Marjorie Thelen - Designer Detective

Opal walked off on Cody's arm toward another group. He was the one who had escorted her down the aisle at the church. He wasn’t half bad looking in a pale sort of way. With all that sun on the open range, you’d think he’d look a bit more leathery.

“What do you think of Cody's take on his uncle's heart problems? He makes it sound like an accidental death. Surely he must know that Opal hired you.”

“No, he doesn't. Opal didn't tell any of the family she hired me.”

“What?”

He looked a little squirmy, like he had sat on the mouse or snake.

I confronted him. “That's why you’re edgy. Opal hired you to spy on everyone else, and I’m your cover. Well, I never.”

“Will you please keep your voice down?” he said again. He leaned on his elbow and fixed me with a cold stare. “You said you wanted to help, didn’t you?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

“Then play the part of our couple cover so I can circulate and eaves drop. Do you think Opal brought this crowd together because she likes a party? She did it so I can meet the players, so to speak.”

“You mean Opal knows all these people?”

“Pretty much. She's Albert’s sister, isn't she? Albert often vacationed at the ranch without the missus. Whenever Opal visited here Olivia always threw a party.”

My eyebrows did a little stutter on that one. This was better than Days of Our Lives.

“Geez,” I said. “This is getting too complicated for my small brain. I need a flow chart.”

“I'll show you mine later. C'mon, let's circulate. Grab a drink and look happy.”

Not a bad idea. Jake motioned to the champagne waiter, and I took another glass. He left his empty whiskey glass on the tray.

“Would you bring me a glass of whiskey on the rocks?” he asked the wispy waiter.

“If you follow me, sir, I can show you the open bar where we are featuring hard liquor.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Be right back. Don’t move.”

I sipped champagne and studied the crowd while I waited for Jake to return. The tall, George Clooney lookalike nephew from London walked over.

“May I have this dance or are you spoken for?” he asked, all arched eyebrows and quirky smile.

Frank Sinatra was singing September Song. I could handle that.

“I’d love to dance,” I said, forgetting Jake’s admonition not to move.

Taking me into his arms and pulling me close, he said, “My name's Roger. I'm a nephew from Olivia’s side of the family. Are you family, friend or press?”

“Press? There's press here?” I looked around.

“I’m kidding,” he said. “Uncle Albert wasn't that famous. Some of his associates are.”

He wasn't as good looking as George Clooney face up. Or, let’s say, not the George Clooney I knew from photographs and movies. He had a sharpness about the eyes that suggested sneaky intent, though the champagne could be running away with me. He was thinner, too. Higher cheekbones, narrow face.

I stopped my good looks critique and said, “My name's Fiona Marlowe. I'm the interior designer who found Mr. Lodge in the library.”

“Really? You?”

“Yes. I found your uncle lying in front of the couch, like he was sleeping. I thought it odd he chose the floor. He had a noble profile and handsome white hair. When the medics turned him over he looked very dapper in vest and tweeds, trim, fit. Such a pity. I am so sorry.”

“Do you think it was an accident?” he asked, guiding me out of the crowd of dancing couples to a more secluded corner of the room.

“I think so,” I said, lying through my teeth. We detectives had to maintain our cover. “There was no sign of foul play. No blood.”

“Must have been a horrid experience for you.”

“Shocking, yes. Ruined my day.”

“I'm terribly sorry you were involved. Shall we sit the next one out? Another champagne? I'm afraid they took yours away. The wait staff is frightfully efficient.”

“Champagne would be nice.”

He lifted two from a tray that went by, and I followed him to a corner settee. The crisp autumn evening cut the closeness of the crowd. I wondered what this man wanted.

“You're beautiful, has anyone ever told you that?” he asked, gazing into my eyes.

He wanted an easy touch. He had picked the wrong broad.

“Thank you. All my dates tell me that.” My lips danced a twitchy smile, and he laughed.

“I was just testing.”

“Nice try. I think maybe you should hustle someone your age.”

“I like older women.”

“Lucky me. Not to change the subject, but do you think your uncle's death involved foul play?”

“Definitely.”

I arched my eyebrows. “Why do you think that?”

“Because Uncle Albert was a philanderer.”

“Come now. Wasn't he a bit old?”

“Not Uncle Al. Olivia was a lot younger than he. Viagra put him back in the running. That might have killed him. He might have had a few married ones in the string. Maybe a disgruntled husband got wind of the assignation and did old Uncle Albert in. His latest young thing is here.” He nodded and I turned to look. “That's her over there with Cody. Stunning, isn't she?

It was the blond Jake had pointed out at the memorial service. Full face, she was even lovelier than in profile.

“I don't know how he did it,” Roger said. “I’m sure the money made him look good to sweet young things. We had hardly cast Olivia’s ashes to the wind before he had this one.”

“I heard it was more serious on his part than hers.”

“Did you? Even so, she probably tried to entice the old boy into leaving her something in his will.”

“Interesting angle.” I was filing all this in my sleuthing file. “So who gets the estate?” I was being very smooth.

He tossed back the rest of the champagne before answering. “I hope it will be divided up among the family. I could use some. The financial markets haven't been kind to me lately. We will know tomorrow.”

Aha. A relative with a motive. I went out on a limb. “Do you think someone in the family wanted him dead?”

He gave me a flashy grin. “Anyone could have wanted him dead. Whoever gets the money would be suspect in my book. Now if you will excuse me? I enjoyed our dance.”

He made his way across the room to the dazzling blond. Good choice on his part, but I could hear the hiss of my deflating ego as it zoomed around the room like a pricked balloon.

I wandered toward the kitchen in search of a cup of coffee and my erstwhile partner, Jake, who had disappeared. As I passed a stand of potted shrubs, I caught a snatch of conversation and paused.

“I have no idea what is in the will,” a woman was saying. “Opal has been terribly closed lipped. If the estate gets divided up, there should be plenty for everyone.”

“I hope that blond doesn't get it,” said another.

“Why would he leave anything to her?”

“You don't know what gets whispered across pillows, do you?”

Albert’s money was the big topic tonight. I could understand why. Money drives the world now, doesn't it?

In the kitchen I retrieved a cup of espresso a waiter was serving from a side counter and dawdled over the sugar server, listening to another conversation. A striking woman, a dead ringer for Elizabeth Taylor, was holding court by the patio doors. Three slick suited men laughed at something she was saying, which I couldn’t hear since she spoke in hushed tones. I wondered if she were another of Albert’s conquests. Even though she was dressed in severe black, hers was the kind of face that would launch a thousand ships. I wondered if Jake knew who she was and wandered back outside to find him.

A brick path meandered off to the side of the house where the Alice in Wonderland hedge was located. I had a sudden urge to see diamonds, hearts, spades and clubs. Who knew what conversations I'd hear on the way? I strolled along the path keeping an eye and ear peeled for clues. Lights from the pantry passageway cast a glow on the brick path. The solarium itself was dark. Odd. You'd think it would be lit for the party. I mean wake.

Garden lamps lit the card hedge, and I ran my hand over the sculpted bushes. I detected strange grunting sounds coming from the solarium. Could someone be in trouble? Was someone being attacked? Maybe that was why the solarium was dark. I burst through the door without thinking, intent on rescue, and stopped dead in my tracks. Straddled in the chair was a couple in various stages of dishabille. The girl yelped. The guy put a finger to her mouth.

“Gosh,” I said rather lamely. “Sorry to interrupt. I thought someone was being attacked.”

The guy laughed. The girl giggled. She buried her face in his hairy, naked chest. I couldn't be sure since the light was dim, but it looked like the tall husband of the dumpy niece Jake pointed out at the service. That didn't look like his wife. Wrong color hair. I hoped it wasn't one of his cousins.

I backed out and fled, slamming the door behind me. Good grief, what next? I didn’t want to speculate on what might be going on in the bedrooms upstairs. I hurried toward to the kitchen, intent on finding Jake to compare notes. When he wasn’t in the kitchen, I started around the dance floor looking for him. A young man asked me to dance, and I couldn't refuse. The disc jockey was playing rap music. Arms flailed and hips gyrated. I was right in the thick of things.

I had no idea who I danced with but my feet were sore by the time most of the guests left in the wee hours of morning. The few left standing scattered about the drawing room and patio. I retreated to the library where I collapsed on the couch and kicked my shoes off. I loved high heels but they were hell to dance in. My hand cradled a steaming mug of coffee. I wasn't sure where Jake had disappeared. He hadn’t been on the dance floor. Someone had opened the window to the library, and a cool breeze cleared the stuffy room.