Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4) (15 page)

Chapte
r
15

Jacks darted up the steps, leaving me behind. I walked at a more sedate pace.

Flanking the door, two men in dark glasses and black suits stood with their hands folded. Bouncers? Secret Service wannabes? At an opera house wingding? I openly studied them as I entered. But once inside, my gaze swept across the stunning interior and I quickly forgot about Frick and Frack.

I’d been in mansions, but the Rutherford home was like tripping backward in time—buttresses and plastered walls covered with ancient tapestries. Very old paintings that resembled Dutch masters hung on the wall and threadbare antique carpets covered the dark wood floors.

As I took it all in, a waiter waved a tray of champagne under my nose. I nearly snatched two glasses, so I could double fist my way through the evening, but managed to restrain myself by accepting only one. “Thanks.”

“Please proceed to the garden, ma’am.” He nodded toward the back of the house. A few people trailed by me, and I glanced at them all, hoping to spot the Carlucci family. No such luck.

I followed the trickle of couples outside. Some distance from the house, a swimming pool shimmered bright blue in the fading sunlight. In the other direction, I could barely make out a tennis court. Here in the garden, a riot of colors bloomed and left their fragrance hanging in the hot, stilted air. Off to the side, a ten-piece orchestra played light background music.

Though the setting was lovely, the early evening sun had me broiling like a kielbasa at a barbeque. I stood on the top stair next to a stone balustrade and scanned groups of people, hunting for Will Carlucci. When I didn’t see him, I grabbed the railing and slowly made my way down to the thick green turf.

From nowhere, my mother appeared. I wasn’t sure how she always managed to get the drop on me—black magic, probably. I had a feeling she did it just to be annoying.

“Rosalyn.”

“Mom.”

She wore an expensive, deceptively simple ivory silk dress that nearly matched her hair color. As she inspected me, obvious distaste was reflected in her eyes. “What
are
you wearing? Peplum and acetate satin. Who let you buy this?”

I glanced down at my red one-shouldered number. “Is that a rhetorical question? Or do you want the actual name of the saleswoman?”

She breathed deeply through her nose—visible proof of her displeasure. The deeper she inhaled, the higher I climbed on her shit list. “I thought Jacqueline was providing you with something to wear.” She took a step closer, until her nose nearly brushed mine. “We are at the
Rutherfords’
home, and you turn up looking like a bargain basement bridesmaid reject.”

“That explains my sudden craving for peach schnapps.” I got wasted on the stuff after Jacks’ wedding and spent the next day wishing I hadn’t.

“Why do you insist on doing this to me, Rosalyn?”

“Mom, I know you like to think every move I make is a personal assault on you,” I whispered, leaning my head back in order to get a little breathing room, “but honestly, you don’t occupy that much space in my brain. The dress looks fine.”

Another deep, deep,
deep
breath through her nose. “It’s just lucky for you Will Carlucci’s daughter looks worse. Come along.” She snatched my hand in a bruising grip and dragged me across the garden, as though I were a wayward toddler heading for a timeout.

First, she stopped near the fountain to introduce me to the Rutherfords. Mitzi came from a powerful family. Her husband, Hank, used her trust fund and connections to start Rutherford Sportswear. Now they were zillionaires and made the Forbes list a few years back.

Mitzi’s hair, clothes, and jewelry were flawless, and she wore it all with a casual air that bespoke her long-standing history as a member of the privileged class. However, like every other Huntingford socialite over a certain age, Mitzi was going to kick Father Time’s ass by any surgical means necessary. And if she couldn’t blink as a result, so be it. “Lovely to meet you, Rosalyn.” She bared her teeth in what I assumed was a smile.

“Thank you for having me. Your garden is lovely.”

“Thank you,” she said with a regal nod.

Then Hank clapped his hand over my shoulder. Tanned and hearty from endless rounds of golf, he probably used to be quite handsome twenty years ago. Living the high life left him soft and a little doughy, with a pair of droopy jowls reminding me of a basset hound. “Thanks for coming.” His hand lingered a few seconds too long, and he stared into my eyes for an uncomfortable length of time before winking slowly. I could smell the booze wafting off him from a foot away.

I gave my mom a quick glance to see if she noticed our pervy drunk host had just made a pass at me. While my mother’s face remained a mask of politeness, her eyes hardened just a fraction.

“Everything is perfect, Mitzi, as usual,” Barbara said. “You’re an artist when it comes to parties. Now, I must introduce Rosalyn to some other friends. Speak to you soon.” She kept hold of my hand and led me a few yards away, near the topiaries.

“Stay away from that man,” she whispered. “He had one too many bourbons at the country club Spring Fling. I’ll spare you the details, but suffice to say I won’t be using the pool anytime soon.”

Ew. And she had the nerve to bag on
my
friends?

She stopped and faced me. When she started fluffing my peplum, I slapped her hand. “Stop it, Mother. I’m not six.”

“Carlucci is here,” she said in a low voice. “And he arrived with bodyguards. Maybe you saw them out front.”

“I thought they were bouncers.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. A few months ago, he started bringing them everywhere he goes. Like a status symbol or something.”

“What about Al Bosworth? Is he here too?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

My mother edged closer. “That man is always glued to Will’s side. It’s quite rude, as he’s never invited.” My mother raised both shoulders in a
what can you do
shrug.

“Is Wyatt Sanders here?”

She discreetly glanced at various groupings of people. “No, I haven’t seen him. He rarely attends. Occasionally, his wife turns up, but not tonight. She’s a vegan or something. Runs a yoga studio and drinks disgusting health water by the gallon.”

“Birch sap water.”

“It sounds vile.”

“Mom, do you know a Dr. Cadewell?”

Her left brow nearly moved. “Yes. As a matter of fact, he’s here tonight. But how on earth is he involved with this little case of yours? Rosalyn, what exactly are you investigating?” Her blue gaze bore into mine.

“I can’t go into all the details. Client confidentiality. So…Dr. Cadewell?”

She humphed. “Ethan. He’s only an ER doctor, but he married the granddaughter of Thaddeus Langford.”

That one sentence told me a hell of a lot. Physicians, just like everyone else in Huntingford, were locked into a hierarchy. ER doctors were on the bottom of the pyramid; however, he’d married a Langford—and that family was like freaking nobility. They owned
the
jewelry store in town, specializing in one-of-a-kind pieces that were a must-have for a Huntingford wife of means. The necklace draped around my mother’s throat right now, dripping with diamonds, was a Langford piece. Not that she bragged about it. That would be gauche.

So why was Ethan Cadewell patching up fighters in his spare time? Only two reasons I could think of—he was either in debt up to his eyeballs or he had a nasty habit he wanted to keep hidden.

“Rosalyn, casually peer over my left shoulder. See the blond woman in the white dress?”

Standing near a full-sized Greek statue, several women clustered together. I spotted the blond. She stood on the fringe, apart from the others, with her shoulder turned away from the group. I didn’t need Andre’s expertise in body language to tell me she wasn’t part of the klatch. “I see her.”

“That’s Jennifer Carlucci. And if you must ask impertinent questions, do so privately.”

“I know how to question people, Mom. I have done this a time or two.”

She pressed her lips together. “That’s not something to boast about.”

“Where’s Carlucci’s daughter?”

“I don’t know, but you can’t miss her. It hardly seems possible, but her dress is worse than yours.”

“Any more arrows you want to sling my way or can you introduce me to Jennifer now?”

“I’m simply stating the obvious, dear.”

I didn’t bother defending myself. As she spun around, I subtly flung the contents of my glass into the grass and followed, strolling by several marble Greek statues.

My mother gracefully slid into the loose circle of five women and made introductions. Jennifer Carlucci barely acknowledged me as she gazed off into the distance, looking bored. I smiled nicely for the audience. As they chatted, I sized up Will Carlucci’s second wife. With hair so blond it was actually white, it provided a stark contrast to her deeply tanned skin. The layers of her sheer white dress floated in the breeze and the bodice was slashed at the neckline, revealing her bony chest. Her makeup was a little too heavy, her lipstick bright orange. At her neck, she wore a diamond lariat and paired it with diamond chandelier earrings. Total bling overkill.

I touched her elbow to get her attention. “Your dress is lovely. Jennifer, is it?”

“Yes, and thanks. It’s Gucci.” From the corner of my eye, I saw another woman smirk. It was one thing to wear a label, it was another to talk about it. Jennifer’s hand fluttered over her barely-there bodice, and her big honking diamond engagement ring nearly blinded me.

The evening light waned just a bit. Standing near the statues, the shadows lengthened. “Damn it, have you seen a waiter?” I held up my empty glass. “I could use another hit.”

She glanced around. “There.” She pointed with her flute. “Personally, I could use something stronger.”

I lowered my head and leaned a little closer. “Could these parties be any duller?”

She smiled. “I think I like you.”

“Come on. Let’s go find some brandy or something.” Together we set off down the path and headed toward the bar.

“What’s your name again, honey?”

Honey?
The woman was only ten years older than I was. “Rosalyn. You can call me Rose.”

She held out her hand, flashing her ring under my nose. “What do you think of this? It’s twelve karats. Cartier.”

I held her fingers and tried to appear properly impressed. “It’s stunning. Your husband must be smitten.”

She took her hand back. “Let’s just say I know how to keep him happy.” With a little smile on her lips, she watched me. I suspected she was trying to shock me. It took a hell of a lot more than innuendo to do that.

“I bet you do. My mother’s very impressed with your husband’s generosity. She says he’s one of the most charitable men in town.”

Reaching the makeshift bar, Jennifer whisked the flute from my hand and handed it to the bartender. “Two brandies, please. And give us the good stuff.” She leaned toward me. “Yeah, Will is loaded. He loves coming to these parties and throwing his weight around. Personally, I’d rather just write a check and be done with it.”

I nodded sympathetically. “These soirées can get old pretty fast.”

She gave an eyeroll that would make Roxy jealous. “You have no idea. Those other women are absolute bitches to me, but I don’t pay any attention. Will wants to fit in, get some respect from people like Mitzi and Hank. Me? I couldn’t care less what these people think. No offense to your mother or anything.”

Jennifer wasn’t sophisticated, but she was refreshingly honest. Happy with her new status in life, she didn’t give a crap who knew it. I kind of respected that.

“None taken. Oh, by the way, I was so sorry to hear about Rob Huggins.” I watched her closely.

Recognition flashed across her tanned face. Her brows, a few shades darker than her hair, raised into twin question marks. “What happened to Rob?”

“He’s dead.” I threw a hand over my mouth and tried to act contrite. “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.”

“No.” When the bartender placed two snifters of brandy in front of us, Jennifer grabbed hers and downed half of it. “Will didn’t mention it. What happened?”

“I’m not sure. Were the two of you close?”

“No, but my husband’s always been fond of Rob. He came over for dinner at least once a month. I wonder if Will’s heard the news.” Without even glancing at me, she took off, cutting a swath through a crowd of people.

Without waiting for an invitation, I picked up my glass and trotted after her. From the corner of my eye I noticed Jacks, but kept moving forward, not slowing my gait. 

Jennifer walked across the garden to the stone fountain, where Will Carlucci, Al Bosworth, and a younger man stood in a tight circle. What struck me immediately was Carlucci’s hair. The man had a freaking fab head of hair. Thick, dark puffy waves of it, expensively cut and styled. He wore a navy tailored suit and diamond-studded cufflinks. As we closed in on the men, even from several feet away, he threw off waves of charm and charisma. 

Al Bosworth stood next to him, frowning and nodding at whatever Will was saying. Upon seeing us, Al pointed in our direction. Will and the other man glanced up and stepped away from each other, making room for us to join them.