He shifted in his chair and suddenly I could feel his leg brush against mine. He was coming on strong. “I’m just surprised that on a cop’s salary, your boyfriend could afford to bring you here that often.”
I pulled back in my chair as far as I could, abruptly ending his little game of footsie. I was taken aback by his comment. My initial urge was to lie and say that Sean wasn’t really my boyfriend, but I stopped myself. That sounded so “high-schoolish.” I also fought an overwhelming urge to jump to Sean’s defense. He had never brought me here, so what? He was a hardworking man, a good man.
Greg’s laughter interrupted my thoughts.
“What?” I asked, sounding more annoyed than I intended.
He reached over and grabbed my hand. “I’m sorry, Phillipena. I asked around about you and someone told me that they thought you were dating a cop. It wasn’t nice of me to mention it, but I figure that if you accepted my invitation, things between you and the cop must not be too serious.”
Were things serious with Sean? I didn’t really know. I did know that Greg’s hand felt good on mine. I allowed him to keep it there.
Over dinner, which turned out to be something that I loved—braised steak tips with a cabernet shallot sauce, I told Greg about my past life. He was a great listener and by the time dessert arrived I had told him more than I had intended. I became quiet, suddenly worried that I must be boring him with my life story.
“Is the dessert alright?”
I looked down at my soufflé. “Oh, this is wonderful.” I cupped my hand over my wine glass as a waiter approached to refill. My glass hadn’t been empty all evening. How many so far? Three, four?
“I’m so glad you agreed to come this evening. It’s been good to get my mind off of things.”
“A lot of stress with work?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. There’s always stress at work. There’s also this horrible thing with Amanda. I just can’t seem to shake it.”
“I’m sorry, Greg. I’m sure it’s been difficult for you and for everyone who knew her well.”
“Well, not only that, but now I feel angry about it.”
“Angry?”
“Yes, ever since we talked the other day. I’ve been thinking about what you said. I didn’t want to believe it, but you may be right about Richard. He must be the one. I’ve been remembering so many things now that make me think that they were having problems, you know, little things that didn’t really stand out at the time, but now make more sense.”
“What type of things?” I asked, leaning forward and then straightening right back up when I noticed his gaze sliding downward toward my cleavage.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he continued. Glances that they exchanged. A certain stiffness between them. Little things. Not really anything that I can pinpoint, just a general shift in the way they were relating to each other lately. People in the public eye work hard to maintain an image of perfection while often times they are suffering in private. I know Richard quite well, he’s a shrewd businessman. Extremely driven. A perfectionist. I’m sure he wasn’t the easiest man to be married to.”
“Did you know Amanda well?’
He sat back in his chair. An expression crossed his face that I couldn’t read. “I wish I would have known her better. She was a beautiful woman.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean, she was beautiful. Very attractive. I tried to get her into bed several times.”
That wasn’t what I expected to hear.
He laughed out loud at the look on my face. “You are so naïve, Phillipena.”
Maybe, I thought. Then again, it was obvious that Greg and I lived in two different worlds. In my world, marriage meant something. Husband and wives stayed faithful to one another. Of course, there was the occasional cheater, but in general, people didn’t just hop from one bed to another.
“You never succeeded?” I finally asked.
He shrugged. “Why, Phillipena, I’d never kiss and tell.” He punctuated his words with a wink.
His confidence infuriated me. I wondered if he was considering me as one of his conquests. The idea both infuriated and excited me. I’m sure I went googly-eyed with emotional confusion. Maybe I had some sort of split personality disorder. I wondered how long it took Sybil to realize she had multiple personalities.
I shook off the thought and tried to focus on the conversation. “I’m surprised that she stayed so loyal to Richard. I’ve been asking around since we talked the other day, and I found out that Richard was definitely having an affair. I got it from a reliable source.” Maybe reliable wasn’t the best adjective to describe Reginald, the hair dresser.
“Really? Did your source say who the other woman was?”
“No, he wouldn’t say. I’m still thinking it was Madeline Reiner,” I answered.
The check came. Greg signed off without evening glancing twice at the total.
“Do you know Madeline very well?” I asked on a whim.
“Why do you ask?”
“I heard some weird rumors about her. I was wondering if they were true,” I said, trying to keep it casual. “You didn’t mention much about her the other day when her name came up as a possible mistress. I was wondering if you were holding something back.”
“Like what?” A mischievous grin formed on his face.
I shrugged.
He chuckled, “Yes, I know Madeline. She’s quite the woman.”
A picture of Madeline’s naughty nightgown flashed through my mind. I could practically see Greg removing the leather straps from her shoulders. Of course he knew her—in the biblical sense.
“I know you think she’s the other woman, but I really don’t think that she’s Richard’s type,” he continued.
Huh, that was the second time I had heard that, first from Sheila, and now Greg. “What type is she?” I asked.
“Well, let’s just say that Madeline is the very dominant type.” His lips curled slightly.
I cringed and quickly moved on so he wouldn’t expand on that comment. “What does Judge Reiner think of his wife’s extracurricular activities?”
“Which ones? She has quite a few issues.”
“Like what?”
“Well, besides what you’ve already figured out, she’s a kleptomaniac. She’s been in trouble several times for shoplifting.”
“Really?” It was hard to imagine someone like Madeline, with all her privileges, needing to steal something. I knew thought, that kleptomania wasn’t defined by monetary needs, but was a mental disorder.
“Yeah, it’s kind of a joke. We all know to lock down the valuables before the judge and his wife come to dinner,” he added with a chuckle.
“That must be embarrassing for Judge Reiner.”
He nodded. “Sure. I heard he gave her an ultimatum. Quit, or get booted. It doesn’t look good for a judge to have his wife doing the types of things Madeline has been doing.”
“Did she quit?”
“She’s sick. She can’t.”
“Do you think it’s possible that she did murder Amanda and then took her jewelry because she just couldn’t help herself?” My words came out a little more hesitant than I intended. All along I’d hoped that it would be Richard, this new information about Madeline was throwing me for a loop.
He flashed a lopsided grin. “Richard? Madeline? Who knows?” He shrugged. “Besides, you don’t really have much evidence that points to either one of them. I mean, Madeline’s a nut case, that’s for sure, but a cold blooded killer? I don’t know. That seems a little farfetched. Then there’s Richard. Maybe he was having an affair, but that’s not a crime. Lots of men have affairs. That’s not enough to prove that he was involved with his wife’s murder.”
“Well, I may have found some evidence against Richard.”
He leaned in. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes. I just happen to know that Richard’s caddy said he had eleven clubs in his bag. The police report only showed ten. I called i
t to their attention and they’re checking it out. I’m not sure but I think that the autopsy showed that a golf club would fit the wounds on Amanda’s skull.” I blurted all this out before I even remembered that this was probably privileged information. Good thing I had passed on more wine; hard telling what I would divulge after another glass.
“Interesting,” he said shrugging it off as if it really wasn’t that big of a deal. I felt stung.
Draining his drink, he narrowed his eyes on me. “You’ve been a busy girl, haven’t you?” He stood and extended his hand. “Shall we? These tickets were hard to come by; I would hate to be late.”
I clung tightly to him as we made our way to the front of the building, partly because the wine had gone to my head, but mostly because being close to him felt so good. I could never in a million years picture myself having any sort of serious relationship with Greg. He was, after all, a woman chasing, wife stealing, ego-centric jerk who apparently enjoyed dating very naughty women. However, despite all that, I couldn’t help thinking that, a few dates with him sure would be fun.
Chapter Nine
Jack was waiting to take us to the theater. In less than fifteen minutes we were making our way to some of the best seats at the Cadillac Palace. We arrived just in time for me to admire the beauty of the ornate gold plasterwork and rose-marbled walls before the lights were dimmed. Even though I’ve had the fortune of attending productions at the Cadillac several times, I never tired of its beauty. The exquisite craftsmanship always made me feel as if I had been transported back in time to eighteenth century Versailles.
The show turned out to be wonderful although my thoughts were mostly on what would happen after the show. Was Greg going to invite me to spend the night in the city with him? What would I say? Why would I even consider it? I usually deplored men like Greg Davis who used women and then discarded then like trash. On the other hand, he was so exciting, so attractive. Maybe I needed to lower my moral standards just a little. Then there was Sean. I began wishing that it was Sean sitting next to me. Comfortable, predictable Sean.
Suddenly, everyone around me was clapping and raving. I focused on the stage and saw the final curtain call. “Did you enjoy it?” Greg leaned in and whispered, his lips brushing on my neck, then a little nip on my earlobe.
“Mmm, hmmm.” I was tingling all over.
People were standing to leave, but we remained in our seats. He moved closer, resting his hand to my knee and then running it under the hem of my skirt. I shivered. His mouth covered mine, slightly parting my lips in a sensual kiss that awoke every desire in my body.
I wanted more.
“Come on,” he said, pulling away and helping me to my feet. “Let’s get out of here.”
Jack held the door for us as we climbed into the back seat. I expected Greg to sit closer, but he kept his distance. “The Intercontinental,” he stated.
My heart lurched. The Intercontinental Hotel? Just a second ago, in the darkness of theater, I was all for what going to a hotel with Greg suggested. Now I felt irritated. He was making assumptions. Taking control. Not even really consulting me.
We maneuvered through traffic in silence. I busied myself studying the passing store fronts of shops along the Mag Mile. My stomach was rolling as fast as the scenery.
I wanted to ask Greg his plans, but felt uncomfortable speaking about it in front of Jack. By the time we reached the hotel, I was sick with indecision. I was going Sybil again; part of me wanted nothing to do with Greg, but the other part wanted to do everything with him. And just to complicate things, I couldn’t quit thinking about Sean. Was it the wine, raging hormones, or was I just in desperate need of therapy?
Jack stopped the car by the front entrance and a couple of valets came to open the doors. Greg waved them off and turned to me, taking my hand, “I enjoyed your company this evening.”
He stared into my eyes and I waited, my heart pounding against my chest. He raised my hand and brushed his lips gently over my skin. That did it. No more indecision. I was completely ready to fling myself at him.
“Maybe we can get together again sometime?” he said.
I shriveled like a deflated balloon.
What? Get together again sometime? I thought we were going up to his room to ‘get together.’ What was this, some weird game? I started to yank my hand away and then struggled to regain my composure. Two could play this game. “That would be fine. You have my number. Thank you for a wonderful evening, Greg,” I said coyly.
He turned to Jack, “See that she gets home safely.”
He exited the car without even turning back for a second glance. I shrunk back into the seat, shaken. Blood rushed quickly to my head causing my ears to buzz and my cheeks to flush; suddenly my pits grew moist. I lifted my arms slightly, not wanting to return Mom’s dress with perspiration stains. Had I misread his signals or was he playing some weird game with me? Maybe I said or did something during the ride that ticked him off? Was it the way I kissed? I thought the kiss was good. I opened wide and shot a burst of hot air against my palm. I sniffed. Bad breath?
Jack glanced at me through the rear view mirror several times on the way back to Naperville, but never initiated any conversation. I knew what he was thinking. He was wondering why the boss hadn’t kept “this one” over night? His sly scrutiny only served to heighten my self-doubt. Obviously he thought I wasn’t desirable enough for a man like Greg Davis. Well, what did he know? Why did I even care what some chauffeur thought of me? Who was he to judge anyway? After all, he was nothing more than some rich man’s errand boy.
Jack and I rode in cold silence for the rest of the trip. As we approached my house, I prayed that my parents were asleep. I needed to sort the evening out for myself before I faced my mother. I quietly unlocked the door and then turned back to ease it closed as I stepped inside.
“You’re home.”
I wheeled around, practically throwing my keys at the unsuspected voice. “What are you doing in here?”
“Sorry.” His eyes grew wide and then narrowed. “Where have you been?”
“What?” I scanned my brain for a good lie. The kiss I’d shared with Greg suddenly burning on my lips.
Sean crossed the room until I was backed up against the door. His face was only inches from mine. “Where have you been?”
“What business is it of yours?”
He stepped back, looking hurt. “I tried calling you all day. I was worried. I came by to check on you and thought I should wait to make sure you were safe.”
“I can take care of myself.” I moved past him and started toward the kitchen.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me back into him. “I know that, but I care … you … you look gorgeous, Pippi. Where have you been?” His voice was softer now. I felt like a witch.
“A friend had tickets to the theater and asked me to come into the city for dinner and the show.” I managed the whole explanation without using a pronoun. “It was a great show. We should go see it sometime...”
“It was Greg Davis, wasn’t it? You went out with him.” He had loosened his grip on me. His voice was practically a whisper. I felt like crying.
“It wasn’t like that, really Sean.”
“He has quite the reputation with women.”
“Nothing like that happened.” At least that wasn’t a lie. Now, there with Sean, I was glad it hadn’t.
He searched my face for the longest time. I could barely look him in the eyes. Why did I feel so guilty? Just because I had spent the whole evening lusting over some other man? I didn’t owe Sean an explanation. He’d never asked me for any sort of commitment.
I reached out for him, but he backed away. I was starting to get angry. “I’m not sure what you want from me? What you want from us? We’ve been dating on and off for almost three years and you never discuss any future plans. Every time we start getting serious, you back off. I’m never sure where we stand.”
He remained quiet. I couldn’t read his expressio
n.
“Sean?”
He started to walk past me toward the door, then stopped and pulled me into him. Before I could react his lips were on mine. His kiss was hard, almost violent. I felt frightened; I’d never known him to act this way. Then he seemed to relax, his arms loosened and slowly he reached up to wrap his hands around my face, all the while his lips still on mine. Only now his kiss deepened, the passion stirred me. I could feel my body reacting and his as well, but just as I reached for him, he pulled away. He held me at arm’s length, looking down at me with sad eyes. Then he let go and left without saying a word.
*
The next morning, I shrugged into a pair of cutoffs and a wrinkled shirt, pulled a pony tail through the back of a baseball cap, and skipped my makeup routine. I felt like crap, I might as well look like crap.
I drove immediately to my favorite donut shop where I ordered two chocolate glazed and a large pop. A few minutes later, the fuzz began to clear. I returned home ready to face my day.
Mom’s car was already gone; just as well, I wasn’t in the mood to answer questions about last night. I entered the garage through the back door, pulled a soda from the little fridge under the work-bench, and went back to work on the dresser. I would have been better off if I had just stayed in last night and finished this project.
Working steadily for a couple of hours, I focused on my work, and avoided thoughts about Greg and Sean. When I finished, I stepped back and surveyed my handy-work. I had completely stripped the old varnish, rubbed it with white paint and distressed the corners. I was just working on adding some antique pulls when Dad made his way in with a tray of muffins and two cups of tea. I put down my screwdriver and joined him on the back deck.
“How’s the dresser coming along?” he asked.
“Fine. It should sell easily at the flea market.”
He nodded, sipping his tea quietly. “Finally, it’s stopped raining, huh?”
“Yeah, I’m sick of rain.”
“It’s supposed to start again this afternoon.”
“Oh,” I sighed.
Again we settled back and sipped. Things were always like this between Dad and me. Unlike Mom, he never approached sensitive topics head-on, instead he skirted the issue, prodding and poking until I cracked.
1 Murder for Bid Page 11
