“Not yet. We'll give him a day to show up. But it’s very unlike him to disappear.”
I hung up and stood looking out the windows across the Potomac at the lights of D.C. The monuments stood stark white against the black of night. Light reflected off the river. Red lights blinked from atop the Iwo Jima Memorial.
Hudson gone missing. Now there was an interesting plot twist Olympia would like.
* * * * *
Shirley at Colonial Furniture was delighted to see me on Sunday afternoon. She always saw dollar signs when I walked in. After a tussle over a number of high priced offerings, I ordered two great off white loveseats with a chicken wire bas relief pattern in the same color. I know, it doesn’t sound haute coteur but trust me, it will look great. Working a deal with Shirley is always exhausting, so I took the rest of the day off.
All afternoon I worried about Hudson and couldn't resist a call to Jake that night.
“Find Hudson yet?”
“Yes, he came back late last night. Opal said he’d gone to his sister's again in West Virginia around Harper's Ferry. She’d had a relapse. He forgot to tell Opal he was leaving. Or Opal forgot that he told her he was leaving.”
“Don't you think that’s strange?
“Apparently there a serious case of memory loss in the Lodge household.”
“But that is strange. Opal seems pretty sharp to me. Unlikely to forget the butler was leaving for the day.”
No answer.
“Jake?”
“Yeah. There's some things not making sense to me. Maybe it's because there's a boatload of relatives descending on the house, and everyone is stressed out. This is traumatic for all of them. Plus Hudson’s sister is going downhill, and he’s worried about her.”
“He runs the household.”
“Right. They hired a maid and a cook through a temp agency to help with the relatives. There’s a relative a minute showing at the front door. Everyone’s running around like coyotes after sage rats because the memorial service is tomorrow afternoon, and the reception is at the house.”
“Are you going to the memorial service?” I asked.
“You bet.”
“I'll look for you there. We can sit together and you can point out the cast of characters.”
“I can't wait.”
Chapter 4
The memorial service was held at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, one of those nice old Tudor style churches with lots of pointed arches and mahogany trim. Sun lit the stained glass. The place glowed. Nice touch for a funeral. I arrived early to get a good seat toward the back to watch the parade of people. I was not disappointed. The turnout included men in severe business suits and matching women in stylish black and hats. Jake slid in beside me. He had poured himself into a dark suit, stretching a bit at the buttons.
“How are things at the home ranch?” I said for openers. I smoothed down his collar that was standing up in the back. This man needed a butler. Or a wife. Butler would be less trouble.
“Chaotic.” Jake was watching people walk down the aisle as he spoke.
“See anyone you know?” I asked, following his gaze toward an eye catching blond in tight black skirt, matching jacket, super high heels and black bolero hat.
“That's Albert’s girlfriend.”
“Where?” It couldn't be the blond.
“The blond.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. I talked to her yesterday. She says they were just friends, that Albert thought there was more to it than she did. She's older than she looks. Probably in her forties somewhere.”
“I wonder what she does to keep looking so young.”
“Maybe it's in the genes.”
I looked at him. “More likely in surgical tools. Does she have a name?”
“Lisa Lundgren.”
I watched her sitting alone, toward the middle of a row way in front of us. She, too, seemed interested in the parade of stars.
“There's the niece that lives in Arlington,” Jake said. “She came by the house yesterday while I was there.” He nodded at a woman leading a little boy by the hand, followed by a tall, Ivy League looking guy. She was way shorter than her lanky husband and a bit on the plump side. They sat in front with the family, which was getting more extensive by the minute.
Opal entered escorted by a youngish man in a gray suit.
“Nephew from Oregon,” said Jake out of the side of his mouth. “He arrived Saturday and has been helping Opal with arrangements.”
The church was large, but a respectable crowd filled it. The people looked Washington think tank, white haired men in bow ties, Capitol Hill types with billboard smiles. Albert had friends in high circles. During the eulogy several men spoke in admiration of Albert's work and life that included postings as political attaché for a number of embassies. That might mean he was doing work for the Central Intelligence Agency in his diplomatic postings. One could never be sure in this town. Several of the nephews spoke of their uncle as a mentor, how kind he was, what an inspiration, his droll sense of humor. The usual. It could make a person wish they had known the old guy while he was living.
In the receiving line at the end of the service, Opal pressed my hand. “You will come over to the house, won't you, dear? You can meet some of the family. Have Jake bring you. He's a good escort.”
I smiled. “Sure, I'll stop by for a few minutes.”
I waited for Jake who was behind me in line.
“Opal says you should be my escort to the reception.”
He held out his arm. “My pleasure. Leave your car here. I'll drive you over.”
The crowd at the reception seemed bigger than the memorial service, or maybe it was because they were spread all over the house. Valet parking, waiters in black and white with trays of champagne, maids in black and white with canapés. The din rivaled the Met on opening night. People spilled into the patio to the back of the house where the swimming pool sparkled in the afternoon sun. These folks were seriously into celebrating Albert's life.
I hung on the outer edge of the chaos with Jake and sipped champagne, engaging in my favorite past time of people watching. Washington crowds can be boring, but this one showed promise.
“I think it was an accident,” I heard a nearby matron say. She clutched the arm of a young man. Her accent might be South African. Could this be the wife of Olivia's brother? “Albert was terribly forgetful. He must have slipped up on his meds, don't you think, dear?” She was smiling at the most attractive man I have ever seen in my life. If he wasn't George Clooney, no one was.
“Not for us to say,” he said. “The old boy's gone and there's nothing to be done for it.” His accent was definitely London. I've spent time in England sorting out accents, and I know a London accent when I hear it. This was one of the infamous nephews.
I nudged Jake. “Did you catch the conversation in front of us?”
He looked at me over his glass of champagne. “Yeah. You've already figured out who they are, I bet.”
“Her side?”
He nodded and looked at his empty champagne glass. “I got to get some real booze. This fuzzy stuff just doesn't do it for me.”
“I thought you were on the wagon.”
“Only when it suits me.” He gave me a wicked grin that made him look almost handsome although he would have looked better in a Stetson and Tony Llama boots.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
“Glass of red wine, please.”
He sauntered off toward the bar located at the far end of the drawing room where the celebrants, I mean, mourners were congregating three deep. A waiter came by with tray of champagne.
“Thank you, kind sir,” I said as I lifted a fluted glass and replaced it with my empty. What the hell, I thought. I'm not driving, and I do so love the bubbly. Besides, they were small glasses.