Martinez, Mary - Classic Murder: Mr. Romance (BookStrand Publishing Romance)
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Classic Murder: Mr. Romance
Adam enjoys a lifestyle most men only dream of. Then one day he wakes up to find the morning headlines blaring, "Another victim falls prey to Mr. Romance. Who is next?" He suddenly realizes his way of life is not only frivolous, but deadly.
Dubbed Mr. Romance by New York society for his romantic adventures, Adam Fernando Russo loves women. But lately he realizes how lonely it is coming home to an empty house. Can he settle for only one woman? After he makes a list of qualities worthy enough to merit giving up his desirable existence, suddenly recipients of his coveted attention mysteriously fall prey to a murderer. The murders seem unrelated with one exception--all the victims have recently returned from a fabulous weekend rendezvous with Mr. Romance.
Adam’s assistant, Katie Sinclair, knows Adam is innocent with airtight alibis. The police are at a loss so Adam and Katie work together to discover the link between the murders. As luck would have it, their plan to prove the murderer is copying classic Cary Grant movies goes astray just as Adam realizes his perfect woman has been by his side all along.
Genre: Contemporary, Romantic Suspense
Length: 96,901 words
CLASSIC MURDER:
MR. ROMANCE
Mary Martinez
ROMANCE
www.BookStrand.com
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A SIREN-BOOKSTRAND TITLE
IMPRINT: Romance
CLASSIC MURDER: MR. ROMANCE
Copyright © 2011 by Mary Martinez
E-book ISBN: 1-61034-086-8
First E-book Publication: January 2011
Cover design by Rae Monet
All cover art and logo copyright © 2011 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
www.BookStrand.com
DEDICATION
Thank you to all of my friends and family who support me daily. Without them, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy writing.
CLASSIC MURDER:
MR. ROMANCE
MARY MARTINEZ
Copyright © 2011
Chapter One
Cynthia Westwood’s spine stiffened, her lips pressed together to the point of pain. Steam would surely blow from her ears. She stopped pacing long enough to stomp her foot, then swing her bare toes into the sofa. “Ow….” Hopping on one foot didn’t relieve the pain, nor had her outburst calmed her temper.
Oh, she’d had her weekend with Adam Russo, the famed Mr. Romance, and it had been a total disaster. Prior to meeting the man, all she’d heard was people singing his praise. Then they’d met, he’d asked her out on one of his famous rendezvous. Everyone gushed about the once-in-a-lifetime date, and how lucky she was.
Adam, however, hadn’t been into her from the moment they left the tarmac, headed for the wonderfully romantic Napa Valley. Something appeared to have changed from when they’d first met. The moment she’d first laid eyes on the outlandishly handsome man, they’d hit it off royally. Just the thought of getting him into bed had sent delicious shivers down her spine. Unfortunately for her, things hadn’t gone the way she had planned. Nope, it was a total train wreck from start to finish.
Tomorrow she’d have to face her friend’s pleas to hear all about her dream trip. She had taken Monday and Tuesday off in hopes Adam would extend their weekend. Instead, she had stayed home from work to nurse her temper.
“Argh. If I never hear your name again, it will be too soon,” she shouted to the empty apartment.
To make matters worse, she’d read the great man would be attending a benefit for ovarian cancer this evening. He’d also been to a benefit the week before they’d left for Napa.
Such a humanitarian, she thought sarcastically. Maybe she’d tell the truth if anyone asked her how things had gone. That would serve Mr. Romance right and tarnish his glowing reputation.
A knock interrupted her flaring thoughts. Who in the hell? She hadn’t buzzed anyone in.
Fueled by her annoyance, she marched to the foyer and pulled the front door open with such force it nearly hit her in the face.
“Yes!” she growled at the visitor standing on her doorstep.
The unfamiliar elderly lady visibly swallowed, took a step back, probably to remove herself from harm’s way, then looked both ways. “Ms. Westwood?” the woman asked timidly, as if she had the wrong address.
“Yes. Who are you? And how did you get in here?”
“A nice young man let me in the front door. I’d like to talk to you about Adam Russo. May I come in?”
“I don’t even know you. I’ll have to talk to the super about whoever this boy was who let you in.” She took a breath to calm down and then remembered what the woman wanted. “Why would I want to discuss Mr. Russo with you? And what business is it of yours anyway?” Cynthia started to shut the door. This was all she needed—she just wanted to forget, not answer a bunch of questions.
A white-gloved hand that reminded Cynthia of her mother stopped the movement. “Wait! I’ll only take a moment of your time.” The woman raised her other hand, showing the bottle she held. “I thought we could talk about your lovely weekend with Mr. Romance over a nice glass of Pinot.”
Against her better judgment, Cynthia stepped back to let the unexpected visitor enter. After all, she was only an old lady. Even as she watched the woman enter, Cynthia knew her temper ruled her good sense. “Okay, fine. Come on in. But I don’t have anything nice to say about Mr. Russo. As far as I’m concerned, I’d be happy to never see the man again.”
Cynthia led the way to the bar and indicated a stool where the woman could sit. She hadn’t missed the fact she still didn’t know the woman’s name.
“Here are some glasses. Would you like me to open it or would you like to do the honors? This is your little party.” A ripple of unease prickled Cynthia’s scalp. Better to get this little tête-à-tête over.
“I’ll open it.” Apparently, her sarcasm fell on deaf ears. “Here you go, dear. Drink a little of your wine.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to without a toast first. Now please Ms.?” Cynthia’s temper had be
en replaced by curiosity about who her unwanted guest might be. Whoever she was, she didn’t sound fond of Adam Russo.
“To you and Mr. Russo.”
“I don’t really feel like drinking to him. As I told you, I don’t want to hear his name again.”
“I wish I had known that before I came.” A heavy sigh escaped between the wrinkled lips. “But, dear, it’s too late now. Let’s change the toast, and have a drink to never seeing the man again then.” And the woman held her glass up to Cynthia and waited for her to do the same.
Cynthia shrugged. What the hell? She tilted her glass to touch the woman’s, put the rim to her lips and took a deep drink. When she finished, she paused with her hand halfway back to the counter. Licking her lips, she realized the wine had a different flavor—not bad, just more fruity. She took another long drink and then set it on the bar.
“What kind of wine is this?”
“Nothing you tasted on your fancy-shmancy wine trip with Mr. Russo.” The kindly tone had changed to sarcasm.
“We didn’t taste…” Cynthia licked her lips again and tried to swallow, but for some reason it felt like something was blocking her airway. “What’s in this?”
“It’s made with berries, and it’s better than any bottle of expensive wine you can buy in the stores.” The woman stood, walked to the door, paused and placed her hand on the knob, then turned back to Cynthia. “I’m really sorry I didn’t find out you didn’t want to see Russo again. I wouldn’t have come.”
Cynthia squinted. Her vision began to blur. Was the woman taking her gloves off? Wait—did the woman have surgical gloves underneath? She wondered for a moment about that, but then the nausea hit. She tried to stand, but a cramp took her stomach in a vise, gradually tightening its jaws. Pain doubled her over, her throat worked convulsively as she retched. Reaching a hand to grab for a hold on the counter, all she caught was air.
Her knees turned to rubber. She staggered and knocked the chair over. She blinked several times, but the room was still out of focus. Why was everything wavering around her? The floor seemed to fly toward her face to meet her with a solid thunk. Her last thought before the blackness overtook her was she must have turned up the heat because she was sweating like a pig.
* * * *
One week earlier
Adam Fernando Russo and Ms. Delona Page’s image filled the entire section of the society spread. Katie, shortened from Katherine Elizabeth Sinclair, pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, where they refused to stay. The newspaper spread across the desk, her elbows on the edge, she leaned over, engrossed in the article about her boss and his current romance. It wasn’t like she didn’t know what it said. As his executive assistant, she made most of the arrangements for his dates. Her particular interest was because he rarely took a woman out more than once. Ms. Page was one of the few.
“Hey!” Jordan Goddard’s jolly voice startled Katie.
Her body jerked in surprise, causing her chair to roll away from the desk. Grasping the edge of the wood, she pulled herself toward the newspaper and the article she’d been perusing.
Shaking her head, she glared at the company go-fer. “What? Jeez, do you need to scare the hell out of me every time you walk in my office?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty fun. What’re you reading?” Jordan looked over Katie’s shoulder and then laughed. “Oh, you’re reading all about Mr. Romance. Don’t you get enough of it, making all the arrangements for his rendezvous?”
“Oh, be quiet. I never hear about the actual date. I have to read about it, like everyone else.”
“What’s the big deal? He’s just a guy taking a woman out. Yeah, I know he doesn’t take them to the movies, like us normal guys.”
“That’s the big deal, duh! Plus he has the added allure of being a great humanitarian. Look what he did when Katrina struck in New Orleans. He gathered a crew together, filled up his private plane with emergency supplies, and arrived before the Red Cross or FEMA. And he’s the most honest businessman in New York and that’s saying a lot.”
“Stop! God, you sound like the president of his fan club. Is the great man even mortal? After he takes a woman out, he ruins her for anyone else.”
“Oh, whatever. Any woman who goes out with him knows it’s not long term. Most only get one date, so she has to make the most of it. Looks like Ms. Page here did just that, because he took her out a second time.” Katie beat the green-eyed monster down with her internal stick. He was her boss. She wasn’t jealous. If she told herself that enough, maybe she’d even believe it.
“You mean he suffered through a second date with someone?” Jordan placed his hand over his heart dramatically. Katie looked around her desk for something to throw but found nothing.
Katie ignored his statement. “It was to go to a benefit dinner and he needed a partner. Not one of his usual romantic evenings, if you know what I mean,” Katie reported, reading the paper as she spoke.
“As interesting as your boss’s love life is, I’ve got to go. I have a lot of stuff to deliver. Here’s a package for Mr. Russo, do you know when he’ll be back? It’s marked urgent.”
“He should be back this afternoon. I’ll make sure he gets the box when he first walks in. Now scram, I want to finish reading this. I have some reports I need to get done before he gets back.”
“Do the reports first. Aren’t you here to work?”
“Ha, ha. Don’t worry. Everything will get done. Scram!”
Jordan left shaking his head, muttering about all the women who had to read the society page about the great Mr. Romance. Katie didn’t care. She thought the man was pretty much perfect. He had integrity—something that was in short supply. Other than her father, she didn’t know any other businessman she trusted.
Finally finished reading everything about the benefit, she folded and stuffed the newspaper in her bag to read the rest when she got home. If she wanted to invest her savings wisely, she’d need to study some of the NASDAQ reports in the business section.
Her dad, one of New York’s most successful businessmen, had taught her to be careful and how to turn a good profit on her investments. Through careful listening and planning, she’d managed to build a pretty good nest egg for herself.
How well she remembered the reason she’d been determined to make it on her own and not rely on a man to support her. Her thoughts started to wander. With determination, she blew the air out of her lungs in a gusty breath. She would not go there today.
Memories flew back to the recesses of her mind. Even the thought of a stroll down memory lane caused sweat to pool under her arms and bead on her forehead.
Glancing at the tiny clock in the right hand corner of her monitor, she was glad she hadn’t taken that trip. She didn’t have time.
That fateful day in high school, when she had learned her boyfriends had been after either her money or mostly to get in her panties, had changed her life. She’d kept the promise she had made to her mother at first. At some point, it had become more out of habit than for the original reason.
She lived solely on her salary and she dressed for comfort, not for style or fashion. She’d found the ugliest eye frames in the shop. She knew that no one saw past the black, gaudy things.
She applied to be Adam Russo’s executive assistant with options to become a full partner, fresh out of college. She had worn the glasses to the interview, determined to get the job on her own merits. She had promised herself that she was mature enough to know when a man loved her for herself. When she got the job, she had had the best intentions to start wearing her contacts again, or at least more attractive glasses. She would just be herself.
She knew within the first week, after learning the reputation of the great Mr. Romance, she was in trouble. She wouldn’t be satisfied with just one date. That was if he ever asked her out. She had wanted much more from the first moment she saw him. So, much to her mother’s and friends’ dismay, she had continued to wear those glasses in protection against herself
.
Adam, without glancing her way, breezed through her office on the way to his. “Hey, Katie Did, what’s up?”
Katie was startled out of her reverie. Leave it to him to find a nickname for her from a 1951 romantic comedy. Those in the know knew he watched old movies religiously. “Mr. Russo, you have a package.”
“Bring it in,” he called over his shoulder without breaking stride.
Katie picked up the package, turned sharply, and smacked her hip against the corner of her desk. Biting her tongue, she held back a colorful word. God, why was she such a klutz when he was around? She followed him into his office, hobbling on her sore toe. He had the room decorated in retro fashion, old movie posters covering the walls. She loved every inch.
She didn’t go out on many dates. It was her own fault. Men didn’t want a prim, dorky-looking woman on their arm. They wanted a goddess. Even mild-mannered, average-looking men wanted someone pretty. Time to ditch the damn glasses, get out more, and let her hair down—she meant that literally. Maybe then she’d get over her infatuation with her boss.
Since Adam had introduced her to the classics, she’d had her own love affair with them. They didn’t keep you warm at night, like a good man, but they were fun and entertaining.
Adam sat behind the desk and motioned for Katie to take the director’s chair in front of it. Such a fun office—she wouldn’t have been able to get much work done if the suite had been hers. But Adam worked away without having any problems.
“So how did the meeting go? Are you going to acquire Twelve Day Investments?” Katie wanted to know.