Golden Lies

by Barbara Freethy

  Riley would have yelled back, but he couldn't afford to waste a precious breath. Nor could he afford to stop pedaling. Otherwise, he'd go flying backward down the hill a lot faster than he'd come up. He pressed on, telling himself this was what it was all about, pushing the limits, forcing the issue, achieving the impossible. He was only a few feet away from the top of the hill now.

  Damn, he was tired. He felt light-headed, almost dizzy. But he wouldn't quit. He'd faced bigger challenges than this. He couldn't give in. Quitting was what his mother would have wanted him to do, what she'd told him to do many times. If you can't do it, just quit, Riley. You're just not that good at things. You're not smart. You're not artistic. You're not very musical, but you can't help it. You take after your father. Whoever the hell he was. Aside from his name, Paul McAllister, Riley knew absolutely nothing about his father.

  The funny thing was the more his mother told him he couldn't do something, the more he wanted to prove her wrong. That feeling had driven him through boot camp and a stint in the marines, and it was still driving him today. Maybe he was as big a fool as his grandmother, believing that his mother might actually care that he'd ridden up the steepest hill in San Francisco today.

  Forget about her. He heard his grandfather's stern, booming voice in his head now. This isn't about your mother; it's about you. No one else can fight your battles for you. In the end we all stand alone. So when it comes your time to stand front and center, raise your chin high, look everyone straight in the eye, and know in your heart that you're up to the challenge.

  The words sent him over the top of the hill.

  Pumping a fist in the air, he coasted across the intersection. In front of him was one of the best views in the world, the San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. He could see sailboats bouncing along the bumpy water. Alcatraz was in the distance, a ferry boat pulling up to the famous old island prison. Angel Island lay beyond, Marin County, the rest of Northern California. The world was literally at his feet. At least his small part of the world. And it felt good. Damn good.

  He flew down the next hill, loving the wind in his face. His cheeks began to cool, his heart slowed to a more comfortable beat, and his breathing came much easier. This was supposed to be the best part. But in truth, the best part had been those last few seconds before he hit the top, the moments when he wasn't sure he could do it. Now he knew. But he also knew that the good feeling would only last until tomorrow. Then he'd have to find some other hill to climb.

  He let out a sigh and began to pedal as he reached a flat area. A quick glance at his watch told him he needed to get back to the office, wrap up a few loose ends, then pick up his grandmother and meet the Hathaways. He had to admit he was curious about the value of his grandmother's dragon. Finding a treasure in a pile of junk seemed too good to be true. But if it wasn't valuable, he doubted the Hathaways and all the other dealers in the country would be so hot to get their hands on it. In this case, his grandmother's dragon might just put a dent in his comfortably cynical approach to life.

  * * *

  Forty minutes later, Riley strode through the front door of his office and greeted the lobby receptionist with a warm smile, then headed down the hall. His secretary, Carey Miller, sat at a desk in a cubicle next to his office. The distinct smell of nail polish wiped the smile off his face, which was followed by a frown when he saw her bare feet propped up on her desk, little foam pads stuck between her toes.

  "I hope I'm not interrupting you," he said sarcastically.

  She shrugged. "You're not. How was the bike ride? You must have stopped off at home and taken a shower. You don't smell as bad as you normally do."

  "Speaking of smells, do you have to put the paint on here?"

  "If you paid me more, I could afford to get a pedicure."

  "If you worked harder, you might actually earn more money."

  He strode into his office, knowing she'd follow. It took her a few extra minutes, as she walked through the door on her heels, carefully keeping her toes from hitting the carpet. "So, did you accomplish anything besides the perfect shade of red?" he asked her.

  "Did you accomplish anything besides a near heart attack?"

  "Exercise is good for you. You should try it sometime."

  "Please. If I'm going to work out, I prefer to do it in the bedroom." She gave him a mischievous grin. "Don't you remember?"

  "I remember throwing out my back."

  "That's because you did it wrong. You were on position seven when I was on six. The book said you needed to do it in order."

  "Why I ever agreed to try anything in that book, I'll never know." He sat down in the leather chair behind his desk that had served his grandfather so well for so many years.

  Carey flopped down in the armchair in front of his desk. "I've got another book now. You'd be surprised at some of the things in there. You should read it."

  "I'll wait for the movie." With a pleased smile he surveyed the stack of papers on his desk, the half-filled coffee cup, the afternoon's sports page. His grandfather's office was beginning to feel more like his own, a place where everything was under his control. He picked up a small plastic basketball on his desk and sent it swishing through the hoop mounted on the opposite wall. "Any messages?"

  "Nothing I couldn't handle." Carey popped a chunk of gum in her mouth.

  "Do you have to do that?"

  "It beats smoking. You know I'm trying to quit." Carey hooked her jean-clad leg over one arm of the chair. An ex-stripper, ex-smoker, ex-drinker, and ex-girlfriend, she was now his right-hand man, make that woman. While she hadn't been a particularly good stripper, smoker, drinker, or girlfriend, she was a good assistant, even with the painted toenails.

  "What else has been going on around here?" he asked.

  "As you requested, I got the goods on Paige Hathaway." She tapped the file folder in her hand.

  His heart skipped a beat. "What did you learn?"

  "Well, it's all incredibly ..." She tilted her head to one side. "What's the word I'm looking for? Oh, I know. Boring. It's incredibly boring."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Boring, dull, put-you-to-sleep kind of reading. I can give it to you in a nutshell. Paige Hathaway grew up in a fancy mansion in Pacific Heights with her parents, Victoria and David Hathaway, and her grandfather Wallace Hathaway. Apparently, the grandmother died before she was born. There was a whole slew of housekeepers, maids, gardeners, and chauffeurs over the years, but apparently they were paid well, because no one has had anything negative to say." Carey popped her gum. "Paige moved out a few years ago. She lives in an apartment in one of those high-rise buildings with a view of the bay. David Hathaway spends most of his time in China. And Victoria Hathaway and the old man, Wallace Hathaway, spend most of their time at the store."

  Riley opened the folder she handed him and read through the facts Carey had just recited. "What else?" he asked, looking back at her.

  "The family is a pillar of society. They support many nonprofit organizations, especially those connected to the arts, the ballet, the symphony, the opera. They're hosting an exhibit on Chinese art at the Asian Art Museum in a few weeks. They're on the A-list for parties. Oh, and get this -- Paige Hathaway was actually a debutante. Can you believe they still have debutantes? Not that she isn't pretty. There's a photo in the file." Carey sent him a knowing look. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

  "She's not my type."

  "She sure isn't," Carey agreed.

  He felt annoyed by her assessment. "Why? Am I too blue-collar?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact. Because Paige Hathaway is not blue-collar. She is blue blood. If San Francisco had a royal family, Paige would be the princess."

  "What did you learn about the rest of the family?"

  "Victoria Hathaway is the queen. She's the CFO of the company. Wallace Hathaway, the old man, retains the CEO title despite the fact that he's eighty-something. He apparently still comes into the store every morning to review the profit
and loss reports or perform surprise inspections in unsuspecting departments. David Hathaway is the main buyer for the store, and quite the jet-setter. He spends more time in China than he does here. Paige seems to be drifting through the company right now. She plans a lot of parties. I'm not sure what else she does. Those are the main family players. Although ..." She paused. "I'm not sure if you want to know this or not, but there was a small tidbit in one of the gossip columns that Paige is engaged to Martin Bennett. He's a vice president at Hathaway's and another blue blood. A match made in Tiffany's no doubt."

  "No doubt."

  So Paige was engaged, huh? As he recalled, she didn't have a ring on her finger. He wondered why not. Probably couldn't find a stone big enough. He tossed the folder onto the desk. He'd read the rest of it later—if he bothered to read it at all. If the Hathaways made his grandmother a respectable offer, he'd encourage her to take it and be done with the whole thing. "Did you call my grandmother and tell her I'll pick her up?"

  "She said she couldn't leave. You should go on your own, and she trusts you to make the best deal for her."

  "What?" he asked in surprise. "Why doesn't she want to go? Is she sick?"

  "You're not going to like it."

  "Just tell me."

  "She said the phone rang and there was no one there, just the sound of breathing, but then she heard someone clear their throat, and she thought it might be a woman." Carey paused. "She thought it might be your mother."

  "Goddammit. She can't keep doing this every time someone calls the wrong number. It's been fifteen years since my mother walked out the door. She's probably dead." He jumped out of his chair, pacing restlessly in front of the window.

  Carey stood up. "What do you want me to do?"

  "Call my grandmother and tell her that she's coming with me. She's the legal owner of the dragon, and she's the one who needs to sell it."

  "What about –"

  "Tell her I'll be there in twenty minutes, and she better be ready." He was relieved to hear the door shut as Carey left. His chest was tight again, but this time it had nothing to do with exercise but with the past.

  It had not been his mother on the phone -- he knew that. There was no reason to think otherwise. None at all. But despite the ruthless affirmations, deep down inside there was a part of himself that still wondered where she was, and if she was ever coming back.

  * * *

  An hour later, Riley was less concerned about his mother's whereabouts and more interested in when David Hathaway would show up with his grandmother's dragon. They'd been cooling their heels in the executive offices of Hathaway's for fifteen minutes and there was no sign of David or his daughter, Paige.

  "This is ridiculous," he said with irritation. He'd never been good at waiting, but he especially didn't like waiting for what belonged to him.

  Nan worked her knitting needles with quiet, competent hands. He had no doubt that by his April birthday he'd have another sweater to put in his closet.

  "Relax, Riley," she said. "I'm sure they'll be with us at any moment."

  "It's after five. We should take our dragon and leave. There are plenty of other potential buyers out there. We don't need Hathaway's."

  "Why don't we wait and see what they have to say? They gave us that lovely tea yesterday, and Paige is such a sweetheart. Pretty, too, don't you think?"

  He frowned as he stretched out his long legs. "I didn't notice."

  "Blind now, too, as well as hard of hearing," she teased.

  Riley ignored that and jumped to his feet when the receptionist said, "Miss Hathaway will see you now."

  Paige met them at the door to her office. She wore a blue suit with a lacy white see-through blouse that offered just enough cleavage to distract him. But he wouldn't be distracted, not today, not by someone he had no intention of ever seeing again.

  "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting—" she began.

  He cut her off. "Where's the dragon?"

  "Why don't you come in?"

  Riley followed her into her office, his grandmother close behind. He'd hoped to see David Hathaway, or at the very least, the ugly dragon statue, but neither was there. Paige looked decidedly nervous as she stood behind her desk, motioning for them to sit down in the chairs in front of her desk. Nan did as suggested. Riley decided he preferred to stand.

  "Well?" he asked.

  "My father has been delayed."

  "Where's the statue?"

  "He'll be here very soon, I'm sure." She offered him a tentative smile. "Can I get you some of that strong coffee you like so much?"

  "No."

  "Mrs. Delaney?"

  "I'm fine, dear." Nan pulled out her knitting and sat back in her chair, content to wait. During the past year, Nan had spent a lot of time waiting for doctors to come back and tell her what was happening with her husband. She didn't deserve to have to wait for this, too.

  "Miss Hathaway," he began again.

  "I know. I'm very sorry. My father probably lost track of time. He does that sometimes. He doesn't mean to make anyone feel as if they're unimportant. He just gets caught up in the moment."

  "I used to know someone like that," Nan said, a sad note in her voice. She glanced over at Riley, but he looked away.

  She was talking about his mother, and he didn't want to go down that road. "This is ridiculous." He waved an impatient hand as he glared at Paige. "You're running a business here, aren't you?"

  "Yes, but I can assure you that everything will be fine. This is just a small delay. If you'd rather come back tomorrow—"

  "Absolutely not. I don't know what kind of scam you're running, but I'm not putting up with it."

  She stiffened, her conciliatory smile turning angry. "I'm not running a scam. My father is simply late."

  Riley's instincts told him that something was wrong, the same instincts that had been raising goose bumps along his arms since they'd discovered the damn dragon might be worth something. He leaned forward, rapping his knuckles on the top of Paige's mahogany desk. "I don't give a damn about whether or not your father is late for our meeting. I want the dragon."

  "I can't conjure it up out of thin air."

  "Why don't you have someone bring it up here? Isn't it in one of the vaults or a clean room of some sort?" He didn't like the way she avoided his gaze. "Isn't it?"

  "The dragon doesn't appear to be in the lab. My father must have already retrieved it."

  "And where is he?"

  "I'm not exactly sure."

  "Are you saying your father took the dragon out of the store? I don't believe we gave him permission to do that."

  "I don't believe I said that he left the store. I just haven't been able to track him down."

  "What the hell are you up to?"

  "Look. I appreciate the fact that you're angry, but there's nothing going on here. I can assure you of that. Hathaway's has never lost a piece of art, and we're not starting with yours. I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience."

  "Inconvenience, my ass!"

  "Riley, I don't like it when you swear," Nan chided. "Now stop yelling at Miss Hathaway. There's nothing she can do about the delay. I'm sure Mr. Hathaway will have a reasonable explanation when he returns."

  "I'm sure he will," Paige said.

  The door behind them opened. Riley turned, expecting to see David, not another nervous young woman.

  "I'm sorry for interrupting you, Miss Hathaway," she said.

  "It's all right, Monica. Did you find my father?"

  "That's the thing. He doesn't seem to be in the store." She paused, darting a worried look at Riley. "And the dragon isn't here, either."

  Chapter Four

  Victoria Hathaway sat down in front of the mirror on her dressing room table and began to brush her hair. It was a pre-bedtime ritual that she'd followed every night since she was a little girl, living in a small two-bedroom apartment with her drunk of a mother and her two older sisters. Her mother had used one bedroom, her sisters the other. She'd
had the couch, the bumpy, lumpy, bright red couch that her mother thought was so pretty.

  Her surroundings now were quite different. Her elegant four-poster bed could be seen through the gold-edged mirror that David had bought her for their fifth wedding anniversary. As she pulled the brush through her smooth blond hair, she remembered a time when David had actually brushed her hair. She could almost see his reflection now in the glass, his dark hair rumpled, his brown eyes warm and caring.

  It was foolish to turn her head, to see nothing but blank air. She knew he wasn't there. She couldn't remember the last time he'd been in her bedroom. David had moved out a few years earlier, because he was a night owl and she was an early bird, because he liked to read in bed, and she liked to get up early and do her hundred sit-ups in the privacy of her own room. God forbid anyone should know how hard she worked to keep her size-six figure. But those were only the reasons he said out loud, not the real reasons, not the ones that had isolated them in their own very private and personal hells for too many years to count.

  She glanced back at the mirror and sighed. She could keep her body lean and trim, but not even the most expensive creams in the world or BOTOX treatments were managing to keep the wrinkles at bay. Already she could see the tiny lines around her eyes and lips. She could cover them in the daytime, but with her makeup removed, they were clearly visible. Perhaps some women would have turned away, but she forced herself to look, to examine, to be critical. It was the only way she knew to be.

  When she was a young girl, she had made herself look at her life, her family, the way they lived and the manner in which they behaved. She remembered cutting out pictures from magazines of big houses and fancy restaurants. She'd made a list of how to get what she wanted, and she had followed that list to the letter. She'd gotten an education when many of her friends had dropped out, taken ugly, messy jobs in order to make enough money to go to college, always keeping her eye on the prize. Putting herself in a position to meet David at a party, marrying him, making her way into the Hathaway business had all been steps in the plan. She was no longer Vicky Siminski; she was Victoria Hathaway, and no one could ever take that away from her. She would not allow her life to be tarnished in any way.