Killjoy (12 page)

“Would you care for some coffee?” Sara asked. She was watching her closely, as though she was trying to interpret the woman’s bizarre behavior.

“Not just yet. I’ll ring when I’m ready.”

Carrie turned to Sara. “I told you she was going to be a problem.”

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” Anne asked. She carefully sat down and crossed one ankle over the other.

Carrie turned to her. “It wasn’t the wonderful mountain air that made you sleep so long, Anne. We were all drugged.”

“That’s nonsense. Look where we are,” she said. “Who would do such a thing in this beautiful—”

Carrie cut her off. “Did you bring your letter down?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“See what I mean?” Carrie asked Sara.

The judge took over. “Anne, Carrie and I each received a letter. They’re there on the coffee table. Please read them.”

Carrie noticed that Anne’s hand was violently shaking as she reached for the letters. She picked them up and then quickly placed them back on the table. “I don’t need to read these.”

“Yes, you do,” Sara gently asserted. “You’ll see that we’re in trouble here. Someone has wired this place to kill us.”

“What rubbish,” Anne muttered. “I will not have my day ruined with this ridiculous game you two are playing.”

“We’re locked inside this house,” Sara told her.

“We are not.”

“It’s no use,” Carrie said. “I tried to tell her all of this upstairs.”

“You’re lying,” Anne said.

Carrie considered punching the woman. She thought she’d probably kill her if she did because Anne was so painfully thin and sickly. A good wind could have done her in.

“If any of us opens a window or door, the house will blow up,” Sara patiently explained.

Neither she nor Carrie anticipated Anne’s reaction. The woman bolted from her chair and ran across the living room. “You’re only lying to get me upset. The house isn’t wired, and I’m going to prove it to you.”

She was headed for the front door.

Chapter 8

J
OHN
P
AUL HAD TO HANG AROUND
U
TOPIA LONGER THAN
HE
’
D
anticipated, but the wait was worth it. He was sitting, or rather sprawling, in an easy chair half hidden behind a couple of limp palm trees inside the lobby’s bar when Avery Delaney walked inside. One hard look and he had her all figured out. She was a typical California blonde. No, maybe not typical. She was unique, he’d give her that. But she was definitely all about her body. Why else would she want to spend a week at a spa? Why would anyone?

The Delaney woman wore a short white T-shirt that fit snugly across her full breasts, and tight jeans, obviously intending to show off her long legs and her tight ass. Her long, straight, blond hair shimmered in the light. It looked natural, but he doubted that it was. Probably came from a bleach bottle. Her sunglasses hid her eyes, but he figured she was probably wearing colored contact lenses. Her T-shirt hid her belly button, but he wouldn’t have been surprised to find that she’d had it pierced. Wasn’t that the fashion these days?

She was hot, all right. In fact, Avery Delaney was a beautiful woman, but she wasn’t his type. She was a little too perfect for his tastes. Sexy as sin, though. As he watched her stop and take in her surroundings—pretending she didn’t notice how the other guests had stopped to stare at her—John Paul wondered how much of her was real and how much had been cosmetically “enhanced.” The breasts, definitely. And maybe even the ass.

She wasn’t the kind of woman he’d want to have a lasting relationship with, but then he didn’t want a lasting relationship with any woman. One night with her, however, sounded like a damned good idea. Hell, the woman probably had the IQ of a tsetse fly, but in bed, brainpower really didn’t matter.

Miss Airhead couldn’t seem to figure out where check-in was. Was she waiting for someone to take her hand and lead her across the lobby? She was looking up at the golden sphere slowly rotating like one of those old disco balls. Had the thing hypnotized her?

Avery knew she was gawking like a tourist. She couldn’t help it; Utopia was incredible. The lobby was gigantic, the floors a shiny, ebony marble. Above her, hanging from the gilded dome was a glistening orb. She couldn’t take her gaze off it. Was it real gold? It must have cost the owners a fortune, she thought.

She turned to her right and stopped again. One entire wall was a waterfall, and in the center of the gathering pool was a statue of Atlas. Another smaller sphere was perched on his shoulder. Both the sculpture and the bubbling waterfall were meant to impress the guests willing to pay a fortune to be pampered in such an environment, and in Avery’s estimation, the owners got the job done.

Shaking her head over the expense of it all, she pulled up the strap of the old, hand-me-down Gucci backpack Carrie had given her, and crossed the lobby to the reception desk. A man about her age wearing a name tag labeled “Oliver” stood behind the granite counter waiting to welcome her. His smile was dazzling, his teeth astonishingly white. Freakishly so. He or his dentist had obviously overdone the bleach job, and his artificially tanned face only made his teeth more prominent. She tried not to stare as she gave him her name and leaned against the cool counter while he pulled up her reservation on the built-in computer screen.

Oliver’s smile blessedly vanished. “Oh, dear.”

“Excuse me?”

He wasn’t looking at her now, but stared intently at the screen when he said, “Your reservation was canceled, Miss Delaney.”

“No, that has to be a mistake. I didn’t cancel.”

“According to my computer, you canceled. It’s noted right here,” he added, pointing to his screen, which she couldn’t possibly see unless she pole-vaulted over the countertop.

“That’s wrong.”

“The computer’s never wrong. You called Utopia at . . .” He was trying to pull up the exact time she called in.

“Oliver,” she said. Her impatience was brimming in her voice. “I didn’t cancel. In fact, I called to tell reception I would be a day late.”

“Yes, you did,” he agreed, pointing to the screen once again. “But then you called again and canceled.”

“No, I didn’t,” she insisted.

“But my computer—”

She interrupted him before he could tell her his computer was infallible again. “Why don’t you just book me into another room. Anything will do.”

She lifted her backpack and placed it on the counter. She began to dig through it looking for her billfold so she could give Oliver her credit card. Against her wishes, the week had been paid for by her aunt, but Avery wanted the charges transferred to her card.

Oliver, she noticed, had stopped typing. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

He coughed delicately and finally looked at her. “I’m afraid it won’t be possible to book you into another room, and unfortunately, the room you canceled has already been assigned to another guest. We’re at a hundred percent occupancy,” he continued. “I’ll be happy to put you on our waiting list, but I must warn you. There’s little chance of an opening. Our guests book months in advance.”

“I’m certain my aunt was able to reserve a room for me here,” she protested. “If there had been a problem I’m sure she would have told me.”

He was frantically typing again. Then he stopped and nodded. “Yes, we were able to accommodate you because of another cancellation. That is peculiar,” he added. “Our guests rarely cancel at the last minute.”

He frowned as he said the last, as though by canceling, he thought she had committed a terrible breach in etiquette.

“But I didn’t cancel,” she said. Lord, this was frustrating. “I’m joining my aunt here,” she explained. “She checked in yesterday afternoon or early evening. Could you give me her room number? Her name’s Carolyn Salvetti.”

“I’m sorry, but we aren’t allowed to give out the room numbers of our guests.”

Of course he couldn’t. She knew that. “Please call her room. I’m sure she’ll be able to clear up this misunderstanding. She might have decided that I should stay with her.”

Oliver looked relieved that the problem would be solved and he could get rid of her. Fortunately, there weren’t any other guests waiting in line to check in. He flashed her another startling smile and said, “I’m sure that’s what must have happened. Guests simply do not cancel at the last minute the way you did.”

She had the sudden urge to grab him by his shoulders and shake him until he admitted the spa had screwed up. Gritting her teeth to keep from saying something she would regret, she spelled the name Salvetti and waited.

“I know that name,” he said.

“You do?”

He nodded. “A gentleman was in here yesterday asking for your aunt. He was very disappointed she wasn’t here.” He started typing, but a couple of seconds later, he was frowning again.

“Is there a problem?” she asked, knowing full well there was.

“There are no problems at Utopia,” he said, and it was such a quick, automatic response she thought he’d been programmed to say those very words. “We do occasionally have minor inconveniences.”

Give me a break. “All right. Explain the minor inconvenience.”

“Mrs. Salvetti canceled.”

“No, she didn’t.”

Oliver’s shoulders slumped. She knew what he was thinking. Here we go again.

“I’m afraid Mrs. Salvetti did cancel. It is odd, I’ll agree. It’s so rare to get two last-minute cancellations like this. Of course, you’re both members of the same family, so I guess we could say it was really only one last-minute cancellation for two rooms.”

“Listen to me. My aunt didn’t cancel. She called me from the Aspen airport yesterday.”

“Perhaps something came up at the last minute and she had to return home,” he suggested.

“Something’s very wrong.”

“It’s right here in my computer, Miss Delaney. Your aunt called yesterday afternoon.”

What in the world was going on? As much as Avery wanted to continue to argue with Oliver, she knew it wouldn’t solve anything. She wasn’t sure what to do now. If an emergency had come up at work and Carrie had had to return to Los Angeles, she would have called. She wouldn’t have left Avery hanging like this. Oh, God, what if something had happened to her or Uncle Tony? What if there had been an accident?

Calm down, she told herself. If anything bad had happened to either Carrie or Tony, one or the other would have called her.

Avery began searching her backpack for her phone. She would get hold of Carrie on her cell phone right this minute and find out what was going on.

She pulled out her Day-Timer and her billfold, clutched them in her right hand, and kept searching for her phone with her other hand. The damned thing always ended up on the bottom. “My aunt didn’t cancel,” she muttered. Then, more to herself than Oliver, she added, “There must have been a crisis at work. That’s all I can think of to make Carrie turn around and go back home.”

“Oh, your friend’s back.” Oliver didn’t sound very cheerful.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your friend . . . he’s coming this way. Maybe he can clear up this misunderstanding.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about. She didn’t have any friends meeting her here. She turned around to see whom Oliver was watching, but there was only a man striding toward the counter, a big man, she corrected. Odd, but he seemed to be staring at her. And he didn’t look happy.

“Are you referring to the gentleman coming this way?”

“Yes,” he answered. “He was the one I was telling you about. He was here yesterday, looking for your aunt.” In a low voice he added, “If anyone could benefit from our aroma stress-relief massage therapy, it’s definitely your friend. I suggested the treatment to him, but he was quite . . .”

“Quite what?”

“Resistant to the idea. Actually, he was quite difficult about everything. I know I shouldn’t say anything negative about a potential guest, but your boyfriend is wound tight inside. He should be practicing yoga on a daily basis. I mean, the man growled at me. He really did. Can you imagine? I told him you were scheduled to check in. It was noted in the computer under Mrs. Salvetti’s reservation, and that’s who he asked for when he came up to the counter. Your aunt called in and canceled. I had the unfortunate duty of telling him. Let me tell you, he wasn’t happy about that news. He told me he’d come back today to see you, and he’s been here since early morning. I noticed him when I came on duty. I hope he’s in a better mood today.”

She wasn’t paying much attention to Oliver’s prattling. She was busy watching the man crossing the lobby. He was something else. She’d never seen anyone like him, except maybe in the movies. The closer he came, the bigger he got. Tall and muscular, with dark hair and a weathered complexion. She guessed that he spent a good deal of his time outdoors or in a gym somewhere working on his abs. He was ruggedly good-looking, but he was too into the physical to appeal to her. She much preferred brains over muscle.

The man had great bone structure. That thought led to another, and she suddenly thought she knew who he was and what he wanted.

“You do know the gentleman, don’t you?”

“It’s okay. I’m sure he’s a friend of my aunt’s.”

Carrie had probably used him in one of her commercials, and maybe, since he was in the area and had found out she was staying at the spa, he’d decided to stop by and say hello. It was either that, or muscle man was out of work and hoping that Carrie would take a liking to him and offer him a job.

Avery had great sympathy for actors because it was such a competitive field and so much of the decision-making process was out of their control. The odds against making it in Hollywood were astronomical. She made up her mind to do what she could to help. She waited until he was about three feet away, then put her hand out and introduced herself. “My name’s Avery Delaney.” Oh, yes, he was definitely an actor. He had the dark, brooding look down cold.

He grasped her hand in his. “My name’s John Paul Renard.” His voice was deep and wonderfully southern.

Lordy, he had great eyes. The color of a gray dawn. She couldn’t imagine him holding up a roll of paper towels in a commercial. Explosives, maybe, but not paper towels.

His body language intrigued her. He turned so that his back was to the counter; then his gaze slowly scanned the lobby. She got the odd feeling he was memorizing every face.

“You’re a friend of my aunt Carrie’s?”

“Yes.”

No further explanation, no embellishment whatsoever.

“You’re an actor, right?”

The question so surprised him he smiled. “No.”

“Oh . . . I thought . . . then what do you do for a living?” God, she hated it when people asked her that question, and it was really none of her business how the hunk, who couldn’t even bother to look at her when she spoke to him, paid his rent.

“I’m a carpenter.”

No way. “A carpenter?”

“Uh-huh.” He drawled out the answer and stared into her eyes. She could feel the heat rush to her face and hoped to heaven she wasn’t blushing. The man did have the strangest way about him.

Carrie was right. She really needed to start dating again. It had obviously been way too long. If a brute of a man like this one could affect her . . . way too long.

“A carpenter,” she repeated. Then, “Okay.” She’d go along. “And you’ve done some work for my aunt?”

“No.” He was back to watching the people strolling into the lobby as he answered. “I need to talk to her,” he said impatiently. “It’s important. Where is she?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “But I’m about to find out.” She turned around to search through her backpack again when a sudden, horrid thought occurred to her. She almost groaned out loud. “Did my aunt want you to meet me here?”

Carrie was up to her old tricks again, Avery decided, trying to play matchmaker. She was a little surprised at her aunt’s nerve. She thought that her last talk with Carrie had done the trick. Her aunt had promised—vowed, actually—never to try to fix her up again.

Avery’s voice was curt when she said, “Carrie isn’t here today. If you’re in the area, you could try back tomorrow.”