Death Takes a Honeymoon (20 page)

Cissy was going ballistic.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE HE IS? What kind of wedding planner are you? He’s chasing after one of those actresses, isn’t he?”

Cissy was stalking angrily up and down the Paliere suite—if a short lady with a figure like a balloon can be said to stalk. It was more of an infuriated bounce, exaggerated by the fluttery sleeves of her pale purple sundress.

“How could he disappear like this?” she moaned. “Even Shara Mortimer used to answer her phone. And why won’t Sam answer his? He’s off at some construction site, but don’t they have phones? This is all his fault!”

“Cissy, please sit down.” I shut the door behind me with a sigh. Who wants to be closeted with a madwoman?

I had driven back to the lodge at top speed to find Cissy in the lobby, red-faced and quivering, having a full-blown melt-down. I’ve seen some amazing temper tantrums in my business, but this was off the charts. Various members of the staff were hovering around her like zookeepers around a rogue rhino, and the other guests were trying hard not to stare.

Herding Cissy upstairs to the suite had at least removed us from the public eye, but despite her ravings, I still didn’t know what had set her off—except that at some point she’d noticed Beau Paliere flirting with someone besides herself. At least she didn’t know which specific actress he was chasing. We didn’t need a blowup between the mother of the bride and the maid of honor.

“This is a disaster,” Cissy said, her voice breaking. “A
catastrophe
!”

She was working herself into a frenzy. Time for sterner measures. I slapped the back of the needlepoint love seat— in lieu of her face—and raised my own voice.

“Cissy, sit down. Right here, right now. Sit!”

She bridled, but she sat.

“All right, deep breath. In, out. That’s good. One more. In, out. Good.” She coughed a little, having ranted herself hoarse, so I got her a glass of water from the carafe on the conference table. She sipped at it, then shook a couple of round white pills from a bottle in her purse and gulped them down.

“Tranquilizer,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “Sam says I take too many, but how else can I manage all this stress? I’m a very sensitive person.”

“Of course you are,” I said, with a serious effort not to sound sarcastic. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

I was expecting either a major calamity—the wedding was off—or a minor hitch, like another mismatched pair of shoes. Mothers of the bride can go either way. What I got was somewhere in between, but edging toward calamity.

“It’s the Ladislaus Quartet,” she said venomously, as if laying a curse on all four of them. “Their manager called. They’ve cancelled.”

“But they can’t,” I said, taken aback. “Did he say why?”

“Something stupid about a coup,” she said. “They’re in Java or Jakarta or someplace stupid like that, and there’s been a coup or an uprising or something and they can’t travel. How could they do this to me?”

I let that one go. I was busy calling Beau’s cell phone, but he didn’t answer, and I couldn’t wait for him. Did I have a number for Sebastian in Mexico? He was the entertainment director, so this was technically his problem, not mine or Beau’s. But someone had to reach him as soon as possible. Wedding ensembles aren’t available at a moment’s notice.

“Cissy, we’ll work something out, but I need to make some more calls. Why don’t you—”

“I want Beau.” Amazing, how dangerous those little rosebud lips could look. She got to her feet again, ready to rejoin the battle. “He should be handling this, not you. We’re paying him a fortune, and where is he?”

“I’ll find him,” I promised. I would, too, if I had to search Olivia’s sheets to do it. “But meanwhile, why don’t you go home and look over your outfit for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow? Or you and Sam can—”

“Sam is
working,
” she said, waving the tumbler and sending droplets flying. “As if I’m not! He leaves all the real work to me, all these details about the wedding, hundreds of decisions. He goes off to work and Tracy goes off to play and nobody appreciates what I do,
damn
them all!”

I wouldn’t have guessed such a chubby little arm could heave a water glass that far or that hard. At least she didn’t throw it at me. The tumbler hit the minibar refrigerator and burst like a small bomb, spraying glass shards everywhere.

I yelped in alarm. Cissy broke into sobs. And someone rapped a jaunty shave-and-a-haircut on the suite’s door. Given the alternatives, I answered the door.

“Aaron!” I practically dragged him inside. If anything could calm Cissy, it was an attractive new man. And even if Aaron was still mad at me, surely he’d rise to a crisis?

“Listen—” he began, but I cut him off.

“In a minute.” I was whispering, though Cissy probably couldn’t hear us above her own wailing. “I’ve got an emergency here. Help me out, OK?”

“What do you need?”

“Just be charming.
Major
charm.”

Then I raised my voice to say brightly, “Cissy, here’s my good friend Aaron Gold. This is Cissy Kane, Tracy’s mother.”

My hero. Without another word of explanation, Aaron came on like Cary Grant.

“You mean sister, don’t you?” He set down the laptop he was carrying and took her hand in both of his. “Or else you had Tracy very young. Tell me all about the wedding, Cissy. Sun Valley seems like a perfect spot...”

He led her to the love seat and she followed like a lamb, leaving me with the mess.
Probably a lifelong pattern of hers,
I thought sourly, as I phoned Housekeeping for a vacuum.

I considered calling Olivia’s room as well, to begin the hunt for Beau, but opted to wait till Cissy was out of the way. So I disposed of the bigger bits of glass and shook the slivers off my paperwork as Cissy prattled happily away at her new admirer.

The next knock on the door wasn’t Housekeeping. It was my mother. She took in the broken glass, gave a knowing nod when I rolled my eyes at Cissy, and then joined us in the sitting area. I made introductions, we all sat down, and there was an expectant pause.

“So you’re Aaron Gold,” said Mom. “I thought you’d be taller.”

“Mom!”
Strange but truthful, that’s Louise Kincaid.

Aaron just leaned back and laughed. “And I thought you’d have red hair.”

“That was my late husband,” she said, not quite hiding a smile. “Carrie has his temper, too.”

“Does she have a temper? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Lucky you. Give her time.”

As we went on chatting. I watched these two faces, so dear to me in their different ways. I could tell that Mom and Aaron approved of each other, and somewhere inside me a little knot of tension untied itself. I was surprised at how good that felt.

Cissy certainly approved of Aaron. She laid a coy hand on his arm and said, “I’m hungry, sweetie. Why don’t we all go downstairs for a little bite to eat?”

“I would just love to, Cissy, but I can’t.” He gestured toward the laptop with a convincing show of regret. “I’m on a working vacation, and I have to get back to it. But I’ll see both of you tomorrow, won’t I?”

I begged off as well, and when Housekeeping came, the ladies got up to leave.

“You’ll take care of the music, won’t you?” Cissy asked me in parting.

“I’m not sure—” I began, but then I saw Mom beaming at me confidently, and I couldn’t resist showing off for her. “I’m not sure who it will be, but I promise, Tracy will have her string quartet.”

Once the glass was cleared away and I was alone with Aaron, I dropped into the love seat and blew out a sigh of relief. “Thanks a million.”

“You’re welcome a million. Is Cissy your usual kind of client? Your job’s harder than I thought.” He flipped opened his laptop on the conference table and jacked into the Internet connection. “I like your mom, though. She’s got you and your temper pegged.”

I blushed, remembering my show of temper in his car earlier. “Aaron, I owe you an apology. But you have to understand, Eddie and Mom cooked up that whole story about Boris.”

“Apology accepted,” he said without even looking up from the keyboard. “But I’m still going to get you back for locking me out. Now, take a look at this.”

“Why?” This was hardly the kiss-and-make-up scene I’d imagined. “I have calls to make, I really don’t have time for—”

“Yes, you really do. Trust me. I left the ball game early when this guy in Seattle returned my call. Big expert on the Korean War.”

Intrigued, I joined him at the table. “What’s that got to do—”

“Cardinal rule of reporting, Stretch. Follow all your leads, especially with history buffs and old guys in newspaper offices.” He went on tapping as he talked. “While I waited for you in the bar I got busy on the phone, including a call to the local paper here. Didn’t find much about our three smoke jumpers, but I got an earful about Danny Kane’s Uncle Roy. Then I put together everything I’d heard, and look.”

He angled the glowing screen toward me. It showed a full-color picture of an exotic, ancient-looking headdress, fashioned all in gold and adorned with glass beads and bits of carved jade. Golden chains with links like leaves dangled down from the circular headband, and tall golden branches rose up from it. Their antlerlike shapes gave the piece a wild, barbaric air.

“Magnificent,” I said. “What is it?”

“This, my dear Dr. Watson, is a Crown of Silla, a priceless sixth-century Korean artifact. There was more than one, back then, but damn few are still in existence.”

“And?”

He struck a key and the screen darkened. “And this one is identical, or near enough, to the one Roy Kane was accused of stealing from the Toksu Palace in Seoul in 1952.”

“Oh my God.” I sat down. “Julie Nothstine said something about an accusation of looting, but she insisted that Roy was cleared.”

“Not according to rumor, Stretch,” he said, taking a seat beside me. “According to rumor, Roy Kane brought his golden treasure back with him, and buried it somewhere near his fishing cabin at Tamarack Lake, which is where he committed suicide. And guess what Tamarack Lake is very close to?”

“Boot Creek?”

“Bingo. Supposing the spot where he buried the crown was burned over in the fire, and when your cousin climbed out of that tree he found it. And supposing one of the other smoke jumpers...” Aaron hesitated, frowning. “OK, this is the part I have trouble with. One of the smoke jumpers hikes over to Brian, sees him with the crown, and kills him for it? Doesn’t seem very likely.”

“It doesn’t have to! You haven’t heard
my
piece of news. Actually, there’s two.”

I told him both, first about Al Soriano glimpsing a tent amid the smoke, and second about how Danny Kane suspected Todd and the Tyke of murdering Brian. There was actually a third item, the tidbit about the Tyke fooling around with Brian at the Pioneer. But somehow I forgot about that one as Aaron leaned closer, listening keenly, until I could feel the warmth of his body in the air-conditioned room. The excitement of all this investigating was sparking a certain, well, excitement.

“So I suppose we could join forces with Danny,” I said, trying to stick to business, “but he’s so volatile right now, I’m afraid of setting him off. And anyway, he’s on the wrong track. I’m sure Brian was killed by someone else, not a smoke jumper at all. Someone who knew about the Crown of Silla and... That doesn’t work, does it?”

“Nope. Thiel finding Roy Kane’s buried treasure would have been a completely random event. No one could have anticipated that, so our mysterious camper was at Boot Creek for some other reason.” He made a face. “Why do people go camping anyway, don’t they have beds at home? I’ve never understood that.”

Aaron was being facetious, but I considered the question seriously. “Al said the Boot Creek area is hard to get to, so the killer must have been physically fit enough to hike in there.”

“That sounds like half the guys in this town. At least it’s a small town, so we can ask around. The bachelor party is adjourning to someplace called the Casino Club after the game. It’s supposed to be a local hangout, so why don’t we start there?”

“Good idea.”

“I’m full of good ideas, Stretch,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss me. I wasn’t the only one feeling distracted here. “Mostly about you...”

I leaned away. “My dear Sherlock, can you play Mozart’s ‘Eine Kleine Nachtmusik’ on the cello?”

“Huh? No.”

“I didn’t think so. That means you have to go away while I find somebody who can.”

“It’s always something with you, isn’t it? Can you join the party later?”

“I’ll try. Now go.”

So he went—after a kiss or two, or six. When it came to kissing, I thought dreamily as the door closed behind him, Aaron Gold was the winner and still champion.

With that point settled I got back to work, trying Beau again and then sifting my files for Sebastian’s number. Nothing. I even phoned the Paliere office in New York, but with the time difference they were already closed. So I bit the bullet and called Olivia’s room.

At first she affected not to know where Beau might be. She was an actress, after all.

“Beau Paliere? Why, I can’t imagine. We were chatting by the pool earlier but—”

I didn’t have time to play along. “Save it, Olivia, I know the man. Is he still there with you or has he left? Come on, this is important.”

“He left for the White Pine Inn half an hour ago,” she said flatly. “He wanted to look over the wedding site. You know, I would really prefer that you didn’t—”

“Not a word. But he wasn’t answering his cell.”

“Oh, he left it here.” She giggled. “It rang at the worst possible moment, so he turned it off and then it fell under the bed. Do you need it?”

“No, I need
him,
” I snapped. “And there’s no cell service at White Pine, anyway. I suppose I could drive up there after him...”

And have him snub me again? Forget it.
I said good-bye to Olivia and sat pondering. After all, what could Beau do that I couldn’t? He wasn’t the only wedding planner around here. I had my own contacts. Surely I could come up with some musicians on short notice. I’d made a promise, and I didn’t need him to fulfill it.