OUT ON A LIMB (32 page)
I patted Jillian on the shoulder as I went through the living room and out into the rain. I considered rummaging through Luanne’s car for an umbrella, then shrugged and walked up the path, mindful of the slick, sodden leaves.
The catering vans had gone, as had the plethora of expensive cars. The only car visible was a gray Mercedes parked in front of a garage that could easily accommodate his-and-hers SUVs, along with the Mercedes, the Jaguar, and Santa Claus’s sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.
I recalled the photos I’d seen of Sheila’s grandparents and their farm. She’d said the villa was situated where the farmhouse had been. The barn that had looked as if it might slide down the hill had been much farther away, across a reasonably level expanse that would have been a vineyard had nature cooperated. The garage occupied what had been, in the photos, a vegetable garden and chicken coop.
I tapped on the front door and then let myself in. “Adrienne?” I said cautiously. “It’s Claire.”
“I’m out here.”
I went through the living room, then stopped as I reached the door to the conservatory. Adrienne had clearly decided to overindulge in not only the leftover hors d’oeuvres but also the remains of all the liquor that had not been consumed. The glass-topped table was a veritable thicket of bottles of gin, scotch, bourbon, vodka, wines of all hues, vermouth, dishes of olives and onions, and several name brands I did not recognize. Nor did I recognize what Adrienne was currently sipping from a glass in her hand, but I doubted she did, either.
“Fix yourself something,” she said. “We’ll drink a toast to Anthony.”
I sat down on an ottoman. “Where did everybody go?”
“Well, the rain got rid of most of them. A few of the relatives had this grand theory that they could hang around, but I had Jacque run them off.” She finished off the contents of her glass and refilled it from the nearest bottle. “Then he left, which made me very sad. I went to my husband’s funeral today, after all. I should be sad. Anthony wasn’t what you’d call exciting, but we had some good times. If you want, I can show you our honeymoon pictures. He put on this stupid little native outfit, then—”
“Did Chantilly come back?”
“You know, she didn’t, and I’m starting to get very annoyed with her. I’m glad you’re here, Claire. Make yourself a drink. If you want ice, you’ll have to get some from the kitchen. Try the pantry.”
Houston, we have a problem.
“In a minute,” I said. “I’m a little surprised none of your friends insisted on staying with you.”
“You’re my only friend. I thought Chantilly was my best friend, as well as my sister, but I was so wrong. She’s hateful and I hope she never comes back. Want a mushroom stuffed with lobster? I love lobster. Anthony tried to convince me that I loved caviar, but it’s way too salty and kind of pops in your mouth. I almost threw up the first time I tasted it.”
“Would you like me to make some coffee?”
She laughed. “Why would I want coffee? I’ve got everything I need. I’ve got a house, expensive cars, a freezer filled with ice cream, a big-screen television, a personal trainer, and a fat inheritance. I may just buy some racehorses so I can sit in a box at the Kentucky Derby and sip mint juleps with senators.” She squinted at the array on the table. “Now there’s an idea, Claire. Why don’t you mix up a pitcher of mint juleps?”
“Where’s Randy?”
“Oh,” she said, blinking. “I don’t really know. I ordered him to put all the opened bottles of booze out here, then told him to send me a bill. I think he may have gotten a ride to the fitness center with Mary Margaret.”
“I know about your affair.”
“Don’t be silly. Why would I have an affair with Mary Margaret? She’s a real bitch, if you want to know the truth. She cheats at golf, for one tiling, and—”
“With Randy.”
“Oh, him,” said Adrienne. “That doesn’t count. Nobody else knows about it, and you have to promise you won’t say anything. It just wasn’t realistic for Anthony to expect me to forget about sex after we got married, was it? All he wanted to do was sit in his office every night and study blueprints. Even when he’d come upstairs, he acted like it was his duty so I’d be content to sit home and watch movies the rest of the time.” She picked up the nearest bottle and sloshed its contents into her glass. “This is kinda fun, not knowing what you may find yourself drinking. What do you think this is?”
I looked at the label as she banged down the bottle. “Gin. Would you like some tonic to go with it?”
“What are you—a bartender?”
“No,” I acknowledged. “I’m just a bookseller. The reality of your affair does matter, Adrienne. Are you aware of the conditions in Anthony’s will?”
“Of course I am. Before we got married, he made me go with him to his lawyer’s office and listen to every last boring detail of the prenuptial contract and his revised will. I thought I would fall asleep.”
“You won’t inherit if evidence of your affair is presented to the probate court.”
“Nobody’s going to do that. What’s even better, little ol’ Daphne can’t inherit a penny since she killed him. I’m beginning to feel kindly toward her. Maybe I’ll send a box of cookies to the prison once or twice a year just to prove I’m not such a wicked stepmother. I could even have Jacque bake a cake with a file inside it. He does a yummy chocolate mousse concoction with raspberry glaze.”
I felt as if I were stalking a baby seal, even if Adrienne was far from wide-eyed innocence. “Did Chantilly find out about your affair?”
“How would she do that?” Adrienne crossed her arms and stared at me. “You’re the only one, Claire.”
“That’s not true. Randy knows, and I suspect Chantilly does, too. Did one of them threaten to blackmail you?”
Her mouth tightened for a moment.‘That is so tacky, Claire. I think you’d better leave, and you can just forget about having lunch one of these days.”
“Where’s Chantilly?”
“How should I know?” retorted Adrienne. “She took off in my car and didn’t have the decency to show up for the funeral. Lieutenant Whatsit assured me that his officers will find her. He’s quite a catch, isn’t he? When all this is over and done with, I may just give him a call. He gave me his home telephone number in case I need to get in touch with him. I’d like to get in touch with him, if you know what I mean.”
Apparently I was once again her best friend and confidante. I watched as she finished off the gin and moved on to a bottle of tequila. “Why don’t I put all this away and help you upstairs? You must be exhausted.”
“I suppose I am. Let’s have one more drink, and then I’ll take a nap in the living room. It’s a darn shame Chantilly can’t join us. She should have kept her nose out of my business, Claire. She had a perfectly decent job in Atlanta. I mean, she couldn’t afford the country club or anything like that, and her apartment was cramped, but that was no excuse for her to …”
I wanted to shake Adrienne out of her alcoholic stupor and force answers from her, but I realized she could turn truculent with only the most minor incitement. “I agree she had no excuse.”
“Nope, none whatsoever.” Adrienne selected a bottle of bourbon this time, and forgoing her glass, drained most of it. “It wasn’t my fault. Maybe I should find Randy. Do you know where he is?”
“He left,” I said gently. “Why don’t you he down on the sofa and take a nap? You’ve had a hard day, what with the funeral and the luncheon and all the wellwishers. You deserve to rest.”
“I think maybe I do. I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes, then call Randy and tell him to keep his damn mouth shut.”
“An excellent plan.” I helped her to her feet and steered her into the living room, wondering how many more babies I would encounter before I could stop singing “The Rockabye Blues” on a regular basis. “You’ll feel better in a couple of hours.”
“You are my best friend,” she mumbled as her eyes closed.
As Adrienne’s best friend (a temporary designation, clearly), I carried all the bottles into the kitchen and left them on the counter for Adrienne’s best cleaning service to deal with. I had a good idea why she’d banished the housekeeper, who might have been an inconvenience on afternoons when Anthony was at a construction site and Randy’s schedule allowed him to leave the campus.
I remained in the kitchen to call the condo. Luanne answered almost immediately. “Claire?”
“Yes,” I said mildly, in that I was, above all other roles, a mild-mannered bookseller. “Have you spoken to Caron?”
“No, and I think I should do something. Miss Parchester is still snoozing, and Jillian’s promised that she can stay here. Baybergen never showed up. I went to the platform and gathered up all her clothes, and then put them in the dryer downstairs. The sleeping bag’s too sodden, but Jillian says she has one in her garage. Why aren’t we trying to find Skyler?”
“Because we don’t have a clue where to look for him. Caron must, though, and she’s more likely to figure out where Inez might have taken him than the two of us could. What do you suggest we do—drive up and down Thurber Street, yodeling like displaced Alpine hikers?”
Luanne snuffled. “I just feel as though I should be doing something.”
“So do I.”
“What happened at the villa?”
I told her about Adrienne’s engagement with enough alcohol to stock a bar on a Friday night. “She’s asleep,” I added, “but I’m really worried about Chantilly. Adrienne slipped up and used the past tense several times. I don’t think she dug that pit you mentioned, but I have a bad feeling. Any suggestions?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“I don’t like anything that’s happened since Miss Parchester climbed that damn tree five days ago.”
“Call Peter. He needs to know that Chantilly’s not just shacked up in a motel room.”
I gazed wistfully at a bottle of scotch I could never afford to drink. “He’s just a bit annoyed with me, Luanne. If I call him—”
“Call him. I’m going to leave Jillian in charge of Miss Parchester and swing by my shop, your bookstore, and your apartment. Caron is more than capable of not answering the phone if she doesn’t think it’s in her best interest at the moment. Her reasoning can be murky, as you well know.”
I told her the number where I was, then sat back and nibbled carrot sticks until I found the nerve to call the police department. If I was lucky, the same dispatcher would give me the same runaround, and I could subsequently gloat in the knowledge I’d tried my best. Modestly, of course.
I was put through to Peter immediately. “Hey,” I said, “I was wondering if you located Daphne.”
“Where are you?”
“With Adrienne. She’s asleep at the moment. After everyone left, she decided to tidy up the surplus liquor by drinking it. Did you take Daphne into custody?”
“We delivered her to the hospital for a seventy-twohour evaluation. The psychiatrist on call ordered sedation and rest. He doesn’t think she has any major problems!”
“So all you have to do is wait in the hallway until you can drag her back to jail? If someone sends her a cake with raspberry glaze, examine it carefully.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if you need a vacation in a room with padded pastel walls. She claimed she never had a baby. There’s no record at the hospital, no birth certificate on file. Who was the attending physician?”
“No one working the obstetrics wing,” I said. “Have you located Chantilly?”
Peter let out a long-suffering sigh, which I’m sure he felt made him deserving of canonization, if not instantaneous sainthood. “Adrienne seems to think she just took off in the Jaguar. Chantilly hasn’t committed a crime, since she was authorized to use the car. If it turns up in a used car lot in Amarillo, Adrienne may be able to press charges for theft.”
“How mad are you?” I asked in a meek voice, hoping to soften him up before I asked for a favor. I strongly oppose the use of feminine wiles unless they provide some direct benefit. When I had time, I vowed to myself, I would go split wood and catch rattlesnakes barehanded. Afterwards, I would have blisters and festering wounds, but a clear conscience.
“On a scale of one to ten, I’d say I was hovering between eight and nine,” Peter said. “You’ve reached a new personal best in evasiveness. Why do you insist on seeing me as an adversary? Don’t you trust me?”
This was not the time to explore the question in painful detail. “I’m going to trust you now,” I said. “Find a way to escape the vigilance of KFAR and come out here. I’m beginning to think I know where Chantilly is. The last thing we need is Jessica Princeton and a camera crew.”
“Too graphic for the six o’clock news?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Then wait at the house. I’ll be there as soon as I can get away from the captain, who’s been apoplectic since yesterday morning and is on his third pot of coffee since noon today.”
“Okay, I’ll wait,” I said, then hung up and went out to make sure Adrienne hadn’t crawled off the sofa in search of a drink. She seemed peaceful, and unlike Miss Parchester, in no danger of pneumonia or anything else more threatening than a significant hangover, replete with the gastric aftereffects of too many stuffed mushrooms. The cleaning service might have its professional expertise challenged, but I wouldn’t be around to watch.
I went upstairs and looked in Chantilly’s bedroom. I could see no indication that anyone had moved so much as a pair of panty hose. Two sisters, one passed out on the sofa, the other—where?
As I went downstairs, I briefly toyed with the idea that Howie, who was also missing, might be involved, but it was beyond me to come up with anything that even verged on making sense. Women such as Chantilly did not dally with arrested adolescents such as Howie unless there was significant monetary compensation. He must have gone home, as Miss Parchester had suggested.
Chantilly was either long gone or not gone at all. I decided to investigate the latter premise while I waited for Peter. I took one of the umbrellas from a stand by the front door, but the rain had stopped and the clouds were dispersing. I avoided puddles as I made my way down the road in the direction of what I assumed would be the barn. This might have been construed as standard gothic heroine foolhardiness, but it was only late afternoon and I was hardly investigating the sounds of a chain saw in the cellar.
