Hunger (26 page)

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Authors: Karen E. Taylor

BOOK: Hunger
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“From the look on your face, my love.” I reached over and stroked his cheek. “Bad day?”
“No, not too bad.” He hesitated and frowned and I waited for the inevitable question; it was not long in coming. “Who was that?”
I laughed. “Mitch, I really hate to say it, but you are so predictable. That was Victor Lange, he owns The Imperial.”
“Do you know all the restaurant owners in town? Or does it just seem that way?”
“No, I only met him this evening. He's a friend of Max's.”
“Oh, Max.” Instead of his usual disgruntled expression at the mention of the name, Mitch smiled. It was not entirely a pleasant smile, but it was a good sign.
“What is so funny?”
“You may not find it funny, but I got a kick out of it. Before I came here tonight, I stopped over at the Ballroom and slapped a citation and a pretty heavy fine on Hunter for setting off a false fire alarm.”
“Mitch, you didn't, did you?”
“Yeah, I did.”
Our eyes met and we both began to laugh simultaneously. “I'll be willing to bet the price of tonight's dinner, that he wasn't happy about it.”
“Deirdre, that's got to be the biggest understatement you ever made in your life. He was livid. I wish you could've seen his face.” He laughed again thinking about it. “I'm afraid it wasn't a pretty sight.”
“Too bad, you two were just starting to get along.”
“Yeah, well, he canceled that out by letting you go down to his cellar alone. He's a smart son of a bitch, I'll give him that. He almost talked me out of the citation. I think he knew that it was more a personal matter than anything else.”
“He'll sue you for police harassment.”
“I doubt it.” Mitch looked over at me and smiled. “But even if he does, it'll be worth every penny. So, who are we having dinner with tonight?”
“You mean besides Jack the Ripper?” I gave him a stern glance, but his eyes danced. He was enjoying that little insult, so I let it go, relaxed and answered his question. “My attorney and the people purchasing Griffin Designs.”
“You're selling the company? Why on earth would you want to do that?”
I could not tell him the entire truth; the fact that I wanted to be unencumbered and with cash available should I decide to move on soon, I kept to myself. “Mostly it's because of Gwen. Yesterday I found that I could hardly tolerate the place. It made my skin crawl. I keep seeing her, dead and bloody, in that loft. I don't think the image will ever fade.”
“But you could just move into a different building.”
“Yes, I could do that. But truthfully, it is time to get out. I have been in business for ten years now—in that time most people begin to age. I have not. Fashion is a high profile industry and although I have managed to avoid publicity more than some designers, I could not continue for too much longer without it being extremely noticeable. I just can't take many more chances than I already have.”
He took a long drink of his scotch, his mouth twisted into a frown. “Then you'll be leaving town?”
“Not necessarily. If I don't have to run Griffin Designs, I can fade into anonymity again, staying another five or ten years if I wish.”
“And do you want to?”
I took a deep breath and reached over to touch his hand. “That all depends on you, Mitch.”
“On me?” He looked surprised and I laughed at him.
“Yes, on you.” I began to say more when the waiter came to the table. “Miss Griffin, Mr. Greer, the rest of your party is here. Shall I seat you?”
Mitch stood up and moved my chair back. “Well,” he said in a thoughtful manner, extending his arm to me, “I guess we can talk about that later.”
Introductions were made at the table; I had never met the woman who was purchasing the company, although I had heard of her. Betsy McCain was what I considered the epitome of the modern business woman, intelligent, brassy and high-pressure. I disliked her at first sight. Conversation with her merely reinforced my initial impression.
She was accompanied by two attorneys and two assistants. With the exception of the lawyer seated to her right, they had little to add to the discussions. I felt that she had merely brought them along for a free meal. But after I realized that the purchasing price was twice what I had asked Fred to get for me, I thought she was entitled, even when all five of them ordered the most expensive items from the menu.
She, at least, made no pretense about how she planned to run Griffin Designs. “We will modernize the entire place, of course,” her eyes reflected the glitter of the candles, “and any of the employees who cannot adapt to the situation will be welcome to leave after their two months are up.” I knew then that she meant to replace them all. “And the clothes themselves will have to be updated.” She reached over and laid her hand on my arm. “Not that what you have on isn't a lovely dress, Deirdre,” she was practically purring at this point and I could smell the champagne heavy on her breath, “but today's woman needs clothes that represent her place in today's world.”
I looked over at her. She wore a navy blue tailored suit, probably the same one she had worn to her office today. With the exception of her skirt, it was identical to the ones' worn by her attorneys. She had at least made an attempt to dress it up for this evening with jewelry, gold necklaces and bracelets that clinked together harshly with every gesture she made. I smiled at her sweetly. “No, there isn't much room for romance in today's world, is there, Betsy?”
“Romance?” she snorted disdainfully. “It's a rough world out there. We need to dress like we mean business, all the time. Any woman in the marketplace should know how to go for the throat when necessary.”
Mitch was in the middle of a drink of champagne and he made a small choking sound. I glanced over at him and winked, then turned back to her. “I do know what you mean, but I'm afraid I never developed much of a killer instinct over the years. Perhaps you could give me lessons sometime?”
Mitch choked again, turned it into a cough and excused himself from the table. She, of course, was oblivious to the irony of the situation.
“That would be a real pleasure, I'm sure. I could never figure how someone as young and inexperienced as you could make a profit anyway.” I was glad Mitch left before this last comment; he would probably be under the table in hysterics by now. Fred caught my eye warningly—he knew me well enough to sense my dislike and was probably worried that I might call off the deal.
“Even so,” I said noncommittally, and signaled for the waiter. “More champagne, please. Now, shall we sign?”
Mitch returned after we had completed the deal. He seemed to have regained his composure, but his eyes were still laughing. I took his hand and held it for a minute, the new owner of Griffin Designs caught the gesture and leaned forward over the table with an eager smile. “So, Mr. Greer, what do you do for a living?”
“I'm a detective.”
“Oh, how fascinating. Just like Mike Hammer, it must be exciting.”
“Actually, I'm with the police department.”
“I see,” she said with a bit of a sneer in her voice. “And how on earth did you two meet?”
“Murder investigation.” Everyone at the table grew silent and stared at Mitch. The waiter brought our meals; after we were all served, he spoke again. I could hear the repressed laughter in his voice. “Deirdre was my main suspect.” Unconcerned he took a bite of food and a drink of champagne. “Still is, as a matter of fact. I go with her everywhere, so that when she slips up, I can get her.”
I smiled sweetly on my dinner partner again. “So, you see, Betsy, I probably don't need those lessons after all.”
Fred started the laughter, and the others joined in, nervously at first then wholeheartedly. The tension dissolved and eventually even Betsy participated.
“Bravo, Deirdre. Maybe we're not as different as I thought.”
Chapter 21
T
he new owner and her entourage left shortly after I paid the bill. We had reached an uneasy truce based on a grudging respect due to our verbal sparring. We made plans to meet the next week to tour the facility and take an inventory. She would not actually take control of Griffin Designs until the first of the year. That gave me time to start on the orders from the show, get everyone into the routine and then bow out gracefully.
Fred, his wife, Mitch and I lingered at the table with after-dinner drinks and coffee. Betsy McCain had not been out of the restaurant for more than a minute before we all began to laugh.
“Good God, Fred, where did you dig up that ghoul?” I wiped tears of amusement from my eyes.
He shrugged. “You never specified we had to sell to someone you liked. She was interested enough to double the price; I figured that was a good deal.”
“And it was, of course. Sally,” I nodded toward his wife, “would you like some more coffee?”
“No,” she said with a shy smile, checking her watch. “Everything was wonderful, though. Thank you so much for inviting me. But I think we'd better get going, don't you, honey?”
Fred stood up and agreed. “We promised the sitter we'd have her home by one–thirty or two at the latest. It was interesting, Deirdre.” He shook hands with me and then turned to Mitch. “Nice meeting you, Greer. Maybe we should all get together some time, without the sharks.”
“You could come over for dinner some night,” Sally urged. “You haven't even seen the baby.”
“I would like that,” I said, giving her a small hug. She smiled and they left.
Mitch and I sat back down and he poured us each another cup of coffee. “They're nice people, Fred and Sally I mean.”
“Yes, did you have a good time?”
“Well, I don't know that good could describe it accurately. But as Fred said, it was interesting.” His face lit up in a mischievous grin. “That Betsy is something, isn't she?”
“I am sorry about that, Mitch. I had never met her before, but her money is good.”
“Did you know that when you went to the ladies' room, she moved over next to me?”
“And?”
“Well, I'll just say that she definitely lacks subtlety. I think she was hoping that maybe more than your company was up for grabs. She must have drunk more champagne by herself than all the rest of us put together.” He laughed again, remembering her actions.
“Or,” I moved closer to him and put my hand gently on his leg, “maybe she just knows a good man when she sees one.”
He leaned in to kiss me.
“Excuse me,” the accented voice broke in on us and we jumped apart. “I don't wish to interrupt but I wanted to know if you enjoyed your meal.”
“Victor, yes, thank you, everything was wonderful.”
He turned to Mitch. “Mr. Greer, I am Victor Lange. I did not have a chance to meet you before.” They shook hands and Mitch looked at his watch. “Deirdre, we'll have to go soon, too. Just let me make a stop first; I'll be right back.”
As he walked toward the men's room, Victor apologized. “I always seem to be breaking in at the most romantic moments. I am sorry.”
“Don't worry about it; this is not the place for it anyway.”
“No, but you'd be surprised what goes on, sometimes. I'm afraid I did the same to Max just the other night.”
“Max?”
“Yes, and it was even more embarrassing than that. I called the young lady he was with by your name. She was like you, same height and build, but I see now that her hair was different. Yours is its natural color, is it not?” I nodded and he continued. “Hers came from a bottle, I'm sure. You see, he had described you to me and I was so sure. Quite an unfortunate incident.”
“How odd.” I had never known Max to be with another woman. I was not jealous, but why had he never mentioned his involvement to me?
Victor gave me a curious look, and at that moment Mitch returned. “Ready?” he asked. When I stood up, he turned to Victor and shook his hand. “Dinner was excellent, I enjoyed it very much. You live up to your reputation.”
“Thank you, we try to.” Victor beamed from the compliment. “But I'm afraid that our chef was very distraught with Miss Griffin here, when she refused his special garnish for the steak.”
Mitch caught my eye with an amused look. “But I thought it was wonderful. It had a garlic base, didn't it?” Victor nodded. “Oh, well,” he said as he wrapped an arm around my waist, “you have to understand that Deirdre is a purist. Good night.”
We stopped by the coat check room, then waited outside for the valet to bring Mitch's car around. I grabbed Mitch's arm, shook it and began to giggle.
“What?”
“A purist? And that crack about me being a prime suspect? You were wonderful. It stopped them all in their tracks.” I gave him a sidelong glance. “You had a good time, didn't you?”
“Yeah,” he said with a slow smile as he helped me into the car. “You know, I didn't expect to and I'm sort of surprised to admit it, but I really did.”
He pulled out into traffic, stopped for a red light and turned to me. “I thought maybe we could go back to my place, that is if you're not too tired.” His voice sounded tentative, unsure.
“That would be fine, Mitch. I slept some today. But what about you? Don't you have to go to the station tomorrow?”
He scowled a bit. “Today, after you called, I checked the calendar and realized that I've had only one day off since Thanksgiving. And I haven't had a decent night's sleep either, so I took tomorrow off. If they need me, they know where to find me. I plan on spending the entire day in bed.” The light changed and he drove, reaching over and taking my hand in his. “But I wouldn't mind a little company.”
I said nothing but smiled and tightened my grip on his hand.
 
When we arrived at his apartment, he took off his jacket and tie and threw them on a chair. “Get comfortable, if you'd like,” he said. “I have something I want to talk about before we go to sleep.”
“Did I leave any clothes here?”
“No.” He frowned at me. “You packed everything up and cleared out, remember?” Then he shrugged and made an effort to smile. “But you can borrow my robe. It's on the hook on the bathroom door.”
I found the green terry cloth robe where he had said it was, carefully removed my dress and hung it on the hook. Putting on the robe, I looked at myself in the mirror. It seemed odd that although the robe covered more than the gown, I felt naked in it, somehow more vulnerable than before. Then I realized why that was, this would be the first night Mitch and I had spent together since my revelation to him of what I was. Tonight there would be no lies between us, he knew the worst of me. For the first time in so many years, I had nothing to hide and I felt defenseless. As I walked out the door, though, I caught the faint odor of the robe. It smelled like Mitch; I rubbed my cheek appreciatively on the sleeve and savored the aroma. Everything would be fine.
He was in the kitchen making coffee. I stood silently in the entrance for a time and watched him. After a while he became aware of my presence and turned to me.
“I thought that after all that champagne, coffee would be nice. Or I could open a bottle of wine.”
“Coffee is fine.”
“That looks better on you than on me,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. He fixed a tray with mugs, cream and sugar. “Let's adjourn to the living room.” He picked up the tray. “You bring the coffee, okay?”
I waited a minute for the water to stop dripping, then carried the pot into the other room and set it on the tray. Wordlessly he poured our cups and fixed his, his eyes never leaving my face. I took a small sip of mine, then put it aside waiting for him to make a move. He cleared his throat and began haltingly. “Deirdre, you must know that yesterday morning was one of the strangest times I've ever had.” He stood up and began to pace, touching books, straightening a lamp shade. Finally he sat down and took his mug in his hands, but did not drink. “I've always had a conservative nature,” he continued. “People kid me about it sometimes, how I won't read my horoscope or play the lottery. I don't believe in luck, coincidences or the supernatural. So what you had to tell me really shook me up. When I left I had no intention of ever seeing you again.”
I looked away from him and began playing with the robe belt, wrapping it over my fingers. “But I am here,” I said softly as if to myself.
He either didn't hear or ignored my interruption. “As the day went on, I began to see things differently. I started to think of you in another light. Not as a blood–crazed lunatic, but as a victim, too. I even did a little research on the areas you said you had been in over the years and found no records of murders similar to the ones we've had here. Intuitively, emotionally, I guess I knew you were innocent. But me, I needed definite proof.”
I glanced up at him to see him take a drink of his coffee. When he looked at me, I turned away. He slowly rose from his seat and sat down next to me.
“Deirdre, I want to be honest with you. It's not an easy thing.”
“I know. Please go on.”
“I agreed to meet you tonight with the sole purpose of talking the case over with you, enlisting your help. If what we are dealing with is a vampire, and now I must believe that it is, then your firsthand knowledge on the subject will be extremely helpful.”
So that was it. I could help him solve his case and then go on my way alone. I stood up and walked away from him. “I'll help you anyway I can, Mitch. You should know that by now. But some other time; now I would like to get dressed and go home. You don't need to walk me back, I'll catch a cab.” I started down the hallway.
He stopped me halfway there and backed me up against the wall blocking my escape. “Why don't you ever let me finish?” he asked with a wry grin. “Are you always this hasty?”
“Yes, but I prefer to call it caution. And I don't usually have a problem exercising it. Let me go, Mitch.” I could easily break away from him, but I wanted his concession.
He did not give it. “Deirdre, how could anyone live as long as you and still not understand other people? I thought that age was supposed to give you a certain perspective. It hasn't done you much good, has it?”
“I'm still alive, aren't I?” I snarled. “That should be good for something.”
He smiled. “It is good, you know. It saved you for me.”
I glanced at him, startled.
“When I thought of you, my intentions were strictly business. But when I spoke to you and saw you tonight, I realized that, despite all my plans and despite what you were, I wanted you here tonight and damn the consequences.” He stepped away from me. “And now, I've finished. Do you still want to leave?”
“I never did,” I said in honesty. “If I did, you wouldn't have been able to stop me.”
He moved me up against the wall again, gently this time. “I knew that, Deirdre. Will you stay?”
“For a while, Mitch, gladly.”
 
I awoke shortly after noon the next day to find Mitch, fully dressed but lying on the bed beside me. He propped himself up on one elbow, carefully considering me. “Good afternoon,” he said with a gentle smile. “Did you sleep well?”
“Fine, and you?”
“Like a baby. Chris was right, you are good for me.”
“Chris told you he said that?”
“Yeah, he called the next day. He's really quite smitten with you.”
“He is a nice kid, Mitch, but don't you think he's a little young for me?”
He reached over and brushed my hair over my face with a devilish smile. “Yeah, probably, but come to think of it, Deirdre, so am I.” Before I could respond, he jumped up from the bed and retrieved a paper bag that was sitting in the corner of the room. “Here,” he said abruptly, “these are yours.”
I looked inside to find a pair of jeans, two or three shirts, some underwear and a bra. “Thank you. Where did you get them?”
“I stopped by your hotel and picked them up for you.” He reached in his pocket and handed my key back. “I hope you don't mind.”
“Not at all.”
“You get dressed. I have some coffee ready.”
I smoothed the hair from my eyes. “Sounds good, but is it safe?”
He shot me a quizzical look. “You've drunk my coffee before and lived to tell the tale. Of course it's safe.”
“No, I mean is it daylight? Are all the windows covered?”
“Oh!” he said, walking out. “I'll check.” I heard him pulling drapes shut, then he called to me. “All clear, I think.”

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