I got to the town museum, a big, old building, complete with pillars and wide stone steps, before Justin. Built over a hundred years ago, the place gave the illusion of grandeur and was our cultural hub. They hosted all kinds of traveling exhibits, talks, and the occasional concert, though I couldn't remember the last time I visited.
Taking advantage of the warm afternoon, I parked myself on the steps and enjoyed the sun and people-watching while I waited. I wasn't all that sure what I would ask him, how I could trap him in a lie, but I was sure that Fletcher was parked somewhere nearby, ready to listen to everything we said before it got analyzed later.
They say it's about first impressions, but for me, it was usually the second date that confirmed things. While I was giddy about dating a lord on our first date, and bowled over by his handsome face, the second date didn't go so well.
Justin was, in a word, boring. He droned on about places he'd been, name-dropping frequently, but where Ben made even the most mundane thing sound interesting, exciting or funny, Justin couldn't have flipped the switch harder in the other direction. An hour in, and I found myself struggling just to feign interest.
"Tell me, Lexi," he said, offering me a seat on the padded bench under a long window overlooking the rear lawn. "Would you marry a man like me?"
"I, uh, what now?"
"Not now, of course, darling. We've only known each other ten minutes, but perhaps in the future? It used to be done all the time, you know."
"What? Marriage? It's definitely still done," I replied, confused by the sudden turn in conversation.
Justin laughed. "No, you rich, young things popping over to England and wedding a title," he told me. "We could be quite the dashing couple. You’d look good on my arm."
I was once engaged for, oh, half a minute, but the proposal was a lot more romantic than this. As far as I knew, my ex never wanted to marry me for my money. Though it could be that, like Justin, he thought of me as some kind of trophy wife. Not that it mattered much since I was broke back then, and my ex did a runner, leaving me heartbroken before I decided to enlist with the army. Neither the engagement or the army were my brightest ideas.
"I don't believe in pre-nups either," Justin continued, oblivious to what could only be a look of horror on my face. "What's mine is yours and vice versa. If we ever divorced, and I'm sure we wouldn't, especially with four children..."
"Four?" I coughed.
"Two boys, two girls," said Justin, sounding delighted as if I just agreed. "What was I saying? Oh yes, you'd have a claim on everything that was mine. Gosh, if we married here in the States, you might even get the castle."
"Castle?"
Justin whipped out his wallet, flipping it open to reveal a small, plastic photograph case. "There it is. Not actually a castle," he explained, showing me the magnificent house. It looked familiar, like something I'd seen on postcards or advertisements for gorgeous, stately homes. "That's a family joke. Would you like to live there?"
"Oh, erm, well..."
"Of course you would. The servants would look after you. You'd never have to lift a finger."
"You have servants?"
"Just a small staff of twenty, plus the gardeners and couple of chaps to look after the horses. Racing is a family passion. Anyway, what do you say? Shall we aim for you becoming the old ball and chain?"
"Oh, look at the time," I said, checking my wrist even though I wasn't wearing a watch. "I'm late for an appointment. Must go. Great seeing you!" I staggered backwards, completely terrified at the idea of becoming Justin's ball and chain. I couldn't imagine leaving my family, not to mention the bungalow I just bought, to live in the admittedly gorgeous house... with servants... being waited on... I paused. No! I couldn't even contemplate it. I'd have to live with Justin, who probably only did it in the missionary position with his face screwed up as he thought of England, and racing horses.
Meanwhile I’d be popping out little blonde kid after little blonde kid. "Bye!" I turned and power-walked as fast as my heels could carry me, not even pausing when he called my name, with no stops until I was in the safe confines of the Ferrari.
After catching my breath and before heading home to call Helen Callery about the ball, I checked my cell phone, and found a text from my sister asking me to call. Thinking that maybe it was about my niece, or her ex-husband doing another dumb-ass thing, I called back right away. "Lexi, hey, I was in Alessandro's today, having lunch with some friends."
"That's nice. I was there a few days ago."
"Yes, that's what I was calling you about. Marco, the maitre d’ told me your friend's card bounced."
"What?"
"Yeah, Marco said the card was no good, but your friend left before they could ask him to pay another way. It was kind of embarrassing actually, Lexi. I'm sure it wasn't deliberate, but could you ask your friend to settle up with Marco? Normally, they contact the police with something like this, but because he knows me, he didn't. Your friend is really lucky."
"Yeah, I'll let him know. Thanks, Serena."
"No problem. Catch up with you soon. I'm going to dinner with Antonio tonight. He says he has a gift for me. Do you know what it is?"
"He hasn't told me a thing."
"Oh, okay. He's really sweet. I'm so lucky." Serena hesitated. "You'll find the right guy too, you know. Hope you're not worrying about those guys."
"I'm not," I lied, "Not one bit."
As soon as we hung up, I did contact them both, telling them about Justin's bizarre marriage proposal and what Serena told me. It was suspicious. That Justin's payment didn't go through was one thing, an error maybe, but coupled with walking out and leaving his card behind, not to mention his eagerness to lure a rich wife without a pre-nup, smelled like a rat. As Justin pointed out, I could end up filthy rich; what he didn't point out was, that worked two ways... he could claim from me too. Maybe Justin wasn't quite as rich as he made out, and if that were true, maybe he was looking for a way to make a quick buck without a pre-nup?
Chapter Thirteen
I was glad I had a quiet evening alone with Lily — minus stakeouts and dating disasters — because the next night was all kinds of fancy, and something of a treat. Although Helen Callery set me up with a ticket, and Solomon promised to come through on suitable attire, Ben called earlier that day to see if I were attending. When he found out I was, he insisted on collecting me from the Chilton house at nine sharp. He looked thoroughly gorgeous in his tuxedo, and even better with me on his arm. That I was now sure of his innocence in the face of Lord Justin's bizarre behavior to rid me of my fake riches only added to his allure.
I, of course, looked equally divine in a stunning, fitted, floor-length black gown Solomon managed to procure from somewhere. I even had a diamond pendant and diamond studs to complete the look. I didn't dare ask how much they cost, though Solomon did take the time to mention there would be eyes on me all night. Or more precisely, on the jewels.
"Does anything strike your fancy?" Ben asked, leaning closer to whisper into my ear. Or bosom. It was hard to tell and, frankly, the lightest touch of his breath on either was welcome. We paused in the corner of the room, the music from a harpist washing over us, and all I wanted to do was ask Ben to whisper again. It was a nice change from beating myself up over Solomon and Maddox.
I looked up at him and smiled. "Oh, yes."
"And how about the silent auction?" he quipped, winking as if he could read my mind.
"Still browsing," I told him. The ball, I learned, was Million Matches' idea of a mixer. Get all the rich folk in one room, encourage them to spend a bunch of money in the name of charity, and hope that some of them get it on with each other, and live to tell all their rich friends about their successful endeavor. Some of the attendees arrived in pairs, like Ben and me; others came alone. I'd already counted hundreds of thousands, if not millions, in jewels, and spotted some haute couture that made my heart race. The women really did go to town when flashing their wealth. The men, meanwhil
e, were more subtle in uniforms of ebony tuxedos, the occasional flash of a Rolex, or a pair of diamond-studded cufflinks, serving as discreet calling cards for the size of their wallets. Not that any of them needed it. I knew the ticket alone cost a thousand bucks, and the agency vetted everyone to prevent the poor proletariat from gaining entry. What surprised me most was how many lonely millionaires there were in Montgomery.
"Don't look now, but there's a man in a turban staring at us," whispered Ben. He plucked two champagne flutes from a passing waiter's tray and handed me one as I tried a discreet glance over my shoulder. I flinched. The man staring in our direction wasn't wearing a turban. It was a bandage, white fabric folds woven into a thick wrap around his head. His expression was less of a stare and more of a glower. On the plus side, David Markham was still definitely alive. We both survived our date, although the way he looked at me right now, made me wonder if I would survive this evening. "Do you know him?" Ben asked.
I blinked. "Hmm?"
"The guy in the turban. Do you know him? He doesn't look very happy."
I mumbled something vague, and took a sip of champagne. I was saved from further explanation by a woman in her mid-forties bearing down on us. She all but edged me out of the way as she leaned in to air-kiss Ben an inch from both cheeks. In that close proximity, I spotted telltale traces of a scar just near her ears, and revised my age estimate upwards by fifteen years.
"Darling," she gushed. "How wonderful to see you aren't off the market yet." She gave me a casual sideways glance and moved left, forcing me to step out of her way.
Ben smiled. "You look stunning, Claudia." His gaze flitted towards the large emerald-studded choker around her neck. Each one looked perfect to my untrained eye. She wore a ruby ring on her left hand and an emerald-and-ruby bracelet on her left wrist. They were a little over the top for my taste, but I wouldn't say no. They made my borrowed diamonds look like children’s costume jewelry.
"I bid on the Caribbean villa," Claudia continued. "One week for two in paradise. Away from the pressures of Hollywood. I'm an actress, darling," she sneered at me before giving him a pointed look. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. She totally had the hottie hots for my date! Not only that, but she thought he might want to join her at the villa, and I bet she wasn't planning to pack a Scrabble board. As she gazed at him, a sinking feeling hit my stomach. Claudia was so sure of herself because she'd already been there with Ben. Eww.
"I'm sure your daughter will love some bonding time with you," said Ben, acting purposefully dense and not rising to the bait. He took a sip of champagne and scanned the room, finally meeting my eyes and smiling.
"She's busy that week. College." Claudia shrugged. She followed Ben's gaze and gave me a casual once-over. If she were impressed or threatened or bored, it was impossible to tell; Botox kept her face frozen. All the same, she gave me a weak smile and returned her gaze to Ben. "I'll call you... lover." With a saucy smile, she drifted away, waving to someone else in the crowd.
Ben leaned in and took my hand as he said, "Subtlety is not Claudia's strong point."
"You’re joking?" I murmured and he laughed.
"No, and neither is honesty. As you might have guessed, we dated a couple of times, but her profile claimed she was thirty-eight. The rest of her body, however, doesn't stand up to the claim."
"Ooh. Bitchy." I thought about the rest of her standing up to the claim and sighed. Ben and Claudia?
"It's not bitchy if it's true. As for calling me her lover..." Ben glanced at me and raised his eyebrows, "that's a no. Anyway, she's hounded me ever since."
"I can't see why," I told him, brightening inside as Ben dispelled Claudia's attempt to psyche me out. "It's not like you're gorgeous, handsome, and rich."
He gave a nonchalant shrug. "It's hard to be an Average Joe."
"Yeah, you look like you're really suffering."
Ben raised my hand to his heart and smiled. "Whatever will you do to cheer me up?"
"Give you an alibi for the week in the Caribbean?"
"I'll take that... and..." He was moving us towards the dance floor, my hand still on his heart. "For now, I'll take a dance."
"Don't you want to bid on anything?" I nodded towards the auction tables across the shortest length of the room. Details of the objects to be bid upon were displayed alongside bidding sheets the size of ballot papers, and neat, leather voting boxes, their frames edged with studs, and slit in the top to receive the secret bids.
"I'll bid on anything you choose," he told me. "Just say the word."
We danced for the remainder of the song, then the next and the next. Ben was a wonderful dancer; light on his feet, confident. I left my hand in his, with his other hand resting on my hip. We twirled and whirled, for a while, seemingly like we were the only ones in the room. If I didn't keep reminding myself that I was on a case, and there was still a fifty percent chance Ben was a top thief, I might have let myself fall into the moment, and enjoy the sensation of being in the arms of a handsome man with whom I had no history and no expectations. But I couldn't do that. I had to be professional. I had to remember that even if this was a pleasant case to work on, I was simply dressed in finery, rather than being hidden in a bush, wearing jeans and a sweater. It was still work and I still had a job to do. I still had to engineer a conversation with Justin; and I still had to keep my eye on Ben.
So, after a while, I resisted getting carried away and began to observe my surroundings and the people within. I spotted David Markham again, this time sulking in the corner; and I also saw the wet blanket, Marty Tookey walking around, talking to people and smiling until they politely edged away and he moved onto the next group.
I also spotted Lord Justin perusing the bidding tables before standing alone to one side, observing the room. He caught my glance and raised his glass. I nodded to him and smiled, before Ben whirled me around, dancing us across the floor. All the myriad jewels, their colors, sizes, and shapes made my head spin. Millions of dollars worn on necks, wrists, earlobes, and fingers, plus tens of thousands being bid on lots, as if they had cash to burn. Solomon was right: this was a great night to stake out potential victims. There were dozens of them, just ripe for picking.
"Would you excuse me a moment?" said Ben.
"Of course." I didn't ask where he was going. Besides, I saw him heading in the direction of the hallway where the restrooms were situated. I figured all the champagne was running through him too. Speaking of which, there was no time like the present for a bathroom break of my own, especially with Marty Tookey bearing down on me.
Sidestepping past a couple in deep conversation, their crucial words being "Harry Winston" and "when?" I followed in Ben's footsteps, nodding to Delgado, who pulled security duty at the door, as I passed by. The only reaction I got was a slight flare of his nostrils.
The bathroom was staffed by a surly looking woman with shoulder-length, black hair and more products than were stocked in my hair salon. Nice perfumes, hand lotion, body sprays, and the fluffiest white hand towels surrounded a little white dish that the attendant had her eyes locked on.
Three other women reached the bathroom before me and formed a short queue for the stalls. I joined them, deliberately eavesdropping.
"Then he showed me the photo of his estate," exclaimed the shorter of the two blondes. "I've always wanted to live on an estate. Imagine! In England."
Uh-oh. Leaning in quite imperceptibly, I hoped.
She continued, "He said he could imagine me living there, strolling around the grounds. He even said we'd probably meet the queen!"
Her two friends made enthusiastic cooing noises, but I wasn't sure which element grabbed them most: the estate, the title, or the queen.
"That's funny," said the brunette, "He told me that he went on a boys night out with the princes, and Kate would love to have a friend like me."
"He. Did. Not," replied the short blonde.
"Did too. He said we'd take the yacht out with them this
summer."
"What yacht?" asked the taller blonde. "He has a yacht?"
"I think it belongs to some sheik friend of his. It's moored in France," said Shorty.
"Monaco, Candice," snapped Brunette. "Besides, he was just being nice. I have a date with Lord Justin tomorrow night."
"I'm having afternoon tea with him on Saturday," said Candice, flicking her blonde bob.
"Uh-oh," said the tall blonde, and they both turned to her.
"Uh-oh what?" said Candice.
"I didn't know we were talking about Justin. I slept with him last night."
Last night? After our little museum trip? How rude. All the same, I didn't throw my lot into the increasingly hostile atmosphere. It was three on one, and if they were friends and about to fight, they'd almost certainly turn on me. So, I kept my mouth shut and texted a short version of the conversation to Solomon. He sent back "!" which I thought summed it up nicely. Now Justin wasn't only my top suspect, he was also an ass.
04 - Shock and Awesome Page 16
