RAZZLE DAZZLE

by Lisa Hendrix

  A mile later, the car swung into the long drive that led down to the house. Raine grew uncharacteristically silent, and the closer they got to the carriageway, the tighter her lips pressed together.

  When the car stopped, Mason took her hand. She glanced up with a start. “What?”

  “Try to be honest.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “What I mean is, don’t add any frills to our story. I tracked you down at work and asked you to dinner.”

  “Right. And I adore you.”

  He smiled. “And you adore me. As I do you.” He lifted her hand to his lips and gave her a good luck kiss just as Paul opened the car door.

  “I’ll drive Miss Hobart home myself,” Mason said as he got out. He enjoyed the flicker of surprise that crossed Paul’s face. “Pull the Jaguar around, and then you can have the rest of the evening free.”

  “Yes, sir.” As he got back in the car and pulled away, Mason escorted Raine to the front door.

  “Here we go,” she murmured. He reached for the knob. The view from the front entry stopped Raine dead in her tracks, as it did to almost everyone who walked in the door. The tall, arched window on the opposite wall looked out over a panorama of Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains. Framed by the curved staircases to either side and the crystal chandelier overhead, it had the effect of a huge, ever-changing painting.

  “Wow,” she said. She walked in a few steps, her heels clicking on the sawn oak floors. “You could just walk straight through and out.” There was something in her voice that said she didn’t think that was such a good thing.

  Distracted by her restrained reaction, Mason set his briefcase just inside the cloakroom, then pushed open the double paneled doors to the dining room. “Through here. Mother tends to use the covered part of the terrace when it’s hot.”

  He noted with satisfaction that the drapes on the French doors had been pulled against the afternoon light, as he’d expected. They would have the element of surprise.

  Raine dragged to a stop again, this time staring at a painting on the far wall. “Ohmigosh. That’s a Monet.”

  “You have a good eye,” he said, following her across the room.

  “I spend a lot of time in museums. Look at the depth of the water under the bridge. Amazing. I can’t believe you get to live with this.”

  He stood patiently while she peered at the painting, a look of rapture on her face. She reached out, and for a moment he thought he was going to have to warn her not to touch it, but she straightened and lowered her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m acting like a bumpkin.”

  “Actually, it’s rather refreshing to see things through your eyes. We get a little jaded.”

  “That’s sweet, even if it’s just manners. I’ll try to behave better, now that I’m over the shock.” She quickly patted her hair and pressed her lips together to smooth her lipstick. “Let’s do it.”

  “Nervous?” he asked as they crossed to the doors.

  She nodded. “I’ve worked around these houses a few times, but I’ve never been inside one, much less socialized with the family.”

  “Just be yourself, and you’ll do fine.” Mason leaned close and whispered confidentially, “‘Think of it as one of your museums, with some very peculiar live displays.”

  Her marvelous laugh drained away the last of his worries. She was perfect. This was going to work.

  He gripped her hand, swept aside the drapes, and pushed open the door. “Good evening, Mother. Look who—”

  “Mason, darling, look who—”

  They both halted in midsentence. His mother’s mouth rounded into a surprised “Oh,” while Mason’s clamped into a thin line, and they stood there in the most awkward kind of silence. Mason thought dully that someone ought to do something.

  His mother recovered first, thank God. “Age before beauty, darling. Look who I shanghaied outside the club.”

  Mason used those few seconds to pull himself together, so he was able to step forward with a welcoming smile.

  “Angus. Good to see you,” he said as he shook hands. He turned to Raine. “Miss Raine Hobart, I’d like to present Mr. Angus Wickersham. Caroline’s father.”

  *

  Four

  « ^ »

  Caroline’s father.

  The words seeped into Raine’s brain with the approximate speed of a feather sinking in molasses. By the time she had absorbed their meaning and their consequences for her legal defense fund, three people were staring at her. Mason’s eyes, in particular, practically willed her to save his rich behind.

  Frankly, at that moment she was more disposed to rescue Angus Wickersham from the embarrassment of standing there with his hand out in space.

  So she smiled and took his hand. “I’m so sorry. I’m standing here like an idiot. You just remind me so much of my uncle Dan.” A minor fib, but she’d always wanted an uncle Dan.

  “A favorite uncle, I hope.” Wickersham said.

  “Very much so. He used to pull quarters out of my ears,” Raine embroidered. Mr. Wickersham grinned in delight.

  Mason cleared his throat. “Mother, you remember Miss Hobart.”

  “Of course, darling. Hello, Miss Hobart. It’s so nice to see you again.”

  “Mrs. Alexander.”

  They all looked at each other, trying to think of what to do next.

  “So, you know my daughter,” Mr. Wickersham said, breaking the awkward silence. “Raine Hobart. I don’t recall Caroline mentioning your name.”

  Mrs. A. blanched. Mason glowered. Raine’s urge to roar with laughter conflicted with a more reasonable instinct to duck back through the French doors and hotfoot it toward her own slightly less bizarre neighborhood.

  “Oh, I doubt she would have,” Raine said cheerily, indulging in a microsecond of pleasure at the way Mason’s eyebrows pinched together. “We only met a few days ago. Just sort of … ran into each other. She left quite an impression.”

  “That’s my Caroline,” Wickersham said with undisguised parental pride. “Very impressive, and a hell of a businesswoman, to boot.”

  “Her father’s daughter, I’m sure,” said Tish Alexander. “Mason, darling, you haven’t offered Miss Hobart a drink.”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” said Raine. “I don’t need anything.”

  “Nonsense,” Tish said. “It’s as hot as blazes out here. You need a sparkling water, at least, and we’ll be happy to get it for you—won’t we, Mason?”

  “Where’s Lawrence?” asked Mason.

  “It’s Monday,” Tish answered, as though that were explanation enough. She stepped in beside her son and curled her fingers over his arm, and even from where Raine stood, she could see the older woman’s nails digging into Mason’s sleeve. “And Williams is helping with some crisis in the kitchen, so we’ll have to make do on our own. Angus, let me freshen your drink.”

  “Sure enough. Thank you.” Wickersham passed his squat glass to Tish, who took it with a smile then practically dragged her son toward the service cart that stood a short distance away.

  “Looks like a powwow,” Wickersham observed as Mason and his mother put their heads together over the ice bucket. They could see Tish’s agitation.

  “Mmm,” said Raine in her most noncommittal way.

  She drifted away from the pair out of politeness, even though their words were muted by the chamber music that wafted out of some invisible speaker. Angus followed along, and they stopped at the edge of the shadow formed by the overhang, neither of them willing to brave the blaze of sun off the limestone terrace.

  “So,” said Angus, turning to her with a direct gaze that contradicted his casual tone. “How is it you know Mason?”

  Suspicious old coot. Raine smiled. So much for Mason’s advice to stick to the truth.

  *

  “What on earth were you thinking?” Tish hissed as soon as they were safely out of earshot. “The very idea of dragging that girl home. And with Carolin
e’s father here.”

  Mason might have laughed if so much of his future hadn’t been riding on Raine Hobart’s sunburnt shoulders. Leaving her and Angus alone was risky, but there had been no way to shake his mother loose without being obvious.

  Of course, his mother could help handle Angus, but only if he confessed the whole charade. And even if he were so inclined, he could hardly launch into said confession with Angus thirty feet away—not when there would undoubtedly be a scene, complete with tears and accusations and inevitable mentions of witchcraft. Best to play things out a while longer, until they had more privacy. Maybe he could tell her after dinner. If they got through dinner.

  He started sorting through the bottles on the service cart. “I didn’t realize you were expecting Angus.”

  “I wasn’t,” said his mother. She set the tumbler on the silver tray with a thunk. “He drinks bourbon and branch water. I told you, I bumped into him at the club.”

  Mason raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know he was a member.”

  “He’s not. He was playing golf with Buddy Faraday. I think they had a bet.”

  “I didn’t see his car out front.”

  “There was some sort of problem with the air conditioner. His driver took it down by the garage to see if he could sort it out. Anyway, darling, you’re avoiding the issue. Why is she here?”

  “To have dinner,” he said. He curled his fingers over the handle of the ice bucket. “I ran into her and thought—”

  “Ran into her? You mean you spotted her riding her lawn mower down the median strip?”

  “Meow.”

  Splotches of red appeared in his mother’s cheeks. “You’re right. That was catty, and I apologize. I have nothing against Miss Hobart or her occupation, but you have to admit, she doesn’t move in the same circles as we do, darling. You didn’t run into her, you hunted her down.” She picked up the silver ice tongs and stood expectantly, waiting for Mason to lift the lid to the ice bucket.

  “All right, I did.” Mason ignored her and kept his hand on the lid. “I wanted to see her again.”

  “You’re taking a terrible chance.” She didn’t bother to ask why he had chased Raine down, he noticed.

  He shifted as though uneasy. “I know. But I feel the oddest compulsion. I’m drawn to her.”

  “You can’t possibly—” She stopped and sighed, and a “that will go away soon” look passed across her face, which irritated Mason no end. The hell with confessing after dinner. If Raine could hold up her part of the act, he was going to carry this thing through.

  “Oh, never mind,” said Tish. “Let’s just get the drinks and get back over there before she says something you’ll regret. Do you think you can remember how to make me a vodka gimlet?”

  Mason could and did, and soon had the drinks ready, including a plain tonic water for himself. What he really wanted was a good, stiff scotch, but he had a feeling he’d need a clear head to get through the evening.

  That feeling was confirmed when he turned and saw Raine and Angus. She had her hand on his arm and was leaning toward him in a conspiratorial way. She had clearly just told him some secret. Angus nodded and patted her hand.

  “I think I’m getting an ulcer,” muttered Tish. Mason silently agreed.

  As they approached the chummy duo, he met Raine’s eyes over Angus’s shoulder. Mason raised one eyebrow in question and was met with a cheery but uninformative smile.

  Angus turned. “Ah, the drinks have returned, bearing our hosts.”

  Tish tittered, a girlish sound unlike anything Mason had ever heard outside a boarding school. It must be the stress, he decided, because it certainly wasn’t the humor.

  “At last,” said Tish as she swept up beside Angus in a swirl of tangerine silk. She held out his glass. “Bourbon and branch.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Mason passed Raine her drink. Their fingers brushed, and the slice of lime balanced on the edge wobbled dangerously.

  “Whoa,” said Mason, steadying her hand. She wasn’t as cool as she looked, which left him perversely pleased. “Got it?”

  She gave him a significant look. “All under control.”

  With a slight nod of understanding, Mason turned to Angus. “So, I hear you whipped Buddy Faraday.”

  “Hardly.” Wickersham chuckled. “The little SOB ran me into the ground, as usual. You and I ought to play sometime.”

  “He cheats, you know,” said a voice from the doorway. They all turned. Miranda strolled out onto the terrace, yards of lavender gauze wafting around her. “Ask him about the time he greased the handle of my putter.”

  “That was fifteen years ago,” Mason said, laughing. “And you never proved it was me.”

  “Hello, darling,” said Tish. “I thought you were going to read until dinner.”

  “I was, but things sounded much too interesting to ignore. Good evening, Angus.” Miranda shook Wickersham’s hand, then extended her hand to Raine. “And Miss Hobart. What a surprise.”

  She didn’t appear surprised at all, a fact that made all the muscles in Mason’s shoulders lock up. He’d learned long ago not to underestimate his sister, and nothing in the way she looked from him to Raine and back suggested that he should start now.

  “Let’s all move under the tree, shall we? There’s more breeze out there.” Tish led the way across the terrace to a table and chairs that sat in the shadow of an umbrella-shaped sophora tree. Far below, a cargo ship stacked high with red and green shipping containers trailed a wide wake the length of Elliott Bay, like an underline accenting the jagged profile of the mountains beyond.

  With a little judicious traffic directing, Mason was able to isolate Raine between his mother and himself, with Miranda on his left where he could keep an eye on her. He left Angus to his mother.

  As he settled back in his chair, a flutter of motion on the house caught his eye. He glanced up. A second-floor window stood open, and the faint breeze had pulled one corner of the sheer curtain out to ripple against the terra-cotta stucco of the house.

  A deep lavender curtain. He glanced to his sister and to the sorceress robes she affected in her current favorite color, deep lavender.

  If Miranda had been reading in her room, in her usual chair, she’d been right beside that window. He mentally traced a line down the wall, right to where Raine and Angus had been standing.

  Mason’s gut knotted. He remembered just how well voices could carry from under the loggia to the second floor under certain conditions—he’d spent hours listening in on his parents’ cocktail parties from that very window. No wonder Miranda claimed things had sounded too interesting to stay upstairs. What the devil had Raine said to Angus?

  He had to wait to find out. Wait through drinks and a second round, wait through a dinner served alfresco that seemed to drag eternally, and wait a decent interval afterward while everyone sat watching the sunset and conversing about utterly trivial topics.

  And all the while, he felt like he was juggling three very slippery balls, one of which he couldn’t see.

  He almost caught a glimpse of it when Raine excused herself for a moment. Mason found himself alone with Angus—his mother and sister had their heads together over by a potted star jasmine, discussing heaven knew what.

  “I think Miss Hobart is a fine choice,” Angus said under his breath. “She’s already got a good grasp of your mother’s personality. And I like her preliminary concepts.”

  “Thanks. It’s nice to have a second opinion,” said Mason, without a clue to what Angus was talking about. Concepts? He squelched an overwhelming urge to run into the house after Raine. Breaking into the powder room just wouldn’t be good form.

  A few minutes later, when Raine returned, his mother steered her into a conversation with Angus and Miranda, then quietly motioned Mason aside.

  “You’ve got to get her out of here,” she whispered. “Angus is bound to notice sooner or later.”

  “Notice what?” Mason asked. He thou
ght Raine had been the model of decorum.

  “The looks. Crush is written all over her.”

  “Is it?” He glanced toward Raine, curious.

  Tish sighed. “And you’re no better. Please send her home. For my sake, if not your own.”

  “All right, Mother. Shortly.”

  She returned to the others, but Mason lingered for a moment, watching and savoring the sense of triumph. He hoped he would get to enjoy it for a while.

  Angus was in the middle of a story about a mutual acquaintance, the women clustered around him in a bouquet of calypso colors. Mason realized that Caroline’s tasteful neutrals usually faded next to his mother’s and Miranda’s more outrageous hues. Raine’s hot pink, on the other hand, made a perfect high note.

  It also made her cheeks glow in the light of the torchieres, and when she looked toward him, he suddenly realized what had his mother so worried: she looked like a woman in love. He met Raine’s incandescent smile with a grin, wondering if she’d been this good in that high school play she’d mentioned. His mother was right; he needed to get her out of the house before Angus picked up on her act.

  Apparently Raine sensed the same danger, because when conversation lagged, she seized the opportunity. “I’m sorry to beg off so early, but I have an early appointment tomorrow. I really need to get going.”

  “Of course,” said Mason, rising. “I’ve been inconsiderate, keeping you so late.” He nodded to Angus and his mother. “If you’ll excuse us.”

  “This was a lovely evening, Mrs. Alexander,” said Raine. “Thank you so much for having me.”

  “It was a delight, Miss Hobart.”

  Goodbyes were said all around, and within a few minutes Mason had Raine secure in the confines of his Jaguar and they were heading up the drive.

  “You,” he said.

  She grimaced. “I’m sorry. He caught me so off guard.”

  “You were great. What are you talking about?”

  “Mr. Wickersham. I was?”

  “You were.” He whipped the car onto Olympic Drive. “Why are you apologizing?”