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“Washington and I walked up on a double homicide on Market Street, in a gin mill called the Inferno Lounge.”
“The bar owner? They killed his wife? I heard something on the radio.”
“The wife and business partner had their brains blown out. The husband suffered a .32 flesh wound to the leg.”
“Is there something significant in that?” Amy asked.
“Let us say the version of the incident related by the not-so-bereaved husband is not regarded as being wholly true,” Matt said.
“But why are you going to Homicide?” Amy asked.
She didn’t get an answer.
“Jesus Christ, what’s this?” Matt exclaimed. “It looks like a used-car lot.”
Amy looked out the windshield. The wide cobblestone drive in front of the Detweiler mansion and the last fifty yards of the road leading to it were crowded with cars, a substantial percentage of them Cadillacs and Lincolns. There were five or six limousines, including two Rolls Royces.
“Dad said family and intimate friends,” Amy said. “It’s apparently gotten out of hand.”
“Intimate friends, or the morbidly curious?” Matt asked. “With a soupçon of social climbers thrown in for good measure?”
“Matt, have those acidulous thoughts if they make you feel better, but for the sake of Uncle Dick and Aunt Grace—and Mother and Dad—please have the decency to keep them to yourself.”
“Sorry,” he said, sounding contrite.
“What were they supposed to say when someone called, or simply showed up? ‘Sorry, you’re not welcome’?”
“Oh, shit, there’s Chad,” Matt said. “And the very pregnant Daffy and friend.”
“Why are you surprised, and why ‘oh, shit’?”
“I would just as soon not see them just now.”
Mr. Chadwick Thomas Nesbitt IV glanced down the drive as the station wagon drove up, recognized the occupants, and touched the arm of his wife. Mrs. Nesbitt in turn touched the arm of Miss Amanda Chase Spencer, a strikingly beautiful blonde who was wearing a black silk suit with a hat and veil nearly identical to Mrs. Nesbitt’s. All three stopped and waited on the lower of the shallow steps leading to the flagstone patio before the mansion’s front door.
“How are you holding up, buddy?” Chad asked, grasping Matt’s arm.
“Oh, Matt,” Daffy said. “Poor Matt!”
She embraced him, which caused her swollen belly to push against him.
“Hello, Matt,” Amanda said. “I’m so very sorry.”
“Thank you,” Matt said, reaching around Daffy to take the gloved hand she extended.
“I still can’t believe it,” Daffy said as she finally released Matt.
“I’m Amelia Payne,” Amy said to Amanda.
“How do you do?”
“I thought this was supposed to be family and immediate friends only,” Matt said, gesturing at all the cars.
“Matt, I can’t believe you said that!” Daffy said, horrified.
Matt looked at her without comprehension.
“Amanda’s been staying with us, for Martha Peebles’s engagement party,” Chad said coldly.
