She took a station at the foot of a magnificent staircase that wound to a landing filled with a line of sculptures. The statues receded into the murkiness like escaped convicts making a break. A chandelier burned dimly overhead, and most of the light seemed to drop down onto her like columns pitching forward. Her incredibly long, straight, shining hair continued to fall in a perfect crest. The dead gaze also hadn't altered.
Wearing a tight black dress and with her intensely black hair framing her pale face, she appeared cut from the fabric of darkness. She said nothing as I dripped on the marble floor. I realized immediately that she was actually a Ninja warrior, and in half a second my chest would be stuck with nineteen throwing stars that had earlier been dipped in poison.
"Your invitation?" she asked.
"Surely lost in the mail," I said. "Wouldn't Mr. Harnes have invited the man who captured his son's killer? Or should I consider the ride to the airport to be thanks enough?"
"You have extremely poor manners, Mr. Kendrick."
I simply nodded. "Not always, but tonight that happens to be the case. I apologize."
"Leave."
“No.”
"I can have you arrested."
"Just try to interrupt Broghin during the main course. He'd arrest you for bothering him."
She remained completely expressionless, showing no anger, no warmth, no clemency. I speculated again about what kind of childhood she might have had. Had Harnes bought her for table scraps from her starving family? I wondered where she fit into this game, and whether she was another of Harnes' lovers or just a captive like all the kids in Thailand and Nicaragua working themselves to death for him.
She took a step toward me and I could feel the welling of her presence, as though a crowd of people moved with her. I was amazed by the sudden shift in atmosphere and waited for her to take another step, but she didn't.
We stared at each other for a while longer and thunder growled as the wind tore at the door behind me. Finally Jocelyn took another step, and whatever ghosts had flocked around us receded into the gloom of the foyer. I reached and found some switches on the wall and hit them. The chandelier blazed. She lifted her chin as if to give me a clearer view of her face, displaying those exotic features and mysterious chemistry that comprised her being.
"I'd like to see my grandmother."
"Mr. Hames and his invited quests are currently enjoying their dinner, and you shall not disturb them." A Chinese empress couldn't have said anything that sounded more detached and indifferent, yet abiding no opposition. "However, they will be taking drinks in the library shortly, and I shall announce you then."
"Thank you."
We stared at each other some more. The discord running between us grew even heavier. In a romantic comedy we would be adversaries who would now begin slapping each other and then break down into frantic groping; the camera would cut to the two of us entwined in bed with the covers drawn up to our armpits, fondling happily, and the audience would get a laugh. I did not foresee such a scene occurring for us anytime in the near future. Though nothing registered in her face, I thought I noticed a slight uncertainty in her eyes, as if she did not know what I was, or what to do, or which can of spray to use on me.
Where were the Burmese servants who cleaned the mansion daily? Who knew what happened at night? Jocelyn's duties, whatever they might be, would not include the taking of guests' coats.
I said, "I guess we have some time on our hands.”
“What do you want here, Mr. Kendrick?"
"To find out more about Teddy."
"For what purpose?"
"To find out who killed him."
"You captured the man yourself."
"No," I said. "I made a mistake."
"I see."
I noticed that she hardly ever blinked, her black eyes filling with jagged incisiveness and emptying again. Her face was completely unmarred by lines of any kind, as if she were incapable of smiling, frowning, or showing a hint of what went on inside. In that moment I would have paid ten grand for a joke that would have made her giggle.
"I see," she repeated. "You feel guilty about the fate of your friend, the gravekeeper, and now you seek to incriminate someone else."
"I like the sound of ‘to cast aspersions' a little better.”
“Do you?"
"But you're wrong. I want to find out who killed Teddy, and why."
We continued our standoff and the wind continued its mad caterwauling. Thunder provided a nice contrapuntal cadence, as rhythmic as a backbeat. Jocelyn had much more patience than me and would undoubtedly win our staring match unless she forfeited by falling over dead from boredom.
"What nationality are you?" I asked.
"I was born in Hong Kong."
"I'd like to see Teddy's room."
Without hesitation she said, "All right."
That was too easy, and I wondered why.
She dimmed the lights once more and led me to the staircase. Again she faded into the shadows, reappearing only when she turned her head enough so that I could catch a glimpse of the pale angle of her cheek. She glided so smoothly up the steps that she appeared to be floating.
Maybe it was the darkness, the company, or the leftover edginess from Panecraft, but threads of cold sweat trickled down my chest.
I strained my ears hoping to hear Anna's voice or the clatter of silverware, but there was only silence.
"How long have you been with Harnes?" I asked.
"Quite some time."
"Did you know Teddy well?"
"No, not especially. No one did. Teddy was quite reclusive. He preferred to remain remote. Solitary. He found solace in philosophy. Theology. Other more cerebral pursuits. He recently took up painting."
"Did he care about his father's business affairs? The factories? After all, eventually he would have inherited it all.”
“Teddy did not care much for possessions and finances.”
“How did his father feel about that?"
"It made no difference whatsoever."
"A multi-millionaire didn't mind that his son followed more aesthetic pursuits and had no interest in taking over a vast family fortune?"
"Not at all. He cherished Teddy and put the highest value on his son's happiness."
She stopped in the darkness and I brushed against her back. A switch clicked and a portion of the second floor ignited as though lightning had struck nearby. On the walls were several Oriental tapestries and paintings, representations of myths and seascapes mixed side by side with family portraits. A number of beautiful women gaped down at us, some poised, and others who looked highly uncomfortable and even angry.
"Which is Marie Harnes?"
"I don't know."
To the side, separated from the others and at eye level, a much smaller painting showed the face of Diane Cruthers; her shiny luscious lips were turned into an honest but not so pretty smile, gazing out across a mansion she hadn't lived long enough to step foot inside. Her face was slightly turned, like she might be on the verge of laughter, exactly the same way as in the photo in Anna's album. A character trait, then. Her hair was much shorter.
What pregnant woman commits suicide?
We continued down the corridor to Teddy's room.
It hardly looked any different from Crummler's shack. Entirely bare except for a bed, dresser, desk, and a small bookshelf with a dozen or so books lying on their sides in stacks. Lowell had been right, if felt like a monk's cell. The stink of polish was overpowering; every surface sparkled. I drew my finger along the shelf and found it totally dust free.
Since we'd already established that I was completely rude, I decided to open a dresser drawer. It slid back too easily on its rollers and slapped me in the knees. There were only two shirts within.
Jocelyn's hand wrapped around my wrist and she squeezed until the tiny bones in my fist started to grind together. It took all my effort not to yelp. I let go of the drawer handle and she let go of me.