“I mean,” Alvin added, “her first dance should be with her fiancée.”
“Quite right,” Ben seconded. “Quite right.”
Alvin took Candy’s hand and led her to the area reserved for dancing. Derek and Sanguine walked the other way. “Hell of a woman,” Ben heard Derek say as they walked away. “Didn’t think Hager had it in him. Knockers out to here.”
Ben heard a new voice behind him. “And just as the music begins, who do I find but my all-time favorite dancing partner.”
Ben swirled. As if the nightmare wasn’t bad enough already, there, standing behind him, was Mona Raven, hanging on the arm of her illustrious husband.
“Mona!” Ben cried, and he really felt like crying. She was dressed in casual chic, a gold lame blouse flowing seamlessly into a tight leather skirt. Unlike Candy, the low lighting did her no favors.
“I believe we’ve met,” Raven said, in his creaky, tremulous voice.
“Yes, of course we have. It was a pleasure,” Ben said, shaking hands. He wondered which meeting the old man remembered.
“And we’ve had the pleasure of a dance, as I recall,” Raven said, turning his attention to Marianne. Apparently his memory functioned best in relation to pretty younger women. “That was a tradition I think we should revive.” He offered Marianne his arm. Marianne smiled and walked to the dance floor with Raven.
Mona placed her hand on Ben’s shoulder and pressed close. “I thought you were very manly at the Red Parrot the other evening. Almost heroic.”
“Kind of you to say so.” Ben looked out the corners of his eyes to see who was watching.
“I want seconds,” she said. She contorted her mouth in strange undulating ovals and growled.
“Forget it, Mona. It just isn’t going to happen.”
“If you don’t, I’m going to tell Joseph about some of the nasty skeletons in his new in-house counsel’s closet.”
“Yeah,” Ben said, “I’ve heard you and Sanguine have a few old bones rattling around, too.”
Mona drew back a step. “I don’t know what you’re implying.” Her smile faded. “I don’t think I like your new attitude, Benjy. I may have to have a little discussion with my husband. He always likes to know which associates are poking his wife.”
“Fine,” Ben said. He looked the woman straight in the eyes. She just didn’t scare him anymore. Somehow, he thought, after you’ve seen a woman in a faded jeans jacket hanging on the shoulder of a 250-pound biker, it’s hard to take her seriously. “You tell him what you want, and then I’ll tell him who I found slumming at the Red Parrot the other night.”
Mona laughed. “He’ll never believe you.”
“I have pictures.”
“You do not!”
“Don’t I, though? We undercover cops never leave home without our bow-tie cameras.”
Mona’s eyes fluttered. The energy seemed to drain out of her face. “It’s because I’m old, isn’t it?” Ben saw water forming into the wells of her eyes.
“No,” he said softly. He put his hand on her arm. “It’s not like that. It’s just not right for me.”
Before she had a chance to respond, a scream shot out from the area near the shallow end of the swimming pool.
“You’re a contagion! A goddamned bubonic plague!” It was Louise Derek, railing at her husband. What was she doing here? Her face looked tired and drawn, even worse than it had that morning in Judge Schmidt’s courtroom.
“I thought they split up,” Ben said staring at the feuding couple.
“They did,” Mona said as she watched the spectacle. “They got back together again. He begged her to let him come back. Think of the good times, think of the kids, all that rot. I told her not to go back, but …” Mona sighed. “After he tried to kill himself, she gave in.”
“What?”
“Ran a hose from the exhaust pipe on his Jaguar. Tried to asphyxiate himself. Had to be rushed to the hospital.”
“I heard he had an acute asthma attack.”
Mona looked at him and smiled. “My, you really are young, aren’t you?” She turned back to watch the Dereks. “I suppose she hasn’t made his life a picnic these past few years. It would be easy to feel sorry for him if he weren’t a totally selfish, unfaithful, egomaniacal son of a bitch.”
“You’re the Typhoid Mary of infidelity!” Louise screamed, easily loud enough for everyone at the party to hear. Her voice was a strange amalgam of shrieking and sobbing.
“Come on, honey,” Derek said. “You’re making a scene. Don’t get upset.” He reached out toward her.
“Don’t tell me not to get upset!” she said, slapping his hands away. “I have every right to get upset!” She took a giant step backward, which brought her to the edge of the shallow end of the pool.
“Get her away from the pool,” Ben said, not loudly enough. “Someone needs to get her away from the pool, before this tragedy turns to farce.”
“I want you out of the house!” Louise continued screaming. “I want you, and all your belongings, and every filthy microbe of your being out of my house!”
“Honey, be reasonable.” Again Derek reached out to her.
She swung wildly at his arms, missed, and slipped. She waved her arms in desperate circles, trying to regain her balance, but it was too late. With a loud shriek, she plummeted into the shallow end of the pool.
Ben hoped Derek would at least have the decorum not to laugh. He was seriously overestimating Derek’s powers of self-control. Derek virtually exploded with glee. “It’s too rich!” he said, between drunken laughs. “Too perfect.”
“Well, that’s the limit,” Mona muttered. She threw down her purse, stomped over to the swimming pool, and, with a single shove, pushed Derek into the pool. He screamed, then started splashing wildly.
Ben noticed several people looking anxiously toward the front gate. The show was over, he supposed, all but the mopping up of the blood. He decided it would be a good time to join the exodus.
As he headed toward his car, he saw a shadowy figure standing in the street, pacing back and forth beside the curb.
“Ben?” the figure asked. It was Brancusci.
“What are you doing here?” Ben asked.
“Looking for you. Your office told me where you were. Eventually. What a snotty secretary you have.” He stepped into the beam of the streetlight. “I’ve got all the papers you wanted together. They’re at my apartment now.”
Ben sighed. It had been an exhausting day. He couldn’t possibly focus on financial reports tonight. “I think tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”
Brancusci’s brow creased. “I thought you said you were in a hurry? Besides, it isn’t just the financials. I figured out who—” He froze in the middle of the sentence.
“What? What is it?”
“My God,” Brancusci said, almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t know he’d be here.”
Ben turned and saw Mona walking out with a tall, good-looking fellow with a mustache. He realized it was Marianne’s date, the notorious C. Kevin. Poor Marianne—evidently, he wasn’t as professional as she thought. Or maybe he was.
“Did he see me?” Brancusci whispered. He ducked behind one of the cars parked on the street.
“Did who see you?” Ben asked. “C. Kevin?”
More people were coming through the gate. Brancusci began skittering away.
“Call me tomorrow,” Brancusci whispered. He disappeared into the darkness.
The guests were dispersing. After a few moments, Derek and his wife emerged from the front of the house. Ben ducked into his Honda.
Derek had both arms around his wife’s shoulders. He was patting her dry with a bath towel. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Ben heard him say, in a soft, purring tone. “I’ll try to be better. Let’s get you to the hospital and see about that nasty bump on your head.” He opened the passenger door of the Jaguar parked in the driveway, and she stepped inside. Derek crawled behind the wheel and drove the car down the street.