Marjorie Thelen - Designer Detective

Jake returned with the red wine. That put me in the embarrassing position of having two drinks in my hands. I tossed down the champagne and set the glass on a side table.

“Doing some serious drinking, I see,” said Jake. “Don't let it get away from you. There probably are some real leeches in this crowd. I guess I'll have to look out for you.”

I smiled into his eyes. He had disgustingly long lashes for a man. I hate when men have nice eyes and don't have to wear makeup. On the other hand, I do so love to apply eye makeup in the morning. It entertains me and isn’t life all about entertainment? All those marvelous colors of shadow, eyeliner, mascara. All those wonderful shades of blusher and lipstick. But I digress.

Jake looked away from my smile. I guess the smile was too flirty.

“Look, big boy, I've been watching out for myself for a long time. I won't mention how many years.”

He didn't say anything.

“But I appreciate the offer.”

He smiled. “Nice dress.”

I smiled back. “Do you like the plunging neckline?” I take wicked lessons from Kathy the waitress, and the champagne helped.

His eyes rolled around trying not to look. “Yeah,” he said in a whisper. “Kinda fancy, but it fits with this crowd. You'd think Teddy Kennedy died again.”

“Truly. By the way, where did Albert work?”

“The Pinnacle, conservative think tank in D.C.”

“Pretty elitist. Do you think he was in intelligence?”

Jake glanced around, looking to see who might be listening. “Keep your voice down.”

I leaned over and whispered in his ear. “That doesn't answer my question.” Nice aftershave. I couldn't quite put my finger on the scent. This had to be my last glass of wine. My mind was leading me in dangerous directions, and I was feeling as rubby as a cat in heat.

He hid behind a show of sipping his whiskey on the rocks. “Albert might have had his fingers in some stuff he shouldn't have.”

“Are you going to tell me what that might be?”

He turned to face me and put his mouth next to my ear. “It's making me edgy talking about this here. Later.”

I nodded. Us detectives had to keep a low profile. My mind raced on and construed all sorts of cloak and dagger scenarios. Albert's a double agent and the other side poisons him. At least they didn't use radioactive isotopes like that poor Russian spy. Albert's in financial trouble and starts selling top secrets to the Saudis. He gets too demanding, and they overload his Chinese takeout. Albert's the McLean Robert Hansen. It can happen in your own neighborhood.

“Come on,” Jake said. “Let's cruise around and catch some conversations.” He took my elbow and steered me between groups of intent discussions. The rascal. He was using me as cover. But I didn't mind. I set my face in a permanent smile, and we small talked our way around the room.

“Don't you believe for a minute that the stock market will ever recover.”

“Oh, darling, he didn't.”

“I knew it. If she's had one, she's had at least half a dozen.”

“Papa's had too much to drink. We must be going, Dickie.”

“Really, Reggie, you must go along with us on the shoot. Namibia is the going place now.”

On it went. We ended up out on the patio to enjoy what was left of the day. The sun felt delicious on my skin. One of those beautiful washed autumn days after a week of rain.

“I didn't hear any really helpful conversations, did you?” I said, as we settled at an empty patio table where a waiter was clearing empties. The waiter looked at us as I said that, smiled, wiped the table and left, tray balanced on one hand.

“I've always wanted to be able to do that,” I said, watching the young man weave through the crowd.

“Fiona, listen,” Jake said.

I turned my attention back to him. “I'm listening.”

“You got to be careful what you say at a shindig like this.”

“Right. Us detectives can't be giving away secrets.”

“I'm serious.”

“Me, too. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. What shall we talk about?”

His eyes shifted from one group of people to another. He sure was nervous today.

I leaned closer and said, “What are you worried about?”

“Not worried. Just edgy. It's that kind of day.”

“You’ve been looking over your shoulder all day.”

“Is it that noticeable?”

I nodded. He was saved from further intense interrogation when Opal walked over to our table.

“Hello, you two. I'm so glad you could make it, Fiona. I told you Jake would be a good escort. You make a nice pair.”

I pasted on a smile like I had just sat on a mouse or maybe a snake, and I couldn't figure out which. I wanted to squirm but I didn't want to be impolite. I didn’t look at Jake. What was it that drove women to matchmaking?

Opal, still smiling like she was pleased with the match, said, “I want you to meet my nephew, Cody.”

I turned my attention to him and lipped all the proper niceties.

“Aunt Opal tells me you are the one who found Uncle Al,” Cody said.

“Yes. It was most unfortunate. I'm terribly sorry about your uncle.”

“He was a great guy. We'll all miss him, but it wasn't too much of a shock. He'd had heart problems for years. He had his funeral service all planned. All his papers were in order. He knew he could go anytime. It's just like him to not want to burden anyone with loose ends.”

Another partier caught Opal's attention. Dancing had broken out on the patio. Someone had put on a Frank Sinatra CD and ole Frank was singing, “I Get a Kick out of You”. Older couples jitter bugged around the room, the younger set tended to bump, grind, and flail.

“Excuse us,” said Opal. “Stay as long as you like. Isn’t this a great party? Albert would be so pleased.”

Opal walked off on Cody's arm toward another group. He was the one who had escorted her down the aisle at the church. He wasn’t half bad looking in a pale sort of way. With all that sun on the open range, you’d think he’d look a bit more leathery.

“What do you think of Cody's take on his uncle's heart problems? He makes it sound like an accidental death. Surely he must know that Opal hired you.”

“No, he doesn't. Opal didn't tell any of the family she hired me.”

“What?”

He looked a little squirmy, like he had sat on the mouse or snake.

I confronted him. “That's why you’re edgy. Opal hired you to spy on everyone else, and I’m your cover. Well, I never.”

“Will you please keep your voice down?” he said again. He leaned on his elbow and fixed me with a cold stare. “You said you wanted to help, didn’t you?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

“Then play the part of our couple cover so I can circulate and eaves drop. Do you think Opal brought this crowd together because she likes a party? She did it so I can meet the players, so to speak.”

“You mean Opal knows all these people?”

“Pretty much. She's Albert’s sister, isn't she? Albert often vacationed at the ranch without the missus. Whenever Opal visited here Olivia always threw a party.”

My eyebrows did a little stutter on that one. This was better than Days of Our Lives.

“Geez,” I said. “This is getting too complicated for my small brain. I need a flow chart.”

“I'll show you mine later. C'mon, let's circulate. Grab a drink and look happy.”

Not a bad idea. Jake motioned to the champagne waiter, and I took another glass. He left his empty whiskey glass on the tray.

“Would you bring me a glass of whiskey on the rocks?” he asked the wispy waiter.

“If you follow me, sir, I can show you the open bar where we are featuring hard liquor.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Be right back. Don’t move.”

I sipped champagne and studied the crowd while I waited for Jake to return. The tall, George Clooney lookalike nephew from London walked over.

“May I have this dance or are you spoken for?” he asked, all arched eyebrows and quirky smile.

Frank Sinatra was singing September Song. I could handle that.

“I’d love to dance,” I said, forgetting Jake’s admonition not to move.

Taking me into his arms and pulling me close, he said, “My name's Roger. I'm a nephew from Olivia’s side of the family. Are you family, friend or press?”

“Press? There's press here?” I looked around.

“I’m kidding,” he said. “Uncle Albert wasn't that famous. Some of his associates are.”

He wasn't as good looking as George Clooney face up. Or, let’s say, not the George Clooney I knew from photographs and movies. He had a sharpness about the eyes that suggested sneaky intent, though the champagne could be running away with me. He was thinner, too. Higher cheekbones, narrow face.

I stopped my good looks critique and said, “My name's Fiona Marlowe. I'm the interior designer who found Mr. Lodge in the library.”

“Really? You?”

“Yes. I found your uncle lying in front of the couch, like he was sleeping. I thought it odd he chose the floor. He had a noble profile and handsome white hair. When the medics turned him over he looked very dapper in vest and tweeds, trim, fit. Such a pity. I am so sorry.”

“Do you think it was an accident?” he asked, guiding me out of the crowd of dancing couples to a more secluded corner of the room.

“I think so,” I said, lying through my teeth. We detectives had to maintain our cover. “There was no sign of foul play. No blood.”

“Must have been a horrid experience for you.”

“Shocking, yes. Ruined my day.”

“I'm terribly sorry you were involved. Shall we sit the next one out? Another champagne? I'm afraid they took yours away. The wait staff is frightfully efficient.”

“Champagne would be nice.”

He lifted two from a tray that went by, and I followed him to a corner settee. The crisp autumn evening cut the closeness of the crowd. I wondered what this man wanted.

“You're beautiful, has anyone ever told you that?” he asked, gazing into my eyes.

He wanted an easy touch. He had picked the wrong broad.

“Thank you. All my dates tell me that.” My lips danced a twitchy smile, and he laughed.

“I was just testing.”

“Nice try. I think maybe you should hustle someone your age.”

“I like older women.”

“Lucky me. Not to change the subject, but do you think your uncle's death involved foul play?”

“Definitely.”

I arched my eyebrows. “Why do you think that?”

“Because Uncle Albert was a philanderer.”

“Come now. Wasn't he a bit old?”

“Not Uncle Al. Olivia was a lot younger than he. Viagra put him back in the running. That might have killed him. He might have had a few married ones in the string. Maybe a disgruntled husband got wind of the assignation and did old Uncle Albert in. His latest young thing is here.” He nodded and I turned to look. “That's her over there with Cody. Stunning, isn't she?

It was the blond Jake had pointed out at the memorial service. Full face, she was even lovelier than in profile.

“I don't know how he did it,” Roger said. “I’m sure the money made him look good to sweet young things. We had hardly cast Olivia’s ashes to the wind before he had this one.”

“I heard it was more serious on his part than hers.”

“Did you? Even so, she probably tried to entice the old boy into leaving her something in his will.”

“Interesting angle.” I was filing all this in my sleuthing file. “So who gets the estate?” I was being very smooth.

He tossed back the rest of the champagne before answering. “I hope it will be divided up among the family. I could use some. The financial markets haven't been kind to me lately. We will know tomorrow.”

Aha. A relative with a motive. I went out on a limb. “Do you think someone in the family wanted him dead?”

He gave me a flashy grin. “Anyone could have wanted him dead. Whoever gets the money would be suspect in my book. Now if you will excuse me? I enjoyed our dance.”

He made his way across the room to the dazzling blond. Good choice on his part, but I could hear the hiss of my deflating ego as it zoomed around the room like a pricked balloon.

I wandered toward the kitchen in search of a cup of coffee and my erstwhile partner, Jake, who had disappeared. As I passed a stand of potted shrubs, I caught a snatch of conversation and paused.

“I have no idea what is in the will,” a woman was saying. “Opal has been terribly closed lipped. If the estate gets divided up, there should be plenty for everyone.”