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Ghosts of the Past
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“VIOLA ROBERTS!” A STRIDENT voice boomed across the lobby. Startled, I glanced up from my tete-a-tete with Lucas to find Maggie and Lu striding toward us.
“Ladies,” Lucas said with his usual suavity.
“Good. Caught you,” boomed Maggie, ignoring Lucas completely.
“How can I help you ladies?” I asked.
Lu beamed at me, but said nothing. Maggie continued at the top of her voice. “Party. Tonight. All the best people. Be there.” She shoved a handwritten note in my hand. There was an address and time. Nothing more. “Bring that skinny friend of yours.”
I frowned. “Cheryl?”
“Yep. Funny girl, that. Like her immensely.”
“Sounds fun,” I agreed. “We’ll be there.”
“And bring that one.” She stabbed a finger in Lucas’s direction.
“Ah, sure,” I agreed.
The two older women started to turn away when Lu suddenly turned back. “I think you might find this of interest,” she said in a soft Southern drawl. I stared at her in surprise. I was pretty sure this was the first time I’d heard her speak.
“Um, what?” I asked.
“I just overheard two of the maids talking about the dead girl.”
“Natasha?”
“No.” Lu shook her head. “The other one.”
“Andrea? The girl from the spa?”
She nodded, pink, glittery Eiffel Tower earrings swinging wildly. “I heard one of them say she had a boyfriend.”
”You mean Kyle? The bartender?”
“The same one Natasha was hanging around with? That’s the one. I guess you already know.” Lu looked disappointed I’d already heard her juicy news.
“Yeah. I heard last night. Crazy, isn’t it?”
“Come on, Lu.” Maggie grabbed her arm and gave it a tug. “That’s enough gossip for one day. See you tonight.” She gave a vigorous wave and then strode off, Lu trailing behind her.
“Well, that’s interesting,” Lucas said.
“You’re telling me. Now all we need to do is find Kyle. We’ve got another suspect added to the list.” Which, of course, was turning into a problem. Because I was finding a whole lot of suspects and not nearly enough answers.
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“ARE YOU SURE I LOOK all right?” Cheryl asked, fussing with the hem of her navy sundress. It fell to her knees, showing off her long legs. Simple silver sandals matched her jewelry. “This isn’t very fancy.”
“You look great,” I assured her. “Stop worrying.” I didn’t bother to point out that everyone would be so busy staring at me, they wouldn’t notice her elegant shift.
That may have sounded arrogant, but that was not really how I meant it. I bought the maxi sundress on a whim because it was bright and cheerful and I’d been doing some online shopping on a gloomy Astoria day. The dress turned out to be a lot brighter than it seemed on the computer screen. I’d nearly sent it back, then figured what the heck? I was headed to Florida, after all. The eye-searing coral and turquoise certainly stood out and, when paired with matching coral shoes, made a statement of epic proportions.
Sure enough, the moment we stepped onto the terrace, every eye swiveled toward me. I was hard not to notice. Which may have subconsciously been my point in keeping the dress.
The party was at the home of a friend of Maggie’s and was situated on one of the many canals of St. Petersburg. It was a nice mix of elegant and relaxed with a massive terrace containing a small pool and a fire pit, unnecessarily lit on the hot Florida night. In my opinion, they should have had the party indoors in the air conditioning. Still it was a lovely spot, palm trees waving gently in the sunset.
“Viola! You made it!” Maggie’s voice boomed across the terrace, setting off another round of staring. “And Cheryl. Lovely. Come on over. Get a drink.”
Who was I to ignore such a command? With hibiscus martinis in our hands, Maggie and the ever-present Lu dragged us around the terrace making introductions. From industry professionals to other authors, Maggie seemed to know everyone. We weren’t even halfway through before my head went fuzzy from all the input, and I could only smile and nod.
“And you know Lucas Salvatore, of course,” Maggie boomed.
I sure did, although I might not have recognized him. He was wearing light khaki pants, flip-flops, and a flowery Hawaiian shirt, of all things. Mirrored aviators hid his eyes, and he leaned one hip casually against the bar, a sardonic smile on his handsome face. It was as if the guy I’d gotten to know had disappeared, and the famous author had appeared in his place. I wasn’t sure I liked it.
“Ladies.” He straightened and bowed over our hands in a ridiculous European manner. Not that it would have been ridiculous on an actual European, but in this setting, it felt contrived. He held on to my hand a little longer than necessary. I jerked it back, resisting the urge to smack the back of his hand like an old-fashioned school marm.
If I expected Cheryl to swoon over the royal treatment, I was disappointed. Her focus was on the other side of the pool. I squinted at the group standing there. There were a couple of female reps from one of the booksellers, neatly turned out with polished coifs and perfectly pressed skirt suits. How they didn’t melt in this heat was beyond me. Around them hovered half a dozen authors, all vying for attention. One hung back from the group, obviously wanting to talk to the reps, but uninterested in playing sycophant. He wasn’t terribly tall or super buff, but he was cute. He seemed a little shy, but stood his ground. I had no doubt that was where Cheryl’s mind was. I couldn’t remember meeting him, so I leaned over to Maggie.
“Who’s that?”
Maggie turned toward the group, pineapple earrings swinging wildly. “The quiet one? Max Force. Not his real name, I’ll bet money. Good choice, though. Writes crime novels.”
I’d heard of Max Force. He was nothing like I imagined—my imagination tending toward brawny, retired cop. I nudged Cheryl. “Go talk to him.”
She blushed furiously. “I couldn’t.”
“Sure you could,” Maggie said with her usual subtlety. “He’s single. Straight. Makes good money. Decent sort. You could do worse.”
I nearly sputtered with laughter. “See? Maggie’s seal of approval.” I glanced at Lu who beamed and nodded. “Lu’s, too.” I gave Cheryl a little push. “Go get ’im, Tiger.”
Cheeks still burning, Cheryl made her way around the pool. She hesitated a moment, but then Max glanced over at her. It was a whole their eyes locked and the world stopped moment. I couldn’t have written it better myself. Leaving the two to their own devices, I turned back to Maggie, Lu, and, yes, Lucas.
“So,” I said, eyeing him. “Would the real Lucas Salvatore please stand up?”
Maggie howled with laughter. Lu giggled, her eyes sparkling behind her red-rimmed glasses. And I swear Lucas actually snorted. With laughter.
“Ah ha!” I crowed. “I knew this one was a big, fat fake.”
“You caught me,” he admitted. “Truth is, people expect a certain sort of behavior from Lucas Salvatore.”
“And you’re happy to give it to them.”
He shrugged. “Don’t you find the same?”
I mulled it over. “Suppose so. I mean, people expect me to be perky and bubbly and obsessed with hot men.”
He laughed. “Aren’t you?”
“She’s got the perky and bubbly down,” Maggie said wryly.
I wasn’t sure about that. “I do post a lot of half-naked men on social media,” I admitted. “Usually cowboys. My readers have come to expect it.”
“Exactly. As my readers expect a certain mysterious aloofness from me.”
I gave him the eye. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”
Lu let out a gasp, and Maggie swung toward her. She made her own sound of shock, so Lucas and I glanced over to where they were looking. Standing across the terrace was a woman of about seventy, although well preserved. She wore a flowing white pantsuit thing with gold high-heeled sandals and a matching white and gold turban on her head. She looked like a movie star from the seventies or something.
“Who is it?” I asked Maggie.
“Our nemesis,” she hissed.
“You guys have a nemesis?” I asked, more than a little surprised. Maggie seemed the type to steamroll over anyone who tried to get in her way, and Lu wouldn’t hurt a fly. I couldn’t see anyone not liking her.
“You had Natasha. We have Veronica Dunham.”
“That’s Veronica Dunham?” I hissed. She was only one of the most famous historical romance writers in the history of historical romance. She was more or less the American answer to Dame Barbara Cartland. In her day, she’d churned out at least two romance novels a month. Her books could be found everywhere: from airport lounges to dollar stores. She’d made a veritable fortune before disappearing from public view. She hadn’t been seen nor heard from in years. “I thought she was dead.”
“Unfortunately, she’s very much alive,” Maggie said dryly. “And she’s been talking making a comeback. She should have stayed retired.” Her tone was nearly a growl.
I glanced at Lu. “What the heck did Veronica do?”
Lu’s eyes glittered with excitement at knowing a piece of gossip Maggie was clearly reluctant to share. “She stole Maggie’s work and her first husband.”
Crikey. Just like Piper stole Natasha’s husband, Jason. I swear writers do drama like nobody else. Not even soap-opera actors.
“Good riddance,” Maggie muttered. Her gimlet eyes laser-focused on Veronica who was swanning down the steps in a way that made Natasha seem like an amateur in the diva business.
“Oh, do tell,” said Lucas languidly, back to his author persona, it seemed. “It sounds juicy.”
Juicy? “Yeah, spill. Maggie writes mysteries, not romances.”
“Ah, that’s what you think.” Lu seemed to relish her sudden moment in the spotlight. “Once upon a time, she was poised to become the Next Big Thing in romance.”
I stared at Maggie, my eyes wide with surprise. “You?” I just couldn’t see the brusque, straightforward woman writing romance.
Maggie flushed bright red. “Hey, I enjoy romance as much as the next person. And I’d have done well in it if it hadn’t been for Miss Diva over there.”
“They’d been good friends since high school,” Lu continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “We all were. But when Maggie married her high school sweetheart, the two stopped speaking.”
“Why?” Lucas and I asked together, now on the edge of our seats.
Maggie growled. Lu was downright giddy. “Because Veronica had always had a crush on him. She even tried to steal him away during senior prom. It didn’t work. Then.”
“Yeah, he waited until after we had four kids and a mortgage to play the jackass,” Maggie snapped.
Lu giggled. “It’s true! He made a right fool of himself mooning over That Woman.” She said it as if “That Woman” was a long-standing term for Veronica. No doubt it was.
“So, what happened?” I begged, watching Veronica sashay across the terrace toward a group of reps who seemed rather stunned at her appearance.
“I can’t believe Cat invited That Woman,” Maggie hissed.
“You know how Veronica is,” Lu reminded her.
“Well, Cat should have warned me.”
We all made sympathetic noises, but Lucas and I were more interested in the story. “Come on, Lu,” Lucas said, dropping his author persona and returning to the more interesting man I was familiar with, “spill...more.”
“All right!” she laughed. “Maggie and Bill had been married for ten years, and Maggie had just finished her first novel when Veronica came back into our lives. She acted like nothing ever happened. She was always bringing people expensive gifts, taking us out to lunch, throwing parties. You see, turns out she’d gone off and married some man thirty years her senior. A very rich man. When he died, he left her everything. Believe me, it was a lot.”
“Wow,” I said. “Why did she come back if she was so rich? She could have gone anywhere. Done anything.”
“True,” Lu said, “but some people get stuck at some point in their lives, and they can’t move on. I suspect that Veronica was stuck on besting Maggie. But she covered it up well.”
“Boy, did she ever,” Maggie muttered.
“What’d she do?” I asked, trying to hurry the story along. I wanted the juicy bits.
“She acted interested in my writing,” Maggie said. “So I showed her the manuscript.” Her expression darkened. “The only copy.”
I could see where this was going. And it wasn’t good. That would have been years before the advent of soft copies and emails. Likely, the single hard copy would have been Maggie’s only proof she’d written the thing.
“I’m guessing she monkeyed with it. Made it look like she wrote it,” I said.
Maggie nodded. “You’d be right.” “Veronica took it to a publishing friend in New York and got it into print under her own name before Maggie even knew what happened,” Lu said.
“Lesson learned,” Maggie bit out. “Should have kicked her narrow backside when I had the chance.”
“You should have sued her,” Lucas said.
Maggie shrugged. “I had no proof. I was out of luck.”
“And your husband?” I asked.
“Darn fool fell head over heels.” She shook her head. “Was gone before I knew what happened.” Then she grinned evilly. “Veronica made him miserable. Tried to come back. Turned him down flat.”
“Where is he now?” Lucas asked.
“Heart attack. Five years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, feeling awful for Maggie.
“Don’t be. Got what he deserved. Me? I made more money writing mysteries than I ever would have romances.” She seemed fine with it, but I wondered if she really was. That was a hard thing, having a friend steal your work...and your man.
Something clicked. If Greta were to be believed, Natasha stole someone’s work. And I doubted it was a stranger. I had a feeling whoever it was had been close to Natasha. But whom? Boy, did I want to see that manuscript.