Young lady. Hmm.
“So?” I fidget in my seat. “What do you plan to do with them? Knock them all down and develop a luxury resort with a spa and its very own section of beach? Maybe add a small marina for people to moor their yachts in when they stay?”
Acton taps the side of his nose in an irritating that’s-our-business way. This guy is really bugging me now. “I honestly couldn’t say. The plans are not in place yet and we have many options available to us.”
“Is that with or without the land the North Shores house occupies?” Dan chips in.
Acton looks from me to Dan and then back to me before fixing a sickly smile on his face. “Both,” he eventually replies. “Now, was there anything else I can help you with today?”
“Do you live on the waterfront yourself, Mr. Acton?” I check.
“No, I prefer the quiet life and the mountains,” he answers. “My wife and I have a little cabin in the hills just outside the city.”
A little cabin. I doubt that very much.
Acton summons his assistant and she escorts us back to the lift. As soon as the doors close I turn to Dan. “I really dislike that guy, and you just know his little cabin in the hills has ten bedrooms, all with en suites, a private spa, a gigantic home cinema room, a garage for twenty cars and sits in two acres of land.”
Dan laughs. “Spot on, I’d say. We’re about to find out anyway. Let’s get his address from our files and head up there. Maybe his wife is home and we can spring a surprise visit on her, see if she’s a little more forthcoming about property than her husband. What do you reckon? Fancy a drive up into the hills?”
I check my watch. We have time before I have to be back at the apartment to meet Martha. “OK, you’re on.” I don’t even try to give Dan the car keys or persuade him to drive. Instead I hop into the hulk of SUV and concentrate fiercely as I reverse it out. Thankfully, I manage to do so without hitting any other vehicles in the process. Phew.
Dan checks Acton’s address on his phone and soon we’re on our way out of the city, heading for the hills. When a road hog cuts me off on the highway, or freeway, or whatever it’s called out here, I don’t panic or allow myself to feel intimidated. No siree. I hit the horn with all my force and when we pass said road hog stuck in traffic a few miles further on, Dan and I wave at him as we sail past, then high-five each other. Maybe I’m starting to get the hang of this driving business.
Our guessed description of Acton’s ‘little cabin’ does turn out to be spot on. I bring the car to a stop outside some ten-foot high metal gates and buzz the security intercom. Before I can explain who we are, Dan cuts in. “Hey, it’s the gardener, here to do your lawns,” he says confidently as soon as a female voice answers with a heavy European accent.
“You’re not Andy,” the female replies warily.
“Andy’s off sick today, I’m Charlie,” he flashes me a quick look, “you’ve got me instead, and I’m much better than Andy.”
There’s a buzzing sound and then, amazingly, the clunk of metal gates starting to open. “That was a risky strategy but I can understand why you did it, giving Mrs. Acton, if she’s home, less chance to prepare a story or make a hasty call to her husband.”
Dan shrugs as I start to manoeuvre the vehicle through the gates. “I couldn’t see any security cameras,” he says. “A place like this is bound to have gardeners; I figured it was worth a shot.”
I nod my approval. That’s just the kind of thing Charlie would do too. My heart clenches at the thought of him. In many ways, Dan and Charlie are very alike, especially when it comes to work and agency matters. In others, and I’m thinking relationships here, they couldn’t be more different.
“You’re not the gardener!” A tiny woman with a bun of black hair shouts as soon as she spots us. Then she starts talking rapidly in what sounds like Spanish. She’s probably cursing us. Dan makes calming gestures with his hands and answers her in her native language. It’s a requirement for special agents with the CCIA to be able to speak at least two languages. Dan has Spanish roots so I shouldn’t be surprised that he speaks the language so fluently. And so beautifully. The words sound poetic and emotional as he works his charm on the woman I assume to be the Acton’s housekeeper. It always made me go a bit gooey when Charlie spoke French, and hearing Dan chatter away in Spanish could have a similar effect on me if I wasn’t sworn off men at the moment. The reality of my relationship with Charlie being over makes me catch my breath. Is it true, though? I mean, he didn’t actually say as much when he slammed out of the bedroom last night. I just need to explain the kiss Dan and I shared was over in a second, once I realised who I was kissing and that it wasn’t, as my addled brain had thought, Charlie on the other end of my lips. Dan breaks into my thoughts, calling me over. The woman is all smiles now and greets me warmly, taking my right hand and wrapping both of hers around it. She says something else to Dan and then nods to me and grins. “What is she saying?” I ask him.
Then the woman points at me and then at Dan, then back to me, with a knowing look in her eyes. Okkkaayy. I don’t need to speak Spanish to understand that. She thinks Dan and I are an item. “Dan,” I start warningly.
He leans down, turning his head slightly to whisper in my ear, out of sight of his latest fan. “Just go with it,” he says. “She’s about to let us into the house.”
At that moment the woman says, “Come, come,” and gestures for us to follow her inside.
“Told you,” Dan whispers as I’m tugged along by the woman. “I think she likes you!”
“What did you say to her?” I whisper-hiss back at him.
“Doesn’t matter, it worked and got us inside,” he replies, gently resting a hand in the small of my back as we’re beckoned into the house.
Once we’re in what looks like the working kitchen of the property, there’s more rapid Spanish between Dan and the woman, whose name I have now learnt is Connie. As she bustles off in the direction of some stairs, I turn to Dan. “What was all of that about? Where’s she going?”
“To fetch Mrs. Acton.”
“What? How on earth did you manage that?”
“It’s the Daniel Stone charm. Works on females of all ages.”
“I’ll just bet it does.”
“You included, of course,” he adds confidently.
“What? No! Since when?”
“Since you kissed me in France. Was that really only just last week?” He rests a finger against his chin and casts his eyes towards the ceiling, looking momentarily thoughtful.
My protests are lost when Connie reappears with a tall blonde woman following close behind her. “Mrs. Acton,” she says by way of introduction, then disappears again.
The lady of the house walks towards us, hand outstretched. First, she shakes Dan warmly by the hand and then me. “It’s such a pleasure to meet a member of Connie’s family,” she says.
Family? Did she just say family? I aim a questioning look at Dan and he, almost imperceptibly, shakes his head. He’s obviously been spinning some lies to poor Connie and somehow persuaded her to introduce him as her nephew or something. I honestly don’t know how he manages it.
“Are you in Vancouver for long?” Mrs Acton asks.
“No, just a few days, but I couldn’t leave without seeing my aunt. It’s been too long.”
So, I was right. This woman thinks Dan is Connie’s nephew. Now, how is he going to turn that around to get information about Mr. Acton’s property dealings?
“Actually, I’m hoping to be back again soon,” Dan continues. “I’m looking for a job and well, my aunt thought you might be able to help me out with some contacts. She said you and your husband know everybody worth knowing in this city.”
Mrs. Acton nods in agreement. “What kind of work are you looking for?”
“Construction.”
Ah. Now I see where this is going. Clever.
“You know my husband is a founding partner of the biggest and best real estate and propert
y development company in the area?”
Dan nods and fakes embarrassment. “She did mention it yes.”
“Which might have something to do with your visit today,” Mrs Acton correctly surmises.
“You got me,” Dan says, holding both hands up in a gesture of surrender.
“You don’t sound Canadian,” she says. “Are you British?”
“Guilty as charged. I do have a proper work permit in place though, so it would all be above board on the job front if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Mrs. Acton’s tinkling laugh dances around the kitchen. “Oh, that’s not what I’m worried about at all. I know my husband isn’t adverse to bending the rules, or even smashing them to smithereens, should the situation warrant it.”
Really? How interesting…
“I also know he has a rather exciting and incredibly ambitious project in the pipeline. He’ll be building a luxury resort with spa and guest cottages down on the waterfront.” She claps her hands, a gleeful expression on her face, and I’m not sure if it’s from genuine belief in the project or the prospect of the staggering amounts of money it will undoubtedly bring in.
“Is that happening soon?” Dan asks, pasting a suitably keen expression on his face. “All finalised and ready to roll?”
“Oh, yes,” she replies without hesitation. “There’s just one final piece of land he needs to acquire and then it will be all systems go.”
“Land?” I say, aware I’m contributing zilch to this conversation and feeling a tad surplus to requirements.
“Yes,” she lowers her voice. “Between us, it’s the plot they film that show North Shores on. Have you heard of it? Do you get it on UK TV?”
We don’t, but I nod and smile.
“I adore that show,” she says, clapping her hands again. “But please don’t ever let my husband know I watch it. There have been some teeny tiny complications with acquiring the plot but I know Peter will do whatever it takes to get that parcel of land. It’s the vital piece to make this project viable. Anyway, if you leave your contact details with your aunt, I’ll make sure my husband gets them and gives you a job as soon as the new project is up and running. He adores Connie and will be thrilled to have a nephew of hers working for him.”
Dan dips his head in thanks. “I appreciate this, I really do.”
“Oh, not at all,” Mrs. Acton says, waving a hand in dismissal at his thanks. “You’re like family to us, too.”
“We should get going but could I use your bathroom before we leave?” I ask, thinking I might have chance to sneak around the place as Dan continues to work his charms on Mrs. Acton.
“Yes, of course. Just through that door over there.”
Oh. That plan backfired then. No chance to go upstairs and use the en suite in one of the many guestrooms. I flush the toilet in the little cloakroom area off the kitchen and run the tap to make it sound as though I have actually used the facilities and then re-join Dan and Mrs. Acton in the kitchen. Well, I tried to do something useful.
“You have got some serious nerve,” I say to Dan once we’re safely back in the car.
He just beams back at me. “Worked though, huh? Now we know for definite what he’s up to.”
“You think he wants that land desperately enough to kill three people for it?”
“I think it’s looking like a distinct possibility,” he replies as he leans back in the passenger seat and closes his eyes for a snooze.
I shake my head as we exit the fancy gates and start our journey back to the city.
“It’s too small,” I protest three hours later as I stare at the reflection of myself in what is far too tiny to be called a dress.
“It fits perfectly,” Martha says and tuts at me as I try to tug the hem of the garment down to cover more of my legs. As I do so, the top is pulled lower too, revealing yet more cleavage. “I think it’s flattering on you.”
I look at the pasty-faced, strawberry-blonde-haired woman in the mirror wearing what looks like little more than a silver sparkly handkerchief, and grimace. “I’m not wearing this to the party tonight. Or anywhere else in public, for that matter.”
“You’re just a spoilsport. Don’t you want to knock Charlie out? Don’t you want to win him back?” Martha taunts.
“Yes,” I say, without even thinking about it. I turn this way and that, checking the view, and hating this dress more with every passing second. If I allow myself to think about it, which is just way too painful at the moment, then yes, I do want Charlie back. I can’t just switch off my love for him.
“Then dress like a woman who knows what she wants, or should I say, who she wants, and go and win him over. I bet you could get all sorts of things in that dress.”
“Getting arrested is probably one of them.” I tug at the neckline to cover some of the cleavage on show and the hemline rides up again to an indecent level. Sugar.
“Don’t be such a frump,” Martha chastises. She twirls in front of another mirror and nods approvingly. She’s wearing a short black dress and when I say short, I mean, shorter than the excuse for a dress she’s got me wearing. On Martha though it works perfectly. She’s got long tanned legs and a generous bosom to fill it out just so. You’d think it had been tailor-made for her. “I think this one is too dowdy,” she announced with a flick of her ponytail. “I fancy something red and eye-popping.”
As soon as she heads off in search of another dress, I dive into the changing room and prise myself out of the silver monstrosity. I’m just thinking I’m going to get away with choosing far more comfortable attire when Martha yanks back part of the curtain and shoves another dress on a hanger at me. “Try this.”
I examine her latest find. At least it looks longer than the previous one. It seems higher at the neck too. Maybe it could work.
“Hmm…” Martha walks around me in a circle, inspecting my outfit a few minutes later. “It’s a bit big on you. Did I get the right size? I’ll go and see if they’ve got the next size down.”
I grab her arm. “No need. I think this one is just fine.”
She wrinkles her nose. “You do? Maybe if you got a push-up bra to, you know, fill it out a bit more.” She gestures towards my chest.
Charming.
This dress is a huge improvement on the previous one. The hem sits a respectable height about my knees and the neck shows minimal cleavage. It’s a rich velvet fabric and a deep green which is more flattering to my pale skin than the glitter ball one was. When Martha attempts to coax me into a shorter and dazzlingly white shift dress, I stand firm and insist on the green dress. She says she has some shoes I can borrow and, after a speedy trip to the lingerie department to purchase new undergarments to suit our dresses, we catch the ferry across the harbour to a bustling Granville Island for something to eat. The food stalls and cafes are noisy but the delicious aromas wafting towards us as we stroll along selecting somewhere to eat are thoroughly enticing.
“We may as well get something decent to eat now,” Martha says as we peruse the menu of a trendy café with a view of the water. “It will just be all canapes and wine later at the party.”
Once we’ve placed our order Martha rests her elbows on the table and gives me a piercing look. “So, are you planning on winning Charlie back or what?”
“I don’t think it’s a matter of winning him,” I edge, my fingers shredding a paper napkin next to my glass.
“You’re right,” she acknowledges. “It’s about getting serious self-confidence for you so you believe a guy wants to be with you and won’t just wander off with another woman at the first opportunity. It’s also about getting Charlie to open up more and admit how he feels about you.”
I stare at my hands; the shredded napkin is now just an embarrassing pile of white tissue in front of me. “How does he feel about me?”
Martha lets out a harrumph of annoyance. “You know how Charlie is. Look, I’ll help you. I’ll do your hair and make-up tonight and you’ll knock his socks of
f. He’ll be swooning with desire, forgive your minor indiscretion with Dan, and all will be sweetness and light with you guys again. Come on, I mean, you don’t actually believe he cheated on you with Diva Delilah last week when he was working in LA, do you?”
“His photo was in all the newspapers. The two of them holding hands and declaring their love for each other.” I can still see the photos in my mind. Still feel the sense of betrayal and hurt.
“Correction, she was saying those things, Charlie wasn’t. It was all just some ruse to lure out a stalker she was having issues with.” She pauses and chews on her bottom lip. “At least I think it was.”
“What?” Now Martha think there’s a chance there could have been something between Charlie and Delilah.
The server arrives with our pizzas and huge bowl of colourful salad, so we tuck in. In a few hours I’m going to be wearing my new dress, teamed with a whole new look courtesy of Martha’s hair and make-up expertise. I do hope Charlie likes it and it will open the door to the two of us attempting to sort our problems and get back together. I miss him. I miss the way he makes me laugh. The way I feel when we kiss. I miss everything about him.
Except his stubbornness and the fact he doesn’t have a single ounce of romance in his whole body.
As we leave the café I feel a surge of confidence. Maybe tonight will be about more than solving the case. Maybe it will be about Charlie and me solving our issues too.
CHAPTER NINE
I hate this dress. In the store, with flat pumps and regular underwear, I thought I’d found a dress Martha deemed acceptable, and I deemed respectable. But now, I’m not so sure. I’m perched on sky-high heels belonging to Martha and I’m wearing the push-up bra Martha persuaded me to buy. Goodness only knows what the agency expense people will make of that receipt! Is it even an allowable expense? Anyway, now the dress looks far too small thanks to the aforementioned garments enhancement of certain parts of my anatomy. Martha has piled on about six times more make up than I’d usually wear and sprayed my hair into some fancy up-do which makes it tricky to move my head.
Past Perfect: A Fun and Flirty Romantic Mystery (Amber Reed Mystery Book 4) Page 9
