Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) (21 page)

The string quartet finished what Gracie thought was something by Handel. The three men were in tuxes, and the violinist wore a gauzy, cream-colored dress cut generously for her plus-size figure. Isabelle had carefully staged them inside the cedar-shingled gazebo.

A few guests were sipping wine, comfortably seated on the gazebo’s deep cushions, enjoying the music up close and personal. The music resumed. The perfect June evening was balmy, and the air was sweet with roses, peonies, and honeysuckle.

Gracie looked around at the crowd that spilled out onto the manicured lawns. There must have been at least 40 or 50 people milling around. A few familiar faces drifted by, but it was obvious that the guest list was mostly from out of town. How she’d gotten invited to this shindig was beyond her comprehension. Isabelle was probably trying to upgrade her social status for her.

Obtaining information on Ms. Harkness was most likely going to be difficult. The sea of people planned to write big checks and consume a lot of food and alcohol. But the alcohol part might be useful, if Mrs. Allen had made the guest list again.

Gracie had managed to pick up a club soda and lemon from the bar, set up under a huge umbrella in the center of the yard. The dark-haired, Antonio Banderas-looking bartender was very charming. Several mature women, stuffed into sequin-plastered dresses, their necks and ears adorned with jewelry, seemed quite content to sip martinis near the big umbrella. Gracie suddenly felt severely underdressed. She’d even forgotten to put on a pair of earrings. Everyone else must have hauled out the family jewels for the occasion.

A hand on her elbow almost made her spill her drink. It was Ann Marie Allen. She had a martini glass in her hand and looked like she’d had more than one already.

“Oh, hi, Ann Marie.”

“Hi, yourself, Jane.” The woman smiled broadly and took a sip. She was dressed attractively in a scoop-necked, delicate green print dress. Strands of pearls dripped over her cleavage.

“Gracie. It’s Gracie,” she corrected, smiling.

“Sorry. That’s right. Your cousin sure knows how to give a party.”

“Yes, she does. Looks like you’re having a good time,” she answered. “Is Cynthia Harkness here by any chance?”

Ann Marie snorted and looked back over her shoulder. “She’s over there with the congressman.” She swung her glass around, sloshing the contents over the rim.

Cynthia was wearing a short red, strapless dress, which showed off her legs and other assets to perfection. The congressman didn’t appear impressed as they continued an intense conversation. Ms. Harkness definitely wasn’t happy, but then Gracie hadn’t seen a real smile on her face—ever.

Before Gracie could maneuver her way toward them, Isabelle snagged her from behind. Fortunately, she mostly passed muster with her cousin, who steered her toward the food. The table on the patio was loaded with a stunning display of hors d’oeuvres. Crab puffs, shrimp, cheeses, tiny quiches, and fruit on skewers—she couldn’t take it all in. She kept an eye on Cynthia, who was working her way through the crowd, shaking hands and looking generally pleasant. She was mentally rehearsing her opening line to see if Ms. Harkness would give her any idea what her true relationship had been with D. B. She took a crostini from a silver platter and drifted back toward the big umbrella.

*****

The Friday night crowd at Midge’s was noisy. Harried waitresses hauled plates of fish as fast as Midge and her assistant cook could get them out of the fryers. Roscoe sat at a back table in the corner near the bathrooms with Allie, who had somehow managed to get the night off.

“Are you sure you should meet this guy by yourself?” she fretted. “I thought you said he has a bad temper and might have murdered his wife.”

“Shhh. Not so loud, Allie. He wants to explain the development on Jemison Road. What better place than at the site? I’ll have opportunity to take some photos before sunset. Because of the sensitive nature of the work, he’s asked that I come alone. He’s already explained that he doesn’t want any other papers knowing about it before
The Sentinel
. I do have the exclusive.” He beamed.

“Exclusive?” she exclaimed and then clamped a hand over her mouth. “I think it sounds fishy to me,” the little brunette argued with barely subdued volume.

“Ah, fishy. Quite amusing,” Roscoe smiled and dug into the crispy fried haddock.

Allie looked blankly at him and frowned. “You’d better call the police if anything suspicious happens. I really don’t like this at all. Maybe I should go with you.”

“There’s no need. I have it under control. I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock for our date at the drive-in,” Roscoe said.

*****

The string quartet took a break while Congressman Streeker rambled on about his new economic plans for his rural constituency. More help for dairy farmers was on the way, and schools would receive more funding. The speeches never changed from term to term, Gracie thought, shifting her feet. They hurt already, and she was ready to find something more exciting than club soda if the politician kept droning on.

Surveying the crowd, she noticed Cynthia Harkness drifting toward the patio. It was time for another crab puff, she decided.

She found the long-legged aide sitting in a chair, her eyes closed and rubbing a piece of ice on her forehead.

“Are you all right? Can I get you anything?” Gracie asked, surprised at the woman’s sudden vulnerability.

Cynthia opened her eyes and looked blearily at Gracie.

“I’ve got a blistering headache,” she answered huskily.

“Let me get you some aspirin or something,” Gracie offered, setting her glass down on a small wicker side table. She hurried to the downstairs bathroom and snatched a bottle of ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet, making a dash back to the patio.

“Here, take a couple of these,” she said, popping the top from the bottle.

Cynthia opened her eyes and dumped four pills into her hand. She swallowed them with a generous amount of liquor from her martini glass.

“Thanks. It’s been a hellish night. You’re Isabelle’s cousin, right?”

“Afraid so,” she smiled bleakly. “I imagine your schedule is pretty demanding. It takes a toll,” she sympathized.

“It was. But not after tonight,” the woman answered. She finished the martini and put the glass on the table.

“Oh.” Gracie was at a loss. “Finished with fundraising events, then.”

“You might say that,” was the crisp reply. “Now if you don’t mind, I need a couple of minutes,” she said dismissively, leaning back against the chair, eyes closed again.

“Oh, sure. I understand.”

Gracie felt like a reprimanded first grader as she returned the bottle to the cabinet, desperately trying to come up with another conversation starter.

The sound of a male voice caught her attention as she walked across the living room toward the patio. She stopped short of the doorway when Cynthia’s voice crackled with anger.

“He fired me. Everything is over. He knows about D. B. too.”

“I thought that was handled. What are we going to …” the man’s voice stopped. The conversation discreetly ended while a group came in to load their plates.

Streeker’s speech was over. Kevin made a smooth appeal for checkbooks to appear. The faithful dutifully got out their pens. Most headed to the tables for more food. A young woman in a blue-and-pink caftan rushed into the living room, looking for a bathroom. Gracie pointed her in the right direction, then decided to go out through the kitchen and formulate another plan to extract the information she needed.

*****

Roscoe eased the complaining Geo up the newly graded road toward the crest of the first hill. The car spewed dark fumes behind as it struggled up the grade. He needed to hurry to have enough light for the pictures he planned to take. If everything went as planned, he’d have the story filed with the editor before midnight. The western sky was streaked with streams of gold, pink, and rose. He was losing light fast. He’d tried talking Richter into meeting earlier, but he’d had another appointment to keep. Finally, he reached the top of the first hill and pulled over into the area where several pieces of heavy equipment were parked. It was a hike from here. The road ended. The car was definitely not built for off-road use. Richter had told him he’d be on an ATV at the top, inspecting the day’s work.

Slipping the camera strap around his neck, he followed the stakes with orange strips of plastic flapping in the breeze. No doubt the rest of the road would soon be complete. The clearing at the top of the hill was empty except for a grader and a couple of heavy-duty trucks. He looked around for an ATV or any sign that someone was here. It was so still that he shivered involuntarily. A large pile of dirt was off to his left, and a mound of gravel sat next to it. Roscoe shoved black-framed glasses back up his glistening nose to investigate. He pulled out his phone from his pants pocket to check the time. He noticed there was no signal. As he rounded the dirt pile, he stopped short. A large, deep trench was immediately in front of him. The sound of an engine made him look up. It was the last thing he remembered.

******

The party wound down, and Gracie was anxious to go home. Her parents would be finishing up the mowing and weeding for the week. They’d be waiting for her on the patio with Haley. Except for the snippet of conversation she’d overheard between Cynthia and possibly Mitch Allen, there’d been nothing. Her whole investigative effort had been a bust. A constant dribble of guests said their good-byes to the hostess. Isabelle had pulled off another successful event. Everyone had admired her home and gardens
ad nauseam
. Gracie sighed. It was true. It had all gone very well.

She caught sight of Ann Marie walking slowly on the brick path from the gazebo to the patio. Congressman Streeker and a couple of staffers had left for another engagement at least an hour before, but Cynthia had remained. Her extended presence under the big umbrella was an indication of the amount of quality time she’d spent with the bartender and a steady supply of drinks. Mitch had spent a lot of time under the umbrella with her. Gracie was ready to call it quits, when Carla hurried up to her.

“I’m so glad I caught you, Gracie. I’ve got your bedroom plans in the car. I’ve been meaning to get them to you all week, but it’s been so busy.”

Carla was dressed in a baby blue, watered silk spaghetti strap dress. Her hair was in a carefully pinned-up do, embellished with an antique feather hatpin. Her necklace was a simple square-cut, deep blue sapphire pendant fastened to a gold chain. Gracie hoped she wasn’t starin
g
Carla looked so well put together. Carla didn’t have a curvy figure; it was straight, and her hands were large and manly. Fashion had never been Carla’s strong suit, but tonight she looked every inch an up-and-coming businesswoman. Isabelle had probably coached her.

“I was just getting ready to leave. That was good timing, I guess.”

“We just barely made it, no thanks to Dean. He’s so busy getting ready for the transfer of the farm that I can hardly get him out of the barn or the farm office. We
both
have so much to do.”

The smile on Carla’s face was almost beatific. It was obvious she could hardly wait to have Dean in full control.

“Right. The transfer. How’s the redecorating of the office going?” she asked, intentionally changing the subject.

“It’s going great. Of course, it’s difficult for Kim to see the changes, but I completely understand.”

“I think things would be easier for Kim if she had a solid alibi. She has a lot hanging over her head right now.”

“Absolutely. I’m so glad Dean and I were home together that night. The woman investigator was quite thorough. She really knows what’s she’s doing.”

The implication was clear that Carla was sure the investigation leading to Kim’s door was on the right path.

Gracie took a sip of club soda to keep from saying something she’d regret. Clutching the glass, she swished the last bits of ice around, trying to devise a civil reply. Turning toward the big umbrella, Gracie observed Cynthia stepping away from the bartender, who had apparently shut her off. Mitch trailed after her like a lost puppy. She turned back to Carla.

“Looks like those two aren’t very happy tonight.”

Carla shook her head, her face dark with emotion. “D. B. was working them both over, but the whole lot of them is greedy. That woman had designs on D. B., you know,” she half-whispered, her eyes narrowing. “Disgusting.”

“Really?” Gracie scrambled through her mental list. Kim had mentioned the same thing. “Did you ever see them together, you know, as in …”

“Well, I did happen to, one time.” She hesitated.

“When was that?” Gracie prodded.

“It was … well … I’d rather not say, but the way she sidled up to him. It was obvious,” she answered, making a face.

“Any reason she might want to do away with D. B.?”

Carla’s face became conspiratorial. “Possibly.”