Between the Lines

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “How do I look?” she asked.

  “As though you’re about to fall out of that blouse,” he retorted, looking both surprised and disapproving.

  “Nonsense. All the other women are going to be wearing blouses just like it tonight. They were selling like hotcakes in the dress shop this afternoon. Ready to go?”

  “Not quite.” Deliberately he got to his feet and walked across the room to stand in front of her. He was still frowning at the low neckline of the blouse. “Can’t you pull it up a bit higher?”

  “Why should I?” she asked innocently. “It was made to be worn this way. It’s not any worse than a swimsuit, Gray.”

  “It’s a lot worse than your swimsuit.” He put his hand on her bare shoulder and slid his fingers just under the elasticized edge of the blouse.

  Amber was so startled at the unexpectedly intimate touch that she nearly stumbled when she automatically stepped backward. Her eyes met Gray’s in a moment of shared communication that sent a wave of warmth through her whole body. She went very still as, without taking his eyes from hers, he gently eased the neckline of the blouse up to a higher level. When he was finished, Gray glanced down at the results of his handiwork.

  “Much better,” he said blandly.

  “I think, Cormick Grayson, that deep down inside, you may be a little straitlaced. Old-fashioned perhaps. Possibly even prudish.” Her skin still burned from the light touch of his fingers. It was all Amber could do to make her comment sound teasing.

  “The word you’re looking for is possessive, Mrs. Grayson. Keep it in mind. Are you ready to go?”

  His response was sardonic and tinged with humor, but there was something in his eyes that was totally serious. Amber wasn’t sure how to interpret the expression. She inched the strap of her straw bag higher on her bare shoulder. “I’m ready. Let’s go eat tacos until we can’t see straight.”

  “A sentiment of which S.U.T. would undoubtedly approve.”

  “Did he ever do an ode to tacos?” Amber asked brightly as they left the room and headed toward the elevators.

  “No, but I believe there is a mention or two of tequila somewhere in the body of his work.”

  “I’ll bet. There was probably a fair amount of tequila within Twitchell’s own body when he was writing some of his more memorable pieces,” Amber declared. “Actually, tequila sounds like a good idea at the moment. I need something to numb the aftereffects of that ride into the canyon.”

  “I thought you were already numb from it,” Gray said with a chuckle as they stepped into the elevator.

  “Unfortunately, the numbing effect has worn off. It’s been replaced by some very vivid memories of life in the saddle.”

  “A little sore?”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Thank heavens the seats in the dining room are well cushioned,” Amber said in heartfelt tones.

  Dinner was a lively event, as promised by Vic Delaney. The mariachi band strolled through the dining room singing Mexican love songs while the guests helped themselves from a huge buffet that included everything from tamales to flan. There was a wide assortment of creative interpretations of Mexican cooking in between the two traditional favorites. Mexican beer, margaritas and tequila with salt and lime were available in abundance. The drinks were on the house tonight, and the guests weren’t hesitating to indulge themselves.

  “Are you sure the resort is in financial trouble?” Amber asked dubiously. She was working her way through the buffet line. Gray was right behind her. “How could Delaney afford this kind of spread if he’s hurting?”

  “Window dressing. You have to keep up appearances when you’re trying to sell something as expensive as this place.”

  “I suppose so. Still, this is such elaborate window dressing.”

  “The bigger the deal, the more elaborate it has to be.”

  “Is Symington going to be disappointed?”

  “Symington is a businessman. He’s not emotionally involved with the deal. Now hush. I don’t want either member of the dynamic duo overhearing you.”

  Amber glanced around and saw Roger standing a few feet away. He was assisting guests with free beer. Ozzie was on the other side of the room entertaining two elderly women. “Those two do get around, don’t they?”

  “They’re Delaney’s men.”

  Vic Delaney himself was playing the genial host this evening, ensuring that all his guests were having a good time. He strolled toward Amber and Gray as they headed for one of the large communal tables that had been set up for dining. It was a night when guests were supposed to socialize, and that meant sharing a dinner table with other guests.

  “How are you two doing?” Delaney asked jovially. He slapped Gray familiarly on the back. “Did you try some of the shrimp? It’s a specialty of my chef’s. We fly the shrimp in fresh from the coast just for him. He won’t touch the frozen stuff. A real prima donna. But I guess every good chef is. What did you folks do today? Ozzie said you took a couple of horses and headed for the hills.”

  “My wife wanted to see some of the countryside,” Gray murmured politely as he settled Amber into a seat next to a white-haired gentleman. “I’m afraid we may have overdone it. Amber isn’t used to sitting in a saddle for a couple of hours.”

  Delaney gave Amber a rueful grin. “Sorry about that. Try a nice warm soak in the tub tonight. Does wonders.” He nodded around the table, smiling at the other guests. “Have a good time tonight. Remember, the drinks are on the house.”

  There was a general murmur of appreciation from the circle at the table, and Delaney sauntered on to the next group of diners. The silver-haired man sitting next to Amber smiled beneath his trim mustache. “Personally, I’m sticking to the golf course while I’m here. I haven’t been in a saddle in years. I can just imagine the effects!”

  His wife laughed and introduced herself. The two other couples at the table did, too, and soon the conversation drifted into the casual, meaningless chatter required among strangers forced to share a meal. Everyone was quite good-natured about the seating arrangements, however, and appeared willing to be caught up in the fiesta mood. The endless flow of beer and tequila-based drinks helped.

  Halfway through dinner the young woman sitting across from Amber said something about Western folklore, and Amber seized the opportunity.

  “Funny you should mention Arizona legends,” she said cheerfully. “My husband is something of an expert in the field of Western poetry.”

  Immediately all heads turned toward Gray, who shot Amber a chiding glance.

  “I don’t believe I’m familiar with any Western poets,” someone said thoughtfully.

  “Gray’s field of expertise is Sherborne Ulysses Twitchell,” Amber confided.

  “Really?” The young woman looked interested. “When did he live?”

  “His birth date is a little uncertain,” Amber said. “When Gray does his articles about Twitchell, he usually writes ‘born ?’ in the biographical notes.”

  “When did he die?” the white-haired gentleman sitting next to Amber inquired politely.

  “Gray usually puts ‘died ?’ in that section of the notes.”

  Gray jumped into the conversation before Amber could cause it to deteriorate further. “That’s a bit misleading,” he assured the other guests smoothly. “We’re almost positive Twitchell died sometime in 1901.”

  “What happened to him?” someone asked.

  Gray cleared his throat. “There appears to have been an accident in a hotel in which he was staying. He was traveling toward Mexico, from what I’ve been able to determine, and had stopped for the night in a little town just this side of the border. Apparently there was a fight.”

  “A gunfight?” the young woman demanded, looking quite interested now.

  “So it appears. Shots were exchanged in one of the hotel rooms that night according to
a newspaper story the next day. One unidentified body was buried. There is no mention of Twitchell after that incident, but his name was definitely on the hotel register according to the newspaper accounts. Since he published no poetry after that date, I think it’s safe to assume it was his body that was buried.”

  “Why wasn’t he identified?”

  Amber grinned. “Because the body was naked when it was found. Except for a pair of socks, that is.”

  “How odd,” the gentleman next to Amber observed.

  “Not really. From what Gray discovered in the newspaper article, Twitchell was in bed at the time of the shooting.”

  “Murdered?”

  “Depends on your point of view,” Amber informed them all with great relish. “S.U.T. was in bed with a woman when he was killed.”

  “Now, Amber, you’re getting into an area of sheer conjecture,” Gray warned loftily as he reached for his tequila.

  Amber grinned. “The hotel, you see, was actually a bordello. Twitchell made the mistake of climbing into bed with a lady who happened to be the favorite of one of the other patrons. The patron took exception to the situation.”

  “How extraordinary,” the white-haired gentleman marveled. “Got himself killed in a fight over a lady of the night.”

  “I don’t think it could have been much of a fight,” Amber said blithely. “From what Gray discovered in the newspaper account, Twitchell never even got a chance to draw his gun.”

  “Well, it sounds as though he probably died happy,” the older man remarked with a satisfied nod.

  There was a moment of silence around the table and then everyone burst out laughing. The conversation after that loosened up a great deal. Amber threw Gray a teasing glance, and he returned the look with a faint gleam in his eyes.

  “You’re not doing much for S.U.T.’s reputation as a respectable poet,” Gray complained.

  “He hasn’t got a reputation as a respectable poet. I’ve decided he might as well have one as an unrespectable poet.”

  When dinner was over, many of the guests drifted into the large, dimly lit lounge for the floor show. Dancing was to follow, and Amber settled back to enjoy the evening. Surreptitiously she used the concealing shadows to tug down the elasticized neckline of the peasant blouse. Gray appeared unaware of her movements. His attention was on Roger, who was standing near the door, discreetly supervising the lounge staff. Ozzie was nowhere in sight.

  Amber leaned over to say something to Gray, but she was interrupted by the flourish of trumpets that opened the lounge act. After that there was no opportunity to carry on a conversation. The comedian was surprisingly funny, and the singer was quite good. The magician was the best part. Amber had one or two thoughts about what the whole production must have cost, but by now she expected the best from Delaney.

  When the show was over, the dance band swung into action. Amber was waiting for Gray to ask her to dance when Delaney materialized beside the small table.

  “Mind if I steal your wife for a few minutes?” Delaney asked Gray. “I’ve been looking for an opportunity to dance with her for three nights.”

  Amber waited for Gray to politely decline the request. She was so startled when he nodded his head that she couldn’t think of any excuse to refuse. She shot her husband an irritated glance as she obediently allowed Vic Delaney to lead her out onto the floor. Gray didn’t appear to notice her annoyance. He was still casually watching Roger. Determinedly Amber turned on her high-voltage client smile for her dancing partner.

  “I hope you and your husband have enjoyed your stay here at the resort, Mrs. Grayson,” Delaney said easily as he swung Amber into a polished series of steps. He had obviously had a lot of practice dancing with hotel guests.

  “Very much,” Amber replied, feeling like a fraud. It was difficult to keep up the effusive guest act when you knew your host was in deep financial water and that your husband was about to let him drown. There were aspects of Gray’s business that bordered on the ruthless. Of course, she reminded herself, none of Delaney’s problems were Gray’s fault. Gray was just the hired gun who had been paid to investigate the situation. He owed his loyalty to his client, not Vic Delaney. “You’ve built quite a place here, Mr. Delaney. Very impressive.”

  “Call me Vic,” he said with a charming smile. He whirled her around, steering her to the far side of the floor. The crowd of dancers cut them off from sight of the table where Gray was sitting. “Have you and your husband been married long?”

  “Not long.” She couldn’t bring herself to admit she was supposed to be on her honeymoon. She still didn’t know if it was Gray who had ordered the two-bedroom suite. If he had, it would seem a little odd to Delaney to learn that his guests were honeymooners. By no stretch of the imagination was she having a real wedding trip. Deliberately Amber tried to turn the conversation again. “How long have you owned your resort, Vic?”

  “A while.”

  He was almost as vague as she was, Amber thought ruefully. “The desert makes a wonderful change from the Northwest,” she plowed on brightly. “I’m actually getting accustomed to all the sunlight.”

  Delaney laughed politely and followed her conversational lead. When the dance ended he asked her for another one. With a trace of unease Amber gently declined. He accepted the refusal with a cheerful smile and guided her back to the table. Amber frowned as she made her way through the romantic gloom of the room.

  The table where she had left Gray sitting alone with his tequila was empty.

  “Looks like your husband stepped out for a minute,” Delaney observed. “Since he’s not available, will you reconsider the second dance?”

  Amber shook her head and sat down with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I don’t think so, thank you, Vic. That horseback ride really did stiffen up a few muscles today. If you don’t mind, I think I’d rather watch the dancing for the rest of this evening.”

  “I understand completely. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled politely and watched him disappear into the crowd. A moment later he was back out on the floor with another of his guests.

  A few minutes later Amber drummed her nails on the table and glanced at her watch. How long did a man normally spend in the men’s room?

  Assuming Gray had gone to the men’s room.

  Amber glanced thoughtfully toward the door of the lounge, noticing that neither Roger nor Ozzie were in sight. That was odd. Usually one or both were in the vicinity.

  A few more minutes passed with no sign of Gray. His half-finished glass of tequila sat on the table in front of Amber. The more she looked at it, the more uneasy she became. It wasn’t like Gray to simply disappear without an explanation.

  Feeling oddly concerned, Amber got to her feet, picked up her huge straw shoulder bag and slipped out of the lounge. The spacious lobby was nearly empty.

  Driven by a strange premonition that had no logic behind it, Amber pushed through the sliding glass doors that opened onto the pool terrace.

  She emerged into the balmy darkness just in time to see three figures disappear around the corner at the far end of the wide, meandering gardens. The man in the center of the trio was identifiable not only by his size and build but by the way he moved. It was Gray, and he was being escorted away from the lights of the resort by Roger and Ozzie. Even as Amber watched, the three men vanished into the night-shrouded desert foothills.

  5

  Amber’s fingers tightened around the strap of her straw bag as she watched the three men walk out of sight. She was more than uneasy now. She was frightened. It didn’t require any feminine intuition or brilliant deductive reasoning to realize there was something very wrong about the whole scenario. It was as simple as one, two, three.

  One: Cormick Grayson prepares to turn in a negative financial report on Vic Delaney’s resort. Two: Vic Delaney conveniently asks G
rayson’s wife to dance for the first time in four evenings. Three: Grayson disappears in the company of two well-muscled young men while unsuspecting wife is otherwise occupied on the dance floor.

  It could, of course, all be very innocent, Amber told herself as she began making her way through the shadowed terrace gardens. But Gray had said nothing about any business meetings this evening. Surely he would have mentioned an appointment. It certainly wasn’t like him to simply vanish while she was dancing with another man.

  Then again, she thought as she skirted the silent, underwater-lit pool, she wasn’t really sure how Gray felt about her dancing with another man. She’d never danced with anyone else in front of him. He had certainly let her go into Delaney’s arms without any protest.

  She was well beyond the brightly lit lobby now. On this side of the hotel the foothills rose immediately at the border of the terraced grounds. The gardens ended and the natural terrain took over shortly beyond the children’s playing area. The discreet garden lights faded quickly after that. But, just as in a typical Twitchell poem, the sky was filled with stars, and there was even a sliver of a moon to light Amber’s path.

  The trouble was that she wasn’t certain where she was going. She had lost sight of the three men just as she’d stepped out of the lobby. She had been walking in the same general direction in which they had disappeared, but she was no longer sure she was on the right path now. When her sandaled feet stepped off green lawn and landed on desert sand, she carne to a halt and tried to listen. Around her the ground was twisted and convoluted as it began the process of changing from foothills into a mountain. A giant saguaro loomed up in her path, ghostly and overbearing. There was a brief scuttling sound somewhere in the vicinity of Amber’s feet. The knowledge that the desert was not, by any stretch of the imagination, an empty, barren place hit her with full impact. She didn’t want to think about what else was running around out here besides herself. Unfortunately there was no sign of anything two-footed.