“I saw you staring at Maggie. She looks beautiful, doesn’t she?”
“Oh, yes. I like a woman out of uniform. Maybe soon you can get out of your uniform. Maybe you could try a red dress like that.”
The cold, arrogant young woman flashed across her face, then smoothed away. “Have you met my mother, Elaine?”
“No, not yet. The originator of BITEASS?”
“Yes,” she said, and seemed delighted that I remembered. “I hear that Jilly is just fine now. I tried to get to the hospital today but what with the party, I didn’t have time. Mother had me running around all day long. You wouldn’t believe how much food is going to be consumed tonight. Can you believe someone killed poor old Charlie Duck?”
“No, I can’t.”
“You hungry?”
“I can’t wait to attack the food. Oh yeah, do you know if Paul slept around on Jilly?” I watched her eyes widen behind her glasses. Just shock at what I’d said? It wasn’t exactly acceptable party talk. Or was it surprise that I knew that? I realized then that I just had to let it go. Jilly was fine. There was no damned crime here, except for the random murder of Charlie Duck.
“Paul loves Jilly,” Cal said after a moment. “He wouldn’t ever sleep with another woman. Besides, Paul’s too skinny. He does enjoy sex, that’s what Jilly told me. She said he was really good.”
“Were you jealous of Jilly, Cal?”
Chapter Nine
She didn’t skip a beat, just said in a very nice, indifferent voice, “Not at all. I liked Jilly. She was always so gay, always singing. Would you like a beer?”
I stared down at her a moment, waiting her out, but she beat me in that staring contest. Finally, I nodded.
“Let’s go to the kitchen. Cotter and I keep our stash hidden behind Father’s mango supply. My mother hates mangoes so we have to hide the beer where she won’t see it. She disapproves of beer, you know. It’s low-class.”
I followed her through the crowd of at least fifty people, all different ages, dressed to the hilt, all of them seeming to be enjoying themselves, digging into an incredible array of food-from oysters Rockefeller to trays of chilled fish smothered in limes to heaping platters of pesto pasta dotted with sun-dried tomatoes-set out on a wide table at least twenty feet long.
The kitchen was the command center. Cal didn’t slow, just wove her way through the caterers to a huge refrigerator, opened it, and leaned inside. She was in there awhile, scrounging around. She came out holding two Coors. “Cotter’s already been here. This is the end. We’ve got another six-pack out in the garage if we really get thirsty.”
“This is great,” I said, popped the lid, toasted her without saying anything, and drank. I loved beer.
“How old is Cotter?”
“He’s twenty-eight, two years older than me. I know, I only look like I’m eighteen, but I’m not. You’re also wondering what we’re both doing still living at home at our age.”
“I did wonder. But I’m not rude enough to ask.”
“You were rude enough to ask me if I was jealous of Jilly. Why’d you even think of such a thing?”
“I heard something, I guess. Why are you and Cotter still living at home?”
She laughed, drank more of her beer, and led the way from the noisy, chaotic kitchen to a small back room, a library from the look of it. It was empty, dark. Cal shut the door and turned on a small Tiffany desk light.
She set the beer down on a desktop, then turned to face me. “Well, Jilly was wrong. I’m not jealous of her. Actually, I want to paint her. She just keeps putting me off.”
“Paul and Maggie said you were an artist. What do you paint?”
“I usually do landscapes, but people’s faces fascinate me. Jilly has incredible bones. I want to paint them, and her eyes. Her eyes are the key to her. It’s the same with you, Mac. You have beautiful eyes. Dark, stormy blue, romantic eyes.”
“Don’t make my beer go down the wrong way.”