She put everything away and started dragging her feet back to the bookstore. On the way through the library, however, she noticed a black motorcycle jacket hanging on the back of one of the chairs in front of the library computers, the ones that could be checked out by patrons.
Wyatt Gilmore was here. She knew it. As a data analyst, no doubt he’d spent time combing through the records held in the library. She sniffed. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do; of course he had a head start. Then she chided herself. She was more interested in finding out if the Monet was a forgery, and who might have murdered Reed. It didn’t matter to her if Wyatt found the painting.
What she should do was take Wyatt into her confidence, give him the information that she’d discovered, and let him run with it. Finding the painting would be a feather in his cap, both financially, and as proof that he was good at his job. She wouldn’t be able to claim the prize money regardless.
But first she should get permission from Detective Bailey. She hurried out the door before Wyatt could spot her and ask her what she was doing. She was already late, anyway.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Janet had the day off, and Aunt Margery had called to say that she wanted to take some time off to finish a book that had just come out. She wanted to skip the gala anyway. Angie laughed and told her to skive off with a clear conscience.
The store was busy, but pleasantly so, and of course they were closing early for the gala. Everyone in town was.
Originally, Walter had wanted to have the gala at his father’s old house on the hill, but that was on the opposite side of the island. Carol Brightwell over at the Chamber of Commerce had talked him into having it at the Whaling Museum instead, and opening it up to the tourists in town. His agreement had been reluctant at first, but when Angie checked in with him at two, he sounded relieved.
“I can’t imagine what I would have done if I had tried to have the gala at home,” he said at least three times. “I always assumed that Dad kept the house closed up from the public because he was a miser and didn’t want to deal with people, but now I’m starting to wonder. I’ve just had to listen to an extended lecture about parking. And the number and availability of toilets. And facilities for the handicapped. It’s all important, and it’s all stuff that never crossed my mind. You’d think it would have, because, hey, lawyer, but no. I feel like I’m being dragged through a crash course in hospitality.”
She said a few soothing things about how it was all overwhelming at first, but would soon settle into a routine. “There’s no shame in having someone like Carol on your side, giving you advice,” she said. “In a way, this is all new to you.”
“What, being rich or being generous?” he said drily. “Never mind. I’m just complaining. As one of my old law school professors used to say, ‘You trade up for those problems.’”
She laughed. “It gets easier, I promise.”
“I sure hope you’re right. And I am going to hold a gala or something at the house next year, even if it means I have to rip out the front steps and build a parking lot. I’m determined.”
“Next Christmas,” she said.
He sighed.
“What time are you coming over?” he asked wistfully.
“I’m closing at three, so probably by five.”
“Five?”
“I have about an hour of things to do after closing, and then I’ll go home and shower and eat something.”
“There’s going to be food here.”
“There’s going to be a little food and a lot of alcohol,” she said. “I’m such a lightweight…I have to eat before I got out for things like this, or I’ll spend the whole night being cranky.”
“All right,” he said reluctantly.
“I highly advise getting something to eat before you get your tux on,” Angie said.
“There’s too much to do.”
“If you honestly think that you really have anything to do other than show up, then you don’t know the crews at the Chamber of Commerce and the Whaling Museum,” Angie said. “I know it’s been chaotic, but they really do know what they’re doing. They do this every year for the Festival of Lights, so they’re a well-oiled machine by now. You’ll be fine. Grab a sandwich.”
Right before she closed up for the day, Mickey came over with another box of pastries, which she didn’t need. A few people lingered in the bookstore, but most of them had already left.
“Food?” he asked.
“I need real food,” she said. “Not cupcakes.”
“I forgot the gala was tonight. Nobody wants the late delivery.”
“Take them over to the museum. They’ll get eaten, at least.”
“True.” He put the boxes down and leaned against the edge of the counter. “Jo’s not coming tonight.”
“What?”
“Her boyfriend’s mom is having health problems on the mainland…a heart attack? It sounded bad. Anyway, she took off on the ferry.”
Angie checked her phone and found she had a message from Jo that she’d missed earlier. The volume had been “helpfully” turned down again. Fortunately, she hadn’t missed anything else of importance.
“That’s too bad,” she said.
“It is. You know what her boyfriend’s like,” Mickey said.
“I haven’t spent a lot of time with him,” Angie admitted. “Jo’s been really private about dating him.”
It was true, she realized. Jo going through the first flush of falling in love had been alternately effusive and absent a lot.
“Well, you know he’s a punk.”
Angie smiled. She’d never admit it, but seeing Jo and her similarly mohawked boyfriend holding hands and smiling at each other was decidedly adorable.
“Yes, but you can hear him sobbing in the background of Jo’s voicemail. He’s a piece of mush.”
“You probably should be a piece of mush if your mom’s in the hospital.”
“True.”
Mickey pulled away from the counter, gave her a sloppy salute, and picked up the pastry boxes. Angie held the door for him.
After he left, she couldn’t help dwelling on the fact that Mickey still had a thing for her. For more than a few minutes she was lost in memories. But then she shook it off. She had an evening with Walter to look forward to.
Chapter 12
The Gala
The Whaling Museum was run by the Nantucket Historical Association, a collection of curators and archivists who maintained everything from buildings to ships’ logs, and who ran docent-led walking tours from May to the end of October. They were the powerhouse behind every historical effort on the island.
Walter hadn’t exactly ignored them, but he hadn’t made as many connections there as he had at the Chamber of Commerce. As a result, the NHA had been letting Walter run his own show, and make his own mistakes. But now that they were directly involved at the Whaling Museum, they were on point and shining.
Walter, dressed in his tux, was clearly impressed. Compared to the Chamber of Commerce, the NHA was precise, professional, and unshakable. They played politics better than the Chamber, because they had more budget at stake.
“If I ever do something like this again,” Walter whispered in her ear, “I’m going to work with these guys. They’ve really been educating me.”
“I’ve always been impressed with them,” Angie said. “But they’re pretty regimented about what they will and will not do.”
“They’re pretty regimented in general.”
“That’s true. But I’m pretty sure they won’t work with you on next year’s gala unless you add a serious historical aspect to the party.”
He groaned. “Next year’s gala. What was I thinking?”
“You were thinking, ‘I should hire an assistant.’ The woman I hired has been a godsend…at least, once I stopped trying to control every single thing and let her do what she’s good at.”
He grinned at her. “Difficult?”
“Very.”
<
br /> There was a champagne glass in her hand, which always made her feel a bit decadent. Her sleeveless black silk dress was covered with sequins in a lattice pattern, and she felt fabulous. She had decided to dress like it was a Manhattan high-profile socialite party: rhinestone earrings and sparkly silver shoes and all. She was loving it. Somehow she didn’t feel ridiculous dressing up for an event on the island, especially when standing next to Walter in his tux.
And wasn’t he a sight tonight. Tall, dark, and handsome, with a dignity that probably came from standing in front of judges as a trial lawyer. The photographer from the newspaper had taken to snapping a picture of Walter by himself, or with Angie at his side, whenever he couldn’t find something else to take a picture of. GQ was going to come calling soon.
Aunt Margery had said that she might stop in later, but Angie was almost positive that was a polite fiction. Angie had stopped to check on her at the house, and found her in bed with a stack of novels that had arrived earlier in the day at the bookstore. Angie had treated her like she was sick and fussed over her until she had been chased out of the house.
Jo had gone to the mainland, and Angie had wondered whether Mickey would show up. He did, wearing a red-and-white tuxedo with a Santa hat and a twirl-worthy white mustache and goatee, a là Colonel Sanders. It was ridiculous, and the kids all loved it. He had brought all the leftover pastries from the bakery, but they had disappeared even before the start of the party. The NHA had a collective sweet tooth.
Angie moved through the room, sometimes standing next to Walter, sometimes on her own, greeting everyone she knew and getting introduced to practically everyone she didn’t. Quite a few people had come over from New York and Boston for the gala, and most of them were in formal wear. More than once, an investor approached Walter to talk about some project or other that could be built on the island by investors. Walter always replied that he’d toyed with similar plans, but he wouldn’t take such a step without the agreement of everyone on the island. Careful planning would be necessary, since it would require quite the balancing act to maintain profitability while preserving the island’s native charm.
“A resort on the beach to the south would have several issues,” he said. “First, although it would establish a large, new business that would provide a lot of jobs for the island, they would, for the most part, be low-paying jobs. Those workers would need to be housed somewhere, and that would require low-cost housing, which is already in short supply. And it would change the whole feel of the island. We’re known for being small, independent, and very quirky. We don’t need corporate culture here—we already have enough of that on the mainland. We have to make sure that we’re not killing the goose that lays the golden eggs.”
And so on.
Angie was impressed by how fast Walter was on his feet. It was the lawyer coming out again.
She was whisked off to join a group of Aunt Margery’s friends. She sipped at her champagne, nibbled on the hors d’oeuvres, and laughed at other people’s jokes. She wasn’t normally the kind of person who thrived on being in the middle of a crowd, but tonight it felt like nothing could wear her out.
Then she noticed Alayna Karner in the crowd. She was dressed in a sparkling red sleeveless top and black slacks. Her long, dark hair hung perfectly straight. She wore toeless black ankle boots, a chunky gold bracelet, and gold earrings. She seemed to have shed all her awkwardness and was chatting pleasantly with several people—one of whom Angie had been introduced to previously as one of Walter’s friends, a Manhattan lawyer. She was nodding and smiling, managing not to look as though she were brown-nosing at all.
Alayna was looking around the room as Walter’s friend introduced her to the other members of his group. She began chatting with them again. But then, her eyes fastened on Walter, who was on the other side of the room. She spoke briefly to the group around her, then turned and left them, heading toward Walter.
Stay away from him!
Angie surprised by her own reaction. It was logical that if Alayna Karner knew one of Walter’s friends, she might know him as well. But Angie didn’t feel jealous. She’d had plenty of experience with that poisonous emotion around Doug, so she wasn’t a stranger to the feeling. Instead, she felt alert and tense, like something terrible was about to happen. There was something wrong about Alayna’s body language, and Angie didn’t like it.
She excused herself, handed her full champagne glass to the first passing server, and moved toward Walter as quickly as the packed room would allow.
Walter was talking to a pair of women in dark, silky opera gowns. Both were at least eighty years old and somehow were making Walter blush.
He glanced away from them for an instant and spotted Alayna Karner. His eyes widened slightly, and he took a step backward.
Angie cut straight through the middle of a group of young men, but trying to hurry through the gala crowd was proving difficult. At least she was wearing high heels, so she could see what was going on. Someone called her name, but she ignored them as she tried to sidle past the young men surrounding her.
By the time she reached the other side, Alayna was in Walter’s face, shaking a finger at him. The two older ladies had left, so now Walter was on his own, pressed up against a wall. Alayna was angry about something, but she was also smiling, showing far too many teeth.
Angie danced around another crowd of people, trying not to step on any toes. A hand grabbed her arm. She looked up to see a red suit. Mickey.
“I’ll distract her. You save our illustrious host,” he said, then plowed forward.
People who hadn’t even noticed her got out of the way immediately when a six-and-a-half-foot-tall man in a Santa tuxedo strode through the crowd. Especially once he started bellowing, “Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas,” past his goatee.
He reached Alayna and Walter. “Mrs. Claus!” he exclaimed. “Finally, I have found you. Just in time for a dance.”
She turned toward him and smiled automatically, a grimace melting off her lips.
Obligingly, the band, which had gone on break, started up again, playing “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” Mickey swept the woman away from Walter and they danced through the crowd toward the open space that served as a dance floor.
“Thank you,” Angie mouthed toward Mickey’s back, and then she turned toward Walter.
He looked shaken. She put her arm over his and said, “Let’s step out for some air.”
She led him out the back door, past the serving staff. One of the back rooms had been turned into a staging area, packed with bodies and silver trays full of canapes.
Outside the air was cold, and Angie immediately began to shiver. It was still worth it to see Walter lean against the wall and exhale in relief.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just needed to get away from that woman.”
Angie nodded. “She’s one of the treasure hunters.”
“No kidding,” Walter said. “What a horrible coincidence. On second thought, that couldn’t have been a coincidence at all. Her name is Alayna Karner. Have I ever talked to you about her?”
“No.”
“She was recently one of our clients at the law firm. Up for—get this—murder.”
“Murder?”
“We negotiated it down to manslaughter—even though, in my not-to-be-repeated opinion, she was guilty of more than that—but she wouldn’t stand for it. It went to trial. We didn’t bend over backward to get her off the hook, but the D.A. made several bad mistakes, and the jury let her off on a technicality. It was ugly.”
“Why is she here?” Angie asked.
“She keeps trying to harass me into dating her,” he said. “I think she forgot that I’m pretty sure she murdered an ex-boyfriend.”
“Brr,” Angie said. “And Mickey just ran off with her. I hope he doesn’t get in trouble.”
“I hope so, too,” Walter said. “She’s crazy. I mean, just now she s
aid something…it sounded like she was implying that she had only joined the treasure hunt so she could stalk me.”
“You don’t think she could have killed Reed, do you?” Angie asked.
Walter took a breath. “Good grief. I hope not. But I suppose I should talk to Detective Bailey about it anyway. I’ll do it first thing tomorrow…” He pulled a phone out of his pocket and tapped away at it for a moment, leaving himself a note.
Then he glanced up. “Did you think she was an old girlfriend or something?”
“No,” Angie admitted. “She’s come into the bookstore and acted like a loon several times already. I managed to keep her from ripping my bookshelves down, but it was close. When I saw her moving toward you, it was more like she was a shark swimming up to her victim than an ex who wanted to rekindle an old flame.”
“She’s definitely a shark,” Walter agreed. He took a deep breath.
“Are you going to be able to go back in there?” Angie asked.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Stalkers are serious,” Angie said.
He made a face at her. “Believe me, I know. Trial lawyer, remember? And, even better, I’ll give you three guesses as to the murder that Alayna Karner either did or didn’t commit.”
“Related to stalking?”
“A guy she’d had a one-night stand with. When he refused to talk to her, she ran him down with her car.”
Angie shook her head. Incredible.
Suddenly, Walter surprised her by wrapping his arms around her and kissing her passionately. She felt her eyes close, one at a time, as she put her arms around his neck to steady herself. High heels could get risky.
Prize and Prejudice: A Cozy Mystery Novel (Angie Prouty Nantucket Mysteries Book 2) Page 14