Romantic? Horny crustaceans, romantic? “It’s ridiculous, I guess,” she continued, “but ever since I saw that documentary, I can’t eat crab.” As she took a sip of water, Max studied her. Sure, her story was silly, but it was also very tender, and enormously revealing.
He wondered if she had any idea just how revealing.
Chapter 6
Dear Diary:
Adam Blane is like, a total snot. he thinks he’s s00000 great just because his daddy’s a cop. Adam said that his daddy told him that he knows my mommy really well. he said she has a reputashan. The way he said that made me so mad, I punched him in the nose, he squealed and even cried just like a big baby. I know you’re not supposed to hit, but I just couldn’t help it!
Evangeline—age 9
The atrium garden at Mayhem Manor was exquisite. As Max meandered down flagstone pathways, through thick stands of leafy palms, around tropical ferns and flowers, he was amazed at the visual beauty of the place, the mix of heady scents. The warm, damp air made him want to strip off his clothes and dive into the deep pool at the base of the waterfall, submerge himself in the cool water…
He glanced at Evie, walking next to him, pointing out various flora and fauna. Naked, under the waterfall, Evie and him. The mental picture was enough to make his fingers tremble.
Dinner had ended an hour ago. It was nearly eight, and even though chairs had been set up in the garden in anticipation of Felix Barlow’s arrival—and the start of the treasure hunt—the attorney hadn’t yet arrived.
“It’s not a greenhouse,” Evie was explaining, flashing those big blue eyes at him. “It’s a fully enclosed atrium, three stories tall, and takes up the entire south side of the mansion. This time of year, the glass panels on top are open, but in the winter they’re closed so the more exotic species can be kept at an even temperature.”
And so you could swim naked under the waterfall, he added silently, envisioning her pale skin under the splash of water, her rich mahogany hair flowing down her bare back, a fairy nymph in some secret woodland grotto.
Disconcerted by his own thoughts, he flipped back the edges of his jacket and slid his hands into his pockets. As he did, his right hand met the uneven edges of the coin, and he automatically curled his fingers around it.
He didn’t have to take it out and look at it; over the years, its every detail had been etched into his brain. Since his mother had given it to him, he’d carried it with him and invariably found himself clutching it whenever he needed to clear his thoughts, focus his mind on something important—something emotional.
Remove his thoughts from something emotional was closer to the truth.
He ran the tip of his finger over the face of the coin, over the smooth swell of the image struck there ages ago in a land far removed in time and place from the world he knew. He skimmed the metal with his thumb, wishing, in a way, it was Evie he was touching, glad, in a way, it was not.
He’d come to perceive the crudely struck gold disk much as he did his own heart. Like his heart, the coin was warm or cold, depending on whether someone touched it… or not. It was a thing separate from his body, away. He sensed its presence and could touch it when he needed to, but it did not touch him.
Sitting now in his palm, the coin reminded him he could look all he wanted, but his heart would remain his own. It had been a hard lesson for him to learn, but between his father and Melissa, he had learned it well.
He’d tried it once, giving away his heart, but she’d given it back. A little battered, a bit bruised, still, it was his own again, and it was going to stay that way.
Inside his head, his father’s words jabbed at his brain.
Women make you soft. You start screwing up. Everything goes to hell. You can’t let them get to you. Do that, and you’re only half a man.
Was Evie getting to him? He couldn’t help but wonder. When he decided to join the treasure hunt, he hadn’t counted on running into somebody like Evie Randall. As a cop, he wasn’t fond of surprises. As a man, however, he seemed to come alive with her in a way he hadn’t for years.
His arms remembered the weight of her body as he carried her to the house that first night. At dinner tonight he’d wondered what it would be like to have sex with her, but he knew enough about women to know Evie Randall probably wouldn’t have sex… she would make love.
As they passed a trio of exotic palms, she caressed a shiny leaf, and he focused on her fingertips, imagining them gliding down his chest, followed by that moist, plump mouth—
“…capable of sucking the whole thing down, no matter how big it is, until it dissolves into a gelatinous ooze.”
He shot her a confused look, then looked at the plant she was pointing to.
“Oh, uh, sorry,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat. “My mind seems to have wandered.”
“A rare occurrence, I’m sure,” she said dryly. “I was referring to the Venus flytrap over there. When a fly wanders in—”
“Never mind. I know what happens next. Tell me about the flowers.”
“Sure. In the past hundred years,” she explained, “flowers and trees have been collected from all over the world. The waterfall is made up of island rock—”
“And here I took it for granite.”
She stopped and stared at him, fighting a grin, if the dimples in her cheeks were any sign.
“There are children in my class,” she said, “who have an infinitely more sophisticated sense of humor than you, Detective.”
He shrugged and smiled down into her eyes. “Damn kids these days. I’ll bet they don’t even know any good elephant jokes. Why, when I was a kid—”
“And when was that, last week sometime?”
“Don’t let these boyish good looks fool you.”
Pursing her lips, she gave him the once-over. “Not a problem.” She turned to the rocks in question and said, “The waterfall is three stories high and takes up the entire west side of the atrium. It was designed to look like a cataract Thomas sketched years ago while on safari.”
“It’s like a jungle in here,” Max said, lifting his gaze to a coconut palm that nearly touched the skylights. “Very ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane’ kind of thing.”
She slid him a glance. “Sorry. No Tarzan, no Jane, no Cheetah.”
He shrugged. “And cheetah’s nevah prospah?”
“Just because you’re funny doesn’t mean I will ever like you,” she said evenly. “Thomas had some pretty disparaging things to say about you, Detective.”
“Likewise, I’m sure.” He stopped and tried to catch her gaze, but she avoided him. “So why’d he invite me to join the treasure hunt?”
“Believe me,” she said, “I’ve been wondering that myself. After the things he said concerning your mother and how—”
“Leave my mother out of this.”
She looked shocked. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I only meant, well, he adored her. She died just before I came here, but Thomas has kept her portrait hanging above the fireplace in his room all these years. She was very beautiful, Max. You… you look like her.”
Max tightened his jaw. There was no way in hell he would be drawn into a conversation about his mother, Thomas Heyworth’s one and only wife. He’d been against the marriage and had told his mother so. He’d even gone so far as to boycott the ceremony, but she married the son of a bitch anyway, and within months was dead. He had never even had a chance to say good-bye. In the sixteen years since, his hatred of Heyworth had only increased.
Turning away from Max, Evie continued on up the path. “The atrium’s my favorite place at Mayhem Manor,” she said lightly, obviously changing the subject. “When I first arrived, I felt very unsettled, especially at night. I’d bring the quilt from my bed, and sneak down and sleep in here on the deep grass by the waterfall. The rhythm of the falling water seemed to soothe me. I didn’t feel so lonely then.”
“How old were you when you came here, Evie?” He knew the answer, knew her whole history,
but he wanted to keep her talking. He liked her voice, the slight huskiness of it. It was the kind of voice a man liked to hear whispering his name in the dark. His name, and other things.
“Eleven,” she said, and walked away from him to face the waterfall.
Light from the dying sun bounced and glimmered off the ribbons of water slithering and splashing down the rough edges of the rocks. He could see why she had slept here when she’d been afraid. The sound of the water was calming, musical, maybe even healing. He imagined her as a little girl, alone and frightened, and he wished suddenly he’d known her then. He would have stood by her, protected her, been her stalwart defender. There was something about Evie that brought out the knight gallant in him, and even knowing how destructive those feelings were, he hesitated shoving them away.
Just then the glass doors at the far end of the atrium swung wide, allowing in a distinguished-looking man in a black suit. Mid-sixties, balding, elegant, he held a briefcase in his left hand as though it were a natural extension of his arm.
“Felix Barlow,” Evie said under her breath. She crossed her arms under her breasts and stared across the garden. While she focused on the lawyer, Max stole a quick look at her alluring breasts, then flicked his glance away. Dumbasses stared and drooled, which pissed women off. Smart men knew how to get a quick eyeful without offending. He considered himself a very smart man.
Edmunds stepped through the door next, holding it open as Madame Grovda swooped in, chattering away in a blur of Russian. She wore a black velvet dress and a thousand scarves in various shades of red, yellow, and orange, all of which fluttered about her as she walked, giving the impression she was on fire.
The cook and gardener—Ada Stanley and her husband Earl—shuffled in, neither one apparently enthused about a treasure hunt in which they would not take part.
The little parade culminated with Lorna, looking pretty in the yellow sundress she’d worn to dinner, and Dabney James, who had slipped his arm through hers and was apparently spouting more “poetry.” His slacks and white shirt made him appear as if he’d just jetted in from Palm Beach. He caught sight of Max and scowled, then returned his attention to the enraptured secretary.
After the guests had entered, Edmunds released the door and followed a wide flagstone path to the waterfall, where everyone was busy seating themselves.
Conversation trickled off as Barlow rose from his chair and prepared to address the group, the twenty foot red banana tree at his back making him look like an overdressed castaway.
A hush fell over the guests. Even the loquacious Madame Grovda had zipped her lips and seemed to be holding her breath. Next to Max, Evie sat on the edge of her chair, her hands folded neatly on her knees, her attention fully on the lawyer. Inhaling, Max let her soft floral scent wrap around his senses like a silk ribbon—a ribbon that tied him into more knots each time he looked at her.
Barlow cleared his throat, clasped his hands behind him, and began to pace in lawyer like fashion. Max half expected him to begin with, “If it please the court.”
A smile on his lips, Barlow said, “Welcome to the treasure hunt. Except for the Stanleys and myself, of course, all of you in this room are participants in my late client’s plan to dispose of his sizable fortune through an elaborate game of hide and seek.”
He paused for a moment, then shifted direction and paced back the way he’d come. “Be that as it may, the game will officially begin as soon as this meeting has concluded and any questions have been answered. You already know who your partners are, and that you have two weeks from midnight tonight to find the final clue and claim the Heyworth estate, which, as of this morning, is worth somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty million dollars.”
“Nice neighborhood,” Dabney mumbled.
As Barlow cleared his throat to continue, Edmunds rose from his seat, clutching a thin packet. “Beg pardon, Mr. Barlow.”
All eyes turned toward Edmunds, who stood looking so regal as to be a long-lost member of the royal family.
Barlow raised his brows. “What is it, Edmunds?”
“A package was delivered via certified mail a few hours ago.” He raised the packet for all to see. “It contained this sealed envelope addressed to Miss Evangeline. An accompanying letter to me instructed she open it at the commencement of the treasure hunt when everyone had assembled.”
Next to Max, Evie made a small sound of surprise. Rising from his chair, he stretched out his hand. “May I see that, Edmunds?”
The butler sketched a brief bow and handed the packet to Max, then returned to his seat. The address on the envelope was a prominent law firm in Seattle.
“Do you know what’s in it, Edmunds?”
“No sir. I do not.”
Max looked down at Evie. “Do you?”
She shook her head. “No. I can’t imagine…”
“Barlow? You know anything about this?”
The lawyer stared at the envelope in dismay, as though it had just plopped to earth from the outer reaches of space. “I couldn’t begin to guess. However, if its contents involves the game, it should come to me.”
“I couldn’t begin to second-guess Heyworth,” Max said, handing the envelope to Evie. “But if he addressed it to her, I’d say he wanted it to go to her.” Everybody looked at everybody else, and a small hum of anticipatory conversation bubbled through the group.
Standing, Evie moved to the front and turned to face the others. She broke the seal on the packet and opened it, pulling out a single sheet of paper.
Barlow reached over to snatch it from her hand, but she quickly turned away, smashing it against her chest. “Excuse me, Mr. Barlow.”
“But it may be a legal document that I need to evaluate before you—”
“Take a seat, Barlow,” Max said.
The attorney’s mouth turned down and he looked like a cat who had just been denied a bowl of cream. Then he smiled at Evie and returned to his seat.
“It’s dated seven days before Thomas died,” she said. “He must have written it while he was on tour.”
Max considered the timing. “He was on a book tour all during May, right? And was shot the day he got back?”
“Yes, h-he was.” She looked at the paper, her brows knitted in a frown. Licking her lips, she began to read aloud.
“ ‘Don’t you just love surprises? What kind of host would I be if there weren’t a few twists and turns thrown in to keep you on your toes? You didn’t really think I was going to make this easy, did you?
“ ‘True, you were all invited to take part in my treasure hunt, and I wanted you to have a good time. But something has happened to change my original plans, turning my treasure hunt into the hunt for a killer.
“ ‘You see, a few days ago, somebody tried to kill me. Shocking, isn’t it? Since this codicil only kicks in if I was murdered, they must have tried it again, and succeeded! I’m sure the cops are running around with their heads up their assumptions, as usual, so it’s up to you to make sure justice is done.’ ”
Evie raised her eyes and locked gazes with Edmunds, who had risen from his chair to stare at her. Returning her attention to the paper, she read, “ ‘Let me cut right to the chase, folks. It was one of you who k-killed me, and I know which one.’ ”
A collective gasp rose from the room. Barlow choked, Lorna cried out, and Madame Grovda gave a sharp laugh. James stayed where he was and glanced quickly around the room, while Mrs. Stanley began muttering under her breath and her husband slapped his knee and muttered, “No, shit.”
Edmunds stood stock still and neither said nor did anything, the look on his face unreadable.
Max considered each person in the room. They’d all had alibis for the time of the murder—save for Madame Grovda and Dabney James, who hadn’t been investigated because they hadn’t been suspects, until now.
Heyworth had lived on an island. Anybody with an axe to grind, and a boat, could have motored up, gained entry to the house, shot Heyworth, then gone fi
shing, and nobody would have been the wiser.
Clearing her throat, Evie cut a glance at Edmunds, who gave her an encouraging smile. She resumed reading.
“ ‘There are seven clues. Each one leads to the next. Originally, they simply led to my treasure. Now, they lead to my murderer.
“ ‘The only clue I need to change is the last one, Lucky Number Seven, which I’ll do as soon as I return home.
“ ‘So you don’t all trip over each other, there are three separate sets of clues. Each set is unique except for Number Seven. That’s the kicker. Find it, and you inherit my estate, and get the goods on my killer. Some fun, huh? Damn, I wish I could be there!
“ ‘You’re thinking, why don’t I just name him or her right now and have done with it? I could, but why? I’m a mystery writer, for Christ’s sake! This is the best mystery I’ve ever come across—better than Clue or a Mystery Train or spooky tales around a campfire! Besides, the whole time my Treasure-cum-Murder Hunt is in progress, my killer gets to sweat. That alone’s worth the price of admission, kiddies. Hell, I had little enough time left on this planet, and now this interloper has stolen it! It’s only right I should make him, or her, suffer.
“ ‘Oh, and one more thing. It probably wouldn’t be wise for any of you to skip town right now since I have no doubt the cops would be mighty interested in anybody who did, if you get my drift.
“ ‘Okay! Are we ready? Clue Number One for each team is in a sealed envelope inside this packet. Damn, I love a good mystery! Let the Murder Hunt begin!’ ”
“That’s all there is,” Evie said. “It’s been signed and notarized.”
Outside, a crow screeched and scolded, and a brisk wind rustled the branches of a nearby alder tree. Inside, only the burble of water as it tumbled down the rocks broke the thick silence. Max viewed each guest in turn.
Lorna looked like she’d just been slapped. Next to her, James locked gazes with Max, then looked away. Barlow’s face was the picture of amused calm. Mrs. Stanley glanced questioningly at Barlow, then refocused her attention on Evie, while Earl sat shaking his head as he cleaned his fingernails with a penknife. Madame Grovda smiled wistfully; there were tears in her eyes. Edmunds moved forward to stand next to Evie, his blue eyes clouded with confusion and concern.
Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evie Page 6