Hearse and Gardens by Kathleen Bridge Page B

stairs.”
    *   *   *
    Liv led me down the hallway, then turned left. She touched something on the wall in front of us and the wood panels opened, exposing the second floor of the glass gallery with the Steinway piano and the clear section of flooring. There wasn’t a third floor to match the roof line of the old part of the house; instead there was a forty-foot-high tinted glass ceiling with copper rafters, giving the gallery a greenhouse effect.
    On the first floor of the gallery, the wake was in full swing. The mellow stringed ensemble from earlier had added percussion. Was this the raucous way everyone in the Hamptons celebrated death?
    Liv stopped at the dividing line between the original part of the mansion and the modern addition. “Thanks again for bringing Granddad to his room.” She waved her arm toward the scene below. “This is a little much for him. For all of us.”
    â€œHow are you taking it? I’m so sorry about the loss of your father.”
    â€œI’m just happy he was found and all the rumors weren’t true. I knew he’d never steal a painting and leave me alone without a word. I may have been only three when he disappeared, but I knew he loved me. He was an artist. He published picture books he made just for me. One for each birthday. My mother gave me the last book on my fourth birthday, right before her accident.” She took her right hand and ran it through her silky hair. “I can’t wrap myhead around the fact that my father was murdered, with no water or food. How could anyone be so heartless? And to think he was so close to Sandringham the whole time. My mother thought he left with
her
. Everyone did.”
    I assumed she meant Helen Morrison.
    â€œMy father did some sketchy things. Things I read about in the paper after he died. But did he deserve this?” She looked at me, as if I had an answer.
    I wanted to help her. I knew what it was like to lose a parent at a young age. But to lose both your parents, around the same time, seemed inconceivable. “If you want, I can look into things for you. My father is a retired homicide detective. And I know Detective Shoner from the East Hampton Town Police. Call if you need anything. Even a cup of coffee. I live right down the road.” I handed her my business card. My father had taught me motive was a pie-in-the-sky thing. No rhyme or reason on what might set someone off. The person who murdered wasn’t always a stereotypical adolescent who tortured small animals or set fires, sometimes it was the kind little old man who held the door for you at the post office.
    â€œHave you always lived at Sandringham?”
    She had dark circles under her eyes. “Yes, between boarding school and Brown. I just graduated last May.”
    I looked down and saw Celia’s daughter, Kate, sitting stiffly next to a Plexiglas beverage cart topped with discarded cocktail and wineglasses.
    â€œIt must be nice having someone your own age living here.”
    Kate must have felt us watching because she glanced up and gave a weak wave, then took both hands and putthem around her neck like she was hanging from a noose. She mouthed, “Save me.”
    Liv smiled.
    The noose gesture reminded me of the strangled gull.
    Liv said, “Kate can be a little intense, but look who’s her role model.”
    Celia stood next to the actor twins from one of the popular crime scene investigator TV shows—Maui, Seattle, or Poughkeepsie. Who could keep track? Both actors were gorgeous but way too young to be interested in Celia.
    Then she led the twins over to meet Kate. If looks could kill, Celia would have been a doornail.
    When Celia walked away, one twin on each arm, Kate reached for a partially empty wineglass and chugged. She continued to drain every drop of liquid from each glass on top of the cart, not caring that a group of guests had gathered to watch. It was a good thing Celia was on