She had a point. In my short time in town, I had not heard one person say anything nice about the man. He seemed to be universally hated or feared. In the front pew sat Polly, Lauren, and Daniel. Several rows behind them were Lily and Pansy. Farther back still sat Joan, Henry, and Linnet. Why had they come?
As the priest droned on, struggling to say something respectful about Gerald’s life, I felt as if I were in the midst of a play. Everyone’s dress and movements, while perfectly appropriate, were nothing more than costume and stagecraft. The thought brought a melancholy pang. How sad to go through life with no one loving you. Had that really been the case for Gerald? Had he really been so miserable that his own family felt no sorrow at his death? Then I remembered Lily’s—or was it Pansy’s?—words: If you were going to murder someone in this town, it would be Gerald. Kneeling in my pew, I said a sincere prayer, not so much for Gerald but for his family.
After the service and burial, there was a reception at Lauren’s. Like the service, it was well attended, and again for the same reason, I thought: rabid curiosity. People milled about, eating the food, drinking the wine, and making quiet observations about who had killed their absent host. Lily and Pansy chatted in rapid succession with several other ladies, their excited whispers leaving little room for doubt as to the topic of their conversation. Henry and Joan circled with a professional eye, and Henry commented several times on the similarity of this room to one of Mrs. Dubois’s smaller guesthouses.
I also spotted Brooke, the salesclerk, standing with Polly and several of their friends. They stood awkwardly, shifting their drinks and plates of food, all the while eyeing Polly sympathetically. Polly noticed me. She gave a little wave and maneuvered her way through the crowd.
“Hello,” she said. Gone was the demure and modestly dressed girl whose comings and goings Gerald Ramsey had dictated. In her place stood a confident and self-assured young woman. Her black velvet dress still covered every inch of her body, but in a way that accentuated those inches. I had never noticed before—I doubt anyone had under all those shapeless dresses—that Polly had a stunning figure. She was alternately small and large in all the right places. The headband was gone, too. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun, further accentuating her exotically shaped eyes. She couldn’t have made it any clearer that she wasn’t living by Gerald’s rules anymore. Polly was now her own woman.
She smiled politely at Peter and Randy before turning to Aunt Winnie. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “I heard about Ms. Tanner. I’m sorry that she’s dead. She seemed a nice woman.” Her unblinking slanted green eyes gazed at us much like Lady Catherine’s calculating stares.
What were we supposed to say? Aunt Winnie rallied. “I’m sorry for your loss, dear, and I wish you all the best. What are your plans now? Are you going to stay here?”
Polly’s lips pulled down in a slight frown. “No. Father left the house to me, but I don’t particularly want it. It feels more like a prison than a home. I suppose I’ll sell it.”
“Really?” said Aunt Winnie. “Where are you planning on going?”
“Oxford. I’ve been accepted into their graduate program for art history.”
“What about Lauren?” I asked. “Do you think she’ll stay here?”
Polly shook her head. “No. I asked her, but she doesn’t want the place, either. I suspect she feels the same as I do.” Polly regarded the expensively furnished room with little affection. “It’s funny,” she said. “I never really liked Lauren. I always thought she was sort of vapid, and after all, she was married to my father, which wasn’t exactly a point in her favor.” Polly glanced over to where Lauren stood with Denny tucked under one arm. She was trying to manage her cell phone with her free hand. “But now, I think we both understand each other a little better. She’s not that bad once you get to know her.”
Polly waved her hands as she tried to find the words to go on. “My father controlled everyone and everything in his life. Lauren and I were just pawns in his world and we both ended up doing things we didn’t want to. Now that he’s gone, well, we can be ourselves.”
Someone called to her and she excused herself. I thought about what she had said. She was by all accounts a determined young woman who had hated having her freedom curtailed by an overbearing father. She was young. She was pretty. And thanks to Gerald’s untimely death, she was now quite rich.
Aunt Winnie and I walked over to Lauren to offer our condolences. Seeing our approach, she smiled and signaled that she was almost done with her call. “All right,” she said into the phone. “I’d better go now. I’ll call you later. I love you, baby.”
Clicking the phone shut, she turned to us. “Sorry, that was Jamie. He couldn’t be here today, which is probably for the best. Having to deal with this would be too much for him right now.”
The memory of Lauren’s phone call the night of the murder came back. What had she said? “I love you, baby.” Of course! Lauren hadn’t been talking to a lover—she’d been talking to her son, Jamie. The one she’d do anything for. Would she have killed for him?
Lauren shifted Denny, holding him in both arms. Seeing me, his fat little tail thumped wildly and he strained to be let down. Thankfully, Lauren did not comply with his wishes. I was in no humor to have my only pair of stockings mutilated by a lusty pug. After a few futile lunges, he went limp and merely panted longingly at me.
“Thank you both for coming,” Lauren said. Wearing a simple black dress that set off her deep tan to perfection, she looked stunning. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “You’re so tan!”
Lauren glanced complacently at her tawny arms, saying, “I found a fabulous tanning salon downtown. I’ve been trying to get my base tan in good shape. I don’t want to go to Bermuda looking pasty.”
“Bermuda?” I echoed.
Lauren nodded and stroked Denny’s fur with her glossy pink nails. “Yes, I leave next week. Of course, I still have to clear the trip with Detective Stewart, but I don’t think it will be a problem.” She smiled at me, and I wondered if she thought she was going to charm Detective Stewart into letting her go. If that was the case, she had another think coming. Say what you might about the man (and I could say plenty), Detective Stewart didn’t strike me as someone who let feminine charms influence his work.
“Are you going with anyone?” Aunt Winnie asked.
Lauren shook her head. “Not this time. I wish I could bring Jamie, but I don’t think he’s ready to leave South Carolina yet. I hope to take him next year. Who knows, maybe we could even move there. I’ve never been a fan of the cold. Bermuda might be just the place for us to start over.”
Changing the subject, Lauren now said, “I heard about that poor woman, Ms. Tanner. Do they really think the person who killed Gerald also killed her?”
“I think so,” I said. Lauren shook her head, sending her blond hair cascading over her shoulders. “How awful. She was a strange little woman, though. A terrible gossip.” Linnet passed unnoticed behind Lauren as she said this. I saw a faint blush of crimson stain Linnet’s neck as she quickly moved away. “Well, in any case, I hope they catch him soon,” Lauren said, oblivious to her insensitivity. “What about her friend, Mrs. Westin. Does she have any idea who did it?” Lauren’s tone was light, but her hand was not. Tense and rigid, it hovered above Denny’s fur.
“No,” I said. The hand relaxed and resumed its affections.
“What are your plans?” asked Aunt Winnie. “Polly says that neither of you are going to stay here.”
“That’s right,” said Lauren. “I want to find a place near Jamie. I’m hoping that he’ll be able to come live with me soon. He’s really making progress.” She smiled. “You know, for the first time, I really think everything is going to turn out all right.” A petite woman in a red dress came to offer Lauren her condolences and ask for a phone number of a mutual acquaintance. Lauren shifted Denny into her right hand to write out the number with her left. As she did so, Denny broke free and leaped from her arms. I jumped back, but he bolted past me. Great. No wonder I couldn’t keep a boyfriend; I couldn’t even hold the interest of a horny pug.