.”

Jack wouldn’t give me the satisfaction of saying, “Oh, what were they?” He just stood there as silent as the orchid on the table, waiting for me to talk. If only I had the chutzpah to walk away or to wait him out, but I didn’t.

“Well, he said that Vienna played fast and loose.” I stopped. Jack said nothing. Gave nothing away by his expression. Something he was taught at the police academy, I supposed. “He said she took too many chances and that he’d had an argument with her. And he’d come to tell the family the truth about Vienna.”