Eye of the Beholder

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Are you lost? Can I give you directions?” she asked.

  He looked amused. “I know where I am.”

  “Well, in that case,” she said briskly, “I’ll be on my way. It’s getting late.”

  He watched the breeze tangle her hair. “Can I give you a lift?”

  “What? No.” Startled, she took a hasty step back, although he had made no move toward her. “I mean, thanks, but I live near here. I use this path for exercise.” Lord, now she was babbling.

  His brows rose. “It’s all right. I’m not a serial killer.”

  She kept smiling. “Yeah, sure, that’s what they all say.”

  “I take it you’re the type who doesn’t take lifts from strangers?”

  “No intelligent person accepts rides from strangers in this day and age.”

  “Maybe I’d better introduce myself. My name is Trask. My company owns the new resort here in Avalon.”

  Stay cool, Alexa. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Trask.”

  “Just Trask.”

  “Yes, well, best of luck with the new resort.” She retreated another step. “Everyone in town is very excited about it.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  She did not trust the cool amusement she saw in his eyes. She dropped her own polite smile.

  “Welcome to Avalon, Trask.”

  She turned quickly and walked swiftly away from him.

  “Better hurry,” he said much too softly behind her. “I hear that night falls fast in the desert. It’ll be dark soon.”

  She resisted the sudden urge to break into a run. With grim determination she kept moving, listening intently for the sound of the Jeep’s engine.

  She finally heard it come to life with a low, throaty growl. She did not look back, but neither did she take a deep breath until the sound receded into the distance.

  Then and only then, did she allow herself to quicken her step.

  Adrenaline rushed through her, creating a tingling in her hands and feet. She was both hot and cold. It was the sort of feeling one got after having had a very close call.

  The other shoe had finally dropped. Trask was back in Avalon.

  4

  An hour later, dressed in a black satin robe splashed with an intricate, flowing Deco design worked in gold, Alexa stretched out on one of her most prized possessions, a chaise longue. The wrought iron piece was a sleek, 1920s-era creation, cushioned in black leather and ornamented with legs and arms in the shape of palm trees.

  The chaise longue had been a gift from her former employer, the person she had once considered her closest friend and mentor but who had ultimately betrayed her.

  Alexa’s jaw tightened as she reached for the phone. Thoughts of McClelland had hung heavy on her mind all day, thanks to Edward. She pictured Dancing Satyr again as she picked up the phone. She had not been wrong. It was definitely one of Mac’s pieces.

  How like McClelland to send a piece into the Paxton Forsyth Gallery, the very bastion of the twentieth-century arts and antiques establishment. It had been a test, no doubt. Mac had wanted to see if the bronze could get past Forsyth himself. Which, of course, it had.

  “Hello?” Vivien Kenyon’s warm voice came clearly over the line.

  “It’s me, Mom.” Alexa took a sip of the wine.

  “Alexa, dear. Is anything wrong?”

  “No, of course not. Everything is fine here.” Alexa settled deeper into the chaise. “I just called to see how things were going there.”

  “Maui is great, as always.” There was a smile in Vivien’s voice. “Lloyd is out on the golf course as we speak. He’ll be back soon. You’re sure everything is okay back there? I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

  Alexa took a sip of sauvignon blanc and contemplated the Cubist-inspired geometric pattern of her black, brown, and yellow rug.

  “I met the owner of the new Avalon Resort & Spa today,” she said.

  There was a short, brittle pause on the other end of the line. “You met young Trask?”

  “I wouldn’t call him young. Not anymore. Maybe never.”

  “It’s all relative, isn’t it? But, yes, I suppose he would be twelve years older now, wouldn’t he? That would make him, what? Thirty-four?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  “Did he remember you?”

  “No, thank goodness. And it was a very casual sort of meeting. I didn’t even give him my name.”

  “I see.” Vivien sighed. “Well, it’s not as though we didn’t know that he was coming back to Avalon for the opening of the resort.”

  “When are you going to admit that you scheduled your vacation so that you and Lloyd wouldn’t be here while Trask was in town?”

  Vivien hesitated. “I suppose it was rather obvious, wasn’t it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Lloyd refuses to be concerned, but I felt that, at best, it would be awkward for both of them to come face-to-face at the reception.”

  “Ever the diplomat, hmm?”

  “Ever the coward.” Vivien chuckled. “Besides, Lloyd and I were long overdue for this vacation.”

  “You just got back from a cruise.”

  Vivien let that pass. “I’m sure that Trask has made his peace with his father’s death.”

  Alexa thought about Trask standing on the wrong side of the guard rail, gazing down into the canyon below Avalon Point. “What makes you so certain of that?”

  “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? He’s been a wealthy, successful man for several years. He’s got resources. If he’d intended to rake up the past, he would have done so long ago.”

  “Maybe.”

  “He didn’t even bother to visit Avalon during the construction of the resort,” Vivien reminded her. “He let his staff handle everything.”

  Alexa sipped wine. “True.”

  “I’m sure he’s only there now to handle the formalities associated with the opening of the hotel. He won’t stay more than a few days, at most.”

  “Probably not.” There was a beat of silence. “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “About what happened twelve years ago?”

  “What about it?”

  “What if Trask hasn’t made peace with the past? What if he’s back in town to cause trouble?”

  “I really don’t think he would have waited this long to come back if he’d had revenge on his mind.” Vivien’s own anxious uncertainty was painfully clear beneath the surface of her assured words.

  “I was too young to pay attention to the details of the events,” Alexa said slowly. “But I do remember that Lloyd was involved in a partnership with Harry Trask and another man.”

  “Dean Guthrie.”

  “Right. Guthrie. That’s the name. He’s still around, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, of course. I never did care for the man. He drinks too much and he’s got a violent temper. I forget how many wives he’s had. Three, at least. He divorced the last one a few months ago. Someone said she’s a jewelry designer. Lives out in Shadow Canyon, I believe.”

  “Looking back on it, Mom, do you think there’s any chance that Trask was right about his father’s death not being an accident?”

  “My God, Alexa, you can’t possibly believe that Lloyd would—”

  “No, of course not,” Alexa said hastily. “Never in a million years. But what about Guthrie? You just said he drinks too much and he has a temper. Do you think he might have had something to do with Harry Trask’s death?”

  “I talked to Lloyd about it at the time,” Vivien said quietly. “He has always been convinced that, even though Guthrie has a temper, he’s not a killer.”

  “Lloyd was always pretty good at figuring out what made people tick,” Alexa admitted.

  “You should know,” Vivien said gently.

  Alexa recalled how patient and understanding Lloyd had been with her during those tumultuous years after she and Vivien had moved into his home.
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  She had fiercely resisted the notion of anyone trying to take her father’s place. Lloyd had never tried to do that. She still remembered the conversation she had overheard between her mother and Lloyd shortly after they had married. Vivien had been worried about Alexa’s failure to accept her new husband.

  Lloyd had been as steady and calm about Alexa’s icy attitude toward him as he was about everything else. “That girl doesn’t need another father in her life,” he’d said. “She needs a man who can show her that not all men are like her father.”

  Somehow in his own quiet, solid, dependable way, he had become very important to her over the years. It was Lloyd who had taught her how to drive, helped her select a college, instructed her in the fundamentals of running her own business.

  Patient, solid, dependable Lloyd. She was surprised by the hot rush of protective loyalty she felt toward him.

  “When it comes to judging people, Lloyd’s track record isn’t perfect,” Alexa said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you remember? Twelve years ago he said that Trask would not come back.”

  “I remember.” Vivien paused. “I also recall that you said Trask would return some day.”

  “I was right.”

  5

  Trask stroked the stylized wings of one of the two massive marble condors that guarded the lobby staircase.

  “It looks like something that fell off the top of the Chrysler Building,” he said.

  A pained expression appeared in Edward Vale’s eyes. It vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced by the serene arrogance of authority.

  “It’s considered an excellent example of the Aztec and Mayan influence on the Deco sculptural style.”

  “How much did I pay for them?”

  Edward was unable to conceal another wince. “I’d have to check the paperwork, but I believe we purchased the pair of condors for something in the neighborhood of twenty thousand.”

  It was Trask’s turn to wince. “That’s a hell of a neighborhood. Twenty grand? For two marble birds?”

  “We were fortunate to get them,” Edward assured him. “They were previously in the hands of a private collector. If it hadn’t been for my, uh, contact in the Deco market, I wouldn’t have even been aware that they were for sale.”

  “Guess I should be grateful that your contact found a couple of condors instead of a pair of pink flamingos.”

  Edward cleared his throat. “The sculptures make a brilliant frame for this truly outstanding staircase.”

  Trask took a step back and studied the unabashedly exotic lines of the cascading staircase. It was the focal point of the ornate lobby, the sort of staircase that women clad in satin evening gowns descended with languid grace in old Cary Grant films.

  Trask reminded himself that he knew a good fantasy when he saw one.

  “You’re right, Vale. The birds suit the staircase.”

  Edward relaxed slightly. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

  Trask turned slowly on his heel, surveying the rest of the lobby. From the elaborate wrought iron and etched glass fixtures that produced a sultry ambient light to the richly lacquered end tables and the low, sweeping curves of the chairs, it was a complete universe. The lobby reeked of a dark, smoldering sexuality and between-the-wars decadence. The entire effect was anchored by the antiques and objets d’art that were strategically showcased throughout the hotel.

  He knew that when guests stepped through the front doors they would walk into another time and place, a world in which sophisticated romance and dangerous intrigues seemed possible.

  He had bought and paid for a fantasy, and that was exactly what had been delivered.

  “You did a good job, Vale. Looks like I got my money’s worth.”

  “Thank you.” Edward glowed with relief. “May I say that you’ve created a very unique vision here at the Avalon Resort & Spa. I’m sure your guests will be enthralled.”

  “Has all of the art arrived on site?”

  “Yes.” Edward cleared his throat. “With the exception of one bronze that will be installed at the end of the hallway in the west wing this afternoon.”

  “Fine. Then we’re set.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Edward smiled broadly. “I can assure you that, so far as the art collection is concerned, everything will be in place for the reception.”

  “Good. My PR people are counting on the art and antiques to pull in the media.”

  “I understand. I’m sure it will have the desired effect.”

  “It damned well better have the right effect,” Trask said. “I paid enough for it.”

  The sound of footsteps on tile caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Pete Santana striding swiftly toward him.

  Pete had worked for Avalon Resorts, Inc., for four years. He was an outgoing, high-energy type with a keen eye for the subtle details that made the difference between four stars and five in the travel guides.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Pete came to a halt. He acknowledged Edward with a quick nod and then looked at Trask. “I’ve got a meeting with the head of security in a few minutes. We’re going to go over some parking and crowd-handling issues for the night of the reception. Thought I’d better check to see if you wanted to join us.”

  Trask shook his head. “No, thanks. You’re in charge of running this hotel, Pete. I told you, I’m only here to help draw the press and the VIPs. After that, I’m strictly on vacation.”

  “Right.” Pete hid his obvious skepticism behind a professional smile. “Well, I’d better get to the meeting. Let me know if there’s anything you need, sir.”

  “I’m not one of the guests, Pete. I can take care of myself.”

  “Right,” Pete said again. He looked even more doubtful.

  “Oh, yeah, one more thing,” Pete added. “About those two particular RSVPs you wanted Glenda to follow up.”

  Trask stilled. “What about them?”

  “I checked with her a few minutes ago. She told me that Guthrie never bothered to respond so she called his office and was told that he definitely will not attend the reception.”

  Interesting, Trask thought. The hunt had barely begun, but the quarry was already running for cover.

  “What about Kenyon?” he asked. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vale stiffen. You knew you were in a small town when even your overpriced art consultant had heard the local gossip.

  “Glenda mentioned that she had received written regrets from Mr. and Mrs. Kenyon,” Pete said. “Seems they’re in Hawaii for the month.”

  Santana looked as wary as Vale, Trask thought. Apparently everyone had leaped to the conclusion that he was back in Avalon to do more than just open a resort. Fine by him. When you wanted something at the bottom of the pot to float to the surface, you got out a spoon and started stirring.

  “All right, Pete. Thanks for the update.”

  “Sure. Like I said, let me know if there’s anything else.” Pete glanced at Edward. “By the way, Glenda got your last-minute addition to the guest list, Mr. Vale. She sent out an invitation to Alexa Chambers.”

  “Thank you,” Edward said in a strangled voice.

  “No problem.” Pete smiled. “It’s standard Avalon Resorts procedure to allow all major subcontractors and suppliers on a project to invite a few guests to the opening night reception.”

  “Very kind.” Edward dug out a pristine white handkerchief and blotted his forehead. “A bit warm in here, isn’t it? Perhaps the air conditioning needs adjustment.”

  Trask watched with interest as Edward wiped away perspiration. Outside, the late spring sun had driven the temperature into the mid eighties, but here inside the lobby the atmosphere was cool and comfortable.

  “I’ll have someone check the equipment,” Trask said softly.

  “Yes, well, just a suggestion.” Edward smiled weakly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see about that bronze.”

  He swung around and fled toward the massive etched
glass doors at the front of the lobby.

  Trask waited until he had disappeared. Then he walked past the very expensive condors and went up the staircase to the second floor.

  At the top of the stairs he turned and went down the carpeted hall to the owner’s suite at the far end of the west wing.

  He opened the door and entered a room that exuded raffish elegance, a place designed for midnight seductions and the hatching of dark plots.

  Subdued, milky light from the frosted glass wall sconces gleamed on the abstract design of the red and gold screen. The vermilion and yellow tapestries that covered the furnishings added a rich, decadent touch. According to Nathan, the sofa and armchairs were replicas of designs featured in something called the 1925 Paris Exposition. When Trask had asked what that was, Nathan had groaned. Trask had been left with the impression that the event had been a defining moment in Deco style.

  He went to the black lacquered cabinet and switched on a lamp that looked like a hood ornament from a 1927 Packard. He opened the cabinet doors to reveal the state-of-the-art business work station inside. Picking up the phone, he punched in a downstairs extension.

  Glenda Blaine, his unnervingly efficient head of public relations, answered on the first ring.

  “Blaine here,” she said with the brusque precision of a military officer reporting in from the front.

  Glenda had worked for him since the inception of Avalon Resorts, Inc., but he still found himself tempted to salute every time he spoke with her.

  “I understand we sent out an invitation to someone named Alexa Chambers.”

  “Yes, sir. It was a last-minute request. I handled it myself.”

  Trask leaned back against the edge of the desk and studied the graceful, marble-topped console in front of him. “I believe that her name was submitted by the art consultant.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do we have any record of what Alexa Chambers did on the project?”

  “Let me check.”

  Trask listened to the faint rustle of papers on the other end of the line. An image of Glenda’s terrifyingly efficient desktop floated through his mind.

  She came back a few seconds later.