Belle rose. It was difficult from the low couch. She levered herself up with her cane. That made her suddenly seem vulnerable. And her lovely face, though smooth and welcoming, looked fragile and uncertain.
“Amelia said you were here. I hope you don’t mind my waiting?” She smiled, that cool, meaningless smile, but her deep blue eyes looked at me warily. “I wanted a chance to visit with you.”
“I’m delighted.” And uneasy. And unsure how to proceed, how to respond, what to say.
“I had Amelia bring us tea.” She spread her hand at the service on the bamboo table.
“That’s wonderful.”
We settled on the couch and she poured tea and offered me biscuits and little sandwiches.
“And how is your daughter and her family?” Belle asked.
How many times over the years had both of us held fine china cups, spoken cheerfully with beautifully dressed, socially poised women? It was such a familiar ritual. Yet this time dark emotion underlay the graceful moment, the shark’s fin beneath placid water.
“Having fun,” I said brightly. Oh, Emily, how I wish Richard could see you now, take pleasure in your life now. “She and Warren recently relocated to a small town in east Texas. They bought the newspaper there. Warren’s the publisher, Emily’s the managing editor, the best kind of mom and pop newspaper.” Not so common anymore across the country, with so many small-town newspapers gobbled up by one of the big newspaper chains.
Belle seemed genuinely interested and she had the good reporter’s knack of drawing out details—
Yes, Emily’s children were fine. Diana was playing lots of tennis and Neal never met a crawling insect he didn’t like.
This was a second marriage for Emily. Yes, I liked my new son-in-law quite well. It was a good match. I hoped to visit them soon.
“Are you pleased with your visit here?” Another social question but her gaze was intense.
I sipped Earl Grey tea and managed to smile. “I have found it very interesting.” And that was certainly true.
Tea and inconsequential conversation and searching blue eyes.
Belle replenished my cup. “I know coming to Ahiahi,” she spoke slowly, “has been hard for you. Have you found what you came for?”
Now was my opportunity to speak out, to tell this lovely, vulnerable woman what compelled me to travel so far.
I was tempted. I wanted terribly to share this burden, to have help, to come out in the open, flood secret places with light, wrench the truth from its hiding place.
I opened my mouth. Fog wreathed on the lanai. I glanced toward the bedroom and remembered so vividly the sight of the little dead bat. I felt a chill and the nearness of danger. Fear was always near me now, touching me with spectral fingers. Was someone close in the fog, listening to us?
What if I told Belle everything?
I couldn’t take that chance. I knew I was in danger. I couldn’t put Belle in danger, too. I had nothing to substantiate my claim, no hard, solid facts. Not yet. I needed to know more.
“I’m finding out a great deal.” I spoke loudly for listening ears. I was angry, and I was scared. I knew someone listened. “I’m learning more and more about Richard’s last day.”
“And about my children?” Belle’s face was grim.
I understood then why she had come. I picked my words carefully. “I am not writing a book about CeeCee.” An announcement for Belle. A revelation for a listener?
Our eyes met and held.
Slowly, she smiled, and now it was genuine and friendly. She reached out, clasped my hand.
When she left, I waited until the sound of her cane was gone. Then I slipped quietly out onto the lanai. I looked down the steps. I could see just a foot or so. I heard a rattle as a stone fell. But I’d not catch our killer now. The fog was too thick, the escape too easy.
Some moments are forever etched in memory. Sometimes you are aware that a particular time or event or happening will remain clear and sharp in your mind no matter how many years pass. Such was this moment as we gathered to remember CeeCee Burke.
I looked about the lanai. The guests blended well with their tropical aerie, the women in bright Gauguin colors, the men in white jackets. There was a general flurry of movement as we settled into the chairs, carrying after-dinner coffee. The soft-cushioned wicker chairs and couches were arranged in an inner and outer half-circle facing the canyon. Chairs scraped. Spoons clinked against china cups.
Belle stood with her back to the railing, silhouetted against the velvety purple of the tropical night sky. A quick flurry of rain just before dinner had dissipated the fog and now stars spangled the dark expanse of sky like sequins glittering on a witch’s hat. The pulsing sound of the falls was constant—exhilarating or ominous, depending upon mood. A choppy breeze whipped the flames in the corner torches and rustled the ti leaves and the palm fronds. The moist, soft air flowed over us and should have been as warm and soothing as the stroke of a masseuse’s hand.
But there was no ease on this lanai.
I was at one end of the outer half-circle. Deliberately, of course. I could see each person, though the faces were fitfully illumined by the undulating flames of the torches.
Each and every person had a special relationship to CeeCee Burke.
CeeCee’s fiancé—Stan Dugan hulked in his chair, a big brooding presence, his blunt-angled face stern and watchful, his massive hands braced on his legs.
CeeCee’s brother and his wife—Anders Burke shrugged away his wife’s hand as she tried to take his drink. No coffee for Anders. He tilted the glass, emptied it, waved toward a maid. Peggy made little bleating noises, like bird wings brushing against plate glass.
CeeCee’s youngest brother—Joss Burke stared into the distance at the moonlit falls. His handsome profile was as sharply etched as an engraving, his mobile mouth compressed, his jaw set. His arms were tightly folded across his chest. He could not remove himself physically, so he had removed his attention.
CeeCee’s mother’s secretary—Elise Ford completed the inner half-circle. Her makeup was thick, but it didn’t hide the tight, hard angle of her jaw. The fingers of her right hand drummed nervously on the chair arm.
CeeCee’s mother’s husband—Keith Scanlon was in the first chair of the outer half-circle. He moved uncomfortably, as if his muscles were tired. The flame in the near torch surged, touching him with a ruddy glow, illuminating his stony gaze. But he wasn’t looking at Belle. His face was turned toward the front row. Who was he watching? My glance slid over Stan, Peggy, Anders, Joss, and Elise. Which one? And why?
CeeCee’s stepsister—Gretchen Gallagher bounced to her feet. “Don’t worry, Anders, time hasn’t been called yet. I’ll get you a stiff one. And me, too.” She moved, a little unsteadily, toward the wet bar.
CeeCee’s stepbrother—Wheeler Gallagher reached out but Gretchen eluded his grasp. Wheeler frowned in exasperation. His eyes flicked toward me, then toward Lester Mackey.
CeeCee’s other stepsister—Megan Gallagher was, as always, breathtakingly lovely and as elegant and remote as a faraway eagle glimpsed high in the sky. She stirred her coffee, and the clink of her spoon was startlingly sharp as silence fell on the lanai. But not as loud as the rattle of ice cubes when Gretchen handed a tumbler to Anders, then made a half-curtsey toward Belle. “Excuse me.” The proper words, but her tone was brittle. Wheeler grabbed his sister’s arm and pulled her roughly down to her chair. “Shut up.” It was a command. Her eyes blazed, but she settled in the chair, her mouth folding in resentment.
CeeCee’s mother’s faithful retainer—Lester Mackey once again had removed himself from the group. He’d left the chair next to me vacant. He stood in the shadow of a huge carved black wooden swan, a dim figure dimly seen, his slight figure made smaller by the immense sculpture. Lester Mackey, the observer. Lester Mackey, superior photographer. Lester Mackey, who Wheeler had said “would never sell us out.”
“This is, as every year, a very special night for me.” Belle’s voice was soft, reflective, eager. She gripped her cane tightly. Moonlight added a silver glow to her smooth hair and fine-boned face and a luminescent sheen to her sky-blue sheath dress.
I felt such a rush of sorrow for her that I was shaken. I know what it is to grieve for a dead child as well as a dead husband. I know what it is to face the abyss of separation, colder than an arctic plain, wider than any sea, deeper than a pit in hell.
And yes, memory is the only bridge that can span the abyss, the memory of laughter and tears, joy and anger, whatever memory comes. For that instant, a face and voice and touch live again in the mind, as real as a photograph that holds a finite instant of the universe in its exact molecular structure.
Abruptly, passionately, I wanted this evening to answer Belle’s demand, to satisfy that endless hunger within her for the daughter taken from her.
Belle smiled, her lips curving into delight.
There was no hint that she sensed the turmoil around her. She appeared to be oblivious to the tempest of emotions swirling beneath this carefully ordered social scene.
I scanned the watching faces quickly. I saw suspicion, fear, jealousy, dismissal, concern, rejection, avidness, misery, and appraisal.
Lester’s face I could not see.
Was Belle blind? Still she stood, a sheen of tears in her eyes, a tremulous smile curving her lips. Abruptly, I realized a terrible truth about Belle Ericcson. Belle saw—perhaps had always seen—what she wished to see: the world according to Belle Ericcson. She was the central figure: a beautiful woman, a superb reporter, a good wife, a loving mother. What would she put first?
That wasn’t a fair question. Not for Belle, not for any woman. Life has many compartments and only the innermost soul can ever know what came first, who came first, and judge the power of the claimants.
However she’d ordered her life, Belle lived with great passion. It was passion that lifted her beyond the ordinary, made her a remarkable woman. But how much did she see or understand of the lives around her?
“CeeCee loved old movies. The Westerns.” Belle lifted her cane, sighted as if along a rifle, cocked a finger around an imaginary trigger. “She collected them. She’d find them in out-of-the-way shops, at rummage sales.” Belle lowered the cane, leaned it against the wall. “Her favorite actor was Randolph Scott. I doubt if any of you”—she glanced toward me—“if anyone besides Henrie O and me remember him. Very tall, of course, with a steady, far-seeing gaze. Lean. Serious. Lantern-jawed. And honest. Always honest.” Belle clasped her hands together. “That was what captured CeeCee’s heart. Honesty. It mattered more to her than friends or success or power or any of the goals most of us set. So now I like to watch the old movies—John Wayne and Gregory Peck and James Stewart. It makes me feel close to her. If CeeCee were here tonight, she’d say, ‘It’s great, Mom. The posse comes over the hill and the bad guys go down. You can’t beat that.’ So that’s what I wish for all of us, now and in the future—the thunder of hoofbeats and the posse coming over the hill.”
The rumble of the falls seemed suddenly louder, nearer. It was the odd effect of the profound silence on the lanai.
Anders gave a grunt, half snort, half laugh. “But what the hell, it depends on whose ox is being gored, I think maybe.” He spoke slowly. He was just drunk enough to enunciate carefully.
Peggy said shrilly, “I have a favorite memory of CeeCee, a very favorite—”
Stan Dugan spoke at the same moment. His deep, resonant, determined voice boomed over the lanai, making the sound of the falls as soft and distant as the rumble of summer thunder. “Belle, we all have memories.” Dugan surged to his feet. The swan statue seemed to shrink, receding into the background, no match for Dugan’s heft and bulk. Lester Mackey looked even slighter and less substantial.
Light and shadow flickered across Dugan’s massive face as the flame wavered in the torch, creating the effect of a ridged bronze mask, elemental as the night. “But if memories aren’t shared, they don’t exist. So I’d like to ask a special favor of everyone here.” He took two steps and stood beside Belle, towering over her.
He reached out, took one slender hand in a tight grip.
Everyone waited. There was a sense of portent, of actions to come that would forever alter these lives.
Dugan bent forward. His voice was low and soft. “We may never come this way again. Who knows what a year may hold? And every year that passes puts us farther from CeeCee and her last words to us. That’s what I want to know!” It was an urgent demand. He looked at each and every face, his eyes blazing. “That’s what I want us to share, each of us. What were CeeCee’s last words to you?” He pointed at Keith Scanlon. “What did she say to you, Keith?” He thrust his hand toward Joss. “And to you, Joss? I want to go back to CeeCee’s last day. Monday will be CeeCee’s birthday. That’s the day we can share favorite memories. But tonight, tonight let’s walk beside CeeCee as the hours ran out.”
I could have kissed Stan Dugan, shouted huzzah, beat cymbals. Was it our talk that had galvanized him? Whatever the reason, he was seizing this moment as it might never be possible to seize it again. They were here, all of them, the ones who came to the lake that weekend. They were here and captive for this moment.
I sat quietly, scarcely daring to breathe, doing nothing to draw attention to myself and away from his flamboyant, overpowering presence. The moment belonged to the big trial lawyer. This man held juries in thrall and he was going to have his way this night even though fear and uneasiness crackled on the lanai like the tongue of a rogue fire racing up a draw.
I felt their resistance, those who had been at the lake that last weekend. These memories they didn’t want to share. One of them most particularly must damp down the neurons of recall in the darkness of the night or had by now suppressed deep within the last encounter with CeeCee.
Or did I impose my own response upon a murderer? Did this killer recall with glee? Evade any memory? Endlessly justify? Callously dismiss? Ache with regret?
But the communal sense of discomfort was palpable.
Anders lurched to his feet. “Last words! So you can put them in a scrapbook?” These words were not quite so distinct, but Anders’s suspicion and anger were clear. “Oh, no, wait a minute. You’re the shill, aren’t you? This is just a clever-ass way of beating the bushes for her.” Anders waved his arm toward me.
Hostile faces swung toward me.
But Stan Dugan was a man who dealt with bloodied and battered bodies and spirits. Stan Dugan matched wits with stone-cold-sober lawyers who could joust with the devil and cling to a mount. Anders wasn’t in Stan’s league.
Dugan let Belle’s hand drop. He took one long step, two, deliberately, provocatively, aggressively moving into Anders’s personal space, looming over the smaller man, huge, powerful, intimidating. “Is there some reason why you don’t want to remember CeeCee’s last words, Anders?”
Anders ineffectually shoved at Stan. Breathing heavily, he made inarticulate sounds of rage deep in his throat. Peggy’s pathetic whimpers were a frantic counterpoint. Elise pressed a hand to her mouth. Joss jumped up and moved toward the big man and his brother. Megan leaned forward, her chiseled face intent. Gretchen clapped her hands and gave a shrill whistle. Wheeler grabbed her shoulder, shook it. Keith was on his feet. “That’s enough, boys.”
I was trying hard to pick up words and phrases from Anders. “…sorry…bitch…make me…”
Belle’s clear, crisp voice cut through the melee, much to my disappointment. Visceral emotion reveals the truth of the heart.
“Stan, Anders, please.” Her clear voice was compelling.
Even Stan Dugan gave way to Belle.
In an instant, with a touch of Belle’s hand, Stan was back by the railing and Anders was subsiding into his chair. Peggy’s fluttering hands quieted. Joss returned to his seat.
The flames from the torches flickered scarlet against the inky sky, their faintly sulfurous glow making Stan Dugan loom even larger against the darkness. Was I the only one who saw him as an avenger?
Belle gently patted Stan’s arm, then she stepped to Anders, bent, and lightly kissed his tousled hair. She stopped midway between the two men, both hands outstretched. “What Stan is asking is hard for all of us. But we have to help each other find solace. Let’s go back to that last day.” Her voice was cool and even. It brooked no disagreement. “We will do this for Stan.”
Stan stepped forward, once again the focal figure. Stan would always be first chair. “Friday morning.” Stan’s deep voice intoned the words. “CeeCee’s last Friday morning.” His massive head turned slowly toward Belle.
Everyone looked at her. She stepped forward into a pool of moonlight that clothed her in a serene radiance. “I was walking in the garden, very early. CeeCee joined me. I thought—still think—that CeeCee had something special to tell me. Perhaps I think that because the moment matters so much to me now. Our last talk. Ever. CeeCee was so lovely that morning, as lovely as the crocuses that were starting to bloom. Her blouse was a crisp white with black buttons. The neck and sleeves were rimmed in black. Her skirt was long and black with a design of little purple flowerpots with yellow blooms. When she walked, the skirt swirled and it looked like the flowerpots were dancing.” Belle’s gaze moved to Stan. “I don’t know…” There was an unaccustomed hesitancy in her voice.
“Whatever CeeCee said.” Dugan was insistent.
It was as if Belle and Stan were alone, speaking only to each other.
“We were almost back to the terrace and CeeCee took my hand and said, ‘Mother, what would you do if someone you love was unfaithful?’ She held my hand very tight.”
Did I hear the faintest of sighs, the catching of a breath quickly suppressed?
“Just another episode on—” Gretchen’s sotto-voce comment broke off. Wheeler had clapped his hand over her mouth.
But Belle was looking gravely at Stan.
He rocked back on his heels, his face impassive. “What did you tell her?”
Belle spoke with a quiet dignity. “Love must always be honored. Or it is not love.”
Just for an instant, his composure wavered. He bent forward, his fists doubled, then slowly rose to his full height. “What did CeeCee say?”
“Nothing. She gave me a hug and her lips brushed my cheek. I’ll always remember that touch, swift and delicate. And the scent. I’d given it to her for her birthday a few days early. The Enchantment of the Moment, that was its name. The Enchantment of the Moment.”
It was as if this, too, were an enchanted moment. No one moved or spoke. The poignant silence was broken unexpectedly by Elise Ford. “It was a lovely perfume. I complimented CeeCee on it. I saw her in the hallway. She was looking for Belle and I told her to go to the garden.”
Dugan looked at Elise inquiringly.
“That’s all. I’m sorry. I know it isn’t important. That was all we said to each other. That—and she smiled and said it was a beautiful day.”
As the words faded away, Dugan once again faced his audience. His eyes moved slowly from face to face. Or were these witnesses to be called? Dugan pointed at Keith Scanlon, a commanding, peremptory gesture. “CeeCee was waiting for you at the garage that morning.”
Scanlon’s head jerked up. “Waiting for me? I don’t know why you put it like that. I happened to see her there.”
Dugan pounced. “I put it like that because that’s how it was. A gardener was trimming the crape myrtle. One Pedro Martinez, age nineteen at the time. He saw CeeCee step out from behind a weeping willow when you came around the path. She walked up to you. You tried to shake her off, step past her, but she wouldn’t budge. She talked fast and hard. You and CeeCee were both angry. You kept shaking your head, then you pushed past and hurried to your car. What did CeeCee say to you, Keith?”
No courtroom was ever quieter, waiting for a defendant’s response. But this quiet pulsed with different, far different, emotions than when the evening began.
I understood why. These people had gathered to remember CeeCee Burke and now they faced a man with steel in his voice, but more than that, an aggressive man bristling with concrete, specific facts of CeeCee’s final day.
And they didn’t know how Dugan knew these facts. Or why. Or what facts he intended to reveal.
But they knew now that this was not simply an exercise in recall. Anyone who’d spoken with CeeCee that day, if there was anything odd or discreditable or unpleasant, that person had to wonder and worry now if Dugan knew. The wonder and the worry were reflected in their faces, wary, alert, careful faces.
Anders’s eyes squeezed to narrow slits. The brother who put animals before people, the brother who became director of the Ericcson Foundation.
Peggy held a plump hand to her throat. Yes, she was CeeCee’s friend, but all that really mattered to her in the world was Anders.
Joss stared in surprise. He loved to act and now he was in Hollywood. Would he be there if CeeCee were alive?
Elise stared at Scanlon. She touched her temple as if it throbbed.
Gretchen clasped her hands tightly together, her face still and white. Why was she afraid?
Wheeler hunched his shoulders. He shot a look of pure hatred at Stan Dugan.
Megan smoothed back her perfect hair. Her glance darted from face to face, seeking, searching.
Lester remained in the shadows. If I’d had a spotlight, I would have beamed it on him. Lester Mackey was just a little too retiring for my taste. What was he hiding?
Keith Scanlon darted an uncertain look at his wife. Belle’s eyes were locked on Stan. Keith blustered, “I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with you, Stan. What’s the point—”
“Answer the question, Keith.” Dugan’s eyes bored into Scanlon’s. “What did CeeCee say to you?”
Belle stood quite still, her face smooth as porcelain, her head bent attentively.
Keith flung out his hands. “Hell, it was nothing. Just CeeCee on a hobbyhorse. It wasn’t enough that the Ericcson Foundation was going all out to elect a woman who’s prochoice. No, CeeCee wanted me to set up a tennis tournament to raise money, and I told her hell, no. A lot of women play tennis who are anti-abortion and I didn’t want to get in the middle of that damn fight. Life’s too short.”
“Life’s too short. Is that what you told her?” Stan snapped.
Keith ignored him. He spoke to Belle. “I’m sorry. Christ, I’m sorry. And I never told you. I didn’t want you to know that’s how it ended between us. Belle, I wouldn’t have fought with her if I’d known. But none of us knew. How could we know?”
Belle’s shoulders relaxed. “We didn’t know, Keith.”
But someone here, one of those who had spoken or who would speak, that person decided on that long-ago Friday that CeeCee Burke was living her last day.
“A walk in the garden with Belle. A quarrel at the garage with Keith. Then we come to CeeCee’s office at the foundation.” Dugan’s gaze moved from Anders to Joss to Gretchen to Wheeler to Megan. “Which one of you wants to go first?”
The silence quivered with tension.
“No takers?” Dugan’s mouth twisted. “Fine. Let’s start with Anders.”
“Why don’t you just read your friggin’ private detective’s report, Stan? Have you got it with you? Is it your special nighttime reading, a little old report on all of us?” Anders lounged back in his chair. He was drunk, but he wasn’t stupid.
Peggy blurted, “I don’t understand what’s going on here. Have you been spying on us? Is that what’s happened?”
Joss’s voice was grim. “Yes, Stan. You owe us an explanation.”
“Hear, hear,” Gretchen called out. But her voice was thin and angry.
“Anders is right. I’ve got a report from a private detective. A very capable private detective. I didn’t need to bring it with me,” Dugan said quietly. “I know every word in it by heart.” He stared combatively at Anders. “Somebody killed your sister—and we don’t know who. So, yes, when the cops didn’t find anything, I hired a private detective. I know where CeeCee went that last day. I know who she saw. But there’s a lot I don’t know, a lot I want to know. Take you, Anders. You slammed out of CeeCee’s office at the foundation that morning. The secretary remembered it clearly. You yelled at CeeCee. Why?”
I think all of us expected a tirade from Anders. Peggy gripped her husband’s arm tightly.
But Anders slumped down in his chair. He didn’t look at Stan. “That dress she had on.” The words were slurred. “Stupid little flowerpots. Same color as one she gave me when we were kids. Mine broke, so CeeCee gave me hers.” Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I stood in the door of her office and yelled at her. I told her she was an officious butthead and somebody was going to bump her off someday because she was such a butthead. That’s the last time I saw her and she—she was looking at me so damn puzzled. She didn’t know why I was mad. God, she didn’t understand.”
“Why were you mad, Anders?” Dugan’s voice was gentle.
Anders used his sleeve to wipe his face. He shook his head back and forth. “Nobody cares. You look around—kittens dumped in a parking lot and it’s a hundred and five degrees, dogs kicked and starving. Goddammit”—he jolted forward in his chair, his voice rose in anguish—“nobody cares! That’s what I told CeeCee. She could use the foundation’s money. We could open a refuge for deserted animals. We could—” He broke off, slumped back down in the chair. “But she wouldn’t listen. Nobody ever listens. Nobody cares.”
Peggy grabbed her husband’s hand, held it tightly. “Yes, we do care. We do,” she cried. “And now we have a wonderful refuge. And it’s all because of you, Anders. You made it possible.”
I had a question from some of the reading material I’d picked up when I visited the foundation. Maybe it was out of place. But this was not a night for niceties. “The foundation’s just opened a new animal refuge near Plano, hasn’t it, Peggy?”
She nodded eagerly. “Yes. Oh, it’s beautiful, beautiful.”
“With money from the foundation?”
The elation left Peggy’s face so suddenly, she looked stricken. Her mouth formed an O.
Anders began to laugh, a hiccupping, high laugh. “Watch out, the old witch’ll get you!” He pulled free from Peggy, pointed at me. “The witch,” he crowed, “the witch’ll get you every time.”
“You don’t understand.” Peggy jumped to her feet. She stumbled in her eagerness to get to me. “Listen, I talked to CeeCee that afternoon. Friday afternoon. She said she’d been thinking about what Anders said, and he was right. And we talked all about how wonderful it would be, The Ericcson Animal Refuge. We planned it on the phone. That afternoon.” Her eyes bulged with sincerity.
And what of her story to me earlier that CeeCee had returned her engagement ring to Stan? Had that been sheer invention?
“That’s right.” Joss’s smooth actor’s voice rang with conviction. “I can confirm that.”
Nice. Their stories were interwoven like reeds in a basket. I studied Joss and was reminded of Tyrone Power in Witness for the Prosecution. Smooth, handsome, such a good actor. Who wouldn’t believe him?
Me, for starters.
Joss’s face was earnest, serious. “I was in CeeCee’s office when she talked to Peggy. I overheard her conversation with Peggy. At least, I heard CeeCee’s end. And I was pleased. I thought it was a great idea. I thought it would be a grand way for me to end up my time with the foundation.”
“End up your time?” Dugan asked in surprise.
“Right.” Joss was casual. “I told CeeCee I’d be leaving in a couple of weeks. I’d decided to go out to California.”
“You told CeeCee you were leaving the foundation?” Dugan stared at Joss, clearly in disbelief.
A sudden frown marred Belle’s face.
“That’s right.” Joss smiled at his mother. “I didn’t mention it later, Mom. There didn’t seem to be any reason to get into it.”
“Because the foundation changed direction when CeeCee died?” Dugan glanced toward Anders.
Joss’s glance was steady, his voice even. “Of course it changed. Different people have different aims.”
“So you don’t miss CeeCee?”
“Miss her?” Joss’s face was somber. “Without her…”
“You were free to go to Hollywood.” Dugan put it on the table without apology.
“Without her…” Joss repeated softly “…without her, I was a little brother with no big sister.” Then he looked past the inner half-circle with a sweet smile, “But with two lovely stepsisters.”
“Aha, the Gallagher clan.” Anders twisted in his seat. “Fully integrated into the Ericcson Foundation. No sibling discrimination permitted.”
Peggy was tugging on his arm.
Ignoring his wife, Anders gave a foolish grin. “No discrimination at all. CeeCee told each and every one of us exactly what to do and when to do it. And it always pissed Gretchen off. Look, you can see the fire in that redhead’s eyes even if it is dark. As for Wheeler, man, he’d do anything for CeeCee. Climb a mountain, walk the plank. Yeah, everything but welcome old Stan. Wheeler was not a Stan fan.” Anders giggled. “I like that. Not a Stan fan. Not a”—He lurched to his feet “—Stan fan. Come on now, all together, follow the bouncing—”
Lester Mackey moved fast. “Let’s get a nightcap, Anders. Come on, let’s walk out this way and—” Lester had an arm around Anders and was gently maneuvering him toward the end of the lanai. Peggy clattered behind them, once again making those plaintive, worried whimpers.
“And I thought the Gallaghers had to worry about Demon Rum,” Gretchen said wryly. “But I can finish out this little inquisition with a smile. Sort of. It was a hairy day at the foundation. The blow up with Anders put a sharp edge on CeeCee’s morning. I went in next and she was a bitch.” Gretchen gave Belle a rueful smile. “She really was and you know how CeeCee could be—I’d cut the budget on a picnic fund-raiser for her pet candidate. So I slammed out of her office in a snit. But she was in a better humor later. I heard her and Wheeler laughing like crazy and I wondered if they were planning a joke on somebody. Then she went off to lunch with Stan and stayed forever and I had to handle a bunch of calls I didn’t know what to do with. She finally came back about two. She looked grim again and said she was going to work on the budget for next year. She sent Megan to ask me for the latest figures.”
“Which I did.” Megan was reflective. “Actually, CeeCee wasn’t focused. She kept looking out of the window and losing track of our discussion. She looked depressed. Finally, I told her maybe we should leave it until next week. She said that would be fine.” Megan smoothed back a lock of hair. “I stopped in the doorway. And I don’t know why this happened. I’m not a mother hen, but I said, ‘CeeCee, be careful.’ I don’t know why I said it, but I had a feeling that something was going to happen and the words came out without my even thinking.”
So Megan was the sensitive in this household. It was Megan who absorbed nuances, filtered emotions, sensed distress.
“How did CeeCee respond?” Stan asked sharply.
“CeeCee said…” Megan’s voice was very precise. “‘Being careful is just another way of copping out. I won’t do it. Not anymore.’”
“Does anyone know what CeeCee was talking about?” Stan gazed around the lanai.
No one spoke.
Then he swung toward Wheeler. “What was so funny?”
Wheeler stared at him.
“That morning. Between you and CeeCee. What was so funny?”
Wheeler was absolutely blank for an instant. “Funny.” He was marking time. “Yeah. I remember. It was just a joke we were going to play on Belle. We were going to put pink flamingos all over the lake house. One in Belle’s chair in her office and one on the hood of her car and a couple in the speedboat. Everywhere we could think of. She loved it when we covered the lawn for her 54th birthday.”
Just another lighthearted moment for the Burke and Gallagher clans.
Once again, I chanced a question. I hadn’t been booted out yet. “Where were the flamingos?”
Wheeler blinked at me.
“That weekend. Where were they?” I repeated.
“Oh. Well, I hadn’t got them yet. We were just talking about it. We didn’t have the flamingos yet.”
Nor would they ever have. Whatever led CeeCee and Wheeler to laugh that last day, it wasn’t now something he wanted to reveal.
Joss stood. “So that wraps it up, doesn’t it? Are you satisfied, Stan? Learned what you wanted to know?”
“Actually,” Gretchen said, and her voice was light and pleasant but with an undertone of malice, “we haven’t all told what we know, have we? How about you, Stan? You had lunch with CeeCee.” Gretchen’s eyes slid toward him. “I just happened to notice—when CeeCee got back from lunch—she wasn’t wearing her engagement ring.”
Dugan was a pro. He’d been slugged in the gut in a lot of courtrooms. He gave an easy shrug. “I suppose she’d taken it off for a moment. Probably because she was going to the lake and might go fishing.”
I wished Peggy were there. I glanced back into the huge dim room, but it was quiet. Peggy and Lester had successfully removed Anders. And themselves. Did Lester want to protect Anders? Or did he want to evade Stan’s questions?
“You weren’t at the lake, Stan.” Gretchen’s voice was sharp, challenging.
“No, I was coming down on Sunday.”
I slid the question in like palming an ace. “And what were CeeCee’s last words to you, Stan?”
He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets, hunched his shoulders. His harsh face softened. “‘I love you, Stan.’ Those were her last words to me, ‘I love you, Stan.’”
Peggy told me CeeCee had returned the engagement ring to Stan. But when asked about her last conversation with CeeCee, Peggy claimed they talked about creating the animal refuge Anders so desperately wanted. Joss provided a backup for Peggy’s claim.
Wheeler trotted out those useful flamingos.
Keith pitched an old political fight as the reason he and CeeCee quarreled.
Belle remembered a question of fidelity.
Stan insisted CeeCee told him she loved him.
So many different stories.
I remembered Richard’s wry admonition yet once again. Who was lying? And why?