It’s late August and September is nipping on its heels, and it seems as if all of Vermont’s upper crust has descended on the manor. The cats have successfully hidden themselves in and out of the halls. Stuffed in every nook and cranny you’ll see nothing but glowing eyes peering out from the darkness. A part of me wishes I could do the same as Tilly and I enter the grand ballroom with its dim mood lighting and the enchanted classical music bleating through the speakers.
Tilly and I just did a quick change into our costumes, a long crimson empire style velvet dress for me and a matching one in gold for her.
She butts her shoulder to mine. “So you really think I’m going to get lucky with the king of the ball?”
“I can’t be sure.” I spilled every last juicy detail about that vision I had back in the café. “I may not always get things right when trying to figure out what those future ramblings are trying to tell me, but I know a come-on when I hear it. And judging by that giggle in your voice, you were more than up for whatever he’s about to dole out.”
“Oh yes, I am, missy.” She adjusts her bosom until it’s heaving from her dress. “I can’t believe Opal shoved us in these circus tents. I’ve never worn anything so unflattering. It’s against my religion.”
“And seeing that your religion is flaunting your body, I’d say you were right.” I glance down at my own unusual frock. “I look as if I’m seven months pregnant.”
“I bet you wish that baby was Shep’s.” She gives a cheeky wink, and that glitter she’s slathered over her eyelids nearly blinds me.
“Yes, well, I doubt it will be. No matter how much I throw out the signals, he seems to be ducking and evading them all. I thought you said he was a playboy?”
“He is. Or at least he was. He had a nasty breakup with his fiancée, that homicide detective he worked with.”
I know just the one. Detective Nora Grimsley. She’s a skeletal brunette who has clearly never had an Italian nana who could make a mean cannoli. Nora is a decent person, for the most part, but I’m not interested in being her bestie since she’s all but accused me of murder exactly twice. And considering I’ve only been in town for two months, that’s a staggering statistic.
Tilly sighs. “And then he was with Regina. That girl wore him out in an entirely different way.”
“Okay, okay. I get it. He’s into other women. I just don’t happen to be one of them.”
“Ahh,” Tilly moans as she gives my face a squeeze with her fingers. “Don’t you worry, Bowie Binx. This room is festering with handsome billionaires. If we play our financial cards right, we’ll both get lucky.”
A woman strides up wearing a long black metallic dress with such a wide girth she’s imparted a mandatory social distancing of a four-foot circumference in any direction. She pulls away the silver mask covering her face to reveal herself as the grand dame of the evening, Opal Mortimer herself.
Tilly bucks with a laugh. “You clean up nice, Opal.”
“Please,” I say. “You shine every day, woman. Great party. We should do this more often and charge a cover.”
She shoots her fingers my way. “I like the way you think, Bowie Binx. Now scat you two and get to work. Thea and Flo are already passing out the canapés. Regina has stationed herself at the caviar table. And Mud is manning the bar all by his lonesome. I’ll be on the dance floor. Wish me luck.” She lands the mask over her face once again and moves out into the crowd.
I crane my neck in the direction of the bar and see Mud’s dirty blond hair spiked like a cactus. Mud is a thirty-something bachelor who helps with the general maintenance around the manor, and apparently he’s quite the bartender, too.
“I’ll work the bar with Mud,” I volunteer. “You go ahead and have a good time.”
Before Tilly can accept my tempting offer, a masked man in a dark suit and a wicked grin strides over.
“Most beautiful ladies.” He nods and lifts his mask just enough to reveal what I already suspected—Jackson Mortimer’s wooing of Tilly has already begun. “I’m afraid I’ll have to escort you to the door myself if you don’t don one of these. “He hands a hot pink sequin mask in the shape of a heart to Tilly, and a navy velvet mask to me with what looks to be a spray of diamonds embedded around the eyes. And with this ritzy crowd, these sparklers might just be the real deal.
“Thank you,” I say as I quickly put on the snazzy velvet number. A part of me hopes he won’t come around collecting these beauties at the end of the night. Not only is this thing drop-dead gorgeous, but I’m betting there’s a pawn shop in Scooter Springs that will be hungry to give me a good chunk of cash for it.
Tilly titters as if he just whispered a naughty sweet nothing into her ear. She pulls on the mask and blows him a kiss.
“Don’t you forget who I am underneath this,” she purrs as she paws at his tie. “And if you do, I’ve got ways of making you remember.” Something catches her eye toward the entrance and she gasps. “Jessie Lynn Teasdale.” She takes off toward a group of underdressed teens that seem to have infiltrated the elegant soirée.
Jackson steps in close, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand.
“Alone at last.” The words growl from him in a seductive manner just as another masked man steps between us, effectively making Jackson stumble a bit.
“Bowie.” The man before me might be wearing a mask, but I’d recognize those light blue eyes rimmed in navy, that wayward grin itching at his lips, and that heady cologne that holds the scent of an entire Vermont forest.
Jackson chuckles, but he doesn’t look amused, not even with that mask on.
“If it isn’t the brooding scribe. Glad to see you made it, Shepherd. I was just about to tell Ms. Binx how glowing she looks this evening.”
Shep gives me the once-over with his eyes, and judging by the way his lips seem to be burying a smile in the side of his cheek, I’d like to think he agrees.
Shep hardens his gaze over Jackson. “Quite a party. You have a lot of friends. You do this often?”
Jackson laughs. “Only once a year. It’s been a long summer for all of us—what with the jet setting, the endless yachting around the Med. There’s something to be said for coming home and spending time with loved ones.”
A trio of women with heavily jeweled necklines attack him all at once, and it’s a giggle storm of limbs all vying for his attention.
“Ladies.” Jackson laughs at the estrogen attack while Shep and I exchange a glance.
The girls whip off their masks, and the brunette on the left has something extra about her that has both Shep and me taking a quick breath.
She’s tall, good cheekbones, and pouty pink lips that look as if they’ve been augmented one too many times, but it’s that fuzzy caterpillar crawling just above her eyes that leaves us stunned. It’s a unibrow for all practical purposes, but my God… I lean in. I think it’s braided.
Jackson waves a hand her way. “Bowie, Shepherd, I’d love to introduce to you my friends. This is Madeline Swanson, my former fiancée.”
The unibrow belts out a cackle that would make any witch proud. Her gown is blush pink with rhinestones trimming her neckline and, I’ll admit, it’s breathtaking to look at.
“Do tell, Jackson.” She smacks him over the face with her jewel-encrusted mask. “I broke his heart for sport.” She leans my way. “It served him right for what he’s done to countless women. Someone had to take one for the team. Of course, that was ages ago.”
The two women to our right giggle at the sentiment that I’m not even sure made sense.
The woman with a cascade of blonde ringlets fans herself with a peacock mask. There’s something unnerving about that orange glow emanating from her skin. It’s less St. Tropez and more bad DIY spray tan. I should know. I’ve Oompa Loompaed myself on an occasion or two.
“That’s our Maddie, always suffering to help a friend out.” She snarls her way as if there was a darker meaning to those words. She looks to Shep and licks her lips. “Ki
era Hillerman.” She shakes Shep’s hand and pulls it close to her midsection. “I just love your books. I’ve got a few plotlines milling around my mind myself that I’d love to run by you.”
“Interesting.” He nods her way. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He’ll keep that in mind?
I shoot him the stink eye for even considering it.
The bubbly redhead gives a little wave. “Sophia Hathaway.” Her lavender dress looks as if it’s made of the richest brocade and her mask is comprised of tiny gold beads.
“Nice to meet you all,” I say.
“Indeed.” Shep nods, and the three females before us sigh in unison.
Great. Another round of ovaries all waiting for a chance to steal Shep’s attention. Why do I feel as if I’ve just been shoved to the back of the line?
“So what do you ladies do?” I ask and they each exchange a quizzical look. And then it hits me. These are true-blue socialites. Their day job is commissioning designers to whip up a gown for their next fancy soirée—and apparently braiding unibrows. I’d add painting their skin a shocking shade of orange, but I’m not sure that was an intentional horror.
Sophia, the redhead with tiny pixie-like features, broadens a smile.
“I run all the social media for Jackson’s empire.” She cuts a curt glance to Madeline the queen of the unibrow. “Maddie is an assistant to my father.”
Madeline quickly waves it off. “I’m no one’s assistant. I simply volunteered to aid in Wallace Hathaway’s philanthropic efforts.” She nods to Shep. “Hospital fundraisers, art galleries, things of that nature. I’d love to work with you. Perhaps we could arrange a private meeting to discuss a venture with your books? I’m sure I could make it work for both of us.”
My blood boils in an instant. I’m about ten seconds away from elbowing all three of them in an effort to keep them away. A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do to protect her personal space and perhaps her imaginary man. I can’t help it. I’ve been born and bred to protect what’s mine—both real and imagined.
Shep bows graciously toward Madeline. “I will consider that very kind offer.”
Very kind offer?
I’ve got something very kind to show him. The working end of my fist.
Kiera, the woman with the impossibly tight gold ringlets, adjusts her pewter gown, still fanning herself with that peacock feathered mask.
She glares over at Madeline as if she just let an egregious offense fly and suddenly I like Kiera best.
“Yes,” Kiera growls at Madeline. “You’re quite philanthropic—with the men.” Both she and Sophia giggle it up at the woman with the unibrow. “Word to the wise, Bowie. I’d keep a leash on your boyfriend if I were you. Piranhas aren’t very discerning whose relationship they tear apart.” She tips her chin with a sense of pride at the dig. “I’ll go order us all a round of drinks. I think we need it.” She takes off abruptly in the direction of the bar just as Sophia offers us a meager smile.
“Some people just can’t control their temper.” She shrugs to Madeline. “Steer clear of her tonight, would you?” She stalks off to the bar as well.
But Madeline doesn’t seem to be fazed by the entire ordeal. Something near the entry catches her gaze and she quickly excuses herself.
I watch as a man with a white feathered mask catches her by the elbow, and when he turns, I note the fact he has a slight bald spot near the top of his head.
They seem to exchange a few heated words before she breaks free from his grip and takes off toward the door where a man in a red suit pulls her in close before the crowd closes over them like a tomb.
Jackson’s jaw tightens as he cranes his neck in the direction Madeline took off in.
He reverts his attention my way with a tight smile.
“Bowie, do keep your dance card open. I look forward to getting to know you much, much better this evening.” He nods as he stalks off toward the bar.
A small giggle works its way up my throat.
Shep's brows rise over his mask, but judging by that stony-faced look, he’s not nearly as amused as I am.
“Bowie, you can’t be serious about that guy. He’s completely disconnected from reality.”
“I can’t help it. It’s nice to feel appreciated as a woman,” I snip as I iron out the front of my dress just to prove to Shep that I happen to have a figure hiding out under this tarp. “Besides, if the only man I can get to give me a sideways glance happens to be disconnected to reality, so be it. If you haven’t noticed, my unique situation leaves me a bit disconnected with reality, too.” Shep not only knows about the fact I’m a wanted felon, but just last month he helped me speak to my father.
That frown on his face lets me know I’m not getting his approval anytime soon.
He leans in and I can feel the warmth of his body.
“Have you received any more of those ominous notes?” he whispers and I take in his warm scent, the spice of his cologne, and the mint on his breath.
Last month, both Shep and I received messages alluding to the fact that someone was watching us—more to the point me. And as much as it makes me shudder, I’ve decided to let it ride for now.
“No,” I whisper back as my hand absentmindedly latches onto his tie. I can’t help it. I like the proximity of his body to mine, and a part of me wants to hold on for dear life. “Have you?” I bat my lashes up at him, doing my best to flirt, but Shep remains unflinching.
“Not yet, but I anticipate something coming up soon. Do you have any idea who might be behind this?”
My eyes quickly dart around the room and happen to snag on Regina Valentine dressed in red, with an eye patch covering one eye. It’s safe to say she marches to the beat of a different drummer.
“Regina laid out some second-tier threat last month. She’s still interested in you.” I frown his way. “They could have come from her. I don’t like to think about the alternative.”
The alternative in question is someone from one of the mob families I ticked off. “Both the Fazios and Morettis aren’t too pleased with me at the moment.”
Shep’s lips curve at the mention of those infamous families. Not only does Shep specialize in writing thrillers, they just so happen to be based on real life mobsters—specifically my family. Apparently, Shep knows as much about the mob as I do, or so he thinks. He’s a little jagged when it comes to the details.
A thought comes to me.
“Hey? If you want, I can read over the manuscript you’re working on and I can, you know, make sure it reads authentic.” I don’t dare breathe a word about the mob in a room with this many roving ears.
His cheek rises on one side as the threat of a lopsided grin threatens to break out.
“I’d like that.” He inches back and his eyes ride over me once again, and I swear on all that is holy, they leave a sizzling trail in their wake.
Regina calls to him from a few feet away.
“Come quick!” she calls. “Your detective services are needed.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at that one.
Shep turns my way. “Save a dance for me?” His eyes magnetize to mine, and it’s simply electric.
“You bet.” I swoon as he takes off to see what farce Regina has dreamed up now.
I head over to the bar and help Mud as we dole out drinks to the well-to-do-masses—vodka concoctions that have been christened as the designer drink of the evening called Masquerade Nights. Once the demand for hard liquor slows, I thread my way through the jovial crowd to see if I can find my waitresses—as in the girls who work for me in the Manor Café, not to mention checking the canapé supply in the kitchen. But I don’t get three feet from the bar before spotting Tilly in her gorgeous gold gown.
“Hey, chickee, how’s it going?” I ask before noticing that she’s holding the hand of a man in a pinstriped suit.
She leans my way. “Better than expected. I’m working on a two-fer for the night. And you?”
I’m about t
o answer when Jackson Mortimer blinks into existence before me and tucks his lips to my ear.
“Meet me in the library, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I’ve got something special to show you that I think you’ll really appreciate.”
I suck in a quick breath just as Tilly giggles like a schoolgirl over at the man in the pinstriped suit.
Shoot.
There goes a perfectly good vision that I would have sworn on my upside down life was meant for Tilly.
I’ll have to break the news to her later.
Although, according to her body language, she won’t be too disappointed.
I offer Jackson a cool glance. “As enticing as your offer sounds, I think—”
I’m about to turn him down flat when gasps and light screams emerge from nearby.
The crowd parts as a woman in a pink dress staggers her way over with her hand clasped over her neck.
A jewel-encrusted mask falls from her as she reaches out to grab Jackson by the sleeve but misses as she lands to the floor, flat on her back, arms splayed wide for all to see.
Shep emerges from the crowd and quickly checks the poor woman’s vitals before shaking his head my way.
A crowd quickly gathers around the body.
Maddie won’t have to worry about any more philanthropic efforts.
Madeline Swanson is dead.
Chapter 3
Screams erupt through the ballroom like a chorus as Shep quickly calls for backup on his phone.
“Give us some room,” I shout as the crowd presses tightly around poor Madeline, sprawled across the floor. “No crowding.”
I drop down next to Shep as both of our chests pound out of rhythm. Madeline’s face is ghostly pale, a thin line of lavender liquid drips from her lips, her pink dress sits askew, and her neckline is stretched as if she had been plucking at it, but it’s the dark spot near the bottom of the skirt that catches my eye.
“Shep, look,” I whisper as I point over to the peacock feather trapped in the hem of her gown. “How do you think that got there?”
A Claw-some Affair (MEOW FOR MURDER Book 3) Page 2
