Chapter 2 - Returning to the Feast
When my white sedan pulled back into the long, cobblestone driveway of the Riverdale estate, the house was ablaze with light.
Through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows of the dining room, I could see the golden balloons swaying in the air conditioning. I could see Daniel standing near the head of the long oak table, holding a crystal glass of amber liquid, laughing boisterously with his cousin Mark. Lorraine sat at the center, preening like a queen on a velvet throne, holding court among her sycophants while an empty silver tray sat in front of her.
They thought I had been broken. They thought I was out at the local high-end grocery market, frantic, tearful, buying prepared platters of smoked salmon, roast beef, and caviar to scrape together sixty makeshift dishes to buy back my place in their good graces.
I parked the car right in front of the main double doors, blocking Daniel’s sleek sports car.
I stepped out into the damp night air. Behind me, a black town car pulled up quietly, its headlights cutting through the light rain. Evelyn Price stepped out of the rear passenger side, holding a leather briefcase. From the front seat emerged Detective Frank Vance—a towering man with Arthur’s square jaw and piercing gray eyes—and Inspector Harold Miller, holding a thick, red folder.
"Nice place," Frank muttered, looking up at the stone portico. "Arthur always said Lorraine had atrocious taste in stonework."
"Shall we?" Evelyn asked smoothly.
I didn't use my key to enter my own house. I pushed the heavy double doors open with both hands, letting the cold draft from the rain sweep into the grand foyer.
The sound of laughter in the dining room instantly cut off.
Daniel’s voice carried over the marble floors. "Well, look who finally decided to drag her useless self back! Did you get the—"
Daniel stopped dead in his tracks as he rounded the corner into the hallway, a half-empty glass of scotch in his hand. His sneer froze mid-sentence when his eyes traveled past me to the three figures standing in my shadow.
Lorraine followed him out, dabbing her lips with a cloth napkin. "Nora, where are the caterers? Where is the food? You’ve been gone for over two hours and my guests are—"
May you like
Her voice evaporated into a dry gasp when she recognized Frank.
"Hello, Lorraine," Frank Vance said, stepping forward, his heavy police boots clicking sharply against the tile. "Happy sixtieth birthday. Arthur told me you were throwing a party. Mind if we join?"
