Danger in a Red Dress

by Christina Dodd

  Hannah put her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.

  My God, will I ever learn?

  “So.” Mrs. Manly didn’t stop eating as she shot the question at Hannah. “Are you going to stay?”

  Hannah lifted her head and looked at her. “Yes.”

  “I figured. You’re not the kind who runs from trouble.”

  “I could learn.”

  “In my experience, the ones with the morals can’t permanently shake them, no matter how hard they try.” Mrs. Manly peered up over her black-rimmed glasses. “Are you done eating?”

  Hannah looked down at her cold toast. “Yes.”

  “Let’s go.”

  As she did every morning after breakfast, Hannah moved Mrs. Manly from the table into the foyer, and stopped. “Before we work on the party, shall we go for a walk?”

  “No. No! My God, don’t you ever give up?” Mrs. Manly’s voice rose. “I am not going for a walk and you cannot bully me into exercising. Just leave me alone. I am so sick of you and your constant pushing and prodding!”

  Hannah comprehended the strain on Mrs. Manly, the fears that drove her to confide in Hannah, the bigger fear that she’d made a mistake. She knew what changes loneliness and pain had wrought in a woman already wounded by life. She’d seen her snap before.

  But Hannah had been raised by a mother who had taught her to hold her head high and never, ever allow anyone to denigrate her. Moreover Hannah knew better than to allow Mrs. Manly to bully her. Mrs. Manly took unfair advantage of perceived weakness.

  Taking her hands away from the wheelchair, Hannah stepped away. “As you wish.”

  She walked toward the stairway, had her foot on the first step, when Mrs. Manly called, “Girl! You! Hannah! Don’t leave me here.”

  Hannah continued up the stairs.

  “Hannah. Don’t you dare leave me here!”

  Hannah kept climbing.

  “Oh, all right. Hannah, I’m sorry.”

  Hannah paused. Turned. Looked down at her patient. Mrs. Manly looked mulishly rebellious. “I apologized. Hurry up! I need to use the facilities!”

  Hannah didn’t move.

  “Please. Please come and get me and take me upstairs. I don’t want to sit here.” She shrugged her shoulders apprehensively. “I feel exposed.”

  Hannah glanced around as if uneasy, then hurried down the stairs. Gripping the handles on the wheelchair, she pushed her patient toward the elevator. “Do you really have to go?”

  “No, I just knew you wouldn’t leave me to sit there if I was in need,” Mrs. Manly muttered.

  Wow. Gabriel sat back in his chair. That little scene had shown all too clearly the influence Hannah had over Mrs. Manly. The old lady had cracked under the strain of dealing with Hannah’s mistreatment, and with nothing more than a turned back, Hannah had whipped her into shape.

  “Next time you need a whipping boy, let me put through a call to Jeff Dresser, hmm?” Hannah sounded exasperated.

  Mrs. Manly brayed with laughter. “Yes, or I’ll call that little worm Nelson.”

  Interesting. Mrs. Manly didn’t like the butler. Gabriel hadn’t been impressed either, but Carrick had assured Gabriel that Nelson was his best ally. Certainly Nelson had put himself out to make sure Gabriel was comfortable in his little makeshift office, and he knew everything about Mrs. Manly—her habits, her mannerisms, and the changes that had occurred since Hannah Grey came into the household. He did not like Hannah Grey, and he made no bones about her bad influence on Mrs. Manly. In that, he and Carrick agreed.

  Gabriel watched the bank of monitors as Hannah pushed Mrs. Manly directly to her bedroom suite.

  Good. Mrs. Manly looked tired, she would want to rest, and the ensuing activity would be an effective test of Gabriel’s placement of the cameras and microphones. He could watch Hannah bully and coerce her, get the evidence Carrick needed to fire her with just cause, and maybe, just maybe, get the information about the missing Manly fortune.

  Personally, Gabriel thought Carrick was kidding himself there. If Melinda Manly knew anything about the fortune, she would have accessed it somehow, if only to pay for the upkeep on this museum of a house. Gabriel glanced around at the bedroom where he had set up his equipment, and noted the tired drapes, the faded rug, the moth-eaten bedspread. The dresser where he’d placed his laptop was a massive piece of nineteenth-century walnut art, but the maids had run the vacuum cleaner into the legs so many times they were chipped, and some long-grown kid had carved his name into the trim. The whole place smelled musty, as if it hadn’t been opened in years—and this was only a single room among dozens like it. He didn’t know Mrs. Manly, not yet, anyway, but what he’d seen on the monitor had shown a woman proud of her heritage.

  Yeah, she would have used the money for Balfour House.

  Hannah was of average height, slender to the point of looking fragile. She lifted Mrs. Manly out of the wheelchair and helped her into bed, and Gabriel realized the frailty was deceptive. She adjusted Mrs. Manly’s pillows and covers, tested her blood sugar, then prepared an injection and handed the needle to Mrs. Manly.

  Mrs. Manly glared at it tiredly.

  “All right. I’ll do it.” Hannah’s voice held a hint of an East Coast accent, and she sounded so gentle, Gabriel blinked in surprise.

  But in his business, he’d learned never to trust a kind voice or a sweet face. In his business, he’d learned never to trust at all.

  She gave the injection, then strode around the room, closing the curtains, lowering the lights. She moved like a nurse, long-legged and fit, with that characteristic steady, silent tread.

  He couldn’t see her face, but her hair was blond, almost platinum, and cut around her chin in a bob that swung to the side when she turned her head.

  Her ears stuck straight out, and he grinned about that.

  “Two weeks until Halloween,” Mrs. Manly said. “How many RSVPs have we received?”

  “Over two hundred. Everyone is coming.”

  “Of course they are. No one would miss the chance to see Balfour House and the crazy old hermit woman who lives there.” Mrs. Manly closed her eyes.

  Carrick was right. Hannah had no business urging her to have this party.

  Hannah walked to the desk, pulled out a clipboard, and consulted it. “We’ve got politicians, singers, actors, ministers—”

  “Respectable people?”

  Hannah laughed. “A few.”

  “Have you arranged for security?”

  Oh, hell. Another problem to deal with.

  “That never occurred to me.”

  Of course not. You might be playing in the league with the big girls, but you don’t know the drill.

  “If we’re going to have all those politicians, actors and other disreputables, we’ll have to have security.” Mrs. Manly gestured restlessly. “Call my man, Eric Sansoucy. Sansoucy Security, in town. I haven’t talked to him in fifteen years, but he knows me.”

  Going to Mrs. Manly, Hannah took her pulse. “You should rest.”

  In a tired voice, Mrs. Manly said, “Get me a copy of The Ivy Tree. Second shelf up, on the right.”

  “Not Ulysses?” Hannah sounded as if she were joking.

  “No. I’m not interested in reading the self-indulgent ramblings of a drunken Irishman.”

  “So why keep the book?” Gabriel wondered aloud.

  “Is that why you chose that title?” Hannah asked. “Because it’s so awful?”

  “No one who has ever read it would pick it up again,” Mrs. Manly said. “At least, not on purpose.”

  It had happened before. Gabriel had stepped into the middle of a conversation, and he had no idea what they were talking about.

  Hannah walked toward the bookshelf. She reached up, looked up, and he whispered, “Wow.”

  No wonder she managed to seduce fifty thousand dollars out of her last patient. She looked like a china doll with huge blue eyes and dark lashes that fluttered like a fan. Dark lashes . . . Ga
briel knew that meant she dyed her hair or used mascara with the skill of a wizard. But looking at her, he didn’t care.

  She had the kind of eyes for which a man would willingly sacrifice his life, his honor . . . and his fortune.

  She had great lips, too, full and soft, and her cheeks were full and soft, and he was looking down her blouse, and her breasts looked full and soft.

  As an illusion, it worked for him. Big-time. With any luck at all, she’d do something deplorable, he’d have to interrogate her, and she’d offer herself as a bribe to save her long, pretty neck.

  He supposed he’d have to refuse. But damn, he could enjoy the fantasy while it lasted.

  She chose the book and took it to Mrs. Manly, who opened it, placed it on her chest and closed her eyes. “Don’t forget to call Eric.”

  “I’ll do it right now.” Hannah walked to the computer and opened the browser to the yellow pages.

  Without opening her eyes, Mrs. Manly said, “The number’s in my address book.”

  Hannah shut the laptop, reached into a pigeonhole in the desk and brought out a badly worn binder with flowers on the front and pages thrust catawampus between other pages, and slowly leafed through. “I can’t find it in the S’s. What’s it under?” she called.

  “E, for Eric.”

  “Right,” Hannah muttered. “Silly of me.”

  At the computer, Gabriel typed in the code to take control of the phone system. He brought up his software program to change his voice, viewed the choices, and selected New England. By the time Hannah had dialed out, he had everything in place.

  His cell phone rang.

  He answered, “Sansoucy Security. Trent Sansoucy speaking.” As he spoke, he typed in a search for Sansoucy Security, and frowned. The damn place was out of business. In fact . . . another quick search proved he had a bigger problem.

  “Is Eric in?” Hannah sounded brisk and businesslike.

  Eric Sansoucy was dead. Had been for six years.

  “Eric’s on a much-needed vacation”—Gabriel figured if Mrs. Manly didn’t know Eric was dead, she sure wouldn’t know whether he was in the sunny Bahamas—“and he won’t be back for another three weeks. Can I help you?”

  “You’re Eric’s . . . ?” She let the question hang in the air.

  He watched her as she spoke, a little frown puckering her forehead. She knew Mrs. Manly wouldn’t like this development; he had to make this good. “I’m Eric’s son.”

  “What’s wrong?” Mrs. Manly was sitting up, alerted by the tone of Hannah’s voice.

  Hannah put him on hold, but of course Gabriel heard her through the microphones. “Eric is on vacation. This is his son.”

  “His son? Eric is gay!”

  Oops.

  Mrs. Manly continued. “Anyway, any son of Eric’s is too young to be running the office. Ask him how old he is. Ask him!”

  Hannah came back. “I’m Hannah Grey, Mrs. Melinda Manly’s companion at Balfour House. She is in doubt about your—”

  “Age and my father’s sexual preferences? Yes, I got a lot of that when I first moved here, but when he was in college, Dad experimented and here I am.” Gabriel watched as Hannah transmitted the information, as Mrs. Manly digested it, nodded, and reclined once more.

  Relieved, Gabriel leaned back in his chair. One hurdle down.

  Hannah came back on the line. “Thank you for reassuring us, Mr. Sansoucy. Now—Mrs. Manly is reviving the Balfour Halloween party, and we are in need of security. Would you be able to handle it?”

  “Halloween is a busy time for us, but I’m sure Dad would insist we do everything we can for Mrs. Manly and Balfour House. I assume you’ll want the full party security treatment?” Gabriel had arranged security for many a party, and as he talked about the arrangements, he watched Hannah relax. He had reassured her that this part of the planning would go without a hitch.

  Mrs. Manly sat up again. “Ask him if he can come early to look the house over.”

  Hannah interrupted him and in a firm voice, said, “If you could transmit a copy of your plans for Mrs. Manly to look over, that would be appreciated. In the meantime, can you come to see what arrangements you’ll need to make?”

  Mrs. Manly continued. “Because when he finds cameras and microphones, I’m going to grab Carrick and shake him until his teeth rattle.”

  Damn. She was a smart woman. She’d figured Carrick might have commissioned surveillance. A good thing he could hear their conversation. That would be the only thing to save his ass.

  Smoothly, Hannah said into the mouthpiece, “Since it’s been so long since Sansoucy Security has been to Balfour House, we’d like you to do a thorough examination of the house and gardens and see what needs to be done to bring security here up-to-date.”

  “We’d be glad to do that,” Gabriel said with the right mix of eagerness and professionalism. “Dad’s technical specialist is Susan Stevens. Can I make an appointment for her to visit?”

  Hannah put him on hold again, and said, “He’s sending someone named Susan Stevens.”

  “I want the boss,” Mrs. Manly said fretfully. “Have him come instead.”

  Hannah came back. “Mrs. Manly would like to have you personally handle her security.”

  “I intend to, and that means giving it my best. And my best is Susan Stevens. Believe me, Miss Grey, you don’t want me to do anything technical.” He put humor in his tone. “I’m a disaster with a camera or a computer.”

  She responded to his humor with a smile of her own. “What is your specialty, Mr. Sansoucy?”

  “I tell people what to do.”

  “So you don’t do anything.”

  “That’s right. I’m an administrator.”

  She laughed, a low, warm, soft chuckle that made him break a sweat. “I’ve worked with men like you. Hospitals are full of them.”

  “You understand I’m not really good at being an administrator yet. Sometimes I forget I’m in charge and actually do something, like file a paper or make a decision.”

  “If you keep that up, you’ll never get promoted to . . . whatever it is that’s above administrator.”

  “Dictator.”

  “So you’ll be conquering a small country soon?”

  He was looking straight at her—not that she knew it—when he replied, “I already have one in mind.”

  But she seemed to know what he meant, because she caught her breath and sat up straight. “All right, Trent. You’ve convinced me about Susan Stevens.” She nodded reassuringly at Mrs. Manly, who reluctantly nodded back. “Let’s set up that appointment.”

  “Right.” Gabriel responded to her efficient tone with one of his own, and they concluded their business and hung up.

  But although she didn’t know it, he was still there.

  NINE

  Gabriel leaned back in his chair and smiled. He had done that well. Very well.

  For Hannah hung up and sat with her hands in her lap, a bewildered smile on her face.

  “You were flirting with that man.” Mrs. Manly rolled onto her side and stared at Hannah.

  “No, I wasn’t.” Startled, Hannah surged to her feet.

  “Why do you say that? We were talking about security.”

  “What you said and the way you sounded were two different things.” With something to occupy her mind, Mrs. Manly didn’t seem as tired.

  Hannah stopped and thought. “Maybe. But . . . oh, well.” She laughed. “He’s got a nice, deep voice, but it’s like listening to a deejay on the radio, and then seeing him in person. The man with the great personality and great voice turns out to be sixty, bald, and three hundred pounds.”

  “Are you so shallow about appearance?” Mrs. Manly had a sharp voice and a way of poking at people that made Gabriel wonder why someone hadn’t done away with her years ago.

  But Hannah gave right back to her. “You bet. If ever I’m going to find a man, he’s got to be about my age. Nursing is my profession. I don’t have any wish to care for my
husband’s infirmities. Not unless I know he’ll be around to care for me in return. He must care about his health. He’s got to eat right and work out.”

  Gabriel poked at his belly. He’d been so busy installing cameras and microphones, he’d neglected his exercise. If he weren’t careful, he’d sit in front of the monitors for hours, fascinated by Hannah Grey. And as he told the people he hired when he hired them, a strong body was one of the requirements for being in security. He wouldn’t allow them to be in less than top condition—and he expected the same from himself.

  He dropped to the floor and started a set of push-ups. “What about the bald?” he asked the monitor. Not that he cared. He had a full head of straight black hair, but a man inherited the gene for baldness from his mother ’s side of the family . . . and he knew nothing about his mother ’s side of the family.

  “As for the hair,” Hannah said, “I suppose I don’t care.”

  “Why would you? It’s not his mane you look at when you buy a stallion.”

  Gabriel came off the floor with a bound, and gaped at the monitor.

  “True.” Hannah stood beside the bed, and she looked completely serious. “Although I’m not convinced it’s the size of the package that matters. It always seems to me that a man can ride with any equipment if he’s smart enough to spend the time warming up his filly.”

  Gabriel hadn’t done surveillance for a long time—he didn’t have to. He was the boss. And back in the days when he had done surveillance, it had been drug busts or cheating husbands. He hadn’t ever watched women talk about men. And he’d certainly never imagined that a conversation about men and their sexual activities would be discussed so . . . so calmly.

  He was horrified. And embarrassed. And riveted.

  “Don’t forget. He’s got to dismount with finesse.” Mrs. Manly sounded as if she were teaching a riding class.

  “Yes, there’s nothing worse than a guy who tumbles out of the saddle before he’s back at the stable.” Didn’t Hannah know she shouldn’t talk about sex with a woman more than twice her age?

  “Do you know,” she said, “since my mother died, I haven’t had anyone who was interested in me enough to ask me what I wanted in a man?”