Chapter Twenty-Three

I hummed as I drove to the Clover Ridge Country Club. In my new party dress and favorite black strappy spiked heels, I looked pretty darn good, if I had to say so myself. For once, I’d fussed with my hair, brushed on some blush and eye shadow, and mascara’d my eyelashes. I wished Dylan were there at my side. Still, I found myself looking forward to the evening.

One of the young valets drove my car off to the parking lot while another held open the clubhouse door. I entered the elegant lobby, glittering under the blaze of its two chandeliers. As soon as Gillian spotted me, she leaped up from the sofa where she’d been waiting to join me. I handed my jacket to the woman working the coat room and slipped the ticket into my tiny pocketbook that held nothing more than Dylan’s check, a lipstick, my cell phone, my license, and a twenty-dollar bill for emergencies.

“You look great!” Gillian said.

“So do you,” I said, admiring her one-shouldered silky black dress that showed off her shapely figure.

We paused in the doorway to have our names checked off and to hand over our hefty entrance fees—mine kindly paid for by Dylan—then strode into the room where waiters were circling with trays of cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. In the far corner, a harpist strummed a gentle tune that served as the perfect background music for the animated conversations around us.

“I’ve been to two weddings here at the country club, and this is my favorite room,” Gillian exclaimed.

“It is beautiful,” I agreed, admiring the décor that managed to be both elegant and glitzy at the same time.

Gillian pointed across the room. “Behind that wall of drapes are floor-to-ceiling windows that open onto a terrace with a fantastic view of the mountains.”

“What a great place for a summer wedding! No wonder the country club was my friend Angela’s first choice—except for the cost, of course.”

“I’d love to get married here,” Gillian said. “Wouldn’t you?”

I was saved from having to respond by a waitress offering us flutes of champagne from her tray. We raised our glasses to each other and sipped.

“Mmm, this is the good stuff,” Gillian said.

“Whatever it is, I love it.”

“Well, hello, Carrie and Gillian! Don’t you both look stunning!”

I turned to see Frances bearing down on us. She wore a gold-colored satin cocktail dress with stiffened pieces of the same fabric jutting out from her shoulders. Was this supposed to be the latest in fashion? To emphasize her importance, she’d placed a sparkling tiara atop her head of fair hair.

“Hello, Frances—er, Francesca.” Did you kill Dorothy? I wondered, remembering my earlier conversation with Leila.

A good-looking man joined us. “I agree, sister, dear. These are two of the loveliest women in the room—aside from you, of course.”

“Roger, hello,” I said, suddenly recognizing Dorothy’s brother. Standing side by side, the family resemblance was obvious. Francesca was certainly pretty, but Roger’s good looks were dazzlingly to the eye. In a photograph with her siblings, poor Dorothy must have looked as plain as one of Cinderella’s stepsisters.

“Have we met?” Roger eyed me, a puzzled expression on his face. At last, his eyes lit up in recognition, and he laughed. “I remember now. Carrie from the library. You were at Dorothy’s house when we were having one of our rip-roaring fights.”

I nodded, but his attention was already on Gillian. “And you are?”

“Gillian Richards.”

“Pleased to meet you, Gillian. I’m Roger Camden. Fran-ces-ca’s brother.” He grinned at his sister to take away the sting of his mocking pronunciation of her self-styled name.

She merely rolled her eyes and murmured, “Stop acting like an ass.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, to see how Dorothy’s siblings would react.

Gillian’s face turned grave. “I was so sorry to hear about what happened to Dorothy.”

“Yes, we’re all very sad,” Roger said.

“And hoping the police will soon find her murderer,” Francesca said. “So far they’ve come up with zilch.”

I couldn’t think of an appropriate response, so I said nothing. So did Gillian.

Francesca, who’d been surveying the room, suddenly declared, “Ah, there’s Reese! I must talk to her. Catch up with you later.” With a wave of her hand, she took off.

“I too will catch up with you later,” Roger echoed, fixing his gaze on Gillian.

“God, he’s so handsome!” Gillian said, watching him stride off.

“You think? He’s also married and has four kids,” I said.

“Oh, well. I was just admiring the scenery.”

At that moment a waiter appeared before us, bearing baby lamb chops, and our pre-dinner feasting began.

Gillian and I ate and chatted the hour away. The doors to the dining room opened, and we found our seats at a table for eight. Our dining companions were two couples our age and a congenial older couple. Mick and Maureen must have taken dancing lessons, because as soon as they finished their salads, they were up on the dance floor. The other two couples soon followed. Then Roger approached our table and invited Gillian to dance.

Where’s his wife? Why isn’t she here? I wondered. Finding myself alone, I went to the ladies’ room to fill the time. As I was returning to my seat, Fred and Leila called me over to their table. Leila was stunning in a gray chiffon dress, and Fred looked rather handsome in his navy suit.

“Here on your own?” Fred asked.

I explained that Dylan couldn’t make the gala, and Gillian was dancing up a storm with his brother-in-law, Roger.

“Ah, Roger,” Fred said, shaking his head.

“Where’s his wife?” I asked.

“Home, I suppose. They’re separated.”

“Oh? Was this sudden?”

Fred grimaced. “For years we saw it coming.”

“That’s too bad.”

“It is—for the children. Carrie, would you like to dance?” Fred asked.

I drew in breath. “Sure. Of course.”

“Go on,” Leila urged. “After all, this is a dinner dance.”

“Well, if you don’t mind,” I said.

Fred and I walked onto the dance floor. The band was playing a fox trot. We fell into step. He led me easily—and smoothly, I soon realized.

“You’re a good dancer!” I exclaimed.

“Surprised you, didn’t I?” he said with a wink. We danced close to Francesca and Gerald and exchanged smiles with them.

“It’s amazing she doesn’t stab someone with those weapons,” Fred murmured, referring to her shoulder ornamentation as he whirled me around.

A good dancer and a sense of humor. I was beginning to realize there was more to Fred Hawkins than I’d first thought.

The beat picked up, and we started bopping up and down with the rest of the crowd. When it slowed down again, Fred said, “Leila told me you came to the shop this morning.”

“Yes, I bought this dress.”

“Lovely,” he said.

“Leila’s lovely,” I said.

“Yes,” Fred said, “we’re lucky to have found each other.” After a minute, he said, “She told me you asked if Dorothy was afraid of anyone.” His eyes peered into mine. All traces of frivolity were gone. “Dorothy was afraid of her siblings. She claimed they hated her.”

“Really? Leila said Dorothy and Francesca argued around the time of her death.”

“They were always arguing,” Fred said, twirling me around. “Growing up, her sister and brother often ganged up on her.”

I thought about that. “Wasn’t she the oldest?”

“That didn’t matter,” Fred said. “From the time they were small, Frannie and Roger worked as a team. They quickly learned how to play their parents and get what they wanted. They got the most fun from tormenting Dorothy. They were so sneaky, their parents never caught on. Dorothy acted out and got labeled the troublemaker.”

Why didn’t Evelyn tell me the truth about Dorothy and her siblings? Was it possible she simply hadn’t seen it?

“Do you think they killed Dorothy?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. I mentioned it to Lieutenant Mathers, but he didn’t seem impressed by my theory.”

The music stopped and someone announced that our main course was being served. Fred escorted me to my seat.

Somehow Roger had managed to wrangle a seat at our table. He sat on the other side of Gillian and regaled her with story after story, sending her into fits of laughter. His hand often came to rest on her arm. When our plates were removed, they were back on the dance floor. Uh-oh, I thought. Gillian’s playing with fire.

After some dancing, the speeches began, and coffee and dessert were served. I decided now would be a good time to leave. I walked over to the dance floor, where Gillian and Roger were swaying to a bittersweet Cole Porter song, and said I was leaving.

“You’re going?” Gillian asked, sounding surprised.

“Uh-huh. Good night.”

Roger peered down at me and gave me a big smile. “Good night, Carrie. Great seeing you again.”

I left the ballroom and headed for the coat room. It was after eleven. I’d done my duty by staying through dinner. I’d even danced. Time to go home. Tomorrow was a workday for me.

As I was putting on my jacket, I saw Francesca and Gerald turn down a hallway. He had his arm around her and seemed to be comforting her. What could be the matter? Curious, I waited a moment, then followed them. There were two rooms on either side of the hall, and the door of one of them had just closed.

I put my ear to the door. Francesca was sobbing.