by Amanda Quick
“That’s the spirit, Miss Vaughn. Can I have my key now?”
“Yes, of course.” She opened the register to the very first page and handed Vincent a pen. “If you and Mr. Calloway would be good enough to sign in, I’ll get your keys and show you both to your rooms.”
Vincent took the pen and looked down at the register page. He chuckled.
“This is rather exciting, you know,” he said, scrawling his name.
Amalie ducked into the office to get the keys.
“How is that?” she asked through the partially open door.
“There are only two other names on this register, and one of them, that of Dr. Norman Pickwell, belongs to a man murdered by a robot.” Vincent put down the pen and looked up with a smile that would have done credit to Mad Doctor X. “Sends a little chill across the back of one’s neck, doesn’t it?”
Chapter 17
Amalie got Vincent and Jasper settled into rooms on the second floor and rushed back downstairs to unpack the groceries. It occurred to her that she was going to need more eggs, bread, and coffee. Grabbing a pad of paper and a pencil, she started to make out a second shopping list. Halfway through the task she glanced at the clock. Shock jolted through her when she realized she had only an hour and a half before the tea service. Hazel was in charge of the kitchen but Hazel was not available.
Amalie did a quick inventory and concluded that she could manage some small cheese-and-tomato sandwiches, but she despaired at the thought of getting a basket of freshly baked scones and a tray of shortbread on the table before the deadline.
You used to work under pressure all the time. Calm down and start baking.
She yanked an apron out of a drawer and took a large mixing bowl out of a cupboard.
She was cutting the butter into the flour for the scones and wondering if she could get away with omitting the shortbread cookies when she heard the doorbell ring.
Maybe Vincent Hyde was right; maybe the horrible publicity really was attracting business.
Hard on the heels of that thought came another. I’ll need more scones. More shortbread. What about the cheese? I don’t have enough tomatoes.
Hastily she wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron and rushed toward the front hall. She plastered what she hoped was a welcoming smile on her face and opened the door.
She froze at the sight of the woman on the doorstep.
“Willa?” she finally managed. “What are you doing here?”
Blond, blue-eyed, and endowed with a delicate beauty that belied her wiry strength and agility, Willa Platt was a woman who usually aroused two equally powerful desires in men—they wanted to have sex with her and they yearned to be her knight in shining armor.
The last time Amalie had seen her, Willa had been sobbing inconsolably and screaming at her. You’re the reason Marcus is dead. He would be alive if it wasn’t for you. It was a harsh accusation made even more brutal by the fact that it was true.
“I need a job,” Willa said. “I’m desperate and I’m not too proud to beg. I know we’re not exactly friends anymore because of what happened in Abbotsville, but we’re both circus people. We take care of our own.”
“I don’t have a job to give you,” Amalie said. “I can’t afford to hire anyone yet. I’m having a few problems trying to get this place going.”
Willa nodded in understanding and surveyed the tiled hall and the arched entrance into the lobby.
“I read about the curse that psychic, Madam Zolanda, put on this place,” she said.
“I would have thought that would have been enough to make you think twice about wanting to work here.”
Willa squared her shoulders. “I’m not in a position to be choosy.”
“We both know that you blame me for what happened in Abbotsville.”
“Yeah, about Abbotsville,” Willa said. “I’ve had time to think about what happened. You’ve got no reason to believe me, not after some of the things I said to you, but I realize now that Marcus lied to me.”
“Yes,” Amalie said.
“He tried to seduce you first but you wouldn’t give him the time of day. So he used me to find out everything he wanted to know about you.”
“What made you change your mind?”
Willa set down her small, battered grip as if it had become too heavy to lift.
“I told you, I’ve had a lot of time to think during the past six months,” she said. “I remembered all the questions Marcus asked about you. The look in his eyes when he watched you fly. He did a good job of pretending that he cared for me, but the truth is, I bought his story because I wanted to believe him when he talked about getting married and moving my act to Ringling. He was so damn good-looking, wasn’t he? Should have known he was too slick.”
“Willa—”
“I’m flat broke, Amalie. I spent my last dime on the train fare to get here. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. If you don’t take me in, I’m going to be sleeping in a doorway tonight. Just give me a chance, okay? That’s all I’m asking. I’ll earn my keep. You know I can do just about anything that needs doing.”
That much was true, Amalie thought. Those who lived the circus life developed a variety of skills. From aerialists to roustabouts, you had to be versatile to keep your job. Willa was no exception. She had been an equestrienne in the Ramsey show and she’d certainly had a way with the horses and the audience. In addition, she had an artistic flair. She had designed and sewn many of the costumes worn by the performers.
Circus people took care of each other.
“You can stay here for a while,” Amalie said. She stepped back to allow Willa into the hallway. “But I can’t afford to pay you a regular salary, just room and board.”
Relief and hope brightened Willa’s blue eyes. “That’s plenty. Thanks, Amalie. I promise you won’t be sorry.”
“I should point out that you could probably get a real job at the Burning Cove Hotel or one of the other resorts here in town.”
“No, thanks.” Willa picked up her grip and hastened through the door before Amalie could change her mind. “I’ve had enough of working for strangers. My last two bosses stiffed me on my weekly pay and tried to get into my panties. You can’t trust anyone these days. Where’s Hazel? I assumed that you and your aunt would stick together after everything fell apart in Abbotsville.”
“Hazel is in the hospital.”
Willa stopped abruptly, her eyes widening in shock. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll explain after you get settled. Right now I’m a little busy.”
Willa got a knowing look in her eyes. “If Hazel is in the hospital, that means you’ve got another bill to pay.”
“I’ll figure it out,” Amalie said. “You can set your grip on the floor behind the front desk. I don’t have time to show you to your room.”
“That’s okay.” Willa frowned at the flour-dusted apron. “Are you baking something?”
“That was the plan but I’m not making much progress. This is a bed-and-breakfast but we also offer tea. I’ve got a couple of guests who will be coming downstairs expecting sandwiches, scones, and shortbread. I’m going to ditch the shortbread. I just don’t have time to bake a batch.”
“I can handle the shortbread,” Willa said.
Amalie raised her brows. “Think so?”
“I know so. I wasn’t born into the circus. I joined the Ramsey show after my folks died. Before that, Ma sold pies and cakes and cookies to make ends meet. I helped her. We did the baking in our kitchen. So, yeah, I learned how to make shortbread.”
“You’ve got yourself a nonpaying job,” Amalie said.
Chapter 18
Jasper finished hanging Vincent’s white dinner jacket and a pair of dark trousers in th
e closet and turned to look at his boss.
“Will there be anything else, Mr. Hyde?” he asked.
Vincent was out on the balcony smoking one of his expensive European cigarettes and contemplating the view of the sun-splashed Pacific. He did not turn his head.
“No,” he said. “That will be all for now. I suppose I shall have to partake of what will no doubt be a very poor tea but afterward you will drive me to an appointment with an old friend who happens to be in town.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My friend and I will have drinks and discuss some business matters. At six you will bring me back here to dress for dinner. I will be dining at the Burning Cove Hotel this evening and then I will drop into the Paradise Club. It will be good for me to be seen at both the Burning Cove and the Paradise.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vincent heaved a world-weary sigh and finally turned around to face Jasper.
“It’s a damned shame that I am obliged to put up here at this ridiculous excuse for an inn. I should be relaxing in a poolside lounge chair at the Burning Cove, not sipping insipid tea at this place.”
“Yes, sir,” Jasper said.
“You may go now.” Vincent made a shooing motion with one long-fingered, well-manicured hand. “I’ve got some time to kill. I might as well go over my lines. I still can’t believe that an actor of my caliber is obliged to have to do a screen test for a stupid vampire film. That director should be on his knees, begging me to take the lead. Instead, what does he do? He graciously offers me the opportunity to try out for the role. He has the nerve to act like he’s doing me a favor. Fucking idiot.”
Jasper wasn’t sure of the correct response to that comment so he kept his mouth shut. Working for a fading star required a certain amount of discretion. Vincent Hyde was still a legendary horror actor as far as the public was concerned but in Hollywood it was no secret that his career had careened off a cliff in the wake of the box office fiasco of A Garden in Winter.
Hyde had played a tycoon trying to keep his business and marriage together while confronting financial disaster. He had been convinced that the role would catapult him from low-budget horror movies into the kind of well-respected films that got nominated for Academy Awards. It turned out that the people who bought tickets to movies did not want to see creepy Mad Doctor X in the role of a depressed, conflicted businessman.
Hyde was now fully engaged in the challenging task of salvaging his career as a horror actor. He did not have a lot of time. Very few things went downhill faster than the declining career of an aging actor.
Jasper moved out into the hall and closed the door. He paused to savor the faint hint of something warm and delicious wafting up from the kitchen. It had been a long time since he had tasted home cooking. Hyde employed a cook at his Los Angeles mansion, but with the exception of breakfast he rarely ate at home. Hyde’s evenings were spent at fashionable restaurants and nightclubs, places where he could be sure he would be seen with other celebrities.
The result was that Jasper usually ended up packing a lunch box for himself or grabbing coffee and a meatloaf sandwich at a diner.
He looked at the door of his room. He didn’t have much to unpack. His old grip could wait. He decided to go downstairs and see what was happening in the kitchen.
The scent of freshly baked goodies was so intense that by the time he got to the door of the kitchen his mouth was watering. But the sight of the blond angel bending over the hot oven to remove a tray of what looked like shortbread almost made him forget about food.
Amalie Vaughn was at the counter, cutting the crusts off dainty little sandwiches. She saw him in the doorway and smiled.
“Tea will be ready at three,” she said.
“Thanks, but I won’t be having tea,” he said. “Mr. Hyde wouldn’t think it was right for the help to eat in the same dining room as the boss.”
“I see,” Amalie said. “In that case you can have tea in here with Willa and me.”
The blond angel straightened, a baking sheet clasped in two mitten-covered hands. She turned to look at him.
He tensed, bracing for one of the two reactions he had learned to expect from women. In his experience, they were either repelled or fascinated by the leather and the tattoos. He was not particularly enamored of the costume himself, but Vincent Hyde wanted a chauffeur and a bodyguard who looked like the human equivalent of a vicious guard dog.
Amalie Vaughn’s gracious welcome that afternoon had caught him off guard precisely because he was not accustomed to having women look at him the way she did, as if he looked like a normal man. The expression in her eyes had told him that she was used to being in the company of people who did not fit the standard definition of normal.
He saw the same easy acceptance of the leather-and-steel outfit in the blonde’s eyes now.
“Willa, this is Jasper Calloway,” Amalie said. “He works for Mr. Hyde, one of our guests. Jasper, this is Willa Platt.”
Jasper ducked his head. “Miss Platt.”
“Nice to meet you, Jasper,” Willa said. She surveyed him from head to toe and nodded approvingly. “I like the outfit. Did you design it yourself?”
That stopped him cold for a beat.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Is it that bad?”
“No, it’s perfect,” Willa said. “It suits you. Very impressive.”
Jasper relaxed. “I used to lift weights on Venice Beach. Always hoped some studio executive would notice me. Figured the outfit might help attract attention.”
“Did you ever catch the eye of a director?” Willa asked.
“I never got discovered,” Jasper said. “But over the years I picked up some stuntman work. I’m getting too old for jumping out of burning windows, though. Figured a chauffeur’s job would be a safer way to make a living.”
Willa laughed. “You were probably right about that.”
“Whatever is in that pan sure smells good,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. It also happened to be the truth.
“Shortbread,” Willa said.
“I love shortbread cookies,” Jasper said. “Haven’t had any in years. My mother used to make them.”
Willa smiled and set the tray down on the tiled countertop. “What a coincidence. My mother made them, too. Would you like to sample one?”
Jasper grinned. “Can’t think of anything I’d rather do than eat one of those cookies.”
Chapter 19
Lorraine Pierce heard the limo pull into the driveway of her rented villa and smiled. Vincent was right on time. That was a good sign. It meant he understood that he needed her just as much as she needed him. Hollywood partnerships were always complicated. They rarely lasted for any length of time, especially when the partners were old lovers. Mutual attraction and friendship were not enough to cement a relationship, but two ambitious people who needed each other could make it work.
She and Vincent had known each other for a while now. They had met when she was younger and still quite beautiful. She had been an aspiring actress who had been cast in the role of the monster’s bride in one of the first Mad Doctor X films.
Her film career had sputtered and died before it had even had a chance to get going. But she had succeeded in seducing Vincent, and that had changed everything.
He had been a red-hot talent at the time, able and willing to provide her with access to the most exclusive Hollywood parties and clubs. When the stars drank, they started talking—usually about themselves. Inevitably, the secrets spilled forth in torrents.
It had taken her about five minutes to realize that there was another route to success in the glittering realm of Hollywood. As a high-flying gossip columnist she held the careers of some of the biggest names in town in the palm of her hand.
She and Vincent no longer shared a bed but she had learned early on what obsessed him, a
nd that had given her more power over him than sex had ever provided. She could give him what he wanted most—headlines in the movie magazines and the national press.
Stars were so easy to manipulate.
When the knock sounded, she went down the hall to open the door. She had dismissed the housekeeper for the afternoon.
Vincent was on the front step, looking as polished and languidly aristocratic as always. His linen jacket was tailored in the fashionable drape cut style. The fullness across the chest, wide lapels, and narrow waist gave an impression of broad shoulders and a solidly muscled torso. She knew for a fact that in Vincent’s case the impression was a discreet mirage. Underneath the fine clothes was the rather scrawny frame of a star who had a long history of using cigarettes and martinis to keep his weight under control. There was a reason why male actors were rarely filmed shirtless. Very few had Johnny Weissmuller bodies.
Lorraine smiled. “Hello, Vincent. Do come in. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Vincent dipped his head and gave her an affectionate little peck on the cheek. “You are looking lovely as always, my dear.”
Lorraine peered around his shoulder and watched the tattooed, leather-clad chauffeur get behind the wheel of the limousine.
“I see you’ve still got your personal monster on the payroll,” she said.
“For now Jasper serves my purpose quite nicely,” Vincent said. “He never fails to draw attention wherever I go. Very few things impress the public as much as a star who requires a ferocious-looking bodyguard.”
Lorraine closed the door. “Would you care for a martini?”
“I would be everlastingly grateful for one. I need a bracing tonic of some sort. I have spent only a single afternoon at that silly excuse for an inn and already I am about to expire from boredom.”
“Don’t worry, things will pick up this evening. I’ve made arrangements with the maître d’ at the Paradise. He has reserved a prime booth near the dance floor for us. I will arrive around ten and sit alone until you get there. Make sure your eye-catching monster of a chauffeur escorts you to my table. Trust me, by tomorrow morning the news that you are in town will be on the front page of the local paper. When word gets out that you’re staying at the mansion that was cursed by Madam Zolanda, the story will go national.”