Ugh.
I longed desperately to tug at the bottom of my stupid dress, but I settled for smoothing it down my hips instead before Mason offered each of us an arm and led us inside, cameras flashing.
I made an immediate beeline for the nearest bathroom, prepared to hole up for the next hour or two—those kinds of places always have spacious bathrooms with makeup mirrors and sitting areas—but Greta intercepted me.
She looked stunningly elegant in a sleek silver number that showed off her figure just enough but not too much. "Maggie. Come. I will introduce you."
"To whom?"
She laughed. "My husband and his nephew."
I sighed in relief. Good. No geriatric billionaires.
She tucked my hand into the crook of her arm and patted it. "And perhaps a few other men I know who are single."
I tried to pull away at that, but Greta was stronger than she looked. Unless I wanted to make a scene, I was stuck in her clutches until she chose to release me.
Her husband, Friedrich, was a dignified man, probably sixty or so, who looked like he'd been born in a tuxedo. He acknowledged me just long enough to fulfill his social duties and then turned away to focus on some twenty-something woman with flowing dark hair in a low-cut red dress that showed off her more than generous assets.
I glanced at Greta, but she didn't seem the least bit upset with his behavior, so I decided I wouldn't be either. Not all marriages work on the same rules. And from what she'd said previously it was clear to me that love wasn't a top priority in her life.
Wilhelm, the nephew, was…interesting. He was probably my age or thereabouts and wore his tuxedo well enough, but not with the same confidence as his uncle. He was sort of pale and awkward, but not terribly so. Just enough to grate on the nerves a bit.
He stepped closer to me. "Greta tells me you own the dog food place," he smiled down at me and I had the distinct impression he was trying to look down my dress. Fortunately, it wasn't low cut enough to give a good view.
"Uh, the barkery? We don't really do dog food, so much as dog treats. But, yes."
"Oh. Maybe I'll have to come by some time and see it for myself." He put his hand on the small of my back and I glared death at him for two seconds before I managed to control my expression and step away.
"Of course. New customers are always welcome. Do you have a dog?"
He probably owned a Pomeranian.
(Not that there's anything wrong with that. Calm down.)
"No. But I think I'd like to see you again." He stepped closer.
I looked to Greta for help but she'd been pulled into conversation with some exceedingly old man who I was willing to bet was also obscenely wealthy. If I moved over to join them I'd just be jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
Luckily for me, Matt appeared at my elbow. "Maggie. There you are."
He gave me a polite kiss on the cheek and inserted himself between Wilhelm and me. Wilhelm pulled back, staring at him like he'd never been so offended in his life. I would've laughed if I wasn't so disconcerted by the site of Matt in a tux.
I'd figured he'd look awkward or uncomfortable. He didn't. Not at all. And let me tell you, a man built like he was and in a tuxedo? Well, there's a reason there are so many romance novels about sexy billionaires with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Took my breath away.
I recovered by introducing Matt to Wilhelm. Wilhelm barely controlled his sneer when he heard that Matt was a cop.
"I didn't realize they were letting all sorts attend this event," he sniffed.
"Neither did I," I said, pulling on Matt's arm. "If you'll excuse us, Wilhelm. It was a pleasure to meet you."
See, I can lie when I need to.
Matt chuckled softly. "Have you met enough wealthy bachelors for the night? Ready to get away for a bit."
"Yes, please. I was going to hide away in the bathroom until Greta intercepted me."
"I can do better than that. Come on." He steered me through the crowd and out a side entrance onto a lovely balcony with a gorgeous view of the mountains and a lake in the distance. The moon was almost full and hovered on the far horizon.
"Ah, now this is more like it," I sighed as soon as the door closed behind us.
"You found our girl," Abe called from a table in the corner where he and Evan lounged like movie stars straight from the set of Casablanca.
I smiled at the sight of my favorite not openly gay but so obviously gay couple. Not only are they some of my best customers, but they also have a fabulous St. Bernard named Lucy Carrots and the juiciest gossip.
I sank into a chair next to Abe and kicked off my shoes. "Oh, this would be perfect if we just had booze and food."
"We do." He patted my hand and winked. "Just wait."
Matt sat down across from me. "I rescued her from Wilhelm VanVeldenstein."
"Oh, you poor dear. That man is atrocious."
"That he is. Greta told me that his uncle believes the development deal he's working on is going to be a huge failure."
"I wouldn't be surprised. He has no idea how to run a business." Abe waved at a waiter who peeked out at us from the main room. A moment later the man reappeared with three other waiters in his wake, each one bearing a tray. One had champagne flutes, one had some sort of lettuce wraps, one had albondigas (a fancy way of saying meatballs), and one had some sort of crostini that looked awful but tasted delicious. I figured I didn't actually want to know what was smeared on top.
"Thank you, Gabe. Keep them coming," Abe said, as he took enough of the food to fill our table. The man nodded and left with his waiters trailing behind him.
"How do you have the hookup?"
Abe laughed. "Gabe works at the Inn. I gave him the night off to work this event as long as he agreed to keep us supplied with drinks and food."
I laughed. "Well done you. It pays to know the right people."
Matt nodded. "And those people are not inside that room."
"No. No they are not," I agreed.
We spent the next hour having ourselves a wonderful time. Abe and Even knew all of the gossip since they ran the Creek Inn, so as each person floated past the windows inside they told us some juicy little tidbit.
It seemed Wilhelm, my personal favorite of the night, had been forced to have his date pay for dinner the night before when his credit card was declined.
And the woman in red, she of the oh-so-obvious décolletage that had captured Friedrich's attention, was actually his mistress. Some Chilean woman who'd snared his attention a few months before on a business trip. According to Evan's sources, Friedrich was always on the lookout for a new challenge, but this woman had been almost perfectly crafted to appeal to him from her curvy looks to her fiery attitude.
That one hurt because Greta was my friend and whether it bothered her or not it bothered me to have people talking about it so casually.
I didn't have time to dwell on it, though, because the next little bit of gossip was about Jamie. Well, not Jamie. About Mason Maxwell. It seemed he'd been seen shopping for diamond rings and scouting out wedding locations.
"But they barely know each other," I stammered.
Evan laughed. "My dear, when you know, you know." He cast such a fond look at Abe when he said it that I blushed scarlet at intruding on such an intimate moment.
"That you do," Matt said, looking directly at me.
That was not what I needed right then or at any other time. (Although it did give me a soft glowy feeling. Of course, that could've just been the champagne.)
I looked back to the party where Jamie and Mason were dancing slowly, lost in one another. "Do you think she knows?"
In other words, was my best friend practically engaged and hiding it from me?
"No. He wants it to be a surprise."
"Then how do you know?"
"Because her father came into the Inn this afternoon at two for a shot of whiskey and when I asked him what on earth had brought him in at that hour, he said Mason Maxwel
l had just asked him for his daughter's hand."
"And what did he say?"
"What would you say if some good-looking millionaire who'd keep your daughter living nearby and was one of the most upstanding citizens in the valley asked for your daughter's hand?"
"That it was too soon. To wait until they'd been dating a few months at least."
Abe chuckled. "Good thing Mason didn't ask your permission then, isn't it?"
I stared at them again. Was Mason going to propose? Maybe tonight?
They were my ride home. How awkward would that be?
I sunk down in my chair already preparing myself for the inevitable decline in our friendship as I found myself the not unwelcome but definitely awkward third wheel. Again.
Seriously, I needed some friends who were nuns. No running off and getting married. No having kids and losing their minds to exhaustion for five years. Just, good, solid female friends that could be counted on to stay the same and never change.
Of course, nuns don't drink. Darn it.
We'd all sunk into silence and I was debating asking Abe and Evan to give me a ride home (I couldn't ask Matt because of what I was wearing and how he might take that), when Jack appeared from around the corner of the patio and walked inside.
I sat up straight. "Matt, what's Jack doing here?"
He certainly wasn't dressed for the party. He was in a black t-shirt and jeans. How he'd managed to get inside, I didn't know, but inside he was. And making a beeline for Friedrich, Greta, Friedrich's mistress, Lucia, and Wilhelm who were clustered together at the center of the room.
Matt leapt to his feet and raced inside. I chased after him, not even caring that I'd left my shoes behind.
We arrived just in time to hear Jack say, "Mr. VanVeldenstein. It's very important that I speak to you, sir. I have information you'll want to know."
Matt grabbed Jack by the elbow and tried to drag him backwards, but he shook free.
Friedrich looked Jack up and down. "I doubt that you have any information that I would want, young man."
I looked to Greta who was watching the entire exchange with an odd level of intensity. Then again, so was Wilhelm. And the mistress. It seemed they all had their secrets.
Wilhelm moved between Friedrich and Jack. "You overstep yourself. Where is security?"
Matt pulled Jack back and hissed into his ear. "We're leaving. Now. Unless you want me to arrest you?"
Jack shook free again, but he stayed where he was. "Mr. VanVeldenstein, I assure you, you do want to hear what I have to say. My name's Jack Barnes. I suggest you take my next call. It will be worth your while." He paused long enough to meet the eyes of Wilhelm, Friedrich, Greta, and the mistress before he turned away from Matt and strutted out of the room, downing a glass of champagne on his way.
Matt raced after him as Evan and Abe crowded close behind me. "Oh my," Evan murmured. "He does have a flair for the dramatic doesn't he? Mm."
I had to agree, but my heart ached for Matt. His brother certainly wasn't making things easy.
Chapter Fifteen
The next day at the barkery was Jamie's day off, so I didn't get to find out if Mason had proposed. But given the way the party had deteriorated after Jack's little appearance, I suspected not. Abe and Evan had given me a ride home, dropping subtle little comments the whole way about how well Matt and I suited each other.
I swear, everyone is a matchmaker. But they just didn't understand. And I wasn't about to explain it to them because then they'd waste their time and mine trying to convince me I was wrong.
I wasn't.
When Greta arrived that afternoon I couldn't help but watch her, looking for any sign that Jack's little scene had been about her. I'd done some Googling on her ex, but all I'd found was that he was a fanatic soccer fan.
I know, it wasn't my business.
But it was. Greta was my friend. And the body had been buried right behind my store. Plus, Matt's brother was involved somehow. It kind of made me question my judgement, you know. Was she the victim? Was she the mastermind? Or was she just a slightly crazy woman with bad taste in men? (Who hasn't been there, right?)
After about a half hour, Greta snapped her laptop closed. "Maggie. Come here." She leaned back in her chair and waited for me to join her.
"Yes?"
"Sit."
I sat down, trying to hide my nervousness. I hadn't thought I was being all that obvious about things, but I guess I had been.
She leaned forward, her gaze intense. "I have told you before, this is not your business, yes?"
I nodded.
"But you are my friend and I do not like you looking at me like that, so I will tell you what is not your business."
I squirmed a bit. "You don't have to if you don't want to."
(I said the words, but I so wanted to know anything she was willing to tell me.)
She huffed. "You will not let this rest and we both know it." She nodded towards the back of the store. "Perhaps coffee first, though, yes? And a Coke for you."
I hurried to grab her a coffee and myself a Coke. Now that she was going to tell me what was going on, I didn't want to give her a chance to change her mind, but just to top things off I brought us each back a slice of the lemon cheesecake Jamie had made the day before as an experiment.
(It was sooo good, let me tell you. Heaven. Who needed cinnamon rolls when they could have lemon cheesecake with a graham cracker crust?)
Greta took a bite and nodded. "This is very good." She pushed the plate to the side and cradled her coffee in her hands, staring at it for a long, long moment.
I took a quick sip of Coke so I wouldn't be tempted to start blathering and make her change her mind.
"As you know, Kristof was my first husband. I was young and he was handsome and this was enough for me to marry him. But we were poor. And I wanted pretty things."
She glanced at the diamond bracelet on her hand for a brief moment before continuing. "So we stole them."
I tried not to flinch when she said it, but she smiled slightly anyway.
"I know. This is not something you would do. And it is not what I would do now. But at the time…It made sense."
"Were you ever caught?"
"Me? No. Kristof? Yes. But that was later. We started with little things, but eventually we worked our way to bigger items. Jewelry. Paintings. Some we kept. Some we sold." She fiddled with her wedding ring for a moment. "There was a trio of paintings I fell in love with. I stole the first one from a private collection and bought the second one after I had the money to do so—I was a good thief but not that good of one."
Her lips quirked. "In a sense it was realizing that I couldn't have that second painting that made me stop stealing and think of a new way to achieve what I wanted."
"Is that why you left your first husband?"
"Money? No. I left him because he was too young to be married. Too young to be faithful. I could stand the nights out drinking. I could stand the boasting about jobs he should've kept to himself. But I could not stand him stumbling home the next morning smelling of some other woman."
She shook herself, pushing the memories away. "I met my second husband. He fell in love with me and offered to treat me better than Kristof ever had. So I left."
"And Kristof was okay with that?"
"No. Of course not. What man wants to lose what he thinks is his? But I gave him that ring and I gave him that scar—and another one in an area a little more private—and I left."
I took a long sip of my Coke as she took another bite of the cheesecake.
"So how did he come back into your life?" I asked.
"Back into my life? He never left. We had the same friends and our families lived next door to one another. We didn't speak for years, but he was always there. Always within reach." She drummed her perfectly manicured fingernails on the table and I knew she was debating whether to continue.
I took a bite of my cheesecake while I waited. I wanted to know what else the
re was to the story, but I didn't dare ask.
Finally, she nodded and leaned forward again. "He was always there, but we had not spoken for many years. Until six months ago when I called him."
"You called him? Why?"
She drummed her fingers on the table once more. "The third painting. I wanted him to steal it for me."
"Couldn't you just buy it? I mean, you're richer than God aren't you?"
She smiled slightly. "No. I tried to buy it, but the owner would not sell."
"So you decided to steal it?" I tried to keep the judgement out of my voice, but I'm pretty sure I failed from the way Greta's eyebrow quirked upward. "But I thought…"
"That I'd put that behind me? I had. And, no, I didn't decide to steal it. Not right away." She stared out the window, her eyes unfocused. "I decided I would marry the man who owned it instead."
"Huh?" (I know. I'm not very articulate sometimes. But her response threw me for a loop.)
"Friedrich, my husband, he is the one who owns the painting. He would not sell it, so I married him for it."
I laughed. "You married your husband for a painting?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Okay. So what went wrong?"
(At that point I was feeling a bit like someone who's ventured into the middle of an iced-over lake only to realize that the ice is paper thin and about to crack under them. My new friend had actually married a man for a painting? Who did that kind of thing?)
Greta chuckled like she'd read my mind and found my bourgeois sensibilities amusing. "I could not tell Friedrich I married him for the painting, he would've never given it to me. I thought he would give it to me as a wedding gift because I loved it so much, but he did not. And then as a birthday gift. And then as a Christmas gift. And…You see?"
"So, technically you had a right to the painting as his wife, but you wanted him to give it to you as a gift so that it would be yours no matter what? But he never did?"
"Mm. Not quite. We signed a pre-nup. Very basic. His was his, mine was mine. The painting is his. But I thought he would give me the painting as a gift and then it would be mine." She finished her coffee and set the cup down on the table with a little more force than was absolutely necessary. "But he did not."
A Buried Body and Barkery Bites Page 6
