“I wonder who told her about our plans?”
“I’ll bet Simon did it. Sounds like his kind of dirty work.” Dallas paused as he glanced about the gallery. “Use this as an opportunity to get closer to Caston. Go after him. Tell him his guests were asking about him. Your appearance will undoubtedly make the situation worse,” he reasoned.
I frowned at him. “Then what?”
“Be understanding and remain cool with the girl. It will make Caston want to confide in you even more. Later, he may want to talk to you about his troubled relationship.” Dallas stepped back from me. “Agree to go wherever he suggests,” he directed.
I raised my eyebrows to him. “Wherever he suggests? Are you sure about this?”
“We need him, Nicci, so play along. Besides, he wants to win you over. He won’t try anything this soon in the game.”
“I hope you’re right.” I was about to step away when he reached for my hand.
“Remember, you’re David Alexander’s Jenny. Don’t let Caston ever forget that. The more he thinks you still belong to David, the more he’ll want you.”
I nodded and turned away. I headed straight for the door marked, No Admittance.
Once I had left the main gallery floor, I found myself in a dimly lit corridor. From a partially open door at the end of the hallway, I could hear the raised voices of a man and woman. I followed the voices until I stood in front of the slightly ajar office door. I took in a deep breath and gently pushed the door open.
Jenny Ryan was standing in front of a dark walnut and silver inlay desk. Her eyes widened when I entered the room. Greg had his back to me, but the instant the girl saw me, she lunged for me. Luckily, Greg jumped out in time to keep her from reaching me.
She struggled against Greg’s grip. “Ya’d better back off, bitch! He’s mine!” Jenny Ryan yelled, baring her sharp white teeth at me.
“Jenny!” Greg cried out while holding the squirming girl in his arms. “I’m not yours and don’t talk to Nicci that way. She and I are just—”
“Friends,” I said, finishing the sentence for him. “Nothing more, Ms. Ryan, I assure you. Greg merely offered to take me to his benefit to introduce me to people in the art scene. There can never be anything romantic between us.”
Greg turned to me and raised his eyebrows with amusement.
The girl stopped squirming and warily scrutinized my face. Her long auburn hair was tossed about her head, and there were already black circles under her eyes caused from a mix of tears and an overabundance of mascara.
“Ya expect me to believe ya?”
I smiled for her. “I have no interest in a man in my life. I’m still in love with the artist I buried three years ago. There’s no room in my heart for another.”
Jenny Ryan ceased her struggling and then Greg let her go. She stood adjusting her green sequined dress and trying to fix her hair. I could tell by the softening of her eyes that she had believed me.
“I, ah, am real sorry,” she said. “Simon La Roy told me you guys had a date.” She turned to Greg. “What was I supposed to think? Ya never said nothin’ ‘bout bringin’ her here. Ya should have told me ‘bout it.”
Greg turned away from Jenny Ryan and scowled. “You should never listen to anything Simon La Roy tells you. The man is a notorious liar.” He adjusted his tuxedo jacket around his shoulders. “Jenny, you cannot go off every time I spend an evening with another woman. I have a business to run,” he scolded.
Jenny Ryan shrugged. “Yeah, well. What ya expect, Gregie?”
Greg gave Jenny a dirty look and then turned his attention to me. “What are you doing back here, Nicci? I told you to wait for me at the party,” he said angrily.
I lowered my gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry, Greg, but I came back here to tell you that several guests were asking for you. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll just leave you….” I headed for the door.
“Wait, Nicci. Just give me a moment,” Greg pleaded.
I stopped at the door and tilted my head slightly to the side, showing him my profile. “You two have things to discuss.” I turned back to Jenny. “Good night, Ms. Ryan,” I said and then quickly slipped out the door.
When I returned to the party, I headed straight for the bar. I waited as the bartender poured the Dom Perignon Champagne into a tall flute. I picked up my glass and was about to take a sip when I heard a husky voice speak up beside me.
“You don’t need that.”
I turn to see Dallas’s dark blue eyes watching me.
“How did it go with the girlfriend?” he inquired.
“You were right. Simon told the girl about my date with Greg.”
“Probably thought it would help Caston confide in you,” Dallas stated as he reached out and took the drink out of my hand. “If Caston does want to talk to you after the party, try to find out what you can about David’s paintings. Ask him questions about art? That may prompt him to want to brag to you about his collection.”
“I can do that. I learned enough about art from David to know I won’t sound like a total idiot.”
“Just keep your eyes open and tell me all about it when you get home. I’ll be around. Heads up, Nicci, the temptress just spotted you,” he added with a cocky grin.
He walked away from the bar, taking my champagne with him. I sighed with regret at the loss of my sustenance. I noticed a woman coming toward me with intense blue eyes, perfectly coiffed blonde hair, and dressed in a shimmering blue gown.
“Nicci!” Sammy Fallon’s voice reverberated painfully through every bone in my body. I cringed when I saw her expensive veneers looming before me.
“Hello, Mrs. Fallon,” I said, trying to smile.
Sammy Fallon was a self-professed icon in the New Orleans social scene. I would have reckoned anything outside of the Garden District to be considered slumming by Sammy, but there she stood in all her resplendent shallowness.
“I didn’t realize you were coming tonight.” She looked about the bar. “Is Dallas here with you? I heard from Val that the two of you are getting married.”
“Dallas and I are on a break. Tonight, I’m here with Greg Caston.”
Sammy’s jaw dropped. “Well, that is quite some news. Be careful with that man, darling. He is known for his, how should I put it…his taste for a wide variety of women.”
“Greg and I are just friends, Mrs. Fallon. I’m really not interested in a relationship with any man right now.”
“Understandably so. After three engagements to Michael, David, and just recently Dallas, you must be absolutely exhausted with men.” She inspected my green velvet dress. “I seem to remember you wore that exact same dress the night of Val’s party. You said a lot of hurtful things to me that night, but Val told me later about your hunt for David’s killer and why you had to say the things you did.” She paused as her blue eyes found mine. “I thought you could have at least called and explained or apologized to me for what you said at the party, Nicci.”
“Apologized?” I fought to control the surprise in my voice. “Mrs. Fallon, we were hunting for a murderer, not a party crasher.”
She placed a diamond-clad hand over her heaving bosom. “What you said, in front of all those people, and the rumors that were started at my expense. I think a formal apology would have been the polite thing to do,” she said, raising her voice.
“If you hadn’t hired David to try and seduce me so you could destroy my family’s business, I would never have had to have gone in search of his murderer in the first place!”
“How dare you accuse me of such a horrible act!” She put a quivering hand to her Botox engorged face. “How could you say such a thing to me? I have been nothing but kind to you, Nicci Beauvoir!”
“Kind?” I raised my voice. “Mrs. Fallon you have been far from kind to me or my family. You have been nothing but one big pain in the—”
“Ladies, is there a problem?” a deep voice interrupted.
Greg Caston immediately stepped betwe
en us.
“Sammy, why don’t you run on back to the Garden District and gossip with those obnoxious friends of yours instead of bothering my guests,” he said in a cold tone.
Sammy’s blue eyes were wide and wild as they glared at Greg. “I hope she brings you as much misery as she has brought every other man in her life, Greg.” She spun around on her high heels and stormed off.
Greg laughed while Sammy headed for the exit. “Good thing I came along when I did.”
“I’m sorry about that. Sammy has never been one of my favorite people,” I informed him, trying to calm my fury.
He laughed. “If that’s your polite way of saying you don’t like her, I completely understand. Sammy Fallon has always rubbed me the wrong way. Forget about her.” He paused and looked down at the floor for a moment. “I’m sorry you had to walk in on Jenny and me like that. I’m sure Simon told her of our plans tonight to rile her up, knowing she would come here and confront me. He’s a ruthless bastard,” he whispered.
I immediately fell back into character “It’s my fault. I should never have mentioned our date to him. If I had known he would do something like that…”
“Not to worry.” A glint of fiery rage flashed across his features. “Simon La Roy will soon learn not to mess with me,” he hissed.
“That sounded like a threat, Greg.”
The anger faded and he smiled for me. “The one thing you will learn about me, Nicci, is that I never threaten. I strike back.”
An unsettling chill rushed through me. I turned back to the bar and waited for another glass of champagne. I had a strange feeling I was going to need it.
Chapter Fifteen
It was well after eleven when the crowds inside the gallery started getting thin. Serving staff was clearing away plates and empty glasses from around the gallery while some of the guests were finishing off the last vestiges of champagne at the bar. With one final glance back to his lingering guests, Greg took my hand and led me away from the gallery floor. I followed dutifully behind him, as we headed toward the entrance.
“It seems to have been a successful evening,” I commented, walking into the cool night air.
“Yes, very successful. I thought perhaps we could grab a late night dinner at my place,” Greg suggested.
“Your place?” I probed his dark eyes. “Am I going to have a problem with you?”
He took a polite step away from me and put his hands behind his back. “Ms. Beauvoir, I promise to be on my best behavior.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word on that.”
Greg looked to the street beside us. “I want to apologize again for Jenny Ryan’s behavior tonight. She had no right to come here and start a commotion.”
“Don’t worry about it, Greg. She was just doing what any woman would do; checking up on her man.”
“I’m not her man,” he stated emphatically. “She is too possessive. I’ve wanted to end the relationship for a while, but....” He shrugged.
“Maybe you should buy her a house in East Hampton?”
He smiled and waved his hand in the air. “Jenny Ryan is no prized model. But I cannot have her creating a scene every time I’m out with another woman. Tonight showed me that I must end it for good.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. She seems to really care for you.”
He stared at me. The intrusion of those disturbing eyes made my skin grow cold.
“What you said tonight about still caring for David Alexander. Was that true? Or did you just say that to pacify the girl?”
I slowly let a smile make its way across my face. I pretended to become distracted by the stars up in the sky as I allowed a few dramatic seconds to tick by before I answered him.
“It’s true. I loved David. No man will ever come close to David.”
“You can’t spend the rest of your life mourning David, Nicci,” he suggested behind me. “You’ll find as you age that true love is a myth believed in only by the young and foolish.”
I turned away from the night sky and frowned at him “You don’t believe in love?”
“Hardly. I find money and power to be much more resilient commodities than love. Power lasts a hell of a lot longer and money will always retain its value. No matter how hard you try, love can never last between two people.” He took my hand in his. “Come, I want to show you my place.”
As we strolled down the sidewalk, a security guard, who had been situated in the front of the gallery earlier in the evening, came around to the side of the building to meet us.
“Nicci Beauvoir,” Greg said as he waved his hand at the very tall, dark skinned man in front of me. “This is Cleveland. He’s one of my private duty guards.”
I nodded to the muscular security guard. “Hello, Cleveland.”
“Pleasure to meet ya, ma’am,” he said in his thick New Orleans accent.
Cleveland escorted us from the curb to a private rear entrance. He removed a silver chain attached to his belt and slid one small silver key into a lock directly to the right of a glass door in front of us. There was a loud buzz and then the door popped open.
“Y’all have a pleasant evenin’,” Cleveland said with a smile.
I nodded at the guard as I walked through the thick glass door. “Thank you, Cleveland.”
We stepped into a darkly lit corridor, and at the end of the corridor a pair of silver elevator doors beckoned.
“Welcome to my home,” Greg stated, waving ahead to the elevator.
Greg followed me into the elevator and pressed a button on the console. The letter P lit up, and I assumed that stood for penthouse.
The elevator doors closed and we began our way to the top. “Must be convenient to live above your gallery,” I commented.
“I have homes above all of my galleries.” He nudged my shoulder gently with his. “Plus, I get a needed tax break from living and working out of the same building.”
I grinned at him. “I’m sure the IRS just hates you.”
The elevator doors opened to reveal a spacious apartment complete with a wall of windows that looked out over the Mississippi River. The original warehouse brick walls had been left bare, but new hardwood floors had been installed, adding a contemporary feel to the residence. Above, track lighting hung from old wooden beams, highlighting selected paintings of New Orleans landmarks that had been placed on the walls. To the right was an open kitchen with black and white tile counter tops and stainless steel appliances. To the left was a living room filled with soft Italian leather furniture and a complex entertainment center with two wide screen televisions. Thick wooden stairs, with shiny iron railings, stood directly in front of me and led upward to an open master bedroom. To the far right of the apartment, a wide door had been painted to match the color of the surrounding brick wall. I found myself staring at the odd door, trying to figure out why it was in such an unusual spot.
“The emergency exit,” Greg explained. “Left over from when the place was a working warehouse and required by the city’s fire marshal.” He took my purse and placed it on one of the nearby leather chairs.
“Nice bachelor pad,” I remarked, unable to hide my smug grin.
The man looked close to fifty but still insisted on living like he was twenty. It made me wonder why women were expected to mature as they got older, but the same standard never seemed to apply to men.
“I guess one would think that, but in actuality it’s designed more for function rather than for appearances.” He glanced up to the second floor “I have a second bedroom off to the right of the master upstairs. My son stays there when he comes to visit.”
“Your son?”
He nodded. “His name is Joshua. He’s ten and lives with his mother in Atlanta. I get to see him several times a year when he comes to stay with me. He loves dinosaurs and baseball. Can’t decide if he wants to be a second baseman or a paleontologist when he grows up. He’s smart, funny, talented, and the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he avowed with a re
al glint of joy in his dark eyes.
“You sound like a very proud father. Were you married?” I inquired, already knowing the answer.
“I’ve never been married,” he returned, ushering me deeper into the apartment. “Joshua’s mother used to work at my New York gallery. We had an affair and she got pregnant,” he continued, making his way to the kitchen. “I’ve always wanted children, I just never wanted a wife,” he added as he motioned to a silver tray sitting on the kitchen counter. On the tray were two empty crystal flutes.
He went to his refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of La Grande Dame Champagne. “I had one of my assistants run out and get this for us.”
I nodded approvingly. “I’m glad your assistant went to so much trouble.” I went to a built in breakfast bar, dividing the kitchen from the rest of the apartment, and took a seat on a shiny iron stool.
Greg expertly opened the champagne with a kitchen towel.
The aroma of Cajun spices filled the air. “Smells wonderful. What are we having?” I inquired.
He filled the two glasses before him with the golden liquid. “I had the chef at Antoine’s whip us up a delightful meal of Oyster Foch, Trout Pontchartrain, and beef tenderloins in a hollandaise sauce.” He put the bottle down, picked up both flutes of champagne from the silver tray, and handed one to me. “To us,” he said as he tipped his glass against mine.
I took a sip from my flute. The cool, gold liquid felt like velvet as it slowly made its way down my throat. “Very good,” I stated.
He looked from his glass to me. “You’re right. It is better than Dom.” He placed his flute of champagne down on the counter. “What other secrets do you wish to share with me, Nicci?”
I put my glass of champagne down and delicately ran my fingers along the fine crystal. “I have lots of secrets, but doesn’t every woman.” I leaned in closer to him. “What about your secrets? Surely a man of your influence must have numerous secrets to protect?”
“There is something I wish to share with you; a very important secret. Something only David Alexander’s Jenny could truly appreciate.” He extended his hand to me. “What I want to show you is right over there,” he said as he nodded toward a far corner of the room.
The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series Page 74
