“Kiely! I love you. I will cherish this forever.”
The “I love you” stopped me from saying anything. He was being flippant, but I realized I liked the sound of it anyway.
Theo grabbed the mosaic and howled. “It's you, Montez. Spittin' image. Damn, man. What happened? One of your ancestors pose for this during a day off after stealing lands from the peasantry?”
The other gentlemen joined in the teasing. Comments ranged from the rude and crude to the highly ribald. Our elderly cast mates, Nathaniel and Cyrus, were by far the worst.
Lida Rose walked in to see what the uproar was about and had to fall into a chair to keep from joining Rafe on the floor.
“Kiely! You devil. This is wonderful.”
I handed her the other gift bag. “For you, my beloved director. A little something to match your lovely turquoise duster.”
She opened the bag and exclaimed joyfully over the earrings.
“I adore them. They are so, so, so . . . “
“Awful?”
She beamed. “Precisely.”
She immediately undid the relatively sedate, dangling silver earrings she'd been wearing and looped the feathered earrings through.
“Kiely. Come with me a second, okay?”
We walked together toward the lobby of the theatre. She stopped and looked to the ceiling as if asking for guidance.
“Kiely? First, thank you for the earrings. I adore them. You knew I would.”
We hugged again. Then I stared at her. “What's wrong?”
She tried to smile. “I'm worried. We're about to go on in less than thirty minutes, and I have this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that a disaster the size of the last hurricane to hit Texas will blow through.”
“I'd love to be able to reassure you, but after my journey to the center of the earth after midnight, I’ve begun to fear the worst in all situations.”
She tugged at her new feathered earrings. “Did I do the right thing? Letting this show continue? Letting Cyrus go on as the hero? Letting you go onstage after an ordeal with bones and dead bodies and tunnels? Please tell me this will all turn out all right.”
“Lida Rose. I can't. But thanks for the opening night gift. If anything can keep away the gloomies and bad luck, it will.”
She perked up. “So, you liked your present?”
When she and George had first come to pick me up, she'd presented me with a box containing a gorgeous blouse-and-skirt set that I could best describe as “early Stevie Nicks” leather and lace. I had boots that went beautifully with it. Lida Rose had suggested I bring them from Manhattan the first night she'd called and further hinted they’d be great for opening night. I'd put them in my dance bag. The skirt and top ensemble was now in the box under my dressing table.
“I love it. It almost makes up for all the evil things you've gotten me involved in during the last twelve years!”
She waved her hand at me. “Think nothing of it. See you in the green room in thirty minutes. Time to meet and greet the elite.”
We hugged again and parted company. I was on my way to my dressing room to slap on my outrageously long false eyelashes when Rafe Montez appeared from the entrance to the kitchen. “I need to talk to you.”
Chapter 30
There is a sentence consisting of six small words guaranteed to strike fear into the heart of every woman who hears them.
That sentence is “I need to talk to you.”
That sentence portends one of four options. None of those options are good.
The first (and worst) is, “I'm married.”
Number two is the oldie but goodie. “I'm gay.”
Three, “I love your sister,” is right up there under “ouch.” How does one respond to this without sounding like a jealous bitch?
Four is similar to three on the response level. It usually goes something like this: “I really like you, but I think we'd be better off as just friends.”
When Rafe delivered that “need to talk to you” sentence, I considered going back into the tunnel and sitting out the conversation and the rest of my life. Less drastic was the option to set fire to both prop rooms, which would be “Kismet” and the new one, thus creating a plausible excuse for running out of the theatre, and never seeing Mr. Montez again.
I did neither. Instead, I mutely followed Rafe outside. It was the only area not teeming with reporters, actors, techies, florists, and Lida Rose, thus providing privacy.
Once we were behind the scene shop in the back of the theatre, Rafe led me to a trunk near the huge shop doors and gestured for me to sit. When Rafe reached out and took my hands in his, I wasn't sure which scenario to expect Possibly all four. I could hear it now.
Kiely, I'm married. To a man, But that's not the problem. I'm not in love with him. I'm in love with your brother. I couldn't love your sister even if you had one. Oh, yeah. I'm not really very fond of you and I don't even think we can be just friends.
I closed my eyes and tried to prepare for the worst.
I wasn't prepared at all for, “Kiely. I'm an agent with U. S. Customs. The Art Recovery Team. I've been working undercover since I started rehearsals with Bad Business.”
I stared at him. A dozen responses flashed through my brain. All of them were mature and brilliant. I said none of them. Instead I began to laugh. When the laughter turned to hiccups, then died, I spoke. “I guess that's one way to make use of a degree in art. Lord knows, there's not much else.”
He relaxed his grip on my hands. “You're the only person I know who could come up with a line like that.”
He kissed me, fiercely, then very softly. This was going to make doing the show difficult. My brain had turned to sheer mush. Oatmeal cooking in milk for a couple of hours would hold up better.
We spent an enjoyable five minutes or so exploring lips, tongues, backs, arms and one or two areas hidden by costumes from the 1800s. Finally Rafe let me go. He exhaled sharply.
“That was very, very nice. I could continue and take this a few steps beyond, but we have about six minutes before call. And I need to fill you in on something.”
I tried to lift one brow. Both went up but he got the idea.
He grinned. “So to speak.”
I grinned back. “Bad man. Evil mind. Sorry. Okay. Go ahead.”
He had brought a carryall bag with him for our tryst outdoors. He reached in and pulled out my good-show gift of the mosaic of the conqueror.
'This came from the imports shop Mia Maya. Correct?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Why? You're not going to tell me it's actually some priceless artifact? To tell you the truth, it's probably made in China.”
He turned the mosaic piece over and showed me where the cardboard backing was torn.
“It's what's underneath that's priceless. Almost literally. Kiely, there was a tiny conch shell carved like fish. A piece of real jade lies in the middle. Late Classic Mayan. I'd say around the year eight hundred A.D. It's now in a safer place.”
“I'm now totally confused.”
He checked his watch. “Four and a half minutes before call. I'll run through the high points. First, the Art Recovery Team. Yes, I do a lot of acting in shows, and I also teach art on occasion—it's a nice cover when I need for folks to be unaware of this particular occupation. I did grow up in Texas, but am currently based in Manhattan. Anyway, Customs got a tip that a smuggling operation was revving into high gear at the East Ellum Theatre. That was it. No pointers as to who, where, what, or why.”
I nodded. The whole thing seemed nuts. Customs agents and tips and smuggling weren't part of the everyday vocabulary of a dancer.
Rafe continued. “I met Lida Rose through George, who taught history at Jesuit the years I was in high school there. I knew she wasn't involved. I had a chat with her before auditions and told her I had to be in the show for professional reasons.”
“She knows you're with Customs?”
He shook his head. “No. She thought I had some bi
g L. A. theatrical agent coming down to check me out for a part in a TV series. She doesn't normally precast, but in this case, she made an exception.”
I interrupted. “What would you have done if she'd said no?”
“Told her the truth. Like I say, I didn't suspect her of anything but I was afraid she couldn't keep a secret. I'll tell her tonight.”
I laughed. “Believe it or not, Lida Rose Worthington Rizokowsky is the one person in the world capable of holding a confidence 'til the earth implodes on itself.”
“I couldn't take the chance. All I had to go on was that one very skinny tip. East Ellum Theatre. Smuggling. At least the location was specific instead of something like, ‘Yo! Smuggling in Texas—have fun, dude.’“
“So?”
“So Lida Rose graciously casts me as the villainous Nick Nefarious and I nose around the theatre without a clue as to what I was looking for. Then you, my beautiful, curious choreographer, began to pop in on me unexpectedly, which forced me to make up excuses as to why my face was in a piano or under a gaming table.”
“Face, hell. I remember that day. Your whole torso was inside. I got a great view of your butt in the air. I might add, you came up with some interesting explanations for all your activities. I thought you were engaged in something illegal, although I couldn't imagine what.”
I checked Rafe's watch. “You've got three minutes.”
“So I have. Okay. Long story short, one of our agents in Dallas started looking at various import shops. Then another tip came in that simply said “My my. Mayan art.” So while the other agent was checking import shops that dealt in anything pre-Columbian, I started looking at everyone who had an interest in Mesoamerican art. Which, as you know, was practically the whole damned cast.
“When Jason died, I was thrown. He'd really been my chief suspect for dealing in stolen artifacts. Primarily because he lived a bit too well for a Dallas actor and I suspected him of having a little extra income. I thought for a while he'd had a partner. Macy or Daisy, even Amber, but nothing about those girls checked out. Since Jason was killed in the prop room, ‘Kismet’ seemed a good place to look for anything remotely connected to artworks. Zippo. The most interesting things found were those garnet earrings. And while I agree with you that they belonged to the original Delilah Delight, I can't see how that relates to smuggling artifacts. Which leads us to today when you, my wicked gift-giver, presented me with the key to it all. Something else hit me when I saw this. Joe had bought those crazy velvet paintings at Mia Maya's the day before he got run down. I asked Christa to take them off the walls and hide them ‘til Jerry, my partner, can look at them and discover what's hidden behind them. I think something in the so-called artwork is why Joe and the dark-colored sedan had that unfortunate meeting.”
He sighed. “Joe's going to be upset when he gets to the restaurant tonight for the party and finds a different decor. Which is crazy of him to be doing anyway, but . . . Anyway, the agency now has a search warrant for Mia Maya imports. They’re digging into its current ownership. They can handle it from that end. I'm staying here. For one thing, I don't want to blow a good cover.”
He grinned, showing nearly every tooth. “I also told my superiors that no way in hell am I not acting in the opening night gala production of Bad Business on the Brazos.”
“Uh-huh. Did you tell the U. S. Customs Bureau the truth? That you've been waiting for weeks for the chance to get on that stage and do high kicks?”
He kissed me again before leaning back and adding, “I did not and they will not learn of this desire unless a certain lady spills the beans.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
I grew serious. “All of them. Since someone else is involved in whatever smuggling is going on, I'd say there's a possibility you're in danger. I doubt anyone knows you're more than simply a pretty face onstage, but Rafe, someone does know that you and I have been roaming around this theatre poking into everything in sight You've been searching for current felonies and centuries old artwork while I've been looking to uncover mysteries from the not terribly distant past, but they don't know that.”
I gasped.
Rafe grabbed my hand. “What?”
“Everyone in the dressing room tonight saw that mosaic. Make that both dressing rooms. Including Miss Daisy the piano player, and Charlie. So it's very possible that we're both in a heap of trouble.”
A muffled mechanical voice interrupted him. The intercom system extended to outside the theatre as well and our stage manager was yelling “Places in ten!”
Rafe and I exchanged one more kiss before strolling toward the kitchen entrance. “We have much to discuss, Ms. Davlin. Primarilyus. I did tell you I'm based in Manhattan, didn't I? This will work out quite well for later. Don't you think?”
“I don't think. Wait. I’m unable to think. My brain is trying to deal with too much information while retaining whatever it is I'm about to do onstage in less than twenty minutes. Did I tell you I'm bringing Jed back to New York with me? The Wylers called the other night and we arranged a doggie adoption. Can you stand going on walks with the beast and me in the city?”
“Tell you the truth, Kiely, I like the idea of going anywhere and everywhere with you. Dog or not. Any objections?”
I looked into those dark blue eyes. “Not a one.”
Rafe hugged me. “I have a gift for you as well.” He grinned. “This one's legal. And you'll be glad to know your mosaic present is still mine to treasure. I just can't keep the conch shell. It's already in the hands of Customs. The agent I’ve been working with came and got it less than thirty minutes ago.”
He reached back into his bag and pulled out a gift bag from Fair Park Museum. Inside was a small jade pendant replication of the jaguar god. The one I'd wanted when we visited the exhibit.
“Rafe. I love it! Thank you. For everything.” We were about to engage in another kissing session when the intercom sounded again. The stage manager voice seemed a bit miffed.
“Kiely Davlin and Rafe Montez! Places! You're late. Show’s up in four minutes.”
Chapter 31
“Gennel'men. Ah b'lieve the last hand is mine. Excuse me whilst I take m'winnins.”
“Ah don't raghtly think so, Mr. Travis. Seems to me that four aces beats three of a kind every day includin' Sunday. Now, ah'll jest take that pot.”
“Not so fast, Mr. Lamar. I'd say my royal flush make those aces look pretty puny. Nothing personal, you understand. But this round goes to me.”
'Jest hold those hands offn' the table, Nick Nefarious. If I 'member m'poker rules, a royal flush starts ace high, don't it? And since I've got four of 'em, you, sir, are cheating.”
The sound of five chairs crashing to the ground and five guns cocking filled the air. I waited. The card players waited. No one even breathed. Tensions mounted to the point of explosion.
The opening chords sounded. “Gamblers We.” Card players and dancehall girls slipped smoothly into the routine I'd taught a month ago. I grinned at Rafe (as my character Delilah Delight, of course) and he grinned back. Which wasn't quite in character for Nick Nefarious—an honest leer was more fitting—but the audience would never know the difference.
The show was going great. We'd made it to this point in Act Three with nary a stumble. The orchestra had kept the tempos lively, the actors were performing with high energy, and even the elder members of the company seemed charged up and were tossing out ad-libs worthy of stand-up comics in Vegas. The “Hog-tie Hoedown” had gotten terrific applause and cheers, Rafe's rope had held tight, no railings had split, no fires were blazing, and no bones were falling out of ceilings.
I hadn't had a free moment to think through all the things Rafe had told me right before “places” had been called an hour earlier. Smuggling at East Ellum and the imports shop. Seemed implausible, but then again, what a great setup. A theatre stuffed full of props. Who outside of an art expert would notice if strange pots or paintings were real? And with an im
port shop nearby, the “merchandise” could be disposed of quickly.
“Miss Delight? I have a proposition for you.”
I wriggled my hips. “Yes, Mr. Nefarious? Jes' what is it a gennelman lahk yourself would care to 'propose' to li'l ol' me?”
The audience clapped. It was Act Three. By now they knew pretty darned well what Nick Nefarious had in mind for Delilah Delight. Rafe winked broadly at the first row of patrons and ad-libbed a one-liner.
“Sorry, boys, she's all mine, and so's the proposition.”
More applause and cheers. Rafe returned to the script, declaring Nick Nefarious' intent to take Delilah on a world cruise on the Brazos Belle, “Soon's I finish up winnin' the deed to the Primrose ranch once again from Lance Lamar.”
Hoots and whistles came from the crowd, along with advice such as: “Don't do it, Delilah. He'll put you off on the next boat to China.”
“Go for it, Delilah. If he breaks your heart you can always kick him where it hurts.”
Rafe whipped his head in the direction of the audience where the last comment had come from. He tossed a handful of popcorn at the speaker, who couldn't have been more than fifteen.
In his Rafe, rather than “Nick” voice, he yelled, “Don't give this woman ideas, friend. Have you seen the boots she wears?”
More laughter accompanying tosses of more popcorn.
We returned to the actual script and kept our tempo up. The gunfight was fast approaching. For a second I shuddered, remembering that this was the scene where Don Mueller had been killed fifty years ago.
Cyrus looked tense. I didn't blame him. Things hadn't turned out so well the last time he'd performed these actions. I had to applaud the courage it had taken for him to get back on stage, to repeat lines that had led up to tragedy, and still manage to enchant an audience two generations removed from his first production of Bad Business. I caught Cyrus's eye and smiled at him from my perch at the bar behind the gaming table.
The moment had arrived. With a crash, tables were tossed over, and poker chips, paper deeds, and plastic cups and bottles went flying. The dancehall girls all ran in front of the bar, and then paused and followed the action.
Ghosts, Wandering Here and There Page 23
