“So that’s Tucker Brinkley,” I said. “He looks like he’d be more at home on the range than behind a desk at City Hall.”
“Yeah.” Farrah sighed. “But he could be good for Edindale. He actually has support from a diverse cross-section of townspeople. Conservationists like him because he believes in protecting land from development. Businessmen like him because of his hunting lodge. Women like him because . . . well, for obvious reasons.” Now it was Farrah’s turn to fan herself.
I took another sip of wine and pondered the rivalry between Tucker and Edgar. I had thought they were friends and sometime business partners, which would explain why Tucker was welcome at Edgar’s ball. But if Tucker was against new property developments, I could see how the two men would have plenty of opportunities to butt heads. Of course, now they were political opponents as well.
Farrah pulled a tube of shimmer gloss from her clutch and dabbed some on her lips. “Who is he talking to?” she asked. “Do you think she’s his date? They don’t exactly look cozy.”
I looked over and recognized the tall, short-haired woman standing next to Tucker. “That’s Allison Mandrake. She’s Edgar’s executive assistant. It would be strange for her to be with Tucker, considering the election.”
I felt a hand on my waist and turned to see Wes, who had finally made it through the crowd. “Hey, babe,” he said, then leaned over and stole a quick kiss. “You look incredible. Is that a new dress?”
I smiled. “New to me. It’s Farrah’s dress.” Farrah and I had raided each other’s closets as we often did. Tonight, she wore my short red cocktail dress, and I wore her long gold sequined evening gown. We had agreed that red better suited her blond coloring, while the gold went well with my brunette hair.
“How about a picture?” asked Wes. He lifted the camera that hung from a strap on his arm. He carried it with him so often, it was like another appendage.
Farrah linked her arm in mine, and we posed for a few snapshots. When Wes lowered his camera, Farrah kept ahold of me. “Before you and Wes go dancing off into the moonlight, walk with me over to Tucker’s little group. Since you know Allison, you’re my way in.”
“Okay,” I agreed. Wes tagged along as we made our way over to the growing cluster of people surrounding “Cowboy Tuck,” as I’d begun to call him in my mind. As soon as we approached, Tucker’s eyes fell upon Farrah, and I knew she didn’t need any introduction. I said a quick hello to Allison, then slipped away with Wes. He took my hand and guided me to the dance floor.
Carefully draping his camera across his back, Wes took the lead and we danced to the band’s rendition of “Walking in a Winter Wonderland.” I pressed close to him and inhaled his spicy, masculine scent. He paused mid-step and stroked my hair, then brought his lips close to my ear. “I’m not usually much of a dancer,” he admitted. “But this gives me a nice excuse to hold you in my arms.”
“I think you’re a fine dancer,” I said.
He laughed, then pulled back and gave me a whirl. We danced for another two songs, then decided to take a walk.
We had barely left the dance floor when Allison stopped us. She nodded at me and spoke to Wes. “I have a favor to ask,” she said. “I know you’re here for the Gazette tonight, but would you mind taking some photos of Edgar? I need some pictures for his campaign. We’ll pay you, of course.”
“Oh. Well . . .”
“It’s okay,” I interjected. “I don’t mind.” In fact, I thought, I could go along and watch. Then maybe I’ll finally have a chance to speak to Edgar.
“All righty then.” Wes turned to Allison. “Just give me a minute. Then I’ll go track him down.”
“Wonderful.” Allison pivoted on her stilettos and headed off to speak to someone else. That is one efficient woman.
Wes touched my arm. “Thank you for understanding. I actually need to take a few more pictures for the paper, too. I’m supposed to capture as many guests as possible. Is Farrah around here somewhere?”
I scanned the growing crowd and noticed Farrah was still where I had left her earlier, rubbing elbows with Tucker Brinkley. So to speak. The group around him had shrunk, but there were still a few other women vying for his attention—one of whom was Sheana Starwalt. Crenshaw’s date.
“Huh,” I said.
Wes saw her, too. “Uh-oh, looks like Sheana ditched Crenshaw. He probably overwhelmed her with his enthusiasm.”
“Poor guy,” I said. I spotted Crenshaw sitting by himself on a bench against the wall. He tapped his foot in time to the music and avidly watched the few couples who actually seemed to know what they were doing on the dance floor.
“Hey, you should go ask him to dance,” said Wes.
“What?” I looked at Wes in surprise.
Wes grinned. “Maybe it’s the holiday spirit, but I’m feeling kind of sorry for the guy. Plus I feel bad about leaving you.”
I waved away Wes’s apology and told him I’d be fine. After he left, I glanced over at Crenshaw again. He had stopped tapping his foot and was now examining his fingernails. I sighed.
Oh well. This will give us a chance to talk about Edgar. Maybe Crenshaw had learned something more from Beverly.
When he saw me walking toward him, Crenshaw popped up from his seat. “Greetings. That’s a . . . lovely gown you have on.”
“Why, thank you, sir,” I said. “Care to dance?” I gestured toward the dance floor.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Would you like to dance? With me?”
“Oh. Certainly. I’d be delighted.” Crenshaw held out his hand and led me to the center of the floor. Fortunately, the band played a slower song than before, so I didn’t have too much trouble keeping up with him. We engaged in a passable foxtrot to the tune of “Santa Baby.”
“So, have you found out anything more about . . . you know,” I asked him.
Crenshaw stared at me for a moment. “Our assignment?”
“Yes. I think we need more information. I was hoping to catch Beverly tonight, and maybe Edgar, too.”
“This isn’t exactly the time or place for such discussions,” he said. “But I agree. We need to know more. I’ll see if I can schedule a meeting with Beverly early Monday morning.”
I nodded and would have said more, but we had somehow managed to slow-slow-quick-quick our way next to the band’s speakers. It was too loud for further conversation.
After one song finished and another began, I decided I had done my duty. I was about to tell Crenshaw I needed a break, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Crenshaw looked at the person behind me and narrowed his eyes, evidently annoyed at the intrusion. I turned, expecting to see Wes.
I gasped. It wasn’t Wes. Just as Mila had predicted: It was someone from my past.
Chapter 5
“Mick!”
“Hello, Keli.” He grinned at me, then glanced at Crenshaw. “Mind if I cut in? Keli and I go way back.”
Without waiting for a response, Mick encircled my waist and swept me off into the crowd of dancers. Gripping my hand tightly, he swung me sharply in time to the music. At first, I was too stunned to say anything. I hadn’t heard a word from my old college boyfriend since I left Nebraska nearly ten years ago.
At first, I tried to keep up. Then I came to my senses. This is crazy. I don’t want to dance with this guy. I halted and pulled away. “What are we doing?” I said. “Let’s go sit down and catch up. I’m tired of dancing anyway.”
“Love to.” He grasped my arm to guide me off the dance floor, and I sped up to free myself. Who did he think he was, anyway? He had no right to act possessive of me.
As we left the ballroom, I kept an eye out for Wes. I finally spotted him in the atrium, where he was taking photos of couples in front of the fountain. I didn’t want to interrupt his work, but I wished I could get his attention.
“Let’s go to the lounge upstairs,” said Mick. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Fine.”
As we climbed the steps
to the upstairs bar, I glanced over at Wes again. This time he caught sight of me. He raised his eyebrows, and I gave him a weak wave. At least now he’d know where I’d gotten off to.
Mick snagged a small round table near the railing and held out a chair for me. “Keli, you look fantastic. You haven’t aged a day since college. What’s your secret?”
I lifted my shoulders and gave him a small smile. I couldn’t bring myself to return the compliment, even though he didn’t look too bad. Sure, he was a little thicker around the middle and thinner at his hairline, but he still had those dimples and long eyelashes I’d found so charming once upon a time. And as he removed his tuxedo jacket and draped it across the back of his chair, I noticed he still had quite impressive biceps. Still, as much as I had once loved him, the thrill was now, most definitely, gone.
“Mick, this is such a surprise. What brings you to Edindale?”
“Business. I remembered you came here and decided to look you up. Did you get the flowers and chocolate?”
“Yeah. I did. That was very nice. But why didn’t you sign your name?”
He leaned back in his chair, looking smug. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I thought you’d figure it out.” He puckered his lips in a mock pout. “Are you telling me you don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
“Spring break? We went to that park, and I picked you tulips? And we joked about Lady Godiva because of that horse statue?”
Huh? I stared at Mick as I racked my brain for any memory of what he was talking about. I decided to change the subject.
“So, what have you been up to? Last I heard, you were moving to Washington, DC.”
“I did,” he affirmed. “I live in Arlington now.” He went on to describe his job running a political action committee devoted to supporting up-and-coming local politicians. He was in Edindale to vet Edgar as someone his PAC might support. This surprised me, for as far as I knew, Edgar had never been in politics before his current run for mayor. “Tell me about you,” Mick said. “I know where you work already. What do you do for fun?”
I proceeded to list off some of the activities I enjoyed: running, gardening, seeing concerts with friends. In my head, I groaned. I had no connection with this guy anymore. I wasn’t about to reveal any personal details about my life.
For that matter, I noticed he didn’t ask if I was married or seeing anyone. Apparently, it was obvious Crenshaw and I weren’t a couple. I wondered if Mick had ever settled down with anyone after college. Would it be rude to ask? He didn’t have on a wedding ring, but that didn’t prove anything.
On the other hand, I wasn’t really that interested. In fact, I was tired of his company already. I wanted to go back to the party. As Mick droned on about some sports team, I cast around the bar to see if there was anyone I knew—anyone I could call over to rescue me.
Raucous laughter erupted from the back of the lounge. I looked over and saw a group of people crowded around a table, some sitting and some standing. I recognized at least one of them: Lonnie Treat, the mattress salesman. He appeared to be angling for a seat at the table. When the group shifted, I saw why. It was Edgar. Seated in a captain’s chair, with his back to the wall, he was clearly the center of attention. He appeared to be relating an entertaining story to his rapt audience. Or maybe, like Allison had said, people were drawn to him because he might be the future mayor. Either way, they hung on his every word.
“He certainly is popular,” said Mick, who was now watching Edgar, too.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I think he’s generally well liked around town. Of course, throwing parties like this doesn’t hurt.”
Mick scooted his chair back. “I guess the waitress isn’t going to come by. I’ll go order our drinks at the bar.” Instead of standing up, Mick leaned forward and waggled his eyebrows. “How about a purple hooter shooter, for old time’s sake?”
Just then, a shadow fell across our table. We both looked up to see Wes standing there, scowling.
“Hey, Wes! All done taking pictures?” Finally, an excuse to get away from Mick. I glanced between the two men. “Mick, this is my boyfriend, Wes. Wes, this is—”
Mick stood up and stuck out his hand. “Mick MacIntyre, Keli’s old college flame. Talk about awkward. I’m sorry if this looks bad. She didn’t tell me she was dating anyone.”
I gaped at Mick. The situation didn’t have to be awkward, but his clumsy explanation made it so. Luckily, Wes only looked bemused. He shook Mick’s hand, then turned to me.
“I’m just going to shoot a couple more photos of Edgar, then I’m done for the night.”
“Terrific. I’ll come with you.” I stood up and linked my arm through his. To Mick, I said, “It was nice seeing you again, Mick. I hope you enjoy your stay in Edindale.”
* * *
Wes and I danced to one more song, then walked hand in hand around the hotel’s atrium. We stopped next to the tall Christmas tree to admire the shiny ornaments. I had given up on trying to speak to Edgar that night. After Wes had taken a couple of candid shots in the lounge, he put his camera away. It was obvious he wouldn’t get any pictures appropriate for an election campaign. I didn’t know how many glasses of scotch Edgar had downed, but his cheeks were ruddy, his eyes were bloodshot, and his loosened tie was crooked. He was clearly drunk.
Now all I cared about was being with Wes. I had repeatedly assured him that I didn’t have any lingering romantic feelings for Mick, and he seemed satisfied. Still, it couldn’t hurt to demonstrate my devoted affection for Wes. I moved closer to his side.
“Look at that,” said Wes, pointing up at the tree. “Isn’t that mistletoe?”
I didn’t bother looking. I simply turned to Wes and smiled. “Yeah. It definitely is.”
He drew me near and kissed me. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to melt into him, oblivious to the other party guests strolling and chattering around us. After a moment, we drew back, slightly breathless.
“Shall we go?” I asked.
Wes nodded, and we headed to the cloakroom. Farrah had already told us good-bye after we had left the lounge and returned to the ballroom. She had decided to join a group of people who were leaving the party to check out a rock band playing at a nightclub down the street from the hotel.
There was no attendant in the cloakroom, so we decided to climb over the counter to look for our coats. Wes bounded over first, then held out his hand to help me over. I hopped onto the edge and tried to swing my legs over without falling off. It didn’t work. I blamed the long dress, but perhaps I was a little tipsier than I thought. I fell into Wes’s arms, knocking him off balance. We ended up on the floor and in an instant, Wes pulled me close and we began making out under the coats. We pulled back, laughed, then started kissing again. I moved my hand to brace myself on the floor and it met with something sharp. “Ouch!”
“You okay, babe?” said Wes, his voice husky. He sat up, and I showed him my hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed my palm.
“Ahem.” We looked up to see someone standing on the other side of the counter, with arms crossed. It was Crenshaw.
Wes stood first and helped me to my feet. “Hey,” said Wes. “There was no attendant, so we had to climb over. Lost our footing.”
Without a word, Crenshaw walked to the end of the counter and swung open a door. Oops. Wes and I started laughing again. Crenshaw walked past us, retrieved his coat and hat, then swept out of the room. Wes found our coats and helped me on with mine.
Before we left, I glanced at the floor to see what had pricked my hand. It was a piece of a broken buckle, with a distinctive bead pattern that looked familiar. I scooped it up and held on to it as we hurried out of the cloakroom and made our way to the hotel’s exit.
* * *
Two hours later, Wes and I were snuggled up on his couch looking at the photos he had taken at the ball. I wore one of his old flannel shirts as a nightgown, while he wore pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. I leaned up against him as
he scrolled through the photos on his camera, making comments about which ones he would probably submit to his editor at the newspaper. He had taken a lot of pictures before I arrived at the hotel, including some of Edgar greeting guests in the lobby and a few of Edgar with his wife, Gretta, and their two daughters. From what Beverly had mentioned, I knew Edgar’s elder daughter was a surgeon and his younger daughter had just started college. Gretta was involved in horticulture and philanthropy, though her hip surgery had probably slowed her down in recent months.
“Looks like you got some good pictures of Edgar after all,” I said. “You should show these to Allison.”
“Yeah,” said Wes. “Technically, these belong to the paper, but I’m sure they’d be willing to sell a few.”
“Oh, then I guess you can’t charge for them,” I said. “That’s too bad.”
Wes shrugged. “That’s not why I was there in the first place. If they still want more campaign pictures, I can offer to set up a photo shoot in Edgar’s office.”
“That’s a great idea.” I rested my head on Wes’s shoulder. In the past, he had struggled to make ends meet as a photographer. I wasn’t sure how much he earned at the newspaper, but I had the impression he was still a little sensitive about his income, especially as it compared to mine.
Wes chuckled. “I don’t think we’ll be sharing this one with Allison.” I looked at the photo on his camera. It showed Allison glaring at Edgar, who was apparently speaking to someone off-camera.
“Wow, I wonder what Edgar did to make her look at him like that.”
“Maybe nothing,” said Wes. “That’s the thing with photos. You never really know the full context. Like any other art form, once it’s out there, it’s no longer about the original meaning. It becomes open to the viewer’s interpretation.”
I pondered this and realized Wes was right. Allison’s expression could have been caused by anything, from a story someone had relayed to a bad reaction from something she ate. Still, it sure looked like she was aiming daggers directly at Edgar. This made me recall the argument I had overheard in her office.
Yuletide Homicide Page 4