"Adele only worries about the stock market," Leopold said. "People never intimidate her."
"And Leopold only worries about the level of Glenlivet in the bottle he keeps in his office," Adele countered, again with her nasty smile.
I nodded at Adele. "Can't wait to talk to you after dinner." Then I took Kate's elbow. "Guess we'd better introduce ourselves to the rest of these folks."
My eye caught a woman who I assumed was Piper, Richter's new daughter-in-law. She was fashionably, or rather sickly, thin, her arm around the waist of a broadshouldered man with a very fine butt. I assumed this was Matthew, Richter's son. They were talking with a tall man standing beside a wildly overdressed woman in her twenties. I mean, I'm all for free expression, but she was wearing a spangled blue gown better suited to a Las Vegas show.
I took a deep breath and pulled Kate along with me.
Their little circle parted a tad when we approached them. We introduced ourselves and learned the tall man was Ian McFarland, Adele's second husband—his emphasis definitely on second in his charming British accent. His companion was not the daughter he shared with Adele, the one Scott told me about, but rather a young woman named Cinnamon. Mental note. Do not name any future offspring after spices.
Matthew and Piper offered the same cool reaction we'd received from Adele, but Ian and his "date" actually seemed happy to see us.
Ian looked at us and said, "You've no drinks, do you? How atrocious." Then the fair-haired Ian yelled, "Eva, you slacker. Where are you when we need you most?"
But Estelle appeared, also dressed in a white uniform. At least she'd toned down the makeup. Eva didn't make an appearance. Maybe the word slacker had sent her running to the kitchen to spit in Ian's salad. Estelle quickly brought Kate and me glasses of white wine.
Meanwhile, I glanced over at Adele and saw her appraising Cinnamon with disgust, but when she spotted me looking at her, she put a hand on her husband's arm and drew close to him. Oh yeah, this was gonna be some show tonight.
Piper looked healthier up close, her highlighted shoulder-length hair tucked behind her ears and secured with turquoise-studded barrettes. They matched the low-slung silver and turquoise belt she wore over a pale yellow sleeveless dress. Matthew was muscular, with the same blue eyes as his father.
"This Poirot-like visit with you sounds like such fun, Abby," Ian said. "You and your sister work as a team, I assume?"
"At times," Kate answered.
Ian focused on her, his gaze admiring. "And what might you do at other times, Kate?"
Cinnamon nudged Ian's side with her elbow. "Sugar, would you get me some of that shrimp no one else seems to want?"
His eyes still on Kate, Ian said, "Certainly, sweetheart." He walked toward the ice-filled bowl.
Piper and Matthew had stepped a few feet away and were practically feeling each other up. His hand rested on her nearly invisible butt and she had drawn close enough to breathe in his exhaled CO2. She might pass out if they stayed that way too long.
"You two live around here?" Cinnamon adjusted the built-in bra on her gown, which practically thrust her breasts right out of her sequined bodice. She didn't seem to care.
But before we could engage in small talk, Scott reappeared with Richter at his side. All previous surliness in the room evaporated and white-tooth smiles shone on the family's golden-egg man. Richter took charge at once, insisting we all enjoy the shrimp and the wine and the beautiful summer evening for the next few minutes. Dinner would be ready in fifteen.
I headed for that bowl of shrimp like I had to get there before this roomful of sharks consumed everything including me.
12
After a fabulous dinner, Kate and I were escorted by Richter to the library at the end of that long corridor with all the closed doors. A huge bay window with cushioned seating was flanked by loaded shelves. Someone had set up an old writing desk in the center of the room and I let out a sigh at the comfort of having at least a thousand books surround us. We each took a mahogany armchair with upholstered tapestry seats and readied our notebooks for the first test. And it sure felt like a test. A test like the SATs. A test that would require focus and every one of my brain cells working.
That's why I'd cut off the wine after a taste of the wonderful Syrah served with our grilled steak, mushrooms in Marsala and skewered vegetables. I decided during the salad phase of the meal that Richter had not exaggerated about his family. By the end of dinner, I was sure Cinnamon was the only sane person besides Scott. She'd fended off barbs left and right—less-thansubtle remarks about her dress, her thick Texas accent and even her dark roots. That last one came from—who else?—Adele, who had hair so red I was certain her hairdresser's fingers were permanently stained.
Kate hardly said a word and made sure she chose a spot at the dinner table as far from Ian and Leopold as possible. I couldn't be sure this was the usual male behavior in the Richter house—to gawk at someone as lovely as Kate—but I suspected it was.
"What is wrong with these people?" Kate asked after Richter left us alone to await our first interview. "No one mentioned JoLynn or asked how she was doing. Not even Scott."
"Maybe Richter told them to keep their mouths shut about her until we talked to each of them alone. His wishes are their commands, if you didn't notice."
"Even a gecko crawling up the window would have noticed that dynamic, Abby. It's all the other stuff going on that set my head spinning."
"Dynamics," I said. "Yup, plenty of dynamics—which is only a few letters different than dynamite."
There was a rap on the door. Then Elliott Richter entered with a young woman in tow. "Simone, please cooperate with these ladies," he said. "Your mother was telling me you're wanting a new lens for your camera, and I can make that happen if you help sort out what happened to JoLynn." Richter faced us. "This is my sister Adele's daughter. If she gives you any trouble, let me know."
Simone plopped on the chair across from us. She had a camera bag with her and clutched it tightly in her lap. Skintight denim capris hugged her legs, and she wore an off-shoulder peasant blouse. Her pale makeup was so much lighter than her bronze shoulders and arms, she reminded me of a mime. She kept her focus on her camera case.
In a quiet tone Kate said, "We missed you at dinner."
"Someone missed me? That would be a first," Simone said. "Anyway, eating here is bad for the digestion. Sorta makes you want to puke."
"You're talking about the family hostility?" Kate said.
Simone lifted her head, met Kate's gaze. "I take it you're the shrink."
Kate nodded.
Simone slid down in the chair, her legs crossed at the ankles. "This isn't about what goes on here. This is about JoLynn. Ask away."
"What can you tell us about her?" I said.
"All sweet on the surface, but might be an act," she answered.
"Really? How do you know?" I said.
Simone started twisting a strand of her parti-color hair—a mix of reds, purples and browns. "She won't talk to any of us except to smile and say hello and goodbye. Her room looks like a convent closet. But obviously someone didn't like her because she's lying in a hospital half dead."
"Maybe it wasn't JoLynn that this somebody didn't like. Maybe she learned something while living here that made her a target," I suggested.
"You mean she found out something about us?" Simone laughed. "Ooooh. Something evil lurks in the hearts of the Richter clan. Something besides self-serving arrogance."
Kate said, "You sound like a very bright girl. Insightful. Are you in college?"
"I start at U.T. the end of the month," she said. "Some stupid freshman orientation. I know how to get around. Why do I need an orientation?"