“Me, too,” I said with a quick laugh. “Too late, but it surely has to get better.”
“It could hardly be worse.” Teresa grimaced.
The room fell silent. Della Duffy remained in position in front of the window. Betts had propped himself against one end of the bar, Laphroaig in hand. Our host retrieved a fresh bottle of water and stood at the other end of the bar.
After what seemed several agonizing minutes—but was probably only five at the most—Marcella and Mrs. Cartwright returned to the living room. Marcella guided her mother to the sofa and sat her down. “What would you like to drink, Mother?”
“Whiskey, if there is anything decent on offer.” Mrs. Cartwright adjusted the scarf at her neck, then her dark glasses. Marcella scowled but headed for the bar.
“Good evening, Mrs. Cartwright, Mrs. Marter.” Teresa moved over to the sofa and sat by the author. “How are you tonight?”
“Thirsty.” Mrs. Cartwright laughed. “Otherwise, I’m doing just fine, my dear. And you?”
While Teresa and Mrs. Cartwright chatted, I watched Marcella at the bar. She wrested the Laphroaig away from Betts, who offered no resistance. I figured by now he had downed enough of the whiskey to be in a mellower frame of mind.
“Good evening, my dear.” Eagleton beamed at Marcella as she found two glasses and poured drinks for herself and her mother. “So pleased that you and your delightful mother could join us this evening. Spending time with you twice in one day is indeed a rare benison.”
“Our pleasure.” Marcella spritzed the glasses with soda and turned away. I winced at the sight. Though I was not much of a whiskey drinker, I knew better than to insult Laphroaig that way.
Eagleton followed her to greet Mrs. Cartwright. “Dear lady, you are most welcome indeed. I take it as a great honor that you have appeared at this select gathering tonight.”
“My pleasure.” Mrs. Cartwright smiled briefly before she accepted her whiskey from Marcella.
“Allow me to propose a toast to one who is not with us this evening.” Eagleton glanced around. “Della, my dear, do please join us. You, too, Gordon. Gather near.”
He waited until Ms. Duffy and Betts drew closer, then raised his glass.
“Would that we could toast dear Carrie Taylor in her living presence, but alas that is not to be. She was a delightful person, a true devotee of our dear Mrs. Cartwright, and a wonderful champion for Veronica Thane in all things.”
“What do you mean, ‘she was a delightful person’?” Marcella appeared confused. “What happened to her?”
Betts giggled. “Somebody murdered her.” He downed his drink in one gulp.
Marcella shrieked, dropped her glass, then fainted.
TWENTY-FIVE
Luckily for Marcella, she was standing in front of the sofa when she fainted. She fell backward onto it, about two inches from where her mother sat. The contents of the glass ended up mostly on her, a little on her mother and the sofa. The aroma of the expensive liquor began to pervade the room.
Mrs. Cartwright jerked as her daughter’s body landed beside her, but she managed to hang on to her glass of whiskey and soda without sloshing any out. “Oh, goodness, Marcella, whatever is the matter with you?” She glanced around, obviously searching. “Where is my purse? I need my smelling salts.”
“Here it is.” Teresa grabbed the large bag, almost a briefcase in size, from the floor beside the sofa. She handed it to the author, who quickly rummaged inside and brought out a small bottle. She twisted off the cap, then stuck the salts under her daughter’s nose.
Marcella’s body flinched as she inhaled. Her eyelids fluttered. After a moment she sat up, shaking her head as if to clear it. “What happened?” she asked in a weak voice. She glanced around, blinking rapidly.
“You fainted.” Her mother’s tone was crisp. “When you heard the news that Carrie Taylor is dead, you passed right out.” Mrs. Cartwright belted back the rest of her whiskey and soda.
“Oh, my.” Marcella’s right hand went to her cheek. She stared at her mother. “How awful. Who on earth would do such a thing?” She accepted the towel Teresa had fetched and began the attempt to dry herself.
“That’s something we’d all like to know.” Della Duffy stuffed cheese in her mouth as she stared down at Marcella and Mrs. Cartwright.
Marcella frowned. “You don’t think I know anything about it, surely.” She dropped the towel on the floor.
“Did I say that?” Della sounded bored. “I was talking to Winnie.”
“Dear ladies, I am certain that none of us knows anything about such an unfortunate occurrence.” Winston Eagleton cleared his throat as he glared at Della Duffy. “It must have been some local ruffian who did this terrible thing. Why, none of us really knew poor Carrie all that well.”
Betts giggled. “Come on, Winnie, you know better than that. I saw you at the con in Boston, cozying up to her, kissing her hand, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. You were sweet on her.”
Eagleton’s face burned bright red, and for once he appeared to be at a loss for words.
“That’s right,” Della said. “I saw you, too. Probably trying to get her to invest in your press after Gordon pulled his money out. But I’ll bet she didn’t fall for it, either.”
“Either?” Mrs. Cartwright laughed. “I suppose that means he tried it on you first, eh?”
Della snorted. “He did try it on me, but I ain’t buying. Probably tried it on Gordon, too, to get him to reinvest. When it comes to money, dear old Winnie is totally bisexual.”
Betts simply giggled again. I think he was too far gone to care what Della Duffy said.
Despite the painful embarrassment I felt at having to witness such a nasty little scene, I took careful note of Della Duffy’s indiscreet remarks. I would share the information with Kanesha later, in case it had any bearing on the murder.
Eagleton found his voice. “I am not bisexual. The very notion is the height of absurdity.” He paused for a steadying breath. “I admit I did pay court to Carrie Taylor. She was a kind, attractive woman of an age suitable to be a companion to a man such as myself.” He glared at Della. “I didn’t try anything on you. I merely approached you with a business proposition.”
Della shrugged. “If you say so.” She turned away and wandered over to the food table.
Teresa and I had been standing by, observing the whole distasteful scene. I had no doubt she was every bit as uncomfortable as I was, having to watch such goings-on. I was about to make my excuses and leave, taking Teresa along, but Marcella forestalled me.
She rose from the sofa and extended a hand to her mother. “Come along now, Mother. I want to go home and get out of this dress. It reeks of whiskey.”
“Well, if you must.” Eagleton’s protest sounded pretty weak to me.
“Evidently we must.” Mrs. Cartwright let her daughter pull her to a standing position. “Don’t forget my bag, Marcella.”
“Of course not, Mother.” Marcella grabbed the purse from the sofa and stuck the strap over her arm.
“Let me show you out.” Eagleton preceded the women to the door. “Perhaps you will allow me to visit you again tomorrow and continue our discussions from earlier today?”
“I’ll call you,” Marcella said, her tone not in the least bit friendly. “Do you think you can find your way again?”