Died to Match (26 page)

“Oh!” she said, in a soft, burbling voice. “You must be Carnegie Kincaid. And this is your partner, Mr. Breen. I looked you up on the Internet, you know! Now, is it Ed or Eddie? No, never mind, it doesn’t matter, because I’m going to call you Edward. You have that kind of dignified air about you.”

“Well…” said Eddie, who never bantered with women. Ever.

She was inside by this time, looking around delightedly. “What adorable wicker furniture! You know, Edward, I’m the
kind of person who loves things or hates them, and I just love wicker. Wicker and chintz.” She perched herself on the love seat and sparkled up at Eddie, who was still finding his voice. “I guess I’m just a country girl at heart.”

“I’m so glad you like the office,” I said, assuming an air of suave professionalism while I futilely racked my brain for a name, or at least a function. Vendor? Potential client? It wasn’t like Eddie to forget an appointment, but the way things had been going lately, it was a lot like me.

“I’m afraid I don’t recall—”

“How silly of me!” She laughed, one of those silvery-ripple laughs that some women have. “I thought you knew I was coming. I’m Monica Lamott.”

O-ho, I thought. So this is Monica, lover of Lars, betrayer of Burt. So much trouble in such a sweet little package.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, sitting down myself, though even then I topped her by a foot or so. “I wasn’t expecting you until the rehearsal.”

“Well…” Eddie muttered. “Well, I’ll just take a look at that fender on the van.”

Monica watched regretfully as he sidled out the door. She had a sweet tooth, I could see, not so much for men as for men’s attention.

“You’ve been on the East Coast?…” I said delicately.

“With Lars. We hardly got out of bed for days.” The mother of the bride shook back her hair and closed her eyes with a reminiscent sigh. So much for delicacy. Then she frowned a pretty little frown. “But all that changed when he made it to the semifinals. When Lars is this close to winning, he gets ridiculously single-minded, if you know what I mean. An absolute monk! He’s afraid I’ll break his serve.”

I murmured my sympathy and offered her coffee, which she declined. Feeling my eyelids droop, I poured myself a hefty mugful. Just a grocery run and an early bedtime, is that so much to ask?

“—and there is only so much tennis a girl can watch,” Monica burbled on, like a mountain stream that’s going to make it to the ocean, no matter how long it takes. “So I just hopped on a plane! That’s the kind of person I am. Impetuous. You never know what I’ll do next. Besides, now that the wedding date is upon us, I knew that Liz would want my advice. I used to give fabulous parties, you know, when we lived in Santa Barbara. I was interviewed in the newspaper about my parties! But then Burt insisted on moving to Seattle, where we didn’t know a soul.”

Except Lars, I thought dryly. “That’s so interesting, Monica. It’s actually a little late to make changes now, but Elizabeth and I are meeting on Thursday, so maybe you could join us—”

A sharp, no-nonsense knock, and the door swung open to reveal the bride herself, with a furious glint in her own wide brown eyes.

“Mother! Paul said you called from your hotel. What are you bothering Carnegie for?”

Monica stiffened but maintained her smile. “Since you were out shopping, I just thought I’d stop by to introduce myself and share a few of my tips for successful parties. I told Paul that on the phone.”

Elizabeth smiled back quickly and coldly, a fencer deflecting her opponent’s blade. “And I told you last week that we have everything under control.”

They held each other’s gaze, the family resemblance quite
striking now, as their lips tightened and nostrils flared. When dogs get to this point in a conversation, the growls are low-pitched but the teeth start to show.

“Control is hardly the right approach to a festive affair.” Monica sounded like one of my least-favorite bridal magazines. “Proper planning allows you to ‘go with the flow’ and—”

“Is that what you and Mr. Swedish Open have been having, a festive affair?”

Monica gasped, then shifted her stance like a pro.

“Lizzie, you know perfectly well that Lars is Norwegian,” she said sadly, a faint tremble in her voice, then turned her syrupy eyes to me. “You’d think my own daughter would want to see me happy after all I’ve been through….”

“Your own daughter is not named Lizzie,” said Elizabeth, with a flash of fangs.

Normally I’m willing to give my all for the pre-wedding peace process. But I’d had enough drama for one day, and decided to bail out before I got bit. “We can talk about the reception details Thursday—”

“Hi, Monica.” Paul was in the doorway, looking like the soul of reason. “Hi, Carnegie. Took me a while to park. Did I miss anything?”

“Nothing to miss,” I said decisively. “We were just confirming our meeting for Thursday. Elizabeth, I’ll have all your paperwork ready then, and I’ll look forward to hearing Monica’s ideas….”

I was herding them all to the door when a cell phone chirred. The women dipped into their purses, but it was Paul’s. He spoke a few words, listened intently, and broke into a huge, elated grin.

“It’s Tommy!” he told us. “That was Roger, calling from
the hospital. Tommy’s awake, and he must be doing OK because they’re allowing visitors. Honey, let’s go over there right now.”

This last to Elizabeth, but she balked. “I’ve got a million things to do this afternoon. I’m still looking for shoes, and—”

“Lizzie hates hospitals,” Monica confided to me in a perfectly audible whisper, getting in one last thrust. “She thinks sick people are weaklings. She doesn’t mean to be unkind, but I always notice, because I’m the kind of person who notices things like that.”

Elizabeth’s face darkened dangerously, and I hastened to intervene.

“Paul, why don’t I take you to Harborview? That way Elizabeth and Monica can go on… chatting.” Relief was fizzing through me like champagne. “I’ll be so glad to see Tommy.”

Family feuds could wait, and so could groceries and sleep. This day was getting better and better.

T
OMMY LOOKED GHASTLY
. T
HEY HAD SHAVED HIS BUSHY
gray hair to stitch up various head wounds, and the face below the naked, knobby skull was slack and weary. But his leprechaun’s eyes lit up at the sight of us, and when Paul embraced him gingerly, bending over the hospital bed, Tommy smacked him on the back with vigor.

“What a sight you are, Paulie!” he said. “And you brought my favorite redhead! Carnegie, dear, you look like a bride yourself.”

He meant my armful of flowers. I had stopped at Nevsky Brothers on the way, where Boris commanded Irina to turn over what seemed like half her stock. What a summer’s treasure to enjoy in November: sheaves of royal-blue irises, glossy tulips like huge crimson goblets, and an entire thicket of sweetheart roses in white and blush pink.

I held my armload aside while I kissed Tommy’s forehead, then set them down on the vacant second bed and went out to beg some vases from the nurses’ station. As I went, I could hear Paul explaining that Aaron and some other friends from the Sentinel would be coming by the next morning so as not to overwhelm him with too many people at once. Likewise, I planned to refrain from asking Tommy what he had or hadn’t seen at the Aquarium. At least for a few minutes.

Of course, maybe the police had already questioned him. There was still a patrolman stationed outside Tommy’s door, a gray-haired man who looked bored and cross. I nodded at him in passing, figuring that he’d be relieved of this dull duty soon enough. Down the hall, Roger Talbot emerged from the men’s room.

“Carnegie!” In the cold fluorescent hospital light, I could see the strain and sorrow in Roger’s dark eyes, but his clothes were pressed and his silver hair recently trimmed. He no longer had the haunted look of a man on the edge. “Is it true? They found the one who killed her?”

“Her,” not “them.” Of course, he barely knew Angela, the other victim. Just a quick introduction at the Aquarium to a nice-looking blonde who then disappeared, leaving hardly a memory.

“It’s true, Roger. I don’t know if he’s been charged with murder yet, but he jumped bail for the purse-snatching, so he’s not going anywhere.”

His face twisted in a spasm of pain. “Purse-snatching! A petty criminal does something as stupid as purse-snatching, and Mercedes ends up… ends up…” His eyes filled, and he looked away, blinking hard.

“Hey,” I said gently, “let’s get some coffee and sit down for just a minute, OK? And then you can help me with Tommy’s flowers.”

We sat in the little lounge with our Styrofoam cups, and as usual, I thought about my father. But only for a moment. Over the years, the pain was fading to something softer and easier to bear. How long would that process take for Roger Talbot, who had to do his grieving in secret?

He sipped mechanically at his coffee, then set it down and sighed. “Tommy doesn’t remember what he saw.”

“How do you know he saw anything?”

“It’s obvious. With the guard there, he’s either a witness or a suspect. So I simply asked him. He remembers being at the party, but that’s all. Then I had a word with his doctor.”

“And?”

“His memory may return all at once, or in fragments over time, or not at all.”

It’s interesting what people will tell an influential man. I bet the doctor in question would have stonewalled someone like me. Well, now I wouldn’t have to distress Tommy further by asking him myself.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” I said. “Now that the police have Foy in custody, they’ll be able to check for DNA traces and all that. They won’t need an eyewitness.”

“I need one,” said Roger fiercely. “I need to know how it happened.”

“No, you don’t,” I insisted. “Whatever Tommy did or didn’t witness, you need to remember Mercedes as you last saw her. She made such a beautiful gypsy!”

“She was always beautiful.” He smiled bleakly, and I could see that the healing had begun, however long and slow it might be. I tried to nudge it along.

“Roger, are you coming to the wedding?”

“Of course!” His public persona roused itself. “People expect me there.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Come on, let’s get back to those flowers.”

When we reentered the room, laden with vases, Paul was recounting a football game to his bedridden best man. They both seemed quietly satisfied by the humiliation of some team I didn’t recognize, and by the victory of some other.

To say that I don’t follow football is to vastly understate how mind-numbingly tedious I find it, so I busied myself
with the flowers at the tiny sink in the corner of the room. Roger loaned me a slim gold penknife to trim the stems, and dutifully set the bouquets around the room at my direction.

“There you are, Tommy,” I said when we were done. “You could practically hold a wedding in here. I’m sorry you can’t be with us on Saturday.”

“Who says I can’t?” he demanded, looking up from his pillows with a rebellious gleam. “They tell me I might go home in a couple a’ days, and if I can get dressed and go home, then I can surely put on a monkey suit and see that this character doesn’t leave his girl at the altar.”

Paul shook his head fondly. “You take it easy, Tommy. I’d love to have you there, but you do what the doctors tell you, all right?”

“Ah, you’re just afraid I’ll frighten the ladies with my new hairdo.” Tommy gave a pat to the grizzled stubble atop his head. “I think I’ll keep it this way. Aerodynamic.”

We all laughed, and didn’t notice at first that the door had opened on two more visitors: Corinne, her heavy makeup not quite masking the effects of a sleepless night, and Valerie Duncan, brisk and tailored with her dark hair tucked back behind large copper earrings. Beside me, I felt Roger shift uncomfortably. Valerie’s eyes went flat and cold.

“I’d better be going,” said Roger curtly. “Tommy, you take care.”

“Oh, don’t leave—” Corinne began, but the publisher pushed past them both and left the room. Tommy let him depart with a wave, happily distracted by the influx of “ladies.” As they fussed over the patient, Paul drew me out into the hallway, out of earshot of the policeman. Roger, just ahead of us, strode down the hall to the elevator without looking back.

“We can’t let Tommy come to the wedding,” Paul said
urgently. His kindly young face was shocked and troubled. “He looks horrible.”

“Well, he could hardly look good at this stage,” I pointed out. “And who knows, maybe it would help his recovery to have something to look forward to. Let’s leave it up to him and his doctors.”

“But—”

“Look, if Tommy does come, I’ll keep an eye on him, and make sure someone takes him home early. How’s that?”

Paul nodded, not quite mollified. “He just looks so old, you know? Of course he’s older than me, I know that, but I’ve never really thought about it. I guess I didn’t want to.”

“I understand. My partner Eddie is my mother’s age, and I keep thinking they’ll both be just the way they are forever. All you can do is be Tommy’s friend, here and now.”

He nodded again, and set his face in a cheerful expression that looked almost natural. “We should go back in with the others.” Then, switching gears, “Corinne must be relieved to have that guy off the street.”

“She’s not the only one.”

Corinne was sitting on the edge of Tommy’s bed, flirting outrageously, while Valerie watched with an indulgent smile. Tommy was lapping it up, but I could see that his strength was flagging, and I was relieved when an amiable Filipina nurse looked in to tell us we really should leave soon. Aaron’s opinion notwithstanding, I don’t always want to take charge of things. I’d be ordering most of these people around soon enough.

I thought Corinne and Valerie had come to the hospital together, but it turned out they’d only met on the way in. Down at the lobby, Valerie said good night—which made me realize that it was indeed evening already, and that I had a post-hangover hunger for a nice bland meal. Corinne, riding
the elevator down to the parking garage with me and Paul, took the words right out of my mouth.

“Y’all want to get something to eat?” Seeing Paul hesitate, she added, “But I suppose Elizabeth’s waiting for you.”