P is for Peril (39 page)

The front door had been left ajar and the sounds spilling out were not unlike an ordinary cocktail party. Death, by its nature, reshapes the connection between family members and friends. Survivors tend to gather, using food and drink as a balm to counteract the loss. There is usually laughter. I'm not quite sure why, but I suspect it's an integral part of the healing process, the mourner's talisman.

There were probably sixty people present, most of whom I'd seen at the church. The French doors stood open to the deck and I could hear the constant shushing of the surf beyond. A gentleman in a cropped white jacket walked by with a tray, pausing to offer me a glass of champagne. I thanked him and took one. I found a place near the stairs and sipped champagne while I searched for the man with the mustache and thick silver hair.

Jacob Trigg came up behind me, pausing as I had at the edge of the crowd. Many of the mourners were already engaged in animated conversations and the thought of breaking into any given threesome was daunting. Trigg said, “You know these people?”

“No, do you?”

“A few. I understand you were the one who found Dow.”

“I did and I'm sorry he died. I was hoping he'd gone off to South America.”

“Me, too.” Trigg's smile was bleak.

“Did Dow ever mention money missing from his savings account?”

“I know he was aware of it. The bank manager became concerned and sent him a copy of the statement with a query attached. Dow thanked him, said he knew what it was and he'd take care of it. In truth, it was the first he'd heard. Initially, he figured it had to be Crystal since the statements were being routed to her P.O. box.”

“Did he ask her?”

“Not about the money, but about the post-office box. She told him she'd dumped it about a year ago. He didn't want to press the issue until he'd looked into it. It almost had to be someone in the house becausewho else would have access to the bank card and the pin number for that account?”

“Who'd he suspect?”

“Crystal or Leila, though it could have been Rand. He'd obviously narrowed it down, but he wouldn't say a word until he knew for sure. He and Crystal clashed over Leila so many times, she'd threatened to walk out. If he'd had a problem with Leila, he'd have handled it himself. Of course, when it came to Rand, Crystal was just as fierce. Why take that on? There'd have been hell to pay there, too.”

“How so?”

“He's the only one she trusted with Griff. Without Rand, where's her freedom? Dow was in a bind any which way it went.”

“Why not close the account?”

“I'm sure he did.”

“Did he ever figure out who it was?”

“If so, he never told me.”

“Too bad. With his passport missing, the cops figured he might have left of his own accord. I wonder why Crystal didn't fill them in.”

“Maybe she didn't know. He might have decided pursuing it wasn't worth the risk.”

“He'd let someone walk off with thirty thousand bucks?”

“Dad?”

Both of us turned. A woman with a thick blond braid halfway down her back stood behind us. She was in her forties, no makeup, in a long cotton sweater, a peasant skirt, and sandals. She looked like the sort who never shaved her legs, but I didn't want to check. She was too smart to wear pantyhose, so I gave her points for that. Mine were sinking again. Any moment, they'd slip down as far as my knees and I'd have to start hobbling, taking little mincing steps wherever I went.

“This is my daughter, Susan.”

“Nice meeting you,” I said. We shook hands and the three of us stood chatting for a while before she took his arm.

“I hope you don't mind if we go. This is all a bit rich for my blood,” she said.

“She thinks I'm tired, which I am,” Trigg confessed. “We'll talk again soon.”

“I hope so.”

As soon as they left, I set my glass down and found the nearest bathroom. The door was shut. I tried the handle and found it locked. I waited, leaning against the wall, making sure I was first in the one-person line. I heard the toilet flush, water running in the sink. Moments later, the door opened and the man with the mustache and silver hair emerged. He smiled at me politely and went into the den.

I shut myself in the bathroom and availed myself of the facilities. Having hoisted my pantyhose up the pole like a flag, I went out and found a perch on the stairs, three steps down from the top, the perfect vantage point from which to view the gathering. Rand was making the rounds with Griffith affixed to his hip. Griff was outfitted in a sky blue sailor suit, and Rand mouthed Griff's imaginary monologue as though the child were a ventriloquist's sidekick. I hadn't seen Leila but figured she was in the house somewhere. Crystal would never tolerate her boycotting the event.

The caterers had finished setting out a cold buffet of boneless chicken breasts, three kinds of salad, marinated asparagus, deviled eggs, and baskets of fresh rolls. People loitered near the table in clusters, everyone trying to avoid going first. Ordinarily, I'd have left Crystal's long before now, but I was curious about the man with the silver hair. I saw him return to the great room, this time in the company of a gaunt brunette, who had a wineglass in one hand, the other hand hooked through his arm. She wore a black long-sleeved leotard under skin-tight black leather pants, cinched by a wide silver belt. The stiletto heels on her boots looked like five-inch toothpicks. This was an outfit more appropriate to soliciting on street corners than attending a wake. Her body wasn't
quite
slick enough to bear up under such pitiless revelations. Her liposuctionist should have slurped another pint of fat from the top of each thigh.

She seemed watchful, her gaze flitting uneasily around the room. Her smile, when it appeared, was self-conscious and never quite reached her eyes. I'm not sure I buy into talk like this, but her “aura” was dark; I could almost see the magnetic force field surrounding her. She was bristling, battle-ready. What was the deal here? The guy seemed to know quite a few people. Relaxed and at ease, he chatted first with one group and then another while she clung to his arm. In contrast to her tartlike ensemble, his suit was well cut, a conservative dark blue that he wore with a pale blue shirt and a tone-on-tone pale blue tie. I pegged him in his late fifties, one of those men who'd aged well: trim and fit-looking. He had to be a doctor. I couldn't think what else he'd have been doing at Pacific Meadows at midnight, aside from the impromptu game with Pepper Gray.

He murmured to the woman and then took his place in the supper line, picking up his plate and a napkin-wrapped bundle of silverware. Though she moved into line behind him, they didn't speak to each other. I watched him fill his plate to capacity while she helped herself to a demitasse of salad and four asparagus spears. He settled on the couch in the only remaining space. He rested his wineglass and his plate on the pale wood coffee table and began to eat. When she tried to join him, there was no seat left. She stood there for a moment, clearly hoping he'd scoot over and make room for her. He seemed intent on his meal, and she was forced to take a chair by herself at a distance. She busied herself with her plate to cover her discomfiture, though no one else present seemed to notice. The server walked by with a bottle of Chardonnay. She looked up at him sharply and held out her glass, which he filled generously.

I sensed motion behind me and glanced up to find Anica coming down the stairs. She paused for a moment to peer over the rail. She was, as usual, dressed in understated good taste: a long-sleeved white silk shirt; wide-legged, pleated black wool slacks; and black leather loafers as soft as slippers. Her auburn hair had been moussed, a pompadour in front with the sides combed back into sweeping ducktails. “Good place to sit. Have you had something to eat?”

“I will in a minute when the line goes down. I've been doing some people watching. Who's that silver-haired fellow on the couch in the dark blue suit?”

She followed my gaze. “That's Harvey Broadus. He and Joel must be dividing the honors. Joel and Dana went off to the country club where Fiona's holding court. Harvey came here. That way, they can't be accused of playing favorites.”

“Who's the woman in the leather pants?”

“Celine, Harvey's wife of twenty-ump years. He walked out on her eight months ago and now he's come crawling back.”

“Oh, right. Crystal mentioned he was in the middle of a nasty divorce.”

“ ‘Was ' is correct. I guess the tab got too steep. He decided he was better off living with her than being stripped of his assets. He's a jerk, but I sometimes feel sorry for him. She drinks like a fish. Most of the year she's either checking into Betty Ford or checking herself out again. The rest of the time, she's goes off to some luxury spa—La Costa or the Golden Door. Nothing but the best for our girl.”

“Aren't married people ever happy?”

“Oh sure. They're just not often happy with the person they're married to.” I saw her gaze shift. “Uh-oh. I better go down. Talk to you later.”

Anica slipped by me and headed down the stairs. I glanced over at the front door, where Pepper Gray had appeared. Anica spotted her and made her way over to the door. The two exchanged polite busses. Anica took her coat and then signaled the waiter, who veered in their direction with a tray of champagne glasses. Shorn of her white cap and white uniform, she seemed softer and prettier, less like a woman who'd perform extramarital first aid. I looked down at my silver-haired friend, wondering if he'd noticed her at the same time I had. Pepper moved into the great room. They had to be aware of each other, but neither paid the slightest attention—no nod of recognition, no greeting of any kind.

Celine looked up and her body grew still, a forkful of food poised over her plate. Anica took Pepper by the arm, guiding her through the French doors and out onto the deck. Celine's head seemed to swivel, her gaze glassy and fixed. She watched Pepper with all the caution of a rabbit when a fox is in range. Either she knew for a fact that her husband was philandering or her radar was superb, probably a little bit of both. It didn't take much to guess how the dynamic played out. He screwed around on her as compensation for the fact that she drank too much, and she drank too much to console herself for his screwing around. As I watched, she got up and left the room.

I waited on the stairs until the desserts had been arranged at one end of the table and then joined the buffet line, which had shrunk considerably. I wasn't particularly hungry, but a seat near Harvey Broadus had opened up and I wanted to take advantage. I filled my plate in haste and then crossed to the couch. He looked up as I approached. Nice blue eyes.

“Anybody sitting here?”

“No, go right ahead. I'm ready for dessert so you can save my place.”

“Sure, no problem.”

While he was gone, a woman in uniform came by picking up abandoned plates. I focused on the food, which turned out to be terrific. I ate with the usual animal enthusiasm, trying not to snuffle, belch, or spill down my front. Broadus returned with his dessert plate and a fresh glass of wine. “Thought you might need this,” he said, setting the wineglass on the coffee table next to me.

“Thanks. I was about to go in search of the fellow with the Chardonnay.”

Broadus held out his hand. “Harry Broadus.”

“Kinsey Millhone,” I said, shaking hands with him. I surveyed his dessert plate: a brownie, a wedge of fresh fruit tart, and a chunk of coconut sheet cake. “That looks good.”

“My sweet tooth.” He sat down again and balanced his plate on one knee. He chose the sheet cake first. “I caught sight of you earlier, sitting on the stairs.”

“I'm not one for crowds and I don't know a soul. What about you? Are you a friend of Crystal's or Dow's?”

“Both. I was in business with Dow.”

“Pacific Meadows?”

“That's right. What sort of work do you do?” He moved on to the brownie, making short work of it.

“Mostly research,” I said. I took a big bite of roll so I wouldn't have to elucidate.

“Sad day,” he said. “I feel terrible about Dow, though I wasn't surprised. He was unbelievably anxious and depressed in the weeks before he disappeared.”

Oh good. Gossiping at a wake about the dead. How fun. I said, “The poor guy. About what?”

“I don't want to go into it . . . let's just say he left the clinic in a mess.”

“Someone was telling me about that. Something to do with Medicare, wasn't it?” I took a bite of salad while he tackled the fruit tart.

“You heard about that?”

I nodded. “From a couple of different sources.”

“I guess word must be out. That's too bad.”

“What's the story?”

“We think it was probably an honest mistake, but we may never know.”

“Doctors can sometimes be real dopes about business,” I said, aping Penelope Delacorte.

“Tell me about it. We were shocked.”

“I don't get what went on. I mean, as I understand it, the clinic doesn't actually do the billing. I thought there was an operating company to handle that.”

He nodded. “Genesis Financial Management Services. They have offices downtown. Joel and I . . . you know Joel?”

“Met him once. I know his wife.”

“Dana's great. I'm really crazy about her. Joel and I own the property through a company called Century Comprehensive, mostly real estate development, though we do other things as well. Genesis leases the physical plant from us. They also handle all the billing: accounts payable and receivable, Medicare, Medicaid—that sort of thing.”