Death by Diamonds (8 page)

Kerri looked around as if someone might have heard, and when no one pounced, she nodded.

“Are there any other friends of Dominique’s here?”

Kerri leaned close. “In name or in truth?”

“People who really cared about her.”

“Phoebe and Mr. Kyle care, as you said. Higgins, in his own way. Not many, miss.”

“Mad. Call me Mad or Maddie.”

“You shouldn’t be seen with me, miss,” she whispered.

I watched her open a door that I presumed led to the service stairs. Kerri had confirmed my suspicions. People were here to gossip or rub elbows with the stars and probably for food and champagne. Indeed, some acted like this was a celebration, instead of a time when condolences and consolation were called for. The person or persons, however, who most interested me, were the one or two who might be here to make sure that Dominique DeLong was really dead.

First in line in the making-sure department, Ursula Uxbridge, Dominique’s understudy, held court dressed to be seen in a frothy black Oscar de la Renta paired with shiny red Casadei heels. Overdress too much?

I had managed to change in the downstairs powder room from the red suit into a little black dress a la Sabrina by Givenchy with racy David Evans platform sling-backs. I managed to grab a chatelaine finger purse with a lipstick in it before Higgins took our bags upstairs. I caught Ursula alone and spoke to her before introducing myself. “Do you think that Dominique will actually be missed?” I asked.

A sly one, Ursula hesitated long enough to mentally calculate her answer while she assessed whether I could move her career forward or not. If she decided not, her answer wouldn’t matter at all, and we both knew it.

“Dominique will be a hard act to follow,” Ursula said diplomatically. “But I’ll do my best to live up to her talent and make her proud.”

It was all I could do not to applaud. As for grief, that never entered her shrewd expression.

“Well played,” I said, clinking champagne glasses with her, and I walked away. I worked the room while some of the men and women in blue stood on the sidelines with full plates, adding suspects to their lists. Others openly questioned the guests. Nick ignored his FBI buds for the wannabe models, or actresses, or both, all of them drooling over him. I figured it happened all the time when he was on assignment, him charming a bevy of babes so they’d spill national secrets, or so I’d always imagined. Didn’t mean I had to like it. I shouldn’t be jealous, though. He was simply grilling them in his own hunkalicious way.

We were free agents after all, on or off. Didn’t mean he had to flaunt it. Afraid I’d go for some cat’s throat, I went to sit beside Kyle on the sofa. Considering the size of the crowd who were supposed to be offering their sympathies, him sitting alone with Eve was nothing short of narcissism on the part of his visitors. Eve leaned intimately over Kyle toward me, so he had a good view of her cleavage. “Hey, Mad,” she asked, “want me to handle Nick? You know, break it up?”

“Break what up?” I asked, as if I hadn’t noticed.

“Boy toy’s harem, of course. You’re green and you know it. Let me take care of it, please?

It’ll be fun.”

I gave her a half nod, so I’d only feel half guilty.

She winked. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt a bit.”

Sixteen

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye.

—MISS PIGGY

“Poor Nick,” Kyle said. “What do you think she’ll do to him?”

“God only knows, but she can’t stand him, so if she cozies up to him, don’t think anything of it.”

She got in Nick’s face. “You bastard,” she hissed. “Playing the field, again, in front of everyone, flaunting your infidelity.”

What an actress.

“Eve,” Nick said, rolling his eyes.

Eve made a motion like she was going to knee him, just to scare him, but the heel snapped on her vintage lace-up boots, and she started to fall.

Failing to regain her balance, her other leg went up as she went down, and she kicked Nick in the crotch.

Ack! I clapped a hand over my mouth.

I didn’t know what was worse. Nick getting kicked in the nads or Eve ending up on her assets.

Nick firmed his spine, but I could see his lips turn white as he scowled. Kyle swallowed. “I didn’t think she’d do that.”

I shook my head, because neither had I, and I couldn’t seem to find my voice. Eve stood up, clumsy as a drunk skank. “Testosterone spill, aisle five!” she said as she limped quickly and un-gracefully out the door.

Nick turned, slowly and carefully, and followed her, with pretty much the same staggering gait.

“Oh God,” I said. “He’s gonna kill her!”

Kyle rose as if to the rescue. “Then I hope she starts running when she hits the foyer.”

Together we followed them from the living room.

The occupants of the room burst into chatter as we left.

The foyer stood empty, the front door open. We could hear Eve’s screams getting farther away.

We found Nick on the precious but rare strip of grass at the side of the house, toward the back, bent over double, his hands on his knees, sweat on his brow and upper lip.

“I found Nick,” I called to Kyle. “If you can catch Eve, tell her she can stop running now.”

I bent down so my face was near Nick’s. “Are you all right?”

“As soon as I wring her neck, I’m sure I’ll feel better.”

“She didn’t mean to hurt you. Surely you know that.”

“What did she mean?”

“She saw you flirting and said she’d take care of it.”

He gave me a “this is your fault” look.

“Hey, I didn’t know what she intended, believe me,” I said. “I had plans for tonight.”

“Cancel ’em.”

“Damn.”

He straightened, pain still etching his features. “Let’s talk about something else?” He tried to straighten as he looked around. “Hey, look at the ancient ivy climbing the corner of the mansion here? Some of the thicker vines are scraped, like somebody’s tried to climb them, and their foot slipped a few times. Did Kyle say the place had been broken into?”

“It hasn’t,” Kyle said, appproaching, Eve using him as both a crutch and a human shield.

“Meyers,” Nick said.

“My heel broke. Mad, I should get a refund. I got these boots at your shop this morning.”

I shook my head sadly. “Your first spiked-heel boots and they turned on you.”

“I have those Fendi boots, remember? The heels weren’t as sharp, but they were friendly.”

“Unless you count the man you knocked unconscious with them?”

“You make a habit of this, Eve?” Nick asked.

“No,” I said. “She was saving my life that time. Eve, I do owe you a refund. It was my fault, Nick, for not catching the flaw in the boots when I put them out in the shop.”

Nick cringed. “For her overacting, at the least, Eve owes me two good—”

Eve stamped her single well-shod foot. “I didn’t mean to kick you. Really I didn’t.” She giggled and Nick reached for her.

“I didn’t,” she said letting Kyle pull her away, “but it’s kinda funny that it happened by accident when I’ve wanted to do it for years.”

“You’ll get yours when you least expect it,” Nick promised. “Meanwhile, Kyle, come closer and take a look at these vines. I think you should step up your nighttime surveillance.”

“Nick,” Kyle said. “Is this a ploy?”

“No, seriously. Your house is in danger of being burglarized or worse. Eve, I can pay back anytime. Face it; you can’t protect her in Connecticut.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Kyle put an arm around Eve’s shoulders and held her against his side opposite Nick as we went back inside.

I did the same with Nick, also to protect Eve. “Do you need an ice pack, Jaconetti?”

Seventeen

Fashion is born by small facts, trends, or even politics, never by trying to make little pleats and furbelows, by trinkets, by clothes easy to copy, or by the shortening or lengthening of a skirt.

—ELSA SCHIAPARELLI

Nick took a right turn into the powder room off the foyer and I practically went for Eve’s throat. “Why would you do that?”

“The heel broke and I slipped. I intended to scare him but I unfortunately scared him by losing my balance, which made him buck dangerously forward. Honestly, I only meant to taunt him.”

“You’re never gonna live it down.”

“He’ll be out for blood, won’t he?”

“I would be,” Kyle said. “You don’t do that often, do you?”

“Never again in my life,” Eve said, her hand raised. “As Bill Gates is my witness, never again.”

“Says the computer genius.” I shook my head. “Let’s go back inside so Nick won’t be so embarrassed when he comes out of the powder room.”

Eve giggled.

“Steampunk brat, you gotta stop that.”

“I know,” she said trying to look contrite. “It was an accident, but like a dream come true, you know?”

“I know you, all too well, unfortunately.”

We stopped as we reached the parlor.

As if Ursula owned the place, or soon would, she was playing hostess in Dom’s house, working the bright cabbage-rose room of Victorian antiques, as she crossed a red oriental carpet outlined in roses.

I leaned into Kyle. “Is Ursula one of the Parasites?”

He tilted his head. “She might not head the noxious cyborgs, but she’s certainly the most enthusiastic,” he whispered. “She’s starring in Diamond Sands’ late show tonight.”

“What?” Eve asked from Kyle’s other side. “Your mother’s show? Ursula’s going to play Dominique’s role the night after she died?”

“She is Dom’s understudy,” I said, “but Pierpont should be closing the theater for a couple of days out of respect for Dom’s memory.”

Kyle shrugged. “They closed it for the early show today, which I guess is something, but in a few hours, it’ll be business as usual. Not Pierpont’s fault really. The public stormed the ticket office this morning, and instead of giving refunds, they ended up selling tickets. Tonight they’ll have the biggest audience since Diamond Sands opened, and Ursula will be its new star.”

“Or its newest flop,” Eve said. “I vote for her to flop.”

“It probably won’t flop now,” I said. “That will always be the play in which the leading lady actually did die in the last act. Ursula won’t even have to be good. The show will go on.” I sighed. “I think the world will always want to see a car wreck or the aftermath.”

“Gruesome as it sounds, they will,” Eve said, accepting a champagne flute. “Like right now, I’m watching for Nick.”

“You,” I said. “You step in where Satan fears to tread.”

“Like us in the theater, today?” Kyle asked.

“That was different,” I explained. “We were looking for clues to your mother’s death, not gossip, but a trail of blood, or—” I gave Eve a pointed look. “Signs of suffering.”

Eve sipped her drink. “At least the people who go to the theater tonight won’t be breaking in the way we did.”

“Chill, Meyers,” I said. “If you were a cat, you wouldn’t have a whole life left. And you’d best keep my secrets, because I know yours.”

She leaned into Kyle. “I know her secrets, too.”

Kyle pointed at me with his chin. “But I’m thinking Mad has more lives left than you do.”

He caught us in a playful headlock, one on each side of him, and pulled us close. “Thanks for making me smile,” he said, his voice raw and raspy as he let us go.

“You mean I entertained you when I assaulted Nick?”

“Hell no. That will give me nightmares.”

I had to stifle a giggle. Sure, Kyle was younger than us, but Dominique had done a great job raising him. Good company, and honest about his feelings, he was easy to stand beside in a crisis. I felt for him. Hell, I could barely stop thinking about never seeing Dominique again. How must he feel about never seeing his mother again?

Well, baste it; I knew the answer to that. The sad fact was that he’d never get over losing his mother.

Eve gave Kyle a sip of her champagne, and I wondered if their attraction would outlast our visit.

“Is Pierpont providing fresh diamonds for tonight’s show?” I asked. Kyle nodded. “Ursula said they are. Can’t blame the company for trying. A new and successful run for the show could be their shot at recouping months’ worth of lost profits. As for the diamonds, whether they’re found or not, there’ll be no loss there, thanks to the magic of insurance.”

Kyle shrugged. “I heard there’d be extra men guarding the diamonds tonight.”

“Not the actress,” I muttered. “Just the diamonds.”

Eighteen

In an epoch as somber as ours, one must fight for luxury inch by inch.

—CHRISTIAN DIOR

A woman, unknown to me, made a grand entrance into Dom’s living room, and she really caught my attention. “Who’s the brunette with the flowing mermaid hair?”

“You mean the mermaid my ex-father is following with his eyes while hitting on someone else?”

“Ian DeLong is your ex-father?”

“Yeah, when he left Mom for another woman, I said if he was her ex, he was mine, too. Mom and I called him my ex-dad from that day on.”

I chuckled. “I do believe he’s hit on every female without an oxygen tank, except for me and Eve.”

“Only because you’re with me,” Kyle said. “Otherwise, you’d both have your chance. Good old dad. His current target used to be Mom’s catty “best friend.” Kyle made quotes in the air when he said best friend. “Her name is Quinny Veneble. She’s got money but not enough to hold Ian DeLong’s attention.”

“Quinny?” I chuckled.

“Silly name but it fits,” Kyle said.

“And the brassy blonde Ian’s watching?” I asked.

“That’s Phoebe Muir, Quinny’s daughter. I like Phoebe. She was my mother’s secretary, assistant, confidant, an all-around girl Friday, on and offstage, twenty-four-seven.”

“That arrangement smacks of nepotism.” I didn’t mean to be rude. The observation just slipped out.

“Depends on your point of view. Quinny wasn’t happy when Mom hired Phoebe. She wanted her daughter to marry rich and become a society queen, not work for her mother’s richer, more popular, and more famous ‘best friend.’ ”

Phoebe’s flawless complexion caught my imagination, like I’d seen it someplace before. I wondered what it would look like with bright red curls falling to her shoulders rather than that mermaid hair falling down her back. Tonight she wore an emerald green Carolina Herrera gown, but I could easily imagine her in a red Versace cape.