62

Thorn Darlington was tired and irritable by the time he got off the plane at Kennedy Airport. Archibald had arranged for a car to pick him up. The driver was waiting, holding up a sign that said simply, COUSIN THORN.

How amusing of Archibald, Thorn thought sarcastically. He waved and walked over to the driver.

“Cousin Thorn?” the driver asked.

“To some people. Let’s get my bags.”

Fifteen minutes later, Thorn was settled in the back of a stretch limousine on his way into Manhattan. “Driver,” he said, “a little privacy, please?”

The driver nodded and pressed a button, raising the glass partition between them. Thorn then pulled out his international cell phone and dialed. As usual, he got the voice mail on the other end.

“I hope we’re ready for tonight,” he said. “I’ll be across the street at Cousin Archibald’s. His superiority is so annoying. He thinks I’m here to celebrate the demise of the Settlers’ Club thanks to him. Little does he know I have my own plans for the home of the Maldwin Feckles School for Butlers! Call me back!”

Thorn turned off his phone and giggled.

This is so perfect, he thought. My family was always much more cunning than Cousin Archie’s.

63

Regan looked in the Yellow Pages and found a perfume shop off Seventh Avenue, near the site of the crime convention, called Our Scents Make Sense. “We carry every brand you can think of,” the ad proclaimed. “Come take a whiff.”

“I’m on my way,” Regan announced to no one in particular. She grabbed a cab outside the club and found herself standing in front of a little hole-in-the-wall establishment with numerous perfume bottles lining the tiny storefront window. She opened the door, and bells that were taped to the other side tinkled, signaling her arrival.

A sixtyish woman with platinum-blond hair teased into helmetlike proportions was standing behind the long counter to the left. Even from six feet away, it was easy to spot that she had on the thickest, blackest eyeliner Regan had ever seen. Her outfit was a leopard jumpsuit, and her nails were three inches long. She must have gotten the job here when Cats closed, Regan thought.

Not surprisingly, the air in the tiny shop was filled with scents fighting with each other for domination.

“Hello, dahlink,” the woman said to Regan. “How can I help you?” Her name tag read SISSY.

“Hello.” Regan had the list in her hand. “There are about seven perfumes here I’d like to buy.”

“Perfect, dahlink. One for every day of the week.”

“Right,” Regan said, thinking that Sissy’s accent was of indeterminate origin. “The first one is called Ocean Water.”

“Beautiful. Beautiful outdoor scent.” She stepped away and pulled a bottle off the shelf. “There’s Sunday.” She smiled. “What about Monday?”

“Express to Passion.”

“The best. That might be too much for a Monday!” she laughed as she reached for it and put it on the counter. “Next.”

“Daisy Dewdrops.”

Sissy made a face. “You sure you want that? A pretty young girl like you? It’s so old-fashioned.”

“I’m sure,” Regan said. It was the perfume Miss Snoopy Purse had been wearing. No wonder she’d been complaining about the others.

“Okay.”

Within a minute they had nearly filled out the week with the scents Regan was looking for.

“Quite a variety,” Sissy remarked. “That is good. Keeps a man on his toes.”

If Jack could see me now. Regan smiled as she imagined his reaction. “The final one is Lethal Injection.”

Sissy’s eyes opened wide, even under the weight of her makeup, and she giggled. “You are a naughty girl.”

Good God, Regan thought.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Sissy asked as she reached for the bottle.

Regan felt sacreligious even talking to this woman about Jack. She nodded her head.

“He will love this,” Sissy whispered conspiratorially. “It’s very strong. A lot of men have come in here to buy it for their women.”

Regan picked up the bottle and looked at it. It was in the shape of a thick black needle.

Sissy pulled off the cap. “You just push the needle like you’re giving someone a shot, and out it sprays.”

“Lovely,” Regan muttered. “I wonder what genius came up with that idea.”

“I don’t know, but it’s brand new!” Sissy said.

“It’s brand new?” Regan repeated.

“They brought it out in time for Valentine’s Day this year.” She paused. “What’s wrong?”

Regan shook her head, thinking of that woman, Georgette, who said her ex-boyfriend had given it to her. If he gave it to her recently, then why was she going to Lydia’s parties? “Oh, nothing’s wrong,” she said. “How much do I owe you?”

Sissy rang it up. “Four hundred and twelve dollars and thirty-seven cents, tax included,” she announced joyfully as she tore off the register tape.

I really hope we find those diamonds, Regan thought as she handed over her credit card. Or else I can just kiss this money good-bye. She signed the receipt and put the card back in her wallet.

“Thank you, dahlink,” Sissy said as she dropped her business card in the shopping bag, handed it over to Regan, and winked. “Come back soon and tell me which day of the week your boyfriend likes best.”

“Thank you,” Regan said, with all the politeness she could muster, before fleeing the scene.

64

Stanley was in his gas station-turned-apartment having a very exciting morning. The New York World was spread out in front of him. His tapes of the parties at Lydia’s were on the couch. Maldwin had phoned to tell Stanley about the break-in at Nat’s apartment in the middle of the night.

“I thought it was only fair to let you know,” Maldwin said. “I still hope you’ll concentrate on the butler school and Lydia’s parties in your special. It means a lot to us.”

“I will,” Stanley had assured him.

Now his tapes might be more valuable than ever! I’m so grateful, he thought. I have truly been blessed. To have all these disasters happening at the club when he was the reporter on the scene! It was a very lucky break, a break many journalists never experienced in their lifetime. And he’d be there tonight for the one hundredth anniversary party, recording history again.

It was a good thing Maldwin wrote to him about the butler school. Stanley wanted to review the interviews he’d done the night before with the four student butlers.

He popped the tape in the VCR and pressed PLAY. The first student interviewed was that dreadful Vinnie. Stanley could not imagine for the life of him who would hire Vinnie as their butler. He was disrespectful and didn’t seem to care in the least about gracious living. He must be paying off a bet, Stanley thought. I wouldn’t hire him to be the butler for the gas station, let alone a country estate.

Next up was the handsome Blaise. He looked like a soap opera star. He certainly has that aloof, remote quality that Hollywood portrays so many butlers as having, Stanley thought. Is he putting on an act?

“I like to devote myself completely to what I do,” Blaise said into the camera. “And I know that butlering can be a 24/7 job. I look forward to it.”

What a crock, Stanley thought.

Harriet came into view, smiling that saintly smile. “Oh, wow,” she began. “It’s always been my dream to be a butler. But I never thought I’d be able to. Thank goodness I live in a time where women are finally being accepted as butler students. I say that women have a natural instinct for taking care of a home, and I will channel that instinct into my devoted services as a butler. Thank you soooooo much.”