Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) (8 page)

So she hadn’t had it soft. So what? She was a fighter, wasn’t she? She’d scratched and shoved to get where she was, and she wasn’t going to lose what she had gained. Not one tiny bit! No, she would never give in. Not if it took all the strength she had.

She turned again, forcefully, and strode over to the low table where she kept her phone. Earlier, when she’d made her plans, she’d memorized the number. Now, jaw clenched, she flipped back the short, coal-black hair expertly cut forward on one side, back on the other, and picked up the receiver to dial. She knew exactly what to say.

“Hello, Ellen, darling? It’s Hildy Reimer, from the horticulture club. Listen, Ellen, I’ve a big favor to ask you. I don’t want to be any trouble, but the truth is I’ve got painters coming and I can’t stay in my apartment this weekend. Stephen is going to a friend’s house and I had made plans to be away, but my plans have fallen through. I could go to a hotel of course, but that’s sort of depressing. I wondered, well, I remembered your telling me about all the room you had in your home, and it would be so nice to see those gardens I’ve heard about… Oh, thank you, Ellen. That’s so sweet of you. Now, you’re sure you don’t mind?… All right. I’ll be over this evening… No, I wouldn’t dream of intruding on your dinner. I’ll come later. Thanks so much. You’re really a lifesaver.”

Hildy hung up the receiver, then rubbed white knuckles. There had always been a chance it wouldn’t work. But it had. Poor Ellen, always trying to please. Hildy smiled wryly as she glanced at her recently wallpapered living room walls before shrugging and going to her bedroom to pack.

But before she could start, the phone rang. A child’s voice was on the line.

“Stephen, I told you not to call.… No, of course not. Nothing’s wrong. I just thought I’d be away by now. I’m going someplace this weekend.… Yes, you’re to stay with Aunt Susan. I’m going to a place kids aren’t allowed. It wouldn’t be any fun for you. You’ll have a good time playing with Diana.… No, I can’t give you a number. I’ll call to see how you’re doing. Just stay with Aunt Susan. And Stephen, don’t go out of the yard unless Aunt Susan or Uncle Art takes you. And for heaven’s sake don’t go anyplace with anyone else! Do you hear me? Nobody, not even if a policeman comes to tell you I’m hurt. Just run inside and tell your aunt. Do you understand?… Good. I’ll see you Monday night. Is Aunt Susan there?… Let me talk to her now. Bye, Stephen. Stephen? I love you.

“Susan?… Yes, I’m just going.… I’ll call you Sunday if I can. Keep a close eye on him. Don’t let him outside alone. I’ll try to settle things.… Don’t worry.”

She hung up the phone and stared into space for a moment. Then she pulled open the top drawer of her nightstand and took out a small revolver. After carefully burying it in her purse, she pulled a suitcase out of the back of her closet and grimly began to choose what she would wear.

THREE

Ellen Brodie set down the receiver and wondered whether she should kick herself. Why had she invited Hildy to come for the weekend? She barely knew the woman. Had only talked to her twice at the horticulture club meetings she’d impulsively decided to attend after moving from downtown Toronto to this mausoleum George had insisted they buy.

What did she know about gardening? Nothing! But the house she now called her home had some of the most admired gardens in the entire city. So she’d thought, naturally enough, that she ought to learn something about them.

But Hildy Reimer? Ellen was only vaguely aware of the younger woman. Knew what she looked like and that she seemed smart as a whip. And she knew a lot about flowers and such. Or maybe that was someone else she was confusing with Hildy.

She sighed. It was all so difficult. She just wasn’t cut out for this lifestyle. Of course, it was a credit to George. A smile touched her lips. Yes, it was wonderful for George. When you considered where he’d started, he had to be a genius to get where he was now. And he was so happy about it all.

So why was she so—so what? Unsettled? Out of her element? Like a small flower taken out of its hothouse and planted in a strange environment.

She was afraid she would fail, would prove somehow unworthy of George, though she knew he would be the first to call her thoughts ridiculous.

Her guests should be arriving soon. She’d expected some of them earlier, before George arrived. But now he might beat them all. Traffic would be heavy from the airport, of course, but it was impossible everywhere on a summer weekend. So nice to be out here where one never heard all the noisy city traffic. Here, there was quiet.

It was all very different.

Not that the house would be quiet once their company arrived. She shuddered slightly. Although she’d had to do quite a bit of entertaining over the years, she’d never done anything like this before. All these people in the house. Supper and the evening was one thing. But the whole weekend! She could handle the arrangements and the food and all that, but what would they talk about?

Then she relaxed. It wasn’t as if she had to be responsible for everything. Throughout their married life, George had always been there when she needed him. She would take care of the arrangements and let George worry about keeping everyone entertained. He had a knack for that and for a lot of things. Since she’d first met him at the age of fourteen, she’d leaned on George, who was only one year older, but a lot older in every other way. She could always depend on George. And their life together had been good.

Her only regret was that there hadn’t been more children. She would gladly have adopted, but for some reason George couldn’t bring himself to raise someone else’s child. Such a miracle Kendall had been born when she was thirty-six and had all but given up hope!

She hoped Kendall and Nick would arrive first, so she could have her son to herself for a few moments before the other guests arrived.

That reminded her. Where was Bart? He had eaten as though starved at lunch, then lazed around the pool for hours. At four, she had sent him to dress so he’d be ready to help with suitcases. This was one of those rare times when she regretted the lack of a butler or chauffeur, but most of the time there was simply no need for any other servants. Mrs. Winston looked after the cooking and running the house, and there was a woman who came in twice a week for cleaning. And of course the gardeners. What else did they need?

Was that a car? Oh, dear. She still had to warn Mrs. Winston about Hildy’s coming. Fortunately, Kendall’s room had twin double beds; he and Nick would have to share it. Then Hildy could have the room Mrs. Winston had readied for Nick. She hurried to open the front door.

George had pulled up in front of the house and was opening the passenger door for Lorry. Ellen rushed down the front steps. “George, I’m so glad you got here first. The others haven’t arrived yet. Lorry, my dear, you look wonderful! We’re so glad you were able to come!”

Lorry emerged from the car into a hug from Ellen. After the hug, Ellen held her at arm’s length. “You’re gorgeous. And that hair! I know women who would kill for that hair.”

It was real, too. Ellen remembered the pictures of a chubby red-haired cherub with a mischievous grin and sparkling green eyes. The eyes still sparkled. But the chubbiness had been replaced by curves in all the right places and the grin had turned into a lovely smile. She was intelligent, too. She would make a perfectly delightful daughter-in-law.

Perhaps a little old-fashioned. With the father she had, she couldn’t help that. But Kendall would bring her up to date.

Lorry was looking all around. “This house is breathtaking.”

“Isn’t it?” Ellen agreed. “I have no idea why George thought we needed a place this grand. But it will certainly come in useful this weekend.”

Leaving George to handle the luggage, she escorted Lorry indoors and, after giving her a quick tour and pausing to speak with Mrs. Winston, led her upstairs to a room with pink ruffles and twin beds and, after another hug, left her there to unpack and freshen up.

Ellen hurried downstairs. She had suddenly remembered that George didn’t know about Bart. She was wrong.

After George carried Lorry’s luggage into the front hall, he had driven his car around to the garage. Puzzled by the open door leading to the unused apartment above, he went upstairs and found Bart in the process of sweeping a pile of dust onto a dustpan. “Of all the—! What are you doing here?”

“Glad to see you, too,” Bart said easily. “Apparently, no one’s been up here for a while. No end of spider webs, and dust an inch thick.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Cleaning up.”

“Ellen knows you’re here?”

“Afraid so, old man.”

“You’re not getting another cent from me this year! I already told you that.”

“You did. It makes life very difficult for me. I’m down to throwing myself on the mercy of my nearest and dearest. Of course, Aunt Ellen did give me a job.”

“She what?”

“Entertaining the ladies for the weekend. She thought I might be able to take them off her hands.”

George grunted. “And I suppose you’re eager to get started.”

“Well, Uncle George, if you want me to leave, I will. But, you know, I can’t think that the headlines would look very nice.”

“And what headlines might we be talking about?”

“The ones saying ‘Prominent Lawyer’s Nephew Arrested for Vagrancy on the Doorstep of Million-Dollar Estate.’ Some of those trash mags really go for that stuff, you know. Might even pay for an in-depth account of the nephew’s story. They’d love to dig up all the old stuff about how I was almost arrested for embezzlement that time, or how you paid off that girl’s father—the one who wanted to charge me with statutory rape. Of course, I don’t think he’d have won. And weren’t there some other incidents? Not sure I can remember. A couple of forgeries, maybe? Impersonation? I think someone wanted to charge me with theft. A lot of people would enjoy reading about my past. Vicarious thrills, you know.”

“Has anybody ever mentioned that you’re nothing but scum?”

“I think you may have alluded to something like that once or twice.”

“You do what your aunt tells you this weekend. And you stay on the line. One step over and I might change my mind and throw you to the dogs, no matter what the headlines say. Got it?”

“Got it. Now, may I finish cleaning up? I have to get ready to assist with the guests.”

“There are some suitcases in the front hall. You can start earning your keep by carrying them up.” So saying, George turned on his heel and walked out. As he went down the stairs, he slammed his fist against the wall. If he’d needed any proof that something was wrong, here it was. Whenever Bart turned up, there was bound to be trouble of one sort or another.

Ellen was standing in the front hall when George walked in.

“I saw Bart,” he announced immediately. “You should’ve sent him packing.”

“Did you?”

He grunted.

“I didn’t know what to do with him.” She slowly shook her head. “Such a waste.”

“I wish somebody would waste him.” Her puzzled look caught him up. “Waste is slang for killing. I wish we could get rid of him.”

“Killing him would be a little harsh, perhaps?” she offered.

“Not too harsh for that weasel. Oh, I know, it’s my own fault. I never should have helped him out in the first place. Stupidity. No, pride. He’s got my name. Didn’t want it dragged through the mud. I was a fool.”

“You did what you felt was best, George. It might have turned out differently.”

“He’s never had a single grateful bone in his body.”

“Well, no. Even as a young boy, he was never very trustworthy. Always looking out for himself.”

“I guess he’s the cross I have to bear. But if I can think of some way to get him off my back, I’ll do it in a minute.”

“Yes, George.”

“Never mind him. He’ll do what you want this weekend. He needs money. But after that—! Where are the others?”

“Douglass phoned to say they’d be here in time for supper. He had to work later than expected. And Peter called from his car to say they’re on the way and he’s bringing a surprise. He said he hoped we don’t mind. I don’t know what he meant. If it’s a surprise, why should I mind?”

“Who knows? Well, I’ll have a quick shower and change. Talking to Bart always puts me in a sweat.”