At the Drop of a Hat (15 page)

“I cannot say,” she said. Obviously, pleased with herself, however, she leaned forward and said, “The expression, a picture is worth a thousand words? I think it is wrong. I think a picture is worth a million pounds even if it is of a dowdy little secretary, yes?”

She laughed and poured herself another shot of the ice-cold vodka. She tossed it back and went to pour another, offering the decanter to me. Again I shook my head. My insides were feeling icy cold, and no amount of fiery vodka was going to thaw me.

I wanted to grill Mariska for more information. Was she talking about Ariana? Did she have a photograph? What did she know? How did she know it? My head was spinning with questions and alcohol.

Unfortunately, Viv chose that moment to reject both her caviar and her vodka. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she scrambled to her feet and ran across the room, banged through the door that Jean had come from and threw up in Mariska's kitchen sink.

I sat frozen on the couch. I had been in a lot of awkward social situations in my lifetime, but listening to my cousin puke while our hostess sat calmly sipping her vodka was a new one.

“Probably I should go check on her,” I said.

Mariska waved her hand in a shooing motion, dismissing me.

I hurried after Viv and found her, pasty pale and shaking like a leaf. Jean stood beside her, wiping Viv's mouth with one cloth and holding another one to the back of her neck.

“How're you doing there, champ?” I asked.

Viv muttered something unintelligible that I suspected was not flattering toward my person.

“I think she's knackered,” Jean said, giving Viv an assessing look. “Best to go home and sleep it off.”

“Thanks, Jean,” I said. “I haven't had to clean up after a drunk since working in a hotel back in the States.”

Yes, this was me trying to build a rapport with the staff.

“You were in the service industry?” Jean asked.

“For years,” I said. “The things people do. Oh, do I have stories.”

“I have a few myself,” Jean replied and laughed. The wrinkles in the corners of her gray eyes deepened. “I'm a cook and a housekeeper, so you could say I service all of the rooms in the house.”

Our gazes met and I smiled. I liked Jean. She was built sturdy but with curves that weren't completely hidden by her serviceable plain black dress. Her ash-blond hair was in a knot on the back of her head, which was fashionable instead of dowdy.

She looked to be close to forty, and there was a faint scent of tobacco on her clothes. I got the feeling that she had been in the service industry her whole life and that nothing people did really surprised her anymore.

“Please tell me that my cousin isn't the only guest of Mariska's this has happened to,” I said. Yes, I was fishing. Since I couldn't grill Mariska, maybe I could glean some information from Jean.

“No, I've been with Miss Kravchuk for eight months now, and I've seen a fair few making pavement pizzas,” Jean said.

Ah, yes, “pavement pizza,” a euphemism for “hurl.”

“Mariska can hold her alcohol,” I said. I shook my head, still trying to get the effects to wear off.

“Just as well since she can't hold a man,” Jean said. She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, forgive me, that was unpardonably rude.”

“But funny.” I laughed. Jean visibly relaxed. “Mariska told me that very thing about herself so you're fine. She said the man before this last one was in love with someone else. I can't imagine that was easy to take.”

“Anthony Russo,” Jean said with a nod. “The one that took a dive off of his roof; he was a piece of work. Made your cousin here look as sober as a parson.”

“I'd heard he was a ladies' man,” I said.

Jean nodded. “Oh, they fought about that more than anything else. He started coming around again, though, over the past few weeks. Miss was devastated when she heard about his death. I think they might have been trying to reconcile.”

“Did this new guy know that?” I asked. “He might have been jealous.”

“Pish!” Jean waved a hand. “That one is a useless git. Likes Miss for her money, he does. He's just an arm charm for her so she doesn't have to go to events alone.”

“What's his name?” I asked.

“Jarrett Reichs,” Jean said. “Fancies himself an artist.”

It was clear from her tone what she thought of his art.

“Jean!” Mariska called from the other room.

We both jumped with a guilty start. I reached out and squeezed Jean's arm. “It was a pleasure talking to you.”

“Likewise,” Jean said. “Excuse me.”

I watched her hurry through the doors. I glanced down at Viv, who was resting on the edge of the sink. She looked like she'd been stretched on a hat form and left to dry.

“Ready to go?” I asked.

“More than,” she said.

“Can you walk?” I asked.

Viv pushed up off the counter and gave me a half-lidded stare. “I'm drunk, not incapacitated.”

It seemed one and the same to me, but I knew better than to argue the point.

“After you then,” I said.

As we breezed through the living room, Jean was tidying up the remains of the food and drink, while Mariska reclined on a divan in the corner with Viv's hat pulled down over her eyes.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” I said.

Mariska looked half asleep and waved at me, although again, it seemed to be more of a shooing motion.

“We'll be in touch about the photo shoot,” I said.

Mariska's hand dropped and she emitted a loud snore. I met Jean's gaze briefly as Viv led the way out the door. I gave her a cheery wave and she waved back.

As I closed the door, I raced forward to help Viv down the stairs, fearing that she might misstep and bounce all the way down to the bottom. She did not. She did, however, start singing “Chain of Fools”
at the top of her lungs. Have I mentioned that Viv can't carry a tune in a bucket?

We reached the second-floor landing, where a woman poked her head out of door 2A and yelled, “Quit your caterwauling! Ten years I've lived in this building and never have I heard such goings-on.”

“Sorry,” I said. Viv was still singing. “So very sorry.”

I hoisted Viv's arm about my shoulders and hustled her down the steps. The last thing I needed was for the lady in 2A to call the police. I pushed through the front door, dragging Viv with me. As soon as I got to a busy street, I glanced about for one of the city's black cabs. It was worth the expense just to get back to Notting Hill as fast as possible without having to drag Viv.

Near the bus stop a black cab was parked. Its yellow taxi light on the front was illuminated so I hailed it and the driver zipped right over. I shoved Viv into the back and the driver looked from her to me and I shrugged.

“Tea didn't agree with her,” I said.

He shot out into the traffic as if terrified that Viv was going to be sick in his cab. She wasn't. She was still singing, an excellent sign that she was feeling better but was still drunk.

The cabbie dropped us right in front of Mim's Whims. I paid him while he opened the door. I took Viv's arm and steered her to the shop. Fee was behind the counter when we entered and her eyes went wide at the sight of Viv.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Too much fermented potato,” I said. “I'm going to get her upstairs to sleep it off.”

“Need a hand?” Fee asked.

“I think I've got it,” I said.

“Home sweet home,” Viv cried. She broke out of my hold and wobbled across the room to hug Fee. “You're gorgeous, Fiona, did you know that? Isn't she gorgeous?”

“Yes, she's beautiful,” I said. “Now will you please go pass out?”

My patience was getting sliver thin as my potato juice had worn off ages ago and now I just wanted to lie down and nap for a day or two. Of course, I couldn't do that because I needed to get in touch with Alistair immediately and warn him about Mariska's ominous comments about a picture being worth a million pounds.

Of course, I hadn't really worked out how I was going to tell Alistair this without letting on that Viv and I had sought Mariska out. As Ariana's defense attorney, he would undoubtedly be less than thrilled with our information gathering and, like Harrison, would probably call it meddling, which it most definitely was not.

“You might want to hustle her upstairs, yeah?” Fee said.

“I'm trying,” I muttered. I caught Viv by the arm and tried to lead her to the door. She got distracted by a display of hats that she felt the need to rearrange; honestly, it was like trying to herd a cat.

I gave Fee an exasperated look, but she jerked her head toward the door. Her eyes were wide with warning. I glanced over and there was Harrison, pulling the door open, with Alistair right behind him.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “Viv, move it.”

This time I grabbed her hand and pulled her across the shop.

“Scarlett, what is wrong with you?” she cried. “Ugh, I feel dizzy.”

She stopped and dug in her heels. She bent over at the waist and I was afraid she was going to be sick again.

“Fee, trash can!” I cried.

Fee lifted the round steel can we kept behind the counter and raced it over. She plopped it on the ground in front of Viv, who stood up and laughed.

“Gotcha!” she cried. Then she clapped her hands and laughed. It was my turn to have a nervous twitch in my eye.

“Viv, you need to go upstairs and sleep it off,” I said. My voice had the growl of a junkyard dog and still she ignored me.

“Sleep what off?” Harrison asked as he joined us.

I sighed. I had a feeling the cat was out of the bag or more accurately the drunk was out of the bottle.

“Hello, Harrison,” Viv said with a sotted smile. “Oh, and look, it's the handsome Alistair.”

Alistair nudged Harrison with an elbow. “See? I'm the handsome one.”

“Oh, you're both handsome,” Viv said with a flirty vivacity that was atypical of her. “It's just that Harrison is spoken for.”

“Are you now?” Alistair asked Harrison.

“Yes, by Scarlett,” Viv said.

“Oh. My. God.” I closed my eyes but I couldn't stop the feeling of my face burning with embarrassment.

“Yes, er, ah, are you feeling all right, Viv?” Harrison asked.

I opened my eyes to see him looking at her and not me. Thank goodness.

He looked at her in concern and she giggled, which made his eyes narrow. “Oh, wow, you're pissed.”

“No, I'm sotally tober,” Viv said. She swayed on her feet. Alistair laughed and Viv grinned at him. “We were at a business meeting.”

My shoulders slumped with relief. Viv hadn't outed us with her liquor-loosened tongue. If Harrison thought this was just a business meeting that had gotten out of hand, then I would be spared the lecture because, boy howdy, could he ever lecture, and even with his charming accent, it tended to run unpleasantly long.

Harrison turned to look at me. His green eyes were studying me closely. I was too relieved to be embarrassed any longer.

“And how are you, Scarlett?” he asked.

“Sober as a virgin Bloody Mary,” I said. “Mostly.”

“Oh, sure, don't include me in the good meetings,” Fee muttered. The door opened and two customers walked in. She gave me a pouty look before going to help them.

“It was Mariska's fault,” Viv said.

I cringed and Harrison crossed his arms over his chest in his inquisitorial stance.

“Mariska?” Alistair asked. “Please tell me it was not Mariska Kravchuk.”

“All right,” Viv said. She stepped in front of Alistair and walked her fingers up the front of his crimson necktie in a decidedly provocative move. “It was not Mariska Kravchuk.”

“Oh, good, that would be problematic,” Alistair said.

“Really?” I asked. “In what way?”

Harrison's electric green gaze was still boring holes into my head, so I tried to ignore him and concentrate on Alistair, but he was looking smitten with Viv's sotted charm.

“She's Russo's ex,” Alistair said. “She's critical to determining who else might have wanted Russo dead. If you and Viv went there and talked to her, the investigation could be compromised.”

“And that would be bad?” I asked.

“Terrible,” Alistair said, and then he giggled as Viv's fingers tickled his neck.

“Compromised,” Viv said. “That sounds like a bit of naughty, doesn't it?”

I gave Viv a disgusted look. I was never letting her drink vodka again. Ever.

“Tell him, Ginger,” Harrison said. To his credit, he gave me a sympathetic look.

“Tell me what?” Alistair asked.

“It was Mariska Kravchuk,” I said. I clapped my hands over my face and peered at him through my fingers.

Alistair gave Viv a horrified look. “You told me it wasn't Mariska Kravchuk.”

“Because you told me to tell you that,” she said.

“I'm getting a headache,” Alistair said.

“Me, too,” Viv said. Her lower lip pooched out but I wasn't feeling an ounce of pity for her.

I lowered my hands. “It's my fault. It was my idea to try and get some information out of her under the guise of hiring her to model hats for the shop.”

Alistair walked Viv over to a nearby chair and helped her sit down. He gestured for Harrison and me to join them.

“Sit and tell me everything,” he said.

And so I did. I spared no detail, including the naked artist lover in the towel, Viv's puking into the sink, my talk with Jean, Mariska's knowledge of Russo's gambling debt to Bruno O'Malley and her insinuation about Ariana and a photograph being worth a million pounds.

Alistair was quiet for the entire story. He listened so intently I had a feeling he was even hearing the pulse of quiet in between my words and extracting as much information from those as he was the story itself. When I finished, everyone was silent except for Viv, who was snoring.

“You know,” Harrison said. “I have a feeling the girls got more information out of Mariska than any detective or attorney would.”

Alistair rubbed his chin with the back of his hand.

“You might be right,” Alistair said.

He glanced at Viv and his eyes softened and a smile played on his lips.

“She is something else, your cousin,” he said to me.

Viv's hat was askew, her long blond curls draped across the back of her seat. There was a faint flush to her flawless skin, and her eyelashes fanned across her cheeks, thick and dark. Her hands were folded demurely in her lap while her feet were crossed at the ankles. She was a beautiful woman and I could see that Alistair thought so, too.

If she wasn't my cousin, I was pretty sure I would dislike her intensely. As it was, I adored her. I always had and I always would, which was probably why I was feeling very hurt that she was shutting me out of her personal life.

“I suppose it's bad form to let her sleep it off down here,” I said.

“I'll carry her up,” Alistair volunteered.

He stood and scooped Viv into his arms before either Harrison or I could react. I glanced at Harrison and he shrugged. I tried to give him the look that asked if this guy was okay. But he just gave me a confused look in return. Men are so dense.

“If you'll follow me,” I said to Alistair.

I walked across the shop to the door that led upstairs. I opened it for Alistair and then followed behind him. Had it been me, I would have huffed and puffed and stopped every other step to catch my breath and shift Viv in my arms and most likely would have dropped her and then left her to sleep it off in the middle of the steps.

Alistair, however, strode up the steps as if Viv were no heavier than a sack of groceries—pretty annoying actually. Once we reached our flat, I led him through the sitting room and the great room to her bedroom. As I opened the door, I hoped it was neat. I had no wish to embarrass her. But I needn't have worried. This was the grown-up Viv's room. The bed was made, there was no clutter, no underwear on the floor or clothes strewn on the furniture. I made a quick mental note to go clean my own room later.

Alistair set her gently down on the bed. He carefully took the hat off her head while I slipped off her shoes. I dropped the shoes on the floor and took her hat from him and put it on her dresser. When I turned around, it was to find Alistair pulling up one side of the blankets and covering Viv with it.

His face was very kind and I felt myself liking him even more than I already did, which was quite a lot actually. He had an honesty and empathy about him that I didn't see in many men his age. Living in an urban environment, most men seemed to be preoccupied with acquiring the best job, the most money, the hottest girl, the fastest car and the most expensive flat.

While handsome and a snappy dresser, Alistair reminded me of Harrison, who also seemed to have more depth to him than other men in his demographic. It made sense that they were mates.

I hoped Stephen was cut from the same cloth. If what Mariska had said was true, and a photograph did come to light with Ariana and her boss, then he was going to have to be a very strong man to stand by his bride, especially if she remained suspect number one. Since the police already had Russo clutching a bit of the fabric of her shirt, a photo like that would box her up for good.

We slipped out of Viv's room and I closed the door behind us. As we were crossing the flat, Alistair cleared his throat. I took it to mean he had something to say.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Beg pardon,” he said. “This is awkward but I can't help wondering and Harrison is utterly useless . . .”

“If Viv is seeing anyone?” I asked. I paused in the sitting room. I decided to take his measure. “Tell me, what exactly are your intentions?”

“My what?” he asked. He looked caught off guard as if he suspected I was teasing but didn't want to be wrong and offend me.

“You heard me,” I said. “Exactly how many dinners does a girl get out of you before you expect her to come across?”

Alistair goggled at me. “Well, I . . . that is . . . I suppose it would depend . . .”

“Upon?” I prompted him.

“If she wanted to or not,” he said.

Good answer. I crossed my arms over my chest and walked around him in a circle, studying him from the back of his head—no sign of a bald spot—to the heels of his shoes—just as shiny as the front—and everything in between.

“Where did you study?” I asked.

“Cambridge,” he said.

“Not Oxford then,” I said. “Huh.”

Yes, yes, I know the Oxford-Cambridge rivalry is as big as the Harvard-Yale rivalry in the States, but I wanted to see if he could take it. To his credit, he looked a bit miffed but said nothing. I continued to circle him.

“What would you say your earning potential is?” I asked.

He glanced at me with one eyebrow raised. “Better than a milliner's at any rate.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “How about your last relationship? How long did it run?”

“How is that . . .”

“It speaks to your ability to have a long-term situation,” I said.

“Oh, I don't know,” he said. He tossed back his chin-length black hair while doing his mental math. “Nine months.”

“Hmm, the gestational period for a baby,” I said. His eyes bugged out, and I had to glance away to keep from laughing. “Speaking of, do you have any—”

“Offspring?” he interrupted. “No!”

“You're quite sure?”

“Yes!”

“Do you own or rent your residence?” I asked.

“Ginger!” Harrison boomed from the doorway.

I held up my wait-a-minute finger at him and looked at Alistair. He was grinning now. He had caught on that I was teasing—mostly.

“Own,” he said. “It's a charming flat just down the block from Harrison's place.”

“Good to know,” I said.

“Ginger, what are you about?” Harrison asked.

“Job interview,” I said. I looked at Alistair and smiled. “You'll do.”

He tipped his head at me. “Well, thank you, I think.”

“Unfortunately, I can't answer your question,” I said.

“Does anyone want to tell me what's going on?” Harrison asked. He glanced from Alistair to me, but we ignored him.

“You can't?” Alistair said. He sounded surprised.

“No,” I said. “And it's very aggravating to me that I don't know the answer because it's not for lack of asking.”

“Curious,” Alistair said.

“Not off-putting?” I asked.

“No, ‘intriguing' is the better word,” Alistair said.

“If you find out the answer, you will let me know?” I asked.

“If you give me a good reference,” Alistair said. He was grinning now.