Death by Diamonds by Annette Blair Page A

my imagination, like I’d seen it someplace before. I wondered what it would look like with bright red curls falling to her shoulders rather than that mermaid hair falling down her back. Tonight she wore an emerald green Carolina Herrera gown, but I could easily imagine her in a red Versace cape.
    “Didn’t anybody get the memo that this isn’t the Oscars?” I asked Kyle.
    “In this circle, any chance to show off is Oscar night.”
    “You know what,” I said. “I haven’t met your mother’s leading man, yet.”
    “Lance Taggart. I haven’t seen him, tonight, either.”
    “Your mother must pay Phoebe well if she can afford designer clothes.”
    “No, Phoebe’s mother Quinny pays her well, in clothes,” Kyle said. “But Phoebe would rather live with us. She has an apartment upstairs in the servant’s attic quarters.”
    “Any of the other parasites live here?”
    “Sure. Mom’s chef, Zander Pollock. He wanted Mom to set him up in business and get him his own TV cooking show.”
    I sat straighter. “Was he angry at your mother when she didn’t do what he wanted?”
    “Mighty angry. I heard them arguing.”
    Feeling like Werner, I made a note of that. “Did he threaten her?”
    “No, only her food.”
    “That’s significant. Any other suspects in residence?”
    “Mom’s makeup artist and hairdresser, Rainbow Joy. Daughter of a flower child. Not fond of what she calls the upper classes. Rainbow Joy likes to read self-help books and dole out the advice, her earth-child version of it, that is, whether you want to hear it or not.”
    “Any of the leeches in residence strike you as suspects?”
    “All of them, including my ex-father, though he doesn’t live here. But don’t limit your expectations. You haven’t met all the Parasites, yet.
    “Like who?” I asked.
    “Like . . . Galina Lockhart,” Kyle said watching Ursula Uxbridge. “Galina was Mom’s biggest rival. She wanted Mom’s part in Diamond Sands, and never forgave Mom for getting it. Hell, Galina’s always wanted anything Mom had.”
    “Sounds like a sweetie.”
    “I’ll point her out when I see her. She doesn’t seem to be here tonight, but watch the way she and my ex-dad look at each other. There’s chemistry; I just don’t know if they ever made a toxic mix of it. Just watch the people who actually “pose” beside the casket tomorrow. You’ll find Galina, eventually.”
    My eyes filled despite myself. Dominique DeLong in a casket.
    I thought the guests would never leave, especially Ian, who acted as if he owned the Gothic white-granite showplace and that everyone was there to see him instead of Kyle. Fact was, Dominique got the Fifth Avenue mansion in the divorce settlement. One thing I already knew about Ian is that he never went anywhere without a glass of Scotch in his hand. And when he held a glass, the very crooked baby finger on his right hand became more noticeable. The pinky curved right then back toward the left and pointed to the rest of his hand.
    Kyle’s little finger did not resemble his ex-father’s, but one of the Parasites had a little finger that did.
    Nineteen
    Eventually everything connects—people, ideas, objects. The quality of the connections is the key . . .
    —CHARLES EAMES
    The genetic crooked baby finger thing didn’t prove that Kyle wasn’t Ian DeLong’s. But it sure made me question the paternity of another member of the Parasites. So . . . had Ian fathered another child? If so, did that speak to motive? Possibly, so I guessed it was worth questioning all three: potential mother, father, and child. Meanwhile, useless speculation had no bearing on the immediate facts surrounding Dom’s death. I’d save my curiosity for opportunities to speak to each of them separately, and by separate, I meant alone and one-on-one, without the others in the vicinity. Still, the coincidence bugged me, and I turned to Kyle. “Who exactly did your dad leave your mother for?”
    Kyle shrugged. “You know,