"Oh, darling, would you please get that?" Luther begged. "My hands."
"Oh, darling," Cookie mimicked. Expecting the deep voice of Luther's latest lover, Cookie picked up the phone from a nearby table. "Hello."
It was not Luther's lover, however. Instead, Cookie heard the clear, strained voice of Kate Thibideaux.
"Cookie, is that you?" Then, deciding it was, she went on with deliberate challenge, "Is it true you plan to marry my son?"
~~~
Cookie sat across the tiny table from Kate in the quiet North Beach café and decided that Chess owed her one. Big time. It would have been nice if he'd broken the news in a halfway diplomatic manner, but from what Cookie could figure out, he'd deliberately ruffled his mother's feathers. After which Kate had gone and gotten Cookie's probable location and Luther's telephone number from Alex.
In the sunlit café, Cookie and Kate were alone except for a few old men in one corner. In a chair opposite Cookie's, Kate sat tensely, her cappuccino barely touched. Nevertheless, she had clearly calmed down since they'd made this hasty rendezvous over the phone. Cookie could see where Chess got his self-control, the ability to keep on plotting no matter what the situation.
Kate had obviously rethought her approach. She now went so far as to smile across the table at her stepdaughter. "I want you to know, Cookie, that I don't blame you in the slightest. I know that Chess has a way of getting what he wants."
"He is rather persuasive," Cookie allowed. She leaned over the table, past her own untouched glass of caffè latte. "But I wouldn't have agreed to it, Kate, if he hadn't convinced me that this was for everybody's good."
Kate gave a small moan of dismay. "I wish you'd come to me before you'd made any rash decisions."
"Well, yes, I probably should have." It hadn't even occurred to Cookie. Other than their mutual interest in Alex, she and Kate had little in common. Her elegant stepmother had always rather intimidated Cookie. For one thing, Kate had managed to accomplish what Cookie never had. She'd made Cookie's father happy.
"I suppose having you evade me was part of Chess's strategy," Kate mused. "He did tell you what he plans to use your shares for, I hope."
Cookie nodded. "An advertising launch for a new perfume." She smoothed her fingers over the mosaic-tiled table. "And I understand your reluctance to go ahead with the project. There's an awful lot of money involved."
"There certainly is." Kate gave her an ironic smile. "Did Chess happen to tell you how many of these launches actually succeed?"
"Ah, I don't believe he did."
"Less than one third." Kate's green eyes blazed at Cookie. "The rest are colossal failures. Scents Allure wouldn't be able to survive such a thing. It would put us right out of business."
Cookie had to bite her tongue. Scents Allure was on its way out of business anyway. But she'd promised Chess not to tell anyone that she knew about the low earnings. "Do you really have so little confidence in Chess?" she asked instead.
For the first time, Kate's intense green eyes shifted away. "If anyone could pull this off, Chess could. But...there are things that Chess doesn't know."
Cookie observed the way Kate took hold of her cup of cappuccino. Her knuckles actually whitened with the force of her grip.
"What doesn't Chess know?" Cookie asked.
"Korman." Because her voice had come out hoarse, Kate cleared her throat. "Korman Cosmetics."
Cookie was fascinated by the continued force of Kate's grip on her cup.
"Bernard Korman," Kate went on, "is beyond even Chess's imagination. He has more tricks up his sleeve than any of us could ever dream of."
"Who is he?" Cookie was transfixed. It was clear that Kate was, for her own reasons, just as desperate as Chess. Maybe more so.
"Korman Cosmetics has been our main competitor for years, since before Chess was even born. There's been a sort of feud between our two families for generations."
"A feud," Cookie repeated. "And who's been winning in this feud?" She wondered if Korman had been behind the four quarters of lost earnings or if Chess had considered that possibility.
"Chess has managed to build Scents Allure to the point we became a contender again," Kate explained. "So I suppose you could say we've been gaining on them, if not winning."
"And now you think that if Korman sees you trying to make a play for the first row, he might slam down on you."
Kate hesitated. "Yes, that's right. But Chess won't listen when I try to tell him that. He's gotten cocky from being able to slip past Korman's machinations over the past few years. He's putting himself at so much risk with this launch. He's making us terribly vulnerable."
Cookie thought of the extent of Chess's personal financial vulnerability. He'd taken out a second mortgage on his house, even his car. She doubted he'd told his mother as much. "I think," Cookie carefully explained, "Chess has decided his only choice is to fight."
Kate closed her eyes. She appeared uncharacteristically fragile and alone. "He should just hold on to the classics," she murmured softly. "They'll come back again. If he'd only give them time."
"Oh, Kate." Cookie put her hand over Kate's on the cup. "Please don't worry."
Kate's eyes opened wide. "I have everything to worry about, everything to lose. Unless—Cookie. Don't marry him!"
Cookie drew her hand back. "You shouldn't ask me that. Those shares are mine, Kate. My father left them to me." They were an inheritance she hadn't thought to collect. But now that she was, she intended to take the very best care of them she could.
Kate leaned over the table. "I'll find you someone else to marry. Someone...malleable. Safe. You can have your shares. Just don't vote them Chess's way."
Malleable and safe. The words perfectly described each of her boyfriends over the years. Cookie wondered why those adjectives didn't sound particularly attractive when referring to a husband. "I can't do what you want, Kate. I believe Chess's take on the situation, and besides, I've already given him my word."
"Your word." Kate laughed bitterly. "That doesn't have any meaning to him. Honor, loyalty. He doesn't even mind that he's stabbing his own mother in the back."
If Kate had thought this mode of attack would win Cookie to her side, she was sadly mistaken. Cookie felt an immediate flare of indignation on Chess's behalf. She knew what it was like to have a parent think the worst of you. "Chess hasn't stabbed anyone in the back."
Kate rose and shot a haughty look down at Cookie. "Is that so? Just you wait, Miss Thibideaux. Just you wait until you are his legal wife. Then we'll see. Few walk away unscathed from an encounter with Chester Bradshaw." There was something strangely close to pride in this pronouncement. At the same time, Kate was trembling.
With some shock, Cookie realized the older woman was not actually angry but scared. Extremely scared.
"Don't imagine you'll be able to wrap him around your little finger, Rebecca." Kate's face was strained with this show of bravado. "I've taught him better than that. And make very, very sure that you don't give him your heart." Her wine-colored lips twisted into a facsimile of a smile. "Because he won't ever give it back to you."
Cookie turned and watched Kate's departure from the Italian café in some awe. The lady certainly knew how to make an exit. For a while afterwards Cookie sat there, nursing her caffè latte and watching the sun hit the vintage San Francisco photos on the wall. She was in no danger of giving Chess her heart. But she was beginning to think that Kate was right about at least one thing.
There was more to this mess than Chess knew.
~~~
She was good. Damn good.
Anxious to catch Cookie after her show, Chess had arrived so early that he decided to buy a ticket and watch the thing. Now, even trying to be objective about it, taking into account the bias he might have in favor of his stepsister, he had to admit that Cookie stole the show.
There was a vibrancy about her. Every time she was in the room, it shimmered with her presence. Maybe it was the casting, the luck
of the draw in the character she got to play. But Chess had a feeling that even if Cookie were in a role other than the outrageously slutty Theodora Scampi, the outcome would be the same. She'd be the one everyone in the room would watch.
Every male in the room, in particular, he grumbled to himself, noticing the leers her low-cut gown inspired. There was one fellow in particular, a heavy, middle-weight patron whose eyes nearly bugged out of his head when Cookie passed by him during one campy scene.
Chess would have liked to shove those eyes back where they belonged.
Good God. I'm acting jealous.
Chess's breath sucked in, and his attention slipped from the action of the play. He was never possessive of women. On the contrary, when he entered an affair he made sure to contract as few emotional ties as possible. It was cleaner that way.
But something was different now.
Hell, yes, it was different. Chess released his held breath. He was getting married.
Following a wine and cheese intermission, the show resumed in the central hall, which was staged to look like a giant drawing room. The big room vibrated. Of course. Cookie was in it.
The dialogue had just begun when two shots rang out. Cookie screamed. A spot of blood erupted on the bosom of her gown, another one in the center of her forehead.
Every drop of adrenaline Chess owned shot to the surface. He crouched down, ready to jump to her rescue. Only because his eyes were fixed on Cookie and he did not whirl to find where the shots had come from, did he catch the wobbly finger she pointed toward an actor in a bowler hat and a sandy moustache.
Wearing a diabolical and very staged smile, the actor patted his vest pocket, where a distinct bulge could be seen.
By that time, Cookie's incredibly noisy dying scene had drawn back the attention of the audience.
Ruefully, Chess relaxed. The shooting had only been part of the play.
It took a while for his adrenaline to die down, though, at least as long as it took Theodora Scampi to die. During that span of time, Chess took another look at himself. His immediate, gut instinct had been to protect her. He would have protected her anyway, even before last night's agreement, but there was something different about it now. Just like the jealousy.
He was thinking of Cookie as his.
~~~
Cookie was wiping the stage blood off her face when Chess walked into the dressing room. The room instantly changed. There was a tension, a charge. Truthfully, there'd always been this tension between herself and Chess. But it wasn't until now, after her conversation with Luther, that Cookie wondered about the source of the tension.
She drew her glance from his image in her mirror. Maybe the charge she felt came from the host of buried emotion in him. From an early age she'd learned to pick up on that. Her father, too, had never let his emotions show. Ironically, his behavior had probably been behind Cookie's yearning for the emotion-rich life of an actress.
"You didn't stay to see the end." Not being one to bury her emotions, she didn't bother disguising her disappointment.
Chess shrugged as he approached the counter where she sat. "I already know who the murderer is."
"You do?" No one was supposed to know the identity of the murderer as early in the play as Theodora's death. "Who do you think?"
"The guy with the sandy moustache. What is that stuff?" Chess watched in the mirror as she removed the last of the blood.
"Red dish detergent, peanut butter, and some other odd ingredients. How did you figure out the culprit?"
"I saw you point at him." There was a peculiar expression on Chess's face as he met her eyes in the mirror. "How do you make it look like you're bleeding?"
"Peter really does shoot at me. With pellets full of the blood stuff." Cookie gave a rueful look down at the red spot on the velvet of her dress. "And I think he'd better go back to target practice. This is the fourth time in a month he's hit the dress. The cleaning bills are getting ridiculous."
Chess put a large, strong hand on her shoulder.
She jumped. She hadn't expected the weighty touch—nor the sparks of sensation it shot down her arms. Not once had Chess touched her before that afternoon at the cemetery. Now he'd done so at least four times, not that she was counting.
"Rebecca," he said, "who makes sure there are only pellets in the gun?"
Cookie's eyes widened. "Good grief. You don't think Peter would shoot real bullets at me?"
"I want to know what kind of safety measures you take."
He was completely serious. Forget the play, forget what kind of performance Cookie had given. All Chess wanted to know was who took care of feeding the gun with blood pellets. "The stage manager does that. You want to talk to him?"
"Yes." The word was clipped.
Cookie hid her disappointment in sarcasm. "Afraid of losing your meal ticket?"
His hand tightened on her shoulder. "Forgive me. I've never been much good at make-believe."
That's right. All-business Chess. Cookie's disappointment dissipated, and she found herself smiling as she reached for the eye makeup remover.
"That strikes you as funny?"
"I was just thinking that now I know what my dad would have thought of the play." Cookie laughed. "Who takes care of the gun?"
Chess finally took his hand from her shoulder, leaving her skin feeling a little cold there.
"The play was silly. I'm sure David would agree." He turned to look about the rest of the dressing room. "But you were very good."
The compliment sounded like an afterthought, tossed out carelessly, but joy burst inside her anyway.
She cleared her throat and tried to contain the ridiculous emotion. "I was surprised to see you in the audience. I didn't think it would be your cup of tea."
Chess leaned a hip against the counter. "I heard Kate cornered you today."
She shot him a glance. So that's why he was here. Even if he'd liked the play, he hadn't come specifically to watch her in it. Of course not. "You want to find out what damage she might have done."
His expression tightened. "I assume she accused me of all manner of devious and malicious intentions. I'd like to find out how much of it you've been persuaded to believe."
Cookie lowered her gaze and stuck her fingers in a jar of moisturizer. The freeze between Kate and Chess was something that had been around since the time Kate had married her father. Cookie had always assumed the coldness was the result of some incredible disagreement that had occurred before the Thibideauxes came on the scene. But now she was beginning to wonder just how far back it went.
"Actually, she had quite a few nice things to say about you," Cookie claimed, rubbing moisturizer over her right eye.
Chess went still. "She did?"
"She said that if anyone could pull this off, it would have to be you." Cookie took a tissue and wiped her right eye free of mascara and eye shadow. "But she seemed to have a problem with this rival of yours. What was the name—?"
"Korman." There was a new tension in Chess's voice, the sound of a man ready to go to battle.
"Yes. Anyway, she seemed to be in unholy terror of the man."
"I can handle Korman." Absently, Chess picked up Cookie's jar of moisturizer and pinned her with his gaze. "What else did she say?"
"Let's see." Cookie didn't think he'd be very interested in Kate's assessment that his bride wouldn't be able to wrap Chess around her little finger. "She said something about the classics. That you ought to stick by the classics. What are the classics?"
He abruptly straightened from his position leaning against the counter. Her moisturizer was still in his hand. For an instant she was afraid he was going to hurl it across the room. With an apparently heroic effort, he replaced the jar on the counter next to her. "The classics are the formulas Scents Allure has used for the past seventy-five years. They're well known, require minimal advertising, and have a stable market. They've been our bread and butter since before I was born."
In the mirror Cookie note
d the repressed rage in the small part of his face she could see. "But, suddenly, this year, they let you down," she quietly observed.
He turned, very slowly, and stared at her. Cookie was sure she never wanted anyone to look at her in such a manner ever again. It was as though he wanted to open her up and see what was inside.
"Do you know what went wrong with the classics?" Cookie asked.
His expression turned both baffled and resigned. "You aren't going to stop, are you? All right, all right. Get dressed while I go find that stage manager. Then I have something to show you."
He didn't wait for her acquiescence but was already out the door, confident he'd be able to find such personage without any help from her.
Cookie turned back to the mirror. One eye was clean, the other still dark with makeup. The imbalance served to accent the look of bemusement on her face. Chess was hell-bent on chewing out the stage manager about the gun. She didn't know whether to find that irritating or amusing.
But it did look as though she was going to find out, after all, what it was like to be something that belonged to Chester Bradshaw.
CHAPTER FIVE
There weren't many drugstores that were still operating at the hour Cookie went home from the theater, but Chess found one with its doors still open way up Market Street. It was a chain operation, big and extremely well lit.
"What you want to show me is in SaveWell?" Cookie asked.
After turning off the engine, Chess brought the parking brake up with a vengeance. Under the streetlights, the muscle that leapt in his jaw was clearly visible. "That's exactly where it is."
After locking the car, Chess led the way through the glass entry doors with ground-eating strides.
Cookie had to hurry to catch up to him as he made straight for the cosmetics aisle.
He came to an abrupt stop there and turned.
Cookie nearly ran into him.
"This is, indeed, SaveWell," Chess informed her. "A discount drugstore. This is not where Scents Allure sells its fine fragrances."
Call it Love Page 6