The Fool Dies Last, page 9
‘Witty,’ Hope said, noting the fowl references.
Gram smiled and seated herself. The dining table was an antique behemoth, with twelve matching intricately carved pecan chairs. Four place settings had been laid. Saturday-evening dinner at Morris’s house was a regular event for Hope, Summer, and Gram. Similar to Gram’s left hip, Gary was an on-again, off-again participant. He hadn’t appeared for the past month, and considering the episode with Misty and the massage oil at the hotel the previous afternoon, there seemed to be little chance that he would be appearing tonight.
‘People can look outwardly healthy,’ Morris continued from the kitchen, ‘but not all illnesses are evident to the eye. There are numerous silent killers. Coronary artery disease, cerebrovascular disease, cardiomyopathy. And let’s not forget the host of potential complications arising from diabetes, hypertension, hepatitis infections—’
‘Thank you, dear.’ Gram cut short the depressing catalogue of maladies. ‘I didn’t mean that Marilyn couldn’t be sick and couldn’t die. I meant that it’s strange she should die now, only one day after Roberta’s passing. Both of them going so suddenly and in more or less the same manner. It’s curious, isn’t it?’
Hope nodded in agreement. ‘Dylan and Detective Phillips talked about it, too. The similarity in the position of the bodies and the timing of the two deaths.’
Gram nodded back at her. ‘It feels like a pattern to me.’
‘Dylan is excellent at spotting patterns,’ Morris called out.
Hope was tempted to respond that Dylan excelled to such a degree, in fact, that he had also spotted the pattern of her and Gram being the last to provide the food and drink to Marilyn and Roberta. She wisely restrained herself, however. Sharing Dylan’s remark would only upset Morris and Gram, and Hope couldn’t help wondering whether that had been precisely Dylan’s purpose in saying it. He could be trying to cause a rift between the pair.
Gram didn’t respond to Morris, either, but for a different reason. She was absorbed in her own thoughts.
‘There’s something about it,’ she mused. ‘A connection between them …’
‘A connection?’ Hope asked her. ‘Beyond that Marilyn and Roberta knew each other?’
‘They went way back,’ Gram replied absently. ‘We all go way back.’
Hope nodded once more, sympathetically. Losing old friends and acquaintances was never easy.
‘There’s something about it,’ Gram said again. ‘Only I can’t quite … I can’t seem to put my finger on it. It’s like trying to remember a neighbor’s name when you run into them at the post office or the grocery store. You know it – it’s right there on the tip of your tongue – and yet you can’t grasp hold of it.’ She shook her head in frustration. ‘The aged brain is getting foggy, I guess.’
‘Your brain isn’t foggy in the least,’ Hope rejoined. ‘Whatever it is that you’re trying to think of, I’m sure that it will come to you—’
‘In the middle of the night,’ Morris chimed in, simultaneously opening the oven door with a loud bang.
‘What was that, dear?’
‘One night either this week or the next, this month or the next,’ Morris told her, ‘you’ll wake up for no reason at all, and there it will be. Like lightning striking from out of the blue, you’ll suddenly remember your cousin’s birthday, where you left the key to your gym locker, the phone number for the handyman who cleans the leaves out of the gutters …’
Gram tapped her cane against the leg of the dining table impatiently. ‘I’m thinking about poor Marilyn and Roberta,’ she muttered, ‘and he’s thinking about the handyman who cleans the leaves out of the gutters.’
Hope had to bite her lip not to smile.
The oven door banged a second time.
‘Do you need any help, Morris?’ Hope asked. ‘I would be happy to lift or carry something for you.’
‘No, I’m fine. It’s all fine.’
‘Are you sure?’ Gram pressed him. ‘Don’t forget about your back. You aren’t supposed to bend too much or pick up anything heavy right now.’
‘Fiddle-faddle,’ was his reply.
Gram tapped her cane again. Hope understood her impatience and concern. Supportive brace or not, Morris’s surgery was barely behind him. He could easily overexert himself and cause serious, permanent damage to his back. But when Morris prepared dinner, he didn’t like having extra hands in the kitchen, even if they were only there to assist in taking down plates from the cupboard or moving heavy pans around the stove. Ordinarily, no one objected to Morris’s possessive attitude toward his kitchen on Saturday evenings. He greatly enjoyed cooking, and he was good at it. Eschewing commercial recipes, Morris preferred instead to craft his own menus from scratch, and it was the rare creation that didn’t turn out well. He claimed to have northern Italian ancestors, and although his surname and family history didn’t support the claim, the quality of his pasta dishes certainly did.
‘Here we are.’ Morris appeared in the dining room, carrying a colossal cast-iron skillet. ‘Here it comes.’
From the way his shoulders were shaking, it was evident that he was struggling with the weight of the pan. Hope grabbed a trivet from the buffet and hurriedly placed it on the dining table for him.
‘Watch out now. It’s hot. Sizzling hot.’ Depositing the skillet on the trivet with a clunk, Morris breathed a sigh of relief at not having dropped their dinner en route.
Hope and Gram sighed, too, grateful that the chef didn’t appear to have injured his back further in the process. Then they both leaned toward the pan, eager to see its contents.
‘Tonight we have’ – Morris spread his arms in front of the dish with a gesture of dramatic presentation – ‘seafood risotto!’
‘It looks and smells fantastic,’ Hope complimented him, without exaggeration. The creamy, saffron-colored risotto was visually appealing, and the combination of the ocean’s bounty had a deliciously spicy, smoky aroma. ‘Shrimp, scallops, mussels. And I see you put in calamari. Summer loves calamari.’
Morris nodded. ‘I did it with the hope that she might change her mind at the last minute and come tonight. That’s also why I made the cheddar biscuits. I know how fond your sister is of a cheesy biscuit.’
Gram reached toward him and gave his hand a squeeze. ‘That was so thoughtful of you, dear. Thank you.’
Two dots of red appeared on Morris’s cheeks. ‘Well, Summer is having a tough time of it right now, and even though I’m not able to do much to make it easier for her, I try to help in the little ways that I can.’
‘Your little ways are wonderful.’ Gram squeezed his hand again. ‘And I appreciate them – and you – greatly.’
The red dots expanded to crimson circles. Morris shuffled his feet and gazed affectionately at Gram. She gazed back at him with tenderness. Looking between them, Hope couldn’t help but smile. Forget moony-eyed teenagers. They couldn’t hold a candle to Morris Henshaw and Olivia Bailey. And if Dylan really was trying to cause a rift between the pair, then he was going to have to do a lot more than find a pattern in who had handed Marilyn and Roberta their last food and drink.
Giving the two a moment of privacy, Hope headed toward the kitchen to retrieve the aforementioned cheddar biscuits. She found them already out of the oven and waiting in a doily-lined basket on the black granite countertop. Although Hope didn’t get the same level of solace from comfort foods as her sister, she did have to admit that there was something inherently soothing about warm, cheesy biscuits.
‘Maybe I could wrap up a few of the biscuits to bring back for Summer,’ Hope suggested, as she returned with deliberate slowness to the dining room.
‘Is Summer staying at the brownstone tonight?’ Gram asked.
She nodded. ‘When I left to come here, she was upstairs in her old room, trying to rest. I told her that I would go with her to the house tomorrow. I don’t want her to be there alone – in case Gary pops in – and I figured that while Summer picks up some clothes and other essentials, I can make sure to get her checkbook and any important papers that she might need down the road. I don’t trust what Gary will do with them if she leaves them behind.’
‘So you think that they’re headed for a divorce?’ Morris questioned. ‘They won’t try to talk it through?’
‘Talk it through?’ Gram frowned at him. ‘This isn’t a little lovers’ tiff. Gary didn’t forget their anniversary or stay out too late drinking with his mates. The man is a liar and a cheat. That doesn’t go away with a few sharp words, followed by a box of candy or a bouquet of roses.’
‘Once a liar, always a liar. Once a cheat, always a cheat,’ Hope said.
‘I can’t argue with you on that.’ Morris moved to the dining chair next to Gram, sitting down slowly and awkwardly due to the back brace. ‘But I hate to see any marriage end. Maybe there is still a way for them to work it out. Perhaps there has been some confusion about what exactly Gary did.’
‘Trust me, there hasn’t been any confusion,’ Hope replied. ‘I witnessed the lying and the cheating with my own eyes.’
It was Morris’s turn to frown, and with it, he promptly converted from relationship therapist to legal consultant. ‘Then it’s a good thing that you’re going with her to the house tomorrow. The sooner, the better. Collect all the documents that you can – don’t forget about bank statements and copies of insurance policies – and pack up any item of value. Summer should get everything that she’s entitled to. What about a separation agreement? Has she talked to a lawyer yet?’
‘Oh, no. She only just found out the truth. She isn’t remotely ready to—’
Morris didn’t let her finish. ‘I’ll make some calls in the morning and ask around, see who has a reputation for handling these types of matters successfully. It’s important to get an early jump on the situation and hire the best attorney in the area before Gary does.’
Hope cast an apprehensive glance at Gram. Although she was pretty sure that the marriage neither could nor should be salvaged, she was also pretty sure that Summer wasn’t at the point where she could reasonably discuss its dissolution, especially not all the nitty-gritty particulars with a divorce attorney. Hope had been generous when she described Summer as resting upstairs in her room. More accurately, Summer had been alternately weeping, swearing, and sucking on a bottle of gin while pacing from one corner to another like a caged animal at the zoo. Hope had been reluctant to leave her, but Summer had been adamant that she go to Morris’s as planned. And Hope knew from her own loss and grief only a few months earlier that there were moments when you dearly needed sisterly support and moments when you wanted to wallow in your misery alone.
Comprehending Hope’s look, Gram said to Morris, ‘I think that we might be getting a bit ahead of ourselves, dear. It will take Summer some time to process her thoughts and feelings before she can—’
‘Time is the enemy,’ Morris interjected emphatically, shaking his head. ‘Speed is our friend. The marital assets must be safeguarded. Gary can’t be given the opportunity to sell off the cars or clean out the savings account.’
‘Well, yes, that’s true,’ Gram acknowledged.
Morris turned to Hope. ‘And is this woman who he’s been involved with still in the picture?’
‘I assume so. I have no reason to think that she’s made a sudden exit.’
‘Then we also have no reason to think that she won’t convince Gary to pile up charges on his credit card for her benefit or take cash advances that will wondrously find their way into her purse.’
Hope glanced at Gram again, this time with some surprise. There had been no question that Morris was an intelligent person, but up until now his smarts had always seemed to be more of the scholarly sort. Hope had never heard him so canny and cunning before. He sounded downright calculating, at least in regard to Gary and Misty’s potential financial finagling. And he was correct. Although Hope’s knowledge of Mystique Monique was limited, the woman was certainly staying in a fancy, expensive hotel and booking services at a fancy, expensive spa. She may have made the reservations using her own credit card, but that didn’t mean she was actually paying the bill. Gary could be the one ultimately writing the check – to Summer’s considerable detriment.
‘You see the problem, don’t you?’ Morris continued. ‘I’m sure that Dylan will agree, too. He’s been no stranger to these things in California. Physicians at the hospital marrying their nurses and assistants, and all the ugly breakups that ensue.’
Hope raised an eyebrow with interest. Had Dylan gone through a nasty divorce? It wasn’t clear from the way that Morris had phrased it. But if so, then that could prejudice Dylan against any woman in a relationship with his father, namely Gram. Hope was about to prod Morris for more information on the subject when the doorbell rang. It was a deep bass gong.
‘Perfect timing!’ Morris exclaimed.
Gram’s brow furrowed. So did Hope’s. She hadn’t thought that Summer would change her mind and come to dinner at the last minute, not with her face stained and swollen from so many tears, and especially not after drinking so heavily.
‘I’ll get it,’ Hope said, heading toward the foyer.
Two more gongs sounded in rapid succession, followed by a sharp knock on the woodwork. It had to be the gin talking, because Summer wasn’t normally so impatient.
‘Jeez, take it easy,’ Hope began, pulling open the heavy oak front door. ‘You know that Morris and Gram can’t move so quickly—’
Her rebuke broke off in surprise when she saw that it wasn’t her sister waiting outside, eager for entry. It was Dylan Henshaw.
The man was dressed as stylishly as always, with perfectly cut trousers and a crisp shirt. He glanced at the same elegant wristwatch that Hope had noticed during their first encounter, and this time she couldn’t help thinking – with a sigh – that its costly price tag was probably about equal to what Summer’s legal bills would amount to with the ace attorney that Morris was planning on finding for her. Such an expense was fine for the evident wealth of the Henshaws; it was going to be a problem for the less-flush Baileys, however.
‘Am I late? I thought dinner was scheduled for seven. But it appears’ – Dylan gestured toward the basket of cheddar biscuits that was still in Hope’s hands – ‘you’ve started without me.’
It took her a moment to respond. Dylan had been invited to dinner? That explained the fourth place setting at the table. She had thought that it was meant for Summer in case her sister had a sudden change of heart, but apparently it was intended for Dylan instead. And unless Dylan was hiding it well, he didn’t seem to be nearly as startled to see her standing at his father’s door as she was to see him, which meant that he was much better informed about the plan for the evening than she was.
‘We–we haven’t begun eating yet,’ Hope answered at last. ‘You’re right on time, actually. Your dad just revealed his grand culinary creation.’
‘His grand culinary creation?’ It was Dylan’s turn to show surprise. ‘My dad is the one cooking dinner?’
She nodded. ‘He does every Saturday night. It’s become a tradition of sorts. He’ll never tell us the menu in advance. And we’re all banned from the kitchen while he’s preparing the mystery meal, so we can only speculate based on the various smells wafting through the house. Summer’s guesses are usually the most accurate; I think it’s her nose for herbs. But Gram’s conjectures are the most fun. She comes up with the craziest possibilities.’ Hope chuckled, remembering the time when Gram had been absolutely convinced that dinner was going to involve roasted veal sweetbreads. The dish in question had turned out to be a scrumptious (and organ-meat-free) eggplant parmigiana.
Rather than share her laugh, Dylan’s expression grew increasingly somber, and all of his abundant confidence and conceit seemed to fade away. He looked suddenly young and vulnerable, like a forlorn child. A child who had lost his mother far too early in life and grown up without a father. It made Hope regret her words from a minute earlier. Dylan hadn’t known that his dad cooked so well – or even possibly that he cooked at all – and she had called their dinners together a tradition, one that Dylan was not a part of. She hadn’t meant to sound exclusionary, but she could understand how he might interpret it that way.
‘The problem with mystery meals,’ she went on lightly, trying to shift the subject as best as she could, ‘is that you can never be sure what wine to bring for the occasion. But it looks like you smartly came prepared for all potentialities with a beautiful bottle of claret.’
Hope motioned toward the bottle of wine that Dylan was holding. Her view was partly obscured by his fingers, but she could see that it was an old label, the kind that connoisseurs stored in a cellar for a decade or two before withdrawing with great ceremony on the eve of a special event.
As though he had forgotten that it was there, Dylan glanced down at the bottle in his hand. When he looked back up at Hope, his expression had changed again. The fleeting vulnerability was gone, and the ego had returned with full force.
‘Of course I had to bring my own beverage,’ Dylan said. ‘I can’t trust what you and Olivia might give me.’
TEN
As he stood on the threshold of his father’s house, Dylan’s frosty tone matched the frostiness of his eyes. Hope’s eyes weren’t any warmer. She made no further attempt at polite niceties. Instead, she turned silently on her heel and marched back to the dining room. Tossing the basket of biscuits on the table, she sat down in her usual chair and shot Gram an irritated look. Had Gram known that Dylan was coming to dinner? If so, some advance warning would have been appreciated.
‘Is it Dylan?’ Morris asked her eagerly. ‘I thought I heard his voice.’
There was no need for Hope to answer, because the man at issue stepped into the room a moment later. His cold gaze hit Hope first, but as it traveled across the table toward Morris and Gram, it melted into cordiality. Friendly greetings followed, as did gratitude on both sides. Dylan said that he greatly appreciated the invitation to dinner. Morris replied that he and Olivia were so pleased that Dylan could be with them. Dylan in turn responded that the pleasure was all his, because he got to enjoy their delightful company and a wonderful home-cooked meal instead of eating alone in the hotel restaurant.
