Officer Lewis looked at his watch.
“Is there a phone around here, Mr. Bailey? I’ve got to check in.”
“There’s a pay phone outside,” Bailey said. “But most likely somebody ripped the handset off for the fun of it. You go see Miss Kathy, and tell her I said to let you use hers.”
“Thank you,” Tiny said.
When he was out of earshot, Officer Bailey nodded approvingly.
“Nice boy, Foster,” he said. “You should be proud of him.”
“I am,” Lieutenant Lewis said.
Men in light blue uniforms, suggesting State Police uniforms, with shoulder patches reading “Nesfoods International Security,” stood at the gates of the Detweiler estate. They were armed, Matt noticed, with chrome-plated Smith amp; Wesson. 357 caliber revolvers, and their Sam Browne belts held rows of shining cartridges.
“Anyone trying to shoot their way in here’s going to have his hands full,” Matt said softly as he slowed and lowered the window of Amy’s station wagon.
“You really have a strange sense of humor,” Amy said, and leaned over him to speak to the security man.
“I’m Dr. Payne,” Amy said, “and this is my brother.”
One of the two men consulted a clipboard.
“Yes, Ma’am, you’re on the list,” the security man said, and the left of the tall wrought-iron gates began to open inward.
Matt raised the window.
“And you’re back on Peter’s list, too, I see,” Matt said.
“Matt, I understand that you’re under a terrible strain,” Amy said tolerantly, either the understanding psychiatrist or the sympathetic older sister, or both, “but please try to control your mouth. Things are going to be difficult enough in here.”
“I wonder how long it’s going to be before Mother Detweiler decides that if I had only been reasonable, reasonable defined as resigning from the Police Department and taking my rightful position in society, Penny wouldn’t have stuck that needle in her arm, and that this whole thing is my fault.”
“That’s to be expected,” Amy said. “The important thing is that you don’t accept that line of reasoning.”
“In other words, she’s already started down that road?”
“What did you expect?” Amy said. “She, and Uncle Dick, have to find someone to blame.”
“Give me a straight answer, Doc. I don’t feel I’m responsible. What does that make me?”
“Is that your emotional reaction, as opposed to a logical conclusion you’ve come to?”
“How about both?”
“Straight answer: You’re probably still in emotional shock. Have you wept?”
“I haven’t had time to,” Matt said. “I didn’t get to bed until about three.”
“More people showed up at your apartment?” Amy said, annoyance in her voice.
“No, I went to the bar where the Homicide detectives hang out with Jason Washington. He was trying to make me palatable to them.”
“What does that mean?”
“When I go back on the job, I’m going to spend some time in Homicide.”
“What’s all that about?”
“It’s a long story. What I will ostensibly be doing is working on the Inferno job.”
“What’s the ‘Inferno job’?”
“Washington and I walked up on a double homicide on Market Street, in a gin mill called the Inferno Lounge.”
“The bar owner? They killed his wife? I heard something on the radio.”
“The wife and business partner had their brains blown out. The husband suffered a. 32 flesh wound to the leg.”
“Is there something significant in that?” Amy asked.
“Let us say the version of the incident related by the not-so-bereaved husband is not regarded as being wholly true,” Matt said.
“But why are you going to Homicide?” Amy asked.
She didn’t get an answer.
“Jesus Christ, what’s this?” Matt exclaimed. “It looks like a used-car lot.”
Amy looked out the windshield. The wide cobblestone drive in front of the Detweiler mansion and the last fifty yards of the road leading to it were crowded with cars, a substantial percentage of them Cadillacs and Lincolns. There were five or six limousines, including two Rolls Royces.
“Dad said family and intimate friends,” Amy said. “It’s apparently gotten out of hand.”
“Intimate friends, or the morbidly curious?” Matt asked. “With a soupcon of social climbers thrown in for good measure?”
“Matt, have those acidulous thoughts if they make you feel better, but for the sake of Uncle Dick and Aunt Grace-and Mother and Dad-please have the decency to keep them to yourself.”
“Sorry,” he said, sounding contrite.
“What were they supposed to say when someone called, or simply showed up? ‘Sorry, you’re not welcome’?”
“Oh, shit, there’s Chad,” Matt said. “And the very pregnant Daffy and friend.”
“Why are you surprised, and why ‘oh, shit’?”
“I would just as soon not see them just now.”
Mr. Chadwick Thomas Nesbitt IV glanced down the drive as the station wagon drove up, recognized the occupants, and touched the arm of his wife. Mrs. Nesbitt in turn touched the arm of Miss Amanda Chase Spencer, a strikingly beautiful blonde who was wearing a black silk suit with a hat and veil nearly identical to Mrs. Nesbitt’s. All three stopped and waited on the lower of the shallow steps leading to the flagstone patio before the mansion’s front door.
“How are you holding up, buddy?” Chad asked, grasping Matt’s arm.
“Oh, Matt,” Daffy said. “Poor Matt!”
She embraced him, which caused her swollen belly to push against him.
“Hello, Matt,” Amanda said. “I’m so very sorry.”
“Thank you,” Matt said, reaching around Daffy to take the gloved hand she extended.
“I still can’t believe it,” Daffy said as she finally released Matt.
“I’m Amelia Payne,” Amy said to Amanda.
“How do you do?”
“I thought this was supposed to be family and immediate friends only,” Matt said, gesturing at all the cars.
“Matt, I can’t believe you said that!” Daffy said, horrified.
Matt looked at her without comprehension.
“Amanda’s been staying with us, for Martha Peebles’s engagement party,” Chad said coldly.
“Oh, Christ, I wasn’t talking about you, Amanda,” Matt said, finally realizing how what he had said had been interpreted.
“I know you weren’t,” Amanda said.
“I didn’t see you out there,” Matt said.
“I didn’t want you to,” Amanda said simply.
“Penny and Amanda were very close,” Daffy said.
“No, we weren’t,” Amanda corrected her. “We knew each other at Bennington. That’s all.”
Good for you, Matt thought. Cut the bullshit.
Chad Nesbitt gave her a strange look.
“Shall we go in?” he said, taking his wife’s arm.
Baxley, the Detweiler butler, opened the door to them. He was a man in his fifties, and wearing a morning coat with a horizontally striped vest.
“Mr. Detweiler’s been expecting you, Doctor,” he said.
The translation of which is that Mother D is about to lose control. Or has already lost it, Matt thought.
“I’ll go up,” Amy said. “Thank you, Baxley.”
“Coffee has been laid in the library,” Baxley said. “Miss Penny is in the sitting room.”
“Thank you, Baxley,” Chad Nesbitt said. He put his hand on Matt’s arm.
“Take care of him, Chad,” Amy said. “I’ll go see Aunt Grace.”
“I will,” Chad said. “Coffee first, Matt?”
“Yeah.”
As they walked across the foyer, Matt glanced through the open door of the sitting room. He could see the foot of a glistening mahogany casket, surrounded by flowers.
Shit, I didn’t even think about flowers.
Mother certainly sent some in my name, knowing that I wouldn’t do it myself.
Heads turned as the four of them went into the library. There were perhaps twenty-five people in the room, most of whom Matt knew by sight. A long table had been set with silver coffee services and trays of pastry. A man in a gray jacket and two maids stood behind the table. A small table behind them held bottles of whiskey and cognac.