Carolina Heat

by Barth, Christi

  “All the stories I tell you, you pick that one to remember?” He turned to Annabelle and explained. “With that project I was in Greece, translating ancient Greek, handwritten texts into modern Greek to compare with a dozen published translations. There were twenty different texts all referencing a single sentence, but each with a slightly different interpretation. What’s more, I also had to translate my findings into Egyptian for my client. So yeah, it took a little time.”

  “One sentence, huh? Must have been important,” Annabelle said, tongue firmly tucked in her cheek. It was entertaining to watch the laconic man disappear behind a façade of puffed up pride and righteous indignation. He was very sexy when temper flashed in his dark black eyes.

  “To my client, certainly. It concerned dynastic rights of a harbor and would’ve affected the breadth of his current holdings.”

  “Would have?”

  “Didn’t turn out the way he planned. Very unhappy with my final results. Things got a little dicey toward the end. I still have a scar to remind me—” he tapped a thin white line along the side of his jaw, “—but all Jilly got out of the story was how it took me three weeks to work on one sentence.”

  Jillian had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry, Mark.”

  “Sure, I prefer going up against a stack of dusty books, but I do know how to finesse answers out of a laptop. Can’t hack into anything top secret like Jonathan, but I can take a whack at it.”

  Annabelle’s voice held regret. It was obvious Mark wanted do this, but she couldn’t spare him. “Actually, you can’t. I need you to help me with the book. You said you’d probably be able to recognize at least some of the names. It’ll give us a leg up from me slogging through it by myself. And it has to be our priority.”

  Mark dipped his head in acknowledgement. “You’re right. Just trying to cover all our bases.” A mischievous smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. “There’s still the fun of confronting Bellamy tonight. I guess I can look forward to the challenge of squeezing information from him in the middle of the ball. Cracking the rock hard façade of a career politician.”

  “Whatever gets you through the day,” Annabelle laughed.

  Mark sat down in one of the gilt Chivari chairs. “I noticed something when you were on the phone. You mentioned your cover was rock solid.”

  “I think it is. Well, except for whoever shot at us. They probably have their suspicions about my visit,” she noted.

  “Very funny. You said Mrs. Haley was spreading the word all over town about putting up a famous reporter?”

  “She came back from a garden club tea, or a historical club thing—honestly, I can’t keep them straight. Anyway, she said she told all the girls at her meeting.”

  Mark jumped back up and began to pace as he worked through the connections in his head. “Let’s make this easy on ourselves. Let’s assume one of the members at the meeting is our Varina Howell. Maybe after the little stunt at Charles Towne failed and we left town, she was stuck. Went to the meeting, where Mrs. Haley conveniently gave them the name of your employer. She tried to find you by calling the magazine. That’s who tracked you down,” he said, smacking his hand on a table in triumph. Jillian winced as the china danced, and he quickly removed his hand. “Figured if she got your cell phone number, she could lure you someplace without leaving any tracks.”

  “This week?” asked Ashby, sitting up a little straighter.

  “Obviously this week. She’s only been here a week,” Jillian snapped back.

  “Give me a break,” he said, with a remarkable amount of calm. “I’m onto something here. This Wednesday was the Daughters of Charleston meeting. I’m sure of it. My mom’s car was being worked on, so I drove her right here and picked her up two hours later.”

  “The timing’s more than coincidental. It fits perfectly. We left for Richmond on Thursday. Ralph got the call, but he stonewalled her. She got desperate, had to play it a little looser, and left the cookies at the B&B.” Annabelle felt a rush. They’d been connecting the dots left and right, but hadn’t been able to see the picture until now. In a matter of minutes, their suspect base had narrowed to less than a hundred people. The odds were finally in their favor.

  Mark held up a hand. “Whoa. Before we rush off half-cocked to interrogate the ladies of the D of C with rubber hoses, do you know if your mom had any other club things this week?”

  Ashby shook his head. “I know she didn’t. Her car was in the shop all week.” He began to tick items off on his fingers. “I took her to the beauty parlor, the grocery store twice, the library, and the flower store. That was it until she got her car back yesterday morning. And not a moment too soon.”

  Jillian cleared her throat. “I liked Mark’s attempt to be the voice of reason. Maybe it’s selfish, but you’re talking about an organization which is my current client. My client who still owes me an extremely large final payment I don’t collect until tonight. And I know these women; I grew up around all of them. The Daughters of Charleston is a very old, very proper group of women. Members barely swat flies, let alone commit murder.”

  Mark shook his head as he sat back down. “Doesn’t work that way. Some of the worst psychopaths in history were described by their neighbors as being kind, unassuming, and gentle.”

  “Crimes of passion aren’t always about love. More often than not, it’s the passion for a cause or a belief which drives someone to extraordinary measures.” Annabelle ran through a mental list of examples, but the dejected look on Jillian’s face made her rethink. Although fascinating, stories she’d written of a mother who smothered her children or a man who poisoned a village’s only drinking well were not what Jillian needed to hear right now. She decided to take a straightforward approach.

  “Jilly, the facts point to someone in the D of C. I know you see it, too.”

  “I know. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around, because there’s already so much jumbled in there.” She patted her head and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s been a long week.”

  “So now that we’ve fed you, Annabelle and I will clear out. Give you a chance to spot check everything for the hundredth time.” Mark carefully eased his chair back into place at the ornately set table.

  “Oh, but you can’t leave yet. I have to give you your costumes. You’re not walking in this door tonight in anything that isn’t completely period. I even rented you shoes.”

  “You didn’t have to go to such trouble,” Mark protested. “I still have my costume from three years ago.”

  “That ragtag thing? I think your mother donated it to the high school drama club when she cleaned out the attic. And it wasn’t any trouble. I got everything from a production company that filmed a Civil War movie here a month ago. I did their wrap party, and got friendly with the costumer.”

  “Too friendly,” Ashby glowered.

  Her laughter pealed through the room. “Are you really going to hassle me about him again? Malique is a Hollywood costumer. He’s as gay as they come.”

  “You two were swilling those little pink drinks in a corner all night long. He had his hands all over you. Didn’t look right.”

  “Yes, we drank pomegranate martinis while discussing the two boyfriends he’s rather successfully juggling. I told him about the ball, and he agreed to leave me a handful of costumes to be loaned out to very special friends. Of course, I kept the best one for myself, but I promise you won’t be disappointed.” Jillian rushed out of the room.

  “This is new,” Mark drawled.

  “What?”

  “This jealous act you have going.”

  “You should have seen them,” Ashby blustered. “The guy had his arm draped around her all night. He was practically sitting in her lap.”

  “So what? You’ve paraded dates in front of each other for years. What happened to the pact you made last night to forget you ever kissed?”

  Annabelle loved watching this interplay. She had people she met for drinks and dinner in cities all over
the world. But no circle of friends like this. At least, not anymore. Not with Vanessa gone. Ashby fighting his clear attraction to Jillian gave her just the lift she needed.

  Ashby shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “No. I can’t. It’s too weird. You’re like her brother.”

  “Until recently, you matched that description, too. Which is why I need details.”

  “Not in front of Annabelle. Wouldn’t be right.”

  Seriously? He had to be joking. Annabelle poked him in his sweaty biceps. “You’ve watched us climb all over each other for days now. There are no secrets here.”

  “And we’ve got about two minutes before Jillian comes back, so quit stalling,” Mark ordered.

  “Fine. Man, you can be annoying. I forget it when you’re gone for so long.”

  Mark nudged Annabelle. “See? Lame attempt at an insult? He’s still trying to stall.”

  “All right. Something happened. It’s been sort of simmering for a while. Things came to a head.”

  “Wow. Do you even know the definition of the word details? Because I don’t know when I’ve ever heard a string of sentences this vague.”

  Men could be such idiots. “Ashby, really. Stop beating around the bush. And Mark, if you stop hassling him, maybe he’d be more willing to open up to you.”

  “Stay out of this, Annabelle,” Mark snapped.

  “Please. You’re not getting anywhere. And frankly, it’s painful to watch. Hard to believe you’ve been friends for years when this is how you communicate. I’ve known Jillian for a matter of days, and I could get more out of her in two minutes touching up our lipstick in front of a bathroom mirror.”

  “It’s not a contest,” Ashby protested. “Man, you guys really are perfect for each other. Could you be any more competitive?”

  “Stalling again?” Mark shot back.

  “Christ, you don’t give up!”

  “Not when it’s important.”

  “She’s terrific, and it was way more than a kiss.”

  Mark waggled his eyebrows in a decent impression of Groucho Marx.

  “Cut it out. We didn’t have sex, if that’s what you’re implying.” He began to pace, hands clasped behind his back. “Kissing her opened a door to a room I didn’t know existed. But don’t say anything. Jillian doesn’t know. It’s complicated, not like you and Annabelle.”

  Annabelle doubled over in laughter. She laughed so hard tears began to stream down her cheeks.

  Mark slapped Ashby on the back. “See, that was all I needed. Was it so hard?”

  “Was what hard?” Jillian popped back into the room. Her arms overflowed with garment bags, and she was followed by another girl similarly laden.

  “Nothing.” Ashby took the heavy bags from her. “For an almost two hundred year old woman, Varina sure gets around. She’s one busy lady. Wonder if she’ll come to the ball tonight?”

  “Funny, I was wondering the same thing,” said Annabelle wryly.

  “Did somebody hit you both on the head while I was gone? Varina Howell is long dead, and she certainly isn’t making an appearance at my ball.”

  “Calm down, Jillian. We’re not suggesting a séance after the salad course.” Annabelle gave her a reassuring pat. “I promised you I wouldn’t do anything to disrupt your big night, and I intend to stand by my word.”

  “Thank you. My mother’s already pushed my stress level as far as it can go. I never thought the words would come out of my mouth, but working for her on this truly isn’t worth the money.”

  Mark looked surprised. “Harsh words from our little capitalist. What happened to your Machiavellian approach to profit?”

  “The end justifies the means? Not this time. Mother’s always been difficult, but this past week has been one for the record books. Exactly why I don’t need a ghost showing up at the stroke of midnight.”

  Ashby shrugged. “A ghost would be entertaining, at least. I meant, what if whoever’s been impersonating Varina Howell does show up tonight?”

  “Not a chance.” Jillian’s answer was swift. “Everyone in attendance has spent years researching their family tree, not to mention every possible connection with the Civil War. The name is too recognizable. She’d never get away with it.”

  Annabelle worried her lip. She’d worked this out while Mark and Ashby argued. “Yes, but just because she doesn’t call herself Varina Howell doesn’t mean she won’t show up. This is your biggest social event of the year, which means all the members will attend. Since we now believe it has to be a member who’s been masquerading as Varina, whoever it is will probably be here tonight.”

  “I don’t see how it helps. We can’t walk up to Bellamy, accidentally call his wife Varina, and hope nobody notices.”

  “True. I usually try to be a little more subtle.”

  “Don’t worry.” Mark looked at his watch. “We’ve still got four hours to come up with a better plan.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Annabelle was shocked to find Jonathan propped up and typing furiously on a laptop. Righteous anger combined with worry bubbled over in her, in almost equal parts. Like a typical man, he didn’t have the sense of a toddler when it came to his health. Still far too pale, he certainly didn’t appear as though he’d spent the day resting. He didn’t stop typing or even look up when she entered.

  “Give me a minute, Belle.”

  “Where did you get a computer? Last I heard, they don’t deliver them to your door like Chinese take-out.”

  “Borrowed it from a candy striper—if they still call them that. What matters is she loves the Shins and OKGO as much as I do, not to mention my killer blue eyes, so I got my flirt on with her. An hour later she finished her shift and brought me her laptop. Don’t worry, I’ll give it back once you’re done holding mine hostage.”

  “You need to rest,” Annabelle insisted.

  “I got bored. Plus, I got an idea. This thing with Bellamy was tickling inside my head all day. I think I’m on to something here…” his voice trailed off as he finally looked up. “What the hell happened to you? You both look like something 1866 threw up.”

  “Actually, more like 1855—apparently hoops were added in 1856, and Jillian likes me too much to stick me in one of those. And would it kill you to give me a compliment once a year?” Annabelle flounced in a circle to give him the full effect. Her white silk dress had a tight bodice which dipped low in front and was magically suspended just below her shoulders. The voluminous skirt was accented by a single row of large, green velvet bows. Her hair was pulled up and back, the cascade of curls tamed by one more velvet bow. And she adored it. She’d spent ten minutes staring in the mirror. Medicine and a woman’s right to vote may have been lacking back then, but they sure knew how to dress.

  Mark was equally resplendent in a severely cut dark tail coat with a mercilessly starched white cravat. He looked dark, romantic, and one hundred percent authentic.

  “I think your sister looks unbelievable.”

  “Unbelievable—yeah, the word works for me. Because nobody back home is going to believe you were dressed like this.” Jonathan shoved aside the tray table and beckoned for Annabelle to come closer. “All kidding aside, Belle, you look gorgeous.”

  “Thank you. I’ll admit it is kind of fun dressing up. Except for the corset. That is the antithesis of fun. I’m already counting the seconds until it comes off.”

  “So am I,” Mark leered.

  “You’ve got to keep those comments to a minimum in front of me. My stomach can’t take any more queasiness.”

  “Sorry. Hard to control myself when presented with such a vision of loveliness.” Mark gave a courtly bow and kissed Annabelle’s hand.

  Jonathan rolled his eyes back in his head. “Oh geez, knock it off already. In fact, do me a huge favor and run downstairs. They’re letting me eat solid food tonight, and I can’t face any of the hospital slop. Would you get me two bags of Cheetos and a Butterfingers?”

>   “That’s your idea of food? After that meal, your body’s going to turn orange.” Annabelle wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  “Well, not all of us are lucky enough to be dining on filet at a fancy gala. Yours truly is stuck here in a sheet that shows my ass every time the nurses walk me up and down the halls. I swear they’re making a game out of it. Caught two pediatric nurses hanging around the hallway, staring as I walked by.”

  “You can’t really believe the nurses are pimping out views of your ass flapping in the breeze. I mean, seriously, how could you possibly know they were from pediatrics?”

  In a gesture that hadn’t lost any of its power over the last twenty five years to equally insult and annoy, he flicked his fingers against her head. “Because their scrubs were covered in balloons and teddy bears. Don’t need a master’s degree in journalism to figure that one out. Now I refuse to have my first real food be something I can’t identify.”

  “No need to get worked up, Carlyle. Don’t want you to pass out from craving a Butterfinger. I’d be happy to run to the gift shop and buy out the place. Maybe I’ll even get you a pack of powdered sugar donuts so you’re set up for breakfast.” Mark dropped a swift kiss on Annabelle’s cheek and left the room.

  Jonathan let out a huge sigh. “I thought he’d never leave.”

  “What? You went off on a ten minute rant in favor of junk food, and you don’t even want it?”

  “Of course I do. Meant every word. But it was also a handy excuse to get rid of Mark for a couple of minutes.”

  Annabelle attempted to rein in her frustration. “Okay, I’ll bite and ask the obvious question. Why did you need to send Mark away?”

  “Because we have to have a serious brother/sister talk.”

  “We don’t do that. We haven’t since Mom and Dad died. We’re very good at witty banter and sarcasm, but we don’t do serious.”

  “Exactly. That should tell you I mean business.”

  “Well, you’ve got my attention.” What if the doctors had found something else wrong with him? She gingerly settled herself on the edge of the bed, petticoats spread everywhere. Hands folded in her lap, Annabelle was prepared for the worst.