by Molly Greene
“No, thank you. Another time. We should head out. Our ride is waiting, and there will be plenty to drink at the end of it. Do you have something really warm to wear?”
She led him back into the living room. “Will a down jacket do?”
“Yes.”
“Not just dinner down the street then.” She pulled on a coat over her slacks and blazer. She was curious what he’d planned for the evening. “Are we going to the Ice Capades?”
Vonnegon smiled and shook his head.
On the street, he held open the passenger door of a Mercedes sedan and closed it once she’d arranged herself in the seat. He angled in behind the wheel, snapped his seat belt closed, then eased into traffic. Ten minutes later he parked at the Commodore Heliport and helped her aboard a waiting chopper.
Not the Ice Capades.
“Hey Dave,” he called to the pilot.
Bree tried to look blasé as he handed her in, strapped on her seatbelt, gave her a headset, and did the same for himself. Finally he signaled Dave the okay to take off.
The sunset view of the bay from the air made for a breathtaking flight, and less than thirty minutes later they were miles away, being seated by the maître d’ at a candlelit table in the vineyard at Tra Vigne in Napa.
The air was crisp. Outdoor heaters pumped out enough warmth to make eating outside idyllic. Taylor took Bree’s coat and pulled out her chair, then settled in and offered the wine list.
“No, you choose.” Bree said. “I’m not qualified.”
“Shall we start with a nice red?”
She nodded and opened a menu, but quickly closed it and put it aside. “I thought you didn’t drink.”
“Not often. Tonight I’ll make an exception.”
“Why tonight? I mean, what is this? Why are we here?”
“I hope you’re here to have dinner with a friend.”
“Okay.”
“What did you think this evening was about?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t think we hit it off the first few times we met, so I didn’t expect it to be quite so, well, quite so much like a date.”
“Are you sorry it is?”
“I’m expecting Ashton Kutcher to pop out of the grapevines and tell me I’ve been punked, so it’s hard to relax.”
“That explains why your eyes keep darting around.”
“Well, that plus the fact that before the date part starts, I’d like to talk about the night we met.” Bree took a deep breath. “What do you think happened to Ducane?”
“If we’re going to talk about that, we need alcohol.” He motioned to the waiter, pointed to an entry on the wine list, then dropped his chin into his palm. “You deserve answers. I wish I had more, but I can only tell you what I suspect.”
“Who or what killed him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must have a theory.”
“He’d started to run with an edgy crowd. I think his friends may have introduced him to people who were a little left of the law. He was seeing a young woman who seemed unstable.”
“How did you know that, if he kept his private life to himself?”
“We have government contracts. Some of our staff maintain classified status to work on the projects. I employ people to keep an eye on them.”
“So they also keep an eye on your employees’ friends.”
“Occasionally.”
“Do you think Ducane’s girlfriend is a suspect?”
“Love is one of the basic reasons people commit murder.”
“I agree,” she replied. “Money and revenge are probably high on the list, too. Although vengeance probably falls under the category of love or money. And in the movies, the mob kills to send other players a warning. A victim could even be murdered by mistake. Maybe Ducane accidentally ate a poisoned burrito intended for somebody else.”
Taylor’s eyebrows quirked. “You’ve given this considerable attention. Do you eat a lot of Mexican food?”
“I found a man dead on the floor of his office. For a little while, the cops thought I might have killed him. It left an impression.”
“I see your point.” Vonnegon fidgeted with the bud vase on the table. “I’m sure the police asked you already, but did you notice anything in the boy’s office that you thought was unusual or out of place?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Did Garcia ask you that?”
“No. He asked me a million questions, but not that one. Did he ask if you saw anything?”
“Yes, he did. And no, I didn’t. But sometimes a different set of eyes will take note of something another person overlooks.”
“All I can think about is his shoes.” Bree glanced away and shook her head, as if the motion would fling the image of Andrew’s loafers forever from her mind.
“At lunch you said you believed I was the woman on the tape. If you thought so, you must have also figured she killed him. You must believe the break-in is tied to his murder. Do you think his death is related to your government contract?”
“Whoa, whoa. Hold on.” Vonnegon squeezed his lids shut and held up his hands to fend off the onslaught. “We don’t know it’s murder yet.”
“So again. What do you think happened?”
“Why do I get the distinct impression you know more than I do?”
“Oh, come on, Mr. Vonnegon, sir.” Bree slid back in her chair. “How could I know more?”
“She stuttered, eyes darting wildly, unable to meet his gaze.”
Bree moved her chair closer to the table, then placed both elbows on the edge, laced her fingers together, and rested her chin atop them. She stared into his eyes without blinking.
“Okay, look, yes, at first I was convinced you were the burglar. The theft was fresh. I was worried about the ramifications. It seemed obvious you, Andrew, and the burglary must be connected. But once I had time to consider, I realized I don’t know how or why Andrew died. I have no idea if it was his health or his personal life. I just don’t know.”
The waiter returned with a bottle, discreetly presented the vintage, received a nod, then pulled the cork with a practiced hand. Vonnegon tasted the pour and nodded. The waiter filled their glasses, then bowed and left.
“But how could his personal life be the source? You said he was a socially challenged lab rat.”
“What I didn’t know was that he was apparently trying to climb out of his interpersonal ineptness. Or is the word ineptitude? You’re the writer.”
“How do you know that?”
“Excuse me?”
“How do you know he was changing his social aspirations? Did your gut tell you?”
“My gut tells me that the lovely evening I’d planned with a really nice girl is getting sabotaged by disastrous events that have recently occurred at my place of business.”
Bree looked away and pretended to study the other diners. “You didn’t establish any conversational limits.” She cleared her throat and began again. “Was I just supposed to guess this was a date? That is so like a man.”
Taylor rolled the stem of his goblet between his fingers and watched the blood-red liquid swirl in the glass. “Yes, this is a date. Yes, I am attracted to you. Yes, I’d hoped to turn a series of unfortunate meetings with an interesting woman into a friendship. Perhaps even more, in time.”
“Thanks for laying it all out.” An unexpected surge of lust overshadowed Bree’s embarrassment. Her cheeks pinked. “One night you’re accusing me of murder, and the next you expect me to pick up the vibe you want to get friendly.”
“I thought I was giving off the right signals. Showing up at your apartment to apologize, inviting you to lunch, trying to be cordial and make amends.”
Bree ducked her head. “Okay.” She sipped her wine, taking advantage of the silence to wonder about her unanticipated spike of emotion. Why couldn’t she read men better? She’d take Oliver any day. What he was thinking was obvious. She only had to check his face.
“Le
t’s start over,” Vonnegon said. “I’d like to propose a toast. To communication between the sexes.” He raised his glass.
Bree lifted hers. “To communication.”
But as she swallowed, she noted that he hadn’t answered her questions.
* * *
The ride home through the night sky on a carpet of stars was as close as Bree had ever come to magic. When Taylor handed her out of the helicopter, she felt like a combination of Alice and Cinderella.
They walked to the sedan and drove toward the city, taking a route that delivered them into the garage of a Nob Hill home. He escorted her into a sleek entry and hung their coats, then waved her through another passageway. Ten paces beyond, they were in a living room facing a wall of glass and another striking city view.
The windows disappeared in the dark. The room was suspended over a mesmerizing field of downtown lights. Enthralled, she walked toward the panorama and stopped, momentarily unaware of her surroundings.
Behind her, Taylor flicked on a lamp. “Would you like a brandy?”
Something clattered to the floor in the depths of the house, and the spell was broken. Was someone else here? She turned toward his voice, feeling unreasonably frightened. “What?”
Vonnegon was standing in the dark, outside the reach of the lamp glow. “I asked if you would like a drink.” His features were indecipherable in the shadowy room.
“No. No, thank you,” she stammered. “I should get home.”
“Nonsense, it’s not that late. Enjoy the view. I’ll be right back.”
Bree sat on the couch and wondered why her knees were shaking.
Vonnegon returned and offered a snifter filled with half an inch of amber liquid, then reclined across from her in a deep-seated chair.
“Nothing for you?”
“The wine was enough.”
“Sounds like the celebration is over.”
He studied her. “The evening has been perfect. I like to think I know when to stop.”
“Restraint,” she replied, and placed the liquor on a side table beneath the lamp.
“I’m sorry?”
“At lunch last weekend you said restraint and discretion were adult behaviors. You seem to have mastered them.”
“You have a good memory. I’ll need to be careful what I say around you, Miss Butler.”
“A good memory isn’t always an asset.”
Vonnegon pursed his lips and nodded. She wondered what memories he would like to put to rest.
Two beats later, he stood and held out his hand.
“Ready to go?” she asked.
“Not just yet.”
She grasped his palm and he helped her up from the sofa. When she began to move toward the door, he eased his arms around her and ever so slowly drew her toward him.
His arms were strong and calm. Her fear receded, but confusion remained. Although she searched his face for a message, there wasn’t a clue to reveal what was going through his mind.
She understood, though, when his face moved toward hers, and he covered her lips softly with his own.
Chapter Fifteen
Gen put on a black suit and low heels, aiming for comfort during the memorial service. As she dressed, she thought about the family who had to bury their only son today. So far, life had spared her the tragedy of that kind of loss. She’d not yet been in their place. Who knew how long it would take before they could truly get on with their lives?
Her land line rang twice, the signal that Bree was leaving her condo. Gen smoothed her skirt and took a final look in the bedroom mirror. Her makeup was understated and her curled hair flowed over her shoulders. She wouldn’t mind losing fifteen pounds, but otherwise she was good to go.
She grabbed her bag, went out into the corridor, and waited for the elevator. When the door opened, Gen stepped in and leaned against the wall, facing Bree.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look like you’re headed to your own funeral.”
“Ehhh.” Bree waffled her hand. “Just trying to figure out what’s going on.”
“It’s a little early to expect clarity about the murder.”
“Not that.” She pulled a face. “Vonnegon.”
“Ah. Have you heard from him?”
“He’s left a couple voice mails. I haven’t called back.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know how I feel about him.”
The door opened into the downstairs parking garage. Gen and Bree skirted cars and headed toward the BMW.
“I thought your plan was to get to know him and see if you could learn anything about Ducane. Can’t you just enjoy the sights with the guy?”
“I’ve never been a good casual dater.”
“Then it’s time to practice. The goal was to get information. And oh, by the way, I can’t wait to see where he takes you on your second date.”
“Isn’t that being a user?”
“How?” Gen unlocked the car and Bree slid into the passenger seat.
“Stringing someone along when they like you and you’re not certain you feel the same. My conscience is bugging me.”
“You just said you’re not sure how you feel.” Gen stared at Bree as she keyed the engine to life. “What about the quaking gut when he handed you the roses?”
“I felt a twinge. I did. But it could’ve been lust. He’s very attractive. That’s impossible to ignore.”
“What about the kiss? What did you feel then?”
“It was nice to be kissed.”
“Well, there you go.” Gen backed out of the space and turned toward the street. “I’m no expert, but I think you’re scared.”
“Of what?”
“That he might turn out to be another rat bastard.” She flipped on the turn signal, waited for an opening, then pulled into traffic. “And while it’s true he might not be the man of your dreams, not all men are asshats.”
“But he’s completely unreadable. I have no idea what’s going on in his head. That kind of shield is scary.”
“It’s not out of the ordinary for a successful businessman to have a poker face. It gives him the advantage in negotiations. People take seminars to learn how to hide feelings. Hell, we raise most of our men to be that way from birth.”
“I’d just like to know what’s happening on the inside. Who he is on the outside is obvious.”
“I’m not advising you to ignore your intuition. I’m just saying wait until you get a better picture of what makes him tick. Guidance comes in a lot of different ways.”
“Maybe. But why is he interested in me?”
“Pfffft.” Gen blew out a breath. “Oh, I don’t know. Intelligent, beautiful, charming. Can’t imagine what a man would see in that.”
“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment. He probably has his pick of women who are used to the kind of lifestyle he lives.”
“That could be the issue, right there. Most of the women he meets take that treatment for granted. It might be fun to share life with someone who could really appreciate what he has to offer.”
“Someone who’s impressed, you mean.”
“Is that what I mean?” Gen braked, then turned into Grace Cathedral’s parking lot. “Thanks for clearing that up.”
“Don’t be mad.”
“Look, I give. You’ve got your mind made up he’s not what he seems. You might be right. A lot of people aren’t who they appear to be at first. Sometimes they turn out to be better, sometimes they’re worse.” She found a space close to the church entrance and shut off the engine. “But you won’t know until you take a closer look.”
Gen waved at a well-suited man sauntering toward the church. “Good gracious me, look at Hackett.” He held up a hand in return. “Come on. I gotta see this up close.”
They walked among the cars. As they approached, Gen was surprised she’d known Mack at first glance. He’d shaved and slicked back his hair. His dark suit was stylish and well-cut.
“Hey Hackett,” Gen said, ha
nds on hips. “You clean up good. I barely knew you in your shiny shoes.”
Mack flashed a grin, then stopped and nodded hello. “Ladies.”
“Bree, meet the alter ego of Garcia’s partner. I wonder if this is the real Mackenzie Hackett.”
“Nice to see you again, Mackenzie,” Bree said.
“Just Mack,” he replied. “Thanks for the tip about the cross-dresser, we’re following up on the lead. After what happened yesterday, we’re sure it will help resolve this thing sooner rather than later.”
Gen jumped on his comment like a cat on a cornered mouse. “What happened yesterday?”
“Simmer down, it’s not that earth-shattering,” Mack replied. “We found a mess on Ducane’s boat. Lots of clothing and papers tossed around the cabin. Apparently somebody rifled luggage that was stowed aboard.”
“Did the stuff belong to Ducane?” Gen asked.
“Not a single item of men’s wear in the jumble. Could be this Catherine person was staying there. A couple owners nearby gave us a description of a gal who’d been around. Their verbals match the general picture of the woman you met.”
Gen sputtered. Mack turned to walk on, but she clutched at his arm. “Wait, you can’t just drop a bomb and take off. What do you think it means? Where do you think she is now? Why would she toss her own stuff around and split?”
“I have no idea.” Mack held up both hands and shrugged. “Look, you’ve been helpful, but that’s all I can say. Garcia is the lead on this, and he’ll bust my chops. Anything else will have to come from him. By the way, you and Miss Butler need to look through mug shots to see if we can get a positive ID on this Catherine person.”
“Come on.” Gen was like a dog with a bone. “Just nod yes or no. Do you think she’s connected to Ducane’s death, maybe even his murderer?”
“Who knows?” Mack replied. “What’s your interest, anyhow? I assume you and your client both have alibis for the weekend. Or did you break in and tear the place up yourselves while you were there?”
Bree gasped. “No way.”
