CHAPTER THIRTY
It was nearly eight in the evening when Detective Connery and his men packed up their things and left the residence. They’d taken pictures, asked questions, and poked around all day long. Carl’s office was still locked up and cordoned off, a police ribbon flanking every appropriate door and warning people not to enter.
Tasia made a very tasty east Texas favorite, crayfish étouffée and shrimp over white rice, mixed green salads, and French bread. Dessert was shortcake with mixed berries and cream, and was waiting for everyone on the sideboard. For the first time ever, the owners and the hired help sat around the twelve-foot, antique dining table and ate together: Lois, Silas, and Vic; Cameron, Sam, Zach, and Tasia; Elaine, Betty, and Heather. Everyone looked exhausted, but that didn’t stop them from gobbling dinner down in record time.
Elaine was interested in everything in the room, from the crystal and brass chandelier with etched-glass globes hanging overhead, to the elaborate Voysey table rug under her feet. After all, things looked different while relaxing in a room as opposed to cleaning it. There was a huge, rosewood and satinwood Gothic Revival secretary to her left, and a rosewood sideboard on the right. The ceiling was coffered and had a center dome; she’d never really looked at it before, but it was a breathtaking sight.
Surprisingly, Lois had asked for her best china to be used, along with fancy crystal stemware for the water and wine they were drinking. A beautiful brass candelabrum was in the center of the glowing walnut table, and Betty had cut some chrysanthemums from the garden before sunset and put them in vases surrounding the centerpiece. Behind Elaine was the door to the kitchen, and on the wall hung a portrait of Silas’s favorite horse, Absolute Integrity. Zach and Cameron had started a fire in the fireplace beside the table. It was draped in lamé and lace, and the firewood inside crackled and snapped invitingly. Cameron paused every so often to add more wood to keep it going.
Elaine was fine until she glanced down at her plate and found a four-inch, red swamp crayfish gazing at her. Pushing aside those beady eyes, long slender tentacles, and thick pincers, she felt much better having a face-off with the creature’s rump. It was more enjoyable for her to fill up on the shrimp and rice on the side, even though that had been doused in Cajun spices. Frequent gulps of water was the only solution to the problem. Taking another bite and looking up, she found Tasia staring at her with a smile on her face; Tasia could almost read her mind.
Cameron’s fork banging against his plate drew Tasia’s attention. “No, no,” she said, reaching over to help him. “Most of the meat is in the crayfish’s tail. You can use scissors to take the meat out, but that’s not necessary.” Sliding his plate closer to her, she twisted and pulled the crayfish’s tail away from its head. Then she pinched the end of the tail. “You pull off the flipper as you remove the vein, like this. See?”
“Yeah,” he said, intently watching the black vein slip out.
“You can suck the juices out of the head.”
He looked at her as if he didn’t want any part of that, and she laughed.
“Pinch the tail on both sides until you feel a crunch.”
He did.
“Use a towel to pull away the shells on each side of the tail until the meat pops out.”
Holding a cotton towel, he did as he’d been instructed. After the meat was exposed, he said, “Voilà!”
“Go ahead and try it.”
Picking up the meat with a fork and sampling the delicacy, a smile lingered on his glistening lips. “Not bad,” he said, biting off a bunch more. “The meat is so sweet, and it practically melts in your mouth.”
“You can’t call yourself a Texan until you know how to prepare crayfish,” Tasia said, nodding. Despite not feeling quite well because of the drugs she’d stopped taking, Tasia seemed at peace and very contented.
After Tasia’s instruction, the conversation was sparse if any at all. By now everyone was pretty much tired of talking. Being scrutinized and interrogated by the police, whether a so-called friend or foe, could be extremely taxing. Someone would be accused of Carl’s murder and if Slye had his way, one of the people sitting at this very table would already be in the slammer.
Sitting across from Vic, Tasia watched him with much concern on her face. Vic glanced up and caught her looking at him and gave her his best smile. “Dinner is delicious,” he told her, wiping his mouth and chin with his hand instead of using the white cotton napkin beside his plate. “But would you be a dear and fetch some more wine? These four bottles seem to be empty.”
Tasia looked at some of the other people gathered at the table and said, “I was hoping four bottles of melon-flavored Chenin Blanc would be enough for all of us.”
Anyone else would have been self-conscious after laughing with a snort, but not ol’ Vic. “Four bottles of wine are more like an appetizer, something to be consumed before the real food comes.” Looking at Cameron, Sam, and then Zach as he lifted his very tall and very empty wine glass, he said, “What do you boys think? More spirits would really hit the spot, wouldn’t it?”
“There are thousands of bottles in the wine cellar,” Cameron said, his bass voice rolling over every word. Tasia gave him a dirty look as if to try and tell him to mind his own business. Even when he noticed, he didn’t seem afraid to add, “We’ve got burgundies, sherries, ports, bordeaux, madeiras…. You name it, it’s down there.”
Vic pushed his chair out from the table, and the sound of the legs bypassing the Voysey rug and scraping against the hardwood floor almost brought tears to Lois’s eyes. “How’s about giving me the key, Tasia, and I’ll go down and fetch some more for these gentlemen here.” Pausing to glance around the table, he seemed behooved to add, “And for the ladies, too, if they’re up for more.”
Holding his trembling hand out to her, Tasia sat staring up at him as if thinking about how she could talk him out of it. The hope of his ever giving up alcohol was nothing more than a well-crafted illusion, but she ventured to say, “You and I should go to the same detox center, Vic. How about it?”
He wiggled his fingers impatiently. “I’ll think about it. I really will. Now come on and give me the keys.”
Pulling a set of keys out of one of the pockets of her jeans, she held them up and shook them a little, their tinkling no doubt a most pleasing sound to his ears. Without thinking twice about it, he snatched the keys away from her and clutched them against his chest, savoring the victory. Unfortunately, he was starting to act as pathetic as he looked. There was no mistaking a junkie.
“You’re right about the detox center, sweetie,” he said, reaching over and caressing her chin, but being mindful of keeping the keys well out of her reach. “We could both use some drying out. And I promise to mull it over. But for now, I think I’ll go and get myself a drink.” Slipping away from his chair like a Houdini act, he took off quite possibly with no intention of ever coming back.
“Would you give him a hand, Zach?” Tasia said, trying to put on a good show but still looking quite convinced that Vic would drink himself to death down in that deep, dark pit.
Zach smiled reassuringly, patting her on the hand. “Sure, love,” he said, getting up and dropping his napkin beside his plate. “We’ll be back in a jiff.”
As Zach left the table, he stopped when Nicolette Howard came in from the next room. “Please excuse me,” he said, moving aside to let her pass and then heading for the wine cellar before Vic had the chance to lock himself in.
When Nicolette entered the room, Tasia said, “Nicolette! I didn’t know you were still here.”
“I left earlier, but I came back to get caught up on some work.” She stood closer to the table and leaned against the chair Zach had occupied. “I’ve been working in the library.”
“Are you hungry? We’ve got plenty of food.” Tasia started to get up and go to the sideboard, but Nicolette raised her hands, exposing a finger with a flesh-colored bandage on it.
“No, no. I’m not hungry. Thanks.”
; “We’d all understand if you wanted to take some time off, Nicolette,” Lois said. “These are what the wise would call troubled times.”
“The business can’t wait,” she said, so typical of her enthusiasm. “Besides, I can’t think of much else to do right now.”
“Sit down, dear,” Lois said. “Join us.”
Nicolette nodded and sat in Zach’s place. “All right, for a few minutes.” Sitting back, she observed Silas with uncommon regard. As she rested her arms on either side of Zach’s plate, Elaine noticed that the long-sleeved, mohair jacket she wore was neatly pressed and perfectly matched her beige skirt. Her clothes always hung so nice; she was quite fashion-conscious. Good looks and good grooming were almost as important to her as a job well done.
“How are you doing, Silas?” Nicolette said, still observing him earnestly. “I know you’ve been very sick. Have you gotten your appetite back?”
“I’m feeling much better, thanks,” he said, staring down at the unfinished food on his plate. The sound of his cough was a deep, rattling irritation, which reminded everyone of his severe asthmatic condition. Even his breathing was labored, a gentle wheeze emanating with every inspired breath.
“Did Detective Connery tell you about the document he found in Mr. Kastenmeier’s walking stick?” Elaine asked Nicolette. The mere mention of it made her beautiful, brown face beam.
“Yes, he did,” she said, smiling as if relieved to discover that her services for the Kastenmeiers hadn’t gone unappreciated.
“What document?” Cameron asked, using a biscuit to clean the last traces of food from his plate, minus the shells, of course.
“I was named the Executive Vice President of Research and Development before he died,” Nicolette said, pleased by the gesture and yet sad because it had been so long in coming.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’ve been vice president of Kast Varnish Enterprises for the past ten years, Nicolette,” Tasia told her. “I’m only glad Carl finally made it official.” Tasia raised her long-stemmed wine glass to Nicolette and then took a drink.
Nicolette seemed glad, but she also looked confused.
“What’s the matter?” Lois asked her.
“It’s nothing. Only….”
“Only what, dear?”
Nicolette looked at Lois and said, “I only wish he’d told me of his intentions, that’s all. I really don’t understand why he had to make such a game out of the pronouncement.”
“He knew that you’d waited years to be given that position officially,” Cameron said, getting up and looking for more to eat. “He couldn’t bring himself to make you happy just once in his whole, miserable life.”
“Dad made her vice president, didn’t he?” Silas told Cameron as if offended by what he’d said. Defending his father had always been a full-time job for the boy, and now more than ever since his death. “She wanted the position, and she got it.” Silas looked at Nicolette as if he hated her. His attitude even made Elaine uncomfortable. After all, he seemed to be taking this office witch-hunt too far.
“I know I got the position, Silas,” Nicolette said gently. “I only wish he’d told me, that’s all.” She hesitated, running a finger over the Band-Aid on her hand. “Alex knew the truth, but he kept so quiet about it.”
Silas wiped his mouth with a napkin and then looked at his mother. “May I be excused?” he asked her. “I’m feeling sick again.”
“Of course,” Lois said. “I’ll look in on you later.”
Silas nodded, and then gazed around the table, not really making eye contact with anyone. “Good night,” he said.
“Good night,” Tasia told him.
“Rest easy,” Elaine said, watching as he left the room.
“Well, I’d better get going,” Nicolette said. “All of Detective Connery’s questioning has set me back in my work.” She stood up.
“Go home and get some rest, dear,” Lois advised her. “You look so tired.”
“I will after I go over some plant progress reports. Don’t worry, it won’t take long.” Acknowledging everyone at the table fondly, she said, “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course,” Lois said, nodding.
Nicolette raised her head, the hair of which lay in soft, cottony curls, even higher as she walked back to the library. It would take more than hard luck, lack of sleep, and injured egos to stop her engine from rolling.
“Carl should have respected Nicolette more,” Lois said, breaking off a piece of crayfish tail meat with her fork and then putting it in her mouth. Chewing slowly, her ten-carat, diamond and emerald-studded wedding ring added fire to the light from the chandelier hanging high above them.
“He should’ve respected all of us more,” Cameron said, unable to conjure up any niceties even after the poor man’s death. His plate was filled again as he sat back down and started eating as if he hadn’t had any.