Cloudy with a Chance of Ghosts (Destiny Bay Cozy Mysteries Book 4) (2 page)

I’d given up on trying to spare the man’s feelings. He was old enough to be my father, for Pete’s sake. Okay, so he was rich, but money wasn’t everything. Mansions and yachts and dinners at five star restaurants…. Well, it did seem to be a shame to give up on all that before it had even begun, but like I said—money isn’t everything.
 

I got half way across the terrace before I got stopped by a rather callow-looking young man with a gleam in his eye.
 

“Hey,” he said, making it obvious he liked me in my jump suit, too.
 

I stopped and waited for the rest, but there didn’t seem to be any.
 

“Hey what?” I asked, feeling prickly.
 

He shrugged and looked a little too friendly, as though he knew me well and was ready to tease about it. To tell you the truth, I was getting a little tired of this informal presumption from artist and rich guy alike. And then he spoke.
 

“Uh…, are you Carlton Hart’s current girl friend?”

“No,” I said sharply. “Are you?”

He looked startled, then laughed. “No, that’s nuts.”

“Is it?” I started to go, but he touched my arm.
 

“Wait. I’ve got a million questions.”

I frowned. Something in his attitude was sure rubbing me the wrong way. “What about?”

“Uh…where do you know the guy from? Any interesting insights into his business dealings? I mean, what do you know about him, really?”

My gaze zeroed in on the notebook in his shirt pocket. It certainly wasn’t an artist’s sketchbook at all.
 

“What’s your name?” I asked.
 

“Vince. Vince Bianchi.”
 

“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re some sort of cub reporter. Right? A Jimmy Olsen for the modern world. Out to fight injustice and bring the rich to their knees. Am I warm?”

He was beginning to realize he might not like me so much after all. A frown was crossing his face. “No. I mean, not quite.”

I caught myself and sighed, knowing I ought to back off a little. He was just a young guy, trying to make his way in the world. I don’t know why his first silly question had annoyed me so much.

But I did know his type. In fact, I’d dated a slightly older version of him about two years before and I knew what the burning zeal of a journalistic reformer looked like.
 

“But you are a reporter, aren’t you?”

“Sure.”

I shook my head with a half laugh. “You don’t look old enough to get hired at a newspaper. Is it something online?”

He tried to stand a little taller. “No. I’m plenty old enough. And it’s not online. I work for the Daily Delivery.”

“Sure. And I’ll bet you were very recently on the staff of the UCSB student newspaper. Am I right?”

“So what’s wrong with that?”

I shook my head. He couldn’t be more than nineteen. “Have you graduated?”
 

He puffed his chest out, or at least he tried to. “No. I’m taking some time off. I think actual experience is better than academic credit anyway.”

“Uh huh. So you failed chemistry. Right?”

He turned a little red.
 

“Oh, don’t worry. I almost did that too. I understand. Only—a bit of advice. Don’t try to get me to give you the inside scoop on my host’s activities. My ties to him are so much stronger than any responsibility I could feel toward you.”
 

It was only the truth and he’d do better if he faced it. But I winced at the tone I’d taken and smiled at him, hoping to soften it that way. “Come on, Vince Bianchi. Just enjoy the art show. And describe to people what beautiful paintings you saw and who won what award. That’s what they really want to hear about.”

“But that’s….boring,” he said, looking lost.
 

I sighed. He was probably a good kid. He just needed to grow up a little. I gave him my newly acquired signature wave and headed back inside where I found Jill wandering through the Impressionists.
 

“Where’s the new man in your life?” I asked her.
 

“Jagger?” She grinned at me. “He had to go see about some of his paintings. Isn’t he a dream come true?”

“Maybe.” I wrinkled my nose. “Isn’t he a little nervous that Mick might show up and ask for his name back?”

She stared at me blankly for a moment, then got the joke and made a raucous sound of derision for my sense of humor. “Ha ha. Very funny. Don’t you think he’s gorgeous?”

I nodded. “Yes. There’s no denying that.” I hesitated. Did I really want to do this now? “But doesn’t that make you uneasy? I mean—a lot of female types are going to be chasing him every moment of the day. Don’t you think?”

“Who cares?” said my adorable ex-roomie who cared about everything, always. She was radiant. “Mele, I really think I’m in love.”

“Oh.”

Okay. I could hear the emotion in her voice and I knew what this meant. No more criticism of Jagger. No more anything. She’d gone beyond the stage where she might make a rational decision, where she could weigh the pros and cons. She really was on the edge of love. It was over.

“That’s wonderful.” I told her with all the candor I could pretend to possess. “You’re a lucky girl.”

“Thanks.” She had tears of sincerity shining in her eyes and it broke my heart. “You don’t know how important your opinion is to me.”

We hugged, something we didn’t get to do much anymore, and I almost felt like crying myself.
 

Jagger returned and we walked over to the great room where the watercolors were being displayed. Strolling among them, I fell in love with that method all over again. Maybe I could try art lessons one more time. But probably not.
 

“Light and shadow,” Jagger was saying in answer to a question from somebody. “It’s always a factor of light and shadow.”

“Wasn’t it Paul Klee who said, a drawing is merely a line going for a walk?”
 

People around me stared in awe.
 

“That’s great,” said Debbie, who’d stopped by to listen to Jagger for a moment. “I hadn’t heard that one before.”

Jagger looked at me as though I were trying to upstage him, but honestly, I hadn’t planned it at all. I’d heard it in an Art History class and it just popped out. Now he was going to hate me. And Jill didn’t look too pleased either. Ouch.

I found myself right next to her honey and looked up, wondering if it would help to get to know him better. Maybe I would change my mind about him. Maybe he would change his mind about me. Maybe I would feel better about his relationship with my best friend.
 

“Tell me about Carlton Hart,” I said.
 

Jagger looked down at me and shrugged. “What can I say? He’s rich as a king, he loves art and wants to be part of that scene. He pays top dollar for the things he likes and he’s quite a ladies’ man. What else do you want to know?”

I hesitated. It wasn’t as though I was planning to date him. What did I need from this? What intrigued me? Maybe it was because he’d surprised me by having such a beautiful…and close to my age… daughter.
 

“Do you know Debbie?” I asked Jagger.
 

“Debbie? Sure. She showed up, out of the blue, a few weeks ago. I don’t think he invited her here, but she came anyway.”

“And he has no wife in evidence, huh?”

He shook his head. “I think he was married to Debbie’s mom years ago, but no one knows anything about her.” He stopped dead and I turned to see what he was looking at.
 

“See that woman?” he whispered, grabbing my arm. It was the professional-looking female who had been arguing with Debbie on the lower path. “She’s been snooping around for days. Asking questions, jotting down notes.” He grimaced, his gaze still on her. “Someone ought to do something about her,” he said grimly.
 

Another journalist, looking for a juicy story? I turned to look at her again, struck by the intensity in his voice, but she’d disappeared, and when I turned back, Jagger was gone, too.
 

But the Siamese cat was back, peering at me from behind a short sculpture of an enraged golden marmoset in full attack. It was a frightening sight, but it didn’t seem to bother kitty. She blinked her beautiful blue eyes at me and I thought I heard a distinctive meow.
 

“Hi cutie,” I said, taking a step toward her. But she turned on a dime and sprinted away, much to my relief. I seem to have a thing with cats that I don’t have with any other species. It isn’t that they like me, exactly. It’s more that they have a need to try to get me to take care of them. It’s usually best that I not get involved-- otherwise I might find his sleek little body stowed away in my car when I’m half way home. It had happened before.
 

I started to turn back to the art works, but my bracelet caught on the silky fabric of my jumpsuit and I had to take the time to carefully detach it again without making a tear. Once I’d freed it, I held up my arm and admired the way it looked against my tanned skin. Made of thin, polished leather strung with silver beads and turquoise chunks, it reminded me of a dream-catcher design. Roy McKnight had bought it for me at a street fair we’d visited in Santa Barbara. I loved it. I seemed to find a reason to wear it all the time lately. Maybe because it reminded me of the man who’d given it to me. I smiled, feeling happy inside. It was such a beautiful day.

Chapter Two

By the time the butler announced that tea was being served on the terrace, everyone had pretty much had their fill of art work. We took our places at the tables and I ended up sitting with Jill and Jagger, Carlton and his daughter Debbie, Celinda, the body painter-- and the professional-looking lady, who introduced herself as Keri Shorter. There was also a middle-aged blond woman I didn’t know-- and me, all at the same table.
 

Carlton was back to flirting with me and I was back to trying to ignore it. The woman I didn’t know was introduced as Marilee Jeffers.
 

“Practically a member of the family,” Carlton muttered, though his tone was somewhat dismissive. “She’s here now to assist with putting on the show, but she was Debbie’s nanny and tutor for years.”

I smiled at Marilee, but she didn’t smile back, and her attention seemed riveted to the Keri Shorter woman, who was obviously the odd person out in this crew. She acted like it too, eating quickly and then excusing herself and leaving the table. The rest of us lingered, enjoying the English tea, scones and clotted cream. I saw Vince, the cub reporter, wandering among the tables, looking for a newsflash to make his reputation on, and it made me grin. Poor kid. Reality was about to flood him like a tsunami. If he only knew.
 

Jagger was the only other one who kept leaving the gathering, saying he had to check on his paintings, then coming back for two or three minutes and leaving again. At one point, Marilee excused herself to visit the bathroom, and Carlton left to check on the parking area attendants. Someone had complained about having been treated rudely and Alda Gruening, the apparent organizer of this event, an older woman with her gray hair in a bun, came over to ask him to handle it.
 

The rest of us stayed where we were, happily chatting, sipping lovely fragrant tea and trying the beautiful pastries passed around by serving people. The day was perfect for sitting on the terrace, and the breezes kept it just cool enough for the afternoon sun to feel deliciously warm on our shoulders.

I noticed that Jill was getting restless, looking around the terrace and down over the stonewall as though she was missing something. And of course, she was. Jagger had been gone for a long time.
 

“Don’t worry dear,” Celinda said with a bit of an acid edge to her tone. “He’s probably off making sure his award ribbons are hanging straight. And maybe he wants to make sure the judges add up his points properly. He really does think he deserves to win the Carlton Award this year.”

“What’s that?” I asked in all innocence.

Everyone stared at me as though I’d asked if fairies were real.
 

“The Carlton Award is bestowed upon the member of the Carlton Group who most deserves it,” said Debbie coolly. “You have to enter this show to qualify for nomination.”

“It’s fifty thousand dollars,” Jill murmured close to my ear as the others began discussing it.
 

“Like chum in shark water, huh?” I whispered back, but she didn’t like that much.
 

“Jagger really is hoping to win it,” she said, eyes wide, and I was sorry I’d made light of it.
 

“Aren’t we all?” Celinda said sharply, then rose and left the table.
 

At one point, I excused myself to visit the bathroom as well, and as I came out, I noticed Marilee heading up a wide stairway. Assuming there must be more artwork in that area, I followed her up.

“Hello,” I said as I caught up with her. “What’s happening up here?”

She jumped at the sound of my voice and turned toward me. At the same time, I realized we were in the private area of the house. It was a beautifully decorated sitting room, opening to three lovely bedrooms.
 

I took a step backwards, regretting my mistake. “Oh, I thought…”

Then I noticed she had tears in her eyes and she was trembling. I stared a moment too long, then reached for her hand. “Are you okay?”

Her face crumpled, but she nodded quickly. “I’m okay. I just…” She turned and looked at me again as though she needed someone to understand. “I just wanted to get a look at my old bedroom. I used to live here, you know.”

“Oh, of course. When you were Debbie’s…” I wasn’t sure what to call it.
 

“Tutor,” she supplied. “Companion, really. Yes. I spent so many happy years here. And then, Debbie grew up and it was over.”

She voice broke and she looked so sad, my heart went out to her. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d thought herself in love with Carlton at the time, and if that was a part of her heartbreak.