Ray took a step forward. “Sir, just for the record, can you confirm that you are Adrian Archer?”
“I am. Why? Who are you?”
Ray introduced himself, then explained the situation and continued. “I have a few questions for you. What time did you leave here last night, and where did you spend the night?”
“Well, Belinda and I had a bit of a disagreement, and because I’d had too much to drink, I got someone to drive me into the city.”
“So you spent the night in New York?”
“Yes, I went home. Then, this morning, when I’d sobered up and realized what had happened, I thought I’d better get back here so Belinda and I could talk things over. We’re supposed to be getting married today.” He looked from Ray to Belinda. “Is it still on?”
“What a mess,” muttered Mrs. Van Dusen, then addressing Adrian directly and loudly, “No, it is not still on. When we thought you were dead in my rosebushes, we called off the wedding. Can you blame us?”
Adrian laughed easily. “Well, no, I can’t say I do. But we can reschedule.” He looked at Belinda. “Can’t we?”
“I don’t think so,” said Mrs. Van Dusen. “At least not here you can’t. That’s it, as far I’m concerned. You two had your chance. I’m done.”
“But Mom,” protested Belinda. “It’s not our fault someone’s dead. The wedding would have to be rescheduled anyway. We couldn’t possibly get married here today with all that going on.” She lifted a hand in the vague direction of the garden. “The place is crawling with police.”
“Well, you told me you’d decided not to marry him,” Paula replied. “And I thought you’d finally come to your senses.”
“Come on, Belinda,” said Adrian. “I think we’ve got a few things to discuss, and this isn’t the place.” He glanced around the room with a look that bordered on a glare. “I don’t even know these people.”
“If I could just have a word in private, Mr. Archer, please?” said Ray, taking him to one side of the room. “I didn’t want to mention this in front of everybody, but the Albany detectives are going to need to hear your full story. That includes who you were with.”
“Who says I was with anybody?”
“You said that someone drove you. We’re going to need that person’s name.”
“Why? Am I a suspect?”
“We’d like to be able to eliminate you from our inquiry,” Ray replied smoothly.
Adrian scowled and charged out of the room with Belinda on his heels.
Ray turned his attention to Charlotte and Aaron. “There’s really no reason for you two to stay any longer. We can take your statements later. Right now, the focus is determining the identity of the body in the garden. So why don’t you two go on home, and I’ll see you later?”
Charlotte gathered up Rupert, and as they prepared to leave, Phyllis reappeared in the doorway.
“Mrs. Van Dusen, there’s a man here from the Hudson Valley Echo. He’d like to talk to you.”
Fletcher Macmillan squeezed past her and entered the room. He briefly acknowledged Ray, then turned to speak to Paula Van Dusen. Charlotte groaned inwardly. Oh, here we go, she thought.
“Mrs. Van Dusen,” he said, opening his notebook and folding back a few pages, “I heard on the police scanner that a body’s been discovered on your property and—”
“Mr. Macmillan, I’ve got nothing to say to you at this time,” Paula said. “Any information on this matter will have to come from the police. And now, if you don’t mind, we’re very busy this morning, so Phyllis here will show you out.”
“I’ll be glad to show Mr. Macmillan out,” Ray said, stepping forward. “Come on, Fletcher. I’ll give you the name of the guy from the state police you should be talking to.”
“Is the wedding going ahead?” Fletcher asked Paula over his shoulder as Ray steered him out of the room. “Will it take place here, or has it been moved to another venue?”
As Charlotte and Aaron crunched their way across the graveled parking area, Charlotte remarked, “You know, it’s odd that we didn’t see the bridesmaids this morning. In my experience, bridal parties stick pretty close together, and I haven’t seen either bridesmaid this morning. And come to think of it, I saw Jessica a couple of times last night, but I don’t remember seeing the other one at all. The blonde one.”
“Sophie,” said Aaron.
“Right. Sophie. Did you see her?”
“I don’t remember, but I don’t think so. I’m not thinking too clearly right now.”
They rounded the corner of the house and paused to look over the garden. White tenting—the police kind, not the wedding kind—guarded by a couple of uniformed officers, had been erected over the spot where the body had been discovered. Forensic experts to process the scene and homicide detectives from Albany were expected within the hour.
“Yes, Sophie,” repeated Charlotte. “I saw a blonde woman running across the lawn last night, and she could have come from that direction.” She pointed to the tent. “At the time I thought it might be Belinda, but now I’m not so sure. It was just after the intermission, but Belinda’s hair and makeup were so elaborate, she must have been in her room getting ready for the after party. Her hair alone would have taken at least an hour. So now I’m wondering if the woman I saw could have been Sophie. I only caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye.”
“Could be,” said Aaron. “If you only saw her for a moment and it was dark, it would be hard to tell.” He unlocked the car doors.
“And if Sophie is the person who drove Adrian back to the city last night, that could explain why she isn’t here this morning,” Charlotte mused. “And we know she can drive that car because we saw her. They’re big, powerful cars, those Lamborghinis. Tricky to handle. You don’t just get in one and drive it to Manhattan in the dark like it’s a rental car you picked up at the airport.”
“She could have driven him home in his car, then he drove it back this morning,” Aaron said as he put the car in reverse. “And look,” he said, pointing out his window, “the Lamborghini’s here now, and it wasn’t when we arrived earlier. With that ridiculous orange, we’d have noticed it.”
“True.”
They rolled down the driveway in silence, and then Aaron spoke. “I wonder whose body it is out there. I’ve never seen anything like it. It really gets to you, something like that.”
“Could be someone who attended the play, I suppose,” said Charlotte. “Maybe it’s not a member of the wedding party. The performance was a fundraiser, after all, and the audience was made up of friends and contacts of Paula Van Dusen. But of course the question is, why did that person, whoever it is, turn up dead here? And why now?”
As they turned onto the main road, Charlotte remarked, “We’re going to need a new donkey’s head. The police will keep that one as evidence.”
“And anyway,” said Aaron, as the car picked up speed, “who’d want to wear that thing after it’s been stuck on a dead guy’s head?”
Charlotte laughed. “You have such a way with words. But I’m glad for the chance to replace the moth-eaten old thing. We’re long overdue for a new one. It was hot and heavy for the actor, almost impossible to talk through, and I really like the one we created with Paula Van Dusen’s hat. I’ll ask her if we can keep it. She won’t miss it. Nobody wears fur anymore. And if we can’t have it, then we can at least use the concept to create a new one. Something more modern. The actor said he loved wearing it.”
“It was quite creative of you coming up with that on the spur of the moment,” said Aaron.
“That’s what you have to do sometimes.”
She gazed out the window, and when they reached the main street, she asked Aaron to pull over at the convenience store. “I’m just going to run in and get a paper. Won’t be a tick.”
They continued the journey home, and as they passed the sign announcing the coming condominium development, Aaron glanced at it and then at Charlotte.
“Have you thought about buying one of those condos?”
“Not really. I’m happy where I am.”
“Well, it could be a good investment for you. And it’s close enough to the hotel that you could walk to work.”
Charlotte thought for a moment.
“You know, I hadn’t thought of that, but you might be on to something. According to recent newspaper stories, we’re on the edge of a property boom here. And if I moved out of the bungalow, Harvey could get a much higher rent for it. Not a bad idea. If I could afford it, that is.”
“Maybe you and Ray could go in together on one.”
“Me and Ray? What? You mean live together? It seems a bit soon. I don’t know that we’re ready for that. We’ve certainly never discussed it.”
“Well, maybe you ought to.” He grinned. “Come on! You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. Of course you have.”
“Well, maybe just a little. But you’re right. Maybe I should think about this. There would definitely be advantages to the hotel if I did move out. And it would be really nice to live in my own place. A place I owned.”
Aaron didn’t respond.
“Oh, now I get it,” said Charlotte. “You clever old thing. It’s for you, isn’t it? Come on! Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it! You want to move into my bungalow!”
Aaron grinned sheepishly.
“Yeah, you’re right. I do. I’m twenty-four years old, and living with my aunt and uncle is killing me. It’s bad enough being here where there’s so little to do, but my aunt treats me as if I’m twelve. ‘Where are you going? When will you be back? Who were you talking to?’ Honestly, it’s driving me crazy. I’ve got to get my own place.” He shook his head slightly as they turned onto the hotel property. “It’s either that or go back to the city.”
As they unloaded the car and prepared to go their separate ways, he to join his aunt and uncle in their apartment in the hotel and she to her bungalow, Aaron paused.
“About all the work I put into making those bridesmaids’ dresses. Mrs. Van Dusen will pay me, won’t she?”
“Of course she will. I’ll mention it, if you like, when I speak to her about the hat.”
“There’s something else. Would it be all right if I came home with you so I could sleep for a while in your spare room?”
Charlotte smiled at him. “You’ve got a hangover and you don’t want your aunt asking a lot of questions right now. Just want to get your head down for a bit.”
He nodded. “Yeah, there’s that. And discovering that body was awful. I think it’s starting to get to me. I’m feeling a little shaky inside, to be honest, and I’d rather be here with you.”
“Right. Come on then.” They entered her bungalow, and Charlotte offered him a glass of water. “Drink this now, slowly, and then take a full glass with you to bed. If you wake up, have a sip or two before you go back to sleep. Hydration will help. And stay as long as you like.”
She covered him with a light blanket and, when he was settled, returned to the sitting room. With Rupert on the sofa beside her, his head resting on her thigh, she unfolded the Hudson Valley Echo, glanced at the front-page photographs of last night’s benefit performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and began to read the accompanying text.
“Once again, the great and the good gathered at the sumptuous estate of Paula Van Dusen to enjoy our own Catskills version of Shakespeare in the Park,” she read. Macmillan gushed on about the wedding, offering glowing, fawning descriptions of the beautiful bride and her handsome groom, but he saved his most lavish adjectives for Paula Van Dusen herself. Charlotte laughed and then turned back to the photographs.
The largest one showed Belinda and Adrian at the party. She gazed up at him, her face soft and adoring, but his eyes were elsewhere. Charlotte scanned the photo for background details to indicate where they were standing. The drinks table was behind them, and his body was turned slightly to the left, so he must be looking in the direction of Paula Van Dusen’s table, where she and Ray had been seated. But why would he be looking at them?
He wasn’t, she realized. He was looking at the table behind theirs, where the bridesmaids and ushers had been seated.
Setting the significance of that aside to ponder later, Charlotte turned to the next photo, a crowd scene, and if the strong lighting was anything to go by, it had been taken before the play started, as the audience members mingled and socialized.
The photo showed a black man in profile, arms folded, with a neutral expression, in conversation with a younger man holding a glass of champagne and grinning at the camera. The caption read, “Local lawyer Joseph Lamb, left, and Manhattan real estate mogul Hugh Hedley share a Midsummer Night’s moment.” A Midsummer Night’s moment, thought Charlotte.
She returned to the image, holding the newspaper a little closer. Hugh Hedley was certainly handsome in that boyish, all-American way that never goes out of style. Brown hair with just a bit of curl flopping over his forehead and a broad, bright smile revealing expensive teeth. He was wearing a dark suit jacket that looked suspiciously like the one she had seen this morning on the body in the rosebushes. But then a closer inspection revealed a couple of men in the background wearing similar suits. Between the two men, with her back to the camera, was a woman with a blonde ponytail.