Midnight Jewels

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Chapter 12

  Mercy didn’t bother to offer a protest early that evening when Croft suggested they go upstairs to dress for the lavish buffet dinner. Most of the guests had arrived in a bus that had been chartered for the occasion. They were an exotic throng that appeared to favor avant-garde clothing, jagged hairstyles and vivid makeup.

  Several people had descended immediately to the pool area and the tropical garden was swarming with semi-naked and a few fully nude Adams and Eves. The laughter from the pool could be heard throughout the house.

  Dallas and Lance had taken turns ferrying the new arrivals from the first gate where the huge bus had been forced to halt. Now both of Gladstone’s good-looking house boys were busy mixing drinks and putting the finishing touches on the buffet.

  “I can’t get over how useful Dallas and Lance are around the place,” Mercy observed as Croft tugged her into their suite. “Good help is so hard to find. I must ask Erasmus where he picked up those two. I’m not sure Isobel is so useful, but then nobody’s perfect. Where are we going?”

  “To take a shower.”

  “Work up a sweat during your aerial tour?” Mercy asked far too sweetly.

  “Do I detect a slight waspish note?” He pulled her into the bathroom, shut the door and turned on the shower.

  “Don’t blame me, I’ve had a hard afternoon,” Mercy said.

  He leaned against the sink counter and folded his arms. “Tell me about your afternoon.”

  “Well, it probably wasn’t as exciting as yours, but it had its moments. I almost went to sleep in the vault.”

  “Gladstone gave you another tour?”

  “Uh huh. And in the process I picked up the following information which is probably totally irrelevant and utterly useless. Gladstone doesn’t have any fireplaces in this house because he’s afraid of open flames. He’s also rather curious about you.”

  Croft’s gaze sharpened. “About me?”

  “I don’t think you should read too much into this, Croft, but there was a time there in the vault when I felt so sleepy I almost dozed off. But Erasmus just kept talking. He has a very unusual voice, have you noticed? And I kept listening. Ι could hear him asking me questions about you. It was a weird feeling. Made me wonder what it would be like to be hypnotized.”

  Croft was quietly alert. “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing. I knew you’d throttle me if I told him a single thing about you. That alone was enough to make me careful.”

  Croft smiled with cool satisfaction. “I doubt if you could betray me if you tried.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I found myself concentrating on his eyes, instead. I’ve decided they’re the same color as the swimming pool when the lights are on under the water. Then I told him I wanted a glass of iced tea and he, being the gracious host he is, got it for me right quick. End of story. Frankly, I don’t think it means much, but I knew you’d find all sorts of ominous clues in it. You have such a wonderfully melodramatic bent to your character. I was going to impress you by making a complete mental list of the most important titles in his collection, but that sleepy feeling got in my way. I can, however, give you some idea of at least part of his book collecting tastes.” She quickly ran through the titles and authors she had had a chance to study.

  “Interesting,” Croft commented when she had finished. “Definitely a different emphasis, although the materials are just as rare. Sounds like a much more generalized collection than Graves’s.”

  “You still think Gladstone is Graves, don’t you?”

  “My gut feeling is that they’re one and the same. It all comes back to Valley, though. I want another look in that vault tonight.”

  “Why?” Mercy demanded.

  “It intrigues me. It’s the most secured place in this house. Far more secure than it needs to be. The Picasso and the Mondrian aren’t given any special protection and they’re individually every bit as valuable as the books. But even a relatively unimportant book like Valley goes in the vault.”

  “I think you’re putting too much emphasis on the importance of that vault,” Mercy said uneasily.

  “I’m only putting a lot of emphasis on it because it’s obvious Gladstone does. That business of being able to lock it from the inside interests me. It makes the vault a fortress within a fortress. A final retreat.”

  “Or a prison.” Mercy shivered, remembering her feelings of claustrophobia.

  “Yes,” Croft agreed thoughtfully. “A fortress or a prison. But if Gladstone is really Graves, he will have made certain that he always has a way out. This time around he will be more cautious than ever.”

  “Assuming this is Graves’s second time around. Now tell me every single detail about your helicopter jaunt. Did Isobel make a pass?”

  Croft tilted his head to one side. “How did you know?”

  “Instinct. Thank goodness we’re leaving tomorrow. The next thing you know, she’d be wanting to take you on a wildflower-crushing expedition. What did she tell you?”

  “About what?”

  “About Gladstone. Come on, Croft, I know you didn’t waste that whole trip playing slap and tickle with Isobel. Learn anything interesting?”

  “Not unless you consider the fact that Gladstone’s apparently been impotent for the past three years interesting.”

  “Not particularly. Did you believe her?”

  Croft shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Why not? I’ll tell you why not. You may take my word for it. Isobel Ascanius is not the kind of woman who would stick devotedly by a man she no longer found useful in bed.” Mercy tapped one nail on the marble counter top and frowned at her image in the mirror. “She’s a smart woman and she’s a beautiful woman. She could find another sugar daddy if she wasn’t getting what she wanted from Gladstone.”

  “Maybe she is getting what she wants from Gladstone. And maybe what she wants isn’t sex,” Croft suggested softly.

  “What more could she want besides sex and money?”

  “You really don’t like the woman, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  Croft smiled faintly. “I’ll tell you what else she might be getting from Gladstone. Respect and power.”

  That brought Mercy’s head up sharply. “Respect for what?”

  “For such things as her skills as a pilot. I told her she was a good pilot this afternoon and you’d have thought I’d told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “And power? What kind of power?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll tell you one thing. She’s important around here, Mercy. She’s not just a decorator item. Don’t forget she was the one who found us that night in the pool. It wasn’t Gladstone who responded to the alarm you tripped. It was Isobel.”

  “And Dallas.”

  “True, but I think we can assume Dallas and Lance are at the bottom of the hierarchy around here.”

  Mercy considered that. “Okay, but I don’t see where that takes us. So what if Isobel is something more than Gladstone’s mistress? What’s that prove?”

  “Nothing. It’s just an interesting piece of the pattern.” Croft moved away from the edge of the counter, rubbing his jaw “I guess I’d better shave, huh?”

  Mercy couldn’t resist. “Did Isobel complain about a five o’clock shadow?”

  “No.” Croft began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Croft, tell me what happened after Isobel made her pass.

  “Nothing.” He removed his shirt and reached for his shaving kit on the counter.

  “Absolutely nothing?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Good,” said Mercy, satisfied.

  He caught her eyes in the mirror and arched his brows. “You believe me?”

  “Sure. In some ways, Croft, you’re completely trustworthy.”
/>   “But in other ways?”

  “In other ways you’re as hard to pin down as a ghost. In fact, there are times when you bear a distinct resemblance to one.”

  “A ghost?”

  “Yup. The only thing that makes me think you’re not is that there are parts of you that are amazingly hard and substantial.” Deliberately she let her eyes skim the territory beneath his belt buckle. Mercy tried to keep the assessing look cool, arrogant and casual, but she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks even as she made a point of heading for the door. She really wasn’t very good at this sort of sexual provocation. It was the thought of Isobel making a pass at Croft that had driven her to such boldness. She was already regretting whatever imp had gotten hold of her tongue.

  Croft’s hand snaked out, closing around the nape of Mercy’s neck without any warning. He pulled her back against him and kissed her with deep thoroughness. His tongue slid between her teeth and his fingers moved enticingly under her hair. Mercy heard her own soft moan and knew that Croft had heard it also. When he released her she was breathless. His eyes were brilliant as he looked down at her.

  “I’m not a ghost, Mercy. When this is all over I’ll take great pleasure in letting you prove to yourself just how solid and substantial I can get.”

  Mercy fled from the bathroom. She ought to ask Isobel for pointers, she decided.

  By ten o’clock that evening Gladstone’s party was in full swing. Mercy was torn between fascination and a distinctly uneasy sensation. She had never seen anything quite like this crowd, even though she had been raised in California. As Croft had once observed, she had apparently led a sheltered life.

  For some odd reason the noise level bothered her most. A sophisticated music system was piping progressive jazz and rock to all three levels of the house, but that wasn’t the main problem as far as Mercy was concerned. The increasingly high pitch of the laughter and the rising decibel level of the conversations were what was really beginning to bother her. She didn’t see how anyone was managing to communicate at all in the living room or anywhere else on the first floor.

  She did overhear several shouted arguments about the merits of some of the artwork that filled the house, but Mercy decided that they couldn’t really be classified as conversations. Everybody involved appeared to be interested only in what he or she personally had to say. Other people’s input was obviously a distraction and an annoyance.

  It was a strange self-centered group of people, not quite real in their wild, arresting clothing and their obviously intense need to focus interest on themselves.

  The wine and liquor were flowing freely, but Mercy suspected that wasn’t all that was contributing to the general gaiety. Here and there she caught whiffs of the acrid scent of marijuana along with some less identifiable aromas. She had seen more than one person exit the room discreetly and return a few minutes later looking unnaturally euphoric.

  Croft might think her naive, Mercy decided, but she wasn’t stupid. And she had been raised on the West Coast.

  “Why are you standing in a corner looking so serious? This is supposed to be a party. Act happy, Mercy.”

  Croft’s voice came from her left, sounding strangely cheerful. Too cheerful, considering the situation.

  “There you are.” She realized she was feeling both relief and acute anxiety. “I was wondering where you’d gone. I couldn’t see you in the crowd and I was afraid—” She broke off uneasily, glancing around. But no one seemed to be paying any attention, and any listening devices that might be planted in the living room would already be awash with static. She glared at Croft. “Why are you smiling like that? You almost never smile. Are you all right?”

  “You know, you’re kind of cute when you snap at me.” He took another sip of the drink in his hand. “I am fine. Peachy keen, in fact. Rarely have I felt better.”

  “I’m glad to hear it because you’re looking a little frayed around the edges.”

  “Camouflage,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Got to appear to be part of the crowd.”

  “Right. Well, you’re doing a good job of it.”

  “You’re not. You’re standing around looking morbid. What are you drinking?” He peered at the glass in her hand.

  “Water.”

  “A ha. That explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  His brows came together and he gave his head a small shake, as if to clear it. His eyes darkened briefly. “Never mind.” He glanced around at the loud, colorful throng. “Time for all good ghosts to be about their business, hmm? Time to practice disappearing and materializing and assorted skills.”

  Mercy leaned toward him. She was intensely worried now, not just nervous but downright scared. “Croft, are you sure you want to do this? Isn’t there some other way of answering your questions about Gladstone? If you get caught—”

  “I won’t get caught.”

  “That’s very reassuring,” she snapped, annoyed with his blithe lack of concern. It struck her as both unnatural and un-Croftlike. “But what happens if you do?”

  “You pretend to be as shocked as everyone else.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He patted her head as if she were an eager puppy and said with exaggerated patience, “If I get caught you just pretend to know nothing about what I was doing in the vault. You tell everyone you’re shocked and stunned. Appalled, even. I must have been using you to get access to Gladstone’s valuable collection. You’re an innocent dupe.”

  “I’ve already played that role once too often around you. Croft, listen to me, I think you should reconsider your plan tonight. There are bound to be a bunch of people downstairs in the gardens and the pool. Any one of them might notice you sneaking into the vault room.”

  “Nope.” He smiled genially at a striking young thing who was wearing hair dyed to match her green, skintight dress. The woman smiled back and floated on past as she inhaled deeply on a long cigarette.

  “What do you mean, nope?” Mercy wanted to slap him in order to get his full attention. There was a distracted quality about him that was alarming.

  “No one downstairs in the pool room now I just went down and checked. Place is empty.”

  “I didn’t see you leave.”

  He winked wickedly. “Trust me. It’s empty.” He took another sip of the red wine he was holding. “Did you try the salmon canapés? They’re great. I’ve had several.”

  Mercy shook her head. She hadn’t been able to eat a thing or drink anything besides water since the perilous evening had started. There was something not quite right about Croft’s mood. She had never seen him like this. Why was he chatting about salmon canapés at a time like this?

  If she hadn’t known him better she would have sworn he had had too much to drink. But that was impossible. Croft never drank to excess. He was as restrained about his drinking as he was about everything else. Something else must be going on...

  “Dallas and Lance probably cleaned out the pool room during the last hour,” Mercy noted thoughtfully. “Gladstone’s insurance might not have covered twenty or thirty artists getting drunk and falling face down in the swimming pool. On second thought, I don’t see a man as wealthy as Gladstone being overly concerned about his insurance policies. Where is Gladstone, anyway?”

  “Over there by the window, talking to that guy with the beard.”

  Mercy glanced across the room and saw Gladstone involved in what appeared to be a serious conversation with an intense young man. Isobel stood politely beside the two men, listening with an expression of what Mercy assumed was artistic interest.

  “That’s Micah Morgan. I met him earlier” Mercy told Croft. “Gladstone says he’s going to be the hottest thing on the art market in three or four years. Needless to say, Gladstone is collecting him now. Those pictures in the sitting room are Morgan’s.”


  “Why don’t you join them?”

  Mercy stirred the ice in her glass. “More camouflage? You want me to distract Gladstone and Isobel while you go downstairs and play cat burglar?”

  Croft beamed at her. “Will you do that for me, sweet Mercy? Dallas and Lance are so busy up here running the bar and the buffet that I don’t think they’re likely to wander downstairs unexpectedly.”

  “I don’t think you need my help in this project,” she retorted. “You seem to be able to appear and disappear without any assistance from me.”

  “It never hurts to have a little extra insurance.”

  “Oh, all right.” Resentfully Mercy started to move toward the window where Gladstone and Isobel stood. But something made her turn back once more to confront Croft. “Are you sure you’re up to this tonight? How much of that wine have you had?”

  “Half a glass. Just enough to look sociable.” He smiled again. “Stop worrying, honey. I’m in complete control.”

  “I wonder why that doesn’t reassure me.” Without waiting for a response, she plunged into the crowd, heading toward Gladstone and Isobel.

  Croft thought about the expression in Mercy’s eyes as he made his way through the jungle of plants in the pool room. She didn’t approve of what he was doing but she was going to help him. She was committed to him, he decided. That pleased him enormously. He liked having her feel committed. When this was all ever, he intended to have a long talk with her about her sense of commitment. She was the kind of woman who would stick with a man through thick and thin. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health...

  Damn it to hell, he knew for certain now he wasn’t feeling normal. Marriage rarely if ever—crossed his mind.

  Another wave of queasiness jarred him and he yanked his thoughts back from Mercy to his stomach. This was the third time during the past half hour that he had been aware of a wave of nausea. Nothing bad yet, but potentially dangerous. Nausea could stop a man as effectively as a fist in the face.