The Engagement Party

by Barbara Boswell

  “You have amazing recall, little girl,” he growled.

  She met his eyes—they were dark and hot and challenging—and a sharp thrill tore through her. What she should be feeling was fear, Hannah admonished herself as she fairly ran down the hall to room 206. She would not be attracted to a gangster! Not even Grandmother, the soul of patience and understanding, would condone such lunacy.

  She hung his shirts inside the closet in his new room and turned to see the canvas bay lying on the floor beside the bed. A quick peek assured her that there was no one in the hall, so Hannah succumbed to temptation, pulled the zipper half open and reached into the bag.

  She examined the hardcover titles first. Inside the Criminal Mind, a textbook written by a psychiatrist. Three other books on the personalities of serial killers by three different criminologists. Was Matthew Granger a criminologist or psychologist himself, taking a vacation in Clover? If he was accustomed to the crime-infested urban scene, Clover would be a welcome change of pace for him. Her anxiety began to dissolve; she preferred this new, favorable theory.

  She next turned her attention to the paperbacks, which were all bestselling thrillers. Hannah recognized the names of the authors but hadn’t read any of the books. She preferred historical novels with plenty of romance. There were none of those in the bag.

  Delving deeper, she pulled out a beat-up copy of The First Families of South Carolina, a privately published book that also graced the shelves of the Farley family library, although that particular copy was in mint condition. There was a thick piece of folded paper in Matthew’s tattered copy, perhaps marking a page?

  Hannah turned to it. The heading at the top of the page read “The Wyndhams.” That family, who was so important, wealthy and influential within the state that they rated two entire chapters in the book, had a major branch in Clover. The collective Wyndham tribe boasted judges and senators, past and present, along with the usual assortment of attorneys and financiers. All the Wyndhams were well educated and cultured, sophisticated and socially prominent, a credit to their glorious name and history.

  Hannah knew them, of course. While the Farley family did not possess the enormous wealth and political power of the Wyndham family, the Farleys were well-bred and well connected and therefore considered worthy to socialize with the grand Wyndhams. Hannah’s oldest sister, Sarah, had gone to school with Esme Wyndham Chase; now their young daughters were friends.

  The closed and clannish upper-class social scene had never appealed to Hannah. She stared at the book and wondered why on earth Matthew Granger was reading about it.

  Her eyes flicked over the thrillers and the behavioral studies of real-life criminals. One thing was certain; he had wildly divergent tastes in books. And there wasn’t a thing in the bag having to do with insects, either. He had been kidding her and Katie, though he teased so seriously, it was difficult to tell.

  And then she saw the map. It had been there all along, although it hadn’t registered until right now that the thick folded paper, marking the chapter on the Wyndhams, was a map. She unfolded it. A map of Clover.

  Her eyes immediately focused on the red circle drawn near the outskirts of town. Beside it, handwritten in the same red ink were the words “Wyndham estate.”

  Hannah drew a sharp breath. Why would he mark the Wyndham estate on this map? It wasn’t as if it was a tourist attraction! Her imagination began to conjure up yet another scenario, supplanting her comfortable criminologist-on-holiday theory.

  What if Matthew Granger was a cat burglar who’d come to Clover to rob the Wyndhams? She had been to the family mansion and knew it was a virtual treasure trove filled with priceless antiques and paintings and objets d’art, which had been collected by generations of Wyndhams. It was an antiques dealer’s dream, though Hannah had never, ever approached any Wyndham about selling anything. They would’ve considered any commercial interest crass and ill-bred, and Hannah knew it.

  But suppose Matthew Granger had been hired by some fanatical dealer or collector determined to possess what the Wyndhams would never sell? Or perhaps he was acting on his own, hoping to make a killing in the black market, which thrived on stolen treasures? Every cat burglar she’d ever seen in the movies dressed in black, just like Matthew, the better to sneak around on rooftops in the dark, she presumed.

  And then there were the Wyndham jewels, a fabulous collection that had graced the throats and wrists and fingers of generations of Wyndham women. Just last month at a charity ball, Hannah had seen the stunning heirloom emerald necklace and matching earrings worn by the incomparable Alexandra Wyndham, that genteel paragon of beauty and class.

  She swallowed. That necklace alone could secure a jewel thief a luxurious retirement—if he could remove it from the Wyndham estate. Was Matthew Granger here to try?

  Hannah closed her eyes and tried to still the wild pounding of her heart. What should she do? Alert Sheriff Maguire to warn the Wyndhams? But she had no evidence of any wrongdoing or even potential wrongdoing, only her own anxious speculations. She could almost hear Ford Maguire tell her so. It didn’t help that he still thought of her as a flighty little schoolgirl who’d played with his younger sister, Lucy.

  Matthew’s and Katie’s voices sounded in the hall. Hannah glanced down at the map and the book in her hand. She couldn’t let him catch her going through his things!

  Just as she slipped the map back into the book, she noticed a name written in ink at the bottom of the chapter’s opening page. Alexandra Wyndham. Hannah gasped. She’d envisioned Alexandra in her emeralds, and now her name had turned up in Matthew Granger’s book. As his primary target? The coincidence was creepy enough to make her hair stand on end!

  Matthew and Katie were very near, practically outside the door. Hannah had just enough time to rezip the bag and plop down on the edge of the bed. She crossed her legs, affecting a languorous pose while studying her crimson-painted fingernails.

  Matthew’s eyes brushed over her, lingering on her lips before lowering to the fullness of her breasts straining against the silver bodice of her dress. Her short shirt had ridden high, exposing her well-shaped silken legs.

  Katie glanced uneasily from Hannah’s seductive pose to Matthew’s fixed stare.

  “My nail polish is chipped,” Hannah said with a vexed sigh. She hoped she sounded sufficiently insipid, like a self-absorbed idiot who would never bother with a follow-up of that suspicious bag.

  Unfortunately, Matthew saw right through her act. “If it really is chipped, which I doubt, you probably did it trying to break into my bag,” he drawled.

  Hannah’s head shot up and she met his cool, assessing gaze. He was carrying his suits, and the sight of the light gray coat—the one with the gun in its pocket—shattered her studied composure. “I did not!” she snapped, automatically hiding her hands with ten unchipped nails behind her back. “I don’t care what’s in your stupid bag!”

  “What do you think, Katie?” Matthew turned to her. “Doth the lady protest too much?”

  Katie opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, choosing not to take sides between her paying guest and her fellow bridesmaid.

  Hannah recrossed her legs. Matthew was watching her very closely, reading every nuance in her expression, taking in her edgy, agitated behavior. She was not well skilled when it came to deception, Hannah thought glumly. She would make a terrible criminal and an even worse sleuth.

  Katie, who had been pulling on Matthew’s wheeled suitcase by its strap, hoisted the case onto the bed beside Hannah. “Well, we’ll get out of your way and let you get settled here in your new room, Matthew,” Katie said heartily. “Thank you so much for your understanding and your cooperation. I hope the rest of your stay in Clover will be—”

  “How long do you intend to stay in Clover, Matthew?” Hannah cut in. She forced herself to rise slowly to her feet and then sauntered toward the door, deliberately making her every movement graceful and sensual. Matthew’s dark gaze never wavered from her. It w
as as if she was putting on a performance for a private audience of one man only.

  “My stay is open-ended. I’ll be here as long as it takes to get the job done.”

  “The job being your insect research, of course,” Hannah baited him.

  “Of course.” He shot her an arrogant grin, his eyes gleaming with challenge.

  He knows I know he’s up to no good, Hannah thought, her nerves tingling. She pictured him casing the Wyndham estate. Pulling off the heist. The scene unfolded in her mind like a movie, with a black-clad Matthew Granger playing the lead. Her own role was more nebulous. Was she the gullible girl seduced into thinking the villain was really some sort of redeemable antihero? Or the sharp lady who set the trap and brought the felon to justice?

  There was a loud whoop from the party downstairs. Katie, remembering her tenant’s expressed irritation over the noise level, caught her lower lip between her teeth and took a bolstering breath. “Matthew, I want to invite you downstairs to join the party. If you’re going to be in Clover for a while, you might enjoy meeting some—”

  “Why would he need to meet people when he’s here to study bugs?” Hannah interjected scornfully.

  “We have plenty of food and drinks. Maybe you would like some refreshments, Matthew?” Katie grated through her teeth. It was difficult playing the gracious hostess when Hannah kept lobbing verbal grenades at her guest. “You’re very welcome to join us if you wish,” she added cordially.

  “Thanks for your kind invitation.” Matthew’s smile was genuine when he addressed Katie, but transformed into a sardonic smirk when he turned to Hannah. “But I’m not feeling particularly social. I’ll stay up here and unpack.”

  “Maybe you’ll get lucky and find a spider whose web is chock-full of flies,” said Hannah. “That should make an exciting opening chapter for your book.”

  Katie winced, caught Hannah’s arm and firmly hustled her out of the room. “If you should change your mind, please feel free to join us downstairs, Matthew,” Katie called over her shoulder. She half dragged Hannah down the hall. “I realize that manhandling a Farley defies social convention, and for that, I apologize,” muttered Katie. “But, Hannah, I’m desperate. I couldn’t let you start in on him again! Matthew Granger is a paying customer. He could probably sue me for that leaky roof fiasco, and last but far from least, I need his business. I have the roof to repair and plenty of vacancies until next month when I’m finally fully booked for the rest of the summer. Please try not to alienate a dependable source of income for this place.”

  “Katie, surely you don’t believe that ridiculous story about his being here to write about insect life in Clover?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he is. I’ve never seen an—an insectologist, or whatever they’re called, have you? Why couldn’t he be one?”

  “Why would an insectologist have a bag filled with crime books, a map of Clover and a copy of The First Families of South Carolina?”

  “Oh, Hannah, you did go snooping in his bag!” Katie was aghast.

  “I didn’t have time to get to his notebooks,” Hannah lamented. “Or those files. I wonder what was in them?”

  “Hannah, the man is my guest!” Katie cried. “It’s bad enough that the first room I put him in was like being lodged under Niagara Falls, but then you insult him and search his things! I wouldn’t blame him if he checked out—oh, I hope he won’t!”

  “Because you consider him a dependable source of income?” Hannah paused on the stairs to scrutinize Katie’s flushed face. “Or because you think he’s—he’s...” Her voice trailed off and she actually blushed.

  “Oh, yes, he definitely is, isn’t he?” Katie laughed. An incoherent Hannah was a rare an amusing sight. “And he is obviously attracted to you, Hannah. I thought he was going to pounce when he saw you stretched out on his bed.”

  “I didn’t want him to know that I’d looked into his bag. I was trying to distract him. Do you think it worked?”

  “I think the contents of his bag were the last thing on his mind when he was looking at you, Hannah. But if you’re so certain he isn’t what he says, why is he here? And why the need for subterfuge?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out,” Hannah asserted resolutely.

  “Hannah, from what I’ve seen of Matthew Granger so far, I wouldn’t recommend, uh, getting on his bad side.” Katie looked concerned. “We already know he’s quick to anger, and he’s aggressive and demanding, too. He is not the most agreeable guest I’ve ever had, but with the leaky roof to fix and the sump pump in the basement on the verge of giving out, I can’t be choosy. Whoever can pay, stays. But I intend to keep well out of his way, and I’d advise you to do the same.”

  “Because you think he’s dangerous?” Hannah whispered, suddenly breathless.

  The reckless glitter in her eyes disturbed Katie. “I don’t think he’s threatening in a physically harmful way. But I do detect a sense of danger about him, Hannah.”

  “So do I.” Hannah’s face was aglow. “He makes me nervous, Katie. Me! That’s never happened to me before. When I’m around him, I feel jittery, both afraid and excited at the same time. Does that make any sense?”

  “Yes.” Katie looked grim. “And those kinds of feelings and the kind of man who inspires them can be very dangerous, Hannah.” She had a haunted, faraway look in her eyes. “Emotionally dangerous,” she added bleakly.

  Hannah stared at her, intrigued. Katie was three years her senior, slender and pretty with long, light brown hair and green eyes. Though she was warm and friendly and smiled often, during unguarded moments—like this one—there was a certain sadness about her. Was it inspired by an emotionally dangerous man?

  Hannah remembered that some years ago Katie had seriously dated a man named Luke Cassidy, but he’d left town and never come back. Though Katie had never revealed what happened with Luke, the general consensus in Clover was that she’d had her heart broken. But nobody had any real facts, and Katie’s firmly quiet reserve did not invite intimate questions. Not even gossip maven Jeannie Potts dared to pry. This was the most personal conversation Hannah had ever had with Katie and she was tempted to take it further.

  But before she could ask any questions about men in general or Luke in particular, Abby Long joined them on the steps. Slightly tipsy, she took Katie and Hannah by their hands. “I was looking for you two,” Abby exclaimed effusively. “Ben and Sean want to have a shag contest. Katie, do you still have those old shag records?”

  “As if I would ever get rid of such nostalgic treasures!” Katie grinned, her somber mood evaporating. “I have Carolina Beach Classics, volumes one and two, and all four volumes of Shagger’s Delight. Why, those records are icons of the glorious past, handed down to me for safekeeping.”

  “Maybe I should think about carrying them in my shop, along with the Victorian lady’s writing desk and the French Egyptian Empire chest and the Kestner baby dolls,” kidded Hannah.

  “Katie, go get the records,” Abby ordered. “Sean, Tommy Clarke and Zack Abernathy are all demanding to have you as a partner, Hannah. You can either choose one or enter the contest with each guy.”

  “Suppose I choose none of the above?” Hannah’s eyes danced. “I think I’d rather have that adorable hunk, Ben Harper, as my partner in the contest. Do you think his fiancée will mind?”

  “That jealous witch?” Abby grinned, playing along with Hannah’s joke. “Keep away from her. She’ll get revenge by making you wear a hideous bridesmaid’s dress, say, something in puce with three hoopskirts and lots of ruffles.”

  “Anything but that!” Hannah feigned a horrified gasp. “I swear I won’t go near the man!”

  Laughing, the bride-to-be and her bridesmaids rejoined the party.

  * * *

  It took Matthew less than ten minutes to unpack, then he unzipped his canvas bag and pulled out his copy of The First Families of South Carolina. He turned to the index, found the name Farley and smiled slightly. It didn’t surpri
se him that the dark-haired beauty was a member of an affluent, highborn clan. She not only possessed the natural confidence of one blessed by money, brains and looks but also that intangible aura of class and privilege.

  But Hannah Farley added sexual magnetism to the package; she had a provocative sparkle that other high-society types he’d met had lacked. That silver dress of hers with its halter top and short, tight skirt and those wickedly high-heeled sandals were unlikely to be seen at any proper country-club affair or society ball.

  The jolt of pure desire that hit him caught him off guard, and he had to steel himself against it. He had not come to Clover to have a fling with the sultry little Southern belle with skin as soft and white as the magnolia blossoms that seemed to bloom in every yard in town. He was here to discover who he really was....

  Matthew opened the top bureau drawer and removed the framed photograph he’d put there. The photo had been one of his mother’s favorites, always displayed on a small mahogany end table in the living room wherever they had lived. It was a five-by-seven color portrait of Galen and Eden Granger and their dark-haired, dark-eyed five-year-old son, Matthew, who gazed solemnly into the camera lens.

  He had always been a serious child, intense and focused from an early age, and had grown into a responsible, hardworking student and athlete who’d made his proud parents even prouder. Matthew thought of the milestones—his graduations from high school, college and law school. His father, a camera buff, had been there to photograph the events, his mother smiling adoringly at her son. They had been there for the smaller everyday things, too—school programs, Little League games, helping with homework, a game of catch in the backyard. No son could have had a more loving, devoted set of parents. Matthew had been the center of their lives, and he knew it.

  He had a shelf filled with albums of photos chronicling his life, from the day he’d been carried home from the hospital as a newborn to the family shots beside the gaily decorated Christmas tree snapped six months ago. It was the last Christmas he would ever spend with his mother and father. They had been killed in a car accident just two weeks later.