Perfect Scoundrels (3 page)

D
riving toward the big house in Wyndham Woods, Kat couldn’t help but think about the first time she’d ever been there. It had been dark, and she had been younger. But the biggest difference, it turned out, was that some places are far more intimidating when you approach them via the front door.

“Name?” the guard asked when Gabrielle pulled up to the gate.

“We’re here for the memorial service.” Gabrielle gestured at her black dress as if that should be explanation enough. Kat thought that perhaps Gabrielle should have chosen a
longer
dress if she’d truly wanted to send the right message.

“It’s a private ceremony.” The guard pointed to his clipboard. “Name?”

“We’re guests of Hale’s,” Gabrielle said.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific,” the man told them.

“The Fifth,” Gabrielle added. “W. W. Hale
the Fifth
.”

“You sound very close.” The guard put his clipboard away.

“She’s his girlfriend.” Gabrielle jerked her head in Kat’s direction.

The guard leaned down to peer at Kat, then whispered to Gabrielle, “Between you and me, Mr. Hale the Fifth has a lot of girlfriends.”

“Well, between you and me—”

Kat leaned across her cousin and spoke through the open window. “Thank you.”

“But—”

“It’s okay, Gabrielle. We don’t need to be
let in
.”

It was easy enough to park the car and climb the fence. Even in heels, Gabrielle didn’t complain about the long walk through the forest and short stroll across the vacant side of the yard. It was almost like nothing had changed, Kat thought, when she reached the top of the trellis, forced open the window, and slid inside the empty hall. But walking toward the railing at the top of the stairs, Kat immediately knew that she was wrong.

The first time she’d been in that building, it had been dark and quiet. Sleeping. But now the main floor was wide awake. Gabrielle peeked over Kat’s shoulder, stared at the crowd that filled the foyer below, and said, “I thought
we
had a big family.”

There were men in dark suits, women in black dresses and the occasional veil. And yet it didn’t look or feel or sound like a funeral, not with the clinking of glasses and waiters making their way through the crowd with champagne and caviar on silver trays.

It seemed to Kat that it had taken a death to make the big, abandoned house come alive.

“So,” Gabrielle said with a deep breath, “this is how the other half lives.”

“No, Gabs.” Kat shook her head. “This is how the other half dies.”

“I guess,” Gabrielle said. “I haven’t been to a funeral since…” She looked away, unable or unwilling to say
your
mom
. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, seriously. I’m—”

“Let’s just find Hale,” Kat said and started down the stairs. Gabrielle fell into step beside her. “We should split up.”

“You sure?” Gabrielle asked.

Kat forced a smile. “Absolutely.” But as she watched her cousin walk away, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about another day in another crowded room, when she’d sat between her father and her uncle Eddie, receiving guests, hearing condolences. Trying to ignore the fact that her mother was never coming home again.

But Kat didn’t want to think about that. She shook the memory from her head and started through the big house, wandering alone, almost invisible, until she found her way back to the painting that had brought her there years before.

“Do you want to know a secret?” someone asked, and Kat jumped, surprised to see a man standing behind her. He had white hair and a trim mustache. The buttons on his silk vest strained against the slight paunch around his middle, but his bow tie was perfectly straight. And behind Coke-bottle glasses, his eyes were bright and clear. Kat suddenly craved fried chicken.

“Excuse me?” she said.

The man looked around the crowd of people, who were indifferent to the girl and unimpressed by the painting, utterly unaware that at least one of them wasn’t what they seemed.

“It’s a fake,” the man said, then laughed a laugh that was completely free of pretension, utterly unself-conscious. To Kat, it seemed like the only genuine emotion in that big, cold room.

“Oh, is it?” Kat asked with a smile.

The man nodded. “Hazel had it made after she lost the original in a poker game.”

Kat laughed and, like Hale years before, she looked upon the painting—and the woman—with newfound admiration.

“Are you sure?” she said.

“I should be.” He leaned a little closer. “I’m the one she lost it to.” The man eyed Kat with amused interest. “Forgive me. Silas Foster. Friend of the family.”

“Kat Bishop,” Kat said, taking his outstretched hand. “Same.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Did you know Mrs. Hale well, Mr. Foster?”

He pondered for a moment before nodding. “You could say that. I met Hazel in…what was it? Spring of seventy-two, I guess. Of course, I was just a pup researcher then, and she was the boss’s widow.” He gave a little laugh. “She got lost her first day on the job and ended up in my lab. Spent the rest of the day hiding in there, plotting her escape. I offered to make her a rappelling harness, but the lab was on the thirty-sixth floor and Hazel was afraid of heights, so…she respectfully declined.”

“You work at Hale Industries?” Kat asked.

“Director of Research and New Product Development.” The man gave a little bow. “I’m the idea guy.”

“I like idea guys,” Kat said.

The older man cocked his head and gave a laugh. “We get all the ladies. But for some reason I don’t think you’re here looking for me.”

“I don’t know,” Kat said. “I’m always in the market for a good rappelling harness.”

“For you, my dear, nothing but the best.”

“But you are right about something. I’m actually trying to find—”

“Young Mr. Hale, I’m assuming.”

Kat blushed. “Let me guess—I’m not the only one?”

“Maybe. But you’re the one I hope finds him.” He gave a wink and walked away, and Kat didn’t feel alone anymore in the big room full of people.

“That pervy old dude wasn’t hitting on you, was he?”

Kat studied the girl who was coming her way. Her hair was red and her eyes were as black as her dress. She wasn’t necessarily pretty, but she was striking just the same, and something about her made Kat stand up taller and blurt, “He wasn’t pervy.”

She wished she’d created a cover, a purpose. Because the role of uninvited girlfriend absolutely didn’t suit her.

“Well, you look…nervous.”

“No, I’m not nervous. I’m just…looking for someone.”

If possible, the girl studied her even more closely. She cocked her hip and eyed Kat from head to toe, and in her presence, Kat had never felt more like an outsider, a party crasher, the proverbial thief in the night.

She was just beginning to plan her escape, when the girl said, “You’re cute. Who are you?”

“Kat.”

“Cool.” The girl wrapped her arm through Kat’s. “Come on, Cute Kat, we can look together. I’ll give you the tour.”

Walking arm and arm through the big living room, Kat expected to hear about the history of the house, maybe the story of the Ming vase by the window. She was surprised to see the girl gesture to a woman and three children sitting near the fireplace, then say, “On our left we have the West Coast Hales.”

Kat glanced at the foursome. The woman was too thin—her face too tight. Kat was about to ask what was wrong with her when the girl shrugged and said, “Hazel’s baby girl thought she’d be a movie star, but instead she married some struggling producer who did nothing but try to get his wife to bankroll movies.” She sighed. “She hadn’t seen her mother in six years, but she’s here now.”

They walked through the foyer, and Kat’s guide jerked her head in the direction of a short man standing on the bottom step.

“Ezekiel Hale,” the girl whispered. “He’s part of the European branch; tells everyone he races Formula One cars, but really he’s just a gambler. A bad one.”

There was a distant cousin who had bought (and lost) a sheep ranch in Australia, a son-in-law who had served time for crimes no one ever mentioned (insider trading), and a son who had shamed everyone by choosing Cambridge over Oxford.

By Kat’s count, there were five branches, six divorces, and nine pending lawsuits.

Uncle Joseph didn’t speak to Cousin Isabel. Great-great-uncle George’s descendants adamantly refused to be in the same room as the children of Aunt Margaret. And everyone thought Alfonzo Hale (a cousin whose mother was an Italian heiress) really needed to get a new toupee.

“And I thought my family was crazy,” Kat whispered.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” Kat squeezed against the wall to let a woman pass (Georgette, granddaughter of George). “How do you know all this?”

“Maybe I’m a spy.”

Kat smiled but didn’t reply, so the girl shrugged. “Let’s just say, if you’re young enough and female enough, you wouldn’t believe what people will say around you.”

“Yeah. I think I would,” Kat said just as they returned to the room where the tour had begun.

The people still ate and drank and clamored on about things like dividends and capital reinvestment, and something about the day felt off—almost like Hazel’s Monet was not the only forgery in the room.

“Nobody seems…sad,” Kat finally realized.

“Oh, they aren’t sad. They’re freaked.”

“Why?”

“Hazel was a nice old lady, don’t get me wrong, but word at the dessert tray is that the company isn’t doing so hot.”

“It’s not?” Kat asked.

“We’ll find Scooter; he’ll know all the gossip.”

“Who’s Scooter?” Kat said just as the girl stopped. And pointed.

“He is.”

Kat followed her stare.

And whispered, “Hale.”

H
ale stood alone in the crowded room, gazing up at the painting that hung above the fireplace. Kat remembered the look in his eyes when she’d told him it was a fake, the way he had come alive. She tried to compare the boy in the Superman pajamas to the young man in the dark suit, but whatever spark had been lit the night they’d met had gone out. She tried not to think that his rightful owners had somehow tracked him down and stolen him back.

“Hey, Scoot.”

The redheaded girl stepped toward him.

“Nat!”

Hale smiled and threw his arms around her, and it was like he didn’t notice Kat at all. And maybe he didn’t, because he just asked the other girl, “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” she challenged. “Dad told me about Hazel.”

“But…I thought you were in Switzerland.”

Kat watched the girl tilt her head and choose her words. “Switzerland didn’t exactly work out. Neither did France. Or Norway.”

“Three schools?” Hale asked.

“Well, technically, five schools—three
countries
.”

“Impressive,” Hale said with a nod, and Kat honestly thought he meant it.

The girl reached to straighten Hale’s tie. “It’s good to see you, Scoot.”

“You too,” Hale told her, and Kat didn’t know what to make of this girl who was calling him
Scoot
and straightening his tie and making him smile.

“Sorry! I’m so rude,” the girl said. “I have to introduce you to my new friend, Kat. Kat is—”

“Oh, I know who Kat is,” he said.

Kat just whispered,
“Scooter?”

“So you two do know each other.” Natalie crossed her arms and eyed Kat with new interest.

“Natalie’s an old friend,” Hale explained. “And, Nat, Kat is…”

“New,” Kat said. “I guess I’m the new friend.”

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he told her.

“Surprise,” Kat tried, but Hale didn’t look amused. “So, how do you two know each other?” she asked.

“My dad’s the family lawyer,” Natalie explained. “Before him, my grandfather was the family lawyer. And before him…well…you get the picture. So I was kind of always around. Scooter here took pity on me, made friends with
the
help
. He always was the family rebel.” She intertwined her arm into his and pulled him closer.

“You say rebel. They say massive disappointment.…”

“You know, I was just thinking about the time with the good china and—”

“Aunt Olivia’s Pekingese,” Hale said, then broke into laughter. Natalie joined in. And Kat kept on standing there watching, utterly on the outside of the joke.

“So, Natalie,” Kat said, “are you back in the States for good?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Natalie shrugged and changed the subject. “What about you two? How’d you meet?”

Kat couldn’t help herself. She glanced at the painting above the fireplace, but Hale seemed immune to nostalgia.

“Oh, you know,” he said. “Around.”

“Cool.” Natalie shifted on her heels. Then her eyes locked on a point over Hale’s shoulder as a voice rang out. “Scooter!”

“And that’s my cue,” Natalie said, her eyes wide. “Scoot, I’ll see you around. Kat, it’s been rad.” The girl turned and disappeared into the mourners and out into the garden, before Kat even had a chance to say good-bye.

“Scooter, there you are.” A woman was pushing her way through the crowd and toward Hale. She flicked a piece of lint off of his shoulder and told him, “You’re as bad as Marianne. Where is she, by the way?”

“I imagine she’s taking the afternoon off.” Hale’s voice was cold. “To mourn.”

If the woman had noticed Hale’s pointed tone, she
didn’t show it. Instead, she shifted her attention off of Hale and his nonexistent lint and onto the girl beside him. She looked at Kat’s hair, her dress, her shoes, all within a span of a second, deftly taking in everything about her.

“Scooter…”
the woman said, drawing out the word, “aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Hello,” Kat said, extending her hand. “I’m Hale’s—”

“Friend,” Hale said. “A friend of mine. From Knightsbury.”

“Oh. How nice.” But the woman didn’t sound like she thought it was nice. She kept eyeing Kat, looking her up and down. “Where do you call home, dear?”

“Oh.” Kat looked nervously at Hale.

“Kat was raised in Europe,” he told the woman. “But she lives here now.”

“I see,” the woman said. “And how do you find Knightsbury?”

“It’s better than Colgan,” Kat said, knowing that all good lies have their roots in the truth.

“That’s what Scooter says.” The woman looked at Hale. “Scooter, your father needs us in the study. It’s almost time. Say good-bye to your friend.”

“Yes, Mother,” Hale said, and the woman walked away. He watched her go, and seemed utterly lost in thought until Kat slapped his arm.

“Mother?” Kat gasped. “That was your mother!”

He took her arm and whispered, “You’ve got to go, Kat.”

“I just got here. I thought that I should…you know…be here for you.”

“They’re going to read the will.”

“They do that at the memorial service?”

“When control of Hale Industries hangs in the balance they do. The business is…complicated.”

“I see.”

“You don’t want to be here when all these vultures start circling.” He looked out at the people in the room—at his family. “Go on, Kat. I’ll be fine,” Hale said, but something in his words rang false to Kat; she wondered exactly who he was trying to con.

“It sounds like your grandmother was an amazing woman, Hale.” She thought about Silas Foster and Hazel’s fake Monet. “I wish I’d known her. I’m sure everyone just really wants to say good-bye. Hale”—she took his hand—“it’s not about the money.”

Then for the first time Kat could remember, Hale looked at her like she was a fool.

“It’s
always
about the money.”

Even before he moved, Kat could feel him slipping
away. “Why didn’t you tell me she was sick, Hale? I could have—”

“What, Kat?” Hale snapped, then lowered his voice. “What could we have done? Stolen something? Conned someone? Trust me, there was nothing
anyone
could do. She didn’t even want to live anymore.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Of course it’s true. The doctors said she could have recovered, but she had a Do Not Resuscitate order. She could have hung on for years, but she wanted to…leave.”

“Hey, Scooter,” Natalie said, reappearing. “Dad told me to find you. They’re getting ready to start.”

“Okay,” Hale said. “Thanks again for coming, Kat,” he told her.

“Hale,” Kat said, stopping him. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

She meant it. She really did. But watching him walk away, Kat felt like maybe she was the person who had lost something. Hale was always well groomed and well dressed, but that day his hair was parted just so. His cuff links bore the family crest. He didn’t look like the Hale who helped himself to heaping bowls of soup in Uncle Eddie’s kitchen. He looked like the Hale who belonged to that room, that house.

Natalie draped her arm through his when they walked.

That girl.

For the first time, Kat truly understood why gates and guards had to stand between his world and hers. Never before had she regretted breaking her way into someplace she didn’t belong.

“Did he just run off with that redhead?” Gabrielle said, sidling up to Kat and taking a big bite of shrimp. “And answer to the name of
Scooter
?”

“Come on, Gabs. It’s time for us to leave.”

The woods seemed different on the long walk back to the car, and Kat couldn’t shake the feeling that she was forgetting something. Then she stopped and looked at the house.

Someone.

“Hello, miss.”

Kat couldn’t help but smile when she saw the uniformed man who stood at attention beside a long black limousine.

“Marcus!” Kat cried. “I haven’t seen you since—”

“I was very sorry about Buenos Aires. It was most unfortunate timing.” He looked at Gabrielle, tipped his hat. “Miss Gabrielle, it’s nice to see you. If you don’t mind, I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything,” Gabrielle said.

“Well, I was wondering if I could perhaps drive your cousin back to the city myself.”

“You don’t have to do that, Marcus,” Kat said. “I know it’s probably a difficult time for you.”

“Please,” Marcus said, reaching for the limo’s rear door. “It would be a relief to do something.”

Kat understood. For a girl who was used to adrenaline and fear, there was no feeling in the world she hated more than being helpless, so she asked her cousin, “Gab, you mind?”

“Oh, please.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes, then looked at Marcus. “You can have her.”

A second later, her cousin was climbing into her car and driving away without as much as a tire mark to prove she’d been there at all. Uncle Eddie would have been incredibly proud.

“If you will, miss…” Kat turned to see Marcus holding open the limo door. For a second, Kat considered sitting in the front, but Marcus was a man for whom tradition and decorum mattered. And so Kat slid into the backseat without another word.

Sitting on the soft leather, Kat couldn’t help but wonder how many hours she’d spent staring at the back of the valet’s head. He was always there. Never far from Hale’s side. And then Kat knew what had been missing from the big house.

“I didn’t see you inside, Marcus.”

“Yes. I wasn’t able to attend, but I was hoping to see you.”

“You were?”

“Yes,” he said, but didn’t offer anything more.

“Did you know Hale’s grandmother well?”

“I did. She was a great, great woman.”

“Was Hale close to her?”

Marcus nodded. “He was.”

“I didn’t know.” Kat stared out the window. “He never mentioned her to me. Why doesn’t he talk about her?”

“The things that are the most precious to us are sometimes the most secret.”

Kat nodded and considered the thought. Her family was loud and cranky, a force of nature, moving around the globe like a storm. Hale’s family was quiet and fractured, their issues simmering under the surface like a sleeping volcano.

“Marcus,” she said, bolting upright when the car steered off the main road and onto a narrow path. “Marcus, I don’t think this goes to the highway.”

“No, miss. It doesn’t.”

Marcus wasn’t forgetful. He wasn’t the sort of man to make mistakes, and so whatever had brought them to that narrow, winding lane, Kat knew it was absolutely not an error.

“We’re not going to Brooklyn, are we, Marcus?”

“No, miss.” He gripped the wheel and kept on driving. “We aren’t.”

They didn’t go far. By Kat’s estimation they weren’t more than a half a mile from the main road when the car stopped. She could still see the smoke rising from the chimney of the big house hidden behind the trees, and yet it felt a world away from the tiny cottage with the white picket fence and perfectly pruned roses that stood before her. There were black shutters and flower boxes on every window. An ornate railing ran along a cozy porch, and the whole place looked almost like it had been made from gingerbread.

“Marcus, where are we? Who lives here?”

He turned off the car and reached for the door. “I do.”