O' Artful Death - By Sarah Stewart Taylor Page 0,44
was one of their favorite games.
“I know what you mean,” said Patch. “I feel guilty for not being more broken up about it.”
“She was our neighbor,” Anders Fontana said, gulping his whiskey and soda, “but we can hardly be expected to prostrate ourselves with grief. I mean, let’s be honest, she wasn’t exactly a friend.” He looked around at them. But there was only an embarrassed silence. Sweeney watched their sheepish eyes dart back to their drinks. He had gone too far.
“Darling,” Willow said quietly.
She was like a woman from a Hemingway novel, Sweeney thought, watching her from across the room. Her raspy voice conjured up old black-and-white movies, and her almost boyish face, with its strong, determined jaw and high cheekbones, made her, if not pretty, immensely sexy. Already, in the course of a ten minute conversation, she had revealed to Sweeney that she loved “shooting animals with horns” and that she went to Montana three times a year for the fly fishing.
The Wentworth children had been quiet so far, sipping sodas and listening to the adults’ conversation, but Gwinny, dressed in a pink satin floor-length skirt and vintage organza blouse, flushed now and put her drink down on a side table. “She was my friend,” she said angrily, looking right at Anders. “I knew her. I used to babysit for her.”
No one had anything to say to that. Anders directed his gaze away from Gwinny’s determined face.
Britta put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “He didn’t mean anything, sweetheart. Why don’t you go upstairs and change into something more appropriate.” Gwinny looked at Anders again, then turned to go out of the room.
“I thought Chief Cooper seemed a bit out of his league,” said Rosemary, who had come dressed in a black leather blazer and well-fitting red velvet pants, looking more New York than Vermont. “And I like Gwinny’s outfit. She looks like Grace Kelly.”
Electra Granger, serene in a blue wool suit and silk scarf printed with Monet’s water lilies, put up a hand and said, “We have to remember that Chief Cooper is just doing his job. He may just be pinpointing when she killed herself, the poor woman. He’s a very sharp man. I’m sure he’ll conclude that it was a terribly sad case of suicide.”
“You know what they say about Cooper,” Sabina said with a raise of her eyebrows. “He had some big job down in Boston—homicide or something—but he couldn’t stay off the sauce. That’s why he got sent up to us in the hinterlands.” She looked magnificent, her large frame costumed in a voluminous peacock blue silk caftan.
“If it wasn’t suicide,” Willow said, “I bet it had something to do with these burglaries. Maybe she caught Carl at it and he had to do away with her.”
Electra Granger held up her hand again. “Please,” she said. “I don’t like this kind of talk about our neighbors.”
There was an awkward silence before conversations struck up around the room again.
“Now, I want to know all about what you think of us, Miss St. George.” Sabina turned her gaze on Sweeney, who felt as though she were being devoured. “Have you ever been to an art colony before?”
“Oh, leave her alone, Sabina,” Willow said. “Sweeney, it’s nothing personal. You’re just the feminine addition du jour. Now, Ian, tell me again what you do for a living. Furniture, Patch said . . .” Willow leaned toward him, dangling her wineglass flirtatiously.
“How is your gravestone project going, Sweeney?” Sabina asked.
“It’s gotten off to a slow start, what with the . . . with all the excitement,” Sweeney said hesitantly, looking around to see who was listening. “I’m afraid I haven’t found out much about who the sculptor could be.”
“Well, if you’re interested, I’ve got all kinds of art related to the colony. Besides, I’d love for you to see my house.”
“That would be great. I’ve gotten really interested in the colony.”
“Wonderful. Why don’t you come over for lunch. Shall we say tomorrow? Electra, why don’t you come, too? Assuming we haven’t all been sent to jail.”
They decided on eleven o’clock.
Electra Granger turned her sightless eyes on Sweeney. “You must think our lives here are terribly dramatic, dear. But you should know that it isn’t every day we have suspicious suicides and burglary rings.”
Sweeney murmured that of course it wasn’t.
“Is it true you and Rosemary were the last ones to see her?” Sabina asked Electra. “Or is that just gossip?”
“No, it’s true,” Rosemary said stiffly. “We told Chief Cooper