by Kelly Lane
“Wait,” I said to Buck.
I had to stop a moment to take it all in. It was the kind of place that I’d only seen in movies. Or while touring the great mansions of Newport, Rhode Island.
With French doors running the length of each side of the great ballroom, the furnishings were all Louis the Somebody or Other—Fourteenth or Fifteenth; I was too tired to keep them straight. Basically, it was lots of three-hundred-year-old furniture with cherub, botanical, ribbon, and curlicue motifs finished in gold leaf paired with elaborate silk and tapestried fabrics and rugs.
Although it was all in keeping with the architecture, the furnishings were definitely froufrou. Not the kind of style I’d have imagined a man like Ian would choose for himself. Although, I shouldn’t have been surprised. A few weeks earlier, I’d wakened after an accident to find myself convalescing upstairs at Greatwoods and mistakenly thought that I was actually in Versailles . . .
Long story.
A massive marble fireplace was centered at each end of the great room. At one corner, there was a grand piano. Enormous gold and crystal chandeliers hung from the frescoed and intricately hand-carved ceiling that soared above us.
I followed Buck across the awe-inspiring space. At the far end of the room, Buck grabbed a lever and opened a French door to cross a threshold. I followed him as we stepped into a very large wood-paneled chamber filled floor to ceiling with hardbound books.
Ahh, I thought. This is more like it.
A man’s man room.
There was a massive carved wooden desk and tall leather chair, a half dozen brown leather upholstered wingback chairs, a card table and chairs, some gun cabinets, marble busts and metal sculptures, hunting trophies, and dark green velvet drapes drawn across the massive arched windows—or French doors; I couldn’t tell which. Rising nearly to the ceiling on the far side of the room, an immense, hand-carved, dark wooden fireplace surround with a high mantel showcased sculptural carvings of stags, foxes, pheasants, and local flora. The room smelled like wool and wood polish, and hinted of cigar smoke.
A massive grandfather clock ticked away in the corner. I’d been right. It was well past three o’clock in the morning.
Seated at a game table in front of a massive window, Ian Collier, the consummate moneyed outdoorsman, puffed on a cigar. My sexy and oh-so-mysterious neighbor flipped the cover closed on a hardcover book he was reading and rose from his chair. Buck and I stepped onto a ginormous Turkish carpet. If Ian had worn a velvet smoking jacket I wouldn’t have been surprised. However, he wore his usual pressed shirt and khakis. Except his shirt was comfortably rumpled, his sleeves rolled up.
He looked good, rumpled.
“Eva, what’s the craic?” Ian asked with a welcoming smile. Then he furrowed his brow as he looked me over. “Eva, girl, yer lookin’ a bit worse for wear. Are ye alright?”
Ian looked to Buck, then back to me.
“I’m fine. Thank you. I’m afraid I got lost and the briars got the better of me wandering around stupidly in the woods.”
A chessboard—game in progress—and a couple of empty lowball glasses on leather coasters sat on the table.
“Your move, Sheriff,” Ian said to Buck, motioning to the chessboard. “Doc Payne’s gone home.”
Ian stepped over to me and gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. His warm, woodsy scent wiped away the vestiges of Buck’s heady powder and spice, which I’d been savoring since the kitchen. My senses, not to mention my heart, were in utter confused chaos. Still, my knees didn’t go quite as weak as they usually did. Some part of my mind and heart was still wrapped tight around Buck. And I was still confused about the side of Ian that I’d discovered in the field hours earlier.
Why can’t I just stick to my man moratorium!
“It’s late. I’ll pass for the night,” answered Buck. He reached into his pocket and drew out his smartphone. It was vibrating. Someone was trying to reach him.
Ian motioned for us each to take a seat at the circle of four leather wingback chairs that were set around a large wooden coffee table with carved legs. Buck frowned as he studied his phone then put it away without answering. He waited for me to take a seat.
“Thank you,” I said to Ian, who stood behind my chair as I sat down. “I’m sorry to bother you so late at night. I got worried when Dolly ran off, and I tried to follow her. I never imagined that we’d end up here.”
“Yer always welcome here, Eva. Anytime,” said Ian with a genuine smile. “Ye can even come up the drive, if ye like. No need to fight the woods each time ye come over. There’s a button on the box at the entry gate. Ye just push it and someone will open the gate for ye.” His evergreen eyes sparkled with mischief, as he looked me over. “The bloody prickers definitely got the best of ye this go-round.”
He looked at Buck and they both chuckled.
I looked down at my scratched and bloodied legs. “Yes, well, I hadn’t expected to be out so late . . . or be so far from home. I never realized what a jungle it is out there . . .” I covered my thighs, with my hands, trying to cover the scratched, bloody mess.
Ian laughed. Then he looked at Buck. “Any trouble?”
“No.”
The way they looked at each other, it was like they had a secret code.
“I can have Miss Precious take ye to get cleaned up if ye like, Eva. Maybe some salve would help fix ye right up? Some tea, perhaps?”
“That’s okay. I’m fine, thanks.”
Liar! The bloody scratches on my legs were on fire. And I was dying of thirst.
Be cool, Eva.
Ian nodded. “Looks like it was good ye had yer man the sheriff to rescue ye.”
Buck took out his phone again and sighed before putting it back in his pocket.
“Buck just told me that Dolly was born here. I had no idea,” I said, changing the subject.
Ian chuckled. “Ye didn’t know? Dolly and I are family, I guess ye could say. She’s the illicit progeny of a shadowy tryst between one of my hounds and a visiting Romeo.” Ian winked at me. “A Maltipoo, or some such thing. I assumed ye knew about me bein’ Dolly’s family.”
I heard Buck’s phone vibrate again. He ignored it.
“No. No one told me. Daddy and Daphne gave me Dolly shortly after I arrived back home. Still, they never told me from where they’d gotten her. Buck said Dolly’s mother is a hunting dog?”
“Yer sweet Dolly’s a mutt, I’m afraid,” Ian said with a dramatic sigh. “Her mother is some sort of beagle cross. Someone abandoned her after hunting season. I rescued her on the road a while back. Her name is Daphne.”
“Daphne? Did you say Daphne? Dolly’s mother—the abandoned hunting mutt—is named Daphne?”
I heard Buck chuckle. “So good,” he muttered.
“I daresay, we won’t tell your sister the dog’s name.” Ian chuckled.
“No doubt. High Priestess Daphne Knox Bouvier would have a heart attack,” said Buck with a grin.
We all laughed. After so much turmoil and stress that day . . . that night . . . it felt good to laugh.
Buck’s smile faded when his phone buzzed again.
“Can I get ye something to drink?” said Ian, rising. “Sheriff, a refresher? More bourbon? Eva? Ye must be ready fer something?”
“I’d love a glass of water,” I said. “I mean, if it’s no trouble. Then I should get Dolly back home.”
“I’ll take you,” Buck said quickly, stuffing his phone back into his pocket.
“Aye. Water’s no trouble at all,” Ian said, crossing the room. He picked up a decanter off an elaborately carved bar in the wall. There were several decanters and bottles of distilled spirits. “Ahh, bloody . . .”
The decanter was empty.
I heard heavy clip-clopping in the ballroom outside the door.
“Excuse me, Mister Collier?” Precio
us stood in the doorway. “You’re needed upstairs. Right away.”
She sounded serious. And she didn’t look at me or Buck. I thought that was strange. Especially for Precious. Usually, we were close. Usually, she’d give me a smile. Or a wink. At least a nod . . .
Ian’s expression clouded. He set the empty decanter down. “Excuse me,” he said. Quickly, with long, swinging strides, Ian whisked himself toward the door. Buck gave him an odd look and a nod.
“We’ll let ourselves out,” Buck called after Ian.
Buck pulled out his phone again and sighed.
“I need to take this call,” Buck said to me. “Then, I’ll take you and Dolly home.”
He stood up and left the room. I had the majestic Greatwoods library all to myself.
CHAPTER 35
I walked around Ian’s manly chamber, his magnificent library, marveling at all the hardcover books. It was an extensive collection, with history and historical novels taking up the most shelf space. Moreover, there was everything from the oldest classics—Beowulf, The Canterbury Tales, Shakespeare—to Victorian romance novels, noir crime fiction, modern thrillers, all the definitive Russian titles, translations from French, Chinese, Japanese . . . tomes by the great philosophers, literary fiction, science fiction, travel, even poetry. Cozies? Yes. Even cozy mysteries. I snickered thinking of profound Ian Collier curled up in his manly mansion with a merry little cozy mystery.
I worked my way around the room until I got to the game table where I saw not two, but three empty glasses. That’s right. I remembered Precious saying that Doc Payne had been here in the library. I spun, looking around the room, as if somehow I’d expected to find the old geezer, perhaps reading a book in the corner somewhere. Someone said he’d left. He must’ve gone home while Buck and I were still in the kitchen, I thought.
After all, it is very late . . . Er, early.
My heart flipped remembering Buck’s kisses. Why the hell had I let myself do that? My emotions were completely confused. Could I believe Buck about Debi being just “a means to an end”?
What on earth did that mean?
And then I remembered Ian in the field, standing with his high-powered rifle. Sure, he looked sexy. Still, I didn’t like guns. Ironic, as these two men both carried them: Buck for work, and Ian for . . . Why did Ian carry a gun? For sport? Protection? Enforcement?
Really, I didn’t think he hunted at all. So, why did seeing him like that unnerve me? After all, I’d been taught to handle a gun myself. Daddy’d taught all us girls. After Mother left, he was worried about us being alone in the house during his long hours in the fields. We could all shoot . . . Daphne, Pep, and me. And I daresay, at one time I’d been the best shot of the three of us. But there’d been an accident. After that, I didn’t want any part of guns anymore.
I looked back to the three empty glasses. What an odd combination, I thought: Ian Collier, Buck Tanner, and Doc Payne. Smoking cigars, drinking bourbon, and playing games in the middle of the night.
I smiled. Floyd “Doc” Payne was an odd sort of duck and well into geezerdom, easily twice the age of the other men. Since I was a child, Doc Payne had reminded me of photos I’d seen of Albert Einstein, with his wiry white hair and big, bushy eyebrows. Most of all, I always remembered his bad breath. Worst ever. Hard to imagine him “hanging” late at night with Buck and Ian. Although, when I thought about it, Buck and Ian seemed an odd pairing as well.
Outside the library, I heard the purr of Buck’s smooth Southern drawl echoing in the ballroom. His low, sotto voce voice didn’t sound happy. Just then, a freakishly tall, bald-headed manservant with sallow skin, a long nose, and black sunken eyes skulked silently into the library.
Mister Lurch.
Ian Collier’s manservant.
The sharpshooter.
When I’d first seen him weeks earlier, I’d been dumbfounded to learn that the man’s name was the same as the similar-looking character I’d watched as a child during Saturday morning reruns of The Addams Family. Except the make-believe Lurch had hair. This one didn’t. I thought Ian’s Lurch looked more handsome this way . . . no hair.
Ian’s sharpshooting manservant shuffled in silently and placed a fresh decanter of water on the bar before mumbling something incoherent. I think I heard my name. He turned, and I tried to discern whether he had a gun tucked into his waist. He was wearing a vest. I couldn’t tell . . . Maybe not. He shuffled from the room.
I picked up a cut-crystal highball glass and poured myself water. I guzzled it. Then I poured another and guzzled it as well. Then, I let my eyes roam over the room, to Ian’s great carved desk.
Instantly, something caught my eye. I put the glass down on the bar and walked over to inspect. There was an oversize pile of papers atop the desk—Abundance County tax maps, to be more precise. The one on top was of Vanderbiddle Plantation. Five thousand acres.
I picked up the map and studied it for a moment. Then the one below it: Hickey Hills Plantation. Ten thousand acres. And the one below that: Sky Pines. Seventeen thousand acres. There were more. Cotton Ball Farm. Balmy Way Plantation. Bountiful Acres. I recognized some as having been recently sold. Had they all been sold? At the bottom of the pile, there was a map of the entire county. Each of the individual tracts of land that I’d surmised had been sold during the past couple of years—there were as many as a dozen or so—were outlined in red marker. Given the relatively small size of Abundance County and the high price tags of each property, it was a shockingly high number of sales within the span of just a couple of years. I picked up the county map.
A map like the one Wiggy had been holding on the hill overlooking the pond at Knox Plantation.
Alongside every red-marked property, there was a handwritten note penciled in that read, Dicer. And there was a number. The numbers were probably sales prices for each property. As I’d surmised, the prices were very, very high. Well beyond what anyone local could afford to pay. Maybe they were the asking prices, not the sales prices? Still, either way, the numbers were astronomical.
I stared at the Dicer notation beside each parcel.
Debi is a means to an end, Buck had said. It hadn’t occurred to me when he’d spoken that he was talking about anything more than sex or good fun. Yet, seeing all this made me wonder . . . had I missed something completely? Something was going on with all this. Something big. And I was beginning to think it involved both Ian and Buck. Could it somehow involve the Bostoners, too? There was just so much land stuff going on. Could it all be a coincidence? As I put the papers down, another thing caught my eye.
Behind the desk there was a velvet curtain, drawn closed like the other curtains in front of the windows and doors. However, as I understood the space, the wall behind the desk was an interior wall, not one with a window or door to outside. And what caught my eye was the edge of a great gilded frame peeking out from one side of the dark green curtain. Of course, my former art-historian-wannabe self just had to see. I reached out to pull the curtain back . . .
“Alright, Babydoll,” said Buck from behind me. I hadn’t even heard him reenter the room. “Time to hightail it home.” I dropped my hand and turned to see Buck, holding Dolly in his arms.
How could I not have heard them?
CHAPTER 36
Dolly sat on my lap, panting and drooling all over my legs. We hadn’t even gotten to the main road when Buck said, “Our guy in the pond was your fiancé.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Like some sort of delayed reaction to what I’d told him hours earlier, at the pond. “You left me for him.”
“Yes. I left you at the altar to run off with Dex. And now he was found dead, in our farm pond.”
“Anything else you want to tell me?”
“What?”
“I said, is there anything else you want to tell me, about you and your dead fiancé? Now would be the time . . .”
“N
o. There’s nothing more to say. Other than it was all a huge mistake on my part.”
Buck didn’t look at me as we headed down the Greatwoods drive. I could tell his mind was racing.
I wanted to change the subject.
“What is Ian Collier doing with tax records for sold Abundance properties? Big properties?”
It was a guess about all the properties being sold.
“What are you talkin’ about?” asked Buck. He had one hand on the wheel of his SUV as we coasted down the cobblestone drive, passing through a virtual tunnel of pink-flowering crepe myrtle trees.
Yes, Sheriff Buck Tanner is smooth, I thought.
I knew that he knew exactly what I meant.
“On Ian’s desk in the library, there was a pile of tax maps,” I said. “And one of the entire county.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really. Don’t act like you don’t know. All the recently sold properties were circled. And the selling prices were noted. Why does Ian care? What’s going on? Did he buy them?”
Buck laughed. “Your next-door neighbor isn’t going to be too happy to learn you’ve been snooping around his desk. That was hardly neighborly of you, Babydoll.”
“Oh, come on! I wasn’t snooping. I just happened to see the maps. They looked interesting.”
“I’m sure. And you ‘just happened’ to be reaching to look behind a closed curtain when I came back into the library.” Buck laughed.
“I was not.”
I knew he’d known all along about the maps. He’d seen them as clearly as I had. And he’d caught me snooping about the painting.
“Ouch! Dolly, you weigh a ton.” I shuffled in the seat, trying to get comfortable underneath my weighty pup. “No wonder you’re so fat, Dolly. You’ve been dining on lobster and steak at Greatwoods. You eat better than I do! You’re busted now, young lady.”
With Dolly’s extra weight, my dead phone had mashed into my butt. Leaning forward, I reached into my back pocket, took out my phone, and placed it on the seat near my leg. I was sure the phone imprint in my backside would be permanent.