Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) (12 page)

A tolerant smile touched Bart’s lips. What a strange young woman! Jillian’s sister, too. Remarkable how two such totally opposite people could be so closely related. Amused, he let her lead him about, answering a few questions but mostly observing her child-like enthusiasm. Ellen had better get her checkbook out. He was definitely going beyond the call of duty on this one.

If she’d thought about it, Ellen would have been very thankful Bart was looking after Shauna for her, but just now she was relieved to see Kendall coming back into the room. She moved toward him. “Is anything wrong, dear?”

“No. Why would you think that? I just had a couple of phone calls I needed to make, and I thought no one would notice if I was absent for a few minutes.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I just thought—!”

“Yes?”

She shook her head. “Nothing important.”

He went over to Nick and Lorry. “So, how’s it going? You two made plans for a midnight dip, yet? Or do you prefer dawn?”

Lorry replied, “Actually, I was wondering about trying out your tennis court. That’s more my speed.”

George overheard Lorry’s mention of the tennis court and, always the perfect host, gallantly offered to partner her. He looked at Nick and Kendall impishly. “Anyone mind?”

“Not one bit,” Nick said. “I’m going to spend the whole morning on a raft in the pool—that is, if I can talk Mrs. Winston into giving me a glass of lemonade to take with me.”

Peter disclaimed any tennis ability. “Hildy’s good, though. You get her out there. She’ll say she’s not good enough, but she loves the game. Jillian and I will relax at the pool. Swimming’s my thing, and I don’t get nearly enough time for it.”

“You play tennis, Kendall,” Ellen said.

“Usually,” her son agreed. “But I’m afraid I twisted my ankle yesterday playing squash and it’s still a little sore.” He saw the worried look on his mother’s face and added, “It’s okay for walking; I just don’t want to try running and turning on it for a few days.”

So George obtained Douglass and a rather reluctant Hildy as opponents. Then he went to refill his glass.

“George is good, you know,” Nick warned Lorry. “So’s Douglass. Either one could have me running all over the court. Think you’re up to it?”

“I’ll do my best.” She smiled.

“As I remember, Lorry’s mother was provincial champion a long time ago,” Ellen said. “I rather expect Lorry got her first racquet when she was still in her crib.”

Nick smiled at Lorry. “I take back my words, then. It should be a good game. I hope Hilda—no, it’s Hildy, isn’t it?—is up to you.”

Hildy was sitting alone against a wall close to the bar. If she was feeling any embarrassment at barging in on her ex-husband and his wife, she wasn’t going to show it. She knew she looked cool and calm, and while she was no competition for Jillian, she was certainly adequate competition for any woman her age, or even ten years younger.

She stirred her piña colada and spoke when, from time to time, someone addressed her. But she wasn’t looking for conversation. She had a purpose in coming here. And befriending these people wasn’t necessary. However, although her purpose was uppermost in her mind, she was content to wait for the appropriate moment.

Douglass Fischer, too, was waiting, drumming his fingers absently on the bar. Frankly, he would have preferred to go to bed. But here he sat listening to inane conversations and planning tennis matches for tomorrow with Peter’s ex-wife as his partner—what on earth would he talk to her about? And where was his own wife? If she held true to form, she’d taken three or four pills and gone to bed.

She was always so tired lately. And always complaining about headaches. But the doctors could find nothing wrong. Menopause, he expected. She was only a couple of years past forty, so she was young for it yet, but it was quite possible. And she never got a light dose of anything, although he suspected half of her problems were simply in her head.

Of course, she hated Jillian with a passion. Just because Jillian was young and full of life. He shook his head. And so beautiful.

Douglass finished his drink and sighed. What time was it, anyway? Eleven-forty-five. Still fifteen minutes to wait. He heard Lorry say that despite the fact it was two hours earlier in Alberta time, she was still tired after her flight. Kendall and Nick walked out into the hallway with her. Hildy left a few minutes later.

He’d have one more drink. Then he’d make his excuses and get outside where the air wasn’t so stifling.

Shortly after Douglass went out, Jillian asked George to make her another drink, then looked meaningfully at Peter. “I’ll be up in a minute, Petey. But first, I think I’ll go see what Shauna and Bart are doing. They’ve been out in the garden far too long.

“You don’t need to worry about Shauna,” Peter said, laughing. “She’s a big girl.”

“I know that, silly. But I don’t think she’s anywhere near Bart’s league.” Jillian picked up her drink and went out onto the terrace.

“How is the Guiardini case going?” George asked Peter.

“We’ll win. The records are in such a mess, they’ll never be able to prove different from what Jake says.”

“Did you find the bank teller Jake said would vouch for him?”

“Not yet, but we’ve got a line on him, and we expect to have him by Tuesday at the latest.”

“Good. Well, it’s too late to be talking shop. Good night.”

Thus dismissed, Peter headed toward the stairs. He looked to see if anyone was watching him, but there was no one around. Instead of turning to go up, he went quietly to the front door and, easing it open, slipped outside.

Ten minutes later, Kendall found his parents in the living room. “There you are. Guess I’ll go to bed. Don’t lock the doors. Nick went outside when Lorry went up. Said he needed air.”

“I never lock them,” Ellen said. “There’s really no need when we have that huge fence all around.”

“Is the gate shut?” George finished off his drink and set the glass on the table beside his chair.

“I asked Mrs. Winston to shut it after Hildy arrived.”

“What’s that woman up to?” George asked. “She must have known Peter was going to be here.”

“I don’t know,” his wife answered vaguely. “She said her apartment was being painted.”

“Well, I think you should keep an eye on her.”

Ellen looked at him in exasperation but didn’t bother to ask how she could be expected to keep an eye on a grown woman. Oh, well, maybe she could get Bart to spend some time with her. There were more important things on her mind just now. “Kendall, are you feeling all right? You disappeared a couple of times tonight. Is everything okay?”

“Sure. I’m fine. I just wanted to be by myself for a while. I don’t have much opportunity, you know.”

“You mean Nick follows you around all the time?” George’s voice was sardonic.

Kendall flushed. “Of course not. I just had some things to catch up on. A phone call or two. Thought I’d get them out of the way so I wouldn’t have to worry about them. I do have some work to do now I’m joining the firm, you know.”

“George, I don’t think he should have to work on the long weekend,” Ellen said. Before George could protest his innocence, she turned to Kendall. “I’d like you to spend some time with your cousin. Get to know her. She’s going to be in the city all summer. Be so nice if you could get to know each other.”

“Okay, Mom. I’ll do my best.”

“You’re not upset about Nick’s not wanting the job, are you?” George asked.

“I still think he’ll change his mind. But if he doesn’t, it’s his problem, not mine.”

“That’s okay then.” George stood up and headed toward the stairs. Ellen shut off the lights in the room and then she and Kendall followed.

Moments later, Bart and Shauna came through the patio doors into the games room. Shyly, she said, “You shouldn’t have bothered with me. But thank you, anyway.” Then she fled to the stairs.

Bart shook his head and went to the bar to pour a drink. What a way to spend a weekend!

He emptied his glass and poured another drink. After putting the bottle away, he turned off the lights and sank into a comfortable chair.

Five minutes passed. A shadowy figure slipped into the games room through the patio door and went noiselessly across the tiled floor. Jillian.
Where was she?
Bart asked himself. Then he stiffened as a man came in from the patio and went toward the bar. The man grabbed the nearest bottle and downed a quick drink. He swore. Then he continued toward the hall and upstairs.

Douglass, eh
, Bart mused thoughtfully.
I wonder.
He continued to nurse his drink. Minutes passed. A noise outside was followed by yet another entrance to the room. In the dark, Bart raised his eyebrows. Only one of the men had worn a white short-sleeved shirt. Nick.
Now what was he up to? And which one was Jillian with? Or did she find time for both?
Bart smiled.

Nick shut the patio door with much more force than was required. A pillow was lying on a sofa near his path. Picking it up, he threw it into a far corner. With a heavy sigh and a muffled oath, he left the room.

Bart finished his drink, then stared at the empty glass. Perhaps he’d had enough for tonight. Then again, with so much going on, perhaps one more wouldn’t hurt.

Saturday morning dawned sunny and hot. Those who chose to appear for breakfast were served in the dining room from silver serving dishes. Anne settled for a cup of coffee in bed. Jillian appeared in an ivory sundress that accentuated her golden tan and vibrant face. Beside her, Shauna had all the glow of a church mouse, and Jillian complained in a stage whisper heard throughout the room, “Shauna, you look sick! If I were you, I wouldn’t let anyone see me.”

Shauna didn’t reply.

Peter laughed. “Maybe she just needs her morning coffee.”

On Shauna’s other side, Bart, who had entered the room in time to hear Jillian, leaned over and inquired softly, “Do you always let her talk to you like that?”

Shauna ignored him and buttered a piece of toast.

He persisted. “You can’t possibly like the way she puts you down.”

“Oh, please! Hush.”

Bart ignored her. “You ought to give her back some of her own.”

“She’s my sister.”

“So what?”

“My
younger
sister!”

Baffled by this statement, Bart thoughtfully took some bacon and eggs from a silver platter and began to eat. What kind of maggot did the ridiculous woman have in her head? He would have to talk to her later. It was always interesting to observe human nature. Even more fun to manipulate it.

Now, Lorry was a different story, he thought as he glanced around the table. Younger than Jillian. Much less sophisticated. Straightforward. A man would know exactly where he was with her. No mystery there.

Pity the man who had Jillian. Not that any man would have her long. It was the other way around. She would do the having. Bart’s mouth curved in a slight smile. Be interesting to see if the tables could be turned. To see if he could attract Jillian and break her heart the way she had likely broken the hearts of a score of men. Always assuming, of course, that she had a heart to break.

Shauna shifted in her chair, and Bart glanced at her again. Jillian had no heart where her sister was concerned. But why? Surely not because of competition. When it came to attracting men, Shauna would be left on the bench. She wasn’t even in the game. And yet… His eyes narrowed. The material wasn’t that bad. She had horrendous taste, of course. Those glasses were totally wrong. So was the hair. And the tiny bit of makeup she wore was as wrong for her as the clothes.