by Nancy Warren
“Florence.” The women air-kissed and then a man kissed Sarah’s cheek in his turn. “Edward, how good it is to see you.”
Edward Grayson was a dapper man of about seventy, with silver hair and red cheeks. His eyes were blue and protruded slightly behind horn-rimmed glasses.
“A lovely party, as always,” Sarah continued. “I think the floral arrangements are spectacular this year.”
Florence beamed. “I found this darling florist. He’s from Prague, if you can imagine. He said to me, in his delightful Czech accent, ‘I don’t do floral arrangements, madam, I create fantasies.’”
While the women talked, Mr. Grayson smiled and nodded at the group. He got to Lexy and his smile grew rigid, his eyes bugged out and his already rosy cheeks grew scarlet. He didn’t say a word, simply stood stock-still, staring at her chest. She pretended not to notice, but she felt herself beginning to blush.
“Well, it’s certainly a gorgeous fantasy. Doing all the flowers in white was inspired. And the glitter on the feathers is—”
“Diamonds. They are all diamonds. Tiny industrial diamonds, he insisted on it. He had seamstresses working night and—” At this point Florence Grayson’s gaze wandered and, as her husband’s had, landed on Lexy’s chest and stuck there.
The woman made a horrible sound in the back of her throat, like an asthmatic cat with a hair ball.
Maybe the Botox prevented her from any facial expression, but her eyes were feverish as she stared.
“Florence, are you all right?”
“Yes,” the woman gasped. “Fine. The air’s very dry in here.” She sucked back her drink with an unsteady hand. Then tried to pull herself together.
“And how is everyone? I know you all of course, no introductions necessary, except I don’t believe I’ve met you?” she said in a questioning tone to Lexy.
Sarah, hostess born and bred that she was, immediately introduced them. “Alexandra Drake. Charlie’s friend.”
“Please, call me Lexy,” she said, extending her hand. She knew one thing: this woman was definitely not the same person who had come into her shop and introduced herself as Florence Grayson.
“It’s lovely to meet you.”
Lexy had watched carefully and while Florence Grayson hadn’t reacted to hearing her name, her husband had gone rigid and, if it was possible, even redder in the face.
“Lexy Drake?” the man sputtered. “You’re Lexy Drake.”
“I am.”
“But you’re dead.”
Mrs. Stanley laughed, a slick society laugh, the kind of laugh that could smooth over any awkward situation. It was getting a workout tonight. “We’ve already been through that, Edward. Fortunately Lexy was out of town when that awful fire happened.”
“Out of town? Where?”
Charlie cleared his throat delicately. “She was with me. In a quiet, secluded not-to-be-revealed location.”
“That’s a lovely necklace, Lexy,” Florence Grayson said, her hand reaching forward as though she were going to touch the gems, or perhaps attempt to rip them from her neck, and then drawing back.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Mrs. Stanley gushed. “We’ve all been admiring it. Charlie bought it for her.”
“Charlie bought it?” Mr. Grayson spoke again, his face still as red, his eyes still as buggy, as when he’d first caught sight of the necklace.
“That’s right,” Charlie said.
“Fine-looking piece. Where did you get it?”
“Private sale. Friend-of-a-friend sort of thing. Frankly I got it at a fire-sale price.”
She had no idea how he could be so cool. All she had to do was stand here and show off the goods, but Charlie had to play a part. Cool, calculated. Giving Grayson enough information to freak him out, not enough to really tell him anything. Except for the two crucial pieces of information he was now absorbing.
Charlie had the Isabella Emeralds.
And Lexy was alive.
Grayson’s gaze jerked up to Charlie’s and she didn’t like the expression in those protuberant blue eyes.
She had no idea what would have happened next, but luckily—or had Charlie’s mother made a graceful motion?—a society photographer appeared in front of them. “May I?” He motioned with his big-lensed camera and they all dutifully arranged themselves. Charlie made sure to position Lexy at the front of the grouping so her necklace would be photographed, no doubt as yet another part of his obscure plan.
The photographer took their names and checked spellings for the photo cutline, and when he got to Lexy, paused, stared up at her and then said, “Are you the same Lexy Drake who had a fire?”
“Yes.”
“That sucks. I got sent out to take the pictures. Nasty.”
She nodded, feeling queasy just remembering the gutted black hole that had once been her home and business.
“Wait just a second. Didn’t you die in that fire?”
“No.”
He thought that over. “So, you’re alive.”
“As you see.”
“Cool. Wait right here. There’s a reporter wandering around. This could be, like, a scoop.” And he tucked his notebook into his back pocket and sped off.
“Let’s hope he takes good pictures,” Charlie said in her ear.
“I guess it was inevitable, but I really feel strange having all this media fuss.”
“Has to be done.”
“I suppose. At least Amanda knows, and my dad, so they won’t find out from the paper tomorrow.”
Charlie turned to his mother and her friends. “If you’ll all excuse us, I was about to introduce Lexy to a few people I’d like her to meet.”
“Yes, of course,” Grayson said, pulling himself together with an effort and finally raising his gaze from her chest. “We’ll catch up with you again later.”
Charlie and Lexy made their slow way through the crowd. He knew a lot of people. They hadn’t gone far when a redheaded woman about Lexy’s own age wearing a green strapless dress appeared, the photographer at her elbow.
“Lexy Drake?” she said. “Is it really you?”
“I’d show you my ID but I think it all melted in the fire.”
“Oh, wow. This is amazing that you’re alive. I was really upset when I heard the news. I’ve bought earrings from you before and always dreamed of being able to afford one of your custom pieces. Now I guess I can still dream.”
Lexy smiled at her. She liked the woman immediately. She had freckles and a wide, innocent smile, that no doubt made people tell her all their secrets. Very handy in a journalist.
“You showing up at a charity gala very much alive is going to be news. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“No. I suppose not.”
“Fantastic. First I guess I have to ask where you were and how come you didn’t call anyone to say you were alive.”
They’d rehearsed this story but it still felt a little awkward. Lexy didn’t make a habit of distorting the truth, at least not until she got mixed up with Charlie. They’d come up with a story that was essentially true, though not entirely.
“Charlie and I were away together and—well, we didn’t see or hear the news. We only returned today and I found out…”
“So you were on vacation?”
“More like a dirty weekend,” Charlie put in helpfully.
Lexy glared at him. She really didn’t need that being printed in the newspaper.
“This must be a huge shock for you. How did it feel when you got back to find out your studio was gone?”
“It’s like a part of me died,” she said, recalling the sick feeling she’d experienced when she drove by.
“I hate to ask you this, but it’s my job. Do you know there was a body found in the rubble?”
“I heard that, yes.”
“Any idea who it could be?”
“No. The police are investigating and of course I’ll help in any way I can.”
“It’s strange to see you in public
and not wearing one of your own designs, but I have to say this is a truly stunning piece.”
“Thank you. Charlie gave it to me. It’s especially precious to me now that I have no jewelry of my own to wear. Though, of course, I’ll get back to work as soon as I can find a new space. And, if it’s possible, could you please print that I will honor all of my orders and commissions. I’ll put something on my Web site so customers can get hold of me.”
“Of course. So how does it feel to discover everyone thought you were dead?”
Lexy thought about it for a moment. Her mind darting to the activities of the afternoon. “I’d have to say, I’ve never felt more alive.”
“I’m really happy you are.” She turned to the photographer. “Can you get a picture of Lexy and her boyfriend?”
“Sure, yeah.”
“Do a great job. I think we’re looking at our front page,” the woman said with all the satisfaction of a society reporter who just stumbled on a front-page news headline.
He snapped off a few photographs of Charlie and Lexy standing together.
After the photo session, Charlie whisked her away and toward the opposite side of the room. “How are you doing?” he asked in a low voice, a caressing smile on his face presumably to convince anyone watching that they were exchanging sweet nothings.
She pasted a matching smile on her own lips. “I’m sweating in places I didn’t know I had sweat glands,” she said.
“You’re doing great,” he said, leaning forward and giving her a little kiss. Which definitely helped steady her.
“Security guards closing in,” she whispered against his lips. “Three o’clock.”
He smiled, as though he were quite happy about this turn of events. She supposed they’d provoked Grayson hoping for some reaction, but right now she really wished she were curled in bed in her pajamas with a good book.
“Let’s dance,” he said, not bothering to look over his shoulder and confirm what she’d seen.
The game of cat-and-mouse had begun.
The gala was packed. Due to the high net worth of everybody here, except her, the age range was predictably on the upper end, but there were some younger celebrities, up-and-coming hotshot business types and trophy wives and dates to balance things out.
When they got to the dance floor, the live orchestra was playing a waltz, which she probably hadn’t danced since the last time she attended a wedding. But she loved dancing, and when Charlie pulled her into his arms, she had no trouble following his moves.
As their bodies touched and brushed she found her mind filling with images of their sex games earlier and in spite of the nervous tension she was experiencing, or maybe because of it, her senses seemed heightened. She felt the brush of his wool jacket against her bare arms, the heat of his body where they touched, the subtle movements of his hips and legs, his arms guiding her as they swooped in circles around the dance floor. She didn’t need to keep him informed of the location of the two goons dressed as security guards, since he could see them for himself.
She tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to stay aware of them as they watched from the edges of the dance floor, waiting.
When the second security guard turned and stared directly at her, she stumbled slightly.
In that second she was back at the night her place was broken into and later torched. She remembered clearly staring out of the limo window and seeing the guy running, a gun held in his hand.
“You all right?” Charlie asked, smoothly guiding her back into the dance.
All right? She’d never been less all right. Her heart was hammering and she felt her breath hitch. “The second security guard? I recognize him.”
“Shh. I know.”
“You saw him, too? It’s the one from that night. The one who ran out after us the night my place was torched.”
He winced as she accidentally stepped on his toe but she barely noticed.
“The guys who were pretending to be cops. You were right. They were hired by Grayson. But imagine the nerve, having them here tonight.”
“Remember, they have no idea that you saw them. And they couldn’t connect me with any of this until tonight.”
“We should call my dad right now. He can arrest that guy.”
“On what charge?” The song ended and they clapped politely along with the other dancers. A few left the floor, more joined them.
“How about murder? Arson? Impersonating an officer?”
“Did you actually see him do any of those things?”
She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Damn. A few reruns of Law & Order would tell her she had no case. Never mind years of living in the same house as a cop. Her excitement fizzled. “Nope. All I saw him do was run down a street with a gun in his hand.”
“It’s not enough. The only thing we have going for us is that they have no idea how much we know. Let’s keep it that way for a while.”
“I wish they’d stop staring at us. It’s creeping me out.”
“Relax. They won’t do anything here—not with my mother, your father and half the power players in the city watching.”
She knew he was right, theoretically, but she couldn’t rid her mind of the image of that brutish guy with the short neck running along her street with a gun. What if he’d caught up with them?
She remembered the news report about the body in her apartment and she knew the answer.
They left the dance floor and he scooped them two champagne flutes from a passing tray and handed her one. She needed the false courage, so she sipped the dry, bubbly wine on the theory that it was hard to take anything too seriously when champagne was involved.
Charlie introduced her to a few more people he knew, as though this were a normal social event. Then it was time for dinner.
No doubt the most fabulous, delicious dinner ever created. It might as well have been boxed mac and cheese for all she could taste.
She couldn’t stop noticing that she was always watched. She worked out that there were four of them, paired off so that one team would keep her and Charlie in their sights and then they’d trade off. As though she might not notice the surveillance if it was always a different thick-necked type in a bad suit eyeing her.
There were speeches, of course, more dancing, more mingling. Charlie seemed the epitome of relaxed charm. He laughed, he joked, he ate with the apparent relish of a man who could actually taste his food. She wanted to hit him.
Once the speeches were over and people had begun to circulate, the event she’d been dreading occurred. Mr. Grayson approached, without his wife.
He was all smiles as he patted Charlie on the back all hail fellow well met. She could almost feel his eyeballs longing to stray to her neckline, but he controlled himself with an effort.
“Charles, I’ve got something to discuss that I think you might find interesting.”
“Really?” Charlie managed to combine surprise with flattery in his tone to a degree that would have impressed Stanislavski.
“If you can spare me a few minutes in my study, there’s something I’d like to show you.”
“Of course.” He turned to Lexy with a smile and the ghost of a wink. “All right if I leave you for a few minutes, darling?”
Before she could reply, Grayson said, “Come along with us, Ms. Drake. I’d value your expertise.”
“All right.”
He led them to a private elevator in a corner and they rode it up two floors. She knew he couldn’t do anything violent to them, not during the gala and certainly not with Charlie’s mother downstairs, but still she felt her anxiety ratchet up a notch. She had to restrain her fingers from floating to her necklace and toying with it nervously. She gripped her clutch bag instead, squeezing and releasing the poor thing as though it were a stress ball.
The elevator opened on the quiet hush of a well-insulated home. No noise from the party penetrated. She hadn’t realized how noisy it was downstairs until she felt the heavy quality of the silenc
e.
“I keep my offices up here. I do most of my work from home, these days. Much less exhausting.”
The hallway was lushly carpeted so her heels were soundless. He punched a code on a heavy door, which opened on a luxurious office, like something out of a men’s club. Deep maroon leather club chairs, a desk big enough for a king to run a country from.
A second desk held several top-of-the-line computers, but the desk Grayson eased himself behind was bare of clutter, either technological or paper based. Somehow she found the gleaming bare surface kind of creepy.
In a gesture so clichéd she could barely believe he did it, he went to a cabinet and pulled out a humidor. Offered it to Charlie. “Cigar?”
Charlie chose a Cuban.
Grayson chose one for himself and soon the two men were puffing, adding a fog of sweet-scented smoke to her already addled brain.
Grayson didn’t waste any time in getting to the point.
“I couldn’t help but admire your necklace, my dear.”
Now, at last, she allowed her fingers to touch the sparkling confection at her chest. “Isn’t it something? Charlie bought it for me.”
“Which brings us to the point of this little chat,” the man said smoothly, his gaze still locked on the emeralds and diamonds. “Of course, discretion is assured, but I must tell you that I recently was burgled and a necklace identical to that one went missing.”
Charlie raised his eyebrows. She felt equally surprised. She hadn’t imagined the man would honestly tell them the jewels belonged to him. “Really? That’s quite a coincidence.”
A small smile that looked somehow dangerous appeared on the aging cherub’s face. “I don’t believe in coincidence. In my experience there’s usually a logical explanation.”
And she knew exactly what the explanation was. She couldn’t believe he could act so cool.
Charlie didn’t speak, merely puffed his cigar, leaning back in his chair as though he had nothing to do and all evening to do it in.
Grayson said, “Who sold you the piece?”
“Sorry. It was a private sale. As I said, an old friend needed some quick cash and I liked the look of the piece.”