Goodnight Nobody (20 page)

Twenty-Six

Before the boys' birthday party disaster, I'd considered myself a pretty fair hostess. I'd thrown parties when I lived with Janie, simple affairs involving the purchase of ten-pound bags of ice, cases of beer, and whatever wine we could find on sale that didn't come in a box.

Things slowed down once I was married. There was our wedding, of course, but that had been much more of Ben's mother's show than mine. Lorna Borowitz had been happy to let my father book a string quartet for the ceremony and we'd spent six chatty weekends in a row schlepping from one bridal salon to another, but she'd been reduced to horrified silence when Reina offered to sing "Ave Maria" as I came down the aisle. "I can do something Jewish!" Reina had offered, a little belatedly, long-distance from Sydney. " 'Hava Nagila'? 'Kol Nidre'? Something from
Fiddler on the Roof
?" "Thanks but no thanks," Lorna had finally managed. Reina had contented herself with humming along in loud harmony to the string quartet's rendition of "The Wedding March" until I'd glared at her from underneath the chuppah, and she'd shut up.

After that, parties in our apartment had been extremely low-key, especially once the kids arrived. We'd invite Ben's partners and their girlfriends of the month over for takeout Thai on Sunday night, or we'd buy lox and bagels and invite Lorna, Ben's brother Mark, and his girlfriend for brunch. The one time I'd invited my
New York Night
friends over after the babies had come hadn't gone well. Half a dozen reporters and fact-checkers had shown up after midnight, expecting to find the fete in full swing. Instead, they'd arrived to Dan Zanes on the stereo, me with an armload of wide-awake two-year-old, and Janie rummaging past the wine and champagne in frantic search of a sippy cup. The guests hadn't enjoyed themselves; the kids hadn't slept; and I woke up to shrieks of horror the next morning when Sophie discovered that someone had taken an adult-sized poop in her potty.

This time, I was going to get it right. No Cheetos, no board games, only the finest in food and flowers. My only concern was that, as the week went on, the guest list seemed to have snowballed slightly out of control. Ben had invited two dozen of his work colleagues for postelection armchair quarterbacking. I'd added the Dolans and the Sutherlands, the Coes and the Gwinnells, and then once word got around every other mother on the playground, plus her husband, plus the houseguests some of them had asked to bring along. Then I'd casually mentioned the affair to my father and he'd been eager to attend, along with Reina, who, as luck would have it, was in town. I'd invited Janie, her father, and his new wife, and I'd even extended the olive branch and asked Mrs. Dietl at the nursery school to attend.

The dozens of details--renting linens and extra chairs, ordering flowers, emptying the living room of three contractor's trash bags full of toys, had left me little time to obsess over Kitty Cavanaugh's murder, or Evan McKenna's reappearance. Our only post-pizza contact had come via email, where he'd written to say he was looking into the Dolans, Joel Asch, and Philip Cavanaugh. I polished the good china, rented a fifty-cup coffee urn, and bought five hundred dollars' worth of wine and liquor from the package store on Old Post Road.

By Saturday night, the house was gleaming (thanks to the cleaners I'd hired), the kitchen was redolent with the smells of a dozen delicacies, from single spoonfuls of sherry-laced cream of mushroom soup to miniature duck-confit puffs (all provided by Glorious Foods and trucked in from Manhattan), my kids were arrayed in their freshly pressed finery (pressing courtesy of Gracie the sitter, finery thanks to Janie's personal shopper at Barneys).

My best friend had arrived at six p.m. sharp, looking stunning in a full-length fur coat over a slit-to-there black skirt and steel-blue satin top, both undoubtedly made by some designer I'd never heard of, whose wares I could neither afford nor pull up past my knees.

"BFF," she said, embracing me, then pulling a wheeled calfskin-covered suitcase into the foyer. She was sporting a pair of extremely high black heels that twined around her calves with black satin ribbons, and large quantities of both eyeliner and perfume. Her hair looked freshly colored, her teeth were a glaring white, and there was a pair of Chiclet-sized platinum-set diamonds flashing from her earlobes, in case the cumulative effect of all that high-maintenance gloss wasn't blinding enough.

"What's with the luggage?"

"Oh, just a few things for the kiddos. And I might be staying awhile," she said. I picked up the suitcase and led her up the stairs. The kids thundered down the hall to meet her and ran into her arms.

"Who loves you more than anyone else in the whole world?"

"Aunt Janie!"

"Who brought you fabulous presents?"

"Aunt Janie!"

"Who dumped the guy with the toupee because she found crab medication in his bathroom?"

"Aunt Janie!"
screamed Sam and Jack. Sophie, who wore a red velvet party dress with a matching bow slipping out of her fine brown hair, wrinkled her nose.

"Were his crabs sick?" she asked.

"Yes!" I said brightly, shooting Janie a murderous look. "But I'm sure they're feeling better now!" I handed the kids off to Gracie, led Janie into my bedroom, and shut the door behind us.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she said, and flopped onto my bed, lying spread-eagled on my beige down comforter. I was dying to ask whether she'd actually bought our entire apartment building with the sole aim of tossing Evan and Michelle out on the street, but if I brought it up, she'd know that Evan and I had been in touch, and God only knew what she'd do to him then. Or to me. Or both of us.

"So it's okay if I stay awhile?" Janie asked.

"Like I could stop you if I tried."

"Good. Because I'm actually on assignment."

I wriggled my black skirt over my hips and started pawing through the mismatched shoes on the shelf of my closet in search of the velvet ballet slippers I'd remembered seeing up there. "Huh?"

She grinned, sat up, and started reeling off headlines. " 'Fear and Loathing in the Suburbs'! 'Murder and Mayhem in the Promised Land'!" She paused for the piece de resistance, her eyes wide and sparkling. " 'Momicide'!"

"That's the worst title I've ever heard. Are you doing this for
New York Night
?" I asked, knowing that the magazine's coverage rarely strayed beyond celebrities and what they were snorting.

"They're branching out into hard news," Janie said smugly. "They're very interested in a piece about people who left the city in order to be safe and ended up not so safe." She crossed her legs, admiring her shoes, before scowling at mine. "Is that what you're wearing?"

I looked at myself: calf-length gored black skirt, gray cashmere sweater, black ballet slippers. "This isn't good?"

She studied me. "Um. Do you have a scarf? Or a necklace? Or an entirely different outfit?"

I shrugged. Janie started flipping through the hangers. "I miss you," she grumbled. "You know I can't stand this time of year. Too many tourists."

I pulled on the black silk camisole she'd handed me--I hoped she'd find something for me to wear on top of it--and went into the bathroom to start drying my hair. "Is your father coming?"

Janie said nothing.

"You invited him, right?"

She bent over to retie her shoes. "Little problem there."

I blew dust off my curling iron, then plugged it in. "What now?"

"You know he got married again?"

I nodded. Janie sighed. "Well, he and the new missus kind of aren't speaking to me."

I shook my head wearily. "What did you do?"

She shuffled her feet. "They were flying back from their honeymoon on Sunday, and I called customs and told them that she had pot in her suitcase."

"Jane Elizabeth Segal!"

"Well, it was my birthday, and my father always takes me out to dinner on my birthday, just the two of us, and I figured if she was being questioned by the police, he'd be free!"

"Did they arrest her?" I twirled my bangs with the curling iron, wincing at the sizzling sound of not-quite-dry hair hitting the hot tongs.

"Nah, they just held her," Janie said sulkily. "For eight hours. Sy canceled dinner anyhow." She rolled her eyes. "He said he wouldn't feel right eating when his bride was in the pen."

"So chivalry isn't dead!" I uncurled my hair and studied the effect. Hmm. Not bad.

"No, but they're both pissed. She didn't actually have any drugs in her suitcase, but she did have a bunch of stuff she'd bought and didn't declare."

"Oops."

"I think she's a shopaholic. It's a real addiction, you know," she said, and tossed me a black beaded wrap that I didn't remember buying and figured had to be hers.

"Tell you what," I said, my tone casual as I picked up the curling iron again. "I'll apologize to Sy on your behalf if you run a few names through LexisNexis for me."

"Sure." she said, sounding relieved. "Just don't tell Sy I was drinking or anything."

"Were you?"

"No, but if he thinks I was, he'll try to pack me off to that boot camp in Jamaica that was just on
60 Minutes.
"

"I don't think you can send adults there against their wishes."

Janie frowned darkly. "Sy has his ways. Now, who are these people I'm investigating?"

I avoided her eyes in the mirror as I handed her the piece of paper Evan had given me. "Just some people that Kitty Cavanaugh might have been asking questions about."

"And you got these names where, exactly?"

I turned my gaze back to the curling iron and the mirror. "I have my ways too."

Janie shook her head. "Fine. Although let me just say that Evan McKenna was bad news then, and he's bad news now." She blinked, looking at my reflection in the mirror. "Don't panic, but I believe your bangs may be on fire."

I combed water through my smoking hair and handed over my brush and the curling iron to Janie as the kids raced into the room and jumped up and down on the bed. I slipped on the wrap and considered my reflection in the mirror, thinking that there was a point where baby weight became just plain weight, and that I'd probably passed it sometime after the twins had turned three. "Sophie, what are we going to do with your mother?" Janie asked.

"I don't know," Sophie trilled, bouncing up and down. Her red velvet bow fell out of her hair and landed on Ben's pillow. "She's hopeless!"

"Okay," said Janie, pointing at Sophie with the hairbrush. "You, stop bouncing. You two," she said, pointing at Sam and Jack, "stand right here. You're my assistants. You," she said to me. "Sit down."

Sophie stopped bouncing and tried to clip her bow onto Uglydoll's ear. The boys lined up at the end of the bed. I sat in front of the bathroom mirror.

"You should really use your powers for good instead of trivial," I told Janie as she started in on my hair. "Imagine what you could do in the Middle East."

"Have you ever been to the Middle East?" Janie asked, grabbing my chin in her fingers and turning my face left, then right. "It's a very inhospitable climate. Not good for my complexion. Tissues," she said, pointing her hairbrush at the boys, who hurried to comply. I closed my eyes and let her work. When I finally snuck a quick look in the mirror to make sure I didn't look ridiculous, I saw my hair curling in soft ringlets around my cheek. It was so pretty that I wondered if I could reproduce the look myself. Then I realized that the chances of my having twenty free minutes every morning were about as likely as space aliens landing on my lawn.

The doorbell rang. "Ooh, why don't you guys go see who it is?" Janie suggested, handing each of them a gift-wrapped package on their way out the door. The kids thundered down the stairs. Janie set down the hairbrush and reached for her handbag.

"So what's the game plan for tonight?" she asked.

"I'm going to talk to Delphine Dolan, who knew Kitty in ninety-two. You've got three assignments," I said, sliding my cosmetics back into the vanity drawer. "First, find out whether Philip Cavanaugh was running around with the sitter, and whether he's the kind of guy who could kill his wife, or hire someone else to do it."

"Gotcha," said Janie.

"Secondly, see if you can pick up any gossip about whether Kitty was sleeping with someone named Joel Asch. He was Kitty's editor at
Content.
"

"Joel Asch," Janie repeated. "What's thing three?"

I brushed gloss onto my lips, smacked them together, considered the effect, then rubbed most of it off with a hand towel. "Keep an eye on the downstairs toilet. It gets clogged sometimes," I said.

"Sitter, shitter, editor." Janie said merrily. "Got it. Oh, and look. I brought us a present."

"What?"

Smiling conspiratorially, she slipped her hand into her beaded bag. "Guess!"

"I have no idea. After-dinner mints?"

Janie rolled her eyes and grinned at me, opening her fist. Two little white pills lay in the center of her palm.

"What is that?"

"Ecstasy!" she said. Her hazel eyes were shining. She looked as proud as a kid who's brought home her first A paper.

"Janie," I said slowly. "Why did you bring Ecstasy to my party?"

She made a face. "In case things get boring."

I held out my hand. "Give 'em here."

Janie put her hands behind her back. "It's like truth serum. I'll slip one in Philip Cavanaugh's drink, and--"

"He'll kill you?" I said.

Janie bit her lip. "I was thinking more that he'd make a pass at me."

"Janie, that's what he does when his inhibitions
haven't
been lowered. I don't think we want to know what he'd do under the influence."

"Fine." Janie pouted, putting the pills back in her bag, taking my arm, and pulling me down the stairs toward my party.

Twenty-Seven

Marybeth Coe and her husband brought champagne. Carol and Rob Gwinnell came with a bottle of wine and a Dora the Explorer video for the kids. Jeremy and Al, Ben's partners, brought their wives, a big box of Belgian chocolate, and lots of gossip about the Democrats' dismal performance on election day. Ted Fitch, New York State's attorney general and my husband's number-one client for the next election cycle, arrived with his nose reddened either from the cold or, from the smell of it, Irish coffee at a previous party.

"Hello, Kate!" he said, throwing his arms around Janie, who gently detached herself and pointed him in my direction.

"Oh, Kate, of course!" he said, giving me a professional smack on the cheek before striding off to press the flesh and find the bar.

Kevin Dolan introduced me to his wife, Delphine, who murmured,
"Bonsoir,"
in a throaty voice and wriggled out of her coat to reveal a skimpy black dress displaying cleavage both fore and aft. I watched in wonder as the gaze of every man at the party swung toward her as if their eyes were ball bearings and her ass crack had been magnetized.
Hoo boy,
I thought, as my mother burst through the door.

"Kate,
darling,
" said Reina, automatically readjusting my wrap. "You look
lovely
!"

"Thanks, Mom," I said, knowing that I should feel grateful. At least she hadn't hugged Janie. "Hi, Dad."

"Hello, Birdie," he said. He kissed my cheek and handed me a bouquet of red carnations.

Reina walked from the foyer into the living room, where two dozen lit candles twinkled from the mantel. She flung her cape over a chair. "Where are the
children
?" she demanded, as if I were keeping them locked away from her on purpose. "I brought them
presents
!"

"Great! I'll just..." My mother and I wrestled briefly over the wrapped package in her hands. Reina meant well--at least, that's what I told myself--but her grasp of age-appropriate playthings was shaky at best. She usually bought my children expensive gifts that they could either choke on or kill each other with. This time it wasn't so bad. She'd purchased porcelain French
poupees,
with rouged cheeks and painted hair. Sam got a circus master, Jack got a lion tamer, and Sophie's doll wore a pink silk leotard and balanced on a wire.

"They're beautiful!" I said, relinquishing them to Reina, who raised her eyebrows indignantly, took a minute to nod at a few of the other mothers, and located the stairs. Then she yodeled for her grandchildren in a manner guaranteed to stop all conversation and cause any dog within a mile radius to howl.

By the time I'd hung up her cape and another armload of coats, put my father's flowers in a vase, and handled a refrigerator space crisis, the foyer had filled up again. Lexi Hagen-Holdt's cheeks looked flushed above her loose black velvet sack of a dress, and her husband, Denny, kept a proprietary grip on her elbow. Denny was a beefy guy with reddish blond hair and a crushing handshake. He owned car dealerships in Darien and Danbury, selling Range Rovers to men whose only actual off-road experience would come after they'd had a few too many drinks with dinner and overshot the driveways of their four-million-dollar homes.

"You want to be careful with those luminarias," Sukie Sutherland whispered, grabbing my arm as I was on my way back to the closet. "I heard they can start housefires." Outside the frosted windows, the paper bag luminarias the kids and I had set out that afternoon were glowing a warm orange gold, tracing our driveway in a curving line of light. The forecasters had called for unseasonable cold and flurries. As I watched through the window, I saw a few big, fat flakes drifting lazily onto the ground.

"Everything looks great," Ben said, squeezing my shoulders as he passed me. He'd been thrilled when I'd agreed to host the party. Besides the tax write-off, I think he saw it as a shot at social redemption in the wake of the boys' birthday party.

The doorbell rang, the door opened and closed and opened and closed, and there, at last, with his hat in his hand and snow dripping from his scarf, was the not-so-merry widower.

"Philip!" Even with the bustle of a dozen other guests, I sounded like I was shouting. "I'm so glad you came!"

"Thank you for having me," he said. His voice was subdued. His blond hair was combed back crisply from his temples, and he smelled like sandalwood and lime. I held out my hands for his dark blue wool overcoat as his gaze descended from my face to my breasts--in the camisole that, I realized, was dismayingly lowcut--and stayed there.

"How have you been?" I asked.

He gave me the universal shrug of
as well as can be expected.
"I'm taking the girls to Florida for a while," he said. "My parents have a place down there, and I think a change of scenery..."

I nodded, took his coat, told him where to find the bar. "I'd like you to meet my mother," I concluded, as Reina reappeared by my left elbow. "Philip Cavanaugh, Reina Danhauser."

Philip turned so that he was staring at her breasts instead of mine and inclined his head slightly. "La Reina?" he asked.

My mother batted her false eyelashes. "Hel
-lo,
" she said.

"I'm honored," said Philip, bending slightly from the waist, hovering over her hand as if he might kiss it. "Honored to meet you."

My mother simpered and seemed not to notice that Philip's bow gave him a perfect view of her cleavage and that he was taking full advantage of that view. I had to give Reina credit: even at fifty-seven, her brow was unfurrowed (probably thanks to the regular ingestion of sheep's embryos and the occasional Botox or collagen touch-up), her lips were full, her ivory skin was flawless over her wide cheekbones and broad forehead, and her hair had been dyed a glassy, lacquered-looking black. She didn't look a day over forty-five. And she'd probably look pretty much the same until she died--probably on stage.

"Now, what can I bring you to drink?" Philip smiled at her, then turned toward the bar. As soon as he was out of earshot, Reina grabbed my shoulders.

"Did you see that man?" she demanded. "Did you
see
him?"

I detached myself. "He's Kitty Cavanaugh's husband."

"The dead woman?" Reina breathed, one crimson-nailed hand fluttering over the creamy expanse of her bosom. I wasn't sure whether being a murder victim's widower increased Philip's appeal or detracted from it.

"The dead woman," I confirmed. "And don't be too impressed. He oozes charm like a slug oozes"--Hmm. What did slugs ooze?--"slime."

My mother pursed her lips. "I thought he was delightful."

I nodded, smiled, and excused myself, thinking that my mother would have found Jeffrey Dahmer charming if she'd learned he'd bought her latest CD.

In the living room, Janie was leaning beside the fireplace, one arm resting casually on the mantelpiece, chatting with Philip. As I watched, he lifted a lock of her hair between his fingers, and both of them laughed. Across the room, I saw the muscles in Lexi Hagen-Holdt's calves flutter and clench. Leave it to Lexi to find a way to exercise while sitting still.

At eight thirty I was on the verge of congratulating myself for a job well done. The house was full, both bartenders were busy, the caterers were circulating with their platters full of treats, and the neighbors and the politicians appeared to be getting along swimmingly, even though all of the politicians were Democrats and I had to believe that most of my neighbors were not. At eight fifteen the kids had made their entrance, to a chorus of
oohs
and
aahs.
Ben lifted Sam in his left arm and Jack in his right and made the rounds, giving the boys more attention than they'd had from him in the entire month. Sophie requested her seltzer in a champagne glass and refused to go back upstairs. "We're having fun!" she said, from her perch on her grandfather's knee. Then she tossed her head back and giggled, an obvious homage to Aunt Janie. She'd even tied hair ribbons around her legs.

"I know, honey, and everyone liked seeing you, but now it's getting late--"

Sophie waved me away with one imperious hand. "Reina says nothing good ever happens until after ten o'clock."

"Well, that's an interesting point of view, but your mommy thinks that eight thirty is a good time for brushing your teeth and pajamas."

"Oh, Kate, let them stay a little longer," my father interjected. There was a lamp next to his chair, and I noticed in the light how sparse his hair had gotten. "I've got her," he said, resettling Sophie on his lap. "You just enjoy yourself !"

I sighed, filled Gracie in on the situation, and mingled, sipping a glass of red wine, sampling from the platters that came past me, watching Delphine Dolan from the corner of my eye, waiting until she was alone (although, given her attire and the male attention it was attracting, I wasn't sure she would ever be alone). The food was delicious, and way too rich. After a bite of smoked salmon, a sliver of pate, a few miniature dumplings, and three spoonfuls of sherry-laced mushroom soup, I was starting to feel sick.

But I had a mission. When Kevin kissed his wife's cheek and headed toward the crowded bar, I made my move.

Delphine was sitting by the fire in a wingback chair with her showy legs crossed. Her dark hair was in an upsweep, her eyes had been shadowed dramatically, and she looked much too sophisticated for our preppy, well-scrubbed suburb. I watched as she toyed with the wedge of lime in her drink, then rested her pointed chin in her hand.

"Hello," I said.

"Bonjour,"
she replied.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Non, non,"
she said, shaking her head and smiling politely. "Everything is
magnifique.
"

I licked my lips, hoping there was at least the residue of the lip gloss I'd mostly wiped off, and bent down beside her. "I know that you and your husband were close with Kitty."

She nodded. Her heart-shaped face looked pretty even as she frowned, but her eyes were troubled.

"Did you and Kitty spend a lot of time together?"

She looked up at me curiously.

"I mean, my best friend Janie and I, every summer we try to take a trip together."
Lie.
Every summer we meant to try to take a trip together, but then something would come up--one of my kids would get sick, or Ben would get busy--and I'd wind up bailing. "Even though I've got kids now and she doesn't, we try to get together. We go to the mountains...or the beach...But I know Kitty didn't like to leave her girls."

Delphine seemed to freeze. Then she tapped her wineglass against her perfectly white, tiny front teeth. The noise, a tiny chiming, was clear as a bell in the suddenly silent living room. Her eyes filled with tears. "Everyone talks about how Kitty was such a good mother. She was better than that," she said. Somehow, her voice sounded less French...and very sad. "She was--"

But I never got to find out what Delphine thought Kitty was, because one of the waitresses, a pretty girl with red hair in a ponytail, tapped my shoulder. "Mrs. Borowitz? Your phone was ringing."

I excused myself and tucked my cell phone under my ear. "Hello?"

"I sent you a present," said the voice on the other end.

I hurried down the hall past the bathroom to the basement door, which I closed firmly behind me, and hurtled down the stairs in the dark. "You can't call me here!" I whispered.

"Well, I've been trying mental telepathy, but it doesn't seem to be working. How's the party?" Evan McKenna asked.

I fumbled for the light switch, and heard two of the three bulbs pop when I flicked it on. "Fine."

His voice was low and intimate. "Wish I was there?"

"Oh, you'd love it. It's the bash of the century. And I really should get back." I pulled my wrap tightly around my shoulders.

"Fine," he said. "Your present should be there tomorrow."

I drew in my breath, imagining what Evan McKenna could be sending me.

"Hanfield yearbooks," he said. "Two for you, two for me. I thought we could see if anyone looked familiar."

"That's. Well."
That was smart
was what I wanted to say, but I didn't want to encourage him. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Name your pleasure," he said. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my thighs together.

"Delphine Dolan," I managed to say.

"The lawyer's wife," said Evan. "The one whose picture was in Kitty's bedroom."

"Well, she's here, and she's being"--I paused, savoring the word I was about to use, one of my favorites from my days as Evan's assistant investigator, his partner in crime--"hinky."

"Hinky," he said. He sounded amused. "I'm on your case. You go have fun," he said. I hung up the phone and paused, trying to compose myself. The basement was full of the kids' cast-offs, the car seats and snowsuits they'd outgrown, trash bags full of baby blankets and clothes that I'd been meaning to take to Goodwill. In the weak glow of the single working bulb, the high chairs and bouncy seats cast misshapen shadows on the walls.

I fluffed my hair and made my way up the stairs. My heart was beating too fast, and the doorknob felt cold in my hand. When I turned it, it stuck.

I tried again. Nothing doing. Had someone locked the door behind me? I knocked, softly at first, then louder. "Hello?" I twisted the doorknob back and forth and thumped my first against the door. "Janie? Ben? Hello?" Something scurried across the basement floor on little scratching feet and vanished under the wall. I swallowed a scream and pounded on the door again. "Ben?"

Finally, the doorknob turned, and I half fell into the hallway. "What happened?" asked the redheaded caterer.

"I don't know." My heart was thudding in my chest, and I felt faint. "Someone must have locked it accidentally." I assured her I was fine, replaced the telephone in its cradle, gulped down half a glass of wine, and returned to the living room, meaning to grab my husband and tell him that we needed to find an exterminator, preferably one who worked weekends.