What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 5)

by Cathryn Fox

  “Hey, you guys aren’t doing your part here. Go mingle and spread good cheer and raise more funds; after all this is a fund-raising event.” She looked at them and Laura’s frown was comical.

  “No offense Rox, but this group isn’t the easiest to mingle with. The sports set?” Laura grimaced.

  “You know very well why we chose to focus on this industry. Professional athletes have the two vital ingredients necessary to a successful fund-raising campaign for Children’s Mercy Hospital. They have children and they have money.”

  “I know, and this is only the beginning. It’s September. What will I do this winter?” Laura said.

  She was chairperson of the hospital’s voluntary fund-raising group and she needed Laura’s support to help keep the hospital and their staff involved in hosting the many events they would be sponsoring. Roxanne no longer had the resources to do much on her own. Ever since she’d gotten involved in fund-raising for the hospital years ago after her mother died, it meant everything to her. They felt like family to her. It gave her something really meaningful to do that working as a TV talk show hostess did not—or rather it did not in the past when she actually was a TV talk show hostess.

  “I know. Call me an intellectual snob if you will, but these people are only interested in sports. You’d be better off if I was a twelve-year-old boy,” Laura said.

  “I had an interesting conversation with Barry Dennis,” Roxanne pointed out. Laura looked at her with skepticism and a wave of her hand.

  “No offense, but I know how your conversations go, and he wouldn’t need a brain to be responsive to you,” Laura said.

  Roxanne laughed at the jibe. “I’ve been on my best behavior, honestly. I’m wearing my wedding band and everything. Let me tell you about it.” She ordered her friend a drink and made sure Laura laughed as she told her of her conversation with Barry. It was some time later that Roxanne noticed his tall figure leaving the party. She watched him go with a smile on her lips as she half listened to the conversation around her. Now that was a very interesting man. She hadn’t thought that about a man in a very long time. Shaking her head at her silly decision, she slipped the ridiculous diamond and wedding band from her finger. She’d have to trust herself to not make the same mistake twice about a man without the help of the wedding band.

  No matter how desperate she got, she would never again marry a man because he swept her off her feet. She should have known it was all a romantic illusion. In fact, she would never marry again, period. She shuddered.

  Later on that week, even after putting in long hours on fund-raising projects, Roxanne awoke in the middle of the night. She couldn’t sleep. Again. Or maybe it was that she didn’t want to sleep for fear of having that dream. She hadn’t told anyone about it yet. Maybe she should tell Bonnie. The old woman had been her caretaker for too many years. Maybe she should get a psychiatrist. On second thought, that would cost too much money.

  She laughed at herself out loud as she threw on her robe and walked over to the window. It worried her that she was still dreaming about Don’s death and his mother’s accusations. She tried to push it all from her mind, but the thoughts kept returning like wave after wave of the ocean crashing on the rocks below. She supposed her insomnia was to be expected. If it wasn’t the guilt that kept her up at night, her financial problems certainly would. She’d been contemplating how to get her job back with the TV station all week. She sensed Hank had fired her more on impulse than a deep conviction that she needed to go. She’d think of something. Eventually.

  As usual, she was going overboard with her charity work because she needed the distraction. There was another fund-raising party coming up on Friday night. This one would kick off the pro-am golf tournament to benefit the hospital. It would be just the thing for a diversion. She would have to be there anyway; she may as well throw herself into having a really good time and forget about everything else. Especially the dream.

  Roxanne returned to bed and refused to think about anything else but the golf benefit. She needed sleep. She would think of a solution to her problem of dwindling cash tomorrow. And of course, the thought of Penelope hiring a private investigator to prove that Roxanne murdered Don was too ridiculous to entertain at all. The police determined his death was accidental. At the edge of her mind, Roxanne couldn’t keep out the niggling thought that it may have been suicide, but she needed to put it behind her. She only wished Don’s mother could do the same.

  Sitting in a cubicle at the hospital’s development office the next day, she heard the phone ring again. She yawned. She couldn’t concentrate at all; not with the phone constantly ringing—something that didn’t usually bother her. Roxanne thought she’d never finish her report and shoved her chair back from the desk and got up. Laura had given her this space to work so she could get out of her house more. She walked to the window and decided to take a walk. It was time to do something besides think about the looming real estate tax bill that had arrived that morning.

  When she got to the street, in Boston’s medical district on Brookline Avenue, she had no idea where she was going, but her steps were quick and she found herself in the corner convenience store staring blankly at the magazine rack. She looked around. The man behind the counter gave her an odd kind of look and when she met his gaze he looked away. He probably thought she was a mental patient and she decided she should at least buy something. Gazing around again, a magazine cover caught her eye and she smiled.

  “I’ll take a Sports Illustrated.” Barry Dennis’s face was on the cover and Roxanne chewed her lip thinking about the man as she paid for the magazine. She’d seen his name on the guest list for the cocktail party that coming Friday. He was playing in the pro-am golf tournament to benefit the hospital that weekend.

  Roxanne pulled her phone from her bag and placed a call to her producer “Hank? This is Roxanne. Don’t hang up. Would you still like to do the Barry Dennis interview? Yes? I can get him for you. If I get my job back.”

  Much later that night, with her stockinged feet up on a kitchen chair and her skirt bunched up in an unladylike manner around her thighs, she sat back and relaxed for the first time in a long while. Bonnie sat, as she did every evening after keeping the house in order by day, in the same old chair she’d had since Roxanne could remember as a child. They both watched the flat screen TV mounted on the wall.

  “I’m definitely going to have to get another comfortable chair for the kitchen.” Roxanne rubbed her back as she squirmed on the hard wooden seat.

  “Don’t start talking about buying furniture. We’ll probably have to burn this kitchen set for firewood just to keep warm this winter. I can see it now,” Bonnie said.

  Roxanne chuckled, knowing she was being baited by the older woman. How long had she been keeping house and keeping Roxanne out of trouble? Since before her mother died, Roxanne thought. So long ago. She shook her head.

  “I was going to wait to tell you the good news. I got my job back with Channel 7 today—or I will have it by Monday if all goes well Friday night.” Roxanne smiled.

  “Yeah, sure. What’s Friday night? It’s just another charity cocktail thing isn’t it?” Bonnie leaned forward and stopped rocking her chair, eying Roxanne suspiciously.

  “Barry Dennis will be there. If I can get him to agree to do the interview, the Channel 7 job is mine again.”

  “They made it too easy for you.” Bonnie shook her head.

  “I’m not so sure it will be easy.” Roxanne recalled her last meeting with Barry. He might never want to speak to her again. She chewed her lip.

  Spinning around in front of Bonnie, Roxanne was ready to leave for the cocktail party. She wore a not-so-simple black silk dress that clung to her shapely form. The straps were made of linked rhinestones. But the eye-catching feature that sold her on the dress was the mink-trimmed hemline just above her knees. She didn’t have any choice in jewelry to wear with it—most of it was gone now. But that didn’t bother her. She wouldn’t even bot
her replacing it. The diamond-studded Rolex was all that was left, but it was more than enough.

  “You look beautiful, even though I hate to admit it. You be careful tonight. Don’t drink too much. And especially don’t flirt too much,” Bonnie said, sipping her nightly scotch. Roxanne laughed.

  “I’ll have a great time.” Roxanne flashed one last smile before turning to go. Tonight she was going to have fun. Thoughts of Don’s death and his mother still haunted her, but at least she had a plan to deal with her immediate financial crisis. She could manage to put aside the rest of it for one evening. She was determined to place the image of Donald’s broken body lying on that stretcher in the furthest recesses of her mind. Roxanne shivered involuntarily. She had to concentrate on Barry Dennis tonight.

  She strode out the door, buoyed at the prospect of getting her well-paying TV job back. She tried not to think of how, exactly, she was going to talk Barry Dennis into doing another interview. She would have to think on the fly.

  Chapter Two

  PENELOPE BOSWELL sat at her desk shuffling through the stack of photos like a deck of cards, sorting them into two piles. One pile of pictures with Roxanne, and one pile of pictures without her. Lifting one picture, she paused, remembering the day, the time, clearly. She, Donald and Roxanne were at the house on Marblehead Neck. Donald had invited her over to see the decorating they’d just completed. He’d been so proud.

  Penelope remembered feeling like an outsider even then. At first she’d been thrilled to receive the invitation, but as always, it seemed, her son’s concerns centered around that woman. Penelope resisted the urge to crush the photo in her hand. After all, Roxanne had taken it. She grudgingly had to admit that the picture was one of the best she had of her and her son together. They had been captured in a happy moment, smiling into each other’s eyes.

  She finally put the photo down, into a third special pile. That was how she would like to remember her son—smiling happily at her with brilliant sunshine all around them against the sparkling backdrop of the Atlantic.

  Glancing at the pile of pictures she had placed facedown, she then looked determinedly at the fireplace where she intended to burn them when she was finished sorting. She wished it were that easy to rid herself of the woman. Why hadn’t it been Roxanne that died that night? Why was it her son? Surely if there’d been a struggle he would have had the upper hand?

  Running over the scene in her mind as she envisioned it that night, she knew at least part of the reason must have been that he’d been surprised. There was another possibility, but she dismissed that.

  The woman had obviously planned the confrontation with Don. She had another lover waiting in the wings, Penelope was sure. But Roxanne was smart, Penelope had to give her that. She’d covered for herself well. It was proving difficult to find enough evidence to have her arrested, let alone convicted of murder. Detective Turner remained unimpressed after looking over their report outlining evidence of an affair with Mark Baines as her motivation for murder.

  Looking out the long window overlooking her garden, Penelope snorted with disdain. That woman obviously had the police detective under her spell, the same way she had Don. Well, good luck to him, Penelope thought. He would need it. Roxanne would ruin him like she had ruined Donald.

  And to think, she had actually liked Roxanne when they first met at that charity auction three years ago. Penelope had liked her enough to introduce her to Donald. But all the charity work in the world couldn’t redeem her for what she did to him. Now it didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Except ruining Roxanne.

  A knock sounded on the door, muffled by the solid wood panels. Penelope rose from her chair. “Come in.” She was pleased by his punctuality. Melvin Lipman, her private investigator, walked to the center of the room.

  “I got your message. I’m sorry to hear you are unhappy.” Melvin said.

  “Mr. Lipman, there’s obviously been a misunderstanding between us. It’s not that I don’t appreciate your efforts, but, as I mentioned before, the Boswell family name is a very proud one. It’s not my aim to have that name splashed all over the area news media like some cheap tabloid item.” Penelope noticed the man’s face turn pink.

  “I’m sorry. I thought the articles were done very tastefully and in no way a bad reflection on the Boswell name since they were aimed at the girl herself and her affair. After all, her name is still Roxanne Monet. She’s not a Boswell,” Lipman said.

  The strain was evident in the man’s voice, but it was obvious to Penelope that he simply did not understand. For a moment she regretted having hired him. But what else was she to do? She couldn’t afford to involve yet another person in all this. Maintaining her air of indifference, she spoke again.

  “When I say discreet, I mean absolutely no media involvement. I’m sorry if that makes your job more difficult. But I not only forbid the solicitation of media exposure, I would like you to go out of your way to keep this from reporters.” She paused, then chose her words carefully. “It’s been a very distressing time. I don’t want to add to that by having the family embarrassed.” The articles insinuating Roxanne’s affair with Mark Baines as the murder motive hadn’t been of any help at all, Penelope thought with disgust. They only made Donald look like a fool.

  “You got it. Too bad, though. Publicity sometimes helps flush information out into the open in cases like this.”

  Penelope couldn’t help the hot blush that came to her cheeks at the man’s crassness. Working hard to cover her distress and maintain her calm outward appearance, she unclenched her fingers and hoped it wasn’t a mistake to hire an investigator after all. She cleared her throat.

  “I would like you to turn your attention to assisting my lawyers in any way you can to get the house from her, or at least prolong the litigation.” She lifted a card from her desk and handed it to the man. “Here’s their number. Call them. The house is important to me. I have memories there.” She thought of the photograph and glanced over at it on the desk as if by doing so it might jump to life. She turned from him.

  “Good day, Mr. Lipman.”

  “Good day, Mrs. Boswell.”

  She listened to the door closing behind him and then wiped the tears from her cheek. There would be no more good days for her, thanks to that woman.

  When Roxanne arrived early at the country club, she let the valet whisk her car away. With a smile on her face, she swept into the room where the party was to be held. The night was going to be part fund-raising and also part fun. Sauntering toward the center of the room she scrutinized it from every corner and then headed for the kitchen to find the function manager for a conference.

  “The room is really lovely, but we must have the podium as the center of attention. We can’t very well have the Club’s management presenting a check to the hospital off in a corner.”

  “Of course, I totally agree. It will be done immediately.” The man smiled.

  As guests arrived, she greeted them, most by name, and took their invitations. Laura came in through the kitchen to join her. After a good number of people had arrived, she left the entryway and zeroed in on a group of older patrons.

  “I’m Roxanne Monet, representing Children’s Mercy Hospital. We’re very pleased to have you as our guests tonight. We hope you have a very exciting time and please do not hesitate to let me know if there’s anything you want.” With that she winked at the silver-haired gentleman and squeezed the hand of his pink-faced wife and sauntered on her way again. Now she was having fun.

  All the while she laughed her way around the room, enjoying the patrons and making mental notes about how the arrangements were being carried out. She believed the littlest details had the most impact, like the brass golf ball paperweights at each place on the tables and the ceramic golf bag vases filled with flowers and miniature golf clubs. Standing at a spot in the far corner of the room, near the kitchen entrance, she lifted a Baccarat crystal champagne flute from a passing waiter’s tray. She joined a
group of newer patrons, to welcome them, when she saw Barry Dennis arrive.

  A crowd immediately surrounded him in the middle of the room. She couldn’t resist watching him. The quirky smile never left his face, except to be interrupted by a hearty laugh or a witty comment for his fans’ amusement. Roxanne admired the way he handled people. It was a talent she knew well and could appreciate far more than his ability to shoot a basketball.

  When she caught his eye, she smiled and nodded at him. When he didn’t smile in return she knew she was in trouble. He must still think she was a married woman, a wicked married woman. Or worse, maybe he’d read about her in the paper and thought her a greedy murderer. It was time for her to seriously consider how she was going to convince this man to give her an interview. An explanation was in order, she knew, as she twirled the champagne flute between two fingers.

  Barry continued to entertain the crowd of people. He looked princely standing above the group in his dark suit and tie. She watched as the jacket tightened across his shoulders when he folded his arms across his massive chest. God damn, but there was something about him, she thought. He was not the only handsome man in the room. But he was the only man in the room who fascinated her.

  Turning to a group of people near her to join in their conversation, she knew she was only postponing the inevitable confrontation with Barry. But this was an event and she had a job to do first. Eventually she would get to Barry and then she would somehow convince him to do the interview and be damned with what he thought of her. If he was going to refuse to give her an interview, she would see to it that it was a tough decision.

  In the meantime, she would see to it that everyone enjoyed themselves. After all, they were paying a lot of money to play in this tournament. It was her role to encourage them to find it in their hearts to donate generously to Children’s Mercy Hospital.