Suzie shoved her hands into her cargo pants pockets.
“My unconditional love for you knows no bounds, sugar.”
“Ohh.” Vinnie slapped her hand over her mouth, overcome with emotion. She flung her arms around Suzie and squeezed. “I love you, too, Suzie. Even if your aunt is a wack-a-doodle.”
Suzie winked at me over Vinnie’s shoulder and I smiled at the clever way she’d wrapped up that conversation. But their easy affection made me think of Derek again and I was surprised at the depth of my own longing. I missed him more than I ever thought I would and wished he were here with me. But that was impossible. He was on a monthlong security assignment in Europe, where he was posing as the fiancé of some megabucks socialite who’d been receiving death threats.
I would just have to suck it up for the next few weeks. I was perfectly fine without him. I really was. And I trusted Derek completely so that wasn’t an issue, even though I hadn’t been able to stop myself from Googling the woman at the center of his assignment. Just as I’d feared, Thomasina Marchand was young and gorgeous and artistically gifted. She dressed impeccably. And did I mention her beauty? And her immense wealth? Not that Derek could ever be swayed by material things, but, nevertheless, I’d been suffering little pangs of jealousy ever since he’d flown off to pretend he was in love with her.
But that was completely normal, right? Anyone would have those little pangs, right? Of course they would. It didn’t mean anything. Derek’s and my connection was beautifully solid. We had a happy, loving, exciting, and totally trusting relationship. He simply had an assignment to carry out, protecting Thomasina from threats of death until she reached the age of twenty-five, as specified in her father’s trust. That would happen in the next few weeks. I knew Derek would perform his job to perfection, and then he would come home to me.
That was all there was to it. I wasn’t worried. Nope, not me. No way.
But the fact that he hadn’t called me in three weeks was starting to bug me. Not in a clinging-girlfriend kind of way, you understand. No, I was beginning to worry that something might be wrong. Could Derek be hurt? In danger?
“Come on, let’s check out more of this crazy place,” Suzie said, slipping her arm around Vinnie’s waist.
“Yeah, okay,” I said. “But look. Do you guys mind if I make a quick phone call first?”
“Of course not, Brooklyn,” Vinnie said, her smile serene again. “Why don’t we meet you in the conservatory in fifteen minutes? Will that give you enough time?”
“More than enough. Thanks.”
They reminded me where the conservatory was, then walked out, closing the door behind them. I went to find my cell phone and sat down to make the call to Derek. I listened to the ringing of his phone and felt more connected to him already. I wasn’t sure if that made me a lovesick idiot or just a lonely girlfriend. Either way, it was kind of pathetic, but I didn’t care.
“Hello?” a woman answered, whispering breathlessly into the phone.
Derek’s
phone. “Who is this, please?”
I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying, “Who the hell is
this
?” Who was this woman and why was she answering my boyfriend’s phone? Was this Thomasina? I decided on the spot to make it sound like a business call.
“I must speak to Mr. Stone immediately. This is his office calling.” I sounded officious and demanding, which was exactly how I felt.
“Ooh, his office. No, I’m sorry, but Derek cannot come to the phone.” Her voice was tinged with a vague but plainly Western European accent.
French? Belgian? Sexy.
She giggled softly. “He’s…ooh…he’s…ah…occupied. Much too…busy…to speak.” Her rapid sighs made it sound as if she were in the throes
of rapture.
Seriously? Is she kidding? What the hell is going on?
Oh, God. Did I really want to know?
“Adieu,” she added in that same sultry tone, then disconnected the call, leaving me to blink and stare at my phone in stunned disbelief.
“Well, that sucked big-time,” I muttered to myself as I sat and stared at the phone. Feeling a little shaky, I got up and paced the room. And fretted. And wondered. And got a little pissed off at myself for fretting. Then I fretted some more.
I’d already rejected the idea that Derek might be cheating on me. It wasn’t in his nature to lie or play games. But it also wasn’t like Derek to let someone answer his phone for him. He ran a multinational security firm and was constantly in touch with partners and clients, evaluating problems and working out solutions. Even when he was working undercover, he would make himself available whenever necessary to deal with critical client issues. His phone was rarely out of his sight.
At least, that’s what he had always told me.
So what had just happened? Why would that woman, whoever she was, pull something like that? Had she stolen Derek’s phone? Maybe Derek had done something to annoy her and she was striking back the only way she knew how. Or maybe she simply
wanted
him and he wouldn’t comply. I preferred that explanation. Thomasina Marchand was wealthy enough that she might feel entitled to have whatever she wanted.
I fretted some more, then got angry. I refused to feel
guilty for calling him while he was working. I also refused to let one ounce of jealousy slither into my heart. But, unfortunately, this incident had reminded me once again that Derek and I lived in different worlds.
It also reminded me that my feelings for Derek were completely different from anything I’d ever felt for another man before. And that scared me. I had always been the strong one in the relationship. I never got whiny; I got mad. I didn’t agonize; I walked out. I took action. But now I felt frozen; I didn’t know what to do. It was Derek’s fault. No, it was my fault. I cared too much.
I paced over to the window and stared at the lake. I was back to fretting again. Had I never cared deeply enough about my former boyfriends? Had I been so shallow, so unfeeling, so hard-hearted that I couldn’t be hurt by them? Maybe. Did that mean that this phone call had been some kind of karmic vengeance?
Okay, that was stupid. This wasn’t about me. This was about some mean-spirited woman who’d decided to screw around with Derek and me.
Maybe I should have resisted calling him while he was on assignment. He hadn’t told me not to call him, but I had never done it before.
And now I could feel the guilt seeping in. I shouldn’t have called. It was all my fault. That’s what I got for poking my nose in Derek’s business.
But no. That wasn’t right. I shouldn’t feel guilty. This was Derek’s fault. No, wait. It was
her
fault.
Who the hell is she?
I hated her.
Oh, God, here came the jealousy.
I almost laughed at myself. Why was I jealous? This wasn’t about Derek and me. It was about that woman and her malicious attempt to make me feel bad. And how stupid was I that I’d almost bought into it? She had tried to make me believe that Derek was cheating on me.
But Derek wouldn’t do that. Would he?
“Oh, hell.” I pounded the wall. My thoughts were dark and spiraling and weaving themselves into sick,
twisted desires that included smacking that skinny French—Belgian?—bitch in the face. And maybe giving Derek a light kick in the shins while I was at it. He shouldn’t be leaving his cell phone around for some anorexic Euro twit to use for taunting his real girlfriend.
Okay, that made me feel better.
I sank into the comfy chair by the window and decided it was time to—
A piercing scream interrupted my thoughts.
“Thank God!” I jumped up and ran across the room, threw open the door, and looked both ways down the long hall. Fifty feet away at the far end, a thin woman stood silhouetted by a paned floor-to-ceiling window. She turned and I could see that her eyes were squeezed shut. She was holding her hands over her ears as though she was trying to block out some horrible noise.
“Are you all right?” I shouted as I ran toward her.
“No!” she cried irately. “I’m going freaking crazy in this place!”
As I came near, she glared at me, almost as if it were my fault that she was in a panic. I slowed down and took closer notice of her appearance.
Her eyes were wild and out of control. Her pupils moved every which way, first staring at me, then glancing at the walls, the ceiling, the floor. She must have been yanking at her short reddish hair because it spiked out in odd patterns all over her head. I appreciated the spiked look as well as anyone, but this woman was at least fifty years old and wore a vintage Chanel suit with demure heels. Spiky was not working for her.
Up close, her face was that of a woman much younger than fifty. Maybe thirty-five? It was the Chanel suit that threw me off. How old was she, anyway?
“Are you in trouble?” I asked gently. “Are you lost?”
“Of course I’m freaking lost!” she ranted as she swung her skinny arms around madly. “That’s what she does! As soon as you figure out where you are in this monstrosity,
she changes everything around. It’s enough to drive you freaking nuts.”
I took a step back, away from the visceral rage she emitted. “Okay,” I said slowly, nodding, assuming she was talking about Grace. “I can walk you back to the front door and the grand stairway is right there. Maybe you can find your way from there.”
“Oh, shut up,” she snarled. “Stop patronizing me.”
Damn.
I tried not to stare, but I could see the skin pulled tightly away from her eyes. Her eyebrows were unnaturally arched and her upper lip line was flawless. Not a wrinkle to be seen. I revised my estimate of her age back to fifty-plus. She appeared young until you got up close enough to see that she’d recently had a really radical face-lift. Scary.
So she was angry
and
vain. And she reminded me of someone else in my life. Was I staring into the future? Was this how my worst enemy and true world-class bitch, Minka LaBoeuf, would look at age fifty?
Minka had been a thorn in my side since college. Worse than a thorn; she was a big, ugly spike. Over the years I had tangled with her, even trading punches a few times. Minka was a horrible person, and this woman standing in front of me was chillingly similar to her.
Oh, dear. I couldn’t imagine living in the same house with Minka for a whole freaking week, so there was no way in hell I was going to put up with this lady’s negative vibe for that long.
“Look, I’m Brooklyn Wainwright,” I said patiently. “I’m a friend of—”
She grunted derisively. “I know who you are. Little Suzie’s told us all about you.”
I took a step back. “You have the advantage, then,” I said, trying to match her supercilious tone. As I turned to leave, I added, “Sorry I interrupted your dramatic little moment.”
“Wait. How the hell do I get out of here?”
“Not my problem.”
“No, wait! I really am lost.”
“You’ll find your way.” I kept walking. She wasn’t about to apologize for being a haughty cow, so why should I help her? Besides, it was just a long walk down the hall back to the grand stairway. It’s not like we were trapped in a cave or anything. She wasn’t really
lost
.
“I’m sorry,” she whined.
Huh?
I took another step but then stopped. It was an apology, albeit a pathetic one. So I faced her and asked, “Where are you trying to get to?”
She fisted her hands against her hips. “There’s supposed to be a hallway leading to the back of the house. It was there yesterday. But now it stops right here.” She shook her finger at the solid wall; then her shoulders drooped in defeat. “Never mind. I can see you don’t believe me. I don’t believe it myself.”
I shrugged. “I just arrived a little while ago, but I do know that the front door is back that way.” I pointed down the hall, then nodded toward a closed door a few yards away in the opposite direction. “And the library is right in there. Maybe there’s a door inside that leads out to the hall you’re thinking of.”
“I doubt it,” she said. Her forehead furrowed as she glanced around in several directions. She pursed her lips—which couldn’t have been easy with her skin pulled back so tightly—and made a decision. “I’ll go to the front door and start over.” She walked past me, then sighed and turned. “I’m Madge Crawford. My husband, Harrison, is Grace’s older brother.”
“Nice to meet you,” I lied, and thought to myself,
Poor Harrison
. But then my conscience got to me. Maybe she was just stressed out. Maybe all that tight facial skin had given her a permanent migraine.
“Look, we got off on the wrong foot,” I said, seeking peace. “Why don’t we—”
“Really?” She rolled her eyes. “We’re still chatting? Is this what I’ll have to deal with all week?” Then she
turned and stalked away down the hall. I sent off a fervent prayer that she would get lost permanently.
“Yoo-hoo. Over here, Brooklyn.” Vinnie waved as I walked into the sunny conservatory. “How is Derek?”
“Oh. He’s…um, fine, I guess,” I muttered, my head still swirling with negativity. The only good news about running into nasty Madge was that I’d forgotten all about the ugly phone call with the Belgian bimbo. I’d spent my entire walk to the conservatory mentally grousing about Harrison Crawford’s unpleasant wife.
But now I stopped, made a slow circle, and took in my surroundings. “What a beautiful room.”
Suzie nodded. “Cool, isn’t it?”
“It is my favorite place in this monstrous house of tricks,” Vinnie said cheerfully.
“I can see why,” I said, staring up at the tempered-glass ceiling. “It’s wonderful.”
“At least there’s nothing hanging up there, ready to snare you,” Vinnie muttered, casting a quick glimpse upward.
It was as magical as any world-class botanical garden I’d ever visited, except smaller. With an iron frame and glass walls, the Victorian-styled structure was about the size of a small gymnasium. A pea-gravel path wound its way around dozens of exotic plants and trees. In front of each flourishing plant was a tasteful bronze plaque identifying it and its country of origin, along with a list of any idiosyncrasies, such as the unusual smell of the bark on one tree or the star-shaped fruit of another. Looking closer, I noticed that if the plaque had a blue triangle in the corner, it indicated that the plant was poisonous.