Copy Cap Murder (10 page)

The Carson estate looked different in the cold, watery light of midday. There were no twinkling lights or lamps warming the front entrance and even the pumpkins and cornstalk decorations seemed withered and withdrawn.

Viv walked up to the front door with no hesitation and pressed the doorbell. It seemed to me that a place like this would have better security, you know, to keep the riffraff like us out. I glanced at the panel where the buzzer was and noted a tiny red flashing light, sort of like an electronic eye watching us. I resisted the urge to straighten my clothes at what I was sure was a security camera.

A voice spoke out of the box, and I recognized the butler Price's voice.

“Carson residence, how may I assist you?” Mr. Price asked.

“Good afternoon, sorry to trouble you, but I'm hoping to retrieve my hat, which I left here the other evening,” Viv said. “I wouldn't bother you, but I am a milliner and it is a very important design.”

There was no response and I braced myself for rejection, it hurts no matter who does it to you for whatever reason, but I needn't have bothered.

“You were the ladies in Mr. Wentworth's party?” he asked.

“Yes, Vivian Tremont and my cousin Scarlett Parker,” she said. “We own Mim's Whims.”

“One moment, please,” he said.

And then as if we had spoken the magic words, the large door swung open and Price bade us to enter and speak with Oz the great and powerful, or in our case Ava, the wife, aloof and wasted.

Price led us through the immense foyer with the sparkling chandelier overhead, through the large room with the Rothko painting on display that I remembered from our first visit to the house. He strode down a short hall to the left and opened one of two gorgeously carved wooden doors, gesturing for us to precede him into the room.

“If you'll wait here, I'll send someone in to assist you directly,” he said.

It was a lavish drawing room with floor-to-ceiling windows, draped in crimson velvet, that overlooked the side lawn. The furniture was a mix of ornately upholstered gold suede armchairs mixed with dark brown leather couches with plush crimson pillows. The walls were painted a matte ecru, which made the expensive paintings lit from above and below pop on the walls.

Several potted palms filled the corners with greenery, but the thing that caught my attention and held it was a large eight-foot-high marble statue placed in front of the center window. I crossed the room toward it as if it beckoned.

I tried not to gape, really I did, but it was hard when I could tell at a glance that the statue was Ava in the raw, as in naked, butt naked. I heard Viv grunt beside me and knew that she recognized the statue as well.

“That's taking stony silence to all new levels,” Viv said.

I chuckled.

“She can't help it,” I said. “She's clearly caught between a rock and a hard place.”

Viv snorted and I pointed at her. “You laughed.”

“No, I didn't,” she denied. “That was a sneeze.”

“It was a snort!” I said. “Come on, you have to give it to me; it was a good pun.”

“Oh, all right,” she said. “But only because I think the rest of us must be rubbing off on you.”

“Ahem.”

A discreetly cleared throat brought our attention around to the door. A woman in a severe black dress with sensible shoes stood watching us.

“Good day, I'm Mrs. Bailey, the housekeeper,” she said. “Mr. Price said you required assistance?”

Viv looked as if she'd forgotten why we'd come and I saw her studying Mrs. Bailey as if she were fitting her for a hat.

“Um, er, yes, we lost a hat the other evening during the unfortunate incident,” I said. Mrs. Bailey gave me a small nod, letting me know she understood what I was talking
about, and I felt a flash of pride at my mastery of the British art of understatement.

“Can you describe it?” she asked.

“Yes, it was a yellow cap, wool, with a short brim,” Viv said. “And a bit slouchy in the back.”

“I'll go and check the coatroom,” Mrs. Bailey said. “Would you care for some tea while you wait?”

“No, thank you,” I declined for both of us. I glanced at Viv and she nodded, indicating she was passing as well.

“Please make yourselves comfortable,” Mrs. Bailey said. “I'll return directly.”

She closed the door softly behind her, and I wondered if that was her way of telling us to behave. I sat on the edge of one of the plush-looking chairs. Viv took the one beside me. I bounced up and down a bit. It was like landing on concrete.

“Seems like these should be more squashy, don't you think?” I asked.

Viv tried her chair out. “Yes. Maybe the sofa is softer.”

She rose and crossed to the couch. I could tell by the way she winced when she sat that it wasn't any better.

“Maybe they bring people in here because they don't want them to get too comfortable and overstay their welcome,” I said.

“Well, it's working,” Viv said. “As if the naked statue isn't off-putting enough, I don't want to be that up close and personal with my hostess's bare breasts, do you?”

“Hmm, that doesn't bother me as much as the feeling that she's watching me,” I said. Whoever had carved the statue had managed to make it appear that the marble eyes had a bead on you wherever you were in the room.

It reminded me of the raven carved into the wardrobe in the corner of our shop. His beady little wooden eyes had the same effect on me.

I rose from my hard seat and walked across the room. Glancing over my shoulder, I felt the statue's watchful gaze on me. I switched directions and went the other way, and I swear it tracked me. I shivered.

“You're right,” Viv said. She rose from her seat and stood beside me as if there were safety in numbers. “It's just creepy.”

“Well, thanks for that!”

The voice was shrill and very dramatic, and I knew without turning around to whom it belonged. Ava Carson.

“So sorry,” I said as I spun about, putting on my brightest people pleaser smile. Years in hospitality had trained me to be an excellent smoother-overer. “We shouldn't have been talking about the unfortunate incident the other night, very rude of us to call it creepy, please forgive us?”

I felt Viv turn her head to study me. I ignored her for fear that I might give us away.

“Oh, I thought you were talking about . . . something else,” Ava said. She was standing in the shadow of the open door as if uncertain as to whether she wanted to come in or not.

“How are you, Mrs. Carson?” Viv said. “We do apologize for intruding upon you without notice.”

“It's fine,” Ava said. With that, she seemed to make up her mind and she stepped fully into the room.

I gasped as she sashayed toward us. This was not the blond bombshell wearing lavender cashmere from the other evening. Oh, no, this was a woman who appeared to
have been on an all-night bender. Her red lipstick was smeared to one side of her lips, her mascara was flaked across her cheeks, and her blond hair stood up straight in the back but was flat across her forehead as if she'd just gotten out of bed. She was wearing a thick velour robe of deep purple with a lighter satin piping along the edges and sash, and she was barefoot.

We must have been staring, okay, yes, we were staring, because she sneered at us, and asked, “What?”

“Purple is a very good color for you,” Viv said. “Not many blondes can carry it off.”

“That's because I'm not really blond,” Ava said.

She reached into the pocket of her dressing gown and pulled out a cigarette case from which she withdrew a black cigarette with a gold foil filter tip. She did not offer either of us one for which I was profoundly grateful; even with a swank gold tip I was not enticed to take up smoking.

Ava put the case back and used a sparkly lighter, also from her pocket, to light the cigarette. She inhaled and blew out a thick plume of smoke. She kept the cigarette between two fingers in front of her mouth and rested her chin on her thumb while she considered us.

Her gaze went from fuzzy to sharp as if she was fading in and out of the moment. I had a feeling if we wanted to ask her any questions about the other night, we'd better be quick about it.

“We lost one of our hats,” I said. “The yellow one? We were hoping it might be here.”

Ava turned her back to me and walked over to the statue by the window. Even beneath her robe, I could see that she managed to move her hips in a swivelly, swervy come-hither
way that my behind would never master not even with lessons. Impressive.

She gazed up at her profile rendered in marble. The sculptor had done an amazing job capturing her likeness right down to the tiny divot at the end of her upturned nose.

“Carson had this carved for my birthday when we were first married,” she said. “November fifth, bonfire night, is my birthday. It was not exactly a happy birthday this year or maybe it was.”

Okay, that was creepy. I glanced at Viv, who gave me an alarmed look before blanking her features and turning back to Ava, who was still staring at her likeness.

“He loved me then,” she said. Her voice sounded wistful.

I felt the discomfort of being an unwilling confidant, sort of like wearing a jacket that was too small as it pinched and squeezed, making me want to wriggle out of it.

“I'm sure he still does,” Viv said. She was not as skilled in fibbing as I was and it showed.

“No, he doesn't,” Ava said. She stroked her hand over the abdomen of the statue. “Being unable to bear children will do that to a marriage; suddenly the man starts looking at younger, more fertile women. It can't be helped. It's the nature of men.”

I wanted to protest on principle that no man stopped loving a woman just because she couldn't have children, but I knew it was a lie just as I knew there were women who had left their men for similar reasons.

“I don't think—” Viv began, obviously unable to resist protesting Ava's assessment.

“It doesn't matter,” Ava said. She spread her arms wide
to encompass the entire room and all that was in it. “Look around you. I have everything a girl could ever want. Everything.” She paused and looked at us over her shoulder, and in a voice that was worthy of a D-list actress, she cried, “I will not let them steal my joy!”

Oh, boy. I had a feeling we were headed down a slippery slope of crazy, and it was best to get our conversation on track. Viv had said she didn't trust Ava Carson, that she had swept up Andre and Nick as if she was aligning an alibi. I thought that was an astute observation, but when I looked into Ava's blank gaze I wasn't sure how much brainpower she had available for subterfuge.

Of course, Tuesday Blount obviously loathed Ava and had no problem casting her in the role of villainess, but since I had no affection for Tuesday, I didn't give her opinion much credence.

I glanced at the grandfather clock ticking in the far corner. The housekeeper had been gone for fifteen minutes and would be back shortly no doubt. I decided to cut right into the heart of it.

“Has there been any news about Winthrop Dashavoy's death?” I asked.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Viv stiffen in surprise. My blunt American ways were showing again, but I figured that was exactly what would let me get away with the question.

Ava lowered her arms and turned toward me. She took a long drag off her cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke. The sunlight from the window illuminated the blue-gray swirls until they dissipated. She tapped the ash into a crystal ashtray that probably cost more than Viv and
I made in a month and then she lowered her head and glanced at me from under her long lashes.

I suspected the look was supposed to be coquettish, but with her makeup in smears and one of her false eyelashes dangling, it took on a sad caricature of charm. I knew I was supposed to feel beguiled but what I felt was repulsed with a dash of pity.