Carolina Heat (36 page)

“Sorry I don’t have more for you.” With an apologetic shrug of the shoulders, Jonathan slammed the computer shut. “Kind of got my hands tied without my equipment. This machine is ancient and doesn’t have a quarter of the systems I need.”

“Don’t start. I should be furious with you for doing this much. Your health is far more important to me than any lead you could dig up.” She wheeled the table out of his reach and parked it against the wall. If he was strong enough to get out of bed, then he could work some more. Until then, he’d have to lie back and take his medicine and bed rest like a grown-up. “However, I’ll admit I’m pretty jazzed at what you found.”

“Gotta pull my weight so I don’t get kicked off the team.” His mocking emphasis of the last word almost set Annabelle off again. But she’d learned years ago the only way to stop his needling was to ignore it.

“Mark, if you want to go get Lindy, you can pass along your contraband.”

“I’ll meet you at the elevator.” He began to leave, then stopped and came to the foot of the bed. “Carlyle, don’t worry. I won’t let your sister out of my sight all night. Oh, and you should know one more thing. Once this is over, she and I will see about making that a permanent arrangement.”

Annabelle froze in place as the door swung shut behind him. She’d only just begun to relax into the idea of their dating. Now, in front of her brother of all things, Mark had neatly clipped her legs right out from under her again.

Jonathan was equally shell-shocked. “Uh, Belle? Did he say what I think he said?”

She drew herself up. A backbone of steel had gotten her through bigger surprises than this, although none more personal. With a deep breath, she focused and turned back to Jonathan. “Family discussion time is over. Try not to make a pig of yourself. I’ll come by tomorrow morning and fill you in. Now, I’m off to the ball!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Mark executed a courtly bow and offered Annabelle his arm. “Are you ready for your grand introduction to Charleston society?”

“When you put it like that, frankly, no,” she laughed. “I prefer to observe, not be the object of attention. Is this really necessary?”

They’d been waiting in a long line of intricately costumed guests for at least fifteen minutes, their entrance to the ball hampered by old-fashioned protocol. Each couple, after running the gauntlet of the receiving line, was formally announced upon arrival to the assembled throng.

“Sugar, this is the Magnolia Ball. They do things only one way; their way. These people run this town. If you want to get information out of any of them, play along and don’t rock the boat until absolutely necessary.”

“Thanks for the advice.” They shuffled a few steps closer to the door. “Now I have some for you. Mark, you’ve got to lay low tonight. Stay on the opposite side of the room from me. Same goes for Jillian and Ashby.” She’d had time in the car to organize her thoughts. Jonathan’s words really made an impact; perhaps some of her objectivity had slipped away. Her little brother was right. No matter what their personal relationship ended up to be, it was too risky to keep Mark as an equal partner in the investigation.

The smile he gave her was so patronizing, it was the equivalent of a pat on the head. “I don’t think so.”

“Mark, this is not up for debate,” she hissed at him in a harsh whisper.

“You’re right. No debate. I stick with you like glue.”

“This is not the time to play overbearing Southern gentleman. My work, my rules. Everything’s come to a head. I’m going to break this open tonight. I feel it. I feel it so strongly I’m practically vibrating. Which means there is no room for a misstep, an amateur mistake, or any distractions.”

His smile didn’t waver, but the arm beneath her hand turned to stone. “Think about what you just said. Try to pinpoint the word that might’ve pissed me off the most.”

Annabelle winced. “Look, I’m sorry if your pride got tweaked. It’s not personal.”

“Right. Nothing more than watching out for yourself. Can’t have a bunch of
amateurs
,” he spat the word out, as though it had left a sour taste in his mouth, “running around, tripping over their own feet.”

The couple in front of them moved through the doorway. Mark and Annabelle were now on the wide porch. Between the overhead illumination and the bright glow spilling out through the door, it was like being caught in a spotlight. Even as their argument grew more intense, Annabelle was acutely aware the people in line behind them were making every attempt to eavesdrop.

“Mark, I’m sorry if you’re mad, but it quite simply doesn’t matter.” Hoping to soften him, she cradled his face between her hands. “Look at me. It is
too
dangerous. I will not ask any of you to put your lives on the line.”

He pulled her hands away and touched his forehead to hers. To any of the onlookers, it was a tender gesture. But Annabelle saw the utter coldness in his eyes. The man she had come to know was completely shut off from her. When he spoke, his exaggerated drawl was thick as molasses and twice as slow. “What you have overlooked, Miss Annabelle, is that you didn’t ask us for a thing. We offered. And you insult all of us by throwing the gift back at us.”

On that note, they took the final steps across the threshold. Although she’d chosen to distance herself from Mark, it surprised her how much it hurt he’d pulled away from her. Instead of honing her focus, it splintered her thoughts.

“Welcome to the Magnolia Ball.” Madelaine Beaufort was in her element. The crystal chandeliers glittered above her, reflecting off the generous chains of diamonds dripping down her throat. Annabelle had to admit her outfit was tasteful, elegant and perfect. Her lace mittens were the same pattern as her fichu, and more lace spilled down the front of her Confederate gray silk dress. However, when she spotted Annabelle on Mark’s arm, her brilliant smile dulled for a split second. Ever mindful of her audience, not to mention her duties as hostess, she quickly recovered.

“Mark, my dear boy. It is so wonderful you returned from your travels in time to grace our little gathering with your presence.”

“Mrs. Beaufort, you look lovely as always.” Mark kissed her on both cheeks, European style.

“I have to apologize to you. I’m afraid by asking my daughter to coordinate this whole affair, it left her far too busy to accompany you as a guest. It was such a relief to hear you managed to find a replacement for her at the last minute. Not that anyone could truly replace my Jillian, of course.” Her laughter tinkled gaily.

Annabelle seethed. Without so much as an acknowledgment of her presence, Madelaine managed to make her feel like a two dollar hooker Mark scraped off the sidewalk ten minutes ago. Oh, the woman was good. Slashed to pieces, and still reeling from Mark’s cutting words, Annabelle simply could not muster an equally vicious retort. She was saved by Jillian’s arrival.

“Why on earth did you wait in that silly line? Mark, I thought you’d have the sense to squeeze in the side door. I declare, this party will never get started if we keep all the guests lined up like schoolchildren.” She enveloped both of them in a quick hug. “Mama, if you’ll excuse us, my guests need drinks.”

“But Jillian, don’t you want them to be announced?” Mrs. Beaufort’s hands fluttered in a helpless gesture.

“Not in the least.” Without another word, she whirled away, dragging Mark and Annabelle in her wake. Her pink and white skirts frothed around her as she led them through the house. It was packed with what Annabelle presumed to be the cream of society, all resplendent in myriad variations of frock coats and hoop skirts. Sabers glinted at more than one waist, and women simpered behind elaborate fans.

To heighten the mood, Jillian had banned electric lights for the duration of the night. Every mantel, window sill and table top was studded with candles. They fought for space alongside lavish flower arrangements which spilled out of silver vases. The trio halted in an alcove. It was as private as possible in this crowd.

“Jillian, you’ve done nothing less than work magic. It genuinely feels like we stepped back in time. Everything looks beautiful!” Annabelle gave her a quick hug, brimming with pride for her new friend.

“Quite the shindig you put together, Jilly.” Mark dropped a kiss on top of her elaborately coiffed head. “But what’s going on between you and your mother? Not to say we don’t appreciate the rescue, but you were borderline rude. On this night, in front of all these people, I don’t think the snotty attitude’s going to go over real well with her.” He signaled a passing waiter carrying a tray of drinks.

“I don’t care.” Jillian tossed her head, sending ringlets flying. “She pushed my last nerve, both as a client and as a mother. We had a horrible fight. If Ashby hadn’t pulled me away, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

“She was probably just over-excited,” Annabelle soothed. “Like a child hopped up on candy.”

“No way. She flew off the handle. I’ve never seen her so mad.”

“What set her off?” asked Mark, as he handed each of the ladies a glass of champagne.

“A picture.” Ashby joined them. He handed Mark a heavy crystal highball glass. “Saw you come in when I was at the bar. Got you a whiskey on the rocks. Figure you’ll need more than the bubbly stuff to survive the night.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Annabelle, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were one of our Southern belles. You look great.” As he swept his eyes over her, they had a hungry, wolfish gleam that was almost palpable.

“Whoa, simmer down.” Annabelle took an instinctive step back from the heat in his stare. This was a side of Ashby she hadn’t expected. Then she remembered the story about him from the barbeque, and relaxed. “They weren’t kidding—you really do get off on these old-fashioned costumes, don’t you?”

“You have no idea. Tonight’s a little slice of heaven for me. Even the little pink fluffball next to me looks amazing.” He gave a gentle tug to one of her ringlets.

“You don’t know how much a woman treasures a half-assed compliment like that,” Jillian commented dryly.

“Still, you did flat out ogle my girlfriend,” Mark objected half-heartedly.

“Just being polite to a visitor. Want her to feel welcome.”

Mark took a sip of his drink. “What’s this about a picture?”

“The woman flipped,” Ashby said. He shook his head. “Threw a temper tantrum in front of everyone. Kind of like watching the Queen of England melt down. Wild.”

“Start from the beginning,” Annabelle begged. “This sounds juicy.” She was grasping at straws; at this point anything that could distract Mark from continuing the discussion they had on the porch was a good idea. It was obvious he disagreed with her, but he didn’t have a say in it. Her decision to go it alone was final. And given time—hopefully the length of Jillian’s story—he’d come to realize she was right.

“Well, the very beginning was about a few weeks ago. Mama went out of town to help my aunt. I used the time to spiff up the mansion for the ball. The attic’s full of different silver sets, old portraits, things that don’t get rotated into use very often. I spent a couple days up there battling cobwebs and digging through trunks.”

“Sounds like fun,” Annabelle said.

“For a while. Then it was plain hard work. I found a ton of great stuff to use tonight, and switched out some pictures. When Mama came home she didn’t say anything to me, but one of the pictures I’d hung on the stairs was gone the next time I came by.”

“Doesn’t sound like the end of the world,” Mark murmured.

“Exactly. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but yesterday I noticed the empty spot on the wall. Snagged my shirt on the nail. With everything going on, the last thing I wanted to do was dig through the dusty attic for a suitable replacement. Figured it was quicker to rehang the same picture, since I already knew it fit in the space. It had a really unusual, octagonal frame. Mama prefers classical lines, but what did it matter just for tonight?”

She took a fortifying gulp of champagne. “I came down the stairs tonight and found her staring at it. No mention of how nice everything looked, or thanks for my hard work. She just lit into me. Said as long as she was President, I was to do as I was told. At first I honestly had no idea what she was talking about. Then she flat out yelled, and called me an irresponsible twit for ‘thinking I knew better how to present the D of C to the public.’ “

Ashby took up the narrative. “They’d attracted a crowd by then. Mrs. Beaufort was making such a scene, the kitchen workers came out to watch. I didn’t want to interfere, but the woman was out of control.”

“What did you do? Play the gallant suitor, valiantly defending your true love?” Mark scoffed.

“Offered to get her a drink. Thought it’d give her a chance to step away, calm down a little. Didn’t work. Looked me up and down, turned to Jillian and asked her why the gardener was dressed like a guest.”

Annabelle gasped. “She didn’t!”

“Oh, yeah. Knew I was out of my league at that point, so I backed away.”

“Mama was simply horrible. I told her she had no right to speak that way to Ashby.” Jillian’s curls quivered with her indignation. “She completely ignored me and went right back to yelling about the picture. How she didn’t have to explain herself to me. Said I had no right, no authority to move anything in the mansion. I pointed out I’ve been a member for six years, so technically I could do anything I damn well please, same as any other member. That’s when she slapped me right across the face.” A single tear tracked down her cheek.