Chapter Eighteen

I groaned when I saw Guy’s Miata parked outside Cloak and Dagger. How the hell much of this was I supposed to deal with in one night?

Then it occurred to me that my lover coming safely home to me should not, technically, fall into the stressful-shit-I-had-to-deal-with category. Yet there it was: the old familiar feeling of not wanting to face this -- and I knew there would be something to face. I’d known since Guy had proposed a romantic weekend in Mexico, and I’d felt nothing but dismay that there was something waiting for me to face.

I let myself into the store, walked upstairs, and opened the door. Guy stood at the window, staring down at the empty street below.

“I didn’t know whether to expect you or not,” I said, as he turned to face me.

“I spoke to Peter,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Well, the good news was he didn’t apparently care where I’d been, so I didn’t need to admit I’d been having drinks with my own ex-lover. I dropped down on the chair next to the sofa. All at once I was very tired. “Sure,” I said. “We could start with you explaining why you’re pen pals with a kid who tried to kill me.”

He inhaled like I’d tackled him out of the blue. “Peter did not try to kill you, Adrien. He is not a murderer -- and that’s not merely my opinion. The jury agreed. He was swept along with something that got out of control, that’s all. He’s young, he was naive. He was every bit as manipulated as Angus. You’ve forgiven Angus, haven’t you?”

Had I? Yeah, apparently I had. I replied, “Angus never tried to kill me.”

“He involved you in something that could have got you killed. It’s the same thing, nearly.”

“No, Guy, actually it’s not.”

He didn’t bother to argue; his expression said it all.

I said, “Even if we put that aside for a minute, if you can’t see how far out of line his coming here was…I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You’re completely overreacting.”

Now that was almost funny, considering that I’d been thinking Guy had spent the last week overreacting about Jake. I said, “I disagree. I think most people would disagree.”

“Most people.” He shook his head like that was unworthy of me.

Maybe it was.

Reaching out, he absently picked up the crystal-encased gold doubloon he’d bought me early in our relationship. He frowned at it as though he’d suddenly spotted a flaw in the lustrous surface. He said, “I know Peter.” He raised his eyes to meet mine. “I’ve known him longer than I’ve known you.”

“Yes. I recall.”

“He needs a friend right now. He needs help.”

I had this sudden Ebenezer Scrooge moment. Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses? Maybe Lisa was right. Maybe I had grown hard, bitter. In any case, I seemed fresh out of the milk of human kindness.

I said, “He showed up here deliberately, Guy. He was challenging me, letting me know he was back, staking his claim.”

A look of distaste crossed Guy’s face.

I said, “Yeah, it is very high school. I agree. And we’re both too old for this shit.”

“I think you may have misinterpreted --”

I laughed. Shook my head. “I didn’t misinterpret anything. He wants you back, and he wanted me to know that. He believes you still have feelings for him -- and I’m not so sure you don’t.”

“I told you at the start there was nothing…serious between Peter and me. That is to say, I’m fond of him, I consider him a friend, and I want to see to him through this…difficult time. He needs someone, Adrien.”

I need someone, I thought. But what I said was, “And you need to be needed?”

“Everyone needs to be needed,” Guy answered succinctly. “Even you.” He replaced the pirate coin in its place on the bookshelf.

When I didn’t respond, he asked quietly, “Are you asking me to choose between you?”

I’d been massaging my temples against what felt like a looming headache. Migraine. Brain cloud. I looked up. “Wow. I guess I didn’t realize it would be that tough a choice. No, I’m not asking you to choose.”

“What does that mean?”

I gave a helpless laugh. “Damned if I know. I think…we seem to have reached impasse. I feel betrayed by your friendship with Verlane. I realize that’s not logical. I realize that if I’d made the mistakes Verlane has made, I’d still want my friends to stand by me, hope that someone would help me when the time came. I just…”

“What?”

I met his eyes. “I just need to come first for someone, Guy.”

He said, “Is it fair to ask for that when I don’t come first for you?”

Fair question. I’m not sure why it felt like I had suddenly run out of highway. I replied, “Probably not.”

Neither of us seemed to have anything to add.

At last he moved. “Maybe we both need some time.”

“Yes,” I said, and I rose, as though seeing a guest to the door.

We went out on the landing, I followed him down the stairs; saw him out the side door. He hesitated. I knew he was trying to decide if he should offer to give his key back. I didn’t want him to, but I couldn’t seem to make myself say anything.

He said, “I’ll call you.”

“I’ll be here,” I said.

And he smiled as though we both knew that wasn’t true.

* * * * *

“Morning,” I called as the glass door swung open with a cheerful jangle of bells.

“I will never understand men. Why can’t they just say what they want?” Natalie deposited the large pink box of pastries on the counter with strudel-smooshing force.

I glanced up from the register. “What’s that mean?”

“That!” She jabbed her finger at my nose. “That look. That’s exactly what I mean. It’s like you think it’s a trick question.”

“It is a trick question,” I said, “because if we just tell you what we want, you won’t like the answer. And then it will be loud and messy and take up a lot of time we don’t have.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Lisa asked you to talk to me about Warren, didn’t she?”

“God, no.” I opened the pastry box. “Is it somebody’s birthday?” Hopefully not hers -- or anyone else’s I was now related to.

She said huffily, “I thought I would like a doughnut this morning.”

I blinked. “There must be twenty-four doughnuts here.”

“Twenty-eight. You get two free ones with each dozen. Have one. Anyway, they’re not all doughnuts.”

“I see that.” There was quite a nice selection of baked goods. I took a chocolate doughnut with sprinkles. “I thought carbs were out this month?”

“I don’t give a damn about carbs,” Natalie said viciously, and I raised my eyebrows, before returning hastily to counting out the register.

We always do a brisk business on Saturdays, and that day was no exception. In between helping customers -- which she did charmingly -- Natalie brooded and somehow managed to eat four doughnuts, two cheese Danishes, a cinnamon pecan roll, and a bear claw.

“I’d offer to take you to lunch,” I said when twelve o’clock rolled around, “but I’m afraid you’ll explode.”

“We can’t close the store anyway,” she said. She fastened me with a darkling eye -- well, as darkling as a blue-eyed blonde who looks like a Ralph Lauren model can get. “This is why we need some help in here, especially since you’re busy out sleuthing half the time.”

“We’re going to get some help,” I promised. “And it’s not like I’m going to continue sleuthing --”

“So you are on a case!” she said triumphantly. “I knew the minute I heard about that murder at Paul Kane’s mansion. I knew it.”

I’d been so busy brooding over Guy and the situation with Peter Verlane I’d walked right into that one. I said, “You make it sound more organized than it is. I just agreed to ask a few people some questions, that’s all.”

“I’ll tell you right now, the wife did it,” Natalie said.

“That seems to be the consensus of opinion. Why do you think she did it?”

“Well, for starters, did you see him? He was old enough to be her father. And he looked like a frog.”

“Yeah, but love is blind,” I said.

“No, it’s not!” she scoffed. “Not for girls like her.”

Now this was interesting. The feminine perspective. “What do you mean, girls like her?”

She made an exasperated little clucking sound. “Adrien. She is a total bimbo.”

“Hey, bimbos have feelings too,” I said. “Look at Anna Nicole Smith.”

She just shook her head.

“Okay,” I said, “but Anna Nicole Smith didn’t knock her elderly husband off. So why take that risk -- especially when the wife is always the immediate suspect?”

“Maybe she couldn’t wait.”

“Why wouldn’t she be able to wait?”

Natalie shrugged. I thought it was an interesting point, though. What if there was some time factor involved? Like…what if Ally’s lover had given her some kind of ultimatum? Or what if she was pregnant again? Or what if Porter -- as Paul Kane had hinted -- was planning to change his will?

I said, “But why do it in such a public way? Why not just arrange a quiet little accident?”

“Maybe she didn’t know how. Or maybe she thought someone else would be blamed.”

I stared at her. She had something there, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. Would Ally have any reason to believe someone else would be suspected before her in her husband’s death?

Natalie said, “That detective in charge of the case: is he your Jake?”

My mouth dried. The words felt arid and dusty as I forced them out. “Who told you his name?” Like I had to ask.

“Lisa pointed him out on television the other night, and I recognized him as one of the cops who was in here the other day.”

I opened my mouth, and then shut it. Jake had to know he was fighting a rearguard action. And I was through lying to my own friends and family. “Yeah,” I said. “We used to be friends. A long time ago. He’s married now.”

“Bastard,” she said.

I shook my head. “Not really. He never lied to me. I just didn’t ask the questions I didn’t want to know the answers to.”

It wasn’t like I hadn’t always known this was the truth, but as I said it aloud, I absorbed that I was finally able to accept it without being angry at myself or Jake.

Natalie went to lunch, came back, and I spent my break surfing the Web finding out what I could on Langley Hawthorne. It was mostly a tangent. I started out doing some more searching into Nina’s background, but a couple of references to Hawthorne’s accidental death diverted my attention.

There wasn’t as much information as I would have expected. Despite his wealth and his interest in movies and moviemaking, Hawthorne had kept a low profile. His relationship with his daughter was apparently always a stormy one, but he had doted on her. When he died, she inherited the bulk of his fortune.

That wasn’t particularly noteworthy; what caught my attention was the manner of his death. He’d fallen off his yacht and drowned off Catalina Island. Hawthorne and a handful of close friends had been drinking heavily that evening -- which was apparently not unusual -- and the Los Angeles Coroner’s Office had ruled the death an accident.

Even more intriguing was the lineup of guests on that fateful night. In addition to Al January and Paul Kane, Porter Jones and the first Mrs. Jones had been present -- as had Nina. This would have been after Nina’s affair with Porter had ended. Or, more exactly, after her father had insisted Porter break it off with her. To my way of thinking, at best that would have been one very awkward get-together.

I considered it for a bit, then I phoned Lisa.

After we got past the pleasantries and unpleasantries -- Darling, I didn’t realize it was still a secret -- I said, “Lisa, at lunch the other day, you said something about hiring a caterer for this SPCA banquet. Have you already done that?”

“You mean at the lunch we didn’t have the other day?”

“That’s the one. Have you already hired a caterer?”

“We’re moving the venue to the Bonaventure.”

I said, “Would you do me a favor and see if you can set up an interview with Nina Hawthorne? She owns Truly Scrumptious Catering.”

“But we don’t need a caterer, Adrien. The hotel will take care of all that.”

“I know, but could you pretend that you’re still holding it wherever you talked about before?”

“I suppose so. Why?” She sounded mildly suspicious.

“I’d like to sit in on the interview.”

Silence.

“Why?” she said, and it was her no-fooling voice.

“I’d like to see what she’s like.”

She said tentatively, “Are you thinking of hiring her for some event?”

Oh God. Did she think Guy and I were about to tie the knot?

I said, “Sort of. I’d just like to get a feel for her and her company.”

“All right, darling,” Lisa said, highly amused. “I’ll set something up, and you can tell me what it’s all about later.”

I hung up, and Natalie tapped on my office door.

“Paul Kane called while you were on the phone.”

I sighed. “Thanks.”

I called Kane back and got his PA. After a brief wait, she put me through to Kane.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were ducking my calls,” he greeted me in that mellifluous voice.

I remembered that he had called the previous afternoon, and I’d never got back to him. Granted, I’d been a little preoccupied with the detonation of my personal life, but it did seem a little blasé now that I thought about it -- especially when I still believed it possible he was the intended victim of last weekend’s poisoning. Was I unconsciously hoping someone would take Paul out?

“Sorry,” I said. “I’ve been a little busy. In fact, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you.”

Amused, he said, “This sounds ominous.”

I said, “Has it crossed your mind that you might have been the target last Sunday?”

It was so abruptly quiet, I wondered if we had lost the connection. He burst out laughing, and I had to hold the handset away from my ear.

“Bloody brilliant! You truly had me for half a mo.”

“Yeah, but I’m not kidding,” I persisted. “I’ve been doing some digging, and I couldn’t help but notice Nina Hawthorne catered your party.”

“Lose a lot of clients to poison, does she?” He was still finding it all terribly humorous, pip-pip.

“I don’t suppose all her clients share the history with her you do,” I said.

He stopped laughing. In fact, he was silent for a few seconds. He said, “I gather from your tone you’re aware that Nina and I have had a somewhat tumultuous past.”

“I know you had a child together, and that --”

“Yes,” he broke in crisply. “Quite. Well, you are thorough. I give you credit for that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not trying to open old wounds, but it occurred to me that the drink you handed me for Porter might easily have been mistaken for your own.”

After a moment he said, “She wasn’t there. At least --”

“At least what?”

“No. It’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous?”

“Nothing. I appreciate your concern. Truly. But…not necessary, I assure you.” Before I could respond, he went on, “Look, the reason I’m giving you a tinkle is I’m having a little get-together at the marina tomorrow. Valarie will be there, and it would give you a chance to speak with her.”

“Sundays are awkward,” I said. “I’m supposed to occasionally give my assistant a day off.”

But Paul persisted -- charming and intractable as ever -- and I finally agreed just to shut him up.

“Marvelous!” he exclaimed after giving me the details. “We’ll see you then.”

“All right,” I said without enthusiasm.

He chuckled at my tone, then said with unexpected seriousness, “Adrien…thank you. I appreciate your concern. I do. But the loss of our child actually brought Nina and me together. Allowed us to be friends again.”

“Of course,” I said. “I didn’t realize.”

“How could you?” he said easily. “But I am genuinely grateful for your friendship.”

“No problem,” I said.

With friends like me, who needed enemies?