by Nancy Bush
He leaned over me and said, “Jane Kelly.”
My heart leapt. I had a slamming image of Keegan Lendenhal. The voice. The attitude. The need for complete power. “Dante,” I said, stepping forward out of his grip and turning to face him.
No surprise. It was the man from the bottom of the stairs.
“You know me?”
He hadn’t expected that. I didn’t like the guy’s proximity. He was that kind of cool customer who moves in close and breathes on your hair. It was all I could do not to hold my position.
He regarded me in a penetrating way. I’m never sure what a guy—a stranger—expects when he gazes at you in that way, as if you’re something to play with. Like this is fun? Like I was panting for him to toy with me?
“You’ve been asking about Roland Hatchmere.”
Well, at least he cut to the chase. “Were you friends with him?”
“No.”
“Did you call him from the club phone?”
“What are you looking for?”
“I’m not completely sure,” I admitted honestly.
“You were talking with Tamara.”
A shiver whispered over my skin. Although he and Tamara had ignored each other, acted like strangers, at a subliminal level I’d registered something between them. An energy. A scarcely leashed crackle in the air.
“You and Tamara are friends, then.”
“We know each other.”
I wondered if Dante might be the devil Tamara spoke of. “Did you introduce her to the club?”
“I’ve introduced a lot of women.”
He was telegraphing something to me. Something he wanted me to know. I had a feeling it was Tamara, or one of the other women he’d introduced, whom he’d asked Emmett’s opinion of. What was his game?
“Is it just Dante, or do you have a last name?” I asked lightly.
“Just Dante.” He smiled faintly. “Like…Satan.”
“Or Beelzebub.”
“You’ve got a smart mouth.”
“Yeah…well…” I murmured, my smart mouth getting dumber. I can’t go with this kind of thing long without wanting to scream something. Like “You’re a psychopath!” With an effort, I curbed that impulse, saying instead, “So, how does that happen? How do you get just one name?”
“How did you get an alias?”
I didn’t have an answer for that one. He obviously knew about Veronica Kellogg. I wondered how he’d come up with Kelly. Violet had only called me Jane.
“There’s a room at the end of the hall. Upstairs. The door’s unlocked. For tonight, it’s my room.”
“Wow. Sounds like a proposition.”
“You want to know who made that call? I made that call. You want to know what was said? Come upstairs and I’ll tell you.”
I didn’t believe him. It was a ruse. Had to be. “Why not tell me now?”
He ran a finger down my cheek. Actually ran a finger down my cheek. I stifled the desire to snap at it like a rabid dog.
“Because I think we could find a lot to talk about. Go on up. I’ll meet you there in five minutes.” He flicked a look past me. “I have something to take care of first.”
I glanced over my shoulder. He could have looked at a number of people, but Tamara was in the midst of the group.
I watched him disappear into another room. After a few moments, Tamara followed. I debated with myself on which action to choose. Go after them, or go upstairs to the bedroom. Upstairs was danger, but I didn’t think I would accomplish much by approaching them together.
I headed upstairs, my pulse laborious with dread. It was a bold, probably reckless move. I should have warned Violet. I should have warned someone where I’d be. My steps slowed as I walked down the long hall with doors on either side. The old house was almost like a hotel. I tried every knob as I walked along, but all the doors were locked. If Dante had a room, probably others did as well, and they probably had their keys to give to a willing participant.
I came to the door at the end of the hall. My heart was pounding. What was I doing? He’d followed me, learned what I was after, used the information to lure me upstairs.
Ridiculous.
I snatched my cell out of my purse and pushed Dwayne’s number. Cell phone use was a no-no at this event, but to hell with that. Dwayne answered and I said, “I’ve met Dante. He says he’s the one who called Roland. He could be lying, but I don’t know. He told me to meet him in his room and so I am.”
“Where’s his room?”
“In the house. Upstairs. I’m going in now.” As I spoke I twisted the knob and let myself inside. I got a glimpse of the cream-colored furnishings. Mostly I saw a large four-poster bed.
“I don’t like it.”
“I don’t much, either,” I admitted. “But it’s not like he’s going to do anything to me at the party.”
“Not as long as he thinks you’re Veronica Kellogg,” Dwayne said.
That shut me up.
“Jane?”
“He knows my name and that I have an alias.”
“Get out of there, Jane,” he ordered.
Adrenaline shot through me. “But—”
“Get—the hell—out—now.”
I had mere seconds to get out of the bedroom. Five minutes had already elapsed. There was no escape back the way I’d entered. I stood frozen, my hands useless appendages in front of me, my frantic heartbeats a roaring surf in my ears.
I heard treads in the hallway. Male footsteps.
Three strong strides and I was at the sliding glass door that led to the bedroom balcony. The door opened soundlessly to an itsy-bitsy, terra-cotta-tiled area wrapped by a wrought-iron rail. I looked down two floors. For a dizzying moment I considered jumping, but the patio below was cold, unforgiving stone.
I whirled back to stare across the room. Twelve feet of carpet led toward the bedroom door, the only other exit. From my peripheral vision I caught sight of the maple tree. I glanced over. Too far from the balcony, but just outside the bathroom window.
Quickly, I scurried into the bathroom and threw open the window. One branch was close enough to reach. For an instant I considered climbing down as I was: gowned, bejeweled, wearing the most expensive sandals I ever planned to purchase.
Kicking off the shoes, I threw them out the window. I ripped the zipper of the dress downward, yanked the slinky amethyst dress over my head, sent it flying after the sandals. I tossed my beaded bag after them, hoping my cell phone survived the drop. As I pulled myself through the window, cursing the space that was scarcely large enough for me to wriggle my shoulders through, I heard the suite’s door open. A mewling sound entered my throat but I held it back. I reached for the branch, missed, reached again, arms shaking, fingers splayed.
Dwayne’s urgency spurred me on: Get—the hell—out—NOW!
My fingers connected and I hauled myself out with adrenaline-laced strength. I swung my legs upward to catch the limb with my ankles and hung like a lemur. Then I shimmied toward the tree trunk and carefully eased myself down the bole. I lost swatches of skin. My pulse hammered in my ears. My face was wet with tears.
When my toe hit the ground I drew a breath and glanced upward. He was on the balcony looking down at me. In that strange, heightened moment between quarry and prey, I was very, very glad I stood where I was.
Maybe I was overreacting. I kind of didn’t think so.
“Ms. Kellogg?”
Martin’s voice came from somewhere to my right, near the front of the house. I stooped to pick up Violet’s amethyst gown, shivering, glad she’d talked me into the padded, lacy bra, equally glad I’d held out for bikini underwear rather than a thong.
I smiled at him as he approached, hoping my lips didn’t quiver. I could feel the gaze from the man on the balcony boring into the back of my head. I shook out the gown. Stepping into it, I said with forced nonchalance, “Would you mind helping me zip up?”
Twenty minutes later, pacing by Violet’s car, frustrated
by a cell phone that no longer worked, I started asking myself why I’d been so completely convinced Dwayne was right. Maybe we both suffered overheightened senses from Keegan. Maybe we were too in tune to each other to think clearly.
I wanted to call him and tell him to pick me up. Waiting for Violet could take hours and I was cold, uncomfortable and faintly embarrassed. But I was not going back inside. I was not going to have to explain myself.
Martin had been a little tricky to peel myself from. He had a lot of questions, the top one being about why I was in my underwear. In a moment of inspiration I told him a centipede fell down my neck from the tree. He recoiled as if I’d burned him. Whether he believed me or not, he definitely understood “bug horror.” At least it had been enough to get me away from him.
There was nothing around this neighborhood but houses. No shops. No restaurants. No convenience stores. I wasn’t sure how far I would have to walk to find a commercial establishment, and I didn’t relish the thought of being alone at night anywhere, especially dressed as I was.
I kept checking my cell phone, willing it to turn on. These things should be made to be more indestructible.
I was just about to strike out on my own when Violet finally appeared. She was affectionately saying good-bye to George, who seemed to be walking her to her car. This was not okay. I didn’t want to face any CMC member. I didn’t know how tied in Dante was, and I didn’t want any questions asked.
I walked half a block away while Violet and George canoodled, tucking myself around the bole of the next door neighbor’s large fir. Finally, Violet and George came up for air and separated, gazing longingly after one another. Yes, it was pukey, but I hardly had the playbook on romance.
As soon as she was aiming her remote lock, chirping her alarm, I hurried to meet up with her. “There you are,” she declared. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Can I use your cell phone? Mine’s not working.”
“No shit. I just turned mine on. Do you know how many messages Dwayne left? All about you?”
“He’s worried about me.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you later.” I practically grabbed the thing from her hand. Violet rolled her eyes and got behind the wheel.
Dwayne picked up with a sharp “Violet?”
“It’s Jane. My phone broke.”
“Jesus. How?”
“Gravity. Violet’s driving me home. I’m fine. I took your advice and left when you thought I should.”
“Is Violet right there?”
“Close enough. I’ll call you when I’m back at my cottage.”
I got in the passenger seat. I really wanted to go back to his place. Really, really wanted to. I clenched my teeth, fighting a wave of longing.
“What’s wrong?” Violet asked.
“Nothing a lot of straight liquor couldn’t cure.”
I woke up the next day feeling the pain of every piece of sheared skin. I don’t know. Sometimes this job is just really a lot of work.
In the afternoon I drove myself and The Binkster to Dwayne’s. Binks ran onto the deck and had a bark-fest with the dog next door until I hauled her inside and the perturbed neighbor did the same with her dog. Across the way Lobo, the Pilarmos’ dog, started baying in an eerie, mournful tone as if he were about to morph into an undead being.
“I thought they only turned to werewolves during a full moon,” I said. “It’s not even night.”
Dwayne smiled. I had a diet A&W root beer and Dwayne had a beer as we sat down on the couch together, discussing all aspects of the case.
Dwayne said at length, “So, what do you think? Was Dante telling the truth about calling Roland?”
“I don’t know. I left before I could ask.”
“I still think it’s a good thing you did.”
I didn’t argue with him. “Dante likes to play with people. He could have been lying, just to have power, to get me to do what he wanted.”
“So, who’s at the top of your list for the doer?” Dwayne asked.
“Neither Gigi nor Sean. They’re both self-involved, but kind of passionless. Gigi may have angered Roland…she might even have pushed him into saying he would disinherit her…but she was all about that wedding. I’m sorry, she just wouldn’t screw it up by having her father killed. And Sean’s just too disinterested. Honestly, I think he used the fight he had with Roland as an excuse to skip the rehearsal dinner. No one’s even mentioned him at the wedding. I’m sure he was there or Gigi would have had a fit about him being missing, too. Those two o’clock pictures could not be missed.”
“I agree,” Dwayne said.
“Emmett…maybe…” I thought it over. “He found the body around three-thirty? Is that too late for the time of death?”
“Violet hit him around noon. Three and a half hours later?” Dwayne was dubious. “I’ll check with Larrabee, but I think that’s too late. Doesn’t mean Emmett couldn’t have had him killed earlier,” he said.
“He would hire someone rather than do it himself,” I said positively. “But what’s the motive? Gigi’s inheritance?” I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“The man had three ex-wives. Any reason any one of them would want him dead?”
“Violet’s an ex-wife. The last I heard, you thought she was innocent,” I pointed out. Dwayne gave me a smile. “What about Melinda? Violet was with her husband, and she wanted him back. She said if it weren’t for Violet, she and Roland would have resolved their differences. And she really wants Violet to go down for this. But then she really wanted Roland. She would be more likely to kill Violet.”
“What about Renee? She was disinvited to the wedding by Roland. Sounds like the rehearsal dinner was one big fight.”
“Who’s at the top of your list?” I posed back at him.
Dwayne stretched, lifting his arms over his head. “There was passion involved. No premeditation.”
“The killer didn’t bring a weapon,” I agreed. “Just used the tray.”
“Roland was upset and coming off a fight with Violet. Someone else came to the house, possibly fought with him as well. It escalated. The tray was there. Bam.”
“Roland received two phone calls,” I said. “One from Sean. One from the Columbia Millionaires’ Club.”
“Apparently Larrabee went to see Sean.” Dwayne’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the avenue he’s pursuing. Not the club. At least not at the moment.”
“If it wasn’t Dante who called him, then who?”
“None of the women reacted to the mention of Roland’s name?”
I shook my head.
“What did the men say? Anything?”
“Mostly what a shame it was to lose such a great guy.”
“Did you bring up Emmett?”
“Some. They think his last name is Miller.”
“Anything about him? Anything someone said?” Dwayne questioned.
I went back over it again in my mind. “Emmett mentioned that Dante had asked him about a particular woman. Emmett wasn’t interested. It’s almost like Dante’s pushing these women on the men. Like…”
“A pimp?”
“Sort of. But then I don’t know what the rules are.” I’d already told Dwayne about Tamara, but now I added, “I think Tamara was referring to Dante when she said the devil’s always there. Maybe she was the one he was pushing on Emmett?”
“Maybe she’s worth talking to again.”
“I know where her parents live. She acted like she’s there some of the time. Either way, I could find her and ask her about Dante.”
“It’s worth a shot.”
I got to my feet. “No time like the present. You mind keeping Binks?”
“You could leave her with me permanently.”
“Fat chance,” I said and headed for my car.
The town of Brewster Hill was about forty minutes south of Portland. The freeway exit offered nothing other than a truck stop and a faded homemade sign stuck in the ground at the end of the exit
ramp that let me know I was ON THE RIGHT ROAD TO BEAUMONT FARMS. Beaumont Farms apparently sold various produce as there were pictures of apples, pears, corn, squash, tomatoes and the like. I followed the signs to a weather-worn white farmhouse, a gray, hulking barn, a number of shorter outbuildings and fields and orchards along a rolling landscape as far as the eye could see.
