Lucy recognized him right away.
“He’s even sweatier in person,” Lucy said, rolling her eyes in Win Fifield’s direction.
Jon chugged some more wine. “And the blonde next to him? That’s his mother.“
“Wow. What’s her doctor’s name?” Lucy said.
As we made juvenile, mean- girl remarks, a young woman purposefully walked toward us. She had chin-length, blunt- cut hair, apparently requiring her to keep her head at a 45- degree angle at all times. She wore a dark, conservative suit and sensible shoes. The only hint of a personality came from her flaming red lipstick.
“That’s Jess Colford,” Jon whispered. “Loser’s top aide. He’d be operating a car dealership if it weren’t for her. Be carefuclass="underline" those ruby lips hide fangs.” He dragged Lucy away, ostensibly to introduce her to someone, but I sensed it was to avoid a face- to- face with Colford.
Her eyes followed Jon and Lucy, but she quickly returned her gaze to me. “My name’s Jess Colford. I’m an assistant to Win Fifield.” Colford had a textbook handshake-not too long, not too short, not too personal. I could imagine her practicing it on herself. “The congressman would very much like to meet you.”
The fangs were well hidden, so I thought why not (as long as Fifield didn’t think I was going to hop into the backseat of his convertible). The small cluster of hangers- on parted as Colford and I penetrated the congressman’s inner circle.
“Ms. Holliday, so pleased to meet you.” Win Fifield extended a moist, hammy hand; I fought the urge to wipe mine after we shook. “Richard has spoken very highly of you. Very highly. And I understand from my mother that you’ve already increased the property values in her neighborhood with the job you’ve done.” What a joker.
So far, he wasn’t too horrible, just predictable. Then I noticed Jess Colford watching him like a hawk, as if they had rehearsed even this innocuous little greeting.
Three people from Nutmeg magazine converged on us and asked permission to take our picture. I only hoped it was a full- length shot so my freshly lacquered toes would be immortalized; Lucy would be so pleased. Jess Colford deftly plucked the wineglass from the congressman’s hand and glided out of the frame.
“Unfortunate business, early on. Tragic, really,” he continued, when the photographer left. “And now, of course, this other matter… very troubling. An honest, hardworking businessman… cut down in his prime, our-my thoughts and prayers go out to his family…”
He was winging it now and babbling idiotic, soundbite clichйs. Chiaramonte was a lot of things, but honest and hardworking were not among them. And he had no family. Not as far as anyone knew. With impeccable timing Colford stepped in to the rescue. “Congressman, you’ll want to say hello to Mayor and Mrs. Pilkington. You will excuse him.” She pushed him off toward the Pilkingtons, with a few words in his ear, probably reminding him what he was to say to them.
“The congressman is really quite impressed with your work. He’s recommending the town turn the empty lot on Brookhaven Road into a small park honoring his predecessor. If it goes through, I feel sure he’ll want your advice on how to proceed.”
Colford cast a quick look in the congressman’s direction and saw that he’d delivered his packaged greeting, so she excused herself and went to bail him out.
“What did Dragon Lady want?” Jon asked when he and Lucy returned moments later, when the coast was clear.
“I’m not sure. If I were the suspicious type, I’d say it was a gentle bribe.”
“See, I told you there’d be potential clients here. Who’s that one?” she said, surreptitiously pointing into the crowd. “We saw her at the nail salon.”
“She’s already a client, Caroline Sturgis.” She saw us looking, so I waved, and she and another woman came over. They were working on a couple of martinis, and I had the feeling it wasn’t their first round. Caroline’s friend loudly claimed to need landscaping advice, so we chatted about that, and I gave her my thirty-second sales pitch and my card.
“PH Factor? What ever does it mean?”
When that line of conversation dried up, it was strictly party chat. Chappell went to hover around Win Fifield’s group, making sure to steer clear of the over-protective Ms. Colford. Caroline and friend moseyed back to the bar for thirds.
“Your buddy Jon?” Lucy said.
“He’s not my buddy. Just a means to an end.”
“He’s got some major acne scars.”
“That’s very grown- up of you. I’ve been too polite to stare.”
“I can’t help it, I’m observant. He’s obviously growing the beard to cover them, but you can still see them even though he’s using hair dye to fill in the light spots. They looked like that constellation-not the Big Dipper, the other one everyone knows, the crooked W.”
“Cassiopeia?” I asked, the light dawning. “Or maybe W for Wellington. As in Wellington aerator sandals,” I said. I was furious. “Where is that little rat?”
Her eyes widened. “Anna’s prowler? That sneaky little bastard.”
I scoured the room for Mike O’Malley. This was something I did want to share with the group. I saw him leaving and called out across the room but couldn’t catch his eye. Coming in as Mike left was a tall, white- haired gentleman in a gray, tweedy sport jacket and denim shirt that hung on his bony shoulders.
A clatter of glasses, then the crash of a drinks- laden tray caused a commotion off to my right.
“Let her have some air.”
“Get a chair. Get some water. Where’s Richard?”
“Richard!”
Margery Stapley had fainted.
CHAPTER 35
The party broke up shortly after Margery hit the deck and Richard whisked her away. The absence of our hosts gave us all license to leave and begin the business of serious gossiping in the privacy of our homes.
Lucy and I took our postmortem to the Paradise Diner. Jon Chappell had disappeared into the crowd when Margery fainted, and it was a good thing. I was ready to tear him a new one.
“Leave it to you to stare at a guy’s pockmarks. What the hell was he doing snooping around my house and scaring Anna half to death?”
“This is the world in which we live. I bet he poked through your garbage, too.”
Lucy was eyeing that morning’s scones. “You don’t want to eat those,” I said under my breath. With that glowing recommendation, she got up, put two on a plate as if she worked there, and came back to the booth. Pete, the cook, was in love.
“Well, the air was certainly humming. And we seem to have gotten to the bottom of the Anna incident. What an asshole.”
“Y Seсor Felix?”
“Nothing. Still in Mexico, I guess. I’ll give him one more day before he goes on the DNR list-do not resuscitate. For all I know, that entire playboy story was something he lifted from a Mexican soap opera. I thought he’d at least come back for Hugo’s sake.”
“Too bad. I had high hopes there.”
“For…?”
“Why not? He’s handsome and possibly rich. And you didn’t seem to want him. Stranger things have happened.”
“Which leads me to Margery Stapley,” I said, dropping the subject of Felix.
“What do you think really knocked the old girl off her feet?” Lucy said, working on her second scone. “I wonder if they got that on video. It could be, like, Wedding Bloopers, only Senior Bloopers.”
“I bet it had something to do with the older guy that came in just as O’Malley was leaving. The one in the denim shirt and tweed jacket. He had a familiar face. Did you notice him?”