“No, honey. I really will stick to the tonic water, but I needed help.”
“Oh, Harry, loosen up,” Aunt Tally ordered. “A little medicinal application of spirits enriches life.”
“Mutes the harshness.” Dolf sipped his champagne.
A melody of trumpet notes called the assembled to the tables.
As each gentleman seated each lady, then sat down himself, a moment of hush fell over the lawn. The variety of glasses on the table was truly spectacular.
The band of strolling players left the scene, and an orchestra playing period pieces sat near the back of the platform, itself a wonder of ribbons, topiary, and birds. The tableau commenced on stage.
Tazio, next to Fair, flushed from the praise.
He leaned down to tell her, “All deserved.”
Harry noted that Little Mim indeed graced Folly Steinhauser’s table—the Number 1 table, too. Her eyes cast over the scene. She was amused to see Mike McElvoy and his wife seated at a back table with Tony Long and his wife. Folly, no doubt, was working these two over for some grand building plan she envisioned for the future. Might work with Tony, but who knew about Mike?
Will Wylde’s table was filled with his staff and their dates and husbands. Kylie leaned on her date. She wore the gold Rolex, which, being a sport watch, wasn’t proper. However, she wanted the world to view her treasure.
This reminded Harry how generous Benita Wylde was, because “the girls” would not have been able to afford this evening on their own. Benita had told them Will would be horrified if they didn’t attend. He wanted people to live, to enjoy life.
Dr. Harvey Tillach’s table, on the other side of the lawn, was also filled.
Miranda and Tracy, at Harry’s table, which wasn’t all that far from Big Mim’s table, filled it with laughter. Miranda turned into the lively high-school girl she once was in Tracy’s company. Not that she couldn’t be lively on her own, but the years and the loss of her husband, George, had subdued her for a long, long time.
A young man quietly poured the first serving of wine. Harry turned her glass upside down. One glass of champagne was all she could handle. She felt its titillating effects already.
Miranda held up her glass. Cooper, seated beside Tracy, wondered at the nature of Miranda’s toast.
Her deep, honeyed alto voice flowed over the table. “This is the day which the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. Psalm One Eighteen, Verse Twenty-four.”
Everyone joined Miranda’s toast.
The first course, served in a coordinated, balletic fashion, added to the conversation.
Cooper, surprisingly feminine in her bottle-green gown, had a blind date, Lorenzo McCracken, a Nicaraguan. Before the twentieth century, an outpouring of Scots had settled in Central America. The crossing of the Scots with the Spaniards had resulted in some progeny taking the best of both. Lorenzo possessed the square, manly features of a Scot, with intense Spanish coloring.
Cooper, who hated blind dates, was thrilled with this one.
Hard to tell how Lorenzo felt, since his manners were not only perfect but infused with charm.
Cooper kept telling herself, “I know I’m a fool for Spanish-speaking men. On guard.”
Yes, but for how long?
This was a happy, happy crowd. Even Big Mim was happy, so long as she didn’t look over at Little Mim. And at Table 1 .That grated.
Herb Jones did his best to keep her distracted. If the good reverend’s genial patter didn’t occupy her, her increasing alarm at Aunt Tally’s alcohol intake did.
Aunt Tally was becoming the belle of the ball. Not for the first time.
Tazio, not wearing a watch—which was wise for a lady in a ball gown—asked Paul the time. Most of the courses had been served. She was getting a little nervous about her upcoming presentation.
“Seven forty-five.”
“What time does the show begin?” Harry asked.
“After dessert, per usual.” Tracy laughed. “If you drink enough wine, you can fall asleep during the speeches.”
“Now, honey.” Miranda winked at him, although he was in scant danger of falling asleep.
“Let me just slip away. I’m going to be on that dais for some time.” Tazio headed for the Porta-Johns out of sight of the tables.
Ten minutes passed.
“She’s taking a long time.” Paul glanced at his watch again.
Cooper said, “Probably a line. She’s not the only one trying to get in ahead of intermission.”
A moment of silence prevailed on the dais, the lovely bit of Mozart completed. The violinist spoke something to the others, picked up his bow again, tapped his foot. Before he could draw it across his resonant instrument, a bloodcurdling yell scared even the birds settled in their nests for the night.
Harry’s eyes opened wide.
Another scream followed.
Cooper rose. “Excuse me.”
“Allow me to go with you.” Lorenzo knew she was a deputy.
“You swore you weren’t going to work tonight.” Harry rose, and Fair pulled her down.
“Let’s hope I don’t have to.”
Wrong.
Cooper hurried to the front of the house. There on the lawn, the twilight wrapped around like a shroud, lay Carla Paulson, her throat slashed.
Standing over her, knife in hand, was Tazio Chappars.
18
The head violinist, a puzzled look on his face, held his bow in midair.
Folly Steinhauser remained in her seat, confused.
Big Mim stood up, held up her hands in a conciliatory gesture, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, enjoy your desserts.” Prudently, she added, “Please stay in your seats until further notice.” Then, nodding to the violinist, she sat down.
Folly may be a good organizer, but she’s not up to a crisis, she thought to herself, then she turned to her husband and whispered, “Where’s Marilyn?”
Little Mim was not in her seat.
“I don’t know, honeybun.” He started to rise.
She put her hand on his forearm. “Wait. If she’s not back in five minutes, then look. More than likely she went to the bathroom.”
As the music filtered over the now-murmuring crowd, Little Mim, ashen-faced, walked not to Table 1 but to her mother.
Leaning over, she whispered, “Carla Paulson’s lying on the front lawn. Her throat is cut. Coop is there. So is Tazio Chappars—she had the knife in her hand.”
Face composed, Big Mim lifted her eyebrows and forced a smile. “Thank you, dear. Sit down and tell no one. That’s the best path for now.”
As Little Mim returned to Table 1, Aunt Tally said, “Shall I assume that’s the end of the feud?”
“I think you may,” Big Mim replied to her aunt.
“What’s up, Mimsy?”
“I can’t tell you, Aunt Tally. But I will at the opportune moment.”
Emitting a long, irritated sigh, Aunt Tally returned to her exquisite sherbet nestled next to a sliver of divine chocolate cake, the layers so thin they looked like tissue paper.
Jim, worried, said, “I ought to go out there.”
“Honey, Coop is there. If anyone can handle the situation, it’s our own good deputy.”
And Cooper did handle it. She told Tazio to simply put the knife on the grass and to remain with her.
Kneeling down, Coop carefully examined Carla, her gorgeous dress’s bodice, even the voluminous skirts, red with fresh jugular blood. She felt for a pulse. None. She’d figured that, but one could hope.
As far as the deputy knew, if a jugular was slashed, trying to stop the bleeding by pressure was ineffective. The time for even that measure had passed. This one was cut halfway through.
Cool and clinical, Cooper looked around the scene. The only other persons she had seen were Little Mim and Harvey Tillach, whom she told to return to the party.
“Tazio, you don’t have a cell on you, do you?”
“No,” Tazio, still stricken, replied.
“Did you kill Carla?”
“No.”
“What were you doing with the knife in your hand?”