E
ven with all the draperies drawn back from the windows and the sun glittering through spotless glass, the Brandt house felt cold and filled with shadows.
Vanity had met Willow and Marley when they arrived. Val sat out by the pool with Preston Moriarty, and they remained there.
Tomorrow night Val was throwing a party to celebrate his dead wife’s life. With the help of Marley, Rock U., and promises from Fabio, and the rest of the staff who would be there later, Willow was in charge of what felt to her like macabre—insane, inappropriate—theater.
A tentative suggestion from Willow that the event might be better in a few days threw Vanity into a tantrum. She raged that if the police had their way her dear Chloe would never be put to rest and this memorial was happening
now
. Willow had backed off at once.
Flitting from one room to another, dodging the police, who had sections of the house still closed off, Vanity talked to herself under her breath. A green Hawaiian-print silk tunic and narrow pants, scarlet patent sandals and matching toe and fingernail polish were, she had explained, what would make Chloe happy.
“Those other women arrived,” she said to Willow in the kitchen. “I hope they’ve brought enough.”
She was talking about the Potted Ladies, who were to smother both inside and outside of the Brandt home with flowers. “Don’t worry,” Willow said gently. “The ladies are really good at what they do.”
Willow had spoken with the police on-site and they assured her there should be no problem with entertaining the following evening, but she worried that something could change.
“If necessary, we can keep the party to the grounds and kitchen,” Willow said, thinking aloud. Vanity’s horrified eyes reminded Willow of what a fragile woman she had on her hands—and in charge of a potentially large event.
“It won’t be necessary,” Vanity said, breathy. “The police said they’ll be out by tonight.”
“Or tomorrow,” Willow said gently. No point in holding back now.
With a Brandt binder open on the kitchen island, Willow went over lists. Working from Chloe’s own computerized records, Marley was using the small office off the foyer to call prospective party guests personally. E-mail had gone out first, but the calls were to appease Vanity. Willow had expected the response to be sparse, and then to deal with frustration from Vanity and, possibly, Val, but so far almost everyone had accepted the invitation.
“Chloe did love parties,” Vanity said, turning water on and off in the sink—her hands making airy gestures in between. “I know there’s something I’m missing that would make it perfect for her.”
Chloe hated parties. You told me that yourself, Vanity. She didn’t show up for the last one she gave.
Willow was seriously worried about Vanity, whom she would rather see in bed and sedated. When she wasn’t following Willow, telling Rock U. yet again how to erect the garden marquee he was clearly comfortable putting up with the help of the men who had delivered it, or leaning over Marley while she made calls, Vanity stood at a distance from the taped-off foot of the main stairs. Each time she could get close enough, she asked when the last traces of Chloe’s blood could be cleaned away.
Abruptly fixating on something in the grounds, Vanity walked out of the sliding doors leading to the terrace. She kept on walking until she reached Val and Preston, who both got up and hugged her.
A movement caught Willow’s attention: Marley hovering outside the kitchen door, trying to see who was there.
“You look like a scared rabbit,” Willow said. “Vanity’s gone outside.”
Marley slipped into the room, a sheaf of papers under one arm. “Now she wants costumes,” Marley said, her brow furrowed. She gripped the edge of a counter hard with one hand.
“Sit down,” Willow said. “You’re letting this get to you. My other people will be here just as soon as they can—one of them can make the calls, or I will.”
Looking past Willow at a section of blank wall, Marley’s frown deepened. She narrowed her eyes and the frown turned very angry.
“What is it?” Willow said, glancing around.
Marley shook her head once and turned her back.
“Costumes. I’ve got to call everyone back and tell them to come in costume.”
“No, you don’t,” Willow said. “I’ll deal with it. Vanity isn’t thinking.”
“She wants a masquerade ball. Masks. High drama, is what she said.” Marley faced Willow again, but her eyes slid off to look in the same direction as before. “That isn’t appropriate,” she said, barely moving her lips.
“What?” Jumpy, Willow chafed her arms. “Oh, you mean the ball idea? There isn’t going to be a ball if I can stop it.”
Marley went to the sink and looked out into the grounds where Vanity stood with Preston and Val. The three of them were nodding with evident enthusiasm.
“You want to bet she’s not telling them about this incredible idea of hers now?” Marley said. “It’s going the extra hundred miles, she says. Shows the level of adoration Chloe’s friends had for her.
Adoration
was the word she used.”
“Wow. That would probably mean decorating the place to theme.”
“Yeah, fake stone balustrades, soaring statues, Greek columns, fainting couches, velvet, gold—you should have heard it.” Marley paused for breath. She looked repeatedly at the spot over Willow’s left shoulder. “How would anyone do something like that anyway?”
“No problem,” Willow said, almost ashamed that the challenge appealed to her. She started mentally lining up the people she’d call for props.
“Get off the counter,” Marley said sharply. “Okay, that’s it. You’re annoying.”
Willow’s stomach flipped. “What did I do?”
“Not you—
him
.” She put her hands on her hips. “You want to bet on that? Give her a chance. Go on—see what happens.”
Bemused, Willow turned around.
She couldn’t see anything unusual.
“That’s not fair,” Marley said. “And don’t tell me not to let her hear what I’m saying to you. It’s your own fault—I’m not going to let her stand there wondering what’s going on. You give our talents a bad name. I’m not asking you to go out of your way—just open up to her. If she can see you, she can see you—why should that be so bad? It’s all in the family.”
A wavering form, with a human shape that faded in and out, but never became clear, sat cross-legged on the central island.
Willow peered closer, and put a hand over her mouth. “Sykes?”
“He loves being invisible when he communicates with me telepathically,” Marley said. “Let him in.”
“He’s not invisible,” Willow pointed out. “Not completely.”
“That’s because he’s letting you sort of see him. I told you she would, Sykes. Have a little faith in your own family, you oaf.”
“That’s the respect I get,”
Sykes communicated to Willow.
“I’m here to save your rears from ghouls and goblins and what thanks do I get? Insults, that’s all.”
Hearing him like that shook Willow, but not as much as seeing his transparent body behaving like a veil of shifting smoke on the counter.
“Did you hear that?”
Marley said in Willow’s mind.
“He’s here to save us.”
Willow swallowed and kept her mouth shut.
“We can take care of ourselves, you overgrown sprite,”
she thought.
“Wow,”
came back from Sykes.
“Haven’t we told you for years how abnormal you really are? Now maybe you believe us.”
“Those three are coming back,” Marley said aloud. “What are we going to tell them if they want their silly masquerade ball?”
“First, Sykes, get lost. If Vanity saw you like that she’d completely lose it. If she hasn’t already.”
“You and I can see him,”
Marley said to Willow.
“That’s because he wants us to. Don’t worry about them.”
Sykes hopped to the floor and disappeared completely.
“Does he do that a lot?” Willow said.
“Whenever I feel like it.”
Sykes voice was too loud in Willow’s head, and she jumped.
Vanity came into the kitchen with Val and Preston. This was the closest Willow had been to Val since she arrived that morning. Preston looked drawn, but Val looked like hell. He seemed to have lost pounds overnight. His face drew back beneath his cheekbones and purple slashes underscored his eyes. His hands moved incessantly from his pockets to his face to be held down beneath his upper arms and back to his pockets.
“Masquerade,” Vanity announced, her dark eyes feverishly bright. “Start making those callbacks, Marley. Please, darling. This is going to be completely memorable.”
“Okay,” Marley said slowly, looking at Willow. “What should I tell them exactly?”
“Masquerade ball,” Vanity said promptly.
“It’s very short notice,” Willow said tentatively.
Vanity ignored her. “And we’re going to need a videographer. We’ll show it at the funeral just as soon as they release Chloe’s body.” Bright red spots burned high on Vanity’s cheeks. “I can give you names for video people.”
“Vanity,” Val said faintly. He hadn’t shaved, and his beard was many shades darker than the surfer-blond hair. “Are you sure this isn’t in really bad taste?”
“Damn, one of them is still sane after all.”
Willow really wasn’t comfortable with Sykes’s disembodied voice. She crossed her arms and tapped a foot.
“What?”
Sykes sounded tetchy.
“I was thinking I didn’t like your disembodied voice too much, is all.”
She cleared her throat.
“That’s a joke.”
Sykes didn’t respond.
Marley chuckled softly behind her hand.
The stares they got from Preston and Val wiped out any banter. Fortunately, Vanity was soaring in the rosy haze of her costume party bubble and hadn’t noticed anything different.
“Off you go,” Vanity said to Marley. “Willow, the man doing the marquee is impossible. He’s rude—that is, he doesn’t talk to me. And the tattoos—awful. Get rid of him.”
“Sorry,” Willow said. “That’s Rock U. and he’s excellent. Let him get on with what he’s doing. I’ll have him change the decorations. What do you think about the flowers?”
The Potted Ladies had already transferred galvanized buckets filled with white flowers through a side gate and
they were lined up in front of a hedge. They were adding set pieces to the collection—also white.
Vanity tapped her fingernails against her teeth. “I think red.”
“Bloody hell,” Preston muttered.
“Appropriate.”
This from Sykes, wherever he was.
“Spray them,” Vanity said.
“Leave it to me,” Willow told her. “Really, Vanity, don’t worry about a thing. As long as you can answer our questions as we go along, you have nothing to worry about. We’ll take care of the event and the cleanup.”
“Red flowers?” Val said vaguely.
“It’s the color of love,” Vanity told him, placing a palm against his cheek. “Like your love for darling Chloe.”
He nodded.
“I prefer to use theatrical costumiers for these things,” Willow said. “I can get Sybil Smith over to talk about what you want to wear,” she told Vanity.
“We’ll all need costumes. Including the help. Everyone. I want it absolutely perfect. Venetian! That’s it, Venetian is what we want. Jesters…”
She rushed from the kitchen, and Willow heard her voice raised all the way to the foyer. Vanity was demanding the attention of whoever was “in charge for the authorities.”
Marley cringed. “So it’s a Venetian masquerade. I’d better get started with the calls. Do I ask if they need any advice on getting costumes in a hurry? Or say they don’t have to be in costume if they don’t want to?”
“You don’t know our friends,” Preston said, slapping Val on the back. “They’ll be in costume and they’ll knock
your socks off. Excuse us. Come on, Val, we’d better stick with Vanity.”
“Is she cracking up?” Val said.
“Close,” Preston said.
Willow caught the door before it could close behind the two men and followed them out. She also wanted to see what the police were up to. The staircase was going to be integral to Vanity’s extravaganza.
“Val,” the woman called when she saw him. “Your wedding video. Have that on hand, please. We’ll use that as a backdrop to the toast tomorrow evening.”
Through the front door walked Nat Archer with the detective whose name Willow didn’t remember, and both Gray and Ben.
“Didn’t you already do that?” Vanity said to a technician in a white coverall. He was suctioning the stair risers, sucking fibers into a clear bag attached to a powerful vacuum.
“No, ma’am.”
They could hear heavy footsteps overhead.
“When are you going to be finished?” Vanity asked.
“Still not sure, ma’am.”
“Above your pay grade to know that?” Vanity said, her nose wrinkling. “Who
would
know?”
She finally noticed the four men who had just arrived. “What do you want?” she asked. “You can’t just come walking in here.”
“You met Detective Fist and me last night and earlier today,” Nat said. “We have more questions, ma’am.”
“Why?”
“We know more than we did last night,” Nat said, frowning.
Vanity stared blankly.
“We can see how things go here, but we may have to ask you to come downtown later. Willow, stay where I can find you.”
Ben didn’t take his attention from Willow’s face. She had to look back at him, and he didn’t attempt to hide his longing. And something else. Cautiously, she reached toward his mind to ask what was wrong.
She was shaken when she realized he knew what she wanted, but was shutting her out.
“I have to leave,” Vanity said. She turned to Preston. “I need to get over to the agency for an hour. I completely forgot. Could you drive me, darling?”
“Of course.” He pulled keys from a pocket in his khaki shorts.
Marley hurried away to the office she had been using, catching Gray’s hand and pulling him with her as she went.
“Would you rather come downtown now?” Nat asked Vanity.
“Go on into the sitting room,” Val said. He looked worried. “Vanity was Chloe’s dearest friend. She’s under a lot of stress.”