“Aunt Courtney, that shop you mentioned. It sounds so interesting. Where is it located?”
She started to tell me, but I interrupted her. “I’m so bad at remembering things, especially after a couple of glasses of wine. Could you write it down for me?”
I signaled one of the maids serving table and asked her for a pen and a piece of paper. When she brought them, I handed them to Courtney. She dutifully wrote down the address.
“Thank you so much. It was nice chatting with you,” I said. “We’ll have to do lunch sometime.” Preferably in the afterlife, assuming I did so many bad things that I ended up in the same place she did.
I hurried away to rescue Kirsten, who didn’t look like she wanted to be rescued, from the dozen or so men vying for her attention. I carried the piece of paper carefully by one corner.
The handwriting was very similar but not exact. More importantly, Courtney had held the paper down with her thumb while writing. A thumbprint plus DNA. I could hardly wait to get it to the lab.
Chapter 42
“How many guests are coming?” I asked Marjorie when she brought our breakfast in the morning. I didn’t want to brave the dining room buffet. A brief visit to my balcony had shown an even larger influx of traffic than the day before.
“About two thousand,” she said. “Only the bride’s and groom’s families and close friends. Wait until next summer. It’ll be the wedding of the year.”
“Where are they going to fit everyone?” Kirsten asked.
Marjorie spooned eggs and sausage onto our plates and said, “The main ballroom tonight, although the barbeque this afternoon will be on the south lawn. The children won’t be at the ball.”
Glancing out the window, I saw dark clouds on the horizon over the bay and wondered if someone was going to magikally manipulate the weather. With his bad heart, I knew it wouldn’t be Uncle George. The thought of an uncontrolled rain shower interrupting the festivities brought a smile to my face.
“There won’t be a sit-down dinner tonight,” I told Kirsten as we made our way outside. “Eat your fill this afternoon, and then drink your fill at the ball tonight. Pace yourself. The first time my mom allowed me to attend one of these extravaganzas, I passed out before the music even started.”
As promised, the food at the barbeque was spectacular, and champagne flowed like water. In addition to the Novak and Findlay extended families, the major figures from both Families’ allies were there. Some of the overseas Families sent only one or two representatives, but since this was the wedding of Frank Novak’s youngest son, every one of his allied Families were represented and came bearing betrothal gifts designed to impress.
Kirsten and I were stuffing our faces when Mychal’s voice behind me said, “May I join you ladies?”
Without waiting for an invitation, he pulled up a chair and sat next to Kirsten. He looked natural in tennis whites, and his slender but muscular build was the sort of thing that came from playing tennis or swimming.
“Hello, again,” Kirsten said with a smile. “I wondered where you were. It’s your twin brother who’s getting married, isn’t it?”
“Yes, otherwise I would have tried to duck out.” He sighed and looked over at me. “I just had to deal with some other drama, too. One of Marco’s girlfriends, already drunk, was giving him a piece of her mind. Very loudly. And, of course, she wasn’t willing to go quietly.”
I chuckled. “Your brother is quite a lady’s man, I take it.”
Mychal shook his head. “Jerk is more like it. She’s a friend of Lila’s and evidently found out he’s getting married when she received the invitation. I assume the bride’s mother didn’t suspect he had other entanglements.”
“Oh, that’s not good,” Kirsten said.
I’m a little slow sometimes, but it took me only about five more minutes to figure out that my participation in the conversation was unnecessary. Mychal was obviously smitten, and Kirsten encouraged his interest. They didn’t even notice when I took my beer and left.
As I wandered across the lawn hoping to find someone interesting to talk with, I ran into Jerilyn Novak.
“Sergeant James!” She had a huge smile on her face. “I hoped you might be here.”
I vaguely remembered Marjorie mentioning that children wouldn’t be at the evening’s ball. And although I was sure Jeri considered herself an adult, I hadn’t attended such events until I graduated from high school and turned eighteen.
“Hey, how are you doing? I’ve got a bone to pick with you. You didn’t tell me Mychal was a twin.”
She shrugged. “You’re supposed to be a detective. I assumed you knew.”
“So, tell me about them. Do they like read each other’s minds and that sort of thing?”
“Dunno. They’re close, but totally different. Marco is really outgoing, works in marketing. Hotshot letch. God’s gift to women, you know what I mean? And Mychal’s a nerd. It’s almost like he’s afraid of girls. But ya know what’s funny? Mychal was dating Lila, and then Marco moved in on her. Got his ass trapped, too.”
“Yeah, he did.”
Her face took on a more serious expression. “Any word on what might have happened to Sarah?”
“Not really, but we think Martin Johansson’s death might be related.”
She snorted. “If you want to know who killed Mr. Johansson, I suggest you look at irate fathers.”
I remembered my conversation with Diana Benning. “How about irate mothers?”
Jeri thought about it. “Maybe. I could see my mom fucking someone up if they hurt me, although I don’t know if she’d kill anyone.”
“How about pay someone to kill him?”
A sly grin spread across her face. “Not my mom, she’d want to hurt him herself, but I could see where other mothers might do that. Women can be nasty.”
“Naw, really? I never would have guessed.” We laughed.
My conversation with Diana Benning a little bit later took on a bit more serious tone.
“Tom Whittaker told us that Martin Johansson is the one who
