Dark Tort

them into Louise’s waiting hands in the living room, then hustled back into the kitchen.

As Julian and I were passing around the first platter of appetizers, Vic began playing “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts’ Club Band.” Out the front window—one of them, anyway—I could see that Richard and K. D. Chenault were arriving in separate black BMWs. A nanosecond later, Alonzo and Ookie Claggett pulled up in their black Beemer, which they parked behind Nora’s, which was also black. What, did these people all go shopping for cars together? If so, did they get a discount?

I moved into the living room with a platter of stuffed Portobello mushrooms. Richard Chenault, wearing a silvery gray turtleneck and charcoal slacks, caught my eye and nodded. He looked ragged. When K.D. saw our exchanged glance, she sidled up to me and nabbed a mushroom. Her chestnut hair was swept over to one side, and she wore a loosely cut black silk top and black pants. She looked ravishing, and I thought Richard Chenault was an idiot. Or maybe they were both idiots. K.D. whispered that she’d try to come into the kitchen to visit soon.

Unlike the Chenaults’ subdued appearance in the living room, Claggs and Ookie made a grand entrance, shouting their hellos so loudly all the guests could hear. Ookie, her shiny brown hair pulled up into a windblown coif, looked lovely in a slim black dress hemmed with a blue ruffle. Her noisy greetings to friends had caused heads to turn…and they stayed turned. I watched her for a moment as she seemed to pounce on one guest after another, like a bee buzzing impatiently from one blossom to the next.

To my great astonishment, she eventually sashayed forward, took a mushroom, and then called to Richard, “Hey, partner guy! How does it feel to have one of your associates living in a place that’s twice as big as yours?”

Richard Chenault merely pursed his lips and looked away. Had Ookie’s javelin hit its mark, or was the Chief just feeling so low about his niece’s death that he didn’t care what Ookie did?

Without missing a beat, Vic shifted into “Yesterday.”

Returning to the kitchen, I replaced the empty mushroom platter with a large glass platter that held smaller glass dishes, plus room for rows of empanadas and a glass bowl of guacamole. With a pile of napkins held snugly in my left hand, I began a lap of the enormous living room. Nora Ellis appeared, looking radiant. She had changed into a calf-length chocolate-colored corduroy jumper and matching long-sleeved turtleneck. She’d swept her blond hair up into a twist, and she wore more gold jewelry than a rap singer.

She smiled broadly until her glance fell on Ookie, whose strident voice was hard to miss. Nora’s expression became grim until she noticed I was right next to her, watching. Then she smiled.

“Empanada, Nora?”

“No, thanks. But they look wonderful.”

I was hurt, since she’d claimed to love them back at our tasting. I was about to move on when Bishop Sutherland, wearing a purple shirt and clerical collar, walked into the center of the living room. He put one arm around Nora and the other around Donald.

“My dear daughter and son-in-law have made every day in my life feel like a birthday!” he cried. Everyone clapped as Uriah hugged first Nora, then Donald, who appeared mortified, like Goofy when Mickey squeezes all the air out of him. Julian caught my eye and surreptitiously pointed to a large, elaborately framed needlepoint sign hanging on the wall behind me. It read: “Have You Hugged Your Lawyer Today?”

Once Uriah had released his son-in-law, I moved up to Donald and Nora and offered them empanadas, even though Nora had already refused them. Donald gave me a look that indicated what he really wanted was a shot of Demerol.

“Birthdays are rough,” I whispered conspiratorially.

His smile was resigned. “Yes, but consider the alternative.”

Nora’s expression hardened. “Goldy, don’t you want to make the rounds of all the guests?”

Instead of saying, “I was just getting to that,” I nodded deferentially and moved off with my tray. Nora had been exceptionally nice to me so far, and I didn’t want to ruin our chance of a supersize gratuity.

Alonzo Claggett, who looked dashing in khaki pants and a long-sleeved light blue shirt that complemented his Italianate features, olive skin, and dark curls, was talking to Marla. They were discussing tax-avoiding trusts. Bishop Sutherland was standing with them, his head leaned in to their conversation. Vic was playing “I Want to Hold Your Hand.”

Marla said, “I thought the IRS wouldn’t go for that unless the trust was irrevocable.”

“Why don’t you come over to my office sometime?” quipped Alonzo.

“Why don’t you come over to my house and see my etchings?”

“We could meet at my place in the Bahamas,” Alonzo countered.

“How about Trancas?” Marla asked. “It’s more upscale.”

“There’s always Lichtenstein.”

“But would the trip be deductible?”

At this juncture, Marla reached for my proffered tray. Bishop Sutherland drank from his glass. When Marla dipped her two empanadas into the guacamole, Alonzo winked at me. Of all the folks at H&J, Alonzo was the one person who didn’t seem broken up over losing Dusty. He’d acted upset at first, but then had bounced back with vigor. What was that about?

After Marla had finished chewing, she sucked in her cheeks and glanced in the direction of Donald Ellis, who was standing by the massive hearth. “The birthday boy looks as if he’s at a funeral.”

Alonzo followed Marla’s gaze. “He’s always like that.”

“Should I have him draw up my trust?” Marla asked playfully. “Would it cost less to have one associate do it than to have another associate do me? Oh, dear, did I just say that?” She opened her eyes wide and stuffed another guacamole-slathered empanada into her mouth.

Alonzo flashed his pearly whites. “I would love to do you, Marla. Come to think of it, Donald’s more of a generalist, while I specialize in trusts. I’d make it worth what you pay me.”

Marla finished her appetizer and assumed a disappointed tone. “You mean I’m going to have to pay?”

Only Bishop Sutherland laughed.

Alonzo and Marla moved off to greet some friends from Aspen Meadow Country Club, and I was left with Bishop Sutherland. Since caterers are fine-tuned to noticing when their guests’ moods have fallen off, I was suddenly aware that the bishop’s facial expression had turned bleak.

“Bishop Sutherland?” I inquired. “Are you okay?”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head of white hair. “Not really. Birthday parties always make me feel low, the way some people say they can’t stand Christmas. It reminds them, or us, I should say, of folks who aren’t around anymore.”

I nodded sympathetically. “You seemed so happy hugging your daughter and son-in-law.”

“I’m a good actor,” he replied, then was quiet for a few uncomfortable moments, during which I didn’t know if I should leave or stay.

“Well,” I said finally, “are you missing somebody in particular?”

His shoulders slumped. “Yes, Mrs. Schulz, I’m missing somebody in particular. Today was Charlie Baker’s birthday. My poor dear friend. I miss him. When he had shingles on his birthday, one of the nurses made him a cake, and we had a party in the hospital. It was one of the best celebrations I’ve ever attended, because everyone who was there—patients, nurses, even a doctor—was there because he or she wanted to be there. We sang and laughed and ate cake and ice cream…” He sighed. “Oh Lord. I miss my friend.”

“I’m sorry.”

He gave me a half smile. “Thanks. Most people don’t care about clergy…they want clergy to care for them. Sometimes I just…get real lonely all of a sudden.”

“You don’t have to stay here, you know,” I said in a low voice.

“Yes, I do. But thanks for being nice.” And before I could say anything else, the bishop had moved off to visit with some people who were standing near the kitchen.

At this juncture, since neither Marla nor Alonzo seemed to want more empanadas, I moved off in the direction of the Ellises’ neighbors, who were standing near Donald beside the massive hearth.

“I’d love to have something from your plate,” came a sexy male voice from behind me. I turned, startled. “Please.”

I was facing a belt and a pair of white slacks. I looked up, up, up at a man as tall as any guy playing for the