Avenging Angels (25 page)

“You’re exhausted, child,” Lavinia said reprovingly.

“We’re getting very close,” Bree said. “We can’t stop now.”

“It is time, perhaps, for all of us to take a break.” Petru sighed. “Rose has promised pot roast for this evening’s dinner. I am very fond of pot roast.”

“Pot roast?” Bree demanded with some heat. “When we’re inches away from tracking down someone who’s killed two people, you’re talking pot roast?”

Her cell phone rang. Impatiently, she flipped the cover. The little screen read: FRANCESCA. Bree put her head on her desk.

“Your parents, I think,” Petru said kindly.

Bree put the phone to her ear. Her mother’s light, pretty voice sounded anxious. “Bree, honey?”

“Hello, Mamma.”

“Your father and I are here at the town house.”

“Yes, Mamma.”

“Did Antonia tell you we were coming?”

“I think so, Mamma.”

“Are you working late, dear?”

Bree looked at Petru, Ron, and Lavinia. All three shook their heads and Ron mouthed,
Get some sleep.
“Not anymore, Mamma. I’ll be right there.”

She jogged back to the town house.

Francesca Winston-Beaufort was small, round, and the chief determiner of Antonia’s red hair and blue eyes. Their father, Royal, was fond of saying that he fell in love with her hair the moment he saw her across the dining room at Duke University thirty years before, and that love for the rest of the woman came later.

By the time Bree and Sasha came through the back door and into the kitchen, her mother had set the dining room table for four and prepared a green salad, a fruit salad, and a basket of hot rolls. A welcome aroma drifted in the air. “You do smell Adelina’s mushroom casserole in the oven. I brought it all the way down from Plessey. And she sent some of her cinnamon rolls, too.” Her eyes darted to her daughter’s too-slim frame, but she said merely, “And your father drove off to Cissy’s to fetch Antonia.”

“Then we’d better set a place for Cissy, too,” Bree said practically. She kissed her mother and sat down at the kitchen table.

“You mean she’ll want to know all about this horrible murder. You’re right about that.” Francesca bent and cuddled Sasha’s face between her hands. “And you look pretty good for a dog recovering from a bullet wound.” She smoothed his fur with her thumb. “My goodness, dear. It doesn’t look like more than a scratch. From the way your sister talked about it, I thought poor Sasha’d be scarred for life.”

“He’s a good healer,” Bree said. She also made a mental note to whale on her sister for blabbing.

“The poor pup certainly has been through a lot. First that steel trap and the broken leg. And then the bullet wound . . .” Her mother perched on the opposite chair and said, with an attempt at artlessness that didn’t fool Bree for a minute, “Your life’s taken on some excitement since you moved down here.”

“That it has.”

Francesca wore her favorite combination, a silk shirt and a pair of silk pants. This set was a deep cadet blue that matched her eyes. She set her jaw determinedly, which made her face pink and her eyes even bluer. “Bree, your father and I think that you’ve bitten off quite a lot here, with taking on Franklin’s old practice and all.”

Bree knew what was coming:
This job is too dangerous, Bree. We want you to come back to Raleigh and practice law with your father, Bree.
And her response?
Butt out, Mamma.
Or rather, since she was her adoptive mother, and Bree loved her dearly:
I can take care of myself, Mamma.

She said merely, “I like the way you’re doing your hair, Mamma.”

Francesca bit her lip. Then she sighed heavily and gave it up. “You like this new style?” She touched the short red curls. “Your father, you know, likes it long. But what woman over fifty can get away with that? It’s bad enough that I have to refresh the color every six weeks. I spend more time fussing with my hair than—Darling,” she interrupted herself, “I’m so sorry. I just can’t shut myself up. We’re worried about you, your father and I. What in goodness’ name is going on? You had a dead man in the front hall of this town house yesterday. Your father and I heard about it on the news.”

There was an undercurrent of slight horror when she said the word “news.” Her parents were firmly convinced the only time the family name should appear in the media was to announce a birth, a marriage, or a death.

“That I did, Mamma.”

“And you look absolutely exhausted.”

“Did I tell you I had a physical this week?”

“You did? You actually went and saw a doctor? Did he give you a tonic? Maybe that’s what you need, a tonic.” Her mother jumped up and took a bottle of wine from the rack next to the refrigerator. “We’ll have a glass of wine. Red wine’s good for strengthening the blood.”

“What does Daddy say all the time? I’m finer than a frog hair. That’s me. I’m in the best shape of my life, Mamma. The doctor says so.”

Francesca looked doubtful. “What kind of doctor did you see, darling?”

A forensic pathologist, Mamma.
Bree bit her lip. Her mother would totally flip at Megan’s preference for corpses over people. “She’s in practice with her brother, Megan Lowry is her name. I like her. She’s very nice.”

“Lowry.” Francesca drew her eyebrow together. “The name’s not familiar at all.”

“Well, she practices here in Savannah, and you don’t get down here all that much.” Bree regretted
that
the minute she said it.

“We’d come down a lot more, darling, if you’d just say the word.”

“You come down exactly the right amount,” Bree said.

“We miss you girls, you know.” Francesca cocked her head and smiled suddenly. “There’s the back door. I think I hear your father.”

Antonia burst through the back door first, hair flying. She shrieked and kissed her mother, and then she shrieked and kissed Bree. Royal followed her into the kitchen at a more sedate pace, Tonia’s overnight bag in one hand. “Parking gets to be more problematic every time we visit, Chessie,” he said to Bree’s mother. He kissed Bree on the forehead. “Hello, daughter. You’re looking well.”

“She looks like hell,” Antonia said frankly. “You’re just glad to see her. I’m glad to see her, too, of course, but to me she looks like hell.”

“Isn’t anyone glad to see
me
?” Cissy walked through the kitchen and straight through into the living room without stopping. She wore a tracksuit, custom-made tennis shoes with her name emblazoned on the side in sequins, and heavy gold earrings.

“Where are you going, sister?” Francesca demanded. “You aren’t going to stop to say hey, howdy?”

Cissy’s voice floated back to them. “I’m taking a look at the scene of the crime, of course.” Then: “Hey, howdy, sister.”

“You’re not going to mess with that scene if the police tape’s still up,” Royal grumbled. “Behave yourself, please.” He followed Cissy into the front room. With a shrug, Bree got up and so did her mother. In a few moments they were all crowded together, looking at the little hall.

“Not a speck of difference that I can see,” Cissy said in evident disappointment.

Francesca rolled her eyes. “My word, Cissy. Did you want blood and brains all over the place?”

“There weren’t any,” Bree said. “Just the head wound.”

“Hm.” Her father patted his sports coat pocket in an absentminded way. He’d quit smoking his pipe years before, but the reflexive habit died hard. “Killed somewhere else and dumped here?”

“That’s the theory.”

Cissy shuddered. “Thank the Lord he wasn’t done in here. You might have had a ghost, Bree. Think of that.”

“Think of that,” Bree echoed.

“Well,
I’m
thinking of my dinner,” Antonia said abruptly. “And I don’t want to think about the way that poor man looked any more. I told y’all I upchucked like anything, didn’t I?” She smiled sunnily at everyone. “That casserole just about warmed up, Mamma?”

“Now,” Cissy said, as they were all seated at the dining room table a few moments later, “everyone’s coming to Tully’s party tomorrow night, I hope. I mean, that is why you came on down.”

“We came on down to see the girls,” Francesca said. “But we’d love to go to the party, wouldn’t we, Royal? Ciaran Fordham! I had a crush on that man the first time I saw him in the first remake of
Wuthering Heights
. Gorgeous. Just gorgeous.” She blushed prettily. “I have a copy of his biography with me. I was hoping I could ask him to sign it.”

“Tony’ll be there, too,” Antonia said carelessly. “You know, the famous director? Anthony Haddad?”

“There’s a chain of Haddad funeral homes,” Francesca said doubtfully.

“Cousins, or brothers or something,” Cissy said. “Honestly, Chessie, you need to get out of the house more. Tony Haddad is one of the most brilliant new stage directors around. He’s won every theater award there is. It’s just like you to bring up the funeral homes.”

“I most certainly did not,” Francesca said indignantly. “All I said was, isn’t that the same family as the people who own the funeral homes, and you go off like a rocket.”

“Ladies,” Royal said. “Not at the dinner table, please.” Antonia and Bree looked at each other and started to giggle.

“Girls,” Royal said.

“We know, Daddy,” Tonia said. “We’ve heard it all our lives.” Then she and Bree chimed in together,
“Not at the dinner table.”

“Tell us about Mr. Haddad and this new job,” Royal said.

“Mamma doesn’t keep up with the theater much,” Antonia said. “If you did, Mamma, you’d be over the moon that I’m working for him.”

“Tonia!” Cissy shrieked. “You got the part!”

“The part!” Antonia’s eyes brimmed with sudden tears. “I should have gotten that part!”

Bree said hastily, “It’s better than a part, Aunt Cissy. It’s a continuing job with the stage management end of things. Much better than just a part. A part lasts as long as the play. A stage management job lasts as long as the company.”

“My,” Francesca said. “So this is more like regular employment?”

“You bet. A real career move.” Bree reached over and nudged her sister affectionately. “I take it John Allen Cavendish let you go without too much of a hoorah?”

“There was a hoorah, all right. But it wasn’t over me. It was over the funding for the theater.”

“Oh, dear,” Francesca said. “Money troubles, I expect.”

“Big time.” Antonia took a huge bite of casserole and said through the mouthful, “I’d have lost the job there anyway. So it’s a good thing this came along when it did.”

“And the salary’s adequate?” Royal asked.

Antonia smiled. “More fruit salad, Daddy?”

“You trying to divert my attention?”

“Is it working?”

Bree thought she heard a faint tap from the kitchen.

Sasha nudged Bree’s foot.

“Is that someone at the back door?” Cissy said. “You want me to get it?”

“I’ll go.” Bree tossed her napkin onto the table and wondered what would happen if she went on through the kitchen, out through the back door, and out into the night and didn’t come back for the rest of the night. Her talkative family wouldn’t miss her for hours. She could get some sleep on a park bench somewhere.

But the way out was blocked by Sam Hunter and her fantasy faded in the pleasure of seeing him again. Although he looked even more tired than she felt. His eyes were red-rimmed and there was faint stubble on his cheeks. She wanted to stroke the tiredness away. Instead, she smiled at him.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, yourself,” Bree said, pleased. “Are you returning my phone call?”

“We missed the basketball game, so I thought we might at least grab a bite of dinner.” He caught sight of her mother, who’d come into the kitchen after her. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”

“Now, who is this?” Francesca said. “Bree, I don’t think I’ve met this nice-looking man.”

“Come in,” Bree said. “You can join us for dinner.”

“I thought we’d grab something at Huey’s.”

“This is Lieutenant Hunter, Mamma. He’s with the Chatham County police.”

“How nice to meet you, Lieutenant.”

“And he hasn’t eaten yet.”

“You haven’t eaten yet?” Francesca’s eyes went wide. “My word, my word, man. It’s well after nine o’clock.

You’ll be doing us a favor if you come and help us finish up all this food.”

Hunter hesitated. Bree smiled encouragingly. “Thank you, ma’am. I’d like that.”

Bree led him into the dining room. As Antonia set up a sixth place at the table, Bree introduced him. “Hunter? My father, Royal.”

“Sir.” The two men shook hands.

“And Cecilia Carmichael, my aunt.”

Cissy gave him an appraising look. Then a flirtatious one. She patted the space next to her. Antonia set the extra chair next to Bree, instead, and Hunter sat down in a gingerly way.

“Hey, Hunter,” Antonia said. “Grab the last of the casserole before my aunt does.”

Cissy frowned at her as she put the serving spoon back into the dish. “Antonia, I eat like a bird. I always have.”

“Some birds eat three times their own weight every twenty-four hours,” Antonia said with an innocent air. “I saw that on a National Geographic special.”

“Do you work with my daughter, Lieutenant Hunter?” Francesca ladled a large helping of fruit onto his plate and stacked two rolls next to them. “Have some butter with that. And your name isn’t Hunter Hunter, is it? Like the character in that book? Major Major?”

“Sam,” he said.

“Now, that’s a name I’ve always liked.” She passed the green salad to him. “You’re the first of Bree’s colleagues we’ve met so far. I’ve spoken on the phone with her secretary, Ron . . . that boy has the pleasantest voice I’ve ever heard! But we haven’t seen hide nor hair of the others.”

“Hunter and I aren’t exactly colleagues, Mamma. He works for the police.”