The stage smelled of dust and floor polish, musty unpacked set materials and mingled assorted makeup items. Greasepaint, I thought in my best old-time vaudevillian. Spotlights. Fame.
I returned to Tansy. “So you’re not worried anymore?”
“Not as worried. I mean, out here in the boonies, not even TMZ has found me. I’ve been to the grocery store, the motel, back and forth to the theater . . . nothing. No Perez Hilton, no TMZ.” She gave me a beatific smile. “It’s been wonderful!”
“So you’re keeping Danny on call for . . . ?”
“Honestly? Eye candy, mostly.” Tansy laughed, giving me a woman-to-woman, just-us-girls look. “I thought it might be fun to have Danny around. A friend of mine in L.A. used him for security during a red-carpet appearance. She recommended him.” A pretty pucker. “She didn’t say he was such a prude, though.”
Danny Jamieson? A prude? I nearly died laughing.
On the inside, that is. I didn’t want to offend Tansy. But I guessed that answered the question: they weren’t involved.
The actress eyed me speculatively. “So, you and Danny—you’ve been friends for a long time, right? I mean, he talks about you nonstop, like you’re his reference point for practically everything. I don’t even think he knows he does it.”
I shrugged. “We’ve been through a lot together, that’s all. I knew him ‘when,’ as they say. But we’re just friends.”
“Have you always been ‘just friends’?” Tansy pushed. “Or . . . ?”
Or . . . ? At her questions, I had a vivid, unstoppable memory of Danny. Me. Together. Tangled sheets . . . and morning-after regrets.
Yep. Sometimes chocolate experts can be real dummies.
“There’s nothing going on between me and Danny,” I said.
But Tansy’s bright eyes and owlish expression told me she was more observant than she pretended to be. Was her dumbbell routine just an act? Was Tansy Park that skilled an actress?
If she was, how could I be sure she wasn’t a complete psychopath? Judging by Albany’s snide comments earlier, she and Tansy might have tangled once or twice regarding Tansy’s acting.
Travis obviously thought there was some bad blood there. He was the one who’d suggested I add Tansy to my suspects list.
No one liked having their hard work dismissed. Most people wouldn’t go to murderous lengths to get revenge. Would Tansy?
I met the actress’s forthright gaze and simply didn’t want to believe she could kill anyone. Finito. Call me a patsy. I don’t care. I didn’t think Tansy Park was malicious enough to commit cold-blooded murder. Especially at Christmastime.
Which only made me wonder, if Melissa Balthasar had been murdered, exactly how had she died? Tansy’s stalker talk had involved poison, something I ought to have considered before. But what else? There hadn’t even been a murder weapon present.
I made a mental note to look into whether an autopsy was being performed and whether the police were investigating. I hoped the Sproutes Sentinel article might have information about Melissa’s memorial service. Failing that, there was always Roger.
I needed a way to approach the show’s second producer. Sensitively. In the meantime, I spotted Danny, making a beeline straight for me and Tansy and our burgeoning friendship.
“Donuts?” He seemed irked. “You dodged me for donuts?”
Guiltily, Tansy’s cheeks colored pink. But she jerked her chin higher and eyed him regally. “I’m only getting coffee.”
To prove it, the actress filled a paper cup with the murky brew. Yuck. I made a mental note not to rely on the production for my own morning java. Tansy bravely sipped it, nonetheless.
Danny’s expression was knowing. “Fine. I guess that coffee is enough punishment for anyone.” He nodded at me. “Sleep well?”
I couldn’t miss the quick, approving way his gaze skimmed the contours of my body. I knew the reaction was automatic, like my mouth watering in the presence of fudge brownies. He couldn’t help it. But I experienced a small, unnecessary thrill, anyway.
Hey, in the absence of a regular boyfriend, I have to take my excitement where and when it comes. Had I slept well?
“I’ve had better.” I’d been haunted by Melissa’s face.
“Jet lag is a killer,” my security-expert pal theorized.
I didn’t correct him. “Got time for a few questions?” I wanted to know what he thought about Melissa Balthasar’s death. Plus, I wanted his take on Travis and Albany. “Privately?”
He got my gist immediately but didn’t make a big deal of it. “We can talk out there.” Danny’s nod indicated the plush rows of empty theater seats. “It’s private enough.” He gave Tansy a fearsome look. “You stay onstage, where I can see you.”
“Yes, sir.” She offered him a sassy salute. Also, a grin.
“I mean it,” Danny warned, looking unamused. “If you won’t cooperate with my instructions, we can’t work together anymore.”
That got Tansy’s attention. I knew why, too, as her gaze wandered very appreciatively over Danny. Hubba-hubba, it said.
“I think we all understand each other,” I broke in.
Then I nodded at Danny and headed for the theater’s remotest rows of antique velvet seats, trusting him to follow.
Five
Watching Danny slide his athletic form along the theater’s narrow aisle and into the seat beside me was a pure pleasure.
Feeling the rush of sentiment that swamped me at the same time wasn’t. Tears sprang to my eyes, leaving me overwhelmed.
Naturally, my bodyguard buddy noticed. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I croaked while swabbing away tears. “I’m fine.”
It was possible I’d been affected by this new murder more than I wanted to admit. But I didn’t intend to say so to Danny.
His stern, dark-eyed gaze met mine. “You don’t look fine.”
“Gee, thanks.” I laughed, glancing away before he caught me studying his face. It was both appealing and rugged, full of macho angles and the beginnings of beard stubble, topped by his militarily buzz-cut hair. “I’m happy you’re okay, that’s all.”
His worried expression eased. “It was only an eyeball.” While I’d been in Brittany, Danny had suffered a detached retina during a security-related skirmish for a client. He never hesitated to put himself on the line for the people he worked for. Sometimes, I wished he would. Having him out of commission, however briefly, had frightened me. I was glad he was back now.
“Yeah, but you need your eyeballs to work,” I cracked, “otherwise you won’t be able to tell me how nice I look.”
“Not convincingly, at least,” he allowed.
My smile broadened. “You’d pull it off somehow.”
He would, too, I knew. Danny was nothing if not charming—in his own unique and occasionally brusque way. He could turn on the charisma when he needed to. I’d seen it for myself.
“You’re all recovered now, then?” I wanted to know.
“I wouldn’t be on the job if I wasn’t.” His gaze zipped over to Tansy, onstage, lingered a few seconds, then returned to me. “Although this is an easy one. The lookie-loos always are.”
“Lookie-loos?”
“Come on, Hayden. You must have guessed.” He crossed his arms, biceps bulging beneath his jacket. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Say what?”
A sigh. “That Tansy’s keeping me around for the fun of it.”
“Fun of it?” I gave my eyelashes a disingenuous flutter.
Danny almost growled. “Eye candy. That’s what they call it. A certain segment of my clientele doesn’t really need my help.”
I tried not to guffaw. He was uncomfortable with being objectified for his good looks and buff physique.
I tugged his jacket, which covered his sweatshirt and topped his low-slung, beat-up jeans, worn with motorcycle boots. “Hey, if you didn’t want anyone looking, you shouldn’t have dressed so sexy.”
Th
at made him laugh. Danny knew I was referring to catcalling men who claim women are “asking for attention” because of what they wear. We both knew that was ludicrous.
“Yeah, well . . . look while you can, Mundy Moore,” he invited with a certain edge, “because I’m thinking about retiring.”
“And coming to work for me full-time?” He was free to work on his own, but I kept Danny’s security services on retainer.
“And growing myself a big old beer belly, full-time.”
“You wouldn’t!” Now that I had a good excuse, I looked him over with no reservations. Yup. Danny was quite a man.
His laughter rang out. “Don’t hurt yourself gawking.”
Caught, I transferred my gaze to his smart-alecky face.
“Lightening up on the workouts would cut down on jobs like this one.” His chin jab indicated Tansy, who was chatting onstage, amid the set’s Christmassy accoutrements. “It gives her a kick to think she’s dodging me, though. Plus, it’s a living.”
He was always interested in solidifying his finances, but that wasn’t what was going on here. I realized the truth before he admitted it—not that I thought he would. “You’re a fan!”
If I’d been hoping to suss out an embarrassing secret, I’d have been disappointed. “Damn straight, am I,” Danny said. “Have you seen her? Plus, she’s Tansy Park. Freaking Tansy Park.”
“You own her swimsuit poster, don’t you, D.?”
Good-naturedly, he scoffed. “Poster? Hayden, be real.”
“What? You’re a red-blooded adult male. You must—”
“It’s the twenty-first century. I have Tansy’s app.”
Aha. It was my turn to smile. “Which includes photos,” I surmised. “Well, working with celebrities comes with its perks, I guess. I’m happy for you.”
Just don’t sleep with her.
Huh? Where had that thought come from? I shook my head.
“You’re not really going to retire, are you?” I asked.
The thought gave me chills. Not the good kind, either.
“I thought about it.” Not looking at me, Danny rubbed the back of his neck. He shrugged. “I’m still thinking about it.”
I guessed his recent detached-retina scare had affected him. It had to have been unnerving for him to realize he wasn’t invulnerable. “Well, you’re not bulletproof, you know. If you retired—to work for me, that is—you would be a lot safer.”
At my obvious attempts to comfort him, Danny frowned. “I’m not scared.” From him, the word sounded foreign. “But I’ve bankrolled some cash now, and I didn’t need much to begin with.”
I knew Danny had issues with money. With security. Growing up wondering where your next meal was coming from left its mark on a person—even on a person as strong and brave as my friend.
“Travis says you could retire on what I pay you alone.”
Danny’s profile turned flinty. He stared fixedly at Tansy.
Whoops. I’d forgotten, in my rush to reassure Danny that he would be okay (forever, if I had my say), that there was a certain friction between him and “Harvard” about his retainer.
Travis sometimes suggested that “the enforcer” was taking advantage of my (newfound) need for amped-up security (in light of the murders I’ve run into lately) by siphoning off my trust fund in monthly retainer payments. Danny, as I’ve mentioned, sometimes suggested that Travis was interested only in using me to boost his profile at his company and earn a fat commission.
The thing was, they both could be correct.
But I didn’t think either of them was. They were my friends. The fact that we were together at Christmas proved it.
I suddenly got it. “You deliberately took this job with Tansy so you’d be in Sproutes for the holidays. With me.”
And maybe Travis. But Danny shrugged. “How was I supposed to know you’d be here?” Obdurately, he recrossed his arms.
I had him. Awww. That was sweet of him. “Travis told you.”
At that, my bodyguard pal shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what kind of crazy things you’ve been imagining, but Captain Calculator and I don’t hang out. We’re not besties.”
“Of course not. You live in L.A. He’s all the way up in Seattle. For the two of you to hang out, you’d have to be—”
“Two different people. But we’re not. The only thing we have in common is you. That’s the way it’s going to stay.”
I had my doubts. “Christmas changes people. It does.”
“Yeah. Around here, it makes some of them murderous.”
I didn’t want to talk about that. Not yet.
“I’ve got it.” I snapped my fingers. “You tracked Travis here, and then you took a job that brought you here, too. Right?”
I’d originally thought Travis might have recommended Danny to Tansy, for her protection. But this new theory worked better. It couldn’t be a coincidence that we’d all wound up together in Sproutes during mistletoe time. However it had happened, I liked having the whole gang back together. It felt . . . right to me.
“Sure. I make it my job to know where Travis is, twenty-four-seven.”
Danny’s tone was sarcastic, but I’d have believed him. “You think Travis wants to defraud me of my trust fund.” We didn’t often talk about my inheritance from Uncle Ross. It’s a sore spot between us. “It would be like you to keep tabs on him.”
“I’ll always have your back,” Danny said. “You know that.”
His gruff reminder warmed me. “And I’ll have yours.”
He chuckled again. “Nice try, scrawny. I know you’re proud of that anti-mugger move of yours, but I’ll protect myself.”
A moment passed by, companionably, while we watched the goings-on onstage. The Sproutes playhouse was a fine theater.
“Travis told me that Albany was going to be pretty busy with the show’s premiere. Someone suggested he invite me as his plus-one,” I remarked casually. “That someone was you. So . . .”
“So I didn’t want you to get your feelings hurt if he invited someone else,” Danny explained. “That’s not a crime.”
No, but it was telling that Danny had pulled some strings to get us all together during the holidays. He wasn’t especially sentimental. He wouldn’t have wanted to appear that way, either. But I imagined that Christmastime was where the rubber met the road—where Danny’s desire for togetherness went toe-to-toe with his urge to be tough. We’d spent plenty of previous holidays together, once (memorably) in Vienna. Another time in Thailand.
I was about to move on when Danny beat me to it.
“Albany and the number cruncher have been spending the nights together at the B and B.” His gaze caught mine, full of concern. Was he worried I’d react badly to Travis and Albany’s coziness? “That’s how Albany got there so fast,” he added, “after everything went down with Melissa Balthasar last night.”
I’d been too anxious to notice her arrival, what with thinking the memoirist was dead. “They didn’t arrive together.”
“Right. Conspicuously not together. Like they planned it.”
“Maybe they were just hanging out.” At 3:00 a.m. All right, Danny had a valid point. “Do you think they’re a couple?”
“Who knows?” Deliberately, Danny stared at Tansy again. “It’s possible that Albany Sullivan is Harvard’s, uh . . . you.”
“Huh?”
When my buddy’s gaze met mine again, there was a definite subtext there. “I think he had her once and wants her again.”
Oh. A flush warmed my cheeks. Maybe other parts of me, too. Despite Danny’s matter-of-fact way of referring to our past (let’s just call them) indiscretions, I felt overheated. Breathless. Inundated with memories, sensations, longings . . .
“I think she wants the same thing,” Danny continued in a more forceful, slightly husky tone. “So it’s a matter of time.”
A matter of time. My heart seemed to thud to a stop.
Did he mean . . . us? Was this some kind of o
blique invitation?
Somehow, I managed to shake my head. “Just because Travis and Albany share a history and maybe a certain chemistry, that doesn’t mean they’re going to get together. Not inevitably.”
There was a pause. Then, “Doesn’t it? Are you sure?”
Okay, hold on. Was I imagining that seductive drop to his voice? Danny liked to tease me, but not about this.
Not about us. Not about our past together. Or our future.
We didn’t even have a future—not in the usual to-have-and-to-hold, promises-and-rainbows way. I like to gridskip around the world, troubleshooting chocolate. He likes to stay in SoCal, where all his buddies from the bad old days can keep him grounded and in touch with his roots. Danny was proud of that.
“Very funny.” It was time to shut down this line of discussion. Firmly, I asked, “Do Tansy and Albany get along?”
“Tansy’s not your killer.” End of story, his tone said.
Privately, I was glad we were on the same wavelength. “How do you know? Maybe Tansy is the world’s best actress, and she’s only pretending to be innocent.” Also, fairly scatterbrained.
“I know because I know Tansy. She might have hired me on a lark, for the kind of job I don’t usually take,” Danny acknowledged patiently, “but you know me. Once I committed, I did all my usual reconnaissance. I don’t work for murderers.”
“Fair enough. But Travis says Tansy resented Albany.”
“Who wouldn’t? She’s a pretentious twit.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “You think so, too?”
Our mutual grins felt vindicating. Just like old times.
We talked for a while about our impressions of Albany and her book. Danny had read it in full (research, duh). He had the temerity to give me a hard time about not having done so myself.
“Her dad sounds like a piece of work,” he said. “Always ‘at the office.’ Golfing when he wasn’t. One of those useless upper-crust types.” He gave me a cocky grin. “Reminds me of Travis.”
That brought us around to Sproutes in general and Travis’s upbringing in particular. This wasn’t something I could easily discuss with my financial advisor, but Danny was more than game.
The Peppermint Mocha Murder Page 6