Matchpoint (34 page)

Authors: Elise Sax

“Too late, Gladie. You ate all of them.”

Uncle Harry lived farther up in the mountains, in a relatively new gated community of McMansions. His house was one of the biggest, with its own gate and security guard. It wasn’t anything like Cannes. There was nothing quaint or old about it, but it was gorgeous.

We were stopped at the security shack in front of the house. The guard didn’t seem too happy to see us. “We’re expected,” Lucy said, leaning toward my open window.

“You one of them?” the security guard asked, gesturing to our right. A group of about five elderly people stood on the sidewalk. They were talking among themselves and looking at their watches.

“We’re expected!” Lucy said again. She was clearly agitated and, I thought, not above taking on the guard.

“We should be on your list,” I pointed out.

We were. He waved us in, and that’s when we saw the
two police cars and another car that I was more than familiar with.

“What the hell?” Lucy asked. “Should I call my attorney?”

Uncle Harry was standing on his front porch, surrounded by police. A very tall old lady stood over him, wagging her finger in his face. Uncle Harry seemed unconcerned as he took long drags of his cigar and blew them out at her.

I recognized all of the police officers. Unfortunately, I had had more than my share of dealing with law enforcement since moving into town.

“Lord have mercy, the cops,” Lucy said. “Gladie, you distract them, and I’ll get Harry to safety.”

I rolled my eyes. “Uncle Harry looks fine, Lucy. Besides, how am I supposed to distract them?”

“Take your shirt off. Use your feminine wiles.”

“I’m not going to use my feminine wiles.” I wasn’t sure I had any wiles, and if I did, I wasn’t sure what I would do with them. Besides, wiles could be dangerous, and there was one person present who I needed to keep my wiles far away from.

Lucy jumped out of the car and ran toward the group. I followed her, wishing my suitcase had been spider-free and that I wasn’t dressed like a homeless person.

Spencer Bolton, Cannes’s chief of police and a womanizing, hottie hunk, turned sharply toward me as I approached. His mouth dropped open in surprise, and his chest inflated as he gulped air, making the fabric of his shirt stretch against its buttons. He made my blood pressure rise and my pulse race. I didn’t want him to know how much I wanted to watch him strip naked while I ate chips, but I suspected he already knew. The familiar car was his.

“Uncle Harry, I’m here,” Lucy said, stating the obvious. Gone was the sophisticated, sure-of-herself southern
belle I had grown to know during the past five months, and in her place was a quivering five-foot-eight mass of Jell-O. Six feet even in her heels. Well, the unbroken heel, anyway.

Uncle Harry stood no taller than five foot four, his balding head reaching Lucy’s sternum. Lucy giggled wildly when he said hello to her. I squidged my eyes, trying to see what she saw.

“Mr. Lupino, this development is an eyesore,” the tall lady said to Uncle Harry. “A blot on the historic nature of our town. You are a cancer on this land. I cannot allow you to spread.”

She sounded like Katharine Hepburn, with a wobble in her voice and a slight English accent. She was formidable even at her age and, I imagined, a force to be reckoned with. Even so, I took a cowardly step back in case Uncle Harry decided to shoot her or let loose his dogs.

“Mrs. Arbuthnot, would you excuse me?” Spencer asked the woman, and walked quickly toward me.

“I’m only here for moral support,” I said, trying to duck behind Lucy.

He grasped my arm and pulled me away from the group. “Move!” he ordered the security guard and closed us in the guard’s shack. There wasn’t quite enough room in there for two. Spencer placed his hands on the wall above my shoulders and leaned in close.

“You have been avoiding me for weeks,” he said. His breath was minty fresh and made me wish for Christmas so I could eat him like a candy cane.

“Have I?” I croaked.

“Yes. You know we have to talk about what happened.”

“Don’t worry about it, Spencer. Let’s pretend nothing happened.”

He leaned in closer, his lips almost touching mine. “I don’t want to forget it,” he said.