Chapter Nineteen
“Juliette,” Charlie called as Juliette charged away from the pool area. Renovations be damned, she was going to find that bottle and prove that June Piedmont drugged Warren. “Juliette, wait!”
“Keep up, Doc,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m trying to catch a murderer.”
“I know that, and I’d like to help you, if you would just wait.”
“Oh.” Juliette paused on the terrace, letting him catch up. “I thought you were going to try and stop me.”
“I am, but not from catching a murderer.” Charlie came to a halt beside her, huffing slightly. “You’re surprisingly fast in those heels.”
“So you are going to try and stop me? Because I should warn you, I’m pretty unstoppable. I was voted Most Likely to Orchestrate a Dictatorial Takeover of a Small European Nation by my high school Model United Nations.”
“And I’m sure Liechtenstein has been waiting in fear ever since,” Charlie said.
“Look, if you really think all of this was done to murder Warren and make it look like natural causes, I believe you. But you’re talking about someone incredibly clever, who took great pains to manage every small detail of his death.
Whoever you’re dealing with is not only a dangerous murderer, but they’re smart. Extremely smart.”
“I’m smarter,” Juliette said, crossing her arms.
“I believe that as well,” Charlie said gently.
“Which is why I think you’re smart enough to know that if you go in there right now and kick up a big fuss, insisting on being given access to the locker room, you’re not only going to tip off the cops, but the murderer as well.
Which means while you’re fighting with security, they’re going to be patient enough to find a way into the locker room and dispose of the evidence. ”
“That might be … a valid point,” Juliette said, making a face. “So what, you think we need to be more patient and clever? Because I’m only good at one of those things.”
“You think June and Robert Piedmont drugged Warren’s whiskey, right?”
“They brought the bottle to Warren and insisted he cheers with them,” Juliette reasoned.
“Chipper and I both drank from the whiskey bottle and had a reaction as well. And June Piedmont had a really strong reaction at the party the night Warren had his heart attack. At the time I thought it was just a rich white woman playing at hysterics, but what if she’d dosed herself, too?
I don’t know why they would have dosed the bottle instead of his individual glass, but maybe they thought they couldn’t risk him catching them.
So they dosed the bottle, and dosed themselves along with him.
They knew they would be fine so long as they didn’t get the electric shock. ”
“They do seem to have moved on quickly with their plans for the club after Warren’s death,” Charlie said, nodding.
“Derr—I mean, Duffel Bag said they started the renovations the next morning. That’s awfully fast. Like maybe they’re hiding something.
Which makes sense, if you’re saying they stole this manuscript Warren had and killed him to keep it quiet. ”
“If I had the freaking manuscript, I could prove whatever secret Warren knew that they were clearly afraid he would expose,” Juliette said.
“We won’t be getting into the locker rooms right now,” Charlie said, looking toward the tent where the crowds were descending for the luncheon. “Not with the security they have on staff. But it looks like they’re starting the luncheon, which is as good a place to start as any.”
“I’m not exactly hungry,” Juliette said.
Charlie shook his head. “No, I mean everyone will be in the tent, it’s the perfect opportunity to talk to people. Current members, staff, people who’ve known the Piedmonts for years. Maybe Warren wasn’t the only one who knew their secret.”
Juliette cocked her head to the side, considering the plan. “You know, we did have a really good nice cop/mean, sexually intimidating cop routine going with Duffel Bag back there. You were surprisingly good with that idiot.”
Charlie shrugged modestly. “I have to talk down anxious patients all the time, I’m used to it. I know most surgeons prefer dealing with their patients after they’re anesthetized, but I think it’s important for patients to know me and trust me. It’s what I would want, if I were in their shoes.”
“That’s a very unsurgeonly way of thinking about it,” Juliette pointed out.
“So Rajiv constantly tells me,” Charlie said, looking aggrieved.
“Rajiv is an asshole,” Juliette said. “If you’re doing the opposite of whatever he’s doing, then you’re probably doing it right.”
But Charlie shook his head. “I know the other doctors think it’s a waste of time, and I’ve had more than one attending tell me to bill the hours if I’m going to use them. I just can’t bring myself to charge people for talking to them.”
“Yeah, because you’re not a capitalist pig.”
“You’re only saying that to be nice.”
Juliette pressed a hand to her chest in genuine affront. “I never say anything to be nice, how dare you?”
Charlie gave a laugh of surprise, his expression turning wry. “You’re right, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“That’s what my tombstone is going to say,” Juliette said, giving him a smile. “You talk to the bedazzled Floyd Flock and see what they know about the Piedmonts’ money troubles, and I’ll intimidate the staff into spilling all their little secrets.”
Whatever money troubles the Piedmonts or Pacific Pines might be having, they certainly weren’t on display in the luncheon tent.
If anything, the interior seemed especially designed to dispel any such pernicious rumors.
Juliette had already seen the caliber of table settings and decorations they had trotted out when she chased Duffel Bag through, but even she was unprepared for the spread they’d put on.
It made Warren’s party look like the buffet at Chuck E.
Cheese. Many of the guests were already seated, with servers trotting out silver-domed trays and doffing the lids to reveal works of art.
Fresh salmon tartare with gold leaf decoration, lobster Newburg on delicate puff pastry, tempura-battered vegetables artfully arranged as centerpieces.
And of course, Troy Pham’s signature offering, bánh giò.
The dumplings made Juliette’s mouth water, but she didn’t have time for sampling.
Charlie gave a low whistle. “Maybe you were right about my sport coat. I feel underdressed.”
“I was right about the coat, you should burn it immediately,” Juliette said distractedly. “But this feels like a case of the lady protesting too much. Like J.Lo and Ben Affleck doing staged date nights when rumors of divorce started swirling. Let’s grease the wheels on the rumor mill.”
Charlie headed off in the direction of the older women in visors.
As Juliette scanned the servers moving about the room, she spotted Clayton Westminster by the tent flap, furiously typing away on his phone with a jawline was so tight it could cut glass.
She didn’t envy whoever was on the receiving end of that text.
But if anyone might know the dirt on the Piedmonts, it would be Warren’s former protégé.
“I like to sign off all my emails with ‘your prompt reply is expected,’” Juliette said as she came to stand beside him. “That way I put the visual in their minds of me waiting on the other end. I once had an author who sent me interview answers from the hospital because of it.”
Clayton looked up, blinking in surprise. “Ah, Juliette. I wasn’t expecting you here today. Wait, did you say the hospital?”
“It was fine, just his gallbladder,” Juliette said, waving it away as if everyone had their gallbladders removed. “And if you’re worried that I’m stalking you, I can assure you that if I was, you would never know.”
Clayton laughed, smoothing some of the lines around his eyes and mouth. “I apologize, I must seem frightfully rude. I’m waiting for Brad. We’ve had a meeting scheduled for weeks now to discuss potential hires, and he’s made himself terribly unavailable.”
“So you thought you’d join Pacific Pines and haunt him here instead?”
Clayton gave a laugh, but there was no mirth to it.
“Ah, no. This place is not the oasis from the world for me that it was for Warren. I’m not the club sort, turns out.
No, Brigitte let it slip that he’s been hiding out here lately.
Apparently, he let his condo go and moved into the Ellingham estate when Warren died, but I suppose he’s feeling his papa’s ghost roaming the halls. ”
Could it be Warren’s ghost haunting him, or a guilty conscience? Out of all of her suspects, Brad stood to gain the most from Warren’s death, at least financially.
“Perhaps Warren’s ghost has returned because of this,” Juliette said, indicating the tent at large. “I can’t imagine he would have been happy with opening the club like this.”
Clayton snorted. “He was a snob about the club, and he would have been the first to say it. June and Robert were always trying to get him to expand, to make upgrades to draw in fresh pocketbooks. A VR room, adding Wi-Fi to the locker rooms, et cetera. Warren was personally offended by most of them. I guess now they can finally do it, considering they have the controlling share and Brad couldn’t make a sound financial decision to save his life.
I don’t even know why he’s kept up the membership, since he hates golf so much. ”
Another interesting piece to the puzzle. If Brad hated golf, then how the hell did he know Chipper Floyd? Juliette asked Clayton as much.
“I think they went to college together perhaps? Another door Warren paid to have opened for his son, not that the expense was worth it. Brad apparently got kicked out of his freshman dorm for working as a bookie for all the rich kids.” Clayton straightened up, his gaze narrowing at a spot across the tent where Brad Ellingham had appeared.
“There he is, trying to weasel his way in through the service entrance. You’ll have to excuse me, Juliette, I need to strike while the iron is hot. ”
“Maybe we could grab dinner sometime this week?” Juliette said, surprising herself.
Where had that come from? Sure, she’d thought him handsome enough the night of the party, but there had hardly been a fizzle between them at the funeral, much less the full-on sizzle she felt every time Charlie was within brushing distance.
Her gaze drifted unconsciously but inexorably across the tent where Charlie was chatting up a woman half his size with more turquoise jewelry than a roadside stand in Arizona.
When he caught her looking, he gave her a smile that brought that feeling back in full force.
“Dinner?” The look Clayton gave her was a mixture of surprise and calculation, and it was only then she remembered he was still a suspect according to the whiteboard taking up precious space in her living room.
But then his expression morphed into a pleased smile, a victory if ever she’d seen one as he moved toward the side of the tent where he’d spotted Brad. “I’d love to. You have my number.”
“I do,” Juliette said, wondering not for the first time that week what exactly she’d gotten herself into.