“That’s pretty drastic, but cheating isn’t just a game. People get hurt. Lives are ruined.” Tinkie was not a fan of deceit or lies.
Clarissa shrugged one shoulder. “This is the real world, ladies. It happens. Spouses and fiancés stray. Women and men sleep with their boss or employees. Young girls hone their skills chasing older men. These are all passing stages. None of them should be taken seriously by any party involved.”
Her philosophy of life wasn’t appealing to me, but what she said was at least partially true. It took all kinds to make a community.
“Are you kidding me?” Millie had walked up for the tail end of the conversation. “That kind of crap can kill a marriage and put a person’s life in danger. It’s not just a passing moment of great sex with no cost. It has a cost. Sometimes a high one.”
Clarissa grabbed a glass of wine from a passing server and swallowed most of it. “Perhaps in your plebeian world, but those of us with some sophistication understand that man is just an animal. We have animal urges. Once you own up to it, then it frees you to enjoy life.”
“People get hurt when someone they love cheats. Most people don’t like to be hurt. Sometimes they lash back.” Millie held her ground.
“Sex has nothing to do with love,” Clarissa insisted. “Only a naïve fool would confuse the two.”
I put a hand on Millie’s shoulder but spoke to Clarissa. “Maybe you should rent the movie Fatal Attraction. Oh, and if you have any rabbits, it may be best to rehome them.”
“Pish posh,” Clarissa said, shaking her head. “I don’t care if you are judgmental about us. Your view of what we do is neither here nor there. Will you take the case?”
“What do you want us to prove?” I asked.
“Find out who’s behind this series of accidents and let’s get them the mental help they need. Someone is going to get hurt. I can agree with you on that. Poor Bart came down those stairs like he was a sack of potatoes. He could have easily broken his neck.”
“Our retainer is fifteen large,” Tinkie said, upping our normal fee and also attempting to sound like a gangster. I loved it when she got her back up.
“I’ll have the money. Now I must see to my guests.” She walked toward the bar. “Everyone, please, refill your glasses. This has been a terrible accident, but Bart is on the way to the hospital to get the care he needs. There’s nothing else we can do for him. Please drink up.”
“You think we can solve this before we leave Columbus?” Tinkie asked. Around us the sound of hushed talk continued. Clarissa turned the Christmas music louder.
“If this was going on in Zinnia, it would be a snap because we would know exactly the right people to ask.” Every town had a couple of people who were up to speed on all the gossip. We just didn’t know who that might be in Columbus.
8
It took some effort on Clarissa’s part, but she finally got the party revved up. I wanted to leave, but the beautiful old Queen Anne house was jam-packed with potential suspects, so Tinkie and I split up to cover more ground. Cece and Millie were also helping: they walked up to groups of women and inserted themselves into conversations, eventually leading the talk back to the cement-buried Caddy and Tulla’s shocking karaoke experience. I was also interested in Sunny Crenshaw, wife of the tumbling Realtor. She hadn’t gone to the hospital with her husband but instead had remained at the party, drinking pretty hard. I also had an eye out for Bricey Presley. She was my number one suspect in Bart Crenshaw’s unfortunate “accident.”
A group of laughing women clustered around Darla, who was recounting stories about bad B and B guests from holidays past.
“And then there was the man who would get up in the middle of the night, sneak into the kitchen, and eat every single Christmas cookie I’d baked.”
“How many cookies?” someone asked.
“One night it had to be three dozen. I was terrified he’d go into a diabetic coma or have a heart attack.” Darla was an engaging storyteller. Everyone was laughing. I hadn’t really considered how awful it might be to have people in her home all the time, wandering around at night, looking for snacks, going to the bathroom, or playing musical bedrooms. It wasn’t a situation I wanted to deal with. As one of those guests at Bissonnette House, I would be on my best behavior.
I skirted the group listening to Darla and went to an alcove off the formal dining room, where an incredible mahogany table caught my eye. When I went to examine it, I found a woman sitting alone in a dim corner of the room. Her back was to me, but I recognized Kathleen.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine. It’s just a shock to think someone almost died at a Christmas party.”
“That whole business with Bart Crenshaw was just awful. The way he tumbled down the stairs. I keep seeing it in slow motion in my brain,” I agreed.
“Have you heard if he’s going to be okay?”
I hadn’t, but Coleman could check for me. “I can find out.”
“Would you?”
“Why not? Come with me.” We left the dim corner and went outside where Coleman, Jaytee, Harold, and Oscar had escaped the buzz saw of gossip in the house. When I asked Coleman to make the call to check on Bart, he didn’t even ask why.
A moment later, he had an update. “Bart is in a room. No broken bones. A concussion, but they don’t think it’s serious. They’re going to watch him, though.”
“What about a brain bleed?” Kathleen went right to the darkest place possible.
“From what the local police officer who is in the room with
