Body in the Bookcase

they could glimpse the wedding party through the windows.

“They never got zits in high school, those kind of girls,” Niki muttered. “It’s in the genes. Like long legs, a good backhand, and enough brains to hide them most of the time.”

“They do look beautiful, though,” Faith said.

“The Bridesmaids, isn’t that the title of a novel?” Tonight, they weren’t in the honey-colored slip dresses they’d wear tomorrow. They were in their own deceptively simple linen sheaths, pearls encircling their graceful necks, diamond studs sparkling on their earlobes. No double or triple piercing, no nose or lip rings. No body mutilation of any kind. Some spark of rebellion would have been welcome. Orange hair, a Jean Paul Gaultier outfit. Maybe there was a tiny rose tattoo under one of those Agnes B.s.

Dinner parties were like launching ships. You smashed the bottle across the bow and the well-constructed craft slipped down the ramp and off to sea, afloat on good food, excellent wines, and witty conversation. Faith had seen to two out of three, and from the look of it, the guests were supplying the third. At least they were laughing.

“She probably doesn’t want to put on an ounce before tomorrow or her dress won’t fit. I would have pegged her as the ‘finger down the throat’

type, but I may be wrong,” Scott commented as he entered the kitchen with Stephanie’s almost untouched main course.

“Too icky,” Niki said wryly. “She’s worried about her dress. Faith’s seen it, and an extra mil-limeter to the hips will throw the whole thing off.

Ten bucks says she eats dessert, though. She’s big on sweets. Daddy owes us a lot of money for all the cookies she’s filched over the last year.” Later, when Stephanie’s salad plate came back empty, Scott took the bet. “She’ll be full now.” Faith listened to her crew’s banter and felt completely isolated. The evening was taking on dreamlike qualities and the hours were passing slowly. Dessert would be served in the dining room, then coffee, small pastries, chocolates, and liqueurs in the library. It was warm enough to go outside, but mosquitoes, already ferocious, had ruled out this romantic notion.

Niki had prepared the dessert and it was a triumph—tiny wild strawberries, fraises de bois, layered with praline butter cream and yellow genoise in a wafer-thin dark chocolate tulip on a bed of caramelized spun sugar. Each dessert was capped by a chocolate medallion on which Niki had piped the bride’s and groom’s initials and the date.

Stephanie practically licked her plate clean.

Scott presented it to Niki with a bow and handed her a ten-dollar bill.

By midnight, the last Jaguars and Jeep Chero-kees had driven off and only the family remained.

“Marvelous party,” Courtney enthused in her flat upper-class drawl—the same voice reserved for “Nice day.” She stood in the kitchen doorway.

“Thank you—and tomorrow will be its equal,” Faith promised.

“I should certainly hope so.” Stephanie had come up behind her mother. “Binky and I are absolutely exhausted. We’re leaving.”

No “You must be tired, too,” “Good-bye,” or—heavens above—“Thank you” to the help. Stephanie left to spend her last night as Miss Bullock in the arms of Morpheus—and Binky, too, if she didn’t develop a headache between Concord and Cambridge.

“Good night, darling. You looked wonderful.” Mummy pecked Steffie on the cheek and sent her on her way, leaving soon herself with a faint wave in the direction of the catering staff.

Scott brought the last tray of the coffee things.

“This is it. The van’s loaded. After we finish washing these up, we’re all set to head back to the kitchen.”

Faith protested. “It’s getting late. Go now, and take Niki with you. Her car is there. It won’t take me long to do these.” Julian’s fragile Royal Crown Derby had to be washed by hand, as did the silver and glassware.

“Are you sure?” Niki asked. She’d been up since six, going from preparations at work to her class and back.

“Absolutely. You young things need more sleep than us overthirtys,” Faith assured her. “Tricia, you can follow the van in your car. I’ll probably be home before you, since you still have to unload everything.”

“Overthirtys? Since when have you taken to graybearding, boss? What’s going on?” Niki’s brow creased in concern. Faith almost never mentioned her age, except extremely obliquely.

“Nothing. This is one wedding I’m eager to put behind us, that’s all. I feel as if we’ve been living and breathing Stephanie Bullock’s big day for the last ten years.”

“It does feel that way,” Niki said, relieved. “All right, we’ll go.”

Faith heard the van pull away, then Tricia’s car.

Julian walked into the kitchen. “I thought they’d never leave.”

“Me neither,” Faith said. “The dishes can wait.” Back in the library, Julian poured Faith a snifter of brandy and motioned toward the leather couch.

Then he picked up the phone, dialed, and said, “I know what you’ve been up to and I’m not going to keep my mouth shut anymore.” He hung up immediately.

“Now we wait,” Faith said, sipping the brandy, feeling it hit her stomach like a fireball.

“Now we wait,” Julian said. “But it shouldn’t be long. That was the car phone.”

Five minutes went by, then ten. Everything they’d had to say to each other had already been said and they sat in silence together. Faith tried some more of her brandy and it went down more easily. She had the odd sensation of being at a wake. In a way, it was.

A car in the drive, then the front door opened and slammed shut. Hurried footsteps down the hall.

Courtney was in the doorway.

“What are you trying to pull, Julian? And what are you doing here!” She was furious and took a step into the room.

Faith rose from the couch and walked to the drinks tray. “Why don’t you sit down? We have a few things to discuss with you.”

When they’d heard the car in the drive, Julian had pushed the button on a cassette recorder disguised as a morocco leather–bound copy of War and Peace. Courtney looked confused. “Is it about tomorrow? I thought . . .” She sat down and accepted a drink.

“No, it’s not about tomorrow.” Julian moved behind his desk, sat down also, and nudged Tol-stoy closer to his ex-wife. “Sadly, if I said I was sorry to do this to you, I’d be lying, and there’s been quite enough of that. In a nutshell, ‘Mummy’ won’t be attending Steffie’s wedding.”

“Are you insane!” shrieked Courtney. “If this is your idea of a joke, it’s in extremely bad taste.”

“So is blackmail and framing me for a murder.

Not to mention the heinous act itself. Then there’s theft and a string of assorted charges. The blackmail, I could live with—as you well know. You’ve been doing it for years, but murder, old thing. A bit much, even for you.”

“You started it all!” Courtney flung the words back at him. She refilled her glass. “You were the one who found George, and he was damn useful to you in the early days. You wouldn’t be where you are now without him— or me and my family’s connections.”

“Alas, I’ll never know, will I?” Julian seemed genuinely regretful, and Faith wondered how he was going to bring this drawing room drama to a close.

“The whole thing is rather funny.” Courtney began to laugh a bit hysterically. “I knew you’d bought things from George you shouldn’t and used it to my advantage; then stupid Stackpole turned around and did the same thing to me when I bought from him.”

“You were buying from him?” Faith asked.

This was what they had suspected, but she wanted to get it on the record.

“He had a marvelous eye. Julian had turned pious and wasn’t buying from him, so I figured, Why shouldn’t I? My clients deserve the best, no matter the source. George got greedy, though. Or stupid. Blackmailing moi, can you imagine?” Faith could. Easily.

Faith persisted. “It wasn’t just that you were buying from him, though, was it? The two of you had a good thing going. How much did you pay James Green and his buddies to break into the houses? And who taught them