by Adrianne Lee
Livia wanted to smack something. She clamped her teeth, furious at Wendy for hurting Mark, for being so narrow-minded. “True love has nothing to do with how heavy or thin someone is, with how pretty or handsome, either. True love is all about the spirit and the soul, Mark.”
“You seem pretty sure of that.”
“I am…now.” She felt her cheeks heat. “You know, that saying, ‘It’s as easy to love a rich man as a poor one, so marry a rich one’?”
He frowned, obviously not making the connection between one thing and the other. “I’ve heard it.”
“Well, I believed it. Made it my mantra. As callous as that sounds now, it’s what drew me to Reese. It’s almost funny that I had to die before I could learn true love isn’t calculating. Love comes from the heart, not the pocketbook.”
He touched her cheek and his eyes seemed to embrace her with the very emotion they were discussing. “And…it comes when you least expect it.”
She cleared her throat. “I know.”
“Livia, if I should die when the sand runs to the bottom of that hourglass—”
“No.” She put her hand over his mouth. “We can’t let that happen.”
He pulled her hand away, kissed her palm. “But in case we can’t prevent it, I want you to know that I’ll always be grateful for this, for our time together, for you.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Me, too. For you.”
She cleared her throat and wiped at the wetness on her cheeks. If she dwelled on this she’d never be able to leave this house, this room. And they had to. Soon.
She asked, “I’m assuming you didn’t see who knocked you out or you’d have said so, right?”
“Right. I didn’t even hear anything. The motor in the freezer was running. I just felt a sudden exploding pain through my skull, then nothing, until you were bending over me.”
“So, who do you think was shooting at us tonight, er, last night?” She glanced at her watch, noting it was near dawn.
“I’m assuming it was the same person who hit me.” Mark’s expression turned puzzled and he shook his head. “But you know, since the person had a gun, why didn’t whoever it was just shoot me?”
“Because he or she intended us to die in that freezer, intended it to look like a tragic accident. I don’t think you were expected to awaken in time to tell me about the safety latch. But you did, and we escaped, and whoever was there panicked.”
“Who could it have been? Which of the three of them?”
“Four,” she said. “Ali might have been involved. Not that I can assign her a motive at the moment, but she might once have been involved with Reese. Might still be. You saw them when we showed up unexpectedly.”
“Okay, four. Which one is it?”
She considered. “Any of them, I suppose. I mean, Sookie and Ali didn’t share with me any plans they might have had for the evening. Jay-Ray and Reese were supposedly meeting with clients at a Sonics’ game, but they left in separate cars and either one of them could have doubled back. But we can ask if either of them was late getting to the game.”
“All we’ll have is their word for it. If it was Jay, Reese might have thought he was meeting with a woman or a bookie and alibi him.”
“Jay would probably do the same for Reese.”
“All Ali and Sookie have to do is lie. We won’t know the difference.” She wanted to scream with frustration.
“Maybe we’d better stick to following the money trail,” Mark suggested.
“How are we supposed to do that? Where do we begin?” She sighed. “I feel like Dorothy looking for the start of the yellow brick road without the Munchkins to guide me. Do we somehow steal the keys to the office files? Maybe from Ali?”
He considered that a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think the Rayburns keep the kind of papers we need at the office. The home office where Wendy was killed is where we’ll find what we’re after.”
“Return to the scene of the crime.” Livia felt the first stirring of hope. She’d heard that mentioned in every detective book or movie she’d ever read or watched. It made sense, if for no other reason than that it would give them a feel of what might have happened on that fatal afternoon three years ago. “We need access to the house. Maybe we should suggest a cocktail party or something to Sookie.”
She could see from his face that he didn’t like the idea.
He shoved his hand through his hair. “I’m afraid we couldn’t steal away from a party—that I’d be catering and you’d be hosting—long enough to do what we need to do.”
“You’re probably right. So, what else?”
“I think it would be better if no one knows we’re there.”
“You mean…sneak in?” She could see it was exactly what he meant. “Okay, then I guess my question is, when do you want to do this?”
“Not today. We can’t know whether or not one or more of our suspects might decide to come home and interrupt us. Besides, the servants will be there, too.”
“Then when?”
“Tonight, after everyone has gone to bed.”
“That’s another whole day wasted, Mark.” She tucked the hourglass and chain beneath her sweater. “Can we afford to wait?”
“We don’t have any choice.”
They stared at one another a long moment. Then Livia said, “Okay. Then, tomorrow, er, today, I’ll arrange to pick Josh up from school, spend the afternoon with him at the mansion, and before I leave, I’ll rig a door or window somehow for us to use to gain entry.”
“Rig a door or window? My, you’re becoming a real B and E expert.” He was grinning that devilish smile again. “I hope nothing goes wrong. I’d hate to see your pretty little behind tossed in jail.”
“Don’t even think that. I’m not going to land in jail. Besides, you’ll be breaking and entering with me—be as much at risk of getting caught as me.”
“Well, that settles it, then. We can’t get caught. I’m not going back to jail. Not even for you, pretty lady.”
The hourglass hanging over Livia’s heart went icily cold.
Chapter Fourteen
LADY FINGERS
Take Some Motherly Wisdom
Spread It Over One Daughter
Stew Until Half Baked
The hourglass had never gone icy before, and Livia couldn’t shake the awful sense that it was a portend of something bad, something worse than she had even imagined. She decided not to mention it to Mark. She headed home on near deserted streets, driving across town faster in the pre-rush-hour traffic than she should have, as though she could outrun whatever hovered on the horizon.
She sneaked into her parents’ house half an hour before her mom got up to fix breakfast for her dad, a morning ritual every working day of his life.
As agitated as she felt, Livia didn’t expect to sleep, but she realized she had when she awakened to the aroma of coffee. Still drowsy, she figured the scent wafted into her room through the heater vent as it had the other day.
A nearby noise startled her. She pried open her eyes to find her mother sitting on a chair she’d pulled to the side of the bed. She held out a steaming mug for her. Livia jerked into a sitting position. “Is something wrong?”
“I thought maybe you could tell me, dear.”
Livia struggled for control of her face. When Bev Kingston used her “mommy understands” voice, her “mommy understands” eyes on one of her kids, that kid was totally “found out.” I am in such trouble.
Livia propped pillows at her back, wiped the sleep from her eyes, accepted the proffered mug and took a sip. The liquid rolled hot across her tongue and through her middle as scalding as the accusation in the set of her mother’s double chins.
Despite this, Livia decided to play dumb as long as possible to figure out exactly what her mother knew. “What makes you think something is wrong with me, Mom?”
“Well, for one thing…you called to say you’d be out late, so naturally I assumed that meant you were wi
th Reese. But then he called. So, obviously, you weren’t with him.”
“Reese called? When?”
How did this apple-cheeked matron in a pink polyester pantsuit, with her Shirley Temple curls and twinkling blue eyes manage to come across like a uniformed inquisitor? “Which time, dear?”
Which time? Reese had called more than once? How unlike him. “The first time.”
“Around six.”
Just after she and Mark had been shot at in the warehouse. “Reese and Jay-Ray were at a Sonics game at six, Mom. You must be mistaken about the time.”
“No. Larry King had just come on. Six o’clock sharp. Reese didn’t mention anything about a basketball game. He said that his plans for the evening had changed and he was free to go to dinner with you and the boy.”
Livia sipped coffee, pondering this. So, he and Jay-Ray’s plans had changed. Had Jay gone on to the game without Reese? Or had they both skipped the game? Either way, one of them could have been the person shooting at her and Mark in the warehouse last night. She gave her mother a weak smile. “I’m sorry I missed a chance to be with Josh. I’m going to see him today, though.”
“Where were you, dear?”
“Where did you tell him I was?” Livia drank more coffee.
Bev watched her. “I told him you had some things to take care of with Bridget. I figured that was where you were.”
Good. “Thank you.”
“He called again. Around nine.”
“And…?”
“I told him you and Bridget had probably gone out to eat. He wondered why you didn’t have your cell phone turned on. Why you weren’t answering your voice mail. I don’t mean this as criticism, dear, but you are usually—what’s the word? Oh, yeah, anal—about that phone. About messages About everything. I don’t know anyone as organized as you. So, something pretty important has to be going on for you to ignore that phone. To ignore your voice mail.”
“I have a lot on my mind. A lot of planning and not a lot of days to do it in.” She finger-combed her hair. “Bridget has been great about helping out.”
She would have to talk to Bridget, get her to cover for her.
“Bridget called around ten,” her mother said. “She hasn’t seen you since before you had the flu.”
So much for covering. Livia felt the blood draining from her face and decided she’d better stick as close to the truth as she could. Less chance of tripping herself up later. “I was planning the food. With the caterers.”
“Until dawn?”
Mom had been checking this room half the night to see whether or not I was home. Livia groaned inwardly. How she had hated this trait in her mother before she’d moved out. This was exactly what she deserved for moving back in. No! No, no, no, no. She would never criticize this woman again for loving her or for being concerned about her. She’d been lucky to have been born into this big, nosy loving family. But she couldn’t tell her mother the truth. Couldn’t tell her that she might die in ten days…or less. “After I left the caterer’s, I met with some of the gals from the gym.”
Her mother’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, there’s an all-night health food bar someplace I don’t know about?”
Livia winced at the sarcasm.
Her mother eyed her critically, the “understanding mommy” gone. “You’re glowing, Livia. The kind of glow that a woman has who is well and truly in love.”
“I am…in love.” Just not with my fiancé. Livia blew out a breath, relieved that her mother didn’t really know anything. She was guessing. Making assumptions without proof. “With Reese.”
“Oh, really? Explain to me then why you’ve never had that glow in all these months. Not when you first announced you were marrying Reese Rayburn. Not when you brought him home to meet us. Not when he gave you his ring—a ring that is missing from your finger this morning.”
Livia’s gaze jerked to her hands. The ring. Oh, God, she’d left it on the toilet tank in Mark’s bathroom. Her face burned as she lifted her gaze to her mother’s. This was not good. Not good at all. Before she saw Reese or any of the Rayburns, or her family, she had to get that ring back on her finger where it belonged. “I left it in the bathroom.”
Not her bathroom, but a bathroom. It was half true.
“Of all my brood, you were always the worst liar, Livia.” Bev patted her cheek fondly as though she’d just paid her a supreme compliment. “I was going to mail your invitations today, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea if there isn’t going to be a wedding.”
“There is going to be a wedding.” Livia set the coffee on the nightstand, tossed aside the covers and strode to her dresser and yanked open the underwear drawer. “You’re being silly, Mother. I look just the same as I always have.”
Bev stood and put the chair back in the corner. “Then I should mail the invitations?”
Livia spun back to her mother, clutching clean panties and bra against her rapidly beating heart. “Would you mind waiting on that for a couple of days?”
“Of course not, dear…but why?”
Livia shrugged, gesturing as though it were no big deal. “I want to make sure no one’s been forgotten.”
“I see.” Her mother gathered the mug Livia had discarded. “Meanwhile, I suggest you put your ring back on before you meet Reese for breakfast this morning.”
Livia felt as if her stomach were one huge knot. “I’m not meeting Reese for breakfast.”
“He seems to think you are. At least that’s what he told me to tell you when he called around midnight.”
The house phone rang.
“That’s probably him now.” Her mother looked as though she expected Livia to answer it.
“I can’t talk to him. I—I have to shower. Could you get it?”
The phone kept ringing.
Her mother didn’t move.
“Mom, please. If it is Reese, tell him I’m still sound asleep, that you haven’t had a chance to speak to me yet.”
Bev shook her head and folded her arms across her ample bosom. She abhorred lying and liars. No matter the cause. “Not unless you tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t. Not today. But soon. I promise.”
Bev started toward the door with reluctance, then seemed to make up her mind about something and crossed to Livia, giving her cheek a sympathetic stroke. “Most every bride experiences a bout of cold feet, Livia, but if you’re having sincere doubts, it is better to call the whole thing off than to say ‘I do’ to the wrong man. Marriage is more than a fancy-schmancy wedding. Too many women go into it with blinders on. They don’t realize it’s a lifelong commitment to clean up after some man, to share not endless hours of joy and passion, but day-to-day drudgeries. Choosing the wrong partner is like landing in hell. Choosing the right one…” She broke off, smiling. “Is a gift from heaven.”
During her speech, the phone had stopped ringing. Livia stared at her mother, absorbing the sincerity of her words, understanding the partnership her parents shared as she never had before falling in love with Mark. Tears filled her eyes at the realization that she and Mark might have nothing but the few remaining days to share.
Livia embraced her mother, hugging her tightly. “Thanks, Mom.”
“For what?” Bev looked flustered. It wasn’t like Livia to be sentimental and neither woman knew how to handle it.
Livia stepped back and gazed into her mother’s eyes. “For everything.”
The phone began to ring again, and Bev nodded, glancing between the shrill, insistent summons and her daughter, obviously torn. At last she made up her mind. “I’ll catch the extension in the master bedroom.”
As she watched her leave, Livia swallowed against the flutter of nerves in her stomach. She felt flustered, too. At her behavior, at the state of her world in general. She rushed into her bathroom, closing the door behind her. She had to get to Mark’s, had to tell him that Reese and Jay-Ray were definitely on their suspect list after last night. She showered and dressed, frustrat
ed and anxious, coming up with more questions than answers, all the while feeling time dwindling, slipping away.
Her mother was still talking on the phone as she let herself out the back door minutes later and tore to her car.
She wanted to phone Mark, but she dare not turn on her cell phone for fear Reese would call before she could dial. As she approached Cupid’s Catering, she pulled into the alley, then thought better of it as she spied the van and a couple of cars occupying the parking area. Candee and Nanette were obviously inside and would be bound to wonder what a customer was doing pulling up to their back stoop.
She circled the block and parked in front of the house. She sprinted to the porch and rang the bell. She felt conspicuous and vulnerable on the open street, as if someone watched, spying on her. Though she hadn’t noticed anyone—or any car anyway—following her and she’d been the only one parking as she pulled to the curb.
Nerves, she thought, chiding herself to calm down even as she gave the bell another impatient punch. Maybe the caterers didn’t answer this door without an appointment. That was what their sign stated. She hugged her coat closer against a rising wind. How strict was their “appointment only” policy? Was business so good they could afford to lose foot traffic?
She shook off the erratic thoughts as she caught the sound of footsteps approaching from inside. The door opened and a petite natural blonde with waist-length hair secured in a ponytail and large unadorned brown eyes graced the doorway. She wore a T-shirt, ankle-length skirt, and earth sandals. Her teal apron was dusted with flour, reminding Livia of the flour that had dusted her jacket last night after the bullet split that bag on the shelf in the warehouse.
Her stomach clenched and the anxiety to get inside, out of harm’s way, swept her anew. “I’m Livia Kingston, a client. I know I don’t have an appointment, but I need to speak with Mr. Everett, if he’s available.” She half expected the woman to ask why she hadn’t called if she had something to discuss with Mark.
But she smiled warmly. “I know who you are, Ms. Kingston. I’m Nanette White. Won’t you come in. Mark’s in the kitchen. I’ll get him.”
