Some Like It Lethal (16 page)

"You know Tim Naftzinger, right? He was there. You could ask him."

"Yes," I said, carefully noncommittal.

"Or we could ask some of Tottie's chums. In his newfound quest for sainthood, Tottie's throwing a party this afternoon. I thought you might be going."

"I haven't been invited."

"It's not that kind of party. It's Koats for Kids. Tottie's the new sponsor, and they're having a mad tea party for children. It's bound to be a gas. I'm hoping Tottie puts on a Santa suit."

"You're going?"

"Of course. You know how I love irony. Want to come along? There's bound to be food. Cookies for the kiddies and tidbits and cheap chardonnay for the
rest of us, I suppose. You might get a chance to do some detective work."

It was a chance to see Tottie again, too. "I'm in," I said.

Chapter 9

Before setting off with Hadley, I phoned Libby. She had had no word from Emma, and was ready to launch into another meltdown, so I signed off quickly.

The Pressley, a stately hotel with gas lamps out front and crystal chandeliers in the marble lobby, had been knocked down and replaced by an extremely generic glass-and-steel chain hotel that catered to large families of tourists who came to see the Liberty Bell and eat cheesesteak sandwiches. In the off-season, the new hotel tried to stay in black ink by renting out its ballrooms for conventions. It was known around town as a good place to get a party room and so-so food on a budget.

Hadley and I rode the escalator up to the mezzanine, drawn by tinny Christmas music and Mylar balloons. At the top of the stairs, I saw my friend Delilah Fairweather issuing commands into her cell phone. We crossed to her. She snapped her phone shut and hugged us both.

"A total disaster," she said, as if we'd arrived in midconversation. "Why did I take this job? It's a total disaster. I should know better. Never take a party at the last minute. And never take a job somebody else started and screwed up."

"What's the catastrophe? Everything looks fine."

Delilah wore a red minidress with a beaded bolero
jacket and white boots. Her hair was cornrowed tight against her skull, then exploded into a top knot of braids at the crown of her head, decorated with a twist of tiny silver stars. The taut hairstyle made her almond eyes seem more slanted than usual, but they were sparkling with anger. "Tottie Boarman's people coordinated this party with the hotel, but they realized nobody was going to come, so they asked me to step in to round up the usual suspects. I had a day free, so why not? The pay's astronomical. Just goes to show I should never take a job for the money. These people are idiots!"

"What people?"

"Tottie's crew! They know nothing about event planning."

"What do you expect?" I asked. "Tottie probably never threw a Christmas party in his life."

"If it weren't for such a good cause, I'd walk out right now. But Koats For Kids—ever hear of it? It used to be a charity that gave away coats and mittens to underserved families every Christmas. But it fell apart last year when the organizers retired. Tottie stepped in this week and donated a big chunk of change to the organization. He wanted a party complete with the Cratchit children singing carols, but his people dropped the ball. I hate having my name attached to a bomb." She checked her watch. "I'm waiting for the kid chorus now. They're late."

Hadley said, "If Tottie shows up with a sack of gifts, I'm going to puke in the sleigh."

"Yeah, reeks of Christmas spirit, doesn't it? He's buying goodwill, but what else is new?"

"Can you get us in, Delilah?"

She waved us toward the open ballroom doors. "Of course. The crowd is going to be thin because there's
a
Monsters on Ice
show this afternoon. Anybody who's here has been bought and paid for by Tottie's people, who wanted a mob for the sake of photographers. Any extra bodies will be more than welcome."

"Count on us." Hadley took my arm. "Let's go."

The ballroom had been set up with a small stage with a piano at one end, no doubt for the children's chorus that hadn't yet shown up. An artificial tree, decorated with childish drawings pasted on lace doilies, stood in the center of the room, looking too small and slightly crooked. A few children in expensive holiday clothes wandered listlessly around tables that had been set up with games. Three college girls in elf costumes tried to entice the children into tossing rings over bottles and dimes into goldfish bowls. I figured the kids were the children of Tottie's staff members. The adults stood around in Christmas finery trying to make the best of the enforced festivities while keeping their offspring under control.

One little boy, dressed in a brass-buttoned vest, tartan pants and red bow tie, hung on his father's hand and whined that he wanted to go home to his Xbox. A little girl in layers of tulle bawled brokenheartedly while her mother knelt and whispered in the child's ear soothing promises of treats to come. Two more boys were batting each other with spoons stolen from the refreshment table, making light-saber noises.

Spike woke up and poked his head out of my handbag. He peered with predatory interest at the children.

Hadley plucked a sugar cookie from the buffet and sniffed it suspiciously. "Think I could get a real drink from someone?"

I pointed at the punch bowl. "Fruit juice."

He shuddered. "What a waste of perfectly good
maraschino cherries. Why put them in anything but a Manhattan?" He tossed the cookie back onto the buffet and went in search of alcohol.

Across the room I saw Tim Naftzinger, of all people, standing awkwardly by himself with an empty punch cup in one hand. I went over to him.

"Hi, Tim."

"Nora." He was surprised to see me.

"Is Merrie here with you?"

"No, she's at home. I— The hospital asked me to stop in. The staff is giving a donation, and they wanted me to present the gift."

"That's wonderful."

"It's all part of the promotion process." He looked sheepish. "I think this is a test to see if I'd make appearances as Chief of Pediatrics."

Of course, I wanted to ask Tim all kinds of questions. There was a chance he knew something about the blackmail photos I had received. But it would have been heartless. He looked overwhelmed already.

"Do you really want the new job?"

He started to sip from his punch cup and seemed puzzled to find it empty. "I don't know. I enjoy working with patients, but the top job would mean more administrative duties, with hours I could control. I'd get to spend more time with Merrie."

"That sounds like plenty of incentive."

He tried to smile, but it looked forced. "I hoped to make a quick appearance and go home to her, but I understand all the donors have to wait for Tottie Boarman to show up." With more feeling, he said, "I hate being on parade like this."

"I'm sure the organization will accept your check even if you leave early."

He perked up. "Think so? I hate to spend any extra weekend time away from Merrie. I see so little of her during the week."

His schedule was brutal, I was sure.

But he lingered for another moment. "I heard Emma left the hospital without being discharged. Is she all right?"

"Actually, she gave her police guard the slip and took off," I confided. "I'm going to keelhaul her if she ever turns up."

Tim's face went slack. "You haven't heard from her?"

"She's fine," I assured him. "I appreciate what you did to help her."

"I wish I could have— I'm just glad she's all right. I hope she— I mean, Merrie is very fond of her."

"Emma has that effect on people." I smiled at Tim. "She's a natural instigator, and kids respond to that."

Quite seriously, Tim said, "It's more than that. She's got a lot of heart, I think. She tries to hide it, but she has something to offer other people."

He caught himself, but I found myself watching Tim's face. For an instant, I had seen honest emotion there. Did he care differently about Emma than I'd first thought? But his fleeting expression was gone.

"Well," I said, "I hope this mess blows over soon. I know the police think she's mixed up in Rush Strawcutter's death somehow, but that's ridiculous. She'll be cleared soon. And then—well, Emma needs a chance to get her life back on track."

Tim considered saying something, but stopped himself.

He looked very vulnerable standing there, out of his element and longing to be at home with his daughter. Looking at him, I knew for certain I could never tell
Tim about the photographs I'd received in the mail. Tim didn't need another burden to carry.

But should I warn him? Was his family in danger because I couldn't pay the blackmailer?

We were interrupted before I could speak. The late-arriving chorus trooped into the ballroom, led by a very short, stout woman in a stiff black cape and a fur toque set at a jaunty angle over her stern face. She carried a folder of sheet music under her arm and marched straight for the stage, followed by two dozen children all wearing neat white shirts, black pants and Santa hats. The last boy in line—perhaps ten years old and less than pleased to find himself paraded into the room looking silly-had snatched off his hat and hidden it behind his back. The conductor directed her singers into place and plopped the boy's hat on his head when he passed by. He rolled his eyes.

Spike wriggled in my bag, keenly absorbed by the puffy white balls on the Santa hats.

"I think I'll take your advice and go home," Tim said beside me.

"Okay," I said. "Merry Christmas, Tim."

I moved to kiss him on the cheek, but he flinched away. Without another word, he walked rapidly for the door.

Hadley strolled over again. "No booze at all," he reported. "How can we have holiday spirits without holiday spirits?"

I was about to answer him when I noticed Kitty's new assistant, Andy Mooney, lurking nearby. He was so short that he blended in with the kids, but he snapped a picture, and his camera's flash caught my attention.

"My God," Hadley cried with delight. "A real elf! No, perhaps more of a gnome."

"Andy," I called. "Come meet a friend of mine."

Andy came over with a big smile. He still had a cell phone earpiece, but only in one ear this time. "Miss Blackbird! Awesome to see you again."

He desperately needed a breath mint. I introduced Andy to Hadley, who looked amused when Andy pinpointed the Pinkham bloodline right away.

"Oh, I've admired the Pinkham photographs for years," Andy gushed. "I'm a bit of a shutterbug myself."

"A shutterbug," Hadley crooned. "How awesome. Don't you think, Nora? Do you have a portfolio, Mr. Mooney?"

"Oh, nothing that formal. I just snap for my own pleasure. And for Miss Keough now, too, of course."

I said, "Andy has been accompanying Kitty Keough to social events. I think Andy aspires to be a social reporter himself someday."

"Oh, it's my calling," Andy assured me seriously. "It's my wildest dream."

"Is Kitty here, Andy?"

"Yes. She stepped out to freshen up."

Hadley was undeterred from his line of questioning. "What do you do with all your snaps, Andy? Do you keep them in an album?"

"Not all of them. I have so many!"

"What do you do with the rest?" Hadley asked. "The ones that don't go into albums? Do you destroy them?"

"Oh, no, just store them in envelopes."

"What kind of envelopes?"

Andy raised his camera lens to his eye to frame a picture of the children assembling on the stage. "Just standard photographer envelopes."

"The white, laminated kind, you mean?"

"Yeah, those. Do you think I should try getting some shots of the kids? You know, just in case Miss Keough wants to add some warmth to her column this week?"

"I'm sure she'll add a little warmth," I said. "It's almost Christmas, after all."

"Okay, I'll be right back."

"Interesting," Hadley said. "Don't you think so?"

"I take back all the rude things I ever said to you, Hadley. You're brilliant."

"Oh, look, there's Pixie Northram, the cosmetic surgery addict. Do you think it's safe for her to stand so close to a radiator? She's going to melt."

While the chorus finished organizing itself, a cherubic little girl in blond pigtails saw Spike and ran over to us. Her velvet sash had come untied, and both ruffled socks had worked their way down into her patent leather shoes. Her face was sticky with pink goo. She pulled her thumb out of her mouth to ask, "What kind of dog is that?"

"A Moravian possum terrier," Hadley volunteered.

"He's ugly. Can I pet him?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," I said gently. "He's not very friendly."

Spike, trembling with the extreme effort of staying calm in such close proximity to very tempting prey, growled deep in his throat.

The little girl frowned at me. "If you don't let me pet him, I'll tell my daddy to fire you."