Read Designer Detective (A Fiona Marlowe Mystery) for Free Online Page B

you,
dear? You can meet some of the family. Have Jake bring you. He's a good
escort.”
    I smiled. “Sure, I'll stop by for a few
minutes.”
    I waited for Jake who was behind me in line.
    “Opal says you should be my escort to the
reception.”
    He held out his arm. “My
pleasure. Leave your car here. I'll drive you over.”
    The crowd at the reception seemed bigger than
the memorial service, or maybe it was because they were spread all over the
house. Valet parking, waiters in black and white with trays
of champagne, maids in black and white with canapés. The din rivaled the
Met on opening night. People spilled into the patio to the back of the house
where the swimming pool sparkled in the afternoon sun. These folks were
seriously into celebrating Albert's life.
    I hung on the outer edge of the chaos with Jake
and sipped champagne, engaging in my favorite past time of people watching.
Washington crowds can be boring, but this one showed promise.
    “I think it was an accident,” I heard a nearby
matron say. She clutched the arm of a young man. Her accent might be South
African. Could this be the wife of Olivia's brother? “Albert was terribly
forgetful. He must have slipped up on his meds, don't you think, dear?” She was
smiling at the most attractive man I have ever seen in my life. If he wasn't
George Clooney, no one was.
    “Not for us to say,” he said. “The old boy's
gone and there's nothing to be done for it.” His accent was definitely London.
I've spent time in England sorting out accents, and I know a London accent when
I hear it. This was one of the infamous nephews.
    I nudged Jake. “Did you catch the conversation
in front of us?”
    He looked at me over his glass of champagne. “Yeah. You've already figured out who they are, I bet.”
    “Her side?”
    He nodded and looked at his empty champagne
glass. “I got to get some real booze. This fuzzy stuff just doesn't do it for
me.”
    “I thought you were on the wagon.”
    “Only when it suits me.” He gave me a wicked grin that made him look almost handsome although he would
have looked better in a Stetson and Tony Llama boots.
    “Can I get you anything?” he asked.
    “Glass of red wine, please .”
    He sauntered off toward the bar located at the
far end of the drawing room where the celebrants, I mean, mourners were
congregating three deep. A waiter came by with tray of champagne.
    “Thank you, kind sir,” I said as I lifted a
fluted glass and replaced it with my empty. What the hell, I thought. I'm not
driving, and I do so love the bubbly. Besides, they were small glasses.
    I surveyed the crowd for faces I knew from the news.
I thought I recognized a congressman or two, maybe a senator from New England.
If Albert had been connected to the intelligence community, I wouldn't know
those faces. They were a closed group. That set me to wondering what Albert did
at his think-tank job and which think tank it was.
    Jake returned with the red wine. That put me in
the embarrassing position of having two drinks in my hands. I tossed down the
champagne and set the glass on a side table.
    “Doing some serious drinking, I see,” said
Jake. “Don't let it get away from you. There probably are some real leeches in
this crowd. I guess I'll have to look out for you.”
    I smiled into his eyes. He had disgustingly
long lashes for a man. I hate when men have nice eyes and don't have to wear
makeup. On the other hand, I do so love to apply eye makeup in the morning. It
entertains me and isn’t life all about entertainment? All those marvelous
colors of shadow, eyeliner, mascara. All those wonderful
shades of blusher and lipstick. But I digress.
    Jake looked away from my smile. I guess the
smile was too flirty.
    “Look, big boy, I've been watching out for
myself for a long time. I won't mention how many years.”
    He didn't say anything.
    “But I appreciate the offer.”
    He smiled. “Nice dress.”
    I smiled back. “Do you like the plunging
neckline?”