Low Country Liar

by Janet Dailey

  "That's it," she declared, and walked out of the store moments later wearing it, carrying the green turban in her hand. A brighter shade of lipstick glistened on her lips.

  On the way back to the office, Lisa passed a jewelry store and remembered the "Mrs." part of her disguise. She hurried inside and bought the first inexpensive plain gold wedding band she saw. Outside the shop, she slipped off her birthstone and slipped on the wedding band.

  At ten minutes past one she was rushing toward the Blackwell office. Aware that she had taken longer than she should, she crossed her fingers and hoped that she could make it back before Slade Blackwell did.

  After going through all of this, she didn't want to give him cause to dismiss her and have the agency send him someone else. Not when she hadn't accomplished her objective.

  Unfortunately her wish wasn't to be. Approaching the office entrance from the opposite direction was Slade Blackwell. His long strides brought him to the door three steps before Lisa reached it. He waited for her, his dark eyes making a sweeping appraisal of her.

  "I'm sorry I'm late," Lisa murmured hastily. Self-consciously she raised a hand to the red wig. She wondered if he was astute enough to recognize it as a wig. "I stopped at a salon during my lunch hour and had my hair washed and blown dry."

  His gaze flicked to the green turban in her hand. There was nothing in his carved features to indicate he didn't believe her story. "Because of my comment about your hat?" he questioned, opening the door and holding it for Lisa.

  "Well, yes," she admitted, glad she wasn't Pinocchio or her nose would have been six feet long by now.

  The hard line of his mouth curved faintly. Lisa saw the suggestion of a smile an instant before she walked ahead of him into the office.

  "I didn't intend to sound critical, Mrs. Eldridge. I was merely curious. Women so seldom wear hats nowadays," he remarked.

  "I don't generally, either." Lisa Talmadge wore hats, not Ann Eldridge. She would have to remember that.

  "Tell me, do you have a temper to match it?" The amusement in his low voice was unmistakable.

  "Everyone has a temper, Mr. Blackwell. Some people have a lower boiling point than others," she replied. "That's the only difference."

  "Is your boiling point low?" he mocked.

  "Well, well, well!" The exclamation from Drew Rutledge allowed Lisa to ignore Slade Blackwell's taunting question. "If I'd had any idea your hat was hiding that hair, I would never have let you lunch alone!"

  "She's married, Drew," Slade pointed out dryly, not pausing in his walk toward his own office.

  "I know." Drew winked at Lisa as if there was a secret between them. "But just because she's married doesn't mean she has to eat alone or that I must deprive myself of an innocent hour of her beautiful company."

  "You'll have to forgive him, Mrs. Eldridge." There was friendly indulgence in the look Slade Blackwell gave his assistant. "Drew has a weakness for redheads."

  "That's right," Drew agreed as Lisa's shorter steps carried her toward the double doors Slade was holding open for her. "Slade gets the blondes and I get the redheads."

  What happens when you have both in one? Lisa thought, her cheeks dimpling faintly at the unspoken question. But that was her secret and she hoped it would stay that way. She had barely walked around the desk to sit in her chair when Slade Blackwell's curt voice wiped the trace of a smile from her face.

  "Haven't you finished those letters yet, Mrs. Eldridge?" His dark gaze dwelt pointedly on the partially complete letter in the typewriter.

  "Not yet," Lisa defended herself instinctively. "Shortly after you left the office, Dr — Mr. Rutledge came in to ask me for the Talmadge file. I'm not familiar with your filing system and it took me some time to find it." Another lie, since Drew had been the one to locate it, but she doubted that Slade Blackwell would ever question him about it.

  "It's a standard system," he replied automatically. The hint of asperity in his tone indicated that he found her excuse inadequate. Almost instantly a preoccupied light entered his eyes. "The Talmadge file," he repeated in a thoughtful murmur.

  "Yes, the Talmadge file," Lisa affirmed. "He assured me that he had your permission to take it from the files. If you want me to, I'll go and get it and bring it back." Gladly, on winged feet, she would go after it.

  "That's not necessary." Slade Blackwell dismissed the suggestion without hesitation. "Get Mrs. Talmadge on the phone for me. Her number is in the directory on your desk."

  "Yes, sir." Lisa hid her dismay and quickly flipped through the telephone listings until she found her aunt's number. Her pulse was hammering in her throat as she dialed it and listened to the ring.

  "Talmadge residence," Mildred answered on the fourth ring.

  "One moment." She couldn't disguise the pitch of her voice, not with Slade Blackwell standing beside her desk. "Did you want to take the call here or in your office? "

  "In my office." He started to turn, then stopped, his gaze narrowing on her. "A piece of advice, Mrs. Eldridge. If encouraged, Drew will find many excuses to distract you from your work."

  Lisa stiffened. "I'll remember that, Mr. Blackwell. But, as you also pointed out to Mr. Rutledge, I am married so he's unlikely to receive any encouragement from me."

  "I hope not."

  Fuming silently at his cynically skeptical reply, Lisa glared at the retreating set of broad shoulders as he walked to the connecting door to his inner office.

  "He is insufferable!" she murmured aloud before hearing Mildred's impatient voice in the receiver. Lisa removed her hand from the mouthpiece and said huskily, "Please hold the line for a call from Mr. Blackwell."

  "Slade? Well, tell him to hurry. I can't stand here all day," the housekeeper grumbled.

  There was the telltale click of another phone being picked up. As Lisa replaced the receiver, she heard the echo of Slade Blackwell's voice on the line.

  What did he want to talk to Mitzi about? The impulse was strong to listen in, but Lisa knew she didn't dare. She turned her swivel chair to the typewriter and picked up the earpiece for the dictaphone.

  She tried desperately to concentrate on the letter she had to finish, but she kept watching the small telephone light out of the corner of her eye. Her typing was not the fastest to begin with. The distraction of watching the telephone made it even slower. It didn't improve until the light went out.

  That letter was finished and another begun when the telephone rang again; a business call for Slade. She transferred it to him and went back to the letter. She wanted them all done and ready for his signature when he asked for them, which she guessed would be soon.

  Despite numerous interruptions — phone calls, clients, and instructions from Slade to make notations of appointments with various people — Lisa completed the last of the dictation an hour and a half later. She had it all stacked neatly on her desk and was looking apprehensively through the papers in the tray that needed to be filed. Any filing system was a mystery to her, whether it was a standard system as Slade had informed her, or not.

  The door to his private office opened and Slade walked out. "Have you finished those letters yet, Mrs. Eldridge?" His attitude indicated that he expected a negative answer.

  "They are right here, sir." Lisa wasn't able to keep the ring of triumphant satisfaction out of her voice as she gathered the papers together.

  He took them from her without making a complimentary remark. As before, he skimmed through the contents as if expecting to find something to criticize. It irritated Lisa, mostly because she was afraid he would find something. Apparently satisfied with what he found, he turned and started toward his office. Pausing, his dark, impersonal gaze swung to her.

  "I have dictated some legal briefs I would like typed. They are filled with 'to wits' and 'whereas' and 'parties of the first part.'" His mouth quirked, a dry humor surfacing to her surprise. "Do you think you can do them?"

  The prospect of spending the rest of the afternoon pounding at the typewrite
r was depressing. It brought her no closer to the purpose of her masquerade. But she really had very little choice.

  "I … can try." She smiled in an attempt to hide her lack of enthusiasm.

  "Very well. I'll bring them in to you." The instant he disappeared inside his office, Lisa took a deep breath and exhaled it angrily in a sigh.

  Almost as quickly, Slade was back and Lisa had to fix an interested and studious look on her face. He briefly went over the contents with her and explained the form he wanted the material to take. He was all business, very professional, yet patient with her ignorance. Grudgingly Lisa gave him credit for that. She couldn't accuse him of being a tyrannical employer.

  After he'd left so she could begin typing, Lisa wished she had not taken advantage of his mistaken identity of her. It was proving to be a lot of work. Surely there must have been an easier way to get the information she was seeking. But she couldn't think of a single one as she put the paper and carbons in the typewriter.

  Chapter Three

  A BLOCK FROM HER AUNT'S HOUSE the street was empty of cars and pedestrians. Lisa paused to pull the red wig from her head and free her blond hair from its confining pins. Stuffing the wig in her handbag, she briskly ruffled her hair to rid it of that matted look.

  Some vacation, she thought wearily. Her arms, neck and shoulders ached from the unaccustomed time she had spent at the typewriter. If this was what it was like to be a secretary, she decided that she was going to recommend Donna, her production staff secretary, for a raise when she got back to the Baltimore television station.

  A car turned onto the street behind her, and Lisa cast a frightened look over her shoulder. Before leaving the office, she had heard Slade Blackwell mention to Drew that he was going straight from the office to Mitzi's house. She expected him to overtake her any minute. Not this time, though, as the car drew level with her and Lisa saw the driver was a balding, middle-aged man.

  But the scare prodded her into walking faster. She had to reach the house before Slade Blackwell or all her plans were for naught. The wrought-iron gates blocking the driveway entrance at the sidewalk were closed when Lisa reached the house. She didn't breathe easy until she was inside. Her plan to rush immediately to her room and change clothes was thwarted by her aunt, who appeared almost the second Lisa closed the entrance door behind her.

  "You made it back without getting lost, didn't you?" Mitzi's wide smile of greeting was swiftly replaced by a look of concern. "You look exhausted, Lisa."

  "It's been a long day." The muscles in her arm protested achingly as she tried to brush the hair away from her face.

  "If I'd known you were going to overdo it your first day here, I would have waited till tomorrow to invite Slade for dinner. As it is, it's too late. He'll be here any minute," her aunt apologized.

  "I'd better run upstairs and change, then."

  "There's no need to," Mitzi insisted. "From the looks of you, you'd do better to sit down and put your feet up and maybe have a relaxing drink." It sounded like a heavenly suggestion to Lisa, even though she knew she couldn't accept it. "Besides," Mitzi continued, "the outfit you're wearing is very attractive. You don't have to change it."

  But that was precisely the point. She did have to change it. Slade Blackwell had seen her in it practically all day, but Lisa couldn't very well tell her aunt that.

  "I think I would rather, Mitzi. A wash and a change of clothes will make me seem like a new person." I hope, Lisa thought.

  "You do what you think is best," her aunt conceded. Lisa started to hurry towards the stairs. "If your Mr. Blackwell arrives before I'm down, make my apologies, will you?" she tossed over her shoulder. Pausing at the stairs, she added, "I noticed the driveway gates are closed."

  "That's all right," Mitzi waved aside the comment. "Slade will probably walk, he usually does."

  Suppressing a shudder that he might have been only a block or two behind her all the way from the office, Lisa darted up the stairs. As she reached her room, she heard the opening of the entrance door downstairs. Another minute and her deception would have been uncovered before she had had a chance to make it work:

  Her bedroom was spacious, decorated in vivid greens and golds. An alcove of the room was designed as a mock sitting room, complete with sofa, chair and an antique secretary desk. What had once been a dressing room off the bedroom had been remodeled into a bathroom. It was to the latter that Lisa hurried.

  She would have loved to take a quick shower, but there wasn't time. So she settled for washing and splashing lots of cold water on her face to rinse away the weariness. From the closet, she chose a creamy blue dress. Its simple lines flowed smoothly over the bodice to her waist before flaring into a full skirt. Its style and color made her look petite and dainty, an appearance of fragility that was deceiving and a definite contrast to the bold outfit she had worn earlier.

  Reapplying her makeup, Lisa was adding the finishing touches of mascara to her lashes when she noticed the way the blue color of her dress accented the green of her eyes. Only last night Mitzi had made the comment that her eyes were Lisa's most striking feature.

  Two women with the same unusual shade of green eyes would definitely be noticed by Slade Blackwell.

  But how on earth could she change the color of her eyes, Lisa wondered frantically.

  Breathing in sharply, she dropped the mascara wand on the dressing table and raced into the bedroom proper. Her bag was on the bed where she had left it. Lisa opened it and dumped the contents, wig and all, onto the bedspread, scattering them around until she found her sunglasses.

  Quickly she slipped on the large, wrap-around glasses and dashed back to the mirror. The lenses didn't conceal her eyes with the reflecting ability of some mirrorlike sunglasses, but the smoky-blue tint did mask the color of her eyes.

  "Praise be," Lisa murmured in satisfaction.

  Dressed and with every potential problem countered, she had no more reason to linger in her room. At the top of the stairs she hesitated, hearing the low voices coming from-the living room. She pressed a hand against her jittery stomach, trying to quiet the butterfly sensation.

  Her palms were clammy with nervousness. She couldn't put off the moment of truth. Fighting the traitorous weakness in her knees, she descended the stairs and entered the living room.

  "There you are, Lisa. I —" Mitzi's bright exclamation ended abruptly as a frown dressed her forehead. Lisa was conscious of Slade Blackwell courteously rising to meet her, but she kept her attention on her aunt. "Why are you wearing sunglasses at this hour? Mitzi queried with astonishment.

  "Working so much of the time in the television studio around all those bright lights, my eyes have become sensitive to too much light. After being in the sun all day, my eyes started to bother me." Lisa was becoming certain she was a natural-born liar. "A specialist recommended that I wear sunglasses whenever that happened."

  "You never mentioned it," her aunt queried.

  "It isn't a serious problem. More of an inconvenience than anything," Lisa assured her, and turned to meet Slade Blackwell. She had been covertly watching him ever since she entered the room, but she had not detected any glimmer of recognition of her as Ann Eldridge in his dark gaze. "You must be Slade Blackwell." A full smile parted her lips as she walked toward him, extending a hand in greeting. "I'm Lisa Talmadge, Mitzi's niece."

  "So I guessed." He returned her smile with one of his own.

  The warmth it gave to his hard features was astounding. It seemed to slowly draw her breath away. Lisa realized how very potent his charm could be when he turned it on, as he was doing now. Her hand was lost in the firm grip of his, being held longer than was necessary. It created a disturbing sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  "Mitzi described you perfectly as a beautiful, intelligent blonde, but she didn't mention that you had cold hands," he mocked, the velvet quality of his voice taking any sting from his comment.

  "Cold hands, warm heart," her aunt quipped from the side.
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  "I think it's a sign of poor circulation," Lisa denied her aunt's allegation, and determinedly withdrew her hand from his warm grasp.

  She had felt herself beginning to warm to him. Seeing this side of him, she could well understand how her aunt, who was so sentimental and romantic, had been taken in by Slade Blackwell's charm. The secret, Lisa believed, was to stay out of range of that magnetic forcefield radiating around him. His physical attraction was a bit overwhelming at close quarters.

  That was something she hadn't noticed about him at the office where Slade Blackwell had kept himself aloof and impersonal, crisply professional except for that one taunting remark about her red hair. Correction — Ann Eldridge's red hair.

  "May I fix you a drink, Lisa?" Slade Blackwell asked smoothly, not faltering even slightly over the use of her given name.

  "Lisa drinks gin," Mitzi Talmadge inserted, turning to Lisa to add, "Slade has a bartender's touch with mixed drinks."

  "Gin?" Slade looked at her, waiting for a confirmation of her choice.

  "No, I think I'll just have some juice." As tired as she was, Lisa knew the last thing she needed was an alcoholic beverage to muddle her thinking.

  "Are you sure?" He gave her a chance to change her mind.

  "Quite sure," Lisa nodded positively.

  He walked to an ornate wooden trolley cart that was used as a serving bar. "There's tomato and orange juice in the icebox," he said without looking. "Which would you prefer?"

  "Tomato." Lisa watched him pour the tomato juice over the ice cubes in a glass, add a dash of tabasco sauce and a wedge of lemon. Never once did he falter over the location of an item. "You know where everything is, don't you?" she commented, letting an inflection of sarcasm creep into her voice.

  "I drop in quite often." He shrugged offhandedly, carrying her drink to her, but his dark gaze was probing her expression for the reasons he had used that tone.