CHAPTER EIGHT
The Dunhill Mansion ballroom could comfortably hold two hundred guests. Currently, it held two. Yet Jake had never felt more claustrophobic.
Victoria Dunhill, wearing an ornate, sequined peach gown, walked up and down the length of the ballroom, conducting her inspection as she always did thirty minutes before each Dunhill party. Jake walked beside her, scanning the guest list her personal assistant provided for him. He recognized most of the names. He wondered if one of them was Pru’s mystery man from the reunion.
“How is Lizzie’s little friend—the one who got hurt?” Victoria said. “I don’t believe I know her name.”
“Felicia Harvey. She’s one of Lizzie’s closest friends. She’s a member of the bridal party.”
Mrs. Dunhill fluttered her eyelashes. “Oh, Jacob, please. You can’t expect me to recollect all of Lizbeth’s friends. I know she is the little one with the—” She paused dramatically. “We don’t need to mention her other more permanent injuries, do we? She’s reminded of her scars from that fire her own father set every time she looks in the mirror, poor dear.”
Mrs. Dunhill was insufferable. Plain and simple. If Jake hadn’t become such close friends with her son, he would have cut ties with Victoria years ago.
“Mrs. Dunhill, it was town gossips who accused Felicia’s father of setting the fire. And he was completely cleared of having anything to do with it.”
“Are we still talking about that unpleasantness?” Mrs. Dunhill said, waving her arm in the air. She clapped her hands twice, and a maid came running. “There’s a crease in this curtain,” she snapped to the young woman.
The maid nodded, pulled a walkie-talkie from her apron pocket, and ordered a porter to bring a stepladder and a portable steamer at once.
Jake rolled his eyes. How Dylan had ended up so down-to-earth was beyond him.
But Jake had more pressing concerns—such as Felicia’s name appearing on the guest list when she had called to say she would not be attending, after all. How accurate—or inaccurate—was the list?
“Speaking of unpleasantness,” Mrs. Dunhill said, “I’m surprised Lizbeth and Dylan didn’t cancel tonight’s party given what happened to Lizbeth’s little friend a couple of weeks go. But what really shocked me—shocked quite a few people—was their callousness at attending their high school reunion last weekend while Lizbeth’s dear friend lay with a grave injury. That doesn’t sound like friendship to me.”
“She prefers to be called Lizzie,” Jake said for the hundredth time in the past week. “And Lizzie didn’t want to go to the reunion, but Felicia insisted she’d feel worse if her friends canceled their plans because of her.”
Mrs. Dunhill could not have looked more bored. Perhaps what he would say next would interest her.
“Besides, there was a very good chance that whoever’s behind these ‘incidents’ would be at the reunion,” Jake said.
Mrs. Dunhill perked up. “And was he?”
“He?” Jake asked.
“Or she,” Mrs. Dunhill amended.
“I never discuss my cases,” Jake said. “You know that.”
“Yes, I do,” she said flatly.
“And as far as tonight is concerned,” Jake continued, “Lizzie and Dylan aren’t going to let some jerk stop them from celebrating how much they love each other.”
Mrs. Dunhill raised an eyebrow. “Love?” She leaned close to Jake. “Come now, Jacob. You can speak straight to me. You mean lust.”
“No, I mean love,” he corrected. “You haven’t spent a lot of time with Lizzie or with Dylan and Lizzie as a couple. You’ll see—as time goes by—how much they love each other.”
“Jacob, my dear boy,” Mrs. Dunhill said, her eagle-eyed gaze inspecting every curtain, every square of wood on the floor. “Love is what I felt for my husband. From the first moment I saw him and until the day he died six years ago. Twenty-nine years of marriage. That is love.”
No, that is your story and you’re sticking to it, Jake thought as Mrs. Dunhill, apparently satisfied with the rest of the ballroom, snapped at her butler, who stood awaiting her every request. The man hurried to the bar, returned with a scotch on the rocks, and resumed his post.
“Yes, Jacob, love is much more than sex,” she added as she sat in one of the high-backed chairs lining the walls. She sighed and stared upward at the ornate ceiling, a huge crystal chandelier its magnificent centerpiece, and seemed lost in thought.
Dylan Dunhill II had been cheating on Victoria from the moment they met, through their courtship and their marriage. He’d been cheating on his wife when he died of a massive heart attack, a high-priced prostitute on top of him.
Jake had been the police officer who’d responded to the call at the Troutville Plaza Hotel. The prostitute, scared out of her mind, had phoned the front desk for an ambulance, then ran out the front door, never to be seen again, according to the night manager. Jake had gone to Dunhill Mansion and was ushered into the library, where he met Victoria Dunhill for the first time. Upon hearing the news, the details of which he relayed as sensitively as he could, she blanched for just a moment, then recovered instantly. She led Jake into her private office, snapped for her scotch on the rocks, sat very straight in her desk chair, and spoke with absolutely no emotion in her voice.
“With Dylan’s heart condition and previous heart attack, I have no doubt that his heart simply gave out, especially under such ... activity,” she’d said. “So I’m under no delusion that the autopsy report will reveal this ... call girl had anything to do with his death. Dylan ... enjoyed young women and he always survived his dalliances.”
“We’ll have the report in a few hours—” Jake began.
“The cardiothoracic unit at Troutville General is in the Dylan Dunhill II wing, did you know that?”
Jake shook his head. “I didn’t know that.”
“Young man,” she said, reaching into her desk drawer and removing what looked like a checkbook. “It’s very important to me that one particular detail of my husband’s death not be reported to the media—or to anyone. I’ll pay you—what? Ten thousand good enough to keep that mouth of yours shut about the woman Dylan was with at the time of his death? I don’t need to have this conversation with the managers at the Troutville Plaza Hotel. We’ve had an ... understanding for years.”
Jake’s stomach turned. “Mrs. Dunhill, I am very sorry for your loss. I’ve never been married, but I did lose my mother to a heart attack, and I understand the pain and grief firsthand.”
She lifted her chin for a moment, regarding him out of the corner of her eye.
He cleared his throat. “I will require the autopsy report before I file my own report, and if the autopsy indicates that no foul play was involved, you can be assured that I won’t breathe a word of the circumstances to the press or to anyone. I don’t require payment for being a decent human being.”
She’d looked at him very closely, suspicion narrowing her blue eyes. “How can I be assured of your discretion if I don’t have a canceled check to hold over your job?”
“You’ll just have to accept my word,” Jake had said. “It’s the only guarantee you need.”
“What’s your name?” she asked. “Your family name.”
“Boone.”
“Boone,” she repeated flatly. “I’m not familiar with the Boones of Troutville.”
Boones of Troutville. Jake almost laughed at how absurd it sounded. Though his family had been in Troutville for three generations, his father and grandfather in the police department.
“I wouldn’t think you would be,” he said. “I’m from Down Hill.”
“That, I guessed,” she responded. “You’re a cop. It’s a noble job, but a blue-collar one.”
Jake hadn’t bothered wasting his breath or an ounce of his time or energy enlightening Mrs. Dunhill on societal perceptions of the police.
“I have your word about my husband’s death?” she repeated.
“You do.”
She looked him directly in the eye. “My son won’t find out about this?”
“I doubt I’ll ever have occasion to speak to your son, Mrs. Dunhill,” Jake said, his gaze lifting to the many framed photographs of a boy and a girl in various ages and stages lining the credenza behind her desk. “But in the event that I do, you can trust that I will not tell him. Your husband died of a heart attack in the Troutville Plaza Hotel. End of story.”
She nodded and returned the checkbook to her drawer. “My husband checked into the five-star hotel rather than drive the ten minutes home since it was so late and he didn’t want to wake me,” she said. “My Dylan was such a thoughtful man.”
She seemed to be internalizing the story, committing it to memory as a memory as she made it up.
“He died all alone, poor man,” she continued. “Such a tragedy. Clutching a photo of me that he always carried in his wallet.”
“Again, Mrs. Dunhill,” he said. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” He wanted nothing more than to get away from her, get away from this cold, heartless mansion.
A few hours later, the autopsy had revealed that Dylan Dunhill II died of a heart attack due to a heart condition.
And as Jake had sat at his desk at the precinct, he could see Victoria Dunhill smiling. Had her husband been murdered by the call girl, Jake was ninety-nine percent sure Mrs. Dunhill would have it obliterated from all records—and her memory.
Exactly one week later, the matriarch phoned and asked that he pay her a visit at her home. She thanked him for his discretion and said he had earned her trust, something no one except her son had ever managed. For that, she was indebted to him, and should he need anything, he was only to call. During that visit, Dylan Dunhill III, who Jake knew of from high school, had been conducting a tutoring session in the house library with a teenager he was working with at the Boys’ Center, and Jake had been truly surprised. He’d never talked to Dylan Dunhill in all the years they’d gone to the same school, and here he was, tutoring a Down Hill teenager in fractions, using basketball as a guide. The teenager was getting it and seemed to be enjoying the lesson.
Dylan had invited him to the center to volunteer, and that was that. The two had become friends. Dylan, Jake was surprised to discover, didn’t discern between Up Hill and Down Hill. He wasn’t a snob. In fact, he was one of the kindest people Jake had ever met. And with Victoria constantly inviting Jake to family functions as a “wonderful officer of the law, representing the best of Troutville’s public service citizens,” Jake and Dylan had run into each other often and discovered they had a lot in common—the law, for one.
“I know what you did for my mother,” Dylan had said one afternoon on their way to the center’s basketball courts.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jake said.
“For my twenty-first birthday, my father brought me to Chez Jacqueline’s, a very high-priced brothel in a nearby town,” Dylan said. “He said I was officially a man now, since I had just inherited a sick sum of family money, so it was time I joined him in the Dunhill male tradition of enjoying all Chez Jacqueline’s had to offer. I was outraged, of course, and told him I preferred to sleep with women I loved. Sleep with the woman I loved, not that I loved anyone or had slept with very many women then. He said he didn’t know where I got my ethics from, since I certainly didn’t get them from him or my mother.”
“Jesus!” Jake said.
“Don’t be so shocked,” Dylan responded. “I never was. And I don’t judge them. They can live the way they want, I’ll live the way I want.”
Jake nodded. He had no idea what to say. His own parents’ marriage was wonderful. In their mid-sixties now, they loved each other and had retired to a lively apartment complex in Florida.
“My father told me he’d been three-timing my mother from the moment they met,” Dylan continued, shooting for the basket—and missing. “He’d fallen for her at first sight at a cocktail party—her and two other women. So he circled the room, pretending he had to mingle, and romanced them all. He married my mother because of pressure from his own parents—she had the best pedigree—and he continued to see the others and hundreds more during their marriage.”
“Hundreds?” Jake repeated.
Dylan nodded and shot for the basket.
“Does your sister know any of this?” Jake asked. He wondered if it contributed to Pru’s prickliness, the bitter part of her personality.
Dylan shook his head. “My mother likes to pretend that they had the perfect marriage. She’s worked very hard to make sure Pru and I believe that. I know better because my father told me himself, but it’s not the kind of thing he’d tell Pru. She was daddy’s little girl.”
The sounds of laughter and glasses clinking shook Jake from his reverie.
“Jake, dear, you were a million miles away,” Victoria Dunhill scolded. “Did you even notice my first guests arrive? Have you met the delightful Chipwells?”
He hadn’t, but the delightful Mrs. Chipwell, who’d made it clear she couldn’t believe Dylan had passed up her beautiful daughter in favor of “that ... that Down Hill girl,” was on his list of suspects.
Jake stood, shook the couple’s hands, and engaged the delightful Mrs. Chipwell in a subtle investigative conversation.
“This limo could almost make me forget my troubles,” Lizzie said, crossing and uncrossing her legs in the luxurious limousine that Dylan had insisted on renting to transport Lizzie, Gayle and Holly to the party. Her smile faded. “Almost. I wish Flea were here.”
“I stopped by her shop before I headed to your place, Lizzie,” Gayle said, tossing her heavy red hair behind her shoulder. “She’s still wincing a little from the pain. And yet there she was, cutting and patterning your dress, working with those tiny scissors, straining her eyes.”
“I spent some time with her yesterday,” Holly said. “She said that working on the dress will make her feel like she’s at the party.”
“What would I do without Flea?” Lizzie said, tearing up and glancing out the window. “What would I do without any of you?”
“Hey, come on now,” Gayle said, patting Lizzie’s knee. “Don’t forget that gorgeous, kind fiancé of yours!”
Lizzie let out a deep breath. “Gayle, I’m so sorry about what happened at your workplace. I don’t know if it was the person who’s after me going after my friends or if it was Pru or what, but I’m so sorry.”
Gayle smiled weakly. “Don’t you worry, Lizzie. My boss was never going to go for me anyway, whether or not he thinks I’m some good-time girl. Besides, it’s nothing he didn’t hear every day in the halls in high school.”
A few days ago, Gayle’s boss had received a typed letter from an anonymous source in Troutville, insisting that she be fired, that Good Time Gayle had no business being the receptionist at such a professional establishment as his law office. The letter went on to say that Gayle partied every night of the week till all hours, drinking and carrying on with who knew who, and who knew what confidential secrets she was spilling? Her boss would be well advised, the letter continued, to fire her.
Gayle’s boss hadn’t fired her, but he had, with some embarrassment, shown her the letter so that she’d be aware, given what was going on with Lizzie.
Gayle’s beautiful green eyes teared up. “Sticks and stones, right?”
“It was Pru!” Flea said through clenched teeth. “For telling her off at the reunion. Probably why she waited a week—so you wouldn’t necessarily connect it to that.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Gayle said. “But it’s not like I can confront her without proof.”
“If it was her, Gayle,” Lizzie said, squeezing Gayle’s hand, “I’m just sorry you’ll have to see her tonight. Feel free to ignore her. I don’t want you thinking you need to be polite just because of me. She’s certainly not polite to me and I’m marrying into her family.”
“Are you okay, honey?” Holly asked Lizzie. “Remember, tonight is about you and Dylan celebrating how you feel. It’s not about the psycho. It’s not about Pru. It’s not about anything but you and Dylan.”
Lizzie nodded and offered a smile, but as the limo turned onto Dunhill Place, she bit her lip and then burst into tears. “I’m a nervous wreck,” Lizzie said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m trying to put on a good front, but I’m scared to death. For myself, for you two, and Flea, for Dylan. And then there’s Mrs. Dunhill. Pru is nothing compared to her.”
Holly held Lizzie’s hand for support. “Honey, I thought you said Dylan’s mother was being civil.”
“Meaning she’s not insulting me to my face,” Lizzie explained, her face crumpling.
“She’ll come around,” Gayle put in. “Trust me, after tonight, when they see firsthand how in love you and Dylan are, his mom will welcome you into the family.”
“I hope so,” Lizzie said, brightening just a little. She glanced out the window. “Especially because we’re here.”
The three women stared out the window at the stately white mansion up a manicured slope of lawn. Holly had been here once before. Not inside, though. When she was eleven, her aunt Flora, who worked in the house as a maid, had forgotten her brown-bag lunch on the counter at home, and Holly had been sent with it on her bicycle. When she’d arrived, she was careful to leave the bike in the street so that its handlebars or wheels wouldn’t touch the lovely grass, and she’d started up the walkway to the majestic front door, wondering where the special entrance was that her aunt had told her about. Once at the front door, she’d peered around the side of the house for the workers’ entrance, but saw only a garden and rosebushes. And so, brown bag in hand, she tiptoed to knock the heavy brass knocker. The housekeeper, her aunt’s boss, had answered the door, and had smiled at Holly and taken the bag, but Pru Dunhill, who Holly had never seen before (she attended a special boarding school then) had been coming down the stairs.
“Is this a beggar girl?” Pru had asked the housekeeper. “Why is she dressed that way?”
As the housekeeper explained that Holly was the maid Flora’s little niece, come to bring her forgotten lunch, Holly glanced down at herself and saw for the first time the difference between the way she was dressed and how Pru was dressed. She had never noticed such a thing before. Pru, in a pristine white dress, her hair held back with a pink headband, looked like a princess. And Holly, in her cousin Lizzie’s hand-me-downs (Lizzie was so much taller than Holly that she outgrew her clothes faster than Holly) felt shabby, despite how clean and well mended her shirt and pants were. She didn’t “look” like Pru did, with her shining blond hair and polished Mary Janes.
“Well, if she’s related to a maid, she can’t use the front door,” Pru said matter-of-factly. “She has to use the servants’ entrance.”
The housekeeper had reddened, smiled at Holly and shooed her away, and the heavy door closed in her face. That had been Holly’s first experience with Pru Dunhill, with Dunhill Mansion. With feeling “less than.” Here she was, twenty-eight years old, a self-assured teacher with her own home, and yet being in Troutville, being in front of this house again, was able to call up that old feeling so vividly. Now, she would be walking through the front door, a guest at a family party. It didn’t seem like a victory, though. In fact, she was feeling a little sick. She’d like to slap Pru Dunhill and wasn’t sure if she could stop herself if Pru provoked her.
Watch it, Holly, she cautioned herself. These people were going to be Lizzie’s in-laws, and for her, she would respond to the Dunhills as though they were any family she was meeting for the first time.
“Ready?” Lizzie asked as the driver came around to open the door for them.
As we’ll ever be, Holly thought, exiting the limo.
“How do I look?” Lizzie asked as they headed up the walkway. “Is my hair too wild?”
Holly looked Lizzie up and down in an exaggerated way. “From toe to head, my dear cousin, you look absolutely beautiful. And your hair is amazing.”
“You look incredible, Lizzie,” Gayle said. “Even Mrs. Dunhill won’t have a thing to say about the ‘appropriateness’ of your dress.” She giggled. “You look—almost—like a Dunhill’s wife!”
Holly and Lizzie laughed. “Well, except for the cleavage,” Lizzie said, shimmying her shoulders. “And the bright color. And the flowery print.” She laughed. “This is the most conservative dress I own!”
“I know this one isn’t,” Holly said, glancing down at herself, at the pretty black dress with its flouncy hem Flea had insisted on giving her yesterday. She felt so light, so feminine—and so not herself again. She loved the dress, loved the shoes Lizzie had loaned her, but she’d love it a lot more on someone else. She hated calling attention to herself, to her body. To anything that might make people notice her. In high school, she’d worn big dark shirts and corduroys to hide her body, to help her fade into the hallways. But the comments had kept on, regardless.
The heavy door was opened by a butler. “Your name,” he said to Holly.
“Holly Morrow.”
“You may enter,” the butler said.
Oh, may I, thought Holly.
Gayle went through the same process.
“And you are?” he said to Lizzie.
Lizzie smiled. “Hello, Walker. It’s me, Lizzie Morrow. We met once—”
The butler scanned the list. “I’m sorry, but you are not on the guest list.” He turned to Holly and Gayle. “If you two are coming in, please do so now.”
The three women stared at the butler. “She’s the bride-to-be!” Holly said incredulously.
“Half of the guest of honor!” Gayle said.
The butler’s expression didn’t change. “I’m sorry, but her name is not on the list. I’m under strict orders not to allow any person in whose name is not on the list.”
“Oh, brother,” Lizzie said. “Talk about humiliating. I can’t even get into my own engagement party!”
Gayle handed Lizzie her cell phone. “Here, Liz, use my phone to call Dylan.”
Lizzie punched in the numbers. “Hi, sweetie,” she said into the phone. “I can’t get into my own party! I’m not on the list!” She listened for a few moments. “Okay. We’ll be here.” She clicked off and let out a deep breath. “He says of course I’m not on the list—I’m not a guest!”
Holly supposed she could understand the mix-up. Supposed she could.
In a moment, Dylan appeared behind the butler. “Walker, don’t you remember my fiancée, Lizzie? Of course she’s not on the list. The party is for her—for us.”
The butler paled. “Oh. I’m terribly sorry, sir. Sorry, ma’am. I’m under strict orders not to let anyone in who isn’t on the guest list.”
Lizzie smiled. “Believe me, I of all people understand the need for tight security. And I appreciate it, too.”
Holly wasn’t sure if the butler deserved Lizzie’s generosity, but she admired her cousin’s ability to turn the other cheek.
Dylan enfolded Lizzie in a hug. “You look smashing, sweetheart. You’re going to knock them all dead.”
“I wouldn’t use that word if I were you,” Gayle joked.
Dylan smiled. “Come on in. Just about everyone’s here. I can’t wait for them all to meet my Lizzie.” He kissed her hand.
Dylan led them inside a packed ballroom. There were at least a hundred people in the elegant room, but the first person Holly saw was Jake. He was in his beautiful dark suit, and his dark hair shone under the lights of a chandelier. He was so handsome, so intensely handsome, that she had trouble looking away.
He caught her staring. He upped his champagne glass at her and moments later, he was at her side with a glass for her.
“Thank you,” she said, taking it from him. She was glad to have something to do with her hands.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered. “I hope you don’t mind my saying that.”
She felt herself blush. Just say thank you, she ordered herself. But her mouth felt as though it were stuffed with cotton. She smiled shyly instead, and he smiled back.
“Can you bring me up to date on where you are suspect-wise?” Holly asked, mostly to have something to say. He hadn’t made a point of talking to her when he’d come by Lizzie’s to discuss the case. He seemed to be trying to avoid her.
Holly cleared her throat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to know who your top suspect is, so that I can pay close attention to him or her tonight. Or perhaps we could begin with the top two—we could each take one—surreptitiously follow them around, listen to their conversations.”
“I thought we’d begin with a glass of champagne,” Jake said, clinking his glass with hers.
Holly felt her cheeks pinken. She was so aware of him standing next to her, his masculinity. She could smell just a hint of his soap, a hint of his aftershave.
He was in love with you in high school ...
Was it true? Had this gorgeous man really loved her?
“You promised me my first dance, Jake Boone,” came a seductive, feminine voice.
Holly and Jake turned to find Pru Dunhill in a skintight, low-cut, short black dress. Somehow, she managed to look elegantly sexy, instead of inappropriate. With her long blond hair and blue eyes, Pru’s angelic beauty was offset by the severity of the black, and she made a dazzling picture.
Pru took Jake’s hand and put it to her waist. “Lead me around the floor,” she purred.
“Sorry, Pru, but I’m in the middle of something,” Jake said.
Pru stared at Holly with one of her famous dirty looks. “I’m sure your friend here—what was your name, dear? I believe we met at the reunion, but I’m at a loss ...”
Holly stared at her, stunned at how outwardly obnoxious she was. Perhaps Jake was right about Pru; she was so forthright, it seemed uncharacteristic of her to skulk around, leaving notes and scratching cars and hiding behind Bettina’s Bridal to hurl a stone. Holly could imagine Pru Dunhill standing right in front of someone with a stone in her hand. She could also imagine her sending an obnoxious letter to Gayle’s boss.
“Her name is Holly Morrow,” Jake said.
She caught the impatience in his voice, that old disdain for Pru. Or was it impatience at being with me, disdain for me, when perhaps there was something going on between him and Pru, as unbelievable as that was. Perhaps he didn’t like her, but she was stunning and she sure did come on to him in a very strong sexual way. Maybe ...
Holly well recalled seeing the two of them together on the train platform. Granted, Pru had been all over Jake, not the other way around. But still, maybe they slept together, casually.
Jake Boone doesn’t do anything casually, said a voice from somewhere inside her. He’s not sleeping with Pru Dunhill.
Pru shot Holly a cold smile. “Ah, that’s right. Holly Morrow. It’s a shame for you that cousins aren’t considered ‘family’ by marriage. Lizzie will be a Dunhill, of course, by name and marriage, if not pedigree. But you won’t be. It doesn’t work that way. Sorry, hon.”
If Holly hadn’t been exposed to Pru Dunhill from the age of eleven, she would not believe what had just come out of her venomous mouth. The woman was despicable, there was no other way around it.
“Pru, what makes you think Holly is the least bit interested in whether or not she is or isn’t a part of the Dunhill family?”
“Isn’t,” Pru assured them. “And please, who wouldn’t want to be a part of the Dunhill empire?”
Holly stifled a laugh. Surprised that she could laugh at Pru, Holly realized that the woman had lost the power to hurt her, to have an impact on her self-esteem or worth as a person. Pru never had, not really, but she had managed to hurt Holly, more at the injustice at being treated badly than at anything Pru actually said. Holly had always been proud of her name and she always would be.
“Come, Jake,” Pru said, trailing a finger up his chest to his lips. “Come dance with me.”
“Pru, I’m talking to Holly,” he said, stepping back from her.
“Holly must be used to waiting around,” Pru said. “Of course she doesn’t mind if I steal you for one little dance.”
“Actually, I do mind,” Holly said, surprising herself again. She blushed and glanced down. She wasn’t quite sure how that had come across. She felt Jake’s eyes on her.
“Why, Holly, I didn’t know you cared,” he said somewhat teasingly.
But there was the edge of something dark in his voice. A hint of sarcasm.
“As a matter of fact, Pru,” Jake said, “I’m surprised you’re interested in dancing with anyone other than your new boyfriend.”
Yes! Holly thought, impressed by Jake’s good use of the opportunity to slyly confront Pru.
The blood drained from Pru’s face and she took a small step back. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m not even dating anyone right now.”
“Oh?” Jake said innocently. “I thought I saw you having something of a lover’s spat.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Pru said. “You must have me mistaken with someone else.”
“You’re difficult to mistake, Pru,” Jake said.
Pru glanced at Jake, yet not angrily, Holly noticed. Instead, Pru seemed ... nervous. Very nervous.
“Well, either you need to get those gorgeous eyes of yours checked, Jake Boone, or you’re not as good a private investigator as you think.”
“So you weren’t having an argument with a man during the reunion?” Jake asked.
The color returned to Pru’s cheeks. Hot red spots. “I most certainly was not. In fact, I had the time of my life at the reunion.”
“Well, that’s interesting,” Jake said. “Because I’d bet my life it was you I saw.”
Holly held her breath. Had Jake baited her to the point that she’d crack?
“Now, now, Jakie,” Pru said, reaching two slender hands toward his neck. She tugged on his tie. “I—”
“Pru! There you are!” Arianna said, grabbing Pru’s hand. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Wait till you see what Clarissa Leedwill is wearing! You can see her thong underwear through her gown!”
Whatever Pru had been about to say about Jake and his life had been forgotten. But Holly would bet her life that Pru had been about to retort with a thinly veiled warning.
“So sorry to interrupt your little reunion,” Pru said to Jake. “Come find me when you’re through rehashing old boring times,” she added with a press against him, before flitting away.
Holly rolled her eyes. “Not too subtle, is she?”
“She’s the opposite of subtle,” Jake said, leading Holly to an empty space by a wall. “Which is why, despite what we saw, my gut says she’s not our gal. I’m not saying she’s not high on the list—she is—but my gut says she’s not the one.”
“Then why was she arguing with a strange man in the woods during the reunion?” Holly asked.
“Maybe it really was a lover’s spat,” Jake said. “I hadn’t considered that, actually.”
Holly shook her head. “But she said she wasn’t even dating anyone.”
Jake let out a deep breath. “I’m more confused about Pru than I was five minutes ago. I expected her to say, ‘You caught me, Jake Boone. My new man and I sneaked off into the woods for a private moment, but then we got into a little lover’s quarrel. Everything’s peachy now, of course.’ But she didn’t say that. In fact, she denied she was dating anyone. Denied having a fight with anyone the night of the reunion. Why?”
“Why, is right,” Holly said. “She could have covered her butt, pretended that the man she hired to hurt Lizzie and her bridal party is no one other than her new boyfriend.”
“I’ll need to trail her,” Jake said. “It’s the only way I’ll find out who the man is. And when I find out who he is, I can pressure him into revealing something.”
Holly nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on her tonight.”
“Holly—” Jake began.
“Just an eye,” Holly said. “I’m not talking about becoming an amateur sleuth. Who knows—perhaps our mystery man will show up here tonight.”
Jake nodded. “Another thing I don’t understand is her motive. If she is our gal, why? She doesn’t have a super strong motive. She might not want Lizzie as a sister-in-law, but it wouldn’t personally affect her.”
“But it would personally affect Victoria Dunhill,” Holly pointed out. “Lizzie marrying into the family, her only son—”
The sound of a bell ringing interrupted Holly. She craned her neck around a group of people in front of her and Jake. Victoria Dunhill stood in the center of the room, bell in hand.
“Attention, please,” Mrs. Dunhill called, her peach sequins glittering in the dim light. “Thank you all so much for coming to celebrate the engagement of my son Dylan to the woman of his choice”—she emphasized choice—“Miss Lizbeth Morrow.” She gestured at the couple, who stood arm in arm nearby, to join her.
Dylan took Lizzie’s hand, brought it to his lips, kissed it, and then gallantly led her to his mother. To the wolves, Holly couldn’t help but think.
After a round of applause, Dylan held up a hand. “Thank you all so much for helping us celebrate our incredible happiness,” he said. “For the first time in my life, I am absolutely madly and truly in love, and I’m honored that the woman of my dreams, my beautiful, sweet Lizzie, has consented to marry me.”
There were some ahs and cheers and claps, and also stony faces and silences. Holly tried to pay attention to who was stony, but there were too many and too many Holly didn’t recognize. She glanced around for Pru and found the woman standing in a far corner with Arianna, whispering and laughing and pointing. Suddenly, Pru joined her family in the center. She whispered something in Lizzie’s ear, and Lizzie turned bright red, her eyes full of panic.
Oh, no. What did Pru say to Lizzie? Should I go see what’s wrong? Holly wondered.
Before Holly could move, Lizzie began backing her way through the crowd, against the wall, heading for the exit. Everyone was staring at her.
“Lizzie?” Dylan said. “What’s wrong?”
Beet red, Lizzie continued backing out of the room. “I’ll be right back, sweetie.”
Dylan signaled the band to continue playing, and once music filled the room, everyone went back to talking, drinking, and dancing.
Holly glanced at Pru, who was smiling. Arianna slithered next to Pru, and they high-fived each other.
Oh, God. What had Pru said to Lizzie?
Holly rushed after Lizzie and found her standing against a wall in the foyer outside the ballroom, asking a maid where the powder room was.
“Lizzie!” Holly called, hurrying to her. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to get to the bathroom right away!” Lizzie said, tears in her eyes. “Pru said my dress split up the back and that you could see my thong!”
Holly stood behind Lizzie as the maid directed them to the powder room. She locked the door, then checked Lizzie’s dress. “Lizzie, there is nothing wrong with your dress. It’s not split. It’s not even torn. It’s absolutely fine.”
“What?” Lizzie said, trying to get a good glimpse of her back in the mirror. “Are you sure?”
“It’s in as perfect condition as it was when you left your house,” Holly assured her.
“Then why would Pru—” Lizzie stopped and closed her eyes. “Oh, that’s right. She was just having a little fun by ruining my engagement party for me, right in the middle of my future mother-in-law’s toast to me and Dylan.” She burst into tears, then wiped them away angrily.
“You know what, Liz? You’re not going to let that immature, spiteful person ruin anything for you. You’re going to go back in there, tell Mrs. Dunhill exactly what happened and that Pru was mistaken about your dress, and that she should feel free to continue on with her toast.”
Lizzie took a deep breath, collected herself, and nodded. “You’re right, Holly. I’m not going to let Pru’s immaturity ruin my night. My money’s on her for our culprit,” Lizzie added. “She’s the only person close to the family who hasn’t asked how Flea’s doing.”
“That’s because she doesn’t care about anyone but herself,” Holly said. “But Jake doesn’t think Pru is the one, and I’m beginning to think he’s right. Pru is so outward in her animosity. She doesn’t strike me as someone who’d sneak around to get her way.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Lizzie said. “Oh, I just hope nothing goes wrong tonight. I don’t even kid myself anymore about being welcomed into the family—I just want the night to pass in a civilized way.”
It was a shame that that was the best Lizzie could ask for herself. But given what Holly had seen of the family so far, her cousin was being realistic.
Holly stood behind Lizzie and smiled at her reflection. “Let’s go back out there and show these people who owns this town!”
“Yeah!” Lizzie exclaimed, smiling. “Oh, Hol, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’ll never have to find out,” Holly said. “C’mon. That handsome fiancé of yours is probably going crazy wondering what was wrong.”
Indeed, Dylan was pacing in front of the bathroom, and he was all over Lizzie the moment she exited. She assured him she was all right, that she thought her dress had split open, and had been mortified until she checked it out.
“Is that what Pru whispered to you?” Dylan asked.
“Forget it, Dylan,” Lizzie said, kissing him on the cheek. “It’s no big deal. Maybe she thought it had split for some reason. The lighting ...”
Dylan shook his head. “I’ll never understand my sister.” He slung an arm around Lizzie. “Don’t worry about Pru. She’ll come around. When she gets to know you, Lizzie, she’ll love you like I do. And if she doesn’t get to know you, well, then it’s her loss.”
Holly had to admit she liked Dylan. The more she got to know him, the more she liked him.
“I’ve been on the lookout for your mom, Lizzie, but I haven’t seen her,” Dylan said. “She is coming, isn’t she?”
“Your mother personally invited Mom by telephone,” Lizzie said. “So she knows where and when. I’m also surprised she’s not here yet.” She glanced at her watch. “She’s an hour late. I hope everything’s all—”
“Lizzie, I’m sure your mom’s fine,” Dylan said. “She’s probably just delayed at the bar or in deciding what to wear.”
Aunt Louise had two good dresses—one slightly fancier than the other, and Holly knew her aunt would choose the fancier one, a lovely royal blue that accentuated her bright blue eyes. She wasn’t delayed in getting dressed. Which meant ...
Oh, God. Why hadn’t they insisted Holly’s mother come with them in the limo? Mrs. Morrow had determined to drive herself—she was nervous about meeting the Dunhills as her in-laws-to-be, and she wanted to get ready at her own pace and drive herself the five minutes Up Hill to the mansion. Maybe something had happened. Maybe the culprit had gotten to Aunt Louise!
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Dylan said, but Holly caught the worry in his tone. So did Lizzie. Dylan handed her his cell phone. “Call her.”
Lizzie punched in the numbers. “Mom? Is everything all right?” She listened and relief came over her features and shoulders. “We were so worried! We expected you an hour ago.” She listened again. “No, the party’s not starting at nine o’clock—it’s ending at nine. The party started at seven!”
A two-hour discrepancy? Had Mrs. Dunhill told Lizzie’s mother the party was starting at nine o’clock?
“Mom, you must have misunderstood Mrs. Dunhill. Why would she tell you nine o’clock when she herself was the one who decided the party would start at seven?”
Holly let out a harsh breath. She could answer that question.
“I’m sure Mrs. Dunhill meant seven, too, Mom,” Lizzie was saying, but the truth of what had happened was in the tears she was trying to blink back. “Well, it’s only a two-hour party, and if you’re just getting ready now, you’ll get here when it’s ending.”
“We’ll extend the party, Lizzie,” Dylan said.
Lizzie shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. “Mom, why don’t we set up a lunch, you and me and Dylan and his mother. Yes, for next week. I know, I’m sorry, too. No, no, Mom, it’s okay.”
Holly watched Lizzie try to hold on to her composure as she and her mother talked a bit more and then hung up. “Lizzie? I’m sure it was a misunderstanding. Let’s all go back in and enjoy ourselves.”
“Enjoy myself?” Lizzie repeated. “My sister-in-law-to-be hates my guts, and my mother-in-law-to-be personally invited my mother to show up when her daughter’s engagement party was ending. I don’t think I can enjoy myself.”
“I can’t believe this,” Dylan growled. “What the hell is wrong with my family!”
“You’re marrying me,” Lizzie said. “That’s what’s wrong with them.”
“Let’s go back in there and talk to my mother right now,” Dylan said. “A little two on one. We’ll see how she likes being taken away from the party she’s throwing.”
“Actually, she already left,” said Jake.
Holly, Dylan and Lizzie turned around to find Jake, the faint remnants of a pink kiss on his cheek. Gee, I wonder whose lips left that, Holly thought sarcastically.
“I’ve been unable to find Mrs. Dunhill for the past fifteen minutes,” Jake said. “And no one has seen her.”
“Great, she couldn’t stand being at our engagement party,” Lizzie said.
“Lizzie!”
Lizzie whirled around at her mother’s voice. “Mom! You got here so fast!”
“I wouldn’t miss my baby’s engagement party for the world,” Mrs. Morrow said. She looked lovely in her blue dress. “Oh, how beautiful you and Holly look. Where’s Gayle? Flirting with a handsome man, I assume.”
Lizzie wrapped her mother into a hug. She was clearly so overjoyed that her mother had come, Pru Dunhill’s antics and Mrs. Dunhill’s whereabouts were forgotten. Lizzie and Dylan offered Mrs. Morrow an arm each, and they led her into the ballroom.
“Shall we?” Jake asked Holly, offering her his own arm.
Holly took a deep breath and slid her hand through his arm.