Died with a Bow (13 page)

As soon as we walked into the huge, high-ceilinged entry
to the funeral home, I expected to see a lot of cold marble. Instead, there were earth tones on the walls and burgundy and white carpets on the floors. My first impression was of a sea of black suits. Were we right to go against custom and dress for Vienna? I felt cold, disapproving glances come my way.

“Look,” Dolce said under her breath. “Have you ever seen something like that before?” Just as Athena had promised, there was a bar, tucked into an alcove lined with dark wood. Behind the bar was a waiter dressed in a tuxedo, serving drinks.

“Never,” I said. But then how many funerals had I been to? “Might as well join them,” I said, taking her arm and heading toward the bar. I thought it wasn’t a bad idea at all. I mean, who wouldn’t want some alcohol to numb the pain of losing a loved one? It might even bring the two warring factions together. Instead of fighting over Vienna as they’d done when she was alive, they could end up in each other’s arms, consoling each other.

I liked the idea of an open bar, but I warned myself to be cautious, since I hadn’t eaten any lunch and I feared the effects of drinking on an empty stomach. The alcohol could go right to my head. Of course, if others were in the same boat, it could be a good thing to loosen a few inhibitions. Someone might say something or do something to give him-or herself away as the perpetrator of Vienna’s murder.

That’s where Detective Wall would come in handy. He’d put two and two together, maybe even hear a tearful confession, then jump in and make an arrest, and voilà, he could wrap up the case without a lot of footwork. Was that why he was attending this funeral? I had to confess that was my motive. Even if I didn’t get to witness a confession, I’d at
least get a feeling for the players in this drama. I would be disappointed if there wasn’t some sort of drama, considering the situation.

As soon as I had in hand an Alexander expertly made with crème de cacao and Dolce was sipping something called an Acapulco made with tequila, we stood on the sidelines watching the crowd. So far I didn’t recognize anyone, but that was because we didn’t know any of Vienna’s friends or relatives except for her twin, Athena. We’d seen her mother and father along with their significent others at the benefit.

“Saturday night at the auction, we never actually met any of Vienna’s family, did we?” I asked Dolce.

She said no, but we already knew her stepmother, Bobbi, who was one of our customers. We were soon joined by our favorite oldster, Miranda McClone. She was holding a glass filled with a frothy substance she said was a banana daiquiri, while her husband had ordered a scotch and water. “Such a novel idea, serving drinks at a funeral,” she said, giving both Dolce and me a once-over. “You girls look just fabulous,” she said. “I should never have worn black. It ages a person at least five years.” Since five more years would put Miranda close to ninety, I was glad to be able to assure her that it wasn’t true in her case—and I meant it.

“With that hat, you look absolutely marvelous,” Dolce told her. She was right; the wide-brimmed hat with the tassel, feather and beads was the perfect accompaniment to a plain black suit. The only drawback was that she hadn’t bought the hat at Dolce’s. She couldn’t have because Dolce hadn’t had much of a hat selection this season. A fact Dolce must have been acutely aware of as she gazed raptly at Miranda’s choice of headwear.

“The hat certainly spices up your outfit,” I added.

Miranda smiled and kissed me on the cheek. She smelled of Ralph Lauren’s latest scent, Romance. One of the reasons I loved working at Dolce’s was for the contacts I made there. The customers were so much more than customers. I was telling the truth when I said they were also friends. Miranda was one of my favorites. She never gossiped, never had a bad word to say about anyone.

I was thinking that maybe we too should have worn hats. Just seeing this spunky eighty-something all turned out made me feel like I’d neglected to get completely dressed. Almost as bad as forgetting to wear shoes.

“Have you viewed the, um, body yet?” Miranda asked us. “Or do you prefer to remember her as she was? I know some people do. I’m a good friend of her grandmother, Jane Marlow, on her father’s side, and I know Jane is most upset about this whole thing. The police telling the family they’re being investigated. I ask you, what is the world coming to?”

Neither Dolce nor I had an answer to that. Did this mean Jack was zeroing in on some particular member of the family? I was afraid to ask.

“Look, there’s Lex standing at the door,” Miranda said. “He was so fond of little Vienna. He gave her everything she ever wanted. Do you know Bobbi? Yes, of course you do. That’s her in red. I know it’s an unusual choice, but she’s quite original, which is why I admire her so much. Doesn’t follow the crowd. She explained to me that this is not a time to weep, it’s a celebration of life. This is Lex’s way to honor his daughter. The party after the funeral will be held at her mother’s house in Atherton. It’s an awkward situation, but I believe they’re handling it well, don’t you?” she asked us.

“Oh, definitely,” I said. “Bobbi’s dress is outstanding,” I said. Actually I thought it was bizarre for Bobbi to be
wearing bright red to this funeral. Especially knowing how she felt about her stepdaughter.

Dolce took a sip of her drink. “I believe red is traditional among the Ashanti tribes in Africa. Maybe Bobbi has some connection.”

Dolce also knew how Vienna felt about her stepmother, and she wasn’t about to compliment her in any way. No matter what she said, I could tell by the look on her face she thought the red dress was completely inappropriate. Of course, we weren’t following tradition by not dressing in black, but we weren’t trying to stand out either. We’d leave standing out to the customers we’d helped find outfits for, namely Sachi, Pam, Monica and Barbie, who were now mixing and mingling in the crowd.

I just couldn’t wait any longer to view Vienna in her casket. I left Dolce chatting with Miranda and I slipped into the huge high-ceilinged viewing room with sunshine coming through the skylights. There was soft music playing, and the people in the room were speaking in hushed voices.

Instead of rushing up to view Vienna in her coffin, I held back, afraid of seeing her, afraid of bringing back the shock when I’d found her body. I’d have to look at her. Otherwise I’d regret it, but I wasn’t ready yet. Maybe after another drink. I procrastinated by saying hello to her sister. Athena was greeting people while she stood next to the guest book. Her hair was long, layered and more voluminous than I remembered. She was wearing a black taffeta scoop-necked dress with a chiffon-trimmed grosgrain sash and black stiletto heels.

“You look great,” I said. “Love your dress.”

“Thanks,” Athena said. “I wish you’d tell my stepmother that. Bobbi just told me I wasn’t a bridesmaid and this wasn’t
a cocktail party. Even at my sister’s funeral she had to say something snarky.”

“She’s probably terribly upset and she’s not herself,” I said. Though I wasn’t sure why I was defending her. I scarcely knew the woman, and what I knew of her I didn’t particularly like.

“Oh, she’s herself all right,” Athena said. “And if she’s upset, it’s because Vienna is the center of attention and not her.” She looked around the room. “So, who are all these people?” she asked. “Like the guy who just came in wearing a kilt. What’s up with that?”

I turned around to see a guy wearing a red and black tartan plaid kilt with a white shirt and black jacket. On his muscular legs he wore white kneesocks. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see him haul out a bagpipe and play a dirge for Vienna.

“You don’t know him?” I asked.

She shook her head. “But I’d like to. That’s why I’m in charge of the guest book, so I can find out who’s who. Watch me go.”

With that, she strode across the room, the guest book under her arm, and sashayed up to the kilted guy. I knew it wasn’t Geoffrey, but could this be either Emery or Raold? Or someone I didn’t even have on my list of suspects? Neither of those names sounded Scottish, but you never knew. If only I had a guest book. What excuse did I have to go up to strangers and ask who they were and how they felt about Vienna? None.

I could hardly say I was investigating her murder. They’d say, “Oh, are you with the police?” Or, “Are you with the family?” All I could say was, “I found the body. I’m the chief suspect. I have to find someone else besides myself who had
a motive and the opportunity to kill Vienna.” Unfortunately I had both according to Detective Wall. I searched the room for someone who looked suspicious. Someone who either looked too sad or too happy to see Vienna in her coffin. But most people were standing around talking, completely oblivious to the body in the middle of the room. Almost as if they were at a cocktail party. I didn’t see the mourner in chief, Vienna’s father. Maybe he was too overcome with grief to face her body. Or maybe he was still playing host by the bar.

I should just grit my teeth and look at her. I might have a flash of insight. Maybe she’d send me a message from wherever she’d gone. It could be, “Look for a man in a kilt.” Or it might be, “Don’t overlook the obvious.” Or what about,
“Cherchez la femme”
?

I inched up to the coffin. When I got there, I closed my eyes for a long moment, hoping for a moment of clarity, or at least a pathway into the spirit of Vienna. But I got nothing. Vienna had never communicated much with me when she was alive, so why did I expect her to get in touch now that she was dead?

“I can help you,” I wanted to tell her. “I can catch your killer, just send me a sign.”

“Are you okay?”

My eyes flew open. It was Detective Wall standing next to me at the coffin, his expression somewhere between concerned and puzzled. He’d managed to look conservative but drop-dead male-model stunning at the same time.

“I’m fine,” I said, embarrassed to be caught unawares, my eyes closed like a sleepwalker. “You look like you just stepped out of
Vogue Hommes International
.”

“Just trying to fit in,” he said. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think I was here looking for a murderer.”

“But you are.”

“It’s my job.”

Whether he wanted to or not, Jack always stood out no matter where he was or what he was wearing. Today it was a single-breasted, two-button dark blazer with a stylish white pocket square, a pair of narrow flat-front slacks, a buttoned vest and a pair of Steve Madden dress shoes.

“I thought maybe you were asleep,” he said. “I was afraid to wake you.”

“I was trying to communicate with Vienna.”

“Tell her you were sorry?”

I stared at him. I was still avoiding looking into the coffin. “For what? That she took my job? That she broke Dolce’s heart? That she had to die on Sunday morning, leaving me to discover her body…”

“Never mind,” he said, obviously tired of hearing me rant. “How do you like her dress?”

I finally forced myself to look at her. I gasped. “It doesn’t matter what I think of it, it’s what Vienna would have thought that counts.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I…I don’t know. She loved to shock people, so maybe this dress is exactly what she would have wanted. The glittery stretch fabric is fun, flirty and it hugs her curves. It’s just…It’s just that it’s more appropriate for a party than a funeral.” And it wasn’t anything like anything she’d ever worn that I knew about. A long-sleeved dress with shoulder pads? A touch of forties glamour to my way of thinking. I wondered what Dolce would think. Where was she?

“So who dressed her?” Jack asked. “Someone who loved her or someone who hated her?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I think she looks fine. It
was a bold choice. Maybe not something she would have chosen, but still gutsy. That’s her stepmother, Bobbi, over there. Why don’t you ask her who did it?”

“I hate to interrupt any private grieving,” he said.

Was he serious? Jack was ruthless when it came to investigating a murder. And now he was afraid of hurting someone’s feelings?

“Don’t worry, Bobbi isn’t grieving. Just the opposite is my guess. If you’re looking for suspects, she should be on your list. She was at the auction, and she’s jealous of Vienna’s hold over her father, Lex.”

“You’re up on your motives, I see.”

“Motives and opportunity, isn’t that what it’s all about? Just FYI, there are some men here to check out.”

“Emery and Raold? They have alibis.”

“Very convenient. What about Geoffrey? I think she’d dumped him for someone else. Not sure who.” Not sure but I was going to find out.

“I have Geoffrey’s statement.”

“And the man in the kilt,” I said.

“A cousin who flew in from Scotland,” Jack said. “He was on the other side of the world when Vienna was killed.”

“So who didn’t have an alibi?” I said. “Besides me?”

“You don’t really think I’d give you a list, do you?”

“No, but I’ll give you a list of possibilities and you just shake your head or nod.” I didn’t wait for him to shake his head or roll his eyes, I just started naming names.

“What about her stepsister, her stepmother, her ex-boyfriend or, I don’t know, her roommate, who I’m guessing is the woman over there wearing a sporty watch with a bunch of sparkly bracelets and a matching ring I could swear were Vienna’s. She’s the one talking to the cousin in the kilt. Have
you checked all those alibis, because I think I could give you their motives without half trying.”

Jack just looked at me as if I’d gone completely insane.

“Anyway, you admit there is a list. I’m
not
the only one. How about this?” I asked. “I come down to the station and take a lie detector test.”

“Do you know how many convicted spies have passed a polygraph test?” he asked.

“So now I’m a spy as well as a murderer. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.” Didn’t Jack know that someone like myself who was guilty would never volunteer to take the test. Or else he or she was innocent, as I was, and would pass with flying colors.

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation at a funeral home in the presence of the deceased,” he said with a glance around the room. I didn’t blame him for averting his gaze from the coffin. No matter how good she looked, it was downright eerie staring at a dead woman you once knew.