Murder on the First Day of Christmas (Chloe Carstairs Mysteries) (5 page)

    
“Jack Lassiter, the new darling of the DA’s office. He and Oscar Browley must be having a fit over Trianos being here.”

    
“Saul Taylor’s playing with fire, don’t you think?”

    
Dana shrugged. “It’s his party. He can fry if he wants to.”

    
“So, this Jack Lassiter? Single? Sane? Straight?”

    
“Hard to say.”

    
“Really. What’s the story?”

     Dana’
s unerring instinct about men was a funny thing. If she gave Jack the red light, I’d take her word for it. Unfortunately, she was like those fifties superheroes, unable to use her powers for her own benefit.

    
“I think he’s single, he seems to be sane, and he’s definitely straight.”

    
I raised an eyebrow. “And you know this how?”

    
She did her Scarlett O’Hara voice. “He looks as if he knows what I look like without my ‘shimmey’”.

    
This I could understand. Men always looked at tall, whippet-thin Dana like they were X-raying her clothing. “I’m not seeing a downside,” I commented.

    
“Well, there’s one somewhere. Girls throw themselves at him, literally tripping and falling into his arms on a regular basis. The guy gets propositioned more than a plumber in a porn movie, all to no avail.”

    
“Maybe he doesn’t date gals from work.”

    
“Three girls have already quit, thinking that very thing.”

    
“Interesting.” I sighed, not really meaning it. Jacob was too much of a challenge already. I needed a sure thing.

    
“Want to shake your moneymaker?” Feeling sorry for me, Dana pointed toward the floor, where the band thumped under our feet.

    “I think my mother needs rescuing.” I smiled brightly, proving that, beneath my power push-up bra, beat the heart of a survivor.

    
I found Mom talking to the Beaumonts and Nancy.

    
“How people can lavish so much time and money on Christmas trees, I’ll never understand,” Bunny said.  “I, for one, would rather decorate something more worthwhile like me.” She bent forward and gave us a cleavage shot usually reserved for pay-per-view. “Don’t I need something dramatic around my neck?”

    
Mom’s eyes met mine as she telegraphed, “Like a noose?”

    
Standing nearby listening to something Robin was murmuring to him, Tony Trianos caught the look. Amused, his topaz eyes raked over Mom in a way that was less than wholesome.

    
“Speaking of more worthwhile,” Bunny said to Nancy, her tone slightly suggestive. “Still taking Pilates?”

    
Nancy’s round face lit up, “Three times a week, and I can tell such a difference.”

    
“I should say so.” Bunny laughed. “Each session is one big hour-long Kegel exercise, right Gavin?”

    
Undaunted by a mouthful of stuffed mushrooms, Bunny’s husband agreed, “Yes, indeedie.”

    
I couldn’t tell if he was offering a personal or professional opinion.

    
Nancy’s creamy skin turned a light pink, “I wouldn’t know about that.”

    
“Girl, that’s not what I’ve been told,” Bunny teased. “Maybe I should sign up for a few sessions with Lance. I hear he really knows how to work out the kinks.”

    
“Oh, you should.” Robin leaned into our conversation for a sec. “I’ve been going myself. It’s great for flexibility and toning. So important as we age.” Her eyes moved over Bunny, lingering on the places that proved why silver lame is so hard to pull off.

    
Naturally, this didn’t faze Ms. Beaumont. Anything you’ve done, she’s done faster, better, more often and in higher heels. Even the spectacularly decked out Robin wasn’t much competition.

    
Saul pushed his way into our circle, stumbling against Nancy. “You owe me a dance,” he told Robin, glancing at Tony standing close to her. “Having a good time, Trianos?” Saul slurred his words. “Help yourself to anything you want. Well, not anything.”

    
“Thank you, I will.”

    
I detected no accent in Trianos’s voice. Rather, he had a quiet, silky way of speaking that commanded the attention of his listeners - a sexy voice.

    
“Did Angela fix my drink?” Saul switched his attention to Robin.

    
“Doesn’t she always?”

    
“Be back as soon as I call Meagan.” He headed off to speak with his daughter, Trianos watching him thoughtfully.

    
“Why’s the study off-limits?” Nancy asked me.

    
Following her gaze, we could both see Saul toss back his nightly Scotch through the French doors as he dialed up Meagan, a perpetual student working on her third doctorate.

    
“You know Saul,” I said lightly. “Always scared someone’s going to rip off his plot ideas. He made a big deal of locking his files when we were setting up, but if he wanted everything on one floor, he didn’t have a choice but to let us in there. Even so, he only agreed to have the door unlocked while he was greeting guests in the foyer.”

    
I turned to find Trianos’s eyes on me, but glanced quickly away.

    
“I’m surprised Saul let you in there at all.” Nancy eyed the buffet. “But then, he’s one to talk about snooping.” She headed toward the food.

    
Saul was frowning as he rejoined our group, and I wondered if Meagan Taylor had had something better to do on a Saturday night than talk to her dad. Announcing loudly that he was ready for that dance, he took Robin’s hand as his mood brightened.

    
“They’re playing our song, idea girl!” he all but shouted, as the band downstairs launched into a jazzy version of the
Twelve Days of Christmas
, the dance-floor guests joining in.

    
“I’m taking off.” Trianos clapped Saul on the shoulder. “We’ll talk next week.”

    
I couldn’t tell if he meant the comment for Saul or Robin, who seemed disappointed to see him leave.

    
“Hear you’re a personal trainer now.” Gavin Beaumont cornered me as he mouthed another lobster puff. “Think you could whip me into shape?”

    
“Absolutely, I love a challenge.”

    
“Maybe we could trade services. You get me back into fighting shape, and I’ll give you free Pap smears for life.”

    
I watched him lick lobster puff from his fat little fingers. Somehow, my usual line, “Let me check if I have any openings,” didn’t seem quite appropriate.

    
All this and single, too? God, I hate the holidays.

    
By midnight the party had wound down. Saul was stationed at the door as another wave of guests got ready to depart. Thankfully, we were part of that group.

    
“Got something for you, Amanda!” Saul’s liquored voice boomed into the silence that followed the band’s departure, as he handed her a CD and then snagged a lobster puff off Gavin Beaumont’s plate as he passed by. “You gotta hear Rosemary Clooney’s version of the
Twelve Days of Christmas
.” He roared. “She does it better.”

    
Before Mom could ask, “Better than whom?” Saul punctuated his comment with a playful pat on her bottom.

     Mistake. Big mistake.

     My father’s look of amusement mirrored my own. Saul shouldn’t have done that. We knew it. Everyone in the foyer knew it. Only our host seemed oblivious to the fact that taking liberties with Amanda Carstairs could severely shorten one’s life expectancy.

    
Before Mom could get Saul’s attention with a glare that would decimate the little man with laser-like precision, though, his girlfriend stepped forward.

    
“Your medicine.” Robin held out a pill.

    “I already took it.” He waved dismissively.

    
We’d seen this routine played out more than once. Saul was notoriously forgetful about taking the digitalis he needed twice a day to control his irregular heartbeat.

    
“No, you didn’t.” Robin pressed the pill into his hand.

    
“You’re not in the will, so give it up.” He laughed at his own joke, seemed surprised when no one else did, then caught sight of Mom’s poisonous stare. “Fine. But you’ll all miss me when I’m gone.” He swallowed the pill with the last of his champagne - not what the doctor ordered. “Happy?” he demanded of Robin.

    
“Ecstatic.”

    
Bunny Beaumont slinked up to our group and squeezed Dad’s arm against her chest. “Y’all aren’t going home yet, are you? It’s early,” she pouted. “I’ve still got some mileage left on this dress.”

    
Unable to formulate an appropriate response, my father barely managed to extract his arm from Bunny’s grasp. A lesser man would have crumbled.

    “We’re just getting started, right, Gavin?” Bunny didn’t even look at her chubby little husband.

     “You’re the boss, Buns.”

     The only thing Mom likes less than being touched without permission is seeing her husband pawed by an over-sexed predator like Bunny “Buns” Beaumont, but before Mom could school Bunny on her bad manners, Saul grabbed his stomach.

    
“Let’s go.” Dad pressed forward, having a low tolerance for drama, but it quickly became clear that Saul wasn’t joking.

    
“I don’t feel so good.” Our host doubled over, clutching his stomach. He stumbled left, then right, and finally grabbed the potted Bradford pear tree to get his balance.

    
“I told you not to drink so much when you’re taking your meds.” Robin sounded disgusted, but looked worried.

    
We all did.

    
“Oscar...” Saul gasped as another spasm of pain seemed to rip through him, then he fell to the floor, taking the tree and its partridge with him.

    
Before the ambulance could arrive, before the last scream split the cool night air, before Robin’s first tear even fell, Saul Taylor’s agonized writhing stopped.

    
He was dead.

CHAPTER 5

    
For the second time that week, the police were called to Saul’s house.

    
I guess they had to be, but as to whether they would just take a few notes or launch a full-scale investigation when they arrived, that’s where the situation got tricky.

    
Oscar Browley’s thoughts on the matter were immediately clear.  “We need to lock down the crime scene,” he told Assistant District Attorney Jack Lassiter.

    
“Crime scene?” Jack and Robin exclaimed in unison.

    
Oscar wouldn’t meet Robin’s eyes. “Till we determine cause of death, we must do this by the book.”

    
“He had a bad heart,” Robin protested. “He was on medication. Ask Dr…” She trailed off.

    
Saul’s cardiologist would be of no help. “’s the didgy-tal-s,” he had slurred over the body a few minutes earlier. “Getcha evertime.” His twenty-three-year-old girlfriend had giggled and led him into the dining room, where his mortified twenty-five-year-old daughter waited with coffee.

    
“We’ll need everyone to stay put,” Oscar announced. “Please have a seat in the living room. The police will get your names in case we need to contact you further.”

    
The shocked crowd, which had thinned considerably, moved toward the fireplace.

    
“You don’t understand,” Robin cried.

    
“Ms. Woodall, please. We’re just trying to make sure.” Oscar addressed his comments to a point just over Robin’s shoulder, a fact that wasn’t lost on her.

    
“Ms. Woodall? Oscar, you know Saul adored me.” She panicked. “You can’t think I’d hurt him.”

    
Oscar realized we were dragging our feet and gave us a dark look. We got moving.

    
Around us, the other partygoers were murmuring.

    
“Alex,” Browley called to my father. “Let’s you, Jack and I check the entrances and exits around this place.”

    
I could see that Lassiter clearly resented the way Oscar had taken charge.

    
Robin stumbled over to us, her eyes wide, her voice childlike. “Amanda, you’ve got to help me.”

    
My response would have been “duh,” but Mom chose a more soothing, “Everything’s going to be fine, dear,” accompanied by a reassuring hand squeeze.