A Shot to Die For (12 page)

“I’ll do that.” I smiled. “Thanks.”

He nodded, then turned away to greet someone else.

“What an interesting man,” I said to Willetta.

“The best neighbor I’ve ever had.”

It was only when I held up the card to read his full name that I gasped.

Chapter Eighteen

“What’s wrong?” Willetta wrapped her hands around her wineglass.

“Chuck…” I spat out. “He’s Charles Sutton.”

“Charles Sutton the Third.”

I looked at his retreating back.

“What’s wrong, woman?” Willetta repeated. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

I made some quick calculations. Chuck was in his seventies. Luke Sutton looked somewhere in his forties. Which meant Chuck was Luke Sutton’s father. I tried to recover. “It’s just—well, I’ve heard the name.”

“Not surprising, given who they are.” She eyed me carefully. “Or were. Before the tragedy, of course.”

“What tragedy?”

“And now, with his wife, Gloria….” She looked at me meaningfully.

Mrs. Charles Sutton. Luke Sutton’s mother. “Which one is she?”

Willetta waved a hand. “Oh, Gloria’s not here. She doesn’t—she keeps to herself. Rarely leaves the house.” Willetta peered at me. “You didn’t know?”

I shook my head.

“But you’re from the North Shore. Chuck and Gloria live in Lake Forest during the winter.”

“That’s all well and good, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I tell you what. You come on over to my place sometime. I have all sorts of pictures and stories about the way Lake Geneva used to be. And what happened around here. You can even bring your camera if you want. I live next door to the Suttons, by the way. I’m in the book.”

“Thanks.”

She winked at me, then pulled her boa more snugly across her broad shoulders and swished away.

I watched her go, grateful she was so willing to share information. I couldn’t help but be curious about the Suttons. And surprised. Charles Sutton was, except for the champagne incident, charming. Not at all the evil robber baron I’d imagined. And while his son, Luke, was a different matter, my curiosity about the family and the tragedy they’d suffered was piqued.

I turned around, a trickle of sweat inching down between my shoulderblades. The press of people, the wine, the close air were making me uncomfortably warm. I caught a glimpse of glasses on a tray and zeroed in on them. When I got there, I discovered Pari Noskin Taichert, clad in a tuxedo, passing drinks with a practiced smile. Of course. The Lodge would be using all their staff to work the gala. Happily, there was one glass left on the tray.

“Hello, Pari.”

She looked over, but when she recognized me, her hostess smile disappeared.

“I said, ‘Hello, Pari.’”

She continued to ignore me.

I sidestepped around to her face. “Excuse me, but—”

“Just leave me alone.” She handed the last glass to a man whose forehead was bathed in sweat.

I’m not sure if it was the tone of her voice or the fact I was hot and cranky and fed up with trying to be charming to people who didn’t care about me, but I snapped. Impulsively, I grabbed the empty tray from her hands and hugged it to my chest.

Pari went rigid.

“Gimme that back. You can’t do that. I’ll lose my job for sure.”

She reached for the tray, but I held on to it. “Not until you tell me why you’re so angry.”

“You’re crazy, lady.” There was a desperate quality to her voice. “Give me that back!” I knew if she made a grab for it, and I didn’t relinquish it, we could end up making a scene. Which would not be helpful—for either of us. She seemed to know it, too, and stood uncertainly. A man waved an empty glass toward me. I held out the tray. He deposited it with a frown, as if he knew something was wrong but didn’t know quite what.

Pari made another attempt to snatch the tray from me, but I grabbed the empty glass and swooped the tray out of reach. “Talk and you get it back.”

She shot me another dark look and scanned the crowd. Then in a voice so low I could barely hear her, she said, “Why’d you go to the police? I ast you not to.”

“Come on. You knew I would.”

“Yeah, well, Chief Saclarides was all over me like the skin on an onion. And now everybody thinks I’m a snitch. No one’ll talk to me. I probably won’t last another three days here.”

“Pari, it was the right thing to do.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Calm down. In the final analysis, it wasn’t even very important.”

A woman in a tight black sheath cut me off and set down an almost full glass of red wine on the tray. I guess she didn’t like the vintage. Before moving on, she looked down her nose at me as if to deplore the quality of the hired help.

“Since the last shooting, the police are going in a completely different direction. They even have a lead on a suspect.”

Pari glared at me, obviously unimpressed with my analysis. “That don’t help me much.”

I understood what she was saying. In her mind, I’d undermined her at her job. Made her an “untrustworthy.” Even though she was the one who first volunteered the gossip.

“Pari. If something happens—if you lose your job—I want you to call me. I’ll help you out. Let me get you my card. They’re out in the hall.” I loosened my hold on the tray.

She blocked my path. “I don’t need charity from you. What I need is for you to go away and leave me be.” With that she snatched the tray out of my hands. The movement was so abrupt that the glass of red wine on the tray went flying, hit the floor, and shattered. Splattering the front of my outfit.

A moment of shocked silence followed. Pari scowled defiantly, as if daring me to make a scene. Then, clutching the tray in front of her, she turned on her heel and was gone.

I caught my breath and looked down. Big splotches of red and pink were spreading across my new silk pantsuit. It was so saturated in some spots that the wet penetrated down to my skin. To make matters worse, people’s gazes were drawn to the spectacle, and I was the object of unwelcome attention. They probably thought I was too drunk to hold my liquor.

Trying to be as inconspicuous as a woman in an ivory-colored wine-stained outfit could be. I pushed my way through the crowd. I wondered if I even cared. I didn’t know most of these people, and with the exception of Willetta Emerson, I wasn’t sure I liked the ones I did. But I was out the cost of a new outfit, and I did care about that. I sighed. The way my luck was going, the next person I’d run into would be Luke Sutton.

***

If being a little psychic is like being a little pregnant, I should have been able to bend a spoon. It wasn’t Luke Sutton standing in the hall, but rather, the next best—or worst—thing, depending on your perspective. Jimmy Saclarides, Lake Geneva’s chief of police and the man who’d been riding shotgun in Luke Sutton’s plane, was lounging against the railing.

He nodded in recognition. “Evening, Miss Foreman.”

I’d been hurrying to the ladies’ room, but, in truth, there wasn’t much I could do about the wine stains. The material was silk; I couldn’t soak it in cold water. If there was any chance of reclaiming my outfit, I’d have to depend on the kindness of dry cleaners. I made a right turn and veered toward Jimmy. “You have a habit of turning up when I least expect it.”

“That’s exactly what the guy said when I caught him ripping off the bank.” He smiled affably.

The amusement in his eyes surprised me.

He looked toward Mac, who had set up at the end of the hall. A couple had just finished their sound bites and were strolling back into the ballroom. “Working tonight?”

“Just trying to get some ‘color.’”

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. Bourbon, I wondered. Or scotch. “Color? Like Jimmy Piersall?”

“Excuse me?”

“Piersall, the baseball player. My namesake. After his playing days were over, he was the color man on the Sox broadcasts.” He laughed. “God knows they needed something.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m a Cubs fan.”

“It figures.” He smiled again. Then his attention focused on my outfit. “Those red—or are they pink—designs are, er, interesting. You get ’em done just for tonight?”

I felt my cheeks get hot.

“You want to talk about it?”

Something in the way he said it made me think he wasn’t talking about my outfit. This was one of those good news–bad news situations. The good news was that someone in Lake Geneva actually seemed pleased to see me. The bad news was it was one of the people about whom I had the most misgivings. Jimmy Saclarides had apparently given Pari a hard time about talking to me. And though he didn’t seem to be very aggressive about it, theoretically he was working the case with Milanovich. He
was
the chief of police. For all I knew, he could have been furious Pari talked to me rather than going directly to him.

Did that mean he didn’t know about any meetings between Daria and Luke Sutton? Unlikely. If Luke and Jimmy were as close as I thought, it was possible—even probable—he would have known about their connection from the start. So why had it fallen on my shoulders to reveal it? Was Jimmy covering for his friend’s affair? And if so, why?

I crossed my arms. Despite the absence of evidence tying Luke to Daria, despite his title, despite his apparent kindliness, I didn’t trust Jimmy Saclarides. “Where’s your friend tonight?”

He took a casual sip of his drink. Too casual. “Luke never comes to things like this. At least since he’s been back.”

He didn’t have to ask who I was talking about. “What do you mean ‘back’?”

“He’s been living out West. Just moved back a year ago.”

He looked past me, his gaze caught on something or someone behind me. “But his brother—now that’s a different story.”

I spun around. A man was coming toward us. His steps were measured, as if he was trying to hide how much he’d been drinking. An average build, he looked to be in his fifties. Curly gray hair dipped below his ears. He had a broad forehead, and his eyes were the same deep Sutton blue I’d seen before. I would have labeled him good-looking were it not for the fact that those eyes were barely more than slits.

“Jimmy.” He punched the police chief playfully in the shoulder. “You sly devil. Always cornering the best-looking woman in the room.”

Jimmy stepped back, which caused the man’s fist to hang in midair. “How are you, Chip? Where’s Jen?”

“Back in Winnetka, as usual.” Bending over, he swept his hand through the air in a mock bow. It narrowly missed Jimmy’s glass. When he realized how close he’d come, he straightened up. “Once again, disaster narrowly averted.” He grinned ruefully. “I’m Chip Sutton. And who would you be?”

Jimmy piped up. “This is—this is the woman who’s producing the video about the Lodge.”

Chip appraised me. “Beauty…and talent, too?”

He was laying it on thick. But then, he’d been drinking. “You must be Charles Sutton’s son.”

For an instant, his eyes lost focus. “The inimitable Charles Sutton. Scholar, businessman, captain of industry. And father, par excellence. Yes. I am his son.”

I ignored his sarcasm. “I just met him.”

He swayed slightly and covered it by grabbing Jimmy’s arm. He let go a moment later. “I’m not surprised. My father’s always one step ahead of everyone else. But I hope you’ll give me a chance. I might not be first out of the gate, but I have staying power.” He cracked a smile. Or what I’m sure he thought was one. I fidgeted uneasily. Then he squinted, his gaze focusing on my bodice. “What happened to you, my dear?”

In his state I was surprised he saw it. “An—an accident.”

“You must be terribly uncomfortable. Can’t you change into something else?”

“If I had anything to change into, I would.”

“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.” He shrugged, then let his gaze rise to my face. “What was your name, again?”

“Ellie Foreman.”

He cocked his head. “That sounds familiar. Have we met?”

“I don’t think so.”

Jimmy cut in. “Chip, this is the woman I was telling you about.” He fixed Chip with a knowing look.

Chip looked bewildered.

“The one from Chicago, who reported seeing Luke and Daria Flynn together.”

My stomach twisted.

It took time for Chip to register what Jimmy was saying, but when he did, a flush broke out on his neck, and his eyes turned as hard as metal. “You?” He took a step back.

“Chip.” Jimmy grabbed his arm. “Not now.”

Chip brushed him off, his drunken bonhomie gone. “So you’re the one I’ve been hearing about.”

I steeled myself.

“The one who likes to frame other people for murder.”

I stood there, speechless.

“Or maybe you’re the type who just likes to invade other people’s privacy.”

Jimmy stepped forward, physically shielding me. “Chip, give it a rest.”

Chip didn’t move, but his eyes snapped with anger. “Why, Saclarides? We’re the victims here. Not her.” He faced me. “We—my family—we’re easy targets for the likes of you. You just can’t resist, can you? What are you getting out of it? A book? A movie deal? Going on all the talk shows?”

Jimmy’s voice went tight. “This is your last warning, Chip. Go home and sleep it off.”

Chip glared at Jimmy. “Why? So you can make nice to this—this piece of work? Three sniper attacks, and they still won’t leave us alone. Who is she, anyway? She can’t even keep her clothes clean.”

“Go, Chip. Now.”

After wavering for a long moment, Chip turned and lurched toward the stairs. He was muttering under his breath.

I watched him go, wondering how—or if—he was going to make it home, then realized somewhat churlishly it didn’t matter. Chip wasn’t my problem. Unlike Jimmy, who had evidently shared considerable information with Chip. Wrapping myself in a cold anger, I turned back.

“You knew.”

“Of course I did.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“Didn’t need to.”

“How did you find out?”

He shrugged. “It’s gossip. Old gossip at that. Doesn’t have anything to do with the case.”

“It was Milanovich, wasn’t it?”

“A murder investigation is police business. And it’s gonna stay that way.”

“Then why are you telling the Suttons what’s going on?”

He leveled a hard look at me. “I’m doing what I need to do. You’ll have to accept that.” He paused. “But I am sorry for the way Chip came after you. That wasn’t right.”

“I can tell how sorry you are.”

He rubbed a finger across his face just above his lips. “Ellie, when I ran into you, I was really hoping we wouldn’t—wouldn’t have to deal with any of this. At least for tonight.”