Bonefire of the Vanities Read online

  “I gotta ask,” Gretchen said. “Do you wipe your own bum?”

  Palk snapped to attention as if a cattle prod had zapped him. “I beg your pardon, madam! Such talk is not allowed at table.”

  “Do you write your help off your taxes, Mrs. Littlefield?” Lola threw in. “I mean, you’re so dependent on your girl, I would think you might call her medically necessary.”

  “Mother was never so helpless before,” Chasley said. “I think those two alleged servants are preying on her. They’re making her weak and foolish.”

  “Shut up, Chasley,” Marjorie said. “Each word you speak hammers the nail in the coffin of your inheritance.”

  Her threat was effective. Chasley shut his pie hole.

  Dinner progressed, and I watched Chasley and Sherry with great interest. Chasley focused on his plate and therefore missed the looks of interest thrown his way by the country music singers and even Amaryllis. Had he made an iota of effort, he could have swept them off their feet. His only interest was his mother. He pushed the food around his plate and cast furtive glances at her. At one point, I felt sorry for him. He wanted Marjorie’s attention. Even negative attention.

  Sherry, for her part, seemed preoccupied. Several times I saw her look behind Marjorie and me, and her expression would shift to one of sorrow. It was only a blink of an eye, and I wondered if I imagined it.

  “Mother,” Chasley spoke softly.

  “I will not speak with you. I can’t believe you tried to kick Pluto.”

  “You have more affection for a cat than you do your own son.” The bitterness of his voice spiked with real hurt.

  “The cat is more loyal. And kinder. And easier to be with.”

  “You’ve never loved me.” Chasley swallowed, and I was stunned by his emotion. He was a grown man—a stunningly handsome man with his swept-back blond hair and hazel eyes—yet he sounded like a young boy painfully rejected.

  “I tried, Chasley. I tried.”

  “Was I never a child you found the least bit lovable?”

  Marjorie wiped both sides of her mouth with her napkin. “No. I’m sorry. Even as an infant you grasped at your toys, at me. Everything was yours. You reminded me of your father. He left me with two small children because he was greedy and immature. And selfish. He couldn’t come off the road. He needed the high of the live audiences and the drugs. He needed to have everything. I saw that in you.”

  I wanted to intervene, to stop the brutal conversation. Marjorie acted as if the entire table were a pillar of salt, deaf to the cruelty she spoke. While I understood how Chasley affected her, he was still her son. Flesh of her flesh. How could she treat him so callously? Relief came from an unexpected source.

  “Tell them about our new contract, Lola.” Gretchen punched her partner’s arm, knocking over her wineglass in the process. “Oops! Garçon, garçon, another glass, please!” she yelled at Palk, then turned back to Lola. “Tell them! Seven figures. We’ve hit the big time now. We’re gonna be rolling in it. And Lola has started some rap songs that are incredible. If we can corner both markets, we’ll be the biggest names in songwriting since Dolly Parton or Kris Kristofferson!”

  Gretchen grasped the fresh wineglass Palk brought her and clinked it against Lola’s. “To us,” she proclaimed.

  The girls were more than a tad in their cups. I wondered how this would affect the séance. Sherry scowled at them, but Brandy shot her a warning glance. Sherry’s response was to put her napkin calmly beside her plate and stand. She’d been distracted throughout the meal. For some reason, she’d been staring over Chasley’s shoulder at a blank spot on the wall. Unless, of course, she was channeling a stray spirit as a warm-up for the séance.

  “Are you finished eating?” Brandy asked, clearly disapproving of her daughter.

  “Excuse me, please. I need to prepare for tonight’s session. Let me remind you all excessive drinking isn’t allowed. You’re spending money here to connect with the spirit world. People under the influence distract me.” She dared her mother to object. “I won’t allow it.”

  She abruptly left the table. A few moments later, Chasley also excused himself.

  Marjorie had barely touched her plate, but she signaled she was done, so I offered my arm to assist her to her suite.

  When we were out of earshot of the others, Marjorie whispered, “Chasley is a vile man. Do you think he’s talking to Sherry? What if he tries to postpone the séance? What if he tells Sherry not to contact Mariam?”

  She was in a dither, and I wanted to tell her that Chasley wasn’t the only awful person in her family. “Take it easy, Marjorie. You’re paying a hefty fee to be here. Chasley—who knows why he’s here. Sherry isn’t stupid enough to bite off her nose to spite her face. You’re the client. Chasley isn’t. Still, I think it would be smart if you canceled and waited for Chasley to leave Heart’s Desire.”

  “I won’t cancel. Perhaps Chasley being here will encourage Mariam to tell the truth about what happened to her.”

  Arguing was pointless. The séance was at midnight, and Marjorie meant to be there come hell or high water.

  * * *

  “What does one wear to a séance?” Tinkie asked, as if she had a choice in the matter.

  “Your uniform,” I answered.

  “I refuse to wear khaki another minute. It washes me out.”

  Tinkie’s rebellion wasn’t unexpected. She could run in three-inch heels almost as fast as I could in athletic shoes. Her wardrobe covered every occasion known to man—or woman. And she’d been in rubber-soled shoes, khakis, and a polo shirt for two days. Enough was enough.

  “What would you like to wear?” Marjorie asked in a reasonable tone. I sensed trouble. The two of them, both clotheshorses, would put us in dutch. “I have the most incredible caftan. Paisley. It would be perfect for you. Maybe with a matching turban, gold sandals, a few rubies—nothing could be more appropriate for a séance.”

  “Tinkie is a maid, not a guest.”

  “She’s my maid and I order her to dress up.”

  Marjorie grew more contrary by the minute. I’d seen a side of her I didn’t like. “Marjorie, we have to maintain our cover.”

  “Horsefeathers. If Chasley plans on accusing me of being crazy for trying to talk to Marian, then ordering my maids to dress up for a séance won’t make a lick of difference. Both of you, out of those drab work clothes and into something fun. My closet is at your disposal.”

  Easy for her to say. I was a foot taller than she was. “Thanks, I’m fine the way I am.”

  She strolled past me. “Suit yourself.” She threw open the closet for Tinkie, who squealed in her best sorority pitch as she dived into what had to be fifty thousand dollars’ worth of very nice clothes.

  I couldn’t help but grin at the sounds of pleasure the two women gave as they went from one possibility to another. “While you two are playing dress-up, I’m going exploring.” Palk would have dismissed the rest of the staff, and I might have a chance to poke around.

  “Be careful,” Tinkie said, her voice muffled by a mountain of sequins, cashmere, and lace.

  The house had settled into a creaky silence as I stepped into the second-floor hallway. My goal was the telephone in the library. I wanted to check my messages and see if Graf had called. I’d been able to put my romantic dilemma out of my mind for a while, but it had come tramping back, dragging along a load of anxiety, guilt, remorse, and hope.

  Cece and Tammy would both report to Oscar that Tinkie and I were fine. Oscar would report to Graf. But I’d left Dahlia House with too much up in the air between me and Graf. I hadn’t realized I’d be held incommunicado by Palk and the Westin women.

  I slipped down the stairs and to the library. The library door opened without a sound. I entered, closed the door, and went to the desk. The phone was where Palk had left it. I plugged it into the wall jack and dialed home.

  “You have three messages.”

  The first voice mail was from Tammy, saying s
he was headed to Heart’s Desire with Pluto, obviously left earlier in the day. The second recording was from Sheriff Coleman.

  “Sarah Booth, what have you gotten yourself into now? Oscar wants an excuse for me to check into Heart’s Desire. He’s taking good care of Sweetie Pie and Chablis, but he’s worried about you two. Call me and let me know you’re safe.”

  Uh-oh. If I didn’t call him, he’d be out at the gate, demanding entrance. Soon.

  Graf’s sexy voice was my third call. “Hold on to the ring, Sarah Booth. We can work this out. Call me back when you get this. I love you. Despite the fact that you’re pigheaded and difficult, I love you.”

  I checked my watch. It would be nine o’clock in Hollywood. There was a chance Graf was home. I dialed.

  His voice mail picked up, and I couldn’t tell if I was relieved or disappointed. “Graf, I’m in a place where I don’t have access to a phone. Tinkie and I should be home in a day or two. Please don’t worry. We’re fine. It’s a … well, sort of a spa. Anyway, we’ll talk. Good luck with the movie. I miss you. And I love you, too.”

  I hung up and called Coleman.

  “Well, you took your sweet time calling,” he said with a hint of anger. “I was about to find a reason to storm the walls of Heart’s Desire.”

  “Sorry, we can’t use a phone. I’m sneaking this call in, so don’t fuss anymore. I don’t have time. Tinkie and I are fine. Marjorie and Chasley are here. This is a very strange place, but I haven’t seen anything criminal.”

  “What do you and Tinkie hope to accomplish?” The good humor was restored to Coleman’s voice.

  “I thought Marjorie might be in danger. Like the Westins might try to force her to sign over her money and then bump her off.”

  “And do you still worry about that?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t know, Coleman. I can’t tell if they’re con artists or worse. But we’re working on it. Tammy and Cece have been out here—”

  “And both have reported to me and Oscar. Graf was about to have a conniption, but Oscar filled him in.”

  Great. I’d worried my fiancé again. Not my smartest move. Nothing to be done now, since I’d let Graf know I was fine.

  “Sarah Booth, are you okay?”

  “Sure. We’re having a séance at midnight.”

  He chuckled, and the sound reminded me that outside the walls of Heart’s Desire were vast stretches of cotton fields and the September heat of the Delta. The sterile atmosphere of Heart’s Desire had pushed the lushness of the soil and the crops right out of my head, but Coleman’s voice brought it all back. I was only five minutes away from the land I knew and loved. The Delta was all around me.

  “You watch yourself.”

  “I will.” I hung up and put away the phone. For a moment I lingered in the library. I loved the smell of books. I went to a shelf and picked up a copy of Flannery O’Connor’s short stories. Flipping open the book, I found an inscription to Sherry.

  “Beware of the lure of the damned.” No signature.

  I returned it to the shelf and slipped back to the room. It was twenty after eleven, and I wanted to be prepared for the upcoming séance.

  At precisely midnight, we left Marjorie’s suite and gathered with the other guests in the foyer. Brandy arrived last, with Chasley in tow. She took one look at Tinkie’s caftan, turban, and bejeweled earlobes and gritted her teeth. I’d tried to warn Tinkie and Marjorie, but no, they were determined to be fashionistas.

  “I really didn’t expect Chasley to attend tonight,” Marjorie said. For the first time all evening, she sounded worried.

  “This is what he’s here for,” Tinkie told her. “It’ll be okay. There’s nothing he can do to stop you from talking to Mariam if she’s willing to talk.”

  Chasley seemed to sense his mother’s unease. “I hope after tonight you’ll realize how foolish you’re being. Mariam isn’t going to go woooo and finger me for killing her. I didn’t do anything, Mother. I’m here to beg you to give me a chance. You dislike me, yet you don’t even know who I am.”

  “What did happen the day Mariam drowned?” I asked gently.

  “I don’t owe you an answer about anything.” Chasley rounded on me. “If you’re responsible for getting her to believe this insanity about Mariam, I’ll see that you’re charged with something. You’re sucking money off my mother, providing services she doesn’t need. Convincing her of things that aren’t true. You’re a parasite.”

  Tinkie moved up to join us so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to respond to Chasley. “We’re going to find out the truth of what happened to Mariam. About the time I start to think you deserve a chance, you act like a horse’s ass. Now let your mother do what she feels she must to clear this matter up.”

  Chasley leaned close to Tinkie, his lips grazing her cheek as he whispered, “I don’t know how two parlor maids gained so much influence over my mother, but when this is over and done, you’ll be out on your ear, that cat will be in a shelter, and my mother will be in a home with psychiatric attention. She’s trapped in a delusion, and I intend to get her help. Whatever your game is, you won’t benefit financially.”

  Did he really think we were harming Marjorie? “We’re trying to protect your mother. She believes contacting Mariam will resolve some serious issues for her. Whether it will or won’t isn’t up to me. Or you. This is her call.”

  “If you care so much for my mother, you’ll convince her to seek professional counseling. She’s been living alone for years now, wandering around a mansion, shunning company. Her life is a misery and this latest obsession of spirits is not in her best interest.”

  “She has a right to do whatever she pleases. She isn’t harming anyone. What are you so afraid of, Chasley?” I asked softly.

  His response was cut short as Brandy clapped her hands. “Sherry will join us once we’re in place and seated,” she said.

  Eager to be away from Chasley, Marjorie, Tinkie, and I fell into line behind Brandy. We started down the steps to the basement like ducklings following a hen. Our only light was a candle Brandy carried, and behind us several people stumbled around in the dark.

  A strange thud, thud, thud came from ahead of us. For some reason, it unsettled me. I’d been in the basement before and hadn’t seen anything to make such a noise, unless the air-conditioning was about to go out. Now that would be hellish in ninety-eight-degree heat.

  Tinkie’s grip on my arm was bruising. “What is it?”

  “Probably the AC unit.” The whole séance thing was ridiculous.

  Someone behind me lurched and pushed into me, nearly knocking me down.

  “I swear, if I break my neck here in the dark, I want you to be sure my ghost goes on to my reward,” Gretchen said.

  “You’re headed to the hot place,” Lola countered. They burst into giggles and bumped my shoulder. I wondered if they’d be sober enough to participate.

  Brandy stopped abruptly at the bottom of the stairs. “Holy shit.” She’d barely uttered the words, but her tone made me stop. Something was wrong.

  She lifted her candle high, illuminating a scene as eerie as anything Boris Karloff might have imagined. A body lay at the foot of the stairs. The woman’s face was in shadows, but I recognized the uniform and her shape. It was Amanda. The thud I’d heard was her falling down the stairs.

  “Is she alive?” Tinkie asked. She pressed against me, looking around my side.

  Brandy seemed unable to move, so I eased past her and went to Amanda. I felt for a pulse. When I shook my head, I heard several gasps. Marjorie’s scream was like an ice pick in my ear. She rocked backwards into Chasley, and thank goodness he caught her before she tripped and fell.

  “What was she doing in the basement?” Amaryllis’s voice sounded like she was trapped in a dream. “She works in the kitchen. She shouldn’t be here.”

  “Get Palk,” Brandy commanded. “The rest of you, out of here. Now.”

  “We should check the basement.” I couldn’t see
anything in the candlelight. Amanda might have tripped, or she might have been pushed. “Someone could be hiding.”

  “You will not do a thing except go up those stairs and care for Mrs. Littlefield.” Brandy’s voice was iron. “Palk will check the basement. The rest of you, go to your rooms and lock your doors. I have no idea what’s happening in Heart’s Desire, but I intend to find out.”

  With Tinkie and Marjorie ahead of me on the stairs, I was only too glad to oblige. At the first floor, the guests scattered like leaves in the wind. Tinkie took Marjorie upstairs. I went straight to the library and the phone.

  “Coleman, it’s Sarah Booth. Come quick. A young woman is dead, and I don’t know if it’s an accident or a murder.”

  11

  After the crime scene technicians left and the coroner removed the body, Coleman came to talk with us in Marjorie’s suite. The awfulness of Amanda’s death was like a phantom lurking at the edge of my awareness—and I pushed it away. In a house where acts and intentions were so distorted, I couldn’t accept that the young girl was dead. Only hours earlier, she’d been dragging a duffel bag across the employee parking lot. Now she was gone.

  Coleman had barely gotten inside the room when Tinkie asked him, “Accident or murder?”

  “We’ll have to wait for Doc Sawyer’s autopsy. I spoke with the butler, who said the basement was empty. I found a hidden exit in a room with mirrors. One of the panels moved and led to a hallway that goes into the garden.”

  “Dammit! I should have checked. Brandy made us leave the basement.” I’d been in that room and never thought to examine the mirrors.

  “It’s a good thing you did,” Coleman said. “If Amanda was pushed, the killer could have been hiding. If you’d cornered him or her…” He didn’t have to finish.

  Still, it galled me. “Watch the butler. Palk will say whatever the Westins tell him,” I warned Coleman. “He’s a lapdog.”

  Coleman was worried; I could read him. I was so glad to see him, I could have hugged him, but I didn’t. We’d managed to put our past relationship behind us, but like so many things in my life, I didn’t trust it to stay dead and buried. Example: Jitty!