George gave me a kind smile. "Guess we'll just muddle through together then," he said. "But first we need to set the stage, so to speak. I want the dining room to be just right."
We walked together to the cavernous room that held a mahogany dining table capable of seating fourteen with the two leaves installed—it was currently set for ten. Over the table, catching the waning afternoon sun, glittered an original crystal chandelier. The room was a large rectangle and had a bank of windows down one long side with an unobstructed ocean view. At the narrow end of the room, near the head of the table, was a fireplace so large I could almost stand upright in it.
"We'll need wood for the fire and plenty of candles or lanterns. This is going to be one nasty storm." I looked out the window at the gathering clouds. The wind was already gusting to near gale force. The storm was supposed to arrive after midnight, which meant the guests should be home safe and sound before the worst of it hit. If our illustrious weatherman was wrong though, this might end up being a dinner party for three.
"Pretty bird," Smitty croaked from the left of the fireplace.
"What's he doing in here?" I asked.
"He's a guest too," George said.
"He's going to squawk and curse at the guests," I replied.
"Pretty bird," Smitty repeated.
"If we're lucky," said George. "It'll keep everybody just a little off kilter."
"Or it'll piss them off, and they'll leave," I said.
The table was already set with Gram's best china and gleaming silverware. "We haven't used this stuff in years," I said, running my finger over the intricate detailing on a knife.
"Now that's a shame," he said with a nod. He handed me a stack of cream-colored, embossed cards. "Here are the name cards in order. Set them on the plates beginning with the head of the table at the fireplace end."
"Fancy." I set one card at the head of the table for George, then to his left one for Gram and then… "You actually got Jack Condor to come!" I said in wonder.
George looked over my shoulder at the name card. "Oh yeah. He was a tough one. Your Gram pulled a number on him."
"I don't want to have dinner with Jack Condor. I don't want him setting foot in Rockgrove," I growled. No matter how much I'd like to corner him in this sting, I didn't think I could tolerate an entire evening with him.
"He's a big player in this. Remember he's the link to Luke. He has to be here," George insisted.
I grumbled and slammed the card on the plate. "What the hell, George!" I shouted, looking at the next card. "Frank Wolfe? Have you lost your mind?"
"He'll come in handy if the killer confesses," George said with a shrug. "And he's linked with Condor through the campaign contributions."
Mr. VanSant was next. "Well, at least you've seated my lawyer between me and Frank Wolfe," I said. To my right was Big Ron. It was comforting to see a friendly name at my end of the table. Tucker Sloan was next to Big Ron.
"Tucker. Really?" I set the card on the plate and shook my head. "Guess he's here because he met both the murder victim and Luke, before Luke had amnesia."
"Precisely," replied George, checking the lock on the door that led to the family room. I raised my brows in question. "Don't want anyone running off." He pointed to the double doors that led to the formal living room. "One way in and one way out."
Seemed a little excessive to me, but George was enjoying himself. I went back to setting out place cards. "You've got a blank one." I held up the card to George, who was busy checking the windows.
He glanced up. "Intentionally blank. Just put it on the plate."
I raised an eyebrow. "You expecting a mystery guest tonight?" I asked.
"If we're lucky," he replied.
The last seat, on George's left, went to Alice. "You forgot Alice's boyfriend, Larry."
"He's in the hospital. Took a bad fall yesterday at Alice's."
"What? That's terrible. Is he going to be okay? I can't believe Gram didn't tell me," I said in surprise.
"Looks like he has a couple of broken bones and will have to go to rehab for a while. It happened late last night. I think he's still pretty out of it. Your grandmother just found out about it," George replied, fussing with the napkins at each setting.
"And Alice is still coming to the dinner?" I asked, a little surprised.
George shrugged. "Your grandmother said Alice said Larry would've wanted her to come."
I shook my head. "Are we done yet?" I asked. I still needed to shower and try to do something with my hair.
"Help me grab some wood and start the fire?" George asked. "I confess I'm not much of a boy scout."
"Of course you're not," I muttered, walking toward the door. "I have a wood pile in a lean-to on the side of the garage. You can man the wood cart."
The rain and wind pelted us on our way to the wood shed. I threw a dozen logs and a generous supply of kindling into the wood cart, and George hauled it back to the house. After we stacked the wood, I built up the fire with a starter log, kindling, and several small pieces of wood. I used a long match from a box on the mantel to light it.
"Impressive," George said as the kindling burst into flames. As I stood up, he took my hands. "I know you have your doubts about this dinner and about me."
"George, I trust you, or I would've told the police about the diamonds. It's yet another piece of evidence I'm withholding. I'm just not sure this is the best way to help you get your diamonds back or for me stay out of jail." I looked up at him. His eyes twinkled with humor and something else. Secrets, maybe.
He squeezed my hands. "Let's just call it unorthodox, but I think this situation calls for an unorthodox approach."
I rolled my eyes. "Okay, but I'd like more details about the mystery dinner. Can I see the clues you're going to read?"
George shook his head. "It wouldn't work. You have to be convincing. No one can know this is anything more than what it seems."
"Until you jump up and yell, 'aha' at the killer or thief. Who may or may not be one and the same," I added with a sigh.
"Something like that."
I looked at him keenly. "You seem more relaxed today. Something else happen that I should know about?"
"All will be revealed," he said, waving his hands in front of my face like a fortune-teller.
I smacked his hands away. "I'm getting a snack and a beer. Then I'm going to get ready for this nutty dinner. No promises on the hair though," I said, turning on my heel.
* * *
I ended up having two beers and half a bag of potato chips while staring out at the storm gathering on the coast. I was late getting my shower and was having less than stellar results fixing my hair. It was clean and dry but nothing like the picture George had given me.
A knock at my bedroom door startled me. "Yes?" I called.
"It's me," said George. "Thought you might need a hand with your hair."
I shook my head. Unbelievable. I tightened my robe around my waist and opened the door. "You're a hairdresser as well as a florist?" I asked sarcastically.
"I've had no formal training, but I've been told by more than a few ladies that I have a knack for it." He wiggled his eyebrows at me, and I giggled.
"Oh, come in," I said. Then I noticed he was wearing his Nick Charles suit. "Wow, you look really great." George looked as though he'd stepped out of a black-and-white movie. The high-waisted pants with matching double-breasted coat and pristine white shirt all looked tailor-made for him. There was even a gold pocket-watch chain dangling from his suit coat.
"Why thank you, Mrs. Charles. Wish I could say the same for you. Why aren't you dressed yet?" he asked.
"I didn't want to get makeup on my dress, and I didn't want to put my makeup on before doing my hair." George looked at the rat's nest on my head. "It's clean and dry. It's the best I could do," I said defensively.
He gave a low whistle and led me into the bathroom. He grabbed a stool from my bedside and set me in front of the large mirror. "Allow me," h
e said as he deftly combed out my hair. Within minutes he'd twisted my hair into a tight bun at my neck, leaving a few pieces around my face for the pin curls. "Now these are a little trickier," he said, spraying the pieces with hairspray and then winding them like a spring and pressing them against my face. He secured them with brown hairpins tucked underneath.
I turned my head to see his work. "Wow, it looks just like the picture. And you can't even tell they're pinned in place."
"I'm glad you approve," he replied and whistled as he worked on the other side.
"You sure are relaxed for a man with a roomful of potentially hostile dinner guests on the way," I observed.
"You know why?" he asked, leaning over my shoulder and admiring his work in the mirror.
"Why?" I asked, feeling a ripple of desire course through me as his chin brushed my shoulder.
"A little birdie told me everything would be just fine." He chuckled against my neck, his breath warm on my skin.
"Of course he did," I said, making a face at him in the mirror.
But he was looking at my neck, inches from his lips. "You have the most divine neck, Mrs. Charles," he murmured just before pressing his lips against my skin.
I gave a little gasp of surprise that almost turned into a groan of desire before I stopped it. I willed myself to be stiff. "Are you through? I believe we have guests arriving any minute." I met his eyes in the mirror.
"Yes, dear," he said with a sigh.
"Thank you for helping with my hair," I said, rising from the stool and heading toward the bedroom door. "It'll only take me a couple of minutes to put on my makeup and get dressed."
"Can't wait," he said with a wolfish grin.
The doorbell rang. "You're on, Mr. Charles," I said as I opened the door for him. He gave me a funny salute and rushed down the hallway.
In ten minutes I'd put on makeup—heavier than I'd worn in years but still tasteful—and changed into the drop-dead gorgeous champagne gown. It fit me like a glove without over-accentuating my curvy figure. I glanced at my cell phone sitting on the countertop. I patted the dress. There wasn't a pocket to tuck the device into. No way I wanted to go downstairs without my phone, so I dug through my closet for the little cream-colored rhinestone-encrusted evening bag Gram had given me for my birthday. She would be tickled to see me actually using it.
I was admiring the clutch in my hand in the bathroom mirror when I heard my bedroom door open. "You know it's rude to just walk into a lady's bedroom without knocking, Mr. Charles," I called. "But I guess I'll let it slide, since you did such a great job on my hair and picked out this fabulous dress for me."
I turned toward the bedroom and gasped.
"Please don't yell. I just want to talk to you," said Luke, closing the distance between us in two strides.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"What are you doing here? Come back to finish me off?" I spit out. My hand was itching to slap his handsome face like a heroine in some old movie. Must've been the dress, because I didn't make a habit of slapping men.
"Just give me a chance to explain," he said, taking another step closer.
"Stop right there, or I'll scream," I cried, stepping backward into the bathroom. I tried to slam the door closed, but he stuck his foot in the doorjamb. I jumped on his foot with my silky low-heeled slippers. "You're lucky I don't have my steel toes on, or I'd kick the crap out of you," I hissed through the door, still pushing against it.
Luke gave a slight push with his foot, getting his whole leg into the doorway. He pressed his face through the open door. "Please give me five minutes to explain. I promise you won't regret it." His blue eyes were pleading with me. I didn't have much choice. He could force his way into the bathroom at any moment.
"Fine," I huffed, opening the door and sailing around him.
"Thank you," he said with a relieved sigh. "And before I say anything else, I want to tell you that you are stunning tonight." His eyes traveled from my hair to toes in a leisurely gaze full of promises.
I held up a hand, saying, "Flattery will get you nowhere, buddy. You've got a lot of explaining to do. Starting with why you walked into the police station."
He sat down on the edge of my bed. I noticed his jeans and flannel shirt were wet and rumpled, and his face was drawn. "I went because I didn't know what else to do. I thought I might've murdered Reggie the Fence. I knew I had the box at some point that week, and I remember getting it out of a hiding spot under the fireplace at Marlton House and taking the diamonds out. Which means I was in Marlton House around the time Reggie was killed."
"So how'd you get out of it? Frank Wolfe's trying to pin a bunch of stuff on me because of what you told him."
Luke looked upset. "I swear I didn't mean for you to take the blame for all this. I had an airtight alibi. One I didn't even know about until Wolfe filled me in."
"Jack Condor," I said suddenly. "You were with Jack Condor."
Luke look startled. "How did you know? I didn't think anyone knew but Wolfe."
"Educated guess. George and I followed you the night you met Condor on the beach. We heard the whole conversation. You and Condor obviously knew each other. Now tell me why you had a cell phone," I demanded.
"I found it on the front car seat when I was headed back from my doctor's appointment in Seattle. The phone had no information in it at all. Then it rang, and it was Condor calling to arrange the meeting on the beach. I was pissed because I knew he knew more about my identity than he was letting on, and he was using my amnesia to keep the upper hand with me. I'd been staying in one of his empty rental houses and was with him in Seattle on the day of the murder. He was at the real estate event, and I had a meeting with our client." Luke looked at me with eyes full of remorse.
"Your client? You mean you and Condor were working together? How do you know all this?" I stammered.
Luke nodded. "Alex, I have my memory back. At least most of it. Bits and pieces are filling in every day."
I said nothing for a few seconds. "So are you a good guy or a bad guy?" I asked.
"I still don't know," he said quietly. "But I know I didn't murder anyone, and I wasn't stealing diamonds. I'm a private investigator. I specialize in helping clients take care of problems. In this case I was supposed to keep an eye on a member of my client's family. Should've been simple, but everything went crazy when Reggie the Fence was murdered. My clients pay to avoid publicity, and the murder made this front page news. And I haven't exactly been working the case since getting amnesia." He brushed a hand through his hair in frustration.
"Who were you keeping an eye on?" I asked.
Luke shook his head. "Can't tell you that. I'm still on the case, and this client will demand more than a refund if I don't finish the job. There's more at stake here than just an unhappy client. I need to know where the diamonds came from."
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him, but just like at the police station, I hesitated, saying, "How would I know?"
"Because you and George have been investigating this thing since the beginning. You found the box, traced Condor back to me, and who knows what else," he said, giving me a hard look. "And my bet is that whoever is missing the diamonds is the murderer. I need to know so I can help my client." Luke continued to stare at me. Could he tell I was hiding something?
I shrugged. "We really haven't found out a whole lot. That's why George is having this mystery dinner tonight. He's convinced that throwing all the witnesses and suspects in a room together and stirring the pot will reveal the killer. But then you've probably already heard all about it since you and Jack Condor are such good friends."
"I've been staying in sheds and empty houses trying to avoid Condor. I'm worried those diamonds were his. I decided to try to see you when all the people started arriving," Luke said.
He didn't sound like he was lying, but who knew. "So you've been watching the house? That's just creepy," I said with a shiver.
"Hey, I'm a PI. It's called a stakeout," Luke
replied defensively.
I made a face. "Whatever. Let's get back to Condor. If the diamonds were his, then your theory about the owner of the diamonds being the murderer doesn't fly. As you well know, he has an alibi—he was onstage in Seattle the day of the murder."
"But was he there the whole time?" Luke asked. "I left Condor at the conference to meet with my client, and I was gone nearly three hours. He could've gone back to Danger Cove during that time."
"As much as I'd love to pin the whole thing on Jack Condor, it just doesn't seem likely. It also doesn't fit his style. He isn't the type to do his own dirty work."
"It was Condor who set the meeting up. He was the middleman for this job. I've worked for him a couple of times before. Simple background stuff, nothing like this. I think he got in over his head with this particular client, and he's desperate. Desperate people can be driven to do things they wouldn't normally do," Luke said, echoing Mr. VanSant's words.
I nodded in agreement. "And you both have the same demanding client. So how desperate are you?"
Luke stared off into the distance, his face a careful mask. "So who exactly is attending this dinner?" he asked, ignoring my question.
I shrugged and listed off the eclectic guest list. I hadn't really expected to get a reaction from him. He was more guarded than I had seen him before. A dozen other questions still nagged at me, but there wasn't time, and Luke was done talking.
He raised his brows. "You'll be lucky to get through dinner without someone getting stabbed with a salad fork."
"I agree. Now I need to get downstairs, but first I need a favor from you," I said as a plan began to formulate in my brain. George wasn't the only one with a thing or two up his sleeve.
* * *
"Ah, there you are, Alexandra," Gram called as I entered the formal living room like an actress on the stage. The room was the perfect setting for this little drama. I had left it in near original condition after the remodel, including a large, ornate marble fireplace, marble columns, and gold-leaf crown molding. All of the furniture was upholstered in crisp white fabric, and the room was accented with bold shades of red. Although we rarely used the space, sometimes I opened the doors to peek in at its magnificence.
Secret of the Painted Lady Page 19
