by Laurel Pace
Ken tilted his chair back, stretching his long legs out to one side of the table. "So now it looks as if we have a murder that has no connection to a bogus murder threat. Plus, we still haven't proved who sent you that note. I don't know about you, but I think old Sapphira might actually have been taken by surprise when you accused her this morning."
"I still don't trust her," Dani maintained. "But I do feel better about one thing."
"What's that, sweetheart?"
"Apparently, Richardson was planning to tell me the truth."
Ken let the chair lurch forward and then leaned across the table to stroke her hand."He wanted to do what was right, Dani. Sapphire's already mentioned that he planned to leave you his house. I'm sure he really wanted to make it up to you for not having been there when you were younger."
"I would rather have had him than a hundred houses," Dani whispered, caressing Ken's hand with her thumb.
Ken held her hand for a long moment. Then he gave it a light shake. "You know, something just occurred to me. Remember the appointment Richardson had with Powell Boynton about transferring the title to his yacht? Maybe he was planning to give it to you."
"But I don't even sail!" Dani protested.
Ken shrugged. "It's just a guess. At any rate, it wouldn't hurt to ask Powell now that he's out of intensive care."
"That's a good idea," Dani agreed. "If I'm going to pull off catering this costume ball on Halloween, I have to do some big-time cooking tonight, but we could pay Powell a visit tomorrow morning if you're free."
Ken settled both his hands over hers and smiled. "Right now, I'm as free as a bird."
AS IT TURNED OUT, however, Ken had not taken into account the fetters still tying him to Associated Security. When he phoned Dani the following morning, she could tell from the way he said "hi" that something was wrong.
"I'm not going to be able to go with you to the hospital today." Ken's pause hinted that he was not happy about the news he was about to share and was searching for the least distasteful way to say it. "Miles Farrell called me around 2:00 a.m. this morning."
"Who's Miles Farrell?" Dani interjected, wondering if yet another player had been introduced into the mystery enveloping them.
"My boss at Associated Security."
Dani felt her heart gravitating in the direction of her shoes, but she stifled her dismay for Ken's sake. To judge from his tense tone of voice, the conversation with Farrell had not been pleasant; Ken didn't need yet another person pressuring him at this point.
"I have to be in Washington by noon today. I managed to get a flight out in a couple of hours."
"When will you be back?" It was the question she most dreaded asking.
Ken took a deep breath; whether he was trying to collect himself or buy time, Dani couldn't tell. "I don't know," he confessed reluctantly. "Some time next week, I hope. I still have a lot of things to take care of here, the apartment, and, well... I'll be back soon."
To pack your things, clear out the apartment and say goodbye. That was the logical sequence of events, even if Ken were too rushed or squeamish or kind to spell it out right now. You just can't do that, Dani cried inwardly. Not after what we've shared. It can't end like this. Of course, he wouldn't simply chuck her under the chin and promise to write, but the specter of an enforced physical separation was rife with a number of equally alarming pitfalls. They would both have to make an extraordinary effort to nurture the relationship. Spur-of-the-moment get-togethers would be out of the question, and when they did manage to see each other, would they find that the lines of communication had grown brittle with disuse?
"Let me give you a phone number where you can get in touch with me," Ken was saying on the other end of the line. "I don't know where I'll be staying for the time being, but the Associated office can usually find me."
Dam clamped the receiver beneath her chin and scribbled the number on the kitchen notepad. "Got it," she mumbled.
Ken didn't say anything for a moment. "Well, I'd better start throwing a few things into my garment bag if I want to make that flight. Look, take care of yourself. I'll be checking in with you. And, Dani, if anything seems strange, bothers you, I don't care how insignificant it might seem, call Joe Simpson. Promise?"
"I promise."
"Okay." Another of those long pauses intervened. "Bye, then."
"Goodbye, Ken." The phone clicked in her ear.
Just like that, and he's gone. The sobering thought cast a shadow over her mind that refused to be dispelled. We'll talk soon. He'll be back. In an effort to boost her sagging spirits, Dani reviewed the more encouraging segments of their conversation as she drove to the hospital. It was the conventional stuff that dating couples offered each other when circumstances drew them apart. But we're more than a dating couple! she heard her offended heart cry. Worse still, the very words that Ken had not said weighed most heavily on her: I love you.
Inside the hospital elevator, Dani forced herself to shift these troubling considerations to the back of her mind for the time being. At the very least, a recovering heart patient deserved a cheerful smile and the semblance of pleasant conversation. Already, Dani felt slightly uneasy with the prospect of bringing up Richardson Whyte's name. She would introduce the topic of Richardson's appointment with Powell as gently as possible.
Dani stopped at the nurse's station to confirm Powell Boynton's room number before continuing down the corridor. Saturday morning was a peak time for visitors, no doubt; the possibility that Rebecca or Theo might have decided to drop in on Powell prompted her to approach the half-closed door cautiously. When only the faint rustle of sheets broke the silence on the other side of the door, Dani knocked lightly.
"Yes?" The voice sounded weak, strained.
Dani eased through the door. "Mr. Boynton? How are you feeling? I hope I'm not disturbing you." As she neared the hospital bed, she was startled by how gaunt Powell looked. Stretched over his prominent facial bones, his skin reminded her of weak skim milk, thin and bluish. His tired eyes peered from their hollows, struggling for a moment to place the unexpected visitor.
"Miss Blake!" His colorless lips slowly pulled into a smile. "What a pleasure to see you! I hope that son of mine is giving you all the help you need with the costume ball."
Dani returned his smile. "Theo is doing a great job of managing the affair, but, of course, everyone is going to miss you tomorrow night."
"I would make a fine ghost, don't you think?" Powell lifted his hand, raising the sheet draped over it. "Trouble is, ghosts never win any costume awards—those always go to the space aliens and the two-person horses." His dry chuckle dissolved into a cough. Dani joined in his laughter. She chatted for a few minutes about the awards ceremonies Theo had planned and the Ghostly Guests ritual that was to be a part of the evening's program. Although Powell's illness had sapped his stamina, his eyes brightened and a bit of color returned to his face as he smiled and offered comments. An intelligent man accustomed to leading an active life, he obviously missed participating in the larger world and was eager for news of events outside the confining hospital room.
"I'm giving those doctors another few days to make up their minds, and then I'm going home—whether they like it or not," Powell threatened good-naturedly. "Staying cooped up like this is guaranteed to turn a healthy person into an invalid. Nothing for company all day but that thing!" He gestured contemptuously toward the blank TV screen suspended in front of the bed. "I'd be half mad by now if I didn't have my books and the daily paper. I've been hoping to open the paper one morning and read that the police have apprehended Richardson's murderer," he added, his pallid face growing sober. "They don't seem to be making much progress, do they?"
"No, it's very frustrating," Dani agreed.
Powell shook his head. "And now poor Beatrice Lawes! I've lived most of sixty-five years in this city and never seen such awful violence. It almost seems as if a terrible plague has befallen us. I was very disturbed to hear of your hair-raising ex
perience aboard the yacht. Thank God no one was seriously hurt by that ruthless act of vandalism."
"I'm terribly sorry about the yacht. It was such a beautiful boat. I understand that Theo had put a lot of work into it, too," Dani remarked.
The thin shoulders shrugged beneath the ill-fitting hospital gown. "For my mind, Miss Blake, the old Bandeira Branca never looked finer than when she sailed forth from the yacht club with Dan Blake at the helm. I know your father would have been pleased that you were the last person to pay the boat a visit before those ruthless vandals destroyed it."
To judge from Powell's warm smile, Dani guessed that he was still blithely unaware of Richardson's secret. Theo would have learned of the Whyte family's long-suppressed scandal from his fiancee, Rebecca, but his future in-laws' passion for secrecy had no doubt prevented him from sharing it with his father. "I suppose Richardson was going to let Theo have the boat someday," Dani remarked as casually as possible.
Powell pursed his lips. "Sailing is one of Theo's passing fancies, and Richardson was willing to indulge the boy. But I am certain he could never have brought himself to surrender custody of that boat. It simply meant too much to him."
Dani frowned in puzzlement. "But wasn't he planning to transfer ownership of the boat?"
"If he was, he certainly never said a word to me about the matter," Powell insisted.
"Mr. Boynton, I'm almost certain I saw a note on your desk calendar when I met with Theo last week. Wasn't Richardson planning to meet with you and arrange for the transfer of the boat's title?" In making that admission, she risked portraying herself as a snoop. Given her suspicions about the yacht's destruction, however, she was determined to find out what exactly Richardson had intended to do with the vessel.
"No, not unless this wretched illness has affected my memory," Powell began slowly and then caught himself. He smiled apologetically. "Now I see what you're talking about—the Bandeira Branca transfer! I had almost forgotten it shared its name with the yacht!"
"There are two Bandeira Brancas?"
Powell nodded, raising his head slightly off the pillows. "I suppose we have Richardson's sentiment to thank for the confusion. When he underwrote the shipping firm in Brazil, he was given the privilege of christening the newly formed company. Bandeira branca means white flag in Portuguese. Since Portuguese is the official language of Brazil, it seemed an ideal name for the company, as well as a way of honoring the old vessel he loved—we all loved—so well." As he gazed across the room at the blank wall, he looked as if his thoughts were far from the characterless hospital room, transported back to the golden years of his youth. "If I had known at the time what he ultimately planned to do with his investment, I would have thought the name even more appropriate," he added with a wistful smile.
"Why is that?" Dani asked.
When Powell looked back at Dani, a kindly twinkle glimmered in his weary eyes. "Because the Bandeira Branca Shipping Company was destined to provide for the legacy of the Bandeira Branca's captain. Richardson was going to deed his holding in the company to you, Miss Blake, every penny of it!"
Chapter Sixteen
"What's up, Dani?" A haze of sleepiness blanketed Georgia Fairchild's normally perky voice.
Under any other circumstances, Dani would never have dreamed of phoning her old friend before noon on a Saturday. When they had roomed together in college, Georgia had regarded early rising on weekends as an unforgivable barbarism, something akin to shoving little old ladies and eating raw meat; she had stubbornly clung to the belief through an MBA program and into her professional life as a stockbroker. This morning, however, Dani would have been willing to brave an obstacle far more threatening than a little drowsy grumpiness from Georgia.
"I've got to have some background on a company in Brazil," Dani told her.
Georgia made a token effort to stifle a yawn before answering. "Brazil, you say?"
"Yes. You can get financial information on foreign companies, can't you?" Dani persisted.
"Sure, but it could take a little time. Sometimes inquiries abroad don't get the snap-to attention we give 'em here in the good ol'U.S. of A."
In her desperation, Dani gripped the phone a little tighter. "Georgia, I've got to have this information right away. It's absolutely urgent." "A hot stock tip, huh?" Georgia swallowed another yawn, but she was beginning to sound interested.
"You might say that. Can you do it?"
"I have to go into the office today anyway. I'll do my best and see what I can stir up," Georgia promised.
That was really the most anyone could offer, Dani told herself later that afternoon as she and Elaine scurried around the Moveable Feast kitchen, putting the finishing touches on six dozen miniature cheese quiches. There was an excellent chance, too, that the information Georgia received from Brazil would do nothing to enlighten the mystery-shrouded circumstances surrounding Richardson's death. Dani was playing a hunch again, she knew, one that might well prove futile. Still, could she afford to ignore the fact that Richardson was murdered one day before he had been planning to transfer a valuable asset to her? Money sometimes inspired heinous behavior, and any number of people could have stood to benefit from the Bandeira Branca investment remaining in the Whyte family. At this point, she refused to let herself speculate on who could have valued wealth greatly enough to kill for it.
If she only had Ken to talk things over with, Dani reflected, her nerves would feel less like a bundle of explosives ready to go off at the least provocation. Even a brief phone call would be better than nothing. With this thought in mind, Dani rang the Washington, D.C., number Ken had given her as soon as she got home that evening.
"This is the night answering service," a bored voice told her on the Other end. "Regular office hours for Associated Security are 9:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. Monday through Friday, except in cases of emergency."
"This is an emergency." Given her frame of mind, Dani felt that statement was no exaggeration.
"Are you a client?"
"No, but..."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm not allowed to give out the emergency telephone number. That number is reserved exclusively for clients of Associated Security." The phone clerk recited her lines in a flat monotone calculated to discourage troublesome inquiries. When she concluded, Dani almost expected her to drone "next!"
"Look, I've got to get in touch with an Associated Security employee, Ken McCabe. Do you have a number where he can be reached?" Dani struggled to contain her impatience.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm not allowed to—"
"Give out the telephone numbers of company employees," Dani finished for her. "Surely you can take a message and give it to him when he phones in."
"Yes, ma'am, I can do that." The clerk sounded offended, but she dutifully read back Dani's name as well as her home phone number and the number of the Moveable Feast kitchen.
By noon the following day, Ken had still not called. Dani vacillated between blaming the snippy phone clerk for carelessness on the one hand and worrying about Ken on the other. Of the two possibilities, the latter offered by far the less-palatable possible scenarios. Could Ken have already been reassigned to another city? Was he now involved in a demanding assignment that had superseded the Charleston case in his mind? Had he picked up her message and put it on the back burner, intending to call her whenever time permitted?
The annoying guessing game resolved itself Monday morning—in a maddeningly frustrating way. Dani returned from setting up tables and service supplies in the Great Colonial Hall to find the red message light on her answering machine blinking. "I'm sorry I missed you," Ken apologized on the recording. "I'll try to reach you later this evening. Hope you're doing okay." He hesitated before saying "Bye."
Apparently, Ken had become so absorbed in whatever he was doing in Washington that he had forgotten tonight was Halloween. Still, Dani had talked so much about catering the costume ball, she was a little surprised—and piqued— that it had slipped his mind so easi
ly. And why on earth hadn't he left a number where she could reach him directly? He had to be sleeping somewhere; these days, even the most Spartan hotels had phones. Her inability to formulate a satisfactory answer for any of those questions continued to dog her throughout the day.
When Moveable Feast's phone rang while Dani and Ben were loading the van that afternoon, she tore back into the kitchen.
"Hello," Dani said, trying to catch her breath.
"Hi, Dani," Georgia greeted her. "I know it's getting late in the day and you probably have a job tonight, but I wanted to bring you up to date on this Bandeira Branca business. I learned that the company is licensed in Rio, but really haven't been able to get anything more concrete than that. You sounded pretty eager to get your hands on this info, though, so I decided to collect on a favor. One of the guys in my MBA class works with an American bank in Rio—I referred some clients to him when he was still stateside, so he owes me one—or two or three, for that matter. He's promised to do the footwork personally on finding out about the company. In fact, I may hear from him as soon as tonight."
"Oh, Georgia, that would be wonderful! Will you call me the minute you have something? I'll give you a number where you can reach me tonight."
"All right," Georgia agreed. "This must be one hell of a red-hot tip. Maybe I should consider buying some of this stock."
After Dani thanked her friend and said goodbye, she took a deep, calming breath. She would know soon enough just how much the Bandeira Branca Shipping Company was worth. Then the only question remaining would be who could have deemed that sum worth committing murder for.
For once, Dani was grateful for the inevitable pressure that came with catering a lavish fund-raising event. While she was running back and forth between the service area and the Great Colonial Hall, checking hors d'oeuvre trays and punch bowls, she had little opportunity to ponder the outcome of Georgia's investigation and its possibly sinister implications.
The costumes, too, were a welcome distraction. Most were so well designed they completely obscured the wearer's identity. Dani did not recognize Theo until the swashbuckling pirate, replete with eye patch, twirled mustache and seven-league boots, stopped by the service area to congratulate her on the efficient setup. He was as cordial as ever, even going out of his way to compliment Ben and Elaine, but Dani detected a new note of coolness shading his conversation with her. Of course, it had only been a matter of time until Theo learned of her meeting with Sapphira, but his aloof manner bothered her nonetheless. He was yet another person joining the camp massed against her. In fact, with Ken now in Washington, Dani felt as if everyone were either blithely ignorant of her painful situation or actively committed to making matters worse for her.
