While they were working side by side in the attic the next day, Allen said, “Want to go to New York with me Friday?”
She only stared at him over a stack of papers she was sorting.
“I’m serious. The Josephine necklace is going to be auctioned at Sotheby’s. I’ve already reserved a suite at the Plaza. You could come along, do some shopping, see a few shows. You deserve a break after all this.”
“Thanks, Allen, but you know I can’t.”
“The offer’s open if you change your mind. I’ll be leaving Friday and I sure would love to have your company. Shoot, honey, if Bolt can drop everything to take a little vacation, you can, too.”
Allen didn’t mention Kathleen; he didn’t have to. No more was said about it, but that didn’t put a stop to Mary Scarlett’s nagging suspicions.
Mary Scarlett and Allen spent the next few days working at the house. Things were coming along nicely as far as the housecleaning and repairs were concerned. But every day that passed gave Allen more opportunity to needle Mary Scarlett—gently, of course—about Bolt and Kathleen. Bolt didn’t help matters by not phoning Mary Scarlett for several days.
When he finally called on Thursday, she was in no mood to be cordial. It was around eleven o’clock one night after a long, hot day of cleaning and sorting in the carriage house. She was already asleep when the phone rang.
“Honey, did I wake you?”
“Bolt?” She listened closely. Again, she heard bar-sounds in the background—music, laughter, and glasses tinkling. Her suspicions deepened. Her jealousy flared. “Where are you?”
“In Atlanta,” he said. “Still working. But I have some leads on the guy I’m looking for.”
“Oh, good,” she said sarcastically. Like I care! she added silently.
“What’s wrong, Mary Scarlett? Everything all right at the house?”
“Just dandy! If you don’t count the fact that someone came in here while I was away and robbed me blind.”
“Are you serious? My God! Have you called the police?”
“Yes, but they claim the theft took place so long ago that there’s no hope of finding any leads.”
“Well, we’ll just see about that. I’ll talk to them when I get back.”
All of a sudden, Mary Scarlett desperately wanted to see Bolt, to have him hold her and make love to her again. “Bolt, when are you coming home?”
There was a brief hesitation at the other end, then she heard him sigh. “I’d hoped to be back tomorrow or Saturday, but this may take longer than I planned. I just can’t tell you right now, honey. There are some details I still have to wind up.”
“How’s Kathleen?”
“What? How did you know she was here?”
Mary Scarlett felt real pain shoot through her heart. “I have my sources.”
Hearing that tone in her voice, he said, “It’s nothing, Mary Scarlett. We just happened to be on the same flight. We both had a free evening tonight so we decided to have dinner together.”
Stony silence on Mary Scarlett’s end.
“Believe me, darlin’, I’m ready to finish things up and get home as soon as possible. I miss you!”
“Don’t hurry things on my account,” she answered archly. “I’m leaving anyway.”
“Leaving?”
Mary Scarlett smiled at the panic she heard in his voice. Tit for tat, my love, she mused.
“Honey, what are you talking about? You can’t leave. Not now! Not when everything’s just starting to make sense between us. Come on, Mary Scarlett, give it a chance.”
A chance like you ’re giving it with Kathleen? she thought. “I’m going to New York for a few days, Bolt. Allen’s invited me to go with him to the auction, to see that diamond necklace sold.”
“Mary Scarlett, don’t do this.”
“Give my best to Kathleen.” Then she hung up. Then she cried.
What on earth had possessed her? She hadn’t the least desire to go to New York with Allen. She didn’t give a damn about that necklace. If she had only thought to ask Bolt where he was staying. If only she’d gotten his number. She could call him back this minute and tell him she wasn’t going to New York with Allen, that she had never had any intention of going. That she only wanted to be with him.
If, if, if!
But she didn’t have his number. So, still visualizing Bolt and Kathleen at their cozy dinner, she dialed Allen’s instead. “Count me in on the New York trip,” she said, then hung up.
When Bolt returned to the table from making his phone call, he looked as upset as he felt.
“Trouble?” Kathleen asked.
“How’d you guess?”
“Well, the fact that you look like somebody just shot your favorite bird dog gave me a clue. Want to talk about it?”
He sat down and struck the table with his clenched fist. “Damn! I knew I shouldn’t have left her alone so soon.”
Kathleen tried to hide her hurt. She had had high hopes for this dinner date. Neither she nor Bolt had known about the other’s planned trip to Atlanta until they boarded the plane in Savannah. They had sat together and talked on the flight, the talk consisting mostly of Bolt telling Kathleen how well things were going between him and Mary Scarlett, and Kathleen grinning and bearing it. At the Atlanta airport, they had gone their separate ways, but not before Kathleen had given Bolt the name of her hotel and he had promised to call sometime during the week.
The week had been half over when he finally phoned. She had gone all out, even had her hair and nails done and bought a new dress for the occasion. What a waste of red silk! All Bolt had talked about all evening was Mary Scarlett. Still, Kathleen had hopes for after dinner, when she planned to get herself invited back to his hotel room, but the last glimmer had faded when he excused himself to call home.
“Calm down, Bolt.” Kathleen glanced around the quiet dining room, sure everyone was staring at them after his outburst. She covered his fist with her hand to keep him from permanently scarring the antique table. “Tell me what’s happened.”
His eyes flashed dark fire. “Allen Overman! That’s what’s happened. He must have moved in on her before the plane even took off. Now he’s taking her to New York. Can you believe this?”
“And?”
He flashed an angry look at Kathleen. “And they’ll probably get real cozy while they’re there.”
“Like we have while we’ve been up here in Atlanta together, you mean?”
“Dammit, it’s not the same and you know it, Kathleen. We’re both here on business and we didn’t know we would be here at the same time. Why, we’ve hardly laid eyes on each other all week.”
She nodded, afraid a reply might betray her disappointment.
“Allen invited Mary Scarlett to go with him. But, by damn, she didn’t have to accept. I’ve a good mind to drop everything and fly home tonight.”
Kathleen couldn’t stifle a laugh. “You men!”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, it’s just that you’re all so gullible. I suspect that’s exactly what Mary Scarlett’s hoping you’ll do. She probably has no intention of going to New York with Allen. Or, if she does decide to go—just to make you jealous—she’ll insist on separate rooms and keep her door locked. She’s figuring, though, that you’ll come running home to her. A little white lie never hurt. I’d probably do the same thing in her shoes.”
“I don’t understand. She knows I’m here on business. And actually, it’s business that has to do with her. I’m hot on Big Dick’s trail.”
“You’re kidding, Bolt! You mean he’s still alive?”
“I’m not certain yet. But I know for a fact that he didn’t die in any boating accident.”
“Mary Scarlett doesn’t know anything about this?”
“No. The way she felt about her father, I thought it was better to keep it to myself.”
“Does she have any idea why you’re up
here?”
“Not really.”
Kathleen shook her head. “Men!” she said again. She stared Bolt square in the eye. “Look, I’m going to level with you, ole buddy. I haven’t given another man a second glance since Jimbo died. But finally I decided it was time. I haven’t been just dating you, I’ve been laying the groundwork for a marriage. Well, all those plans caved in on me the morning I read in the paper that Mary Scarlett was back. I knew before I ever saw her again that my chances were all washed up.”
Bolt looked at her with sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Kathleen. I never meant to lead you on. And I certainly didn’t mean to hurt you. I guess I was just so damn lonely.”
She laughed. “Weren’t we both! Don’t apologize, Bolt. We never really fell in love. We fell in like. Our relationship was so comfortable that we let it continue. Both of us were just going to settle because we hadn’t found anyone else to light our fires. At least I hadn’t. As for you, you’ve never gotten over Mary Scarlett, probably never will. If you don’t marry her, you’re a prize idiot.”
He chuckled. “You’ve got me pegged, all right. So what do I do next?”
“First of all, you turn me down flat when I try to worm my way into your hotel room later tonight. I’ll probably still try, even though I know it’s hopeless.”
He grinned at her. “You were really going to do that?”
“I most certainly was and I’ll probably still try, as I said. But it wouldn’t be a good idea, no matter how homy we are.”
“You are?” He gave her a crooked, sexy grin.
“Don’t you dare flirt with me, Bolton Conrad! If you’re going to marry Mary Scarlett, the fun’s over between us. And it has been fun.”
“Who says I’m going to marry Mary Scarlett? I want to—sure—but she’s got this idea about that damn mirror and some guy who’s been dead for years. Unless I can prove I’m him, there’s no way she’ll marry me.”
“What a crock! And you know it, Bolt. All Mary Scarlett or most any other woman wants is a man to sweep her off her feet. You keep giving her room, allowing her space to get away from you.”
“I crowded her before and I lost her. I’ve learned from that.”
“Pardon my French, darling, but you didn’t learn shit! Mary Scarlett’s not the same person she was back then. She’s changed; we all have. And we’re not getting any younger. If you want her, go get her.”
Bolt motioned to their waiter for the check, in a hurry all of a sudden. “Thanks, Kathleen. I know what I have to do now. I’ll drop everything and fly back tonight.”
“No, you won’t!” She gripped his hand as if to stop him physically. “Have you listened to anything I’ve said, Bolt? If you rush back to Savannah, it will be like waving a white flag. No woman wants a man who’s been humbled. We like winners, white knights who come to our rescue. That’s what takes the breath away.”
Bolt remained silent for several moments, a plan forming in his mind. The waiter came and took his credit card. A few minutes later, they were out in the parking lot, each waiting for the other to speak.
“I guess this is goodbye,” Kathleen said at last.
“Sure I can’t lure you back to my room?”
“In a heartbeat, but please don’t try, Bolt. I’m not a strong woman.”
He chuckled and kissed her cheek. “I guess I’ll see you back in Savannah next week then.”
She shook her head. “I doubt it. I’ve been offered a job with our Atlanta branch. I think the change will do me good. I’ll be back, but only long enough to pack up and head to the big city. You look surprised, Bolt.”
“Not really.” He hugged her, a definite farewell embrace. “You know I wish you luck, Katie. And thanks—for everything.”
Bolt stood in the parking lot until he saw Kathleen’s rental car vanish into the night, thinking of all that might have been and all that was still possible for the future.
He glanced at his watch. Twelve-twenty. “The perfect time to pay a call on Mr. Quincey,” he said.
Returning briefly to the restaurant, Bolt placed a local call. Minutes later, he was speeding toward an apartment complex on the outskirts of Marietta. The manager had told him earlier that Lumpkin Quincey had moved in last week and that he usually came in from work around midnight. With any luck, Bolt would find the subject of his search snoozing away, unsuspecting and unarmed.
He wasn’t disappointed. His heavy knock at the door was answered by a short, rumpled, bleary-eyed man. Magnolia was right—he did look like a ‘possum.
“Lumpkin Quincey?” Bolt demanded.
“Who wants to know?”
“Bolton Conrad,” he answered. “I’m Magnolia’s lawyer.”
“I don’t know no Magnolia,” the ‘possum whined. “Get the hell outta here!”
“Sorry, but I’ll have to stick around for just a bit. You see, you’re expecting more company, whether you know it or not.”
“I ain’t expecting nobody this time of night.”
“It’s a surprise party,” Bolt said with a friendly chuckle. “And here they are now.”
The flashing blue lights of the two police cars, responding to Bolt’s call, brought a low curse from Quincey. Once the uniforms reached the door, it was all over in minutes. Search warrant in hand, one of them handcuffed their prisoner and put him in the back of a squad car.
Among the cardboard boxes, still packed from his recent move, the investigators found letters from Richard Lamar, an address book with Magnolia’s name and various numbers in it, some of the jewelry Big Dick had stolen from the Bull Street house. They also found a cancelled check written to the boathouse where Lamar had rented his ill-fated fishing boat, credit cards belonging to Richard H. Lamar, and keys to Mary Scarlett’s house. There was one more thing, too, that especially interested Bolt. A letter written to Lumpkin Quincey by Allen Overman. Bolt frowned as he read the brief note. There was really nothing incriminating in its content, but still, the connection between the two men was there. What was Overman doing with a friend like Quincey?
Around three in the morning, Bolt followed the police cars to the station. With Quincey in custody, he would soon know the whereabouts of Big Dick. Then he could concentrate on more pleasant business, like the woman with hair as black as midnight at Bonaventure.
“Mary Scarlett,” he whispered. “You don’t know it yet, darlin’, but you’ve got a wedding to plan.”
Seventeen
Mary Scarlett woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. As wonderful as it had been to hear Bolt’s voice on the phone the night before, their conversation had left her anxious and upset. She shouldn’t have lied to him about going to New York with Allen. It was a cheap schoolgirl trick to make her lover jealous. He had damn well deserved it, but she felt bad just the same.
She had barely finished dressing when Allen arrived on her doorstep, beaming excitedly. “Mary Scarlett, darlin’, do I have a surprise for you!”
“Do you mind if I get a cup of coffee first?”
“I’ll allow that. Then you’d better get your bags packed for New York.”
His mention of the trip stabbed at her again. “Allen, I’ve changed my mind. I’m sorry, but I really can’t go. There’s just too much to do here.”
“No argument, honey! Not yet.” He took her arm and led her to the kitchen, heated a cup of last night’s coffee in the microwave, then set it before her. “Drink up. Then look at this.”
He flashed a colorful magazine before her eyes. “What is it?”
“Sotheby’s catalogue. And you’ll never guess what’s in it.”
“The Josephine,” she said dully.
“Yeah, but that’s not all.”
Quickly, he flipped through the pages of beautiful colored pictures until he found the one he was searching for. He held it out for her to see.
“Take a gander at this!”
Mary Scarlett set her mug down so sudd
enly that it spilled, pouring coffee all over the table and her lap before it pooled on the floor. “Allen!” she gasped. “It can’t be!”
“But it is, isn’t it?”
“Granny Boo’s mirror! How did it get to New York? What’s it doing for sale? It belongs to me.”
“Search me, honey. Maybe whoever stole all the other stuff took the mirror, too. But that doesn’t matter. We’ll go to New York and buy it back. I have to warn you, though, it’s likely to carry a pretty fancy price tag.”
She glanced up at him, frantic. “Allen, I don’t have a lot of cash right now. Everything’s still tied up until Raul’s estate is settled. He has some relatives back in Spain, and the Spanish courts are so slow. What if I don’t have enough?”
He leaned down and kissed her, then smiled into her eyes. “Don’t you fret, sweetheart. I’ll buy it for you. Even if I have to sell my house, I’ll get that mirror back for you.”
“Oh, Allen, I don’t want you to do that. Maybe I can get a loan or something.” Her face turned stormy. “Why should I have to buy it back anyway? It belongs to me. It’s stolen property.”
“That’s going to be hard to prove, since it’s for sale at Sotheby’s. They check out their items thoroughly. Somebody—whoever’s selling it—must have firm proof of ownership. But don’t you worry, Mary Scarlett. It will be a pleasure for me to buy that mirror back for you. Everything I have is yours, if you’ll accept it.”
Before Mary Scarlett realized what he was up to, Allen was down on one knee, holding her hands in his. While he was proposing marriage, all she could think about was that he was messing up his crisply laundered chinos in the pool of coffee she had spilled.
When he finished his long, rambling proposal, which included some wild fantasies about taking her to Tybee to eat oysters and make love in front of lifeguards on the beach under the moon, Mary Scarlett felt totally confused.
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