The Book Club Murders (13 page)

“And that day you accused my father and me of—” Charley's eyes flashed. “Was it too late then?”

Marc swallowed hard. “That day, I watched a man die.” She gasped. “I didn't kill him. He took a bullet and went out a window. I was covering the back, and he practically fell on top of me. He died in my arms.” He met her shocked gaze. “Sometimes that's the job, Charley, and I'm not telling you this as some sort of excuse, but that time it was…right then, right at that moment, all I wanted was my mother. First chance I got, I drove straight to her, five hours without stopping. Only she wasn't there, and you got up in my face, and I lost it.”

He remembered the day, four months later, when he got the call that Evelyn was gone. He'd believed there was plenty of time. And then, suddenly, it was too late. Too late to say he was sorry, to tell her he understood, to beg her forgiveness. Too late to grow up and act like the son his mother deserved.

“Last night—” He took a deep breath, needing to finish it. “That time I visited, when I saw my mom so at home in your house, she was happier then than I'd ever seen her. Ever. I guess I'm still trying to process it all. I was sitting there, missing her, and…I took that out on you, too.”

“Oh, Marc.” Her expression softened. “I was devastated when Evie died, and my dad needed so much support. But you lost your mother. I don't know why it never occurred to me that you might be hurting, too. I thought you hated us.”

He inhaled sharply. “
No.
Resented you, yeah. I resented what the three of you had together. But now I'm grateful. Being part of your family gave her so much joy. I'm only sorry it took me so long to figure that out. And your father is unbelievably kind. I feel as if he's granted me absolution.” All at once he felt lighter, freer. He held out his hand, his eyes steady on hers. “How about you? Can
you
forgive me?”

She smiled at last, and his heart skipped a beat. “I forgive you.” She reached out, and he took her hand in his, the contact sending a thrill through him. He held on as tightly as he dared. “Particularly if you promise to keep visiting my dad. He's so isolated. You have no idea what it would mean to him.”

She tried to pull her hand free, but he found he couldn't let go. The moment stretched, held. It was utterly silent. Marc could see a pulse beating in the base of her throat. Her gray eyes widened as he tugged gently, causing her to take a step closer. She was too damned far away. Her lips parted as she drew a breath. The sight created a strange sensation in his chest.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was almost inaudible.

“Checking something.” He lifted his free hand slowly, afraid she'd shy away like a wild animal. When he touched her cheek, she closed her eyes. His fingertips glided down her face, her skin impossibly soft. He brushed his thumb gently across her full upper lip and felt, rather than heard, the small sound she made. He grasped her chin lightly and tilted her face toward his. Her eyes opened, and he watched as her pupils dilated.

“Marc.” That one word was both a warning and a plea. In that moment he understood that she felt at least something of what he was feeling. He also knew he'd reached the limit of his ability to simply set it aside.

Before he could respond, the door burst open.

“Detective! There you are. Oh, good, Ms. Carpenter. I'm on my way to log your soil samples at the lab.” Mitch Cooper stood beaming, as eager to please as a golden retriever.

Abruptly, Marc released her hand and backed away. Charley produced a professional, shopkeeper's smile.

“How exciting. I thought my samples weren't admissible in court?”

Mitch grinned. “Don't you worry. If they produce results, Detective Brixton says we'll figure out how to get legitimate confirmation.” He looked from one of them to the other, his smile fading. “Oh, geez, I'm interrupting. I'll just—”

“Not at all.” Charley's voice was brisk and businesslike. She turned to Marc. “I'm hoping to have new information for you later. I've got someone coming into the shop who might know something. In fact, I'm running late.” She hesitated. “I could give you an update tonight, if you're free? Lawrence is making chicken and dumplings. Evie told my dad once they were your favorite.”

“Still are.” Marc matched her artificial tone with an effort. “How about— Shoot, I can't tonight. I'm having dinner with Sharon.” Charley went rigid. “I could reschedule with her,” he murmured desperately, feeling like his world was spinning out of control.

“Why on earth would you do that?” Charley's smile turned wooden. “I'll get you that information. Whenever. When I have it. Officer Cooper.” She hurried out of the room without a backward glance.

He stared after her, relief warring with regret. Then he cursed himself for a fool.

She was a certifiable idiot. Of course he was seeing someone. What had she expected? Imagining that he thought of her with anything more than tolerant respect was just that: her imagination. She was cursed when it came to men. Why should this time be any different?

Yet she couldn't erase the feel of his strong fingers clasping her hand, touching her cheek, the way he resisted her attempt to pull free.
Checking something,
he'd said. Well,
something
had definitely passed between them as they stood in that empty office: an electric current of awareness, a flash of liquid heat. She knew he'd felt it this time—just as she did every time he was near—and that he'd been disturbed by it. His gaze had dropped to her mouth, and then he'd dropped her fingers as if they were on fire.

Dodging traffic as she dashed across Park Avenue, Charley replayed last night's encounter, trying to discern if what she'd seen in those cobalt blue eyes was attraction or merely fury. Her cheeks flamed anew as she recalled asking Marc about the Decades Reunion, her pulse racing like a moonstruck teenager, hoping he'd say he was going, that he needed a date, that it might be fun if they…

“Snap out of it, Carpenter,” she spoke aloud in her sternest voice. “He's not interested. Move on.”

She sighed, contemplating going stag to a class reunion. Talk about hell on earth. Then she brightened. If she was forced to attend this thing, she would damn well have a good time. She punched a number on her speed dial.

“Make it fast, Charley. I've got Mrs. Ramirez in my chair and two more perms on approach.”

“Remember how I got that red wine out of your silk ottoman and you said you owed me one?” She stepped into Old Hat, smiling apologetically at the Agatha she'd kept waiting.

“I am yours to command, princess.”

“Glad to hear it, because there's this thing on Saturday night…”

“Her
ass
looked like an absolute barn door in those slacks. So I
told
her so. I mean, what are real friends
for
? Wouldn't
you
want to know?”

Charley half-listened to Jelly's nonstop chatter while mechanically pinning the hem of a full-skirted, yellow sateen cocktail dress. She'd half-expected Jelly to cancel, given that the Agathas' apparent communications blackout still seemed to be in effect. But here she was, doubtless due to the fact she'd paid up front for the alterations when Charley had sold her this dress.

The Decades Reunion was just four days away. Between today's platterfest and that impromptu murder room conference, Charley's work schedule had been thrown into chaos. Heddy, bless her, had managed to stall Jelly and still handle the brisk sales traffic like the pro she was.

Why had she promised Marc she'd have something new for him by tonight? Because, she thought bitterly, she'd rather eat dirt than admit she couldn't contribute to the investigation. She'd bet Dr. Sharon Krugh was ready and eager to…contribute. At least this particular job offered her a shot at some more detecting.

Sewing was the last thing Charley felt like doing, followed closely by dragging herself to this stupid fundraiser. Luckily, Dmitri crackled with excitement enough for both of them. She wondered if Marc would change his mind about attending and ask Sharon to be his date.

Jesus wept,
she thought in disgust. Brush up against a reunion and you were sucked right back into high school mode. Hey, maybe she should pass him a note and ask him what he'd be wearing.

“
Geez
, Charley! You want to watch where you're sticking those
pins
?”

“Sorry, Jelly.” Charley yanked herself back to the present. She needed to use this opportunity, not waste it mooning over a man who was dating someone else. She forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. When Marc had admitted they hadn't learned anything from their door-to-door canvass, Charley had determined to see if she couldn't do better.

“Sorry,” she said again, “it's just that, with everything that's happened—”

“I
hear
you!” Jelly's eyes were round. She gestured expansively with the glass of white wine Charley had so thoughtfully provided. “Did you hear the committee almost voted to
cancel
the Reunion? But Midge wouldn't
let
them. She
insisted
that there was no point, that people would want their
money
back, and what about the
Education
Foundation? I'm so proud of her, aren't
you
?”

Charley kept her head down so Jelly wouldn't see her rolling her eyes. “Living where you do, so close to both crime scenes, aren't you scared, Jelly? I imagine your neighbors must be keeping their doors and windows locked. Marc says no one saw or heard anything last Friday night. That's probably why. Everyone was inside, minding their own.”

Jelly snorted. “
Nobody
in Oakwood minds their
own,
Charley. You should know
that.
There was
plenty
going on that night, not that I would tell
any
of it to those two officers who rang my bell. None of their business, am I
right
?”

“More wine?” Charley topped off Jelly's glass. “I never hear anything worthwhile. Everyone on my block is about a hundred. Hey, don't Ronnie, Kitty, and Wilson all live near you?”

“It's
funny
you should mention
her,
” Jelly began.

Charley sat between Robert Delaney and John Bright, picking listlessly at chicken à la whatever, wondering how soon she could go home. Their table, situated in one of the high school's two gymnasiums, was prominently placed: Midge Crawford's table with the Taylors and Sizemores on one side, and a raucous party of five-year alumni on the other. Charley recognized two of the younger women as customers.

In fact, she recognized an impressive number of the gowns on display tonight. She hadn't really realized how many dresses she'd sold for this event until she saw them all gathered together. Everywhere she turned, women in Old Hat vintage fashions twirled and posed for one another. She was congratulated and thanked a dozen times, her own dress oohed and aahed over before she'd made it a dozen steps through the door.

Also evident was the masterful touch of Midge Crawford, chairwoman extraordinaire. Over 250 people had paid big bucks to be wined and dined in a building that wasn't designed for the purpose, yet everything was artfully, even elegantly arranged.

When they'd arrived just before seven, a helpful high schooler gave them a table card and directions to their assigned dining location. Miles of twinkle lights were strung along the ceilings and baseboards of the familiar tiled corridors, creating the effect of walking through a series of tunnels.

A professional photographer had pitched camp upstairs in the senior hallway, complete with prom-night backdrops of starry sky or white lattice archway. Thinking of her father, she'd allowed Dmitri to talk her into posing for a photo. He mugged shamelessly for the camera, teasing a faint smile out of her.

Tables were set in both gymnasiums. The newly remodeled East Gym had a DJ spinning vinyl and CDs from the fifties to the present. The larger West Gym boasted a small orchestra playing from the balcony bleachers.

“I know where we're going to be hanging out!” Frankie declared, spinning around to show off her pink satin poodle skirt. Her mass of dark curls was pulled up in a high ponytail with a pink chiffon scarf that matched a huge wrist corsage of pink rosebuds. John was manning up well in a pale pink tux, with a tie and cummerbund in hot pink satin.

“Major husband points for you, John.”

“Many sad men,” he said with gravity, “fought me for this tux.” He hugged Frankie to his side. “But I would not be denied.”

“You okay?” Frankie's eyes filled with concern. “I haven't seen you in days.”

Before she could reply, Wilson and Kitty approached, their tuxedo-clad husbands in tow.

“If it isn't Charley, our very own vintage diva.” Kitty popped a hip, showing off the blue gown she'd chosen to match the sapphires that glittered at her ears and throat. Ted Sizemore, first cocktail sucked down to ice cubes, looked bored and irritable. In a shapeless beige dress that drained every speck of color from her face, Wilson cowered beside Robert as if waiting for permission to enjoy herself.

“It smells like a thrift store in here. Right up your alley, huh, Charley?” Ronnie said.

Ronnie had come alone. Jim had canceled at the last moment to attend a conference, and she was none too happy about it, telling anyone who would listen what a selfish bonehead he was. Her skeletal figure looked underdressed and overexposed in tight purple hip-hugger bell-bottoms and a matching halter top. She'd further ruined the effect by choosing to wear a curly blond wig that was very askew. Charley wondered if she hadn't indulged in something more potent than alcohol. Her eyes glittered and spots of color rode high on her cheeks.

“Now, now, Ronnie,” Kitty admonished. She laid a gloved hand on Charley's arm with a gentle smile. “I know I've teased you about your little shop. But truth to tell, I'm rather envious of you. Such independence of spirit.” She lowered her voice. “Midge would rather die than share the credit for tonight, but you should be proud, sweet girl.”

“Thank you,” Charley said quietly. “That means a lot, Kitty.”

“Well, well,” Frankie murmured. “The Agathas are speaking to you again.”

“Wonder why?”

“Probably easier than ignoring you.”

As the group traded greetings, Charley witnessed a bizarre exchange. Wilson appeared completely entranced with Ted. She gazed at him wide-eyed, lips parted. Her body language was unmistakable.
She wants him.
As Robert went to find their table, Wilson stepped forward eagerly. Ted's eyes flicked over her and away. Then he spun on his heel, leaving Wilson standing alone, face sheet-white.

The cruel little drama played out in a few seconds. Charley glanced at Frankie, who appeared shocked. Silently Charley mouthed,
“Wilson and Ted?”
Frankie shrugged and shook her head.

“
There
you are!” Jelly squealed, clutching Charley's arm. Already tipsy, ample bosom rosy, she'd shrugged her yellow sateen bodice down so far that her breasts were in danger of popping free. It seemed Ted had finally found something to hold his attention, and leered openly. Wilson turned abruptly away, stumbling a little in her haste to escape.

And then Charley saw Kitty. She was observing Ted with wounded eyes. When she turned and caught Charley watching, she blinked and gave a small shrug, smiling bravely and turning to laugh gaily with another partygoer. Charley's heart went out to this woman, whose armor of satin and jewels wasn't enough to protect her heart.

“Turn
around,
let us
see
! What did I
tell
you?” Jelly asked no one in particular, admiring Charley. “Isn't she the prettiest thing
here
?”

Charley had to admit that her gown lived up to the occasion. She'd found a genuine flapper dress, handmade from oyster-colored silk and covered in iridescent bugle beads. The long, slender lines suited her slim figure. While she approved the modest scooped neckline, she'd hesitated over the daringly low plunge in back.

Relax. It's not like you've got a date who might get the wrong idea.

“Hot stuff,” Ronnie sneered as she knocked back half her cocktail.

“Already burned my fingers,” Dmitri said slyly, provoking a general laugh. He was mouthwatering in a midnight blue Ralph Lauren suit. He'd kept his arm around Charley from the moment they arrived, sheltering her from the push and shove. Charley decided she liked being taken care of for a change. She wondered fleetingly what it would be like to have someone in her life who treated her with such attentive devotion full-time.

Her mind filled with an image of Marc: tall and lean, untidy dark hair, those mesmerizing blue eyes in an outrageously handsome face, eyes that laughed at her, glared at her, turned her inside out. She fought a wave of despair. She and Marc were never, ever going to happen.

She hadn't seen or heard from him since their encounter in that empty office on Tuesday. He had bared his soul, his pain nearly breaking her heart. Did he regret that moment of stark honesty? Then she'd piled on the awkward, unable to hide her attraction any longer. She sighed. Was it any wonder he was avoiding her? She hadn't been able to summon the nerve to call him about what little she'd learned from Jelly.

If that weren't bad enough, Friday's paper had accused the Oakwood Safety Department of lying about a possible connection between the murders. When she'd read the headlines, she recognized instantly how much trouble Marc was in. A terrible possibility sprouted and took root in her mind.

Marc was going to lose control of this case. His boss would make good his threat to turn it over to the County Prosecutor. When that happened, Marc would probably quit this two-bit job he was so blatantly overqualified for. He would move on to greener pastures. Who could blame him? Hell, any big-city department would jump at the chance to add him to their team. Marc would leave. And without Evie to draw him home, Charley would never see him again.

It was probably for the best, she thought hopelessly. Over the past week, the harmless little flame she'd secretly carried for over a decade had flared, fierce and elemental. She wanted him desperately, even knowing she had no chance with him.
What a glutton for self-punishment,
she thought in disgust. If she had made herself miserable over Marcus Trenault, she had no one to blame but herself.

Charley pushed her feelings away, refusing to dwell, determined to make an effort to enjoy the evening. She owed Dmitri that much.

On a positive note, at least on the surface no one seemed to be giving the murders much thought tonight—except for her. As she and Dmitri had stood in line at the bar, she'd realized with a jolt that all eight Agathas were in attendance. Was Lucy among them, chatting and socializing, perhaps stalking her next victim?

She'd spent the remainder of the cocktail hour surreptitiously watching and listening. It was nearly impossible to keep tabs on them all in the constantly shifting crowd. Charley could only hope Lucy wouldn't be foolish enough to try anything in front of so many witnesses.

She'd given up on the chicken. Picking up her wineglass, she glanced around the table. On her right, John Bright listened politely to Jelly, who happily italicized at top speed about last year's holiday Book Club read. Frankie, Ronnie, and Jelly's husband, Eric, leaned in toward Dmitri, who was whispering something that had all of them sputtering with laughter. Pale and silent, Wilson stared vacantly into the middle distance, as if enjoying music only she could hear. Stone-faced Robert Delaney worked his way clockwise around his dinner plate. Charley remembered one of her first-ever meetings with the Agathas, over two years ago. Wilson, obviously the worse for several glasses of Merlot, was telling Frankie and her what an animal her Robert was in bed.

“What kind of animal?” Frankie had whispered later. “A trout?”

The orchestra began to play quiet background music, forcing the volume of conversation up several notches. Charley sipped her wine, listening to snatches of talk from her table. Ronnie appeared to have lost her train of thought halfway through a convoluted story about some indiscretion committed by a woman unknown to anyone else at the table. Dmitri discreetly checked his watch and stifled a yawn.

“—
remember
if it was the ‘B' victim or the ‘C' one, but my
point
is he
definitely
—” Charley caught John's eye and smiled sympathetically. He winked and returned his attention to Jelly.
What a gentleman.

Frankie was listening intently to Eric as he described a news segment his station would air that week. It detailed the regional spike in violent crime, with a focus on the two recent murders. She glanced at Charley, brows raised.

As Eric lamented his failure to get a sound bite from Chief Zehring, anxiety gripped Charley anew. Had Zehring taken Marc off the case, as he'd threatened? Or worse, had he kicked Marc off the Oakwood force completely?

“Coffee?”

Startled, Charley looked into the harried face of a teenage waitress. Midge had kept overhead low by staffing the party with members of Oakwood's senior class. In exchange, the kids were earning community service credit. This particular young woman looked as if she were reconsidering a career in food service, if not an out-and-out retreat.

Charley glanced around and realized that most of her fellow diners were getting to their feet. Midge's slave labor had already begun stripping some of the tables, folding them closed and moving chairs against the walls.

“No, thanks.” The relieved girl disappeared before anyone had a chance to change their mind.

“Charley, you coming?” Frankie asked. “We're heading to the sock hop. This room is for the old fogies.”

Dmitri bumped fists with John. “Lead on, MacPink!”

Charley let herself be towed along. She could see Ted's bald spot up ahead, eagerly forging toward the next alcohol oasis. She turned to Midge, elegantly perfect in a soft peach cocktail suit, and said, “I figured you for more of an orchestra person. Going to take your chances with the dirty-dancing set?”

Midge waved at someone in the crowd, but Charley thought she seemed tense and distracted. “I must check on the cigar-and-brandy bar in the boys' locker room, personally. One door opens directly onto the new outdoor covered walkway, but the other opens into the East Gym. We have anyone smoking inside the building and there'll be hell to pay!”

The surging crowd, bottlenecking in the narrow hallway, separated them; one moment Midge was beside her, then suddenly she was gone.

Charley stepped into a recessed doorway, searching the shuffling throng of unfamiliar faces. How odd. Where were all the Agathas? Where were
any
of them? Dmitri was nowhere in sight, either. She sighed. No doubt his dance card would be full all evening.

She started to follow the herd, but stopped. She simply couldn't face a disc jockey and all that forced gaiety. Not tonight.

Resigned to killing a few hours alone while she waited for her date to resurface, Charley turned back toward the orchestra. As she'd predicted, this soiree was about as entertaining as a funeral.