A Dead End (A Saints & Strangers Cozy Mystery Book 1) (2 page)

If there was one thing Kit knew well, it was that dinner at Greyabbey was never a casual affair.

At six o’clock Kit began the walk up Thornhill Road, praying that the front end of her sandals didn’t get caught in the sidewalk cracks. She hoped her car arrived from Los Angeles soon because she didn’t want to be trapped inside the four corners of Westdale any more than necessary.

On the way, she fished her phone from her purse and called Beatrice for an update.

“If it isn’t my favorite college student.” Beatrice’s raspy voice crackled in the phone.

“Hi Bea. Any word on when my car will get here?”

“Should be with you this week.”

Kit stepped over a stray branch in her path as she crossed Virginia Street and began the steep climb up Haverford Road.

“’This week’ is kind of vague. Walking the streets of Westdale is not a good long-term option.”

“Neither is living in Westdale, but it’s what you need to do right now.”

Kit inhaled sharply. “Any chance for a last minute reprieve? Maybe the ban’s been lifted.” Kit cringed as she said the words, knowing it was a long shot.

“Sorry, doll,” Beatrice croaked. “You know I’d call you in a heartbeat if anything changed.”

“I know.” It was true. Beatrice only got paid if Kit got paid. The fact that Beatrice was keeping her on as a client, and a coveted one at that, was a testament to her loyalty. Kit hoped she could make it up to her with a huge paycheck one day.

“Are you huffing?” Beatrice asked in disbelief.

“And puffing,” Kit admitted. Haverford Road was not an easy climb. “And if I could blow her house down, I would.”

“You don’t mean that,” Beatrice scolded her. “Your mother is a legend.”

“In her own mind,” Kit replied. She was relieved to finally reach Winding Way, the premiere road in Westdale. If your house was located on Winding Way, it wasn’t a house at all.

“She’s donated to more pet charities in one year than Bill Gates gave to the entire continent of Africa.”

“Stop checking out her financial records,” Kit chastised her.

“I only look at the ones that are a matter of public record,” Beatrice shot back. “I get dizzy seeing all those numbers in one long string.”

Kit stopped at the gate and quickly ran a comb through her hair. She didn’t want to give her mother any reason to criticize her. What was the point, though? If Kit showed up with a dozen angels on a cloud, her mother would question why they weren’t playing harps.

“It’s showtime, Bea.”

“You’re at your mother’s?”

Kit gave a reluctant sigh. “Yep.”

“Good luck, doll. I’m rooting for you.”

“Bye.” Kit dropped the phone into her purse and pressed the buzzer.

“Winthrop Wilder residence,” a woman’s voice said.

“Hi Diane. It’s Kit.”

“She’s here,” Diane exclaimed, presumably to other people in the room. “Okay, honey. Gate’s open.”

Kit pushed open the heavy metal door and strode up the pathway that led to Greyabbey. She only made it halfway when two Giant Schnauzers came tearing down the lawn toward her.

“Oh my gosh,” Kit said, her eyes brimming with tears. She hadn’t seen Hermès and Valentino in years. She held open her arms and Hermès leapt up, pushing her backward with his two front paws. Kit landed flat on her bottom in the grass, laughing as the dogs licked her face.

“Just as ladylike as I remember,” a voice drawled.

Kit tugged her sundress down as she tried to extricate herself from the Giant Schnauzer wrestling moves.

“Huntley,” Kit cried and scrambled to her feet to greet him. Technically, Huntley James was the household manager and Heloise’s personal assistant. Unofficially, he was a second father to Kit. Originally from Georgia, Huntley embodied the charm and sophistication of the South in one cream linen suit and coordinating hat. His calming presence kept the Winthrop Wilder residence from descending into madness.

“You’re a rose in full bloom,” Huntley enthused, holding her at a distance for a better view. “The English climate suited you.”

“I was only in London for three weeks,” Kit said. “You can thank my trainer for how I look.” Hans had taught her everything from martial arts to shooting a bow and arrow. Pulling that bowstring was harder than it looked. She fought back a few tears, remembering that she’d never train with Hans again.

“Ah yes, the famous Hans,” Huntley commented. She’d had regular contact with Huntley since she moved away so he knew all the relevant names.

Kit squinted up at Huntley. “You look good, too.” At six foot three inches in stocking feet, he towered above the Winthrops and the Wilders. She touched his tan face. “Your hat’s not doing its job, though.”

“That color is the result of a little jaunt to Barbados,” Huntley admitted. “Your mother’s belated birthday gift to me.” Heloise had always been generous with her staff, sending them on vacations and buying them expensive clothes and jewelry. Kit had to admit, her generosity inspired devotion.

Kit chewed her lip, afraid to ask her next question. “And how is my dear mother?”

“Step inside, my fair lady, and see for yourself.” Huntley offered his arm and Kit linked through it as the dogs sniffed around her feet.

Kit eyed the grand house from the safety of the front lawn. It had been modeled after a French country estate with six bedrooms, seven fireplaces and the carriage house where Huntley lived.

“So is this a two martini dinner?” she asked.

Huntley shrugged. “You haven’t been home in a few years. I’d wager three minimum.”

Kit stepped into the familiar foyer where Diane awaited her with a toothy smile and a smothering hug. As the longtime housekeeper and cook, Diane had seen Kit through the awkward years of adolescence and the rebellious teen years. Not that Kit had been very rebellious then. Her act of treason was jetting off to Los Angeles to become an actress. A move her mother still resented, since Heloise painted television actors with the same brush as prostitutes and human rights activists.

“Diane,” Kit choked, “I can’t breathe.”

Diane released Kit from her ample bosom. “You don’t look a day older than the day you left, Kit.”

“Right back at you.” It was a lie, of course. Diane reminded Kit of a female version of Gimli, the dwarf warrior from Lord of the Rings. It didn’t matter, though. Kit adored Diane warts and all and, in this case, the warts were not an idiom.

“Your mother’s in her study,” Diane said. “Would you like to see her?”

“Do I have a choice?” Kit whispered.

Diane leaned toward her. “No.”

As Kit trailed behind Huntley and Diane, she heard the sound of birdsong coming from inside the house.

“Um, what is that noise?” Kit said, pausing to listen.

Huntley’s brow wrinkled in confusion until the birdsong began again. He broke into a broad grin. “Oh yes, you hear Tiffany and Van Cleef. Your mother has acquired a number of new housemates in your absence.”

Housemates. Kit was afraid to ask.

“Kit’s here,” Diane chirped when they arrived at her mother’s study. Diane and Huntley promptly disappeared, leaving Kit alone in the doorway.

The chair swiveled around to reveal Heloise Winthrop Wilder, decked out in bright pink organza and sequins, stroking a white cat on her lap. Her mother’s style was more flamboyant than the typical Westdale maven. Kit doubted that any other woman in town could get away with it.

“Katherine, darling. We’re so relieved to have you home at last.”

“Hello, Mother.” Kit thought that her mother looked gaunter than when she’d last seen her. Her enviable cheekbones were more pronounced and her jawline more defined.

Heloise lifted the cat and carried her over to meet Kit halfway. They reached the center of the room at the same time. Three inches taller, Kit stooped slightly to kiss her mother’s cheek. It was Heloise’s preferred greeting.

“I said casual,” Heloise remarked, surveying Kit’s sundress and sandals. “Not Goodwill chic.”

Kit glanced down at the pretty dress. “I wore this for a magazine shoot.”

She touched the light fabric of the dress. “Well, I suppose that’s the demographic they were aiming for. Poor people watch a lot of television.”

Kit counted to three in her head, a technique she’d picked up in high school. No point in getting tossed out before she’d eaten.

“Who’s the cat?” Kit asked.

Heloise thrust the cat into Kit’s arms. “Miss Moneypenny, meet my daughter, Katherine.”

“You named her after a movie character?” Kit scoffed. All the grief that Kit received as a result of
Fool’s Gold
and here she was naming cats after Bond characters.

“She is named after a character in a novel,” Heloise corrected her.

Kit reddened. She should have known better. The one thing she and her mother agreed on was their love of books. Although her father had spent a lot of time in the Greyabbey library, everyone knew the books really belonged to Heloise and Kit.

Kit rubbed behind Miss Moneypenny’s ear and the cat purred loudly.

“Huntley found her wandering the country club golf course. She was so thin and sickly. He nearly struck her near the ninth hole.”

Kit eyed the cat’s fluffy white coat and healthy glow. “Well, you’ve done wonders for her. She looks healthy.”

Heloise rubbed her nose against Miss Moneypenny’s. “She is amazing. Yes, she is.”

Kit bit back a sarcastic remark. In sixty seconds, Heloise had shown more affection for a stray cat than she’d ever shown for her daughter.

Heloise took the cat back from Kit. “Come along. We don’t want to spoil Diane’s sumptuous dinner by arriving late to the table.”

They left the study and walked to the back of the house, entering the elegant dining room. Heloise took her place at the head of the table and settled the cat on her lap. Kit inhaled sharply when her mother plucked a water goblet from the table and offered it to Miss Moneypenny.

“Diane, this is Perrier, correct?” Heloise called, sniffing the water. “It smells a little like tap water and you know how I feel about that.”

Kit sat to the left of her mother, struggling not to react. Tap water wasn’t good enough for the cat?

“So how do you like the house on Thornhill?” Huntley asked, taking the seat opposite Kit.

Heloise narrowed her eyes. “Yes, do tell. Imagine my surprise when I heard that my unemployed daughter had purchased a house in Westdale.”

Kit winced at the word ‘unemployed.’

“I sold my place in L.A.,” Kit explained. “Plus, I just finished a part in a British film.”

“What about living expenses?” Heloise queried. “I offered to pay for college, not to reinstate your trust fund. Why wouldn’t you just live here and save the money? It’s not like we’re short on space.”

Kit knew it was only a matter of time before her trust fund was mentioned. Kit’s mother had revoked the trust when Kit opted to pursue an acting career in Los Angeles. She had been extremely fortunate to snag the role of Ellie Gold right out of the gate. Otherwise, she’d have been waiting tables and auditioning like everyone else.

“The house has good bones and it was in foreclosure,” Kit argued. “I saw it as an investment opportunity.”

“Well, that would make your father proud,” Heloise said, the obvious implication being that it didn’t make
her
proud.

Huntley reached for the salad tongs. “I didn’t think we had foreclosures in Westdale.” Westdale was like a bubble of affluence, rarely pierced by the sharp pin of the real world. Huntley lived in the guest cottage on the estate. Other than vacations, he only left Greyabbey for visits to the country club and the occasional shopping trip to Liberty Square.

“The owner had money problems and ran off without paying his mortgage. It’s not unusual.” That was all Kit knew and, as far as she was concerned, that was all she needed to know. One man’s burden of debt was an actress-turned-college student’s golden opportunity.

“Now that you’re here permanently,” Heloise began, “it’s high time you attend the next Pilgrim Society meeting.” Heloise was the chairwoman of the Pilgrim Society, an organization for descendants of the first Pilgrims to arrive in the New World on the Mayflower. The Winthrops were descended from Isaac Allerton, one of the pious members of the group.

“Mother, you know I don’t do Mayflower Madness.”

“Really, darling? Madness. It’s a lovely group of people upholding our longstanding Christian values.”

“And by upholding, you mean talking about it and then completely doing the opposite, right? Because that’s the way I remember it.”

Heloise tipped the goblet toward Miss Moneypenny’s water-seeking tongue. “Katherine, it’s important to honor our legacy.”

“I’ll find another way to honor our legacy, thanks. Maybe I’ll get lucky and pass a few stray cats on my way home.”

Huntley’s long leg shot underneath the table and Kit felt the pressure of his large foot on her toes. She pulled back, tucking her feet beneath her chair and trying not to sulk. She’d been living on her own for the past five years and in the span of one dinner, she’d been reduced to toddler behavior. Maybe a return to Westdale had been a bad idea after all.

The next day Kit took advantage of the morning sunshine by dragging the hideous blush carpet out onto the front lawn in strips. It was hard work, but Kit was determined to do it herself. Even with her brief stint in London, she’d felt fairly useless since losing her role on
Fool’s Gold
. Manual labor kept her hands occupied and her mind off her uncertain future. She dropped another strip of nylon onto the grass and headed back inside for more.

“I recommend calling the borough to have them take the carpet away,” a voice said.

Kit spun around to see a white-haired woman riding an electric scooter. “I was hoping to give it away rather than throw it away,” Kit explained. “It still looks new.”

The woman made an unpleasant sound. “Forget charity. You don’t want to risk the wrath of Peregrine Monroe. Don’t let the pearls fool you. That woman is lethal.”

Kit blinked. “Who’s Peregrine Monroe?” The name sounded familiar. With a moniker like Peregrine, she was likely someone who ran in her mother’s circle.