black pants, and slingbacks. She’d pulled her hair back in a loose knot and wore a light floral scent. Altogether, she looked lovely and very sophisticated.
“Thanks for setting up,” I said. “Where’s Quinn?”
“At his place. I saw his car as I drove by. I figured I should get here, you know, a little early. Quinn’s so busy now that he’s working two jobs. You guys need me more than you thought.” She smiled, sounding cheerful.
“Pardon?”
“Well, with him working for that British guy.” Her smile froze.
“Quinn is working for Mick Dunne?” There was no point trying to act like I knew. My face gave away completely that I had no idea.
“Well, not exactly working for him, I guess,” she said uneasily. “But he, like, agreed to help him.”
“You mean as a consultant?” When did that happen? This morning Quinn had been as friendly as a Rottweiler toward Mick.
“Yeah. A consultant.” She knew now she’d let the cat out of the bag. Maybe a lot of cats and a lot of bags. She added, “You seem pretty mad, Lucie. I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth, but I figured you knew.”
“Looks like it slipped his mind to tell me.”
“Oh, God. Please don’t say I did. Could you act surprised when he brings it up?”
“Sure.” Me and my telltale face. “I’ll do that.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” She sounded relieved. “Because I think he’d, like, kill me.”
Not before I, like, killed him. “I wouldn’t worry,” I said.
I kept my word about not saying anything to Quinn when he finally showed up a few minutes later dressed in khakis and another in his extensive collection of Hawaiian shirts. This one was multiple shades of blue with fish swimming all over it.
“That is such a cool shirt,” Bonita said. She went over and fingered the fabric of one of his sleeves. “I totally love it.”
Quinn looked down at her and something twisted in my heart as I watched the way he smiled at her. No doubt about it. He was falling under her spell, fascinated by her transformation from college kid to beguilingly sexy woman.
“It’s vintage,” he said, still smiling. “One way you can tell the quality of a print like this is by the size of the fish’s lips. This one is kind of special.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said. “That is so awesome.”
“Sorry to interrupt this discussion about fish lips,” I said, “but do you think we have enough bottles of wine open? I just heard the Goose Creek Catering truck pulling up.”
They both turned around. Bonita let go of Quinn’s shirt and blushed. Quinn’s dark eyes held mine for a long moment. What was in his made me feel like an overbearing schoolteacher yanking her fun-loving pupils back in line, which wasn’t too far off the mark. I don’t know what he saw in mine, but I hoped it wasn’t wistfulness.
“I think we’re fine,” he said. “But just in case, I’ll get more glasses. They’re in the barrel room. Excuse me.”
He held the door for Dominique’s new assistant and two waitresses. When he came back a few minutes later, we were almost done setting out the hors d’oeuvres. Besides our just-released Cabernet Sauvignon and an older barrel-fermented Chardonnay, Austin had asked for champagne, which we’d bought from Harry Dye since we didn’t do any sparkling wines of our own yet.
I checked my watch. “What time are they coming?”
“Now,” Quinn said. “Three limos just pulled up.”
Austin Kendall had rounded up the region’s wealthiest citizens and it was immediately clear why when he walked into the room with his arm clapped around Hugo Lang’s shoulder. For a man who’d been questioned by the sheriff so recently, Hugo looked like he didn’t have a care in the world as he worked the room, slapping backs, shaking hands, and leaning in for the kind of whispered confidences that implied an inner sanctum aura of power and influence.
The mission tonight was to raise money for the upcoming campaign, so Hugo would have even more to bring to the table in San Francisco with his campaign war chest and platinum-plated connections. A nimble-minded Southern senator who chaired the Foreign Relations Committee and spoke with the charismatic eloquence of Bill Clinton, he’d be a definite asset to the ticket.
Quinn was right that Hugo bore a resemblance to President Kennedy, whose memory still had plenty of cachet around here, especially for the old-timers. People still talked about the Kennedys as neighbors, since they’d once owned a home in Middleburg while JFK was president. Afterward, Jackie returned often to ride with several of the local hunt clubs and a pretty pavilion on Madison Street was dedicated to her memory. Hugo had the same Kennedyesque striking good looks and strong profile—though he was now gray-haired—but his most magnetic feature was an irrepressible boyish smile. He flashed it often and it never failed to dazzle whoever he was with.
“How are you this evening, Lucie?” He came up to me after drinks had been served and Austin had proposed a toast to Hugo and “our worthy cause.”
“Fine, thanks, Senator. Congratulations.”
He smiled. “That’s probably a little premature, but thank you.”
“Can I talk to you for a second?” I asked. “I won’t take long, but it’s important. It’s about your daughter and my sister.”
Dark clouds replaced the sunshine. He took my elbow. Somehow I didn’t think he was going to be surprised by what I had to say. “Why don’t we go out on your terrace?” he murmured. “We’ll have more privacy there.”
“Hugo…?” Austin looked questioningly at both of us. “Going somewhere?”
“Be right back, buddy,” Hugo said. “I need a moment.”
“Sure, sure.”
We walked over to the railing. Hugo leaned against it, his back to the panoramic view and the Technicolor sunset. He was all business. “Let’s hear it.”
“Abby and Mia spend their nights out drinking. They’re drinking pretty heavily, too. Mia got a misdemeanor fine for public drunkenness the other day since she’s underage. They’re hanging out at the old temperance grounds.”
He brushed imaginary lint off the cuff of a beautiful custom-tailored suit. “Abby’s over twenty-one,” he said. “I’ve talked to her about this and she said she has everything under control. I believe my daughter. She’s a good girl.”
“With all due respect, I’m not sure she has it under control, Senator.”
His face hardened. Not a man used to someone telling him his business. “I appreciate your concern for Abby’s well-being, but I think you’re overreacting. Perhaps your sister’s the one who needs reining in.”
“I’m working on that.” The rebuke stung. He was digging in his heels because he didn’t want to believe what I was saying. Or maybe the timing was inconvenient. On impulse, I added, “By the way, why did you endorse Georgia Greenwood for state senate if you didn’t like her?”
What the hell? I probably wasn’t going to get another chance to ask him now that I’d ticked him off.
For a moment his eyes went glassy with shock, but he recovered immediately. “I do a lot of things I don’t always want to do or agree with,” he said coolly. “It’s part of the job description. Georgia was my party’s candidate, right here in my backyard. This was one of those situations.”
“So it’s true you didn’t like her?”
“I didn’t say that. And frankly, it’s none of your business what my personal opinion of her was.”
He was right, of course, but I kept going. “I saw the two of you leave the fund-raiser together. You’re one of the last people to see her alive, except for whoever had sex with her. And her killer. Unless they were the same person. Then you’re probably the next-to-last.”
He leaned toward me and poked his right index finger at my chest, jabbing the air as he spoke. “How dare you? I have no idea who she was with that night. And as for your smutty insinuation, I volunteered to give the sheriff a DNA mouth-swab sample. No one had to coerce me. After I left Georgia—
He lowered his finger and, instinctively, it seemed, began twisting his wedding ring around and around. But
