Death and Honesty by Cynthia Riggs Page B

visitors.
    “What could possibly be keeping her?” Selena asked as they nibbled and chewed. “I don’t understand how she could sleep in that house under the circumstances.”

    “This is just like last time.”
    “In a way, you can’t blame her. I mean, Lucy’s death. But you’d think she’d call.”
    A half-hour passed. The Islander, loaded for the return trip to the mainland, backed out of its slip, rounded the jetty, and disappeared from view.
    Selena forked up the last of her salad and crumpled her paper napkin on the table. “You’d think she’d call.”
    Ocypete checked her cell phone and put it back in her purse. “Perhaps she left messages on our answering machines.”
    “Twice in a row. This isn’t like her at all.”
    “Want to stop by her house?” asked Ocypete.
    “Maybe the killer struck again. The police seem to think he mistook Lucy for Ellen. Why did she insist on sleeping in her house after that?”
    Ocypete dipped the last hunk of hamburger roll into the pool of blood remaining on her plate. “I’ll pick you up after my doctor’s appointment. Let’s say, four o’clock.”
     
    Long after the police left with the body bag, Delilah remained seated on the couch. By now it was almost two o’clock, and she was still dressed in her peignoir and high-heeled mules.
    “Henry, I simply can’t understand why the police took Darcy away. Clearly the drowning was an accident.”
    Henry clasped his hands behind his back and paced. His shoes squeaked on the slate floor.
    “Your pacing is driving me crazy,” said Delilah.
    Henry halted abruptly in front of her. His usually cherubic face was dark with anger. “Who’s Darcy?”
    “My chauffeur, of course.” Delilah stood up so she could look down on Henry and flicked her filmy dressing gown around her in a swirl.
    “Where’d he come from?”
    “The agency in Boston.”
    “What agency?”
    “For heaven’s sake, Henry. What’s your problem?”
    Henry turned his back to her and mumbled something.

    “I didn’t hear you.” She thrust her hands into the pockets of her gown.
    He turned again and they stared at each other until he broke eye contact.
    She pranced over to the orchids and fingered the bark soil. “Dry. You’d better remind Lee to water them.”
    “What agency?” he repeated.
    Delilah brushed the soil off her hands. “The same one that sent Barry to me five years ago. I’ve dealt with them dozens of times.” She walked back to the couch and sank into it with a flutter of purple and green silk. “Barry quit.”
    “What reason did he give?”
    “A family problem. I don’t pry into my staff’s personal business.”
    “Did you call Darcy’s references?”
    “Of course not. The agency takes care of that.” She laid her arm along the back of the couch and looked up at him. “What is the matter with you, Henry?”
    “The matter with me is that your chauffeur killed my pilot, that’s what’s the matter.” Henry turned and squeaked across the floor toward the windows. “Why? And who the hell is Darcy?”
    “What on earth are you talking about?” Delilah flung herself out of the couch again, brushed past the orchids, and stood beside him, hands on her hips. “Who I hire as my chauffeur is my business. And my chauffeur is no killer.”
    Henry stared up at her. His thick glasses reflected her face. His trim white mustache was slightly askew. “This Darcy person has been here for, what, a week? Two weeks?”
    “You’re being overly dramatic, as usual. Your pilot fell into the pond by accident.” She spoke each word distinctly.
    “At the airport, your Darcy and my pilot recognized each other. Why? How did they know each other?”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “I could tell. Where had they known each other?”
    “How am I supposed to know?” Below them the yellow police tape fluttered in the light midday breeze. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for lunch. Ring Lee, will you, darling?”

    “Even