“Ahah, but the flaw in your flaw, Mr. Michaels, is that blackmail is an anonymous business. Galvano doesn’t have to present calling cards with what he has to peddle. Filthy pictures, protection after a score of minor accidents.”
The lieutenant looked thoughtful as he rose.
“I want to get in touch with the California authorities again, Mr. Clery, on this hay-is-grass notion. I think it’s a valid line of inquiry. In the meantime, I’ll have copies of this mug shot of Galvano circulating in Sunbury and in this neighborhood to see if we can come with a positive identification.” He sighed.
“I’d find out whether Louis Marchmount’s been paying extortion, if I were you,” Rafe said, getting to his feet.
“If I were you”-and the pronouns were only slightly accented-”I’d concentrate on my home front. Not” Michaels added hastily, “that I think you have anything more to worry about from Galvano right now, Mrs. Clery.”
“He sure as hell can’t reach Nialla behind a Cyclone fence with K-9s patrolling,” Rafe said.
The lieutenant looked about to speak and then sighed, as if he’d thought better of it.
Rafe grinned sardonically. “Galvano has a bigger fish to gaff up at the big house, Michaels.”
The lieutenant ignored the jibe. “I’ll keep in touch,” he said, and strode out the door and down the steps to the waiting sedan.
“Oh, Rafe…”
His warm arms encircled me. “Dear heart, this is something we get through, and when we reach the other side, it’s over and can be forgotten. I’m not letting anything…”
The phone rang shrilly. Rafe didn’t move, holding me more firmly when I shuddered at the sound.
“You’re not at home to anyone either, love.”
The third ring was cut off, and we could hear Garry’s voice in the kitchen. She came through the dining room, her lips firm with disapproval.
“Are you at home for Madam? She says she knows you’re here.”
Rafe exhaled slowly, and released me enough so we could walk to the phone. He held the receiver between us.
“Yes?”
“I told you to call me Wendy,” she said in a sharp voice, which mellowed suddenly. “We’re having an informal reception for you and”-a condescending half-laugh-”your latest bride.” Again her voice altered, harder now. I won’t take a refusal from you, Ralph. Everyone knows about your frightfully romantic wedding, so you’ve forced me into a very awkward position. Just good luck I was in Sunbury with Lou this weekend. Is that chit really Russell Donnelly’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“That makes some sense, then. You’ll be here for cocktails at seven. And tell her to wear dark stockings. I want those horrible marks hidden. Mrs. Garrison can come up and give Mrs. Palchi a hand.”
The connection was broken. The coldness in Rafe’s eyes was frightening. It was worse than open hatred or anger. It was… I don’t know what it was, but 1 had to erase it from his eyes.
“Rafe, I don’t mind. Really, I don’t.” And I tried to laugh lightheartedly. It came out sounding like a dreadful imitation of her laughter. I put my hands on his face and forced him to look at me. “I’m really durable. After police interrogations, blackmailers, threats, arsonists, I ought to be able to survive a suburban cocktail party.”
His arms almost crushed me, and his cheekbone hurt mine.
“I mind.” His eyes were still on a distance invisible to me. Abruptly he refocused, but there was still “that frightening reserve about him. “I know her sort of party, Nialla. And I know why she’s giving it. Not for you or me, but to preserve her ‘face’ from the slings and arrows of outraged society. On the other hand…” And he began to smile. It wasn’t a reassuring smile at all, and I stepped back, unsure. He looked at me again, but the empathy of a few moments ago was gone. “You’ll need some rest. Garry?”
She came into the room, a tray in her hands. “Moment I heard her voice, I knew what was happening, Mr. Rafe. You’d better munch on these. Cocktails at seven? Humph! No dinner till all hours if anyone’s able to eat then. I’ll just go up and give Mrs. Palchi a hand, if you don’t mind. She gets so upset.”
It was easy to seize on Mrs. Garrison’s reaction to the call to ease through the awkwardness. We consumed most of the cheeses, all the crackers and rye bread. Rafe kept urging me to eat heartily, because Garry had the right of it; we mightn’t get dinner until ten or eleven.
“Can’t say who’ll be there. Her crowd varies, depending on who’s ‘in’ or who’s getting divorced or dried out of one thing or another.” He gave me a less acid smile. “Oh, they’re not all bad, dear heart. It’s just that the bitches stand out. I’ll be latched to you all evening.”
So I smiled at him.
“And Marchmount?”
He cocked his head at me, and there was a shade more humor in his expression now. “If he appears, I’ll do the talking, Nialla.”
He made me go up and rest, but I had too many day-mares: hay blocks piling themselves over my father’s prone body, while baling wire snaked around, hissing like Wendy Madison; and then, in another sequence I kept trying on dress after dress with the echo of her malicious laughter in my ears.
I had enough of that in short order and decided to see which of my new acquisitions I’d wear. I’d about chosen the white linen sheath and wild sandals when Rafe sauntered in, flat jeweler’s box, one of the solid old-fashioned kind, in his hand.
“These suit you,” he said in a very solemn voice, and flipped open the lid to display the coral necklace, earrings, and bracelet. The set belonged to another, more gracious era, when young debutantes were permitted only certain adornments. Tiny seed pearls and diamonds accented the coral spikes. The earrings were for pierced ears, and Rafe was saying he’d have them altered if I didn’t want my ears done.
The necklace and bracelet, however, were the perfect touch for the white linen. And damn him, he had on a deep green linen jacket and white, slightly flared pants and white boots. One of those gorgeous Italian scarves of his was carelessly knotted at the throat of his white lawn shirt. He stepped beside me so that we were both reflected in the mirror,.and his grin was sheer boyish impudence. There wasn’t an inch of difference in our heights.
“We look like goddamned fashion dolls. Who is it-Barbie and her friend Ken?” He gave an amused snort. “C’mon. Let’s get the agony over with.”
No, one didn’t fool Rafe Clery at all. Except Rafe?
As we got into the car, I tried not to think of the cocktail party as an ordeal. I tried to assure myself that if Wendy Madison were so punctilious about conventions, she wouldn’t be openly discourteous to me. But her dictatorial summons didn’t fit in with the mutual-antagonism/hatred/contempt between her and her son.
Rafe drove right by a gate clearly heading into the big-house grounds. In fact, I had already braced myself for the car’s turn, and felt a little foolish as we whizzed by.