by Louise Clark
"I'm not sure Frank was having an affair with Brianne," Christy said. "I had no indication of it until he disappeared and he was reported to have run off with her."
"That fits with what I found out today." Quinn paused and Christy raised her brows in question. "After I dug up this picture I began to wonder about a few things. Take another look, Christy. Is there anything that leaps out at you?"
She stared at the photo. No matter how hard she tried, all she could see was Brianne and Graham, blond, slim, and good-looking, seated together beside a potted fern. "I don't know..."
"If someone asked you to paint a verbal picture of Frank, how would you describe him? Five-two? Brown hair?"
Christy laughed. "Frank was six feet, slim build, blond hair, blue eyes, no distinguishing marks on his features." Her breath caught. "Are you suggesting that this man could pretend to be Frank?"
Quinn nodded. "His police description has him as six feet tall, blond hair, blue eyes, lean build. Change the picture in Frank's passport and this guy could pass for him."
"Particularly if Brianne was along to vouch for him." Christy frowned at Quinn. "Is this possible?"
Quinn nodded. "I took this photo down to the Strand. The desk clerk and the girl at the coffee bar immediately identified Graham as the guy with Brianne."
"But—does that mean he used Frank's passport?"
"Could be."
"Oh man," Christy said, taking a big gulp of wine. "Then where's Frank?"
Chapter 8
The sound of a car door slamming drew Noelle into the kitchen to look out the window instead of getting ready to leave for school. "It's Uncle Gerry!" she squealed. She rushed for the front door.
"Hold it!" Christy yelled. "Shoes and backpack on first. We can meet Uncle Gerry outside."
Noelle tied her shoes in half the time it usually took her, resulting in short bows and trailing laces sure to be snagged loose. She grabbed her backpack from the cupboard and wrenched open the door at the same moment the bell rang. "Uncle Gerry!" She flung herself into the arms of corporate mogul and senior trustee, Gerald Fisher, with an unselfconscious abandon that made Christy smile.
A big man, well over six feet, with a heavy build that he kept toned by working out, Gerry swirled Noelle around as if she weighed nothing at all, then kissed her loudly on the cheek. "How's my girl?" he said, putting her back on her feet. "Do you like your new school?"
Noelle's fearsome pout appeared. "It's okay. It's school, after all."
Gerry and Christy laughed. "Good point," Christy said. "And if we don't get going you'll be late. Gerry, do you have time to walk over to the school with us?"
"With two such lovely ladies as my companions, it will be my pleasure," he said. He extended his hand.
Noelle beamed at him and took hold. "My school's really different, Uncle Gerry. It's in a new building and it doesn't have a fence around it like the VRA did. And I don't have to wear a uniform anymore!"
Gerry Fisher, head of Fisher Disposal, a waste disposal company that had expanded so rapidly in the past fifteen years that it now controlled landfill sites in all ten provinces and over thirty states, smiled at Noelle and said, "That clinches it. Your mother made the right choice taking you out of VRA." He made a point of scrutinizing her clothing. "A T-shirt and pants looks like a very comfortable way to dress for school."
Noelle nodded, oblivious to the edge of sarcasm Christy heard. "My teacher is a real grump. She's always telling us we have to be quiet and listen. But," she added philosophically, "my teachers at VRA used to say that too, so I guess it's part of being a teacher."
Gerry laughed. Christy said, "I guess."
The sidewalk was only wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side, so Christy let Noelle and Gerry go ahead, while she followed, listening to Noelle monopolize the conversation. She was anxious to learn why Gerry had shown up this morning, but she didn't want to ask him in front of Noelle, in case he'd come, like Bidwell, to tell her to stop looking for Frank.
"I have a new friend. She lives down the street. Her name is Mary Petrofsky, and I can go to her house and ring the bell if I want her to come out to play. I went to her house for dinner last night."
Fisher's broad back, covered by an impeccably cut suit without the hint of a wrinkle, straightened, just a little, enough to tell Christy he wasn't pleased by Noelle's new companion. She said hastily, "Mary is a lovely little girl. I checked out her mother before I let Noelle go over. Rebecca Petrofsky is a respectable woman with a job and big heart."
"And what does Mrs. Petrofsky do?" Fisher asked, his tone disapproving.
"She's an executive assistant," Noelle said, stumbling a bit over the multi-syllable words.
"I see," Fisher said, the censure in his voice stronger now.
Noelle shot him a frowning look that said she'd caught the disapproval, but didn't understand why it was there.
"Gerry, she's okay," Christy said, trying to smooth over the rough patch. Before his disappearance, Frank had managed their business affairs, so her interaction with the trustees had been social—Christmas and Noelle's birthday party, the events at which Frank was representing the Jamieson name, and family parties. Gerry's obvious delight in Noelle had touched Christy and turned a pleasant relationship into one of friendship.
Since Frank's disappearance, she had been forced to become involved in the business side of the trust. If she hadn't had Gerry guiding her through, her understanding of the financial mess in which Frank's embezzlement had left the trust would have been much less.
They stopped at the crosswalk to wait for the morning crossing guard to give them the go ahead.
"Mary Petrofsky has a dad," Noelle said. "He ate dinner with us last night." She tilted her head, looked at Gerry with big, wounded, blue eyes. "I miss my daddy, Uncle Gerry. Can you tell him to come home to us?"
The color drained from Gerry's face and for the first time Christy saw him at a loss for words.
The day Frank had been born, his father, Frank Jamieson senior, an aggressive businessman with visions of a corporate empire built on his inherited family money, had set up a trust fund that would ensure his son's future. He'd arranged for his three best friends and his sister to be the trustees. He'd also made those four people his son's guardians, in the unlikely event of his death.
Twelve years later Frank Jamieson had grown his family's successful, but regionalized, dairy into a national corporation that produced dozens of flavors of ice cream. His death in a car crash that also killed his wife left his young son heir to a huge fortune.
Over the years Gerry Fisher had become the senior trustee. He'd assumed the role of father in Frank's life, creating a relationship that was not always a happy one. Noelle looked upon him as a grandfather, a problem-solver who fixed what others couldn't.
"Hey kiddo," Christy said. "Uncle Gerry will do what he can, but Daddy goes his own way. He'll come back to us when he's ready."
Fisher shook his head and moved his shoulders, as if shaking his body would bring his world back into perspective.
The crossing guard held out her red stop sign and blew her whistle, indicating it was safe for them to cross. Gerry forged ahead, striding through the crossing while Noelle trotted along beside him. Christy followed, glad of the interruption.
When they reached the school Gerry insisted he be introduced to the teacher. Mrs. Morton, abrupt and no-nonsense with Christy and the kids, warmed considerably under Gerry's blatant flattery. Somehow, by the time Christy was kissing Noelle good-bye, Mrs. Morton was talking to Gerry Fisher the way she would to a parent. Noelle hugged Gerry, who did his twirling thing again, making her giggle.
Mrs. Morton watched this byplay as she said to Christy, "Men who abandon their families leave a big hole in their children's lives. Noelle is fortunate she has a man like Mr. Fisher looking after her."
Noelle kissed Christy again. Mrs. Morton closed the classroom door, leaving Christy alone with Gerry. He was silent as they left the school.
Once outside, he said, "How badly does Noelle miss her father?"
Christy looked at the trees lining the road, another pedestrian on the sidewalk, a car passing, anything to avoid meeting Gerry's probing gray eyes. "She doesn't say a lot. Frank and Noelle were very close, so I know she's hurting, but I thought she was getting used to the idea that he had left us."
Gerry grunted.
Christy stole a glance at him. He was staring straight ahead, a frown between his brows, as they retraced their steps toward the townhouse.
"Christy, I know Edward spoke to you about Frank's return to Vancouver. Have you told anyone that he's back?"
She had told Quinn and his dad, but they didn't count. "No."
"There's a rumor going about that he has returned. This has caused a number of calls to the Trust. People are phoning to say they won't supply him if he visits their shops. Others are demanding payment for bills I've never heard of before now." He drew a deep breath. "And some calls have been extremely nasty." Christy made a distressed sound in her throat. Gerry nodded. "I don't suppose Frank has contacted you, by any chance?"
"No."
"I can't say I'm surprised. I didn't think he would actually come home."
"Gerry, I talked to the police. There was a nasty situation when he went through Customs, where he stole someone else's declaration and used it to slip through without a baggage check. They know he's in Vancouver."
Gerry shrugged. The perfect suit jacket moved with his body as if it were part of him. "Oh, I don't deny that Frank has returned to Canada. I just don't think he would have the nerve to reestablish his position here."
They reached the crosswalk. A car passed and they moved onto the road. "Frank has plenty of reasons why he would want to do that."
"And plenty why he wouldn't," Gerry said. "But people will believe what they want to believe, and right now, if the rumors are any indication, plenty of people think that Frank is in town. That brings up all kinds of problems. The trust has taken a beating since Frank took off with the bulk of the assets. We've dealt with the worst of the financial fallout, but opening up the issue again will solve nothing and only create more problems."
"What kind of problems?"
"We may have to sell off more of the Jamieson Ice Cream stock."
"No! Jamieson Ice Cream is Noelle's heritage."
"It's also a valuable asset. We need to take the focus away from Frank and put it somewhere more positive." He drew a deep breath. "There's a high-profile charity event this weekend, a fundraiser for the Infant Heart Transplant Foundation. I believe you should make an appearance."
Christy thought her jaw was going to drop. Whatever else she'd expected, this certainly wasn't it. "The IHTF Awards Night always sells out well in advance. I doubt I'd be able to get a ticket."
"My company has bought a table," Gerry said. "I've reserved a ticket for you and a date. Perhaps you could invite one of Frank's friends, someone like Aaron DeBolt. His mother is chair of the IHTF Board."
"Gerry, I don't think the IHTF Awards Night is the best event for me to attend." Christy said. "I was on the board of the IHTF."
"I know," Gerry said. "That's why I thought this would be a good event for you. You'd be amongst friends."
Christy laughed. There was an edge of bitterness to the sound. "Hardly. A month after Frank disappeared, when the press was reporting that he'd embezzled from his own trust fund with my help, I received a letter from the executive director of the foundation noting that positions on the board were for one year only and, as my term was up, thanking me for serving on the board. The letter arrived precisely nine months from the day I was originally appointed."
Gerry was quiet for a minute. As they turned into Christy's complex, he said, "Christy, the Jamieson Trust needs positive press. Having a Jamieson participate in a worthy event like the IHTF Awards Night will give it to us."
"Gerry, I told you..."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. "Christy, Noelle is the Jamieson heir, but until she is an adult, you are the figurehead. You need to be seen." He shoved the envelope into her hands. A commanding note entered his voice. "You will come to the dinner."
Her fingers closed around the envelope. She didn't want to go. "Gerry, I don't—"
"I won't take no for an answer," Gerry said with a smile. The hard edge was gone from his voice. "I'll expect to see you there for cocktails at seven o'clock."
Long after he'd gone, Christy sat on her porch staring at the envelope. She didn't want to be the face of the Jamieson fortune. She was lousy at networking and events like this made her nervous. She'd stand in a corner somewhere and spend the night feeling like an outsider.
The awards night was on Thursday evening, two days from now. She'd have to find a babysitter and organize clothes, not to mention a date, since there was no way she'd ever call Aaron DeBolt. Maybe she wouldn't go at all. She'd just call Gerry up on Thursday afternoon and tell him she had the migraine to beat all migraines. He'd be ticked, but what could he do?
That would be a cop-out, though. Gerry would know she'd chickened out. Worse, she'd know. Then the next time she had to do some event for the Trust it would be harder than this. But why should she have to do public appearances? She hated the press. She did her best to avoid them—
"Hey there. What's up?"
Quinn's voice had her looking up with a frown.
"Hell," he said. "You look like someone just died."
That brought her out of her funk. Sure, she didn't want to go to this event, but no one had died. It wasn't that bad. She held up the envelope and said lightly, "I've been invited to a party and I'm supposed to bring a date. Can you imagine that? Me, a date." She shook her head.
Quinn reached out and took the envelope from her hand. He flicked open the flap and took out the tickets, then he whistled. "Some party. Tickets for this event go for a thousand bucks. I heard they sold out a month ago. Where did you get these?"
"Gerry Fisher gave them to me. He says I need to go to counter the rumors that Frank is back in Vancouver."
Quinn frowned at her, then he sat down beside her on the steps. "Fisher was the one who gave you the tickets?"
"Yeah." Christy searched his face. "Do you think it means something?"
"Could be. Probably not." His well-muscled shoulders rose in a shrug. "It may be exactly what he said—the Trust needs to put a positive spin on the Jamieson name and you, Christy, are a much better example of the family than your missing husband is." His lips turned up in a smile that was boyish and heartwarming at the same time.
Christy couldn't help it, she smiled back, even though the thought of the IHTF evening made her stomach churn. "Thanks."
His voice was husky. "No problem."
Her heartbeat accelerated. Her lips parted. Quinn's eyes darkened as they focused on her mouth. Christy thought he was going to kiss her and for one mad moment she wished he would. Then she drew a deep breath and banished feelings that weren't supposed to be there.
Quinn handed her back the tickets. She considered them gloomily. "I still have the problem of a date. Gerry suggested Aaron DeBolt. Yuck."
"Do you think DeBolt is likely to be there?"
"He might be. It's not his favorite kind of event, but his mother is chair of the IHTF Board. I imagine she'll have her whole family there."
Quinn rubbed his chin. "You tried to get hold of DeBolt, but haven't had any luck so far, right?
Something in his tone made Christy's eyes widen. "You think we could corner Aaron at the dinner and interrogate him about Frank's whereabouts?"
"We?"
"Quinn, I don't want to go on my own." Christy tilted her head. She curled her lips into a tempting tease of a smile she'd almost forgotten she knew how to do. "Come on, say you'll be my date." She shot him a sideways look from under her brows. Quinn's breath hissed as he inhaled sharply. Her smile widened just a bit. "Please?"
"Hell," he said. "Do I have a choice?"
Chapter
9
Quinn tugged at the jacket of his tux, then touched the ridiculous bow tie at his throat to make sure it was straight. Much more at home in jeans and a sweatshirt, he hated formal wear, but he understood that there were times when it had to be worn—and worn well—in order to achieve an end. His mother, the practical parent, had taught him that. A lawyer, she'd fought for causes big and small, but she'd never wasted her energy battling the little issues, like social custom. Blend in, don't alienate people for no reason, she'd always said. Attack them on the big issues and they'll respect you. Challenge the fabric of their lives and they'll crucify you.
Quinn had taken that pithy wisdom to heart. Over the years he'd found it helped him open doors closed to others, gaining him entry to events like this one and access to people who might otherwise refuse to talk to a reporter. So he mentally morphed the tux into jeans and a tee, told himself that the stupid bowtie wasn't choking him and the damned cummerbund didn't make him look like an idiot, and opened the door for Christy.
As she eased from the car, he admired the way her gown flowed around her. Cut away to expose one shoulder, the sapphire blue silk hugged her breasts in smooth elegance, but flowed in a swirl of diaphanous fabric from the waistline. Her dark hair shimmered with red highlights. She had drawn it up in a severe style that added a touch of haughty elegance to the lovely gown and accented her features. Diamonds dripped from her ears and winked at her throat in the harsh lights of the hotel breezeway.
"You look fabulous."
She flashed him a smile as dazzling as the diamonds adorning her neck. "I feel totally out of place. Give me a moment while I put on my Jamieson princess persona so the sharks at this gathering won't assume I'm the first course."
Quinn laughed. "Can't be that bad."
"After his parents died, Frank lived with his Aunt Ellen."
"Ellen Jamieson," Quinn said.
A harried bellboy appeared. Quinn handed him the keys and received a parking chit in exchange. Quinn took Christy's elbow to help her through the door into the hotel, then debated whether or not to let her go. He'd discovered that he liked being with Christy Jamieson, enjoyed touching her, was proud of her beauty and her warmth of spirit. The evening took on a brighter hue. He thought he might even enjoy himself.