"There's a m-man," she stammered, "in the garage."
"Do you mean the man who's having car trouble?"
"Excuse me?"
"We called an auto service, it should be here shortly."
Jolie touched her temple. "No...I mean..." She turned and the man from the elevator was striding up behind her.
"I called from the garage," he said. "About the auto service?"
"It's on the way, sir," the woman said. "Third floor, right?"
He nodded. "Thanks"
Jolie watched him walk away and felt like a fool.
"Ma'am, did you need anything else?"
She turned back to the desk. "Um, no. Thanks."
"That's a lovely outfit," the woman said.
"Thanks," she murmured. "Neiman's."
The woman smiled at someone behind Jolie. "Hello, Mr. Underwood."
Jolie winced.
"Hello," he said good-naturedly, then added, "Hi, again...Linda."
Jolie turned slowly, and looked up into Beck's amused expression. Her cheeks flamed. "Hi. I, um, suppose you're wondering why I'm, um, dressed like this."
"And going by a fake name?"
"And going by a fake name," she parroted.
He crossed his arms, still smiling. "I admit I'm slightly curious."
She swallowed and touched her throat. "Well, my girlfriend and I were just having a little fun."
"You crashed," he said with a grin.
She nodded, thinking how childish it sounded, but willing to let him think she was childish rather than childish and paranoid.
He covered his mouth with his hand. "The other night at the High Museum too?"
She nodded and flushed to her knees. "You must think that's terrible."
When he uncovered his mouth, he was laughing. "No, it's just that I hate these events—I can't imagine crashing one for the fun of it."
Said the prince to the peasant girl. Cheeks burning, she straightened and walked past him. "I was just leaving."
"Wait—did you drive?"
She nodded.
"Valet?"
She shook her head, thinking he probably valeted his car at the mall. "I'm in the parking garage." The cheap seats.
"May I walk you to your car?"
She remembered her earlier experience and swallowed her pride. "Yes."
He seemed surprised, but fell into step next to her. His stride was one and a half times hers, but he paced himself, then held open the door. He had loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his snowy shirt. He was so handsome that she couldn't look at him, and she couldn't not look at him, which only made her feel more like a groupie.
"Am I taking you away from your sister?" she asked.
"No, I was just seeing Della off. I'm living at the hotel for now."
"Oh." Her mind spun at the thought of that bill.
"You can see why I need to find a place to live."
She looked up. "You still want to work with me?"
He grinned and pushed open the industrial door leading into the garage. "Are you a good real estate agent?"
"Yes," she said as she passed under his arm. "Actually, I'm a broker."
"So you work for yourself."
"Yes. I'm hoping to open an office after the first of the year. For now, I'm working out of my apartment. I can give you a client reference list." She stopped at the elevator and pushed the up button.
"No need," he said. "Anyone who is willing to work two jobs must be trustworthy."
In response, she fidgeted with the blunt ends of her wig. The man made her forget things, like how chaotic her life had become. And how numb her feet were.
The elevator doors opened and she walked inside, thinking when he followed how strange that since Monday, their paths had crossed so many times. She could say it was kismet, and Leann would chastise her for being gullible.
"I assumed your family already had a broker that you worked with." She punched the button for the third floor.
"We do," he said simply.
"Oh." So he was going out of his way to give her his business. Hmm.
"Did you have a good time tonight?" he asked.
Strangely, she had—before the run-in with Roger LeMon, of course. She nodded. "Actually, I did, earlier in the evening. It's obviously rote to you, but I thought it was fascinating to see all those important people in one room and to mingle as if I were one of them." She stopped, suddenly embarrassed at what she had revealed about herself—as if Beck Underwood would be interested in her private inadequacies.
A frown flickered across his face. "As far as I'm concerned, you're just as important as anyone in that room."
She tried to joke her way past her lapse. "You probably say that to all the girls."
But he didn't laugh. "No, I don't. But then again, I find myself saying things to you that I'd never say to other women. And I'm not quite sure why that is."
He seemed to be studying her, his eyes filled with a curiosity she'd seen before. He was trying to figure her out. Silently she willed him to see what no one else could see—that she was a common woman looking for an uncommon connection, for a sign that life was more than random physical interactions. She waited, her breath coming in little spurts.
His lips parted, and just when he seemed on the verge of saying something, the elevator chimed its arrival at the third floor.
The elevator door opened and she walked toward her car, embarrassed that the Chevy was so...unremarkable, and irritated with herself that she cared what he thought. Their footsteps echoed against the concrete, and for some reason she liked the sound of it—their own pattern.
She closed her eyes briefly, reminding herself that there was no "their" anything. A "their" necessitated a "they," and there was no "they."
She walked up to the car and glanced in the backseat before unlocking the door. Empty. She turned back and smiled. "Thank you for...everything."
"I only walked you to your car," he said mildly. In the glare of the fluorescent lights, he looked tired. Which meant she must look like something from a crypt. In a wig.
"I mean thanks for earlier, for covering for me when Sammy was on the verge of recognizing me."
"No problem," he said, hands in the pockets of his dark slacks. "I got the feeling that it was important to you to hide your identity." He wet his lips. "That there was more at stake than simply being able to crash a stodgy old party."
He looked at her as if she were transparent. She couldn't break away from his gaze.
"Are you interested in Roger LeMon?" he asked quietly.
Her throat convulsed. "Not in the way you think." Again, the urge to confide...but again, the overriding urge to protect him, and herself. To protect him from association with a terrible crime. To protect herself from making Beck Underwood a confidante.
"In what way, then?"
Her mind raced. "It's business. Did things end badly between Roger LeMon and your sister?"
"I have no idea what she saw in the man, but I believe he broke her heart."
She wondered if LeMon was the source of Della Underwood's withdrawal from society years ago.
"What about you?" he asked.
She looked up. "What about me?"
"Did someone break your heart?"
Her lips parted. Gary's disappearance had left her wary, but heartbroken? Hardly. On the other hand, it was best to let Beck know that her heart wasn't available because of her entanglement with Gary. "There is a man," she said softly.
He gave a little laugh. "There always is. Is he in trouble?"
She nodded.
"Ah. And does this party-crashing have something to do with it?"
She nodded again.
He averted his gaze, then looked back. "So...when can you and I get together? To talk about what I'm looking for in a house, that is."
Despite her best efforts to be immune to him, her tongue felt gluey. "How about here, Sunday afternoon?"
"One o'clock?"
"One
o'clock is fine," she said, her heart thumping erratically.
He grinned. "How will I know you?"
She grinned. "Look for Jolie Goodman."
"I will."
Something happened then...an exchange of ions between them. She felt the charge of her body drawing energy from his, and the accompanying carnal tug. From his eyes, she knew he felt it too. She was old enough to know that to Beck, a tug was a tug; but in her confused state, a tug was open to wide misinterpretation, and she couldn't risk giving in to the temptation of his attention.
Jolie hastily opened the car door and lowered herself into the seat, closing the door with more force than necessary. Then she started the engine, backed up, and drove away with a wave. Capturing a glimpse of Beck Underwood in her side mirror, she mulled over the written warning. Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.
Hmm.
Chapter Thirteen
"JOLIE, THANK GOD. I thought you'd never get here." Michael Lane's anxiety was evident in his voice and in his hand-ruffled hair. "Customers are already starting to arrive."
Jolie stepped back to keep from being mowed down by a salesclerk who had jogged into the stockroom to grab more Manolo Blahnik shoe boxes. She looked at her watch. "Three hours early?"
"These people are rabid."
Jolie held up the box of Mui Mui shoes. "I had to bring these back."
He frowned and lifted the box lid. "Wrong size?"
She swallowed and tried not to fidget. "Just wrong for my feet."
He glanced at the pristine soles, then shrugged and tucked her receipt in his pocket. "I'll process your refund as soon as I get a minute. Meanwhile, I'll put them back in inventory."
Jolie nodded, relieved and a little remorseful for taking advantage of Michael's trust.
He handed her two silver poles with a fat black velvet rope strung between them. "Chain these on where I left off, then start waiting on customers."
Eager to assuage her guilt, she took the hardware, then emerged from the stockroom. Sure enough, a small crowd of people had already gathered on the edge of the shoe department, where signs had been posted to advertise the appearance. The women were tall and leggy, dressed in black so the eye was drawn to their Manolo Blahnik shoes. Both sides of the checkout counter were three-deep with shoppers holding MB boxes, and the floor was a flurry of activity. Jolie groaned inwardly, thinking this did not bode well for her blistered feet. She looked down to make sure none of the dozen or so adhesive bandages she'd applied this morning to toes and heels had crept over the sides of her sensible pumps, then shuffled forward, dragging the poles with her.
The women in line gave her superior looks—ironic, considering she was putting up gates to confine them. She pasted on her best sales smile and thanked them for coming, then limped back to the sales floor and waited on women who at the eleventh hour had succumbed to the temptation to own a pair of the infamous shoes so that they could have them signed by the creator. For two hours she sold shoes as fast as she could tote them from the showroom. She kept her mind off her aching feet by concentrating on the commission she was earning. She had just slid off one of her pumps to massage her heel when Sammy Sanders walked up wearing a tight black dress and a pained smile.
"Jolie, do you work on Saturdays too?"
Jolie bit the end of her tongue, then nodded.
"Wow, that doesn't leave you much time to sell real estate, does it?"
Jolie tasted blood.
"And, oh, you poor dear...I heard about Gary's car being pulled out of the river—with a woman inside!"
Jolie nodded.
Sammy's eyes were large and shocked. "Do you know who it is?"
Jolie shook her head.
"Do they think Gary is dead, too?"
Jolie pursed her mouth. "Did you need some help, Sammy?"
Sammy sniffed. "I understand—you can't talk about it while you're on the clock." She released a musically sympathetic sigh. "Well, I closed a big, big deal this week, and decided to splurge and buy myself another pair of Manolos, something really special. I figured the least I could do was to let you have the commission."
Jolie's cheeks burned, but Sammy seemed ready to spend a lot of money. Being in no position to turn away business, she suddenly had a bright idea. She smiled and removed the glass case key from the cash register. "I know just the thing—we have only a couple of pairs left, and the size seven is on display."
As Jolie expected, Sammy fell in love with the pink-and-rhinestone shoes that Carlotta had worn to the High Museum party a few nights ago.
"I'll take them," Sammy announced, then looked up. "I saw another pair of shoes while I was here the other day...silver-colored pumps with cutouts?"
Jolie's mouth twitched—the shoes she herself had worn last night. "I believe I know which ones you're talking about. Just a minute." She went to the stockroom and returned with the box she'd given to Michael earlier. "These?"
"Yes, those are lovely."
Jolie removed the cardboard stays that had so distressed her feet, then knelt and eased them onto Sammy's perfectly pedicured puppies. Sammy stood and beamed her satisfaction. "I'll take these, too." She lifted her hands. "Gee, Jolie, you seem to have a real gift for retail sales."
Jolie wanted to kick her, but sucked up the backhanded compliment and repacked the pricey shoes. She was, after all, using Sammy to dispose of the shoes that she and Carlotta had "borrowed." "Thanks, Sammy."
When they reached the counter, the woman tossed her hair, then said, "The Singer deal fell through."
Jolie looked up. The deal she'd quit over. "Oh?"
"You didn't know?"
Jolie frowned. "How would I have known?"
Sammy shrugged. "I just wondered if anyone had contacted you, asking questions."
Her mind raced—questions meaning someone had suspected Sammy was playing both sides against the middle? "No," she said evenly, and began ringing up the sale, sending inconspicuous glances in the direction of the woman for whom she used to work. Sammy seemed agitated, touching her face a lot, stroking her hair. Jolie had never before seen Sammy rattled. It was kind of leveling.
Jolie announced the total of the sale—over forty-four hundred dollars, thankyouverymuch. When Sammy opened her small green Kate Spade bag, Jolie caught a glimpse of metal and remembered with a jolt that Sammy had a permit to carry a concealed handgun. Jolie conceded that being a female real-estate agent could land a woman in remote locations with strangers, but she'd always wondered if Sammy had ulterior motives for being armed, such as protecting herself from anyone she might have double-crossed.
Sammy withdrew a pink lizard-skin wallet and removed a wad of hundreds. Jolie wasn't completely surprised—it would be just like Sammy to keep some of the agency's business off the books and pocket the cash.
Jolie counted the hundreds carefully, then said, "You gave me five hundred too much," and slid the extra bills back toward Sammy.
"That's for you." Sammy said, her expression completely still.
Jolie blinked. "Excuse me?"
Sammy pushed the money back toward Jolie. "Call it severance."
Astonishment bled through her limbs even as her mind was screaming, Take it! Take it! She could buy a copier, stationery, a ticket to Cancun. "I can't take that money, Sammy."
"Sure you can."
A bribe in case someone came around asking questions about Sammy's business practices. Jolie hardened her jaw and pushed the money back with finality. "But I won't."
Sammy gave a little laugh and folded the extra cash back into her wallet. "That's always been your problem, Jolie—you can't see that sometimes the right thing to do is the easy thing to do."
Swallowing the words that jumped to her throat, Jolie finished ringing up the sale and passed Sammy her change. She reached for the boxes to bag them, and Carlotta materialized by her side.
"I'll do that," she said, then smiled at Sammy. "Nice shoes."
Sammy tilted her head. "Aren't they?"
"I will, thank you." Sammy glared at Jolie. "I hope they catch your boyfriend." Then she whipped around and stalked off.
"Brr," Carlotta said. She was dressed in a black jacket that was longer than her black miniskirt, dark tights, and a pair of black-satin-and-embroidered stiletto demi-boots with tassels around the top. She offered a gapped grin. "I can't wait to crash her party tonight. Did I see her trying to give you money?"
Jolie nodded. "Hush money."
"You didn't take it?"
"Nope."
Carlotta emitted a dry laugh. "Then tell me her secrets and she can pay me hush money."
Jolie bit her lip, knowing her friend was thinking about the money she owed in a few days' time to the man who'd come to see her at work.
"I see you sold our shoes," Carlotta said, changing the subject. "I take it Michael didn't give you any problems?"
"No," Jolie said. "But I feel terrible."
"It'll pass. Christ, this place is a zoo."
Jolie looked up to see Michael directing the placement of enormous bouquets of white helium balloons. Thumping music played over the speakers at a volume that Jolie had never heard in the store. Nervous energy crackled in the air as the conversation level rose from a hum to a dull roar. Black suits abounded as senior management arrived and store security multiplied. The press had been funneled into an area near the front of the line so cameras could capture the frenzy. Reporters interviewed the women standing in line. She saw Sammy put on her Sanders Realty badge and mug for a camera.
"Where's the jumpsuit?" Carlotta murmured.
"In my locker in the break room."
"Let me have it, and I'll process your return while no one is around."
Carlotta followed her into the stock room, quizzing her.
"No stains, right?"
"Right."
"Did you run it through the dryer on air to get out the cigarette smoke?"
"Yes."
"How are the tags?"
"Perfect."
Love Can Be Murder (boxed set of humorous mysteries) Page 13