“If the dead are going to fall, make sure it is at your feet and then watch your step.”
Nicholas Asberry, Mayor of Victoria (c. 1958 – 1966)
The walnut built-ins housed over 5,000 books, encyclopedias, collections, and gold platted knick-knacks, and two bust statues of Alexander the Great. Three world maps displaying geopolitics’ evolution hung between the traditional wall moldings and a handful of framed family photos sprinkled throughout. The lighting highlighted the rare artifacts and the eclectic choice of furniture. The new addition, the body of the Porter’s Midsomer Gala’s party pianist, did not quite fit, nor did the four stunned individuals standing over him.
Let us back up…
Mr. and Mrs. Porter threw a Midsomer Gala every year and invited everyone in Victoria, who made the Victorian Times’s Top Takers and a few family and friends. Anyone present did something of note that year and the gala were their congratulations. Those who took a leap year from success would have to wait to read all about it.
Nina Archer, a best-selling author, received her invitation a mere three days after renegotiating her publishing contract pushing her into the top 10 Victorian earners. She was determined to attend regardless, but the invitation was a relief. Crashing parties was juvenile, and during her former years, she was quite good at it: she and her long-time friend, Octavia Malone.
Octavia had no interest in living in Victoria or being among the elite. She crashed parties for the food and the excitement. The food menu would be the thing to beat for the rest of the year. To see the spread was one thing, but to taste, it was another. The excitement usually included a couple of spats, a few drunken spills, several teary moments in a corner, and at least two physical fights. But this year, Octavia was invited. When she helped her healthcare employers win a class action lawsuit and received a $40 million thank you to boot, what could she expect?
She and Nina arrived as guests and slipped right in without a beat. Nina sported a black sleeveless gown with a large pearl clematis flower brooch. Octavia wore a coral floor-length long-sleeve velvet dress with champagne heels. Nina took Octavia’s hand and guided her through the crowd towards him.
“Oh god, NeeNee, don’t do this to yourself,” Octavia said and then excused herself to every person she bumped into along the way. Nina was fixed and focused on him.
Clayton Wells, a venture capitalist with a vast art collection, stood 6 foot 4 with light blue eyes and short brown hair. A real prize with his clean-shaven face, small dimples, large hands, broad shoulders, a gentle laugh, and a wandering eye. He received his invitation when his appraisal for his art collection was $122 million. Next to him was his wife, Annabelle Donis, an artist herself, whose tolerance for barbiturates was literally a case study. Adding the alcohol, guests would introduce themselves to marvel at her like a Barnum and Bailey attraction. Weighing barely 90 pounds in her pale pink slip dress and black heels, she curtseyed and winked at each passerby like barnyard royalty.
Clayton shifted from one side to the other as he caught Nina, making her way towards him, Octavia in hand. His wife, clueless as she slurped on a cocktail and swayed to the music playing overhead.
“Annabelle!” hollered Nina as she dropped Octavia’s hand. Nina and Annabelle extended their arms and embraced one another. Octavia flexed her hand and tipped her head toward Clayton.
“Octavia,” he whispered, “congratulations.”
Clayton and Octavia watched the two women giggle with high-pitched sentiments of ‘you look great’ and ‘oh, you look great.’
“Thanks. And you too,” she said.
He smirked and nodded his head, “Is it your first time here?” Octavia shrugged one shoulder with a slight smile, looking away. “I mean, is it your first time invited?”
“It’s my first time making any money,” she said.
He finished his drink and shook his head, and said, “Come with me.”
She followed him away from Nina and his wife, who were at this point holding both hands, hopping up and down as if they hadn’t seen each other in years and not just last month at Tinkie Bellamy’s birthday party.
Clayton and Octavia worm through the crowd before ending their escape outside the study entrance.
“When we were kids, it seemed different.”
“When we were kids, we didn’t have anything to lose.”
“Look, most people in Victoria aren’t invited. If you don’t make $35 million that year, then that’s it,” he said.
“I barely made it,” Octavia said, grabbing a champagne glass off a passing tray.
“It’s more like how you made it. Mercer’s one of the largest healthcare providers, if not the largest, and that class action suit would’ve done them in. That’s 150 years of history you saved, not to mention 50,000 jobs and millions in contracts.”
“I’m just a mere social worker.”
“Most of the people here are just mere somethings.”
“Are they done yet?” she asked, looking over the crowd toward Nina.
“You’ll know when they are,” he said and waved a server over, “About 13 years ago, they only had 10 people.”
The young server, Penny Whitehurst, rubbed her hands against her black pants, stretched her white blouse, adjusted her long red tie, and took a deep breath. She crossed the hallway to Clayton.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Can I get any whiskey-scotch blend, single, neat with a straw,” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she said, nodding, “where would you like it?”
Clayton turned around and said, “In the study.”
Meanwhile, Annabella was beyond slurring. At that point, Annabelle was speaking another language. Fortunately for Nina, her father, may he rest in peace, he also enjoyed the drink, and she could decipher Annabelle’s incoherent speech. Another skill Nina developed, but not one she is proud of to possess. And just then, a gentleman wearing black-tie attire gripping his drink joined the ladies.
“I can’t wait to read your new novel. Did you write this one?” Annabelle asked before sipping.
Nina smiled and cut her eyes, then said, “Of course. All my work is actually original.”
And with that, Annabelle set her empty glass down on the table and stepped closer.
“Right? I don’t know why some people commission other artist’s work. I don’t get why they can’t just go out and find something new. There are so many undiscovered talents.”
“It’d be great if they would just let them go.”
“It’s hard to let go of a gem, especially when you know it’ll go to someone who won’t take good care of it and will probably toss it aside after a couple of years because the pursuit was the cause of the passion and not the possession.”
The gentleman, confused, asked, “I’m having a little trouble following the conversation.”
“She’s sleeping with my husband,” said Annabelle before she snatched a cocktail off a passing tray.
“Oh,” he said, dropping his head and lifting his drink, red-faced and uneased.
“That was uncalled for,” Nina said after taking Annabelle’s drink, to which she bellowed ‘hey.’
Nearby guests stopped their conversations to listen in on theirs.
“Are you offended? I’m just telling the truth to our new friend here?” she said, but the gentleman’s puzzled expression prompted Nina to translate.
“I’m not offended at you telling the truth. I’m surprised you seem upset by it. The fact you can feel anything is amazing.”
Annabelle cackled, bending over to slap her leg. Guest stood transfixed as Nina stood firm and justified.
“You know what I love about you, NeeNee?” she asked and then turned toward the gentleman, “you know what I love about her?” He shook his head and dropped his eyes, perhaps out of respect for Nina.
“No matter what she does wrong, or who she hurts, she’s the better person,” she yelled.
Clayton looked up and saw the crowd forming around Nina and Annabelle.
“Oh no, help me out,” he said.
“What about your drink?” she said, following him.
Penny stood in front of a large selection of spirits and read each label one by one. Penny knew very little of the elite class’s tastes but knew she did have the drive to become one of them. But step one would be making Mr. Clayton Wells a drink.
Clayton and Octavia arrived just in time. Annabelle was dancing right under Nina, who was like a brick and mortar, strong and empty inside. Annabelle flipped Nina’s hair, trying to evoke anything out of her. Any sign of life. So she tried something tried and true; Annabelle whipped back her hand and slapped Nina across the face.
Nothing.
Clayton grabbed his wife’s hand and yanked the petite daisy out of the room. Octavia crept up to Nina, who fought back the tears, extended her index finger. She poked Nina’s palm, who looked down and cupped her finger. Octavia carefully pulled her friend away. They brushed shoulders, elbows, but mostly they dodged daggers. In circles like these, the other woman and the wife would meet and greet but striking her was a bit heavy-handed. Judgment turned to sympathy, then back to judgment. Luckily by the time that happened, Octavia and Nina reached the study, where a young man was playing the piano buried in the corner of the room.
Octavia sat Nina down on the loud leather couch and held her hand.
“Stop it,” Octavia said.
Nina turned to her and asked, “What?”
“Feeling sorry for yourself. What did you expect? You’re sleeping with her husband.”
Penny entered with a silver tray and the drink but, upon hearing that, immediately exited with it.
“I tried to be nice to her,” Nina said, “but started in on me.”
“Again, you’re sleeping with her husband. What did you expect?”
“I expected her to be better than me,” she said, leaning back.
Octavia rolled her eyes and said, “I can’t believe you just said that. She slapped you because you’re sleeping with her husband. You are not the victim in this situation.”
“First of all, I haven’t been with him in months.”
“Oh, well that’s better.”
“And second, asshole, I broke it off with him. And what drugs is she on? Her blabbering was barely coherent.” Nina asked. Octavia scoffed, reminding her that violating HIPAA would upset her lawyers, who are still celebrating their recent courtroom victory. Nina shook her off. “I don’t need an itemized list. I just wanna know how she stays vertical.”
Penny reenters with a silver tray and two Vodka shots.
“Ladies,” she said and leaned down towards Nina and Octavia. They take the shots and return the glasses. “Another?”
Both ladies said yes and fell back on the couch.
Clayton rushed into the room and threw himself at Nina’s feet like a man waiting to be knighted. Nina leaned forward and caressed his neck. He rested his head on her knees and took a deep breath to apologize.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just had to talk to her; be seen by her,” she whispered.
Octavia hopped up and made her way towards the piano, but when Penny returned, she redirected herself to the Vodka shot. Penny smiled, but it faded when she spotted Clayton. She did not have his drink order. Octavia assured Penny that Clayton had already forgotten about the drink.
Ehhh.
The pianist stood up and clawed at his neck. Foam dripped from the corner of his mouth. He collapsed on the floor and grunted. Octavia and Nina rushed over and turned him over. Octavia placed the heel of her hand to the center of the young man’s chest and her other hand over it. Nina tried talking to him lightly tapping his shoulder and then the side of his face. Octavia pressed down and released upward and continued delivering chest compressions. Nina’s checked his pulse and his pupils. Penny knelt and tried to be helpful by handing his hand. As Octavia positioned herself to provide mouth-to-mouth, Nina stopped her.
“You don’t know what he took,” she shrieked.
As Octavia knelt closer to smell his mouth and examine the white substance the young pianist took his last breath. Penny leapt up and pressed the silver tray to her chest and gasped.
“Christian?” she said, her eyes rapidly blinking, “Christian? No, no, no. This isn’t good. Oh god.”
Octavia backed away and pulled out her cell phone, but Penny knocked the cell phone out of her hand with the silver tray.
“What the hell!” Octavia yelled. Penny did not apologize and to further prove she wasn’t remorseful she kicked the cell phone across the room. “So, that’s not okay. And go get my cell phone before I shove that tray up your ass.”
“So, I’m gonna go,” said Clayton standing alone in the corner with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.
Penny pulled at Octavia and Nina to stand up before she ran to the hallway and shut the door. Nina and Octavia exchanged curious looks and waved Clayton over. Unfortunately, Clayton was frozen in place and only saw them in between peeks at the dead pianist and the door.
“We need to leave,” Penny said.
“Then why did you close the door?” asked Nina.
“Because no one can see us leaving. Don’t you know who that is?”
Nina looked down at the young man’s jacket and read the silver-plated name tag: Christian.
“Christian Elliot-Fox.”
Clayton jumped and moved two inches to the left. His knees unclenched, but his throat tightened and his mouth dried. Nina moaned and flopped on the couch slamming her head into her hands. Octavia clearly did not know the history of Fox, but understood the weight it carried.
“If he was some rich kid he wouldn’t be working the party, right?” she asked.
“Octavia lives in Eastland,” Nina said explaining to the others, “As far as I know that’s the one place they don’t go.”
‘So, I’m gonna go,” said Clayton inching towards the door.
“Ah, no. We’re not doing the last one here’s a rotten egg,” Nina said twisting towards him.
“What’s the big deal?” asked Octavia still unnerved.
“If we can leave and no one see us, then we’re clear and someone else will find him. The most they’d do is ask if we saw something or whatever,” said Penny as she clutched the tray.
“Remember a few years back when that family died of carbon monoxide poisoning?” Nina asked Octavia, who nodded, “Well the matriarch had a little too much to drink and crashed her SUV into one of his cousins.”
“And she called for help,” Clayton added with a whisper.
Octavia’s stomach growled and her mouth uttered a moan all too familiar and said, “Oh shit.”
Part 2 coming soon….
