Chapter Fifteen

Jack came into Kent’s office shortly after lunchtime on Monday. “I’ve gone over every detail three times and still haven’t found any reason for the snag in the Gardener deal,” he said.

Kent sighed. “Well, Josie’s not a corporate spy, and neither of us have found anything out of the ordinary in our debriefing notes. I guess we’ll have to chalk it up to a run of bad luck and make sure we’re better prepared for surprises next time.”

“What did Gardener say when you asked him?”

“He claims he simply had a change of heart, and I believe him.” Kent leaned back in his chair. “Table the analysis of that deal for now. What else is on today’s agenda?”

Jack plopped a folder onto Kent’s desk. “Caldwell in accounting found some interesting return-related data.”

Curiosity piqued, Kent sat up straighter, flipped open the folder, and scanned the top page. “Like what?”

“Several of our stores, including this one, have an unusually high merchandise return rate. The spreadsheet is on page three.”

A flicker of excitement quickened his pulse. This might be the information he needed to prove Victor was mismanaging Emmeline’s. He turned to the appropriate page and focused on the Percent of Gross Sales column. “These percentages are high for the retail industry in general and way above what we should strive for as a company.”

“Exactly. Everything Emmeline’s sells is high-end, quality merchandise. Our return rate should be lower than the industry average, not higher.”

Kent read down the Store Location column.

New York City, Boston, Chicago, Dallas, Fairfield, LA, Miami, Philadelphia, here in West Palm. Discomfort gnawing at his gut, he pondered the list and tried to figure out why these particular locations jingled little bells in his head. None were stores he’d acquired. In fact, most were opened way before his time.

He saw the pattern and lowered the page. “Most of these are older stores. At least half are part of the original chain from when my Dad was alive. None of them have been opened more recently than the last eight or nine years.”

Jack leaned over the desk, was silent for a few seconds, then nodded. “You’re right. I didn’t notice that.”

Jack’s cell phone emitted a cavalry charge ring tone.

“That must be Carrie,” he said, scrambling to pull the phone from its holder. “She took Christian to the pediatrician for his check-up this morning.”

Kent gave him an understanding smile. “Go ahead, take it.”

He tapped his cell and answered. “Hi sweetheart. How did everything go?”

His face glowed as he listened. “Hang on,” he said, then turned to Kent. “Christian rolled over one way.”

Deciding the feat must be good news, Kent gave him a thumbs up.

Pride bright on his face, Jack went back to his conversation. After a few seconds, he nodded. “Great, then I’ll see you later.” He lowered his voice a notch. “I love you too. Give Christian a hug for me.”

Kent felt a pang of envy for his friend’s happiness, but he stiffened his spine and ruthlessly pushed it away. He did his best to convince himself the solitary life of a bachelor was the only life for him. Thinking about any relationship longer than a one-month affair was nothing but foolish masochism.

He envisioned Josie last night in her apartment. She hadn’t elaborated on her plans for after she cornered Victor and made him pay her cousin’s medical bills, but her intentions seemed fairly obvious. Once she succeeded she’d leave, and anything between them would be over. He’d be back where he started, whether he wanted anything more or not. So why kid himself about other possibilities?

He needed to stay loose and go with the flow. Help her out, enjoy her company, and wave fondly when another episode in his long string of episodes was over. She might be special and hard to forget, but they were destined to part, sooner rather than later.

Shuffling the papers on his desk and trying to focus on the numbers, he told himself he wasn’t going to dwell on her inevitable departure.

Jack disconnected and put his phone away. A silly grin lingered on his face. “The little guy put on two and a half pounds and grew an inch and a quarter. Doctor says he’s in the ninety-fifth percentile and healthy as a horse.”

Kent pretended to understand the statistics and nodded. “Good. Glad to hear it.”

Unaccustomed to discussing the foreign world of babies and wanting to shake the strange longing nibbling at his gut, he cleared his throat and dragged his attention back to business and the report.

He studied the last column on the spreadsheet and tapped his fingers on his desktop. “Some of these locations are only borderline profitable despite high-volume sales. The unusually high return rate would explain a lot about their bottom line.”

“They stock the same quality of merchandise as every other store. I wonder why so much of it comes back.”

Suspicion settled in his midsection. “That makes two of us. Let’s look closer at this situation and see if we can find out. Have Caldwell do some more digging. Tell him to go back as far as he can and get us all the details.”

…

The restaurant where Kent had made dinner reservations was so quiet Faith could hear the bartender in his waistcoat measuring out rose water and grapefruit bitters behind the early 1930s era bar. The hushed atmosphere did little to calm her nerves. If anything, it made her more aware of the tension that hung between her and Kent.

She chewed the inside of her cheek and wished they’d gone somewhere with lively music or playful entertainment where she could forget Victor, her mother’s rape, and the mountain of lies and deception she was building. What she really wanted to do tonight was to savor the sound of Kent’s laughter, listen to his warm voice, hold his hand, and simply enjoy his company.

She shifted in her high-backed leather seat and whispered to him, “Did they call them speakeasies because it was taboo to talk loud?”

“Maybe it was because the word outside the doors was mum.”

“If they don’t advertise and the number is unlisted, how did you know to come in through that phone booth?”

“A friend’s friend told my friend.”

She smiled. “I feel like we stepped into a time machine.”

“Wait until you taste the raspberry crumble dessert. Your taste buds will think you’re in heaven.”

She looked at him over the rim of her glass and remembered the night on his friend’s boat. By comparison, raspberry crumble didn’t stand a chance. That night and this man would forevermore be her standard for reaching heaven.

She dropped her gaze. Thoughts like that would only lead her into quicksand. She had to keep one foot on solid ground and maintain a safe distance between them. She was playing a role and, if she weren’t posing as Josie, he would have no interest in her at all. Kent Telemann was rich and lived in a world she could only imagine. He was too suave and sexy to want drab Faith Rochambeau by his side.

A little voice inside murmured there might be hope, she wasn’t really her old self anymore. Since coming here, she’d done dozens of things that were not quite Josie but unlike Faith. She was changing, becoming something or someone new.

For a few seconds excitement buoyed her mood, then a louder voice drowned out the whispers of optimism and extinguished her spark of brightness. Being somewhere in the middle between drab Faith and flamboyant Josie wasn’t good enough. Kent was still a fantasy.

A few grains of nutmeg floated on his creamed bourbon and clung to his lips when he drank. He ran his tongue along his upper lip. The muscles tightened low in her belly. She ruthlessly pushed away the sensation.

Enough. She had to stop melting every time she looked at him. She had to be practical and use him to do what she’d set out to do, get information about Victor. Then she had to forget her silly emotions and walk away.

Images from her latest Google searches ran through her mind. Kent out on the town with a former Miss Universe. Kent hugging a starlet. Kent with a gorgeous society girl to whom he’d been engaged. Not one picture of Kent with a mousy computer geek whose father was a rapist.

His mellow voice broke her reverie. “Ready for that dessert?”

“No thank you. I overdid the rotisserie duck. It was delicious, but filling. I couldn’t eat another bite.”

He dabbed his napkin at his lips and cleared his throat. “Josie…”

Faith. I’m Faith.

“…let’s talk about the elephant in the middle of the room.”

She sighed. “You mean Victor.”

“I need to know exactly what you overheard about store returns and anything else you’ve uncovered that might be related.”

“I told you everything.”

She shifted, re-crossing her legs with a whisper of black nylon. This was the reason they were together. They each wanted information from the other. They were playing a ghastly game. But there’s another game, her mind rushed to add. There’s the strange mutual physical attraction and the explosive sex. The mating game where he’s the champion and I’m the novice. The dangerous game I need to stop playing because I’m destined to lose.

“Who was Victor talking to and where did this conversation take place?” he asked.

Guilt nagged at her. She hesitated, toyed with her bracelet, and finally mumbled, “I really can’t tell you where, but I’m sure that has no relevance anyway. The conversation was between Victor and his mistress.”

He studied her for a minute, head cocked. “That explains how jewelry came into the equation. A gift for her?”

“Yes.”

“He gave her a piece of jewelry, but she was supposed to return it?”

“No. He gave her the money to buy it, then return it. Then he would buy it for her again a few days later.”

His face scrunched into a puzzled frown. “I wish I could figure out exactly what he’s up to.”

Hope fluttered in her chest. “Do you think he’s doing something illegal?”

“Hard to say. Giving gifts to your mistress isn’t a crime, at least not in the eyes of the law.”

“You lived with him for years. Couldn’t you tell if he was doing something illegal? Wouldn’t he act guilty?”

“Drinking in a speakeasy like this was a crime in the days of prohibition, but no one cared.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “The patrons didn’t get tied in knots by guilt. In fact, they liked the feeling of risk. That’s probably why this kind of place is so popular today. The vicarious thrill of subterfuge. Victor might enjoy that feeling too. He wouldn’t feel or act guilty if he doesn’t see what he’s doing as wrong.”

Looking around the dimly lit room, she said, “This place does give you the feeling you’re breaking the law.”

She swallowed and considered how that thrill of subterfuge had rippled through her veins when Kent whispered the password and they’d been allowed through the entryway-disguised-as-phone-booth. Was the excitement of breaking the law something passed down in her genes?

No, breaking into Victor’s office had been terrifying. Nauseating. Anything but a source of kicks.

Shaking herself mentally, she said, “Maybe he’s trying to cover his tracks to keep your mother from finding out he cheats.”

Kent snorted in disgust. “He leaves a trail any idiot could follow. My mother’s friends don’t mention his cheating to her, but the whole world knows. And she probably does too.”

“Why doesn’t she divorce him?”

“My mom’s a true southern lady in every sense of the word. Her outfit and hairdo are always perfect. Her upper lip is always stiff. She’d rather deny Victor’s philandering forever than sit in divorce court and face the embarrassment of having her private life exposed and ripped to shreds.”

“The prison of pride.”

Kent nodded. “And resignation. I think she knows she made a terrible mistake marrying Victor.”

“How so?”

He got a faraway look in his eye. “My father was the love of her life, and vice versa. He named the business after her, treated her like a queen. I was only a kid when he died, but I can still remember how her face lit up whenever he walked into a room.”

Love and pain merged on his face as he continued. “Their marriage was a fairy tale. Then Dad had a fatal heart attack. Mom never recovered. She became an empty shell for a couple years. She closed her heart to everyone and everything, even sent me off to boarding school claiming her company was depressing and bad for my mental health.”

She could tell he was remembering painful days by the way he stared toward the middle of the room, eyes glazed, lips a thin, sad line. It struck her that he was hiding a vulnerable heart behind his playboy exterior, that deep inside he was empty and aching for a special connection like the one his mother had shared with his father.

An echoing ache spread in her chest. She prayed that someday the void in his life would be filled.

He pulled in a deep breath, and his expression hardened. “To make a short story shorter, Victor came along. He discovered her need for a shoulder to lean on in running the business and took advantage of her grief. Before she woke up to who he really was, she’d been rushed into a miserable marriage with someone crude and mean.”

“How old were you when all this happened?”

“I was nine when she married him. I was summoned back from boarding school to attend the ceremony and then informed my new stepfather was adopting me. I’ve never forgiven her for letting him take away my father’s last name.”

She heard the raw emotion in his voice and let the words hang for a few seconds. “It seems strange that he would adopt you.”

“Not when you consider the way Emmeline’s stock is divided and the provisions of my father’s will. My mother and I each own substantial blocks, but her share has to pass to me. If something happened to her while I was a minor, and I wasn’t legally under his thumb, Victor could have lost control of the business.”

“How does he have control now that you’re an adult?”

He downed the last of his drink and a flicker of something like disgust passed through his eyes. “For a few years after my twenty-first birthday and college, I stayed as far away from here, and Victor, as I could. London, Malibu, New York, Rio. I’d spend a few months here, a few months there, partying and basically wasting my life. I ignored Emmeline’s and let Victor vote my shares by proxy.”

“But you came back, you’re here now.”

“I finally woke up. I stopped home to visit my mother at Christmas three years ago. Victor couldn’t wait to get rid of me. He was so over-anxious for me to leave, that I decided to stay and find out why he didn’t want me around.” Pure satisfaction lit his face and curved his lips. “I thought he’d have a stroke when I told him I was taking back my proxy and planned to get involved in running the business.”

“But isn’t he still in control anyway?”

“We’ve reached a sort of Mexican standoff. My mother has a fifty-one percent voting share. He’s bullied her into letting him act on her behalf.”

“Couldn’t she demote him if she wanted to?”

“Legally, yes.” His hand fisted on the edge of the table. “I’ve often wondered what would happen if she did. I hate to think about it, but I believe he’d arrange an accident for her and then go to court and try to use community property laws to fight me for her estate. I wouldn’t be surprised if she believed that too. Sometimes I get the impression she’s extremely afraid of him.”

Her heart jumped in alarm. “You think he’s capable of murder?”

“There’s not an iota of doubt in my mind. I’ve seen him kill.”

“My God, who?”

“Not a person, but a friend of mine. When I was twelve, he owned a racehorse named Chocolate Fever. She was a sweet three-year-old, with huge eyes and an insatiable love of apples.” He paused and pushed his fingers through his hair. “I loved those trips to the stables with Victor.”

She pictured a man and a child walking toward a barn. Only the child wasn’t Kent but a blonde-haired girl. Pricked by a sudden jab of jealousy, she blurted, “You mean he was a good father, took you places, cared about you, acted like a dad?”

“Hell no,” he said with a scowl that morphed to a sneer. “He put on an act, pretended to be a family man to score points with business associates. I let him use me because I wanted to see Fever and, once in a while, her trainer would let me ride.”

Shocked that jealousy lurked in her heart, confused by the discovery of the illogical emotion, and mortified that she’d interrupted his story to ask such a ridiculous question, she pressed her lips together and waited for the rest.

He took a deep breath through his nose and his chest rose slowly. Then anger flared in his eyes. “It was the day after a race with a big purse. Fever didn’t even place. Victor was furious. He stomped to her stall and let go a torrent of curses. Then he pulled out a pistol, grabbed her nose in his left hand, and shot her between the eyes.”

She gasped and searched his face, hoping she’d heard him wrong. “In front of you?”

His pained expression and slight nod confirmed what she’d heard and brought hot tears flooding into her eyes. She swallowed and blinked them away, reached out and gently touched his arm. “And you were devastated.”

“Fever suffered and took a long time to die. I was twelve. To me she was more than an investment or a possession, she was a friend and a pet. It was the second time in my life that I lost someone I loved and cried.”

Her throat clogged with the effort not to dissolve into tears. She recognized how difficult it was for him to let down his defenses and reveal the sensitive man who lived behind the stoic mask. Her voice shook. “You were a normal, feeling human being. Caring is nothing to be ashamed of.”

His eyes darkened, and his mouth became a thin, tight line. “Up until that day, I’d always disliked Victor. When he pulled the trigger on that gun, when the barn filled with the horrible stench of Fever’s blood and fear, when she collapsed with a gut-wrenching squeal, at that moment, Victor taught me to hate.”

She closed her eyes and bit on her bottom lip, trying to block the grisly image forming in her mind’s eye. She wished someone had put Victor in jail years ago and prevented his act of cruelty.

“I’m sorry,” Kent said, huffing out a sigh. He took her hand and rubbed his thumb lightly across her knuckles. “I don’t know why I told you all the gory details. Fever’s murder isn’t polite dinner conversation.”

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He’d shared a painful event with her and given her a glimpse inside his soul. Her heart squeezed, and she felt his pain. “I don’t care about the timing. I’m just sorry a twelve-year-old boy ever had to go through something so terrible.”

“I’m sorry my mother ever met Victor.”

A shiver rippled up her arms. To a man who’d committed a violent rape and shot an innocent horse, harming his wife probably wasn’t out of the question.

“I wish there was something we could do to help her.”

He gave a tired sigh. “That’s a big part of why I’m keeping my eyes open for anything suspicious. I intend to get rid of him. Plus, if I think she’s in any kind of danger, I want to be close by and ready to come to her defense.”

Faith pictured Victor handcuffed and being led off to jail to serve a sentence for rape. So far, she hadn’t met anyone who would miss him.

She considered Kent’s mother and his concern for her safety. What would he think if he knew she was in another type of jeopardy? If Victor went on trial for rape, his wife’s world would probably be shattered. Every ounce of her pride would be crushed beneath the heels of tabloid reporters. Her husband’s history would be public knowledge, her privacy non-existent. She’d be dragged into his quicksand, sucked into the mire, and pay an unfair price for his crime.

Kent downed the rest of his drink, wiped his lips, and then tossed his napkin on the table. “Nothing would make me happier than to have Victor gone from her life.”

Faith’s chest grew heavy as she thought of the other implications of her quest for justice. Kent’s business could be ruined too. She recalled being parked in front of Emmeline’s, staring at the building and wondering what Victor Telemann’s exclusive clientele would think if they knew he was a rapist. Hatred flowing in her veins, she’d wondered if they would shun his stores and cause him to go bankrupt. Back then she’d wanted to stand in the middle of the street screaming the truth to the world.

She gazed at Kent and the images of her triumph over Victor didn’t seem as sweet. Emmeline’s was Kent’s business. He’d suffer financially, and she was the person who threatened to destroy his legacy. He’d sat here and given her a glimpse into his private world, trusted her to know the deep emotions he’d felt as a child. In return, she would hit him with betrayal.

Could she continue her crusade to bring Victor to justice, knowing she’d hurt Kent, and his mother, and the friends she’d made at Emmeline’s? Guilt grabbed her by the throat and squeezed mercilessly. Justice for Victor’s victims and potential victims was important, but so were the lives of the people around him. Good people who didn’t deserve the pain.

She wished there were another way. Some way she could get Victor’s confession and see him sent to jail with a minimum of collateral damage. The duck sat heavy and sour in her stomach. Another way wasn’t to be.

Her heart thudded. She couldn’t give up. And when the truth about Victor came out, Kent would hate her for the damage she would do to his mother and his company. Would he one day forgive her for what she had to do?

Cold, lonely emptiness seeped into her soul. No hope existed. The fragile bond they’d formed would be broken. Their relationship was doomed.