Much to my delight, Paul had not lingered endlessly with the forensic people -- probably because they’d all had plans for New Year’s Eve, too. He got home just as I was pulling on the dark green skirt and paler silk blouse I intended to wear to Andrea’s dinner party. By the time he’d showered, shaved and dressed in casual gray slacks and a light blue dress shirt, I’d finished packing for both of us. An hour and a half later, when he turned the car through the imposing entry gates of Andrea's estate, we were in plenty of time for dinner and hours early for the start of the New Year’s Eve party.
Paul and I hadn't been to the white Italian Renaissance mansion in Issaquah since late October. The estate, exquisite and conspicuously expensive in the extreme, was also emotionally sterile. However, the transformation wrought by Andrea's holiday decorating was, to put it mildly, a surprise.
From the main gate all the way down the drive, to the fountain in front of the huge loggia and the house itself, the estate sparkled as if Tinker Bell had swept her magic fairy wand over it. White lights glittered in the evergreens and the bare branches of deciduous trees in such quantity I was certain the local power grid groaned under the strain.
For the first time I regretted she wouldn't be living here much longer.
Andrea told me, more than once on her frequent visits to Snohomish and during long phone conversations, how she planned to sell the estate when the numerous details had been worked out and legal hoops jumped through. Her plans were the major topic of conversation when she stayed with me over Christmas while Paul was in Minneapolis visiting his family. I didn't mind her repetetion. After the dual traumas of being arrested for her husband's murder and dealing with the heartbreak of her miscarriage, she'd set her sights firmly on the future. Occasionally, I worried she seemed in a little bit of a hurry to leave the past behind.
Paul stopped the car in front of the wide front steps leading up to the columned loggia and popped the trunk. With suitcases and garment bags in hand we trudged up the steps. Before the doorbell finished chiming its aria from "Tosca," Andrea, in a simple, ankle-length, azure gown, flung the door wide, greeted us with effusive hugs and ushered us into the marble-floored foyer. The columned entry, once so temple-like, was festooned with evergreen swags, banked with ruby poinsettias and ablaze with more tiny white lights. The gallery, where the huge Chihuly glass sculpture hung over twin, curved descending staircases, and which served as a display for an impressive art collection, had received the same swag and poinsettias treatment. It also acquired a twinkling forest of Christmas trees arranged in front of the huge window-wall overlooking Cougar Lake.
"Come in, come in. Leave your bags. John will take them to your room."
"John? Richard’s not your butler any longer?"
"Richard is a guest this evening. As are Carmella and Heidi -- although Carmella's catering company is doing the food. Heidi is playing tour guide for your family. They all arrived a little while ago."
I knew Juliet, Eric, Aunt Vi and Uncle Henry had been invited. None had seen the estate before, and all of them were dying of curiosity. I didn't know the other tidbit of news, and Andrea's barely controlled grin told me she'd been waiting to spring the surprise.
"Hang on a sec. What do you mean, 'Carmella's catering company'? You didn't tell me anything about this when I saw you last week." Carmella was the estate's cook, and had been for years.
Andrea all but bounced on her toes, and her grin split her face. "We wanted to wait until all the paperwork was finalized before we announced it. Carmella and I are partners in a restaurant. I'm so thrilled I can hardly stand it. It's been so hard not to tell anyone, but I wanted everything settled first. I even found the perfect location. It'll be on Fifth, in downtown Seattle. The remodeling is due to begin at the end of January. In the meantime Carmella's gotten the catering off the ground. This will be our first event."
"This party?"
"Yes!" She grabbed me in another hug. "Isn't it exciting? She's been doing all the menu building and coordinating and I've been doing the legwork."
I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her so happy. Her joy swept me up. I hugged her back, practically dancing. Paul was somewhat less effusive, but his congratulations were every bit as sincere.
"We're going to need an accountant," she said, still bubbling. "Are you interested in taking on another client?"
I laughed. "Well, sure, you know I am. I can always use more work."
"Excellent. We can talk business after this weekend."
"Fine with me."
"Now, tell me. What's this I hear about a skeleton in your backyard?"
My smile dimmed a few megawatts. She was as good at subject-hopping as the rest of my family -- a talent likely learned from years of exposure. "I'll bet that's the first thing Juliet mentioned, wasn't it?"
"Actually, Vi told me. Juliet was busy gawking. All she could say for ten minutes was, 'Eric, look.'"
Of course. I sighed. Back to reality -- mine. "We found the bones under the big rhododendron by the kitchen window. The police forensics team was there digging it up."
"Was? They're all done?"
"Not quite," Paul said. "Unfortunately, someone stole the skeleton last night."
"Out of your backyard? Why?"
Paul filled her in on the details as described by Detective Thurman. She listened intently to what he had to say, shaking her head with concern.
"How long will the reconstruction work have to be delayed?"
"No idea," Paul said. "The forensics guys told me today they were going to sift through the dirt and see what the thief missed. I don't know how long that will take them."
"One thing's for sure," I said. "If the delay drags on, we may end up with a house that rivals yours."
Andrea laughed, said something that sounded like "yeah," then cleared her throat and frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Our contractor keeps coming up with all kinds of good deals on upgrades, because he's supposedly so well connected. I hope they really are good deals and not defective crap he's trying to slip past us."
A smile twitched Andrea's lips. "Get a written warranty --"
"We are. I'm still worried."
"And don't forget you know a good lawyer."
Paul chuckled. "We know a couple, although I suppose which of you we use depends on whether we do him bodily injury or just want to sue his business. Let's hope we don't need either of you. Although," he ruffled my hair, "ever since I met Thea it seems a good idea to keep one on retainer."
He laughed. I scowled and finger combed my hair back into place.
"You've done a wonderful job decorating for the holidays," I said, deliberately switching subjects and ignoring Paul. "Reminds me of my grandmother's description of the way the ritzy old Frederick & Nelson department store in downtown Seattle used to go all out for the holidays. If I find a special room filled with Christmas decorations and a Santa I can get my picture taken with I'm going to wonder who you hired." I started toward the living room where I assumed everyone else was, but stopped. Andrea hadn't moved.
"Didn't they do an amazing job?" She spread her arms and swept the gallery with a spin that sent her long, elegant skirt twirling. "I have to confess, all this decorating-directing was more fun than I'd anticipated. I was almost afraid to spend the money at first." She lowered her voice to a secret-sharing level.
Almost against my will, I abandoned my intent to join the other guests in the living room and returned to where she, for all intents and purposes, remained rooted.
"You have no idea of the amount of money my husband, may he rest in peace, had stashed away. It's beyond being rich. I keep thinking about that TV show about hoarders. That was Sig, but with money. I keep spending it and giving it away to charities and not making a dent in it. In fact, the annuities and charitable foundation I'm setting up would make your head spin. Maybe I should offer to cut the national debt in half."
If it was anyone other than Andrea "complaining" about how much money they had, I'd have said something rude. But Andrea wasn't bragging; there was a good dose of guilt mixed in with her amazement over her good fortune. She wanted life to be easier for everyone, not just her.
She laughed, but not in an amused way. "I don't know when I'm going to get a handle on this. Do you know I just found out this morning that I own a ski lodge in Switzerland? I'm not kidding. I saw pictures. It's not small. Do you ski?"
"No," I said.
"Yes," Paul said.
Talk about surprises that keep popping up. "You do?"
He grinned. "Yes."
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Never came up. Want me to teach you?"
"How about you teach her in Switzerland?" She grabbed my hand. "Have you ever been to Switzerland?"
"No," I said.
"Yes," Paul said. "Went skiing there, too. Nice."
My jaw sagged. "When did this happen?"
"Long time ago. 'Join the Army, see the world.'"
"Oh."
Andrea laughed and clapped her hands together like she was five -- or Juliet. "Let's all go, it'll be fun. My treat. We'll stay at my lodge."
"Andrea, that's frivolous."
"Yeah, isn't it?"
"Are you actually intent on spending all your money? Do you want to have to work for a living again?"
She sobered, as if I'd scored a direct hit on the sore spot in her conscience. "Yes, actually, I do …." The doorbell chimed its aria. Andrea drew a quick breath. "Our last dinner guest, I hope." She hurried toward the door, then stopped and smoothed a hand over her shoulder-length blond hair before admitting the final guest. "Dave, I'm so glad you could make it. Come in."
Paul's elbow thumped my ribcage as Dave Ross, overnight case in hand, walked into the foyer. I pretended I had no idea what Paul's nudge was all about. He was gloating -- prematurely, in my opinion.
A couple of months ago, I'd sworn -- loudly, and at Paul -- Andrea wouldn't date Dave. The fact he arrested her for her husband's murder had nothing to do with my declaration. I liked Dave, except for that incident. My opinion of any relationship success between them had to do with them occupying different worlds and not wanting to change. Although Andrea had grown up middle class like me, she was now used to running with the rich and somewhat famous. Dave was a cop -- a career detective. He thrived on long hours and was unimpressed by wealth.
Last October, after he'd arrested her, he saved her life -- with our help -- and she was grateful but, as I predicted, over the ensuing months the interest they'd initially shown in each other seemed to die a natural death.
Andrea never mentioned him to me in our visits. And as for Dave, I knew Paul got together with him from time to time, but he never said anything about Dave pursuing her.
And yet, here he was in a well-cut, slate gray suit that trumped his usual well-dressed appearance.
Dave shuffled his overnight case to his right hand, then back to his left before dipping in to give Andrea a quick peck on the cheek. "Good to see you, Andrea. Thanks for inviting me. I seem to have remembered the way."
Her hand fluttered at the collar on her dress. "It just wouldn't have been right without you here."
He looked down, then back at her, then down -- again. Good grief.
"You had a nice Christmas?" Andrea asked in a rush, her cheeks pink.
"Christmas? Oh, right. Yes. I worked. You?"
Andrea pointed at me. "I stayed with her. It was fun. Like old times."
I considered reminding her of my name, but it was embarrassing enough to see the two of them acting so addled.
The new butler arrived. Andrea snatched Dave's bag from his grasp, and handed it off with elaborate instructions about which room it was to be delivered to -- just a door down from her suite. I got that fast enough. Then she turned back to Dave, a darker flush crept up her neck. They stared at each other.
Paul abruptly strode over, slapped Dave's shoulder and shook his hand. "Hey, Dave, good to see you. Thea and I just arrived."
In my opinion, since he was being a hero, he ought to have done some chest compressions just to finish off the resuscitation. However, Dave rallied without any additional effort on Paul's part and took his lead, imitating the shoulder slap and then the grin as if they were items on a checklist on "how to behave like a human." Andrea clasped her hands tightly in front of her, her smile flickering on and off.
I refused to go slap her shoulder or anything else to get her synapses functioning again. Fortunately, she didn't need my help.
"Let's go to the living room. I think there are hors d'oeuvres -- yes, I'm sure there are, and Heidi must have finished her tour by now." She touched Dave's arm, and he offered it to her so fast you'd have thought it was drilled into him at the police academy. His gaze barely strayed from her. Good thing she knew her way, since she never once looked where she was going -- unless you count Dave as a destination.
Paul's eyes twinkled, and he suppressed a smile. Before we stepped through the wide, arched doorway into the posh and festively decorated living room I latched onto his arm, slowing him down, and pulled him closer so I could whisper.
"Don't you dare."
He gave me a wide-eyed look. "Dare what?"
"You know what I'm talking about. Do not tease."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. You used to look at me exactly the way he's looking at her, and you didn't appreciate the teasing, as I recall."
He stopped and cupped my face in his hands, gazing deeply into my eyes. "I still look at you this way."
It freaking annoyed me that he could turn "the gaze" on and off at will. "At least you're much more articulate now. Thank God. The stammering and awkward silences were starting to get to me."
He choked on a laugh and dropped his forehead against mine. "So, at long last, I find out it was pity for my smitten state that drove you into my bed."
"That and you were hot. Still are -- hot, not pathetic. By the way, it was my bed."
He laughed outright and pulled me into a hug. I wrapped my arms around his waist, lifted my face and --
"Theodora and Paul. How long is it going to take you to come in here?"