Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1)

by J. A. Menzies

  “However do your parents look after all this, Kendall?” Lorry asked in amazement.

  Kendall laughed. “If you think either of them has a green thumb, forget it. As far as Dad’s concerned, if looking after the place was up to him, this would be a slab of concrete, possibly painted green. I guess Mom likes it, because she raved about it when they bought the house. But my personal opinion is that she likes it because it’s a status symbol. You know, ‘Won’t you come to tea in my rose garden, dear?’

  “Anyway, there are two full-time gardeners looking after the grounds. Plus a part-timer to do the heavy work. And if you like this garden, wait until you see the Japanese one.”

  Lorry shook her head, then moved on, exclaiming about first one and then another rose.

  Kendall waited for Nick. “Cat got your tongue?” he asked quietly. “Or are you coming to your senses?”

  It was a moment before Nick replied. “No,” he said slowly. “I remembered something and started thinking about it. Sorry.”

  “No problem. It’s only that when you’re around attractive women you aren’t usually quiet. Unless of course you got to thinking she might prefer the strong, silent type.”

  Nick half-grinned, looking rueful. “Am I as obvious as that?”

  “Usually. But then I know you better than most.”

  “Well, I’ll try to be better company.” He looked over at Lorry. She was standing in the shade of one of the enormous trellises. As she leaned forward to smell one of the roses, a shaft of bright sunlight hit her, making her face glow and her hair shine like new copper. As if seeing her for the first time, Nick said, “She is attractive, isn’t she?”

  Kendall smiled. “Not exactly what you expected.” He snapped off a dead flower and threw it under the bush. “Not what I expected, either, to be honest.”

  “So, do I have a clear field?” Nick grinned. “You still prefer blue-eyed blondes?”

  “Well,” Kendall teased, “I may regret this, but go ahead. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Sounds like you’ve met your Waterloo. I’ll make sure I let Marilyn know how faithful you are.”

  Kendall traced the curve of a large rose petal with one finger. “You in any danger of meeting yours?”

  “You wish.” Nick smiled, but his eyes remained grim. He walked over to Lorry, who was staring at a spectacular Chicago Peace rose. “Nice, huh?”

  “Breathtaking.”

  “Yeah, I agree.”

  She looked up, saw he was looking at her rather than the rose, and blushed.

  Nick then began a guided tour of the garden, making up names for the roses, and before long all three were laughing as though they were old friends.

  They were interrupted by the chime of a clear bell.

  “Mom’s idea,” Kendall announced. “This place is too big to yell. The bell means, ‘Dinnah is served, m’lud and lady.’ Shall we?” He held out his arm, and Lorry, after a small hesitation, took it.

  Nick bowed and dutifully took Lorry’s other arm. “Amazing things one learns at law school. How to escort a lady to a formal dinner.”

  “Really?”

  “One of our classes had a very large book on etiquette as required reading. As a lawyer, one has to be polite at all times. Even if you call someone an idiot, there are ways to do it politely. Don’t laugh; it’s true. One of the many reasons I’m not a lawyer.”

  “I know you’re joking about the book. But I thought Ellen said you had both graduated from law school.”

  “We did. But unless I actually practice law I defy anyone to call me a lawyer. I’m a skier.”

  “So am I, but—”

  “You ski?”

  “Whenever I get the chance.”

  “Any good?”

  “Average.”

  “Downhill?”

  “Uh huh. You?”

  “Anything. Mostly moguls and aerials.”

  “Really?”

  Nick laughed. “No, I made it up. Just kidding. I’m a freestyle skier.”

  “Oh, that’s great. I love watching freestyle skiing. But isn’t it difficult?”

  “No more difficult than a lot of things.”

  “And not nearly as remunerative as law,” put in Kendall, who had been silent since Nick began to talk.

  The party gathered in the enormous living room. Like the rest of the house, it was a show piece. One entire wall was a fireplace made from white marble. Indirect lighting brought out its gleaming charm. It contrasted with the large pictures on the other three white walls—abstract pictures of giant royal blue and emerald green flowers. Four white satin brocade sofas held court on the off-white carpet, amid a scattering of bright green and blue Queen Anne chairs and white marble end tables. Gold-tone lamps with white shades speckled with tiny blue and green flowers rested on many of the tables. Here and there were green or blue vases of various sizes holding a profusion of fresh roses and other flowers from the gardens.

  Lorry, Nick, and Kendall entered the room just ahead of Douglass and Anne. The room became the topic of conversation. Kendall assured them that a decorator his father hired had full responsibility for every room in the house except the den. “Dad said to spare no expense, and she didn’t.”

  They all turned as Anne gave a brittle laugh. “Jillian seems to be missing. She obviously knows the effect of an entrance.”

  Douglass’s face reddened slightly in the short silence, then Ellen said something innocuous about how nice it was to have such a nice large gathering. Conversation was beginning to flow again when Peter and Jillian walked in, with Shauna trailing behind them. Jillian had changed into brilliant orange cocktail pants with a matching scoop-necked overblouse. Her golden hair shone, reflecting the orange glow. The gold-embossed chain of crystals she wore sent shimmers of light radiating in all directions. The smooth, expertly made-up face glowed with vitality. One could not really fault Peter for the look of pride on his face.

  “Hope we didn’t keep you waiting,” he said with a smile.

  Polite answers were given, and Ellen and George led the way into the dining room. Jillian glided to her chair and waited while Peter pulled it out. She smiled serenely at everyone. “Sorry I’m a wee bit late. I really don’t know how I managed to get here this quickly.” Her voice was soft, like a shy child’s begging to be forgiven. Several male voices rushed to say there was no problem.

  Nick turned to Lorry, who was seated between him and Kendall.

  “Where do you usually ski?”

  Since Lorry had been one of those mesmerized by Jillian, Nick had to repeat the question. When she did hear him, she simply said, “Banff and Jasper,” and continued watching Jillian. After a moment, it dawned on her that she had been rude. She turned to smile at Nick.

  In the rose garden, her attention had been on the flowers, so she hadn’t really looked at Nick closely. Her impression had been of a nice-looking, confident man. Now, however, as she took in the darkness of his wavy hair and black sports jacket, contrasted against the white of his smooth shirt and finely chiseled face, and in the midst of this starkness, brilliant blue eyes gleaming like sapphires, she was shocked into thinking he was quite possibly the most attractive man she’d ever seen.

  Not that his looking somewhat like a movie star meant anything, of course. It was what was inside that mattered.

  She didn’t allow herself to look at him again. But she did glance once more at Jillian. She was so—even the word beautiful seemed inadequate. Dazzling? Like you would expect a famous actress to look.

  Lorry saw Jillian’s head tilt slightly as she listened to something Peter was saying. Saw her eyes widen as she stared down the table at Nick. Saw a smile touch those perfect lips. Then Jillian turned back to say something to George on her other side.

  For a second, Lorry felt just a tinge of—what? Annoyance? Stupid. It was natural that Jillian would find Nick attractive. Who wouldn’t? She scolded herself for thinking like a schoolgirl. He wasn’t her type at all. He’d probably
be right at home with someone like Jillian. And what a couple they would make! The thought didn’t entirely please her.

  “Lorry, do you think you could pass the butter?” Nick’s voice startled her. “Not for me. I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your thoughts. But Anne wants it.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She quickly found the butter and gave it to him. “I guess I was deep in thought.”

  “A penny for those thoughts,” Nick said. “Or are they worth more?”

  “More than you could afford, sir.”

  “You know, ma’am, I’d rather if you called me Nick. Of course, you could call me Nicky, or even Nicholas, or perhaps Hey, You, but I rather prefer Nick from my friends. You are going to be my friend, aren’t you?”

  Lorry felt her cheeks turning pink. Just like a schoolgirl! “Eat your supper, Nick.”

  Nick laughed and Lorry looked down at the beautifully prepared plate that had just been placed before her, but her eyes were drawn irresistibly back to Jillian, and to her surprise she saw Jillian look away.

  Why on earth would Jillian be watching her? Likely she was just looking around the table, perhaps wondering who everyone was.

  There were several people Lorry hadn’t met yet. Douglass Fischer. Peter and Jillian. The mousy-looking girl Kendall had said was Jillian’s uninvited sister. And Bart Brodie. He was a type she had never met. Not that she had met many people like the others, either in the small town where she’d grown up or in the city of Edmonton where she’d gone to college the last four years.

  The truth was, she felt she’d been plunged into a completely different world, where money flowed freely and standards were very different from those with which she had grown up, and which she had adopted for her own.

  Lorry bowed her head and said a silent grace. God, thank you for this food and for bringing me here, and please keep me from making too many social blunders this weekend. And help me to remember what’s really important. Let me see through your eyes.

  After supper, George strolled off to his den with Peter and Douglass, ostensibly on business. The rest of the house party followed Ellen back to the formal living room with its marble fireplace, vaulted ceiling, and groupings of sofas and chairs. Coffee and tea were set out on the central coffee table, and as Ellen poured, she protested, “Those men. If you ask me, all they’re going to do is find a bottle of something that George has stashed away and that will be the sum total of their so-called ‘business talk.’ They think they can pull the wool over our eyes.”

  “And can’t they?” Bart asked. He was leaning back in an overstuffed rocker, lazily studying the rest of the group. “Can’t they?” he demanded.

  “Well, not most of the time,” his aunt replied. Then she laughed. “All right. You’re an exception. No one knows what you’re liable to do.”

  “Sounds intriguing,” Jillian said as she selected a cigarette from a gold case. “What do you do, Mr. Brodie?”

  “If you find out, let us know. That is, if he does anything at all,” Kendall commented.

  Jillian laughed. “You wouldn’t by any chance be the black sheep of the family, would you, Mr. Brodie?”

  Bart smiled. “How astute of you, Mrs. Martin.”

  “Jillian.”

  Ellen relaxed. It looked as though Bart would be able to keep Jillian amused. Now if she only knew what to do with the sister.

  Nick lounged in a small bay window. His hands idly fingered a small object he had absent-mindedly pulled from his pocket.

  “You look bored,” Kendall said as he sat down in a near-by chair.

  Nick started. “What?”

  “What are you thinking about? How you’d like to own a place like this? If you joined the firm, someday you could.”

  “No, actually, that’s not it at all. I was thinking about fate.”

  Kendall’s eyebrows rose. “Fate?”

  “Yeah. Like—oh, I guess whether things happen by chance or not.”

  Kendall’s voice registered the astonishment that showed in his face. “What on earth has got you talking like that?”

  Nick laughed and put the trinket back into his pocket. “I don’t know. You, I guess, with all your talk about making decisions and having to live with them. It’s not nearly as easy as you make it sound. And if you choose wrong, what do you do? Can you ever go back and start over, or do you have to go on from where you are?”

  “‘Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…’” Kendall quoted.

  “Yeah. Do we really have a choice, or is it all fate?”

  “You’ve got me. But I don’t think you need to spend too much time thinking about joining the firm. It’s obvious which is the right choice here.”

  “‘And I—’” Nick finished the quotation, “‘I took the road less traveled by…’”

  Since they were to be roommates, Lorry thought it fell on her to do what she could to make Shauna comfortable. But she quickly found that drawing the older girl out was not going to be easy. If Shauna had had a shell, she would probably have been huddled inside. As it was, she was doing her best to disappear into the large chair in which she was sitting.

  “I guess we’re going to be roommates for the weekend,” Lorry said with a smile.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re Jillian’s older sister?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you live in Toronto, too?”

  “No.”

  “Outside of the city?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have an apartment?”

  “I live at home.”

  “Oh, that must be, er, interesting. With your parents?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have other sisters or brothers?”

  “Three sisters. Besides Jillian.”

  “Are they at home, too?”

  “Yes. They’re in school.”

  “Oh. Do you work?”

  “At the library.”

  Even though she appeared to be engrossed by Bart, Jillian must have been listening to at least part of her sister’s conversation, because she suddenly swiveled in her chair and said, “Oh, for goodness sake, Shauna, the girl is only trying to be polite. If you could hear yourself! A moron could talk better!”

  Shauna looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, but she said nothing. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

  It was broken by the sound of a chime echoing through the house.

  Kendall jumped up. “I’ll get it.”

  Ellen started slightly. Who could it be at this hour? She sought for something that had slipped her mind. Something she had forgotten. Oh, no. She had completely forgotten about Hildy!

  “I don’t believe I mentioned it, but there’s to be one more guest for the weekend. A friend of mine. Well, not a friend exactly. Someone I know reasonably well. We’re in a club together—oh, here she is now. Everyone, this is Hildy Reimer.”

  But no one was looking at Hildy. Instead, they were staring at Jillian, who had suddenly burst into laughter. “I don’t believe it!” she said at last. “Who invited the wicked witch of the East? Or did you invite yourself? I always thought you had a lot of nerve, Hildy darling.”

  FOUR

  As if by premonition, Peter chose that moment to come in from the den.

  “Shut up, Jill.” He turned to the other woman. “Hildy, what the devil are you doing here?”

  The attractive woman with short, black, blunt-cut hair and a deceptively simple gray silk suit with an ice pink blouse stepped forward. “Hello, Peter,” she said evenly. “I’m having my apartment redecorated, and I needed to get away. I certainly didn’t expect to meet you here.”

  He took the hand she offered and held it briefly.

  Jillian stood and walked insolently toward the older woman. “Come to spy on us? And did you think you’d be welcome?”

  “Jillian, cool it!” her husband ordered.

  Jillian laughed, turned her back on Hildy, and sat down on the arm of Bart’s chair.

  Peter
radiated embarrassment. “I guess we’d better get this over with. Hildy is my former wife. My second wife. I had no idea…” His voice trailed off and he glanced at Ellen.

  “I had no idea she was your ex-wife,” Ellen glanced apologetically at Hildy. “If I had, I certainly wouldn’t—I mean, I would—I mean— Oh, dear.”

  “It’s perfectly all right, Ellen,” Hildy said. “I’ll just go to a hotel. I should have done so, anyway.”

  “Don’t go on my account,” Peter said. “We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

  “Don’t go on my account, either,” Jillian drawled as she leaned close to Bart so he could light another cigarette for her. “This is all terribly amusing. Did you know Peter still has your picture in his desk? Perhaps we could compare notes?”

  Neither Hildy nor Peter spoke.

  Ellen filled the gap. “Kendall, would you take Hildy’s luggage to her room, please? The blue one next to yours. Hildy, may I get you something? A drink, perhaps?” The two women moved away from the others.

  Jillian continued to lean close to Bart. “The nerve of her,” she said softly.

  “Maybe Peter likes women with nerve.”

  “Meaning?” she dared.

  “Don’t worry. I like women with nerve, too.”

  “You do, huh?” The fingers holding her cigarette touched the back of his hand lightly. “And how many ex-wives do you have in your closet?”

  “None. When I get tired of them, I drown them in a lake. Tidier that way. No loose ends to walk in and surprise me.”

  She laughed, a throaty chuckle that carried across the room to where Ellen and Hildy were talking while Hildy finished her drink.

  Hildy set down the drink and said she’d like to go to her room and unpack.

  “Oh, certainly,” Ellen said. “I’ll take you up.” They left the room and Jillian’s laughter followed them into the hallway. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am,” Ellen apologized. “I had no idea you even knew Peter. Or any of them. You could have knocked me over with a feather when Jillian said those dreadful things.”