Part 9 (1/2)
”That's Phoebe Muir, Quinny's daughter. I like Phoebe. She was my mother's secretary, a.s.sistant, confidant, an all-around girl Friday, on and offstage, twenty-four-seven.”
”That arrangement smacks of nepotism.” I didn't mean to be rude. The observation just slipped out.
”Depends on your point of view. Quinny wasn't happy when Mom hired Phoebe. She wanted her daughter to marry rich and become a society queen, not work for her mother's richer, more popular, and more famous 'best friend.' ”
Phoebe's flawless complexion caught my imagination, like I'd seen it someplace before. I wondered what it would look like with bright red curls falling to her shoulders rather than that mermaid hair falling down her back. Tonight she wore an emerald green Carolina Herrera gown, but I could easily imagine her in a red Versace cape.
”Didn't anybody get the memo that this isn't the Oscars?” I asked Kyle.
”In this circle, any chance to show off is Oscar night.”
”You know what,” I said. ”I haven't met your mother's leading man, yet.”
”Lance Taggart. I haven't seen him, tonight, either.”
”Your mother must pay Phoebe well if she can afford designer clothes.”
”No, Phoebe's mother Quinny pays her well, in clothes,” Kyle said. ”But Phoebe would rather live with us. She has an apartment upstairs in the servant's attic quarters.”
”Any of the other parasites live here?”
”Sure. Mom's chef, Zander Pollock. He wanted Mom to set him up in business and get him his own TV cooking show.”
I sat straighter. ”Was he angry at your mother when she didn't do what he wanted?”
”Mighty angry. I heard them arguing.”
Feeling like Werner, I made a note of that. ”Did he threaten her?”
”No, only her food.”
”That's significant. Any other suspects in residence?”
”Mom's makeup artist and hairdresser, Rainbow Joy. Daughter of a flower child. Not fond of what she calls the upper cla.s.ses. Rainbow Joy likes to read self-help books and dole out the advice, her earth-child version of it, that is, whether you want to hear it or not.”
”Any of the leeches in residence strike you as suspects?”
”All of them, including my ex- father, though he doesn't live here. But don't limit your expectations. You haven't met all the Parasites, yet.
”Like who?” I asked.
”Like . . . Galina Lockhart,” Kyle said watching Ursula Uxbridge. ”Galina was Mom's biggest rival. She wanted Mom's part in Diamond Sands, and never forgave Mom for getting it. h.e.l.l, Galina's always wanted anything Mom had.”
”Sounds like a sweetie.”
”I'll point her out when I see her. She doesn't seem to be here tonight, but watch the way she and my ex-dad look at each other. There's chemistry; I just don't know if they ever made a toxic mix of it. Just watch the people who actually ”pose” beside the casket tomorrow. You'll find Galina, eventually.”
My eyes filled despite myself. Dominique DeLong in a casket.
I thought the guests would never leave, especially Ian, who acted as if he owned the Gothic white-granite showplace and that everyone was there to see him instead of Kyle. Fact was, Dominique got the Fifth Avenue mansion in the divorce settlement.
One thing I already knew about Ian is that he never went anywhere without a gla.s.s of Scotch in his hand. And when he held a gla.s.s, the very crooked baby finger on his right hand became more noticeable. The pinky curved right then back toward the left and pointed to the rest of his hand.
Kyle's little finger did not resemble his ex- father's, but one of the Parasites had a little finger that did.
Nineteen.
Eventually everything connects-people, ideas, objects. The quality of the connections is the key . . .
-CHARLES EAMES The genetic crooked baby finger thing didn't prove that Kyle wasn't Ian DeLong's. But it sure made me question the paternity of another member of the Parasites.
So . . . had Ian fathered another child? If so, did that speak to motive? Possibly, so I guessed it was worth questioning all three: potential mother, father, and child. Meanwhile, useless speculation had no bearing on the immediate facts surrounding Dom's death.
I'd save my curiosity for opportunities to speak to each of them separately, and by separate, I meant alone and one-on-one, without the others in the vicinity.
Still, the coincidence bugged me, and I turned to Kyle. ”Who exactly did your dad leave your mother for?”
Kyle shrugged. ”You know, we never found out. He's such a player, it could have been a number of women, and he never married after the divorce.”
Note to me. Find out who Ian DeLong fooled around with. Oh, yeah, I already knew: anyone who wore a skirt.
I needed to mingle, but I was too tired for intelligent speech. I longed to discuss my ideas about Dominique's death with someone, preferably Nick. My head was spinning and I knew talking would help me clarify my thoughts. Nick had texted me that he'd returned to FBI headquarters after the ”kneeing” incident, and he still hadn't returned by the time the household retired.
That's when I learned that they put Nick and me in separate bedrooms on different floors. Great. I wanted to talk to him and to make sure he wasn't permanently disabled.
Kyle had given me Dom's room, so I could look around, and frankly, I avoided the closet. That's how tired I was. I was avoiding clothes altogether.
Making myself at home in Dominique's bedroom made me miss her something fierce. I curled up in her boudoir chair, the stuffed bunny from her bed in my arms, and I had a good cry.
When Nick slipped into my room around midnight I was surprised my inelegant sobs didn't scare him away. His expression turned to concern when he saw me, then he was there, picking me up and carrying me to the bed.
He kicked off his shoes, loosened his tie, and we sat against the headboard while he held me and let me cry and talk about Dom and my impressions of the Parasites.
”Feel better?” he asked when I went silent.
”I do. Thank you. How about you?”
”Embarra.s.sed as h.e.l.l. Where's Eve?” Nick asked. ”I was hoping you'd be bunking together so I could beat her.”
”Her room's on the same floor as Kyle's, big surprise, but yours is two floors up.”
”Eve's influence, no doubt. Never mind, I'll find my room first thing in the morning when I need a change of clothes.”
I wiped my tears, loving the feel of being in Nick's arms after so long, my big, st.u.r.dy fed with the colorful silk boxers hidden beneath the deceptive dignity of his black suit, though that dignity had been impugned tonight, and I should remember to treat him gently and not expect much.