Doggone

by Herkert, Gabriella

  ‘‘Thank you, Mrs. McNamara.’’

  ‘‘Please call me Alyssa.’’

  ‘‘Or Duchess. She’ll even respond to Your Gracious Majesty,’’ Ryan said, kissing his mother with a loud smack. ‘‘But never to ‘hey, Ma.’ Gotta maintain those standards.’’

  ‘‘Please excuse my youngest, Sara. We dropped him often as a child.’’ Alyssa moved her gilt-edged program and pulled her napkin from its ceramic ring. She placed it on her lap, exchanging a look with Ryan.

  He clutched at his chest and staggered a little. I looked back and forth like it was a tennis match. The diamonds were real, but so was the affection. The clothes might cost a fortune but they wore them like jeans. I watched Connor grinning and shaking his head. Whatever our differences, he’d chosen me.

  Connor reached for my chair, but Ryan raced around the table to pull it out for me with a big show.

  ‘‘Excuse me,’’ Connor said pointedly.

  ‘‘There’s no excuse for him,’’ Ryan stage-whispered to me. ‘‘There isn’t even a reason for him.’’

  ‘‘You’re in a good mood,’’ Dougal remarked as I slid into my chair. Ryan took his seat on one side of me and Connor on the other.

  ‘‘It’s my sunny personality shining through,’’ Ryan offered.

  ‘‘It’s too much caffeine,’’ Alyssa replied. ‘‘In addition to making it impossible to take you out in public, it will probably stunt your growth.’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry I’m late,’’ Siobhan said, coming up to the table breathlessly.

  This wasn’t good. I exchanged a look with Ryan. Jack was probably coming back.

  ‘‘Sib, I thought you were giving this a miss.’’ Ryan kissed her cheek.

  ‘‘It’s the social event of the year. I couldn’t possibly miss this.’’

  ‘‘Honey—’’ Connor began, so I stomped his foot discreetly.

  ‘‘You look great, Siobhan.’’ She did, too. She had a little color in her cheeks, although that could be the glass of wine in her hand. She was dressed in a pale green dress that suited her. The rubies were probably real. If she was upset, she was hiding it well. If it was a facade, I was buying it. Maybe Jack would, too. It would serve the bastard right to see her beautiful and poised among his peers.

  The men stood as Siobhan went around the table exchanging hugs. She stopped and whispered into my ear, ‘‘I did it.’’

  ‘‘Did what?’’

  ‘‘Took your advice and empowered myself.’’

  I looked around the room. The cream of society. Probably a bunch of press types. Oh, no. ‘‘Good for you.’’

  ‘‘What?’’ Ryan asked.

  ‘‘Nothing for you to worry about, little brother.’’ Siobhan swept into a chair and grinned at me. ‘‘You were absolutely right.’’

  ‘‘It’s always worked for me.’’ I fanned my suddenly hot face with the program. What we needed was a nice, quiet evening. No drama. I hid my face with the heavy parchment. Oh, brother. Literally.

  ‘‘What?’’ Ryan asked, louder.

  ‘‘Mind your own business,’’ Siobhan told him, shaking out her napkin and putting it in her lap.

  Connor exchanged a look with his parents, then shrugged. Better not to tell him. At least not now. There were things brothers shouldn’t hear in crowded rooms. I might be an only child, but even I knew that. Siobhan winked at me. What the hell? If it was making her feel better, it was worth it.

  ‘‘Do you know?’’ Ryan questioned Connor.

  ‘‘I’ve got no idea.’’

  ‘‘You know, though, don’t you?’’ Ryan leaned close to me, and I met him halfway, trying to keep a straight face.

  ‘‘I might. But if I told you, I’d have to kill you.’’

  Everyone laughed. Ryan tried to fight it, but had to give in. Dougal smiled at me, his eyebrows lifted. I thought I might see actual approval on his patrician features. Alyssa was a tougher nut. She’d laughed, but her eyes were still assessing. Not that it mattered. When they realized I’d corrupted their vulnerable daughter, I was dead meat.

  ‘‘I’ll tell my mother on you.’’

  ‘‘Very evolved, dear,’’ Alyssa offered as the waiter came to fill our wineglasses.

  Dougal stood, lifting his glass and clearing his throat. ‘‘I would like to propose a toast.’’

  We lifted our glasses.

  ‘‘To Sara, for courage in the face of family, we’re proud to welcome you into the fold.’’

  ‘‘To Sara,’’ they chorused, clinking glasses.

  I was touched. I felt stupid for thinking of them as elitists. Dismissing their niceness as superficial social convention. Connor didn’t care about that stuff or he’d have told me about the money long ago. Hell, if I were rich, I’d probably tell everyone I met. But he hadn’t. Maybe he really didn’t care about the externals. And maybe he’d learned that at home.

  I hid my embarrassment by concentrating on the print. The name jumped off the page and smacked me in the head. I leaned close to Connor.

  ‘‘Uh, Con?’’

  The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘‘Uh, Sara?’’

  ‘‘Check out who’s doing the introduction of tonight’s guest of honor.’’ I pointed. ‘‘That’s got to be the same Charles Smiths, right?’’

  ‘‘Shit,’’ he said, too loudly.

  ‘‘Am I interrupting?’’ a female voice asked behind me. It wasn’t a question, and it didn’t sound like she cared if she was.

  I turned to see Dr. Gretchen Dreznik standing behind me. I recognized her from the photo in the hall. She was dressed in a silver two-piece outfit that reminded me of aluminum foil. She was in her sixties, fit in the way that only a personal trainer and a health club membership can achieve. Trailing behind her were two bland guys in nearly identical, poorly fitting tuxedoes. A regular entourage, grad-student types who followed her around and salaamed twice a day in the hopes of catching some of her grant money. Now she fit the mold of harridan mother-in-law with money.

  ‘‘No, ma’am,’’ Connor said.

  ‘‘I was looking for Jackson. He seems to have disappeared. ’’

  ‘‘Haven’t seen him,’’ Ryan said. ‘‘Have you seen him, Connor?’’

  ‘‘May I introduce my wife, Doctor?’’

  If she was related to Lily, she probably always insisted on being addressed by her title. If Connor was a product of his upbringing, so was Lily. Connor’s parents were nice and open-minded. Judging by her niece, Gretchen was a smug, class-conscious snob.

  ‘‘This is Sara Townley. Sara, meet Dr. Gretchen Dreznik. She’s the guest of honor here tonight.’’

  I offered my hand. I’d bet she was a dead-fish shaker. ‘‘How do you do?’’

  ‘‘Ah, yes. My niece mentioned something about a marriage.’’ And I was dismissed, my hand ignored. I was so glad I wasn’t going to have to stick to the make-nice-and-pump-for-information approach.

  ‘‘Of course.’’ I gave a big smile and continued to hold my hand out. I stood up and stepped closer, grasping her hand and pumping vigorously. ‘‘I’m so sorry. Connor didn’t mention that you were vision impaired.’’

  Ryan gave a strangled laugh.

  ‘‘I’m not.’’

  ‘‘Oops. Sorry again. It’s just . . . Well . . . isn’t that a lovely outfit. So, um, vibrant.’’

  Connor’s hand touched my back. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to get me to behave or showing support. His fingers slid beneath the fabric. Not behave. Definitely not.

  ‘‘And the earrings. I’m sure they’re some sort of family heirloom.’’

  Siobhan squeaked. Gretchen gave me a look to harden stone, then turned to Alyssa.

  ‘‘Have you seen Jackson?’’

  ‘‘I haven’t, Gretchen.’’ Alyssa waved a hand toward the two empty chairs. ‘‘Perhaps you would care to join us while you wait for him.’’

  Now all the knives were out. His mother might sound perfectly civil, but only a
fool would invite Gretchen to the table with me after I’d sliced and diced Lily at lunch. No, she must be doing it deliberately. She might not welcome a scene, but she wasn’t avoiding one either.

  ‘‘I am seated on the dais,’’ Gretchen informed us. ‘‘Lily will be joining us in time for dessert. I’ll be sure to send her over to say hello.’’

  ‘‘Oh, goody,’’ Ryan muttered.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ bumbling attendant number one said in a high-pitched voice. ‘‘Dr. Dreznik is receiving the Mental Health Institute’s Person of the Year honor tonight. Her talent is simply inspiring. Her family is very proud.’’

  ‘‘Her commitment to statistical research is legendary,’’ added bumbler number two.

  ‘‘Do you have a specialty?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘I am expert in delusional disorders, although naturally my work brings me into close contact with a broad spectrum of illnesses. I have recently written a paper on the growing need for social acceptance of pharmacological intervention to treat disorders evidenced by adolescents. ’’

  ‘‘You drug kids?’’ I asked.

  Connor had prepped me with everything he knew about Gretchen, which wasn’t very much. What he had known, he’d gotten mostly from Jack. Since we’d opted to spend our few hours before the party playing a very adult version of I Spy, we didn’t get a chance to run even a cursory search on Gretchen.

  ‘‘I provide parents and society with the tools necessary to modify the behavior of their uncontrollable offspring. ’’

  ‘‘That’s sporting of you,’’ I said.

  Two spots of color appeared along Gretchen’s cheek-bones. A woman not used to being challenged.

  ‘‘Please advise Jackson, should you see him, to join us directly,’’ Gretchen addressed Connor.

  ‘‘Yes, ma’am.’’

  ‘‘Alyssa. Dougal.’’ Gretchen gave them bare nods. ‘‘Miss Townley.’’ Frost dripped from each syllable.

  ‘‘It’s missus,’’ I told her.

  Without another word, Gretchen strode off with the bookends trailing behind.

  ‘‘You really hit it off with her,’’ Ryan said. ‘‘I’ve never seen old Wretch take to anybody with so much enthusiasm. You’re practically like this.’’ Ryan held up his hand with the first two fingers entwined.

  ‘‘I can’t believe you talked to her like that,’’ Siobhan whispered, her face once again pale.

  I looked around the table. ‘‘I apologize. I don’t know what got into me.’’ Other than me, of course.

  ‘‘Discernment,’’ Alyssa suggested, lifting her glass of wine.

  ‘‘She’s going to be so mad.’’ Siobhan gulped at her wine.

  ‘‘I’m sorry, Siobhan.’’ I did feel bad. Siobhan was no match for that hag. ‘‘I got carried away. I shouldn’t have been rude.’’

  ‘‘She could give you lessons, Sara,’’ Ryan objected. ‘‘Gretchen didn’t get anything she didn’t have coming.’’

  I looked at Connor, then at Siobhan.

  He put an arm around her. ‘‘It’s no big deal.’’ Siobhan looked up, then straightened, her shoulders going back.

  ‘‘You have nothing to apologize for, Sara. She’s an old battle-ax. Acts like she’s God’s gift or something. Since Jack and I are getting a divorce, she is no longer my problem. The great Dr. Gretchen Dreznik is one thing I will definitely let him keep in the settlement. That and that horrible china his mother gave us for our wedding.’’

  It was the first time I’d heard Siobhan actually use the D word. Siobhan had said ‘‘Jack and I will,’’ ‘‘my husband and I are planning,’’ and on and on.

  ‘‘There is nothing worse than ugly dinnerware,’’ Alyssa said. ‘‘We should go shopping, darling. We’ll box up all that old stuff and buy something truly stunning.’’

  ‘‘There go the credit cards.’’ Doug moaned. He winked at his daughter.

  ‘‘We’ll get some new glassware while we’re at it. There’s a glassblower near Balboa Park who’s doing marvelous things with color. You remember, Doug, the champagne flutes we got the Campbells for their anniversary last month?’’

  ‘‘Of course,’’ Dougal said, clearly not remembering any such thing. ‘‘Beautiful.’’

  ‘‘What did you do to Siobhan?’’ Connor asked me, leaning close to my ear.

  ‘‘Nothing.’’

  ‘‘Sara . . .’’

  ‘‘Nothing.’’ I held up one hand. ‘‘I swear.’’ Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  ‘‘I have ways of making you talk,’’ he said, sliding a hand under the table and onto my thigh.

  ‘‘Stop that.’’ I moved his hand to the top of the table.

  ‘‘Your parents already think I’m a nymphomanic, and rude to boot. Could we wait until tomorrow to drop my stock further?’’

  ‘‘I think Mom was impressed with your handling of Gretchen.’’

  ‘‘Don’t be ridiculous. I was a verbal Shaquille O’Neal. All elbows and body English. That woman sets my teeth on edge. I’m glad we’re not going to need her for anything. If Smiths is here, we can go direct.’’

  ‘‘True. All we have to do is isolate Smiths and have a quiet word.’’

  I nodded. ‘‘No one will even know I’m asking him if he stole a quarter of a million bucks from his own bank.’’

  ‘‘You might think about how you want to put that.’’

  ‘‘What are you two whispering about?’’ Ryan asked. ‘‘You can tell me. I’m the sole of discretion.’’

  ‘‘I’ve only known you a few days, but I have doubts.’’

  ‘‘Really.’’ Ryan held up three fingers. ‘‘Boy Scout’s honor.’’

  ‘‘He was never a Boy Scout.’’ Connor turned him in. ‘‘Excuse us for a second. We’ve got to make a call.’’

  Connor took me by the hand and led me to the vestibule. We moved into a side hallway. Connor dialed his cell phone and hit speaker, turning the volume low.

  ‘‘Go.’’

  ‘‘Plan A’s a bust,’’ Blue said.

  ‘‘Doesn’t matter,’’ Connor said. ‘‘Smiths is on the dais. Or he will be. We need art.’’

  ‘‘Art?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘Sara?’’

  ‘‘Hello, Blue.’’

  ‘‘We on a party line?’’

  ‘‘With her, it’s always a party line.’’

  ‘‘Thanks, honey. That’s sweet.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, honey,’’ Blue drawled. ‘‘Sweet. He means pictures of the target.’’

  ‘‘Target. Ew. I can use my phone,’’ I suggested.

  ‘‘That’s a backup,’’ Connor said. ‘‘It’s obvious, and the resolution tends to be bad. We want to stay below the radar for now.’’

  ‘‘What about grandma?’’

  ‘‘Stay with Plan A. Sara took one look at Gretchen and couldn’t play nice,’’ Connor said. ‘‘I’m thinking we might be able to work on my other problem.’’

  ‘‘I gotta tell you, I love that woman.’’

  ‘‘Back at ya,’’ I said.

  ‘‘He meant Gretchen,’’ Connor corrected.

  ‘‘Let him think that, Sara. We know,’’ Blue said. ‘‘Okay, Rock, DefCon3. I’m on mark. Tex is intel. Troj is perimeter. You’ve got Trouble.’’

  ‘‘Trouble?’’ I asked.

  He kissed my earlobe. ‘‘I don’t have trouble. But I could.’’

  ‘‘Having fun, are we?’’

  He kissed the corner of my mouth. ‘‘I could be having that, too.’’

  I felt a shiver down my spine. ‘‘Uh, public place. Parental supervision.’’

  ‘‘Ahem!’’

  ‘‘Get lost, Ry.’’

  ‘‘Later. You two had better come.’’

  I pulled away from Connor and tried to turn, but he caught my face in his hands and put his lips on mine.

  ‘‘Jack’s back,’’ Ryan said.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  ‘‘Is that Charles Smith
s?’’

  I nudged Ryan, pointing surreptitiously at the middle-aged blond man seated next to Jack on the dais. Jack had returned in a black dinner jacket. He still looked like an overblown Ken doll, albeit one without red wine stains.

  ‘‘I guess.’’ Ryan grabbed my elbow. ‘‘What’s going on?’’

  ‘‘Nothing,’’ I said.

  ‘‘Nothing,’’ Connor said in stereo.

  ‘‘John and Charles do sort of look the same. Light hair, light eyes. Medium build, medium height, middle-aged white guys. They all look alike. Either could have done the interview. Either could have opened the accounts. Will the real embezzler please stand up?’’

  ‘‘It’s not embezzlement if the bank never asked for its money back.’’

  ‘‘Ironic, huh? If the poor, crazy guy figured out how to get a quarter of a million dollars out of them, then they want to strong-arm him into paying it back, threaten him with jail and lawsuits, and bully him into shutting up about the whole thing. If the rich, tuxedoed guy ended up with the cash, well, ‘Thanks for playing and we’ll never mention this again.’ ’’

  ‘‘What are you two whispering about?’’ Ryan asked loud enough for the whole family to play along.

  ‘‘Sex.’’ Connor shut him up in his usual volume.

  ‘‘Oh, God.’’ I dug my nails into his thigh.

  ‘‘Yes, well, it is a good filet,’’ Dougal offered with too much sincerity.

  ‘‘The wine’s nice, too.’’ Siobhan lifted her glass for a refill.

  ‘‘Oh, brother,’’ Ryan said.

  I turned and looked at Connor. ‘‘Other problem.’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘You said it on the phone. Then you distracted me. What other problem?’’

  ‘‘Nothing.’’

  ‘‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’’

  He smiled slowly. I felt it slide into my bloodstream like cognac.

  ‘‘It’s an expression. What other problem?’’

  He nodded toward Siobhan, then looked toward the dais. I followed his gaze.