She tried to stare me down but finally gave up. “A girl can’t get any privacy around here.”
I closed the door and locked it. “We used to share this bathroom, remember?”
“Yeah. You, me, and your three sisters.”
“Crazy,” I admitted. “I don’t know how you survived.”
“It was cozy. I loved living here with you guys.”
I sat on the edge of the tub. “It was pretty much the best time ever for me.”
“Yeah.” Standing in front of the mirror, she brushed her hair with her fingers. “I don’t care what you think of me, Brooklyn. I’m just not ready to go back yet.”
“For goodness’ sake, Robin, you were attacked and terrorized. I don’t blame you for not wanting to go back. We only came up here because I needed your help and you weren’t answering the phone. We were worried.”
“Sorry. I didn’t think about you guys being worried. I was with Austin and…” She met my gaze in the mirror. “So, did you get all your questions answered?”
“I’ll probably have a million more by the time I get home, but Derek and I will work it out. I’m looking forward to grilling Rajiv. I hope he’ll provide more insights.”
“I hope so, too.”
I stretched my legs out and crossed my ankles. “So what do you think you’ll do next?”
“I’m staying up here for a few more days.”
“That’s a good idea,” I admitted. “I can tell you’re happier here than you were in the city.”
“I am. Austin is… awesome.” Her smile softened. “So fierce and protective. I love the way he…”
I squinched up my face and covered my ears. There are some things a sister should never find out about her brother. “I don’t want to hear the details.”
She laughed. “Fine. I’m not quite ready to share them anyway.”
“I appreciate that.” I scooted to the end of the tub and leaned back against the tile wall. “You still worry me, though.”
“Why? I’ll be fine.” She paused as if thinking about what she had just said, and then nodded decisively. Maybe she was finally coming back to herself. I was glad to see it. Still, teasing your best friend is practically in the job description.
“I’m just afraid you’ll start wearing overalls and, you know, flannel.”
She cringed. “Not while I have a breath left in me.”
“You say that now, Robin, but you went hiking and camping.”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “Weird.” As she spoke, she touched the skin around her eye experimentally.
“Does it still hurt?”
“It twinges every so often, but it feels much better. It’s just ugly.”
“Not so much anymore.” But I scowled at the memory of crazy Galina. “I can’t believe we took that lunatic woman down. I think she was on a mission to kill.”
Robin shuddered. “I hope she’s still in jail.”
“She’d better be. I’ll call to make sure when I get back to town.” I got up and studied her black eye more closely. “It definitely looks a lot better.”
“Austin got some concoction from your mom and it really helped.”
“Uh-oh. Was it green?”
“Yeah, why?”
I shivered. “Parsley.”
“Oh, right.” She pulled a tube of pink lip gloss from her purse and squeezed a small amount onto her lips. “Well, I hate to tell you, but it worked great.”
“Stranger than fiction,” I said, and held out my finger for a dab of her lip gloss. She complied, and I rubbed it on my lips as I returned to my perch on the tub’s edge. “So what are you going to do about your mother?”
Robin found an emery board in a canister on the sink and sat with me. “We talked for a few minutes while you were in the kitchen. She’ll stay in Dharma for a few days, visit with Guru Bob and some of her friends, and then we’ll follow each other back to the city when she goes in to meet Rajiv.”
“She seems happy to be here,” I said cautiously. Robin and her mother had a complicated relationship, to say the least.
“I was amazed and excited to see her at first.” Her smile turned acerbic. “But then did you see how quickly she turned everything around and talked about herself?”
“Sort of,” I said with some caution.
“Oh, come on. The way she went on and on about getting arrested in Uganda? She tried to pretend it was all because I had the measles and she was worried-and I’ve never had the measles, but whatever. But no, it was all about her. All about her and the United Nations, all about her and her missionary flights around the world. It’s always all about her. Maybe she can’t help herself. It’s just the way she operates. And maybe I’m just hypersensitive to every little thing she says, but still.” She tried to shrug off the negative thoughts, but I could see she was hurting.
“You’re right,” I said loyally. “When Shiva’s around, it’s all about her.”
“Thank you.” She hugged me tightly and I hugged her back, relieved that our friendship was back on more solid ground.
I studied her. “Is that why you got so gross when you described the blood and the vicious attack?”
“Yes,” she said sharply. “I just wanted to shake her up a little, get her to realize that I was the one suffering at the moment, not her.”
I nodded. “Okay. I think it worked.”
“God, do I sound like the world’s biggest whiny baby?”
“No, absolutely not,” I said, and hugged her again.
“Good.” She took a deep breath and it seemed to clear things up for her. “So I guess we’ll get back to the city Wednesday or Thursday. And I suppose I’ll stay at her hotel with her.”
“No, you won’t,” I said. “I’ll have your place completely cleaned and good as new by then. You can go home.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
She winced, then said, “I still feel bad about having you do the work.”
I leaned against her. “I won’t be doing the work. I’ll call other people to do it. And seriously? Better me than you.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I would’ve taken care of it already, but it’s been a little crazy around my place.”
Her smile was soft with regret. “Yeah, no kidding.”
“But by the time you get back to the city, it’ll be a done deal,” I said, standing up to give her a hug and end the conversation.
Derek and I made it back to the city with barely enough time to shower and change into party clothes. For me, the choice was simple. I owned one black dress and one pair of black heels. I’d worn the dress once before, last month when I had a special date with Derek, but we’d had to cancel due to an inconvenient murder.
His offices were located in a beautiful four-story Mediterranean-style building on California Street near the top of Nob Hill. The party took place in the spacious two-story-high lobby, where a crowd of over one hundred people was mingling, drinking, laughing, and chatting when we walked in. They all seemed to know one another, naturally, which intimidated me a little. But since I was here with the boss, I was determined to be cool.
Derek’s office administrator, Corinne, stood near the wide arched doorway and acted as unofficial greeter, so I met her first thing. She was in her fifties, slightly overweight but comfortable with it. Her hair was a beautiful platinum gray bob and her eyes sparkled with wit and good humor. She introduced me to her husband, Wallace, who gave truth to the notion that couples grew to resemble each other with age.
A waiter passed with a tray of champagne glasses and Derek handed me one. I took a bracing sip for courage.
“How are you enjoying San Francisco?” I asked Corinne.
“Oh, we’ve fallen in love with the city,” Corinne exclaimed, her British accent clipped. “The first day we arrived, we spent two hours wandering through Golden Gate Park. We got lost in the Japanese garden. It’s exquisite. And your arboretum rivals our Kew Gardens. You’ve se
en it, of course?”
“Yes, it’s wonderful,” I said. “Do you live near the park?”
“Just a few blocks away,” Wallace explained. “We’ve purchased a lovely flat in the Sunset District.”
“I love the Sunset,” I said. “One of my brothers lived near Ninth and Judah for a while. You must be fairly close to the beach.”
“Oh, yes. We love your beaches. So rough-and-tumble. And the fog is lovely.” She patted her husband’s arm. “Reminds Wallace of home.”
“I’m so glad,” I said, smiling at him.
Wallace took a long sip of beer. “Drove up to Mendocino last weekend. Spectacular drive. You Californians have no idea what a paradise you live in.”
“Oh, we do,” I insisted. “San Franciscans love their city and take it very seriously. No teasing allowed. Not like Los Angeles. Everyone mocks Los Angeles, but here, it’s not permissible.”
They both laughed and Derek beamed. I took a moment to glance around the spacious lobby, then smiled at Corinne. “The offices are beautiful. I imagine you’re responsible for pulling everything together in time for this party.”
“Oh, I like this girl, I really do,” she said, patting Derek’s arm.
“So do I,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
A look passed between them and Corinne smiled her approval. Had I just passed a test?
“Hi, boss!” a woman cried, and four attractive women gathered around to greet and flirt with Derek. After a minute of laughing and teasing, he introduced me to all of them. I was determined to remember as many names as possible, so there was Shana, word-processing supervisor; Maris, personal assistant to one of Derek’s partners; Liv, accounts supervisor; and Kara, human resources secretary. Liv and Maris had moved here from London, and the other two had been hired locally.
Derek had mentioned the name Maris before. She was the one who was working with the real estate broker to find Derek the perfect home. And why that caused a spurt of jealousy to zing through me, I didn’t want to know.
The women were dressed for a night on the town, and I guessed this party qualified. They all described their jobs to me in glowing terms, then mentioned a club they were planning to go to later that night. They seemed friendly and interested in what I did for a living, which was nice. Then Derek saw a client approaching and the women took that opportunity to head for the bar.
Derek introduced me to everyone we encountered as he led me on a brief tour of the offices.
“I can’t imagine anything more boring than roaming around a business office,” he said, grabbing two more glasses of champagne just before we left the lobby and entered a well-lit hall. “But the views from several of the offices are spectacular.”
“This building is beautiful,” I said as I peeked inside one large office. “I love the high ceilings and the crown moldings and the windows. How did you find the space?”
He glanced at me as he pushed open another office door for my perusal. “Do you recall our adventures in Chinatown last month?”
I smiled. “I do.” We’d been chasing down a rare book but ran into a dead guy instead, something that was happening more and more lately.
“We drove past this building that day,” he said.
“We did?”
“Yes. I noticed the sign and made inquiries.”
I was drawn to a wall of books in his partner’s office. On closer examination, I saw they were mostly spy novels, which seemed appropriate, given the nature of Derek’s business. Graham Greene, John le Carré, Ken Follett, Ian Fleming, Jack Higgins. Hundreds more. An impressive collection.
“So you were considering a move even then?” I asked.
“Yes, a bit earlier than that, actually.”
“Really?” I turned and headed for the doorway where he stood. “When did you first start thinking about it?”
He closed the door and we walked arm in arm back toward the lobby. “When I saw you across the room at the Covington Library.”
I stuttered to a stop in the middle of the wide, well-lit hall and gaped at him. The Covington Library? Where I found my mentor dying in a pool of blood? Where Derek first accused me of murder? “No, you didn’t.”
“Yes.” He held my arm as he kissed me lightly on the lips. “I did.”
I was flustered. Flattered. Flummoxed. And okay, yes, flabbergasted. It was hard to think of something to say.
“I’ve succeeded in silencing you,” he said wryly.
“Yeah, well.” My throat was dry as a desert, so I took a big, long sip of champagne. “You really know how to shut a girl up.”
He moved in for another slow, simmering kiss that managed to fry my brain. Then he pressed his hand to the small of my back and led me toward the lobby. “I’m afraid I must mingle for another hour or so before we can go.”
“Right,” I mumbled. “Mingle.”
Twenty minutes later, while Derek talked with Paul Maynard, a longtime client, and his wife, I excused myself to get another glass of champagne. I wasn’t looking for something to drink so much as for the comfort and security of having something to hold on to. As I approached the counter, I heard laughter bubbling at one of the circular bar tables set up nearby.
“So she’s Derek’s flavor of the month,” a woman said in a low voice.
“She’s pretty.”
“But nothing special.”
“Do we know how they met?”
“I have no idea.”
“You work with Corinne. Can’t you find out?”
“Maybe when he was out here for the Winslow exhibit. But I can’t imagine what he was thinking when he…”
The woman’s voice dwindled down to a whisper, and despite my subtle efforts to listen in, I couldn’t hear anything else. Moments later, though, there was a burst of laughter. At my expense, no doubt.
Was I being paranoid? I summoned my courage and turned to look at the women. Maris, the prettiest of them all, was staring right at me. Seeing me confront them obviously stunned her, and she blinked and looked away.
I clutched my champagne glass. This felt like a bad sitcom. What had I done to deserve their wrath? Besides snag their wealthy, totally hot boss, that is.
And speaking of the hot boss, if Derek were to overhear their bitchy remarks, I didn’t think he’d be happy with them. Just a guess. And how rude was it that they were loudly discussing the woman their boss had brought to the party? Did they care about their job security?
I walked as far away as I could get from the group, to the other side of the room. Because if I had to keep hearing their cackling comments, I would be tempted to poke their beady eyes out with one of these ridiculously tight (but very cute) three-inch heels I was sporting.
And there I went again, getting all violent and bloodthirsty. Still, under the circumstances, who could blame me?
Standing near the wall of elaborately scrolled ironwork windows, I centered my energies, aligned my chakras, and took a moment to admire the view of Huntington Park and Grace Cathedral in the distance.
Then I turned back to observe the well-dressed crowd enjoying Derek’s generous spread. Waiters strolled among the guests, serving delectable hors d’œuvres. There were two full bars in the room, with bartenders pouring top-shelf alcohol. Food stations were placed in each corner of the room and featured the four food groups: Italian, Thai, Mexican, and desserts.
Other than the mean girls, this was a fabulous party and I’d been having a good time. Another burst of high-pitched laughter arose from the women’s table, and I watched Derek turn and smile at them with admirable tolerance. They returned his attention with an annoying round of giggling and flirting and-Oh, hell. I was being sulky and petulant, wasn’t I? I was letting them win.
But were they correct? Was I Derek’s flavor of the month? I hated that term, by the way. And hadn’t he just admitted that he’d been thinking about moving here since the first night we met? Didn’t that mean I was more significant to him than a mere passing fancy? Was I going to bel
ieve some cackling women or the man himself?
“Flavor of the month,” I muttered. The fact was, I’d been his “flavor” for almost five months now, although we certainly hadn’t dated all that time. To be honest, we’d barely dated at all. Then, all of a sudden, he’d moved into my home. We were living together. I’d turned over half my closet to him. Not that I minded. On the contrary, I loved having him there. I loved the way he kissed and the way he looked at me as though I were the only woman in the world. And I loved doing silly things with him, like racing each other to the corner on the way to the coffee shop, and reading the Sunday paper out loud. I loved talking and laughing with him. I loved… him.
“Oh, God, shut up,” I whispered. No way.
I whipped around and stared out the window, knowing my inability to hide my feelings. Anyone who looked at me right now would guess how I felt by simply tracking the path of my overly ardent gaze in his direction. My radish-red cheeks would probably give me away, too.
It was time to be honest with myself. Why would I have allowed Derek to move in and live with me and rearrange my closet space if I didn’t, sort of, you know, love him?
Still, this couldn’t be good. It was a well-known fact that I made bad decisions when it came to love. After all, the first man I was engaged to marry turned out to be gay. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but if I were going to all the trouble of marrying someone, I wanted it to mean more than a lifetime of good fashion advice.
Watching Derek now, in his element, surrounded by friends, partners, clients, and employees, I found it hard not to be impressed with everything about him. He was strong, confident, gorgeous, witty, smart, dangerously sexy, loyal.
“Sounds like a Saint Bernard,” I admitted under my breath. Well, except for the sexy part. On the other hand, the man had his share of faults. He could be pushy. And let’s not forget he carried a gun, although I couldn’t complain about that too much, since he’d used it to protect me in a number of frightening situations. Still, the fact that I was with a guy who owned guns and knew how to use them was an ongoing surprise to me.
Derek came with some currently unidentifiable baggage as well, and I worried that more would be revealed-and not in a good way-in the months to come if we stayed together. For instance, he carried on clandestine telephone conversations on a regular basis, going into the guest bedroom and shutting the door. I knew he dealt with private, often classified matters, but sometimes I wondered if maybe he was in there talking to old girlfriends. It was silly of me, but my imagination was a scary place sometimes. Needless to say, the mean girls’ comments were stoking that imaginary fire for me.
Murder Under Cover Page 18
