Silver Sparks (17 page)

“Had to. This story has all the angles—powerful bad guy, titillating rumors, hardworking independent businesswoman. Pretty, too, which always helps. And a truck driver who—get this, Cal—just happens to work for the landscaping company the De Lucas use at their fancy estate up the mountain. Big surprise, huh? I dug up that bit of information this afternoon. I just love when it all comes together like that.”

So did Cal, but he liked to make sure it stayed under control. Rick’s enthusiasm made him nervous. “You didn’t actually accuse the De Lucas of being involved, did you?”

“Of course not. I didn’t have to. It was one of the odd ‘coincidences’ Tiff cited. That’s Tiffany Martin, the cohost of the show. Cohost, do you believe it? She flew in just for this. I tell ya, this is going to blow up big.”

Even Maggie looked a little apprehensive, so Cal said, “As long as it doesn’t make Maggie look bad.”

“No way. We’re good, don’t even worry.” A chime sounded from his pocket. “Excuse me, gotta get this.” Rick pulled out his phone and started texting, looking every inch the busy professional.

Cal looked around the store. Broken items had been swept up, windows boarded, and shelves emptied of merchandise. In fact, the whole front of the store, including the jewelry display cases, was empty. “Where is everything?”

“We packed it up,” Amber told him. Dark smudges covered her hands, too.

Maggie surveyed the store with satisfaction. “Got most of it done, too. There’s going to be a lot of workers in here creating a lot of dust. I’m not letting that get all over my merchandise, especially the Oriental rugs. And frankly, I don’t want anyone tempted to slip something in their pocket. My insurance company is upset enough already.”

He looked at the fossilized slabs of stone hanging on the back wall. She’d told him how much the clusters of ancient sea creatures and the dinosaur footprints were worth. “What about George and his friends?”

“I thought I’d hang tarps from the ceiling, cutting off the back of the shop from all the mess we’ll have up here. Besides, no one can slip a three-foot slab of stone in his pocket and stroll out the front door.” She tilted her head and scanned the back section in question. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ve done an amazing amount of work, getting this all under control in one day.”

“Amber was a big help.”

His sister shrugged. “I’ve got nothing else to do. And some of Maggie’s things are majorly fine.”

He felt an unexpected twinge of pride in his sister. Okay, so the kid wasn’t entirely a pain. “If you can scrub that dirt off, I’ll take you ladies out for dinner.”

Amber was suddenly in motion. “God, food! Take me now! And make it someplace nice, because we deserve it.” She was already in the back room when she called over the sound of running water, “What do you want to do after that? This town looks like it has some decent nightlife.”

Cal’s gaze flicked toward Maggie. Not the kind of nightlife he’d begun fantasizing about.

Amber probably wasn’t going to be happy watching TV in his cabin, either. But he wasn’t turning his sixteen-year-old sister loose in this town, no matter what she was allowed to do at home. Besides, it seemed only fair that if she compromised his social life, he should do the same for hers. It looked like after a nice dinner, they were going to go home and be miserable together.

Maggie stared at the crowd of reporters and photographers near the back door of Fortune’s Folly the next morning. She’d wondered why they hadn’t been at her house. Apparently it was because they were waiting for her here. Her store was now the centerpiece of their story.

With all the news vans in the parking lot, she had to park three stores down. Tucking her head, she did a fast walk toward her back door. Someone shouted her name. For a moment she flashed on the image of a huntsman spotting the fox and sounding the horn. Then the whole mass of reporters went into motion, swarming toward her.

They yelled questions before they even reached her. “Maggie, how long have you known Cal Drummond?”

“Maggie! What do you have to say about Rafe’s warning?”

Warning? Maybe she should have picked up a newspaper.

“Is it true you accused Rafe De Luca of using violence to intimidate you?”

“Maggie! Who do you think is behind the destruction of your store?”

A man planted himself right in front of her. She shouldered by with a sharp “Excuse me.”

He trotted backward, microphone extended toward her face. “Come on, Maggie, what’s your response to Rafe? Did you see him on the news? Have you talked to him?”

She wanted to ask what Rafe had said that had them all stirred up, but she knew saying anything would only encourage them.

The idiot with the microphone wouldn’t give up. He stepped in front of her again, letting her bump right into him. His questions were louder than the rest. “Did your sister have an affair with Rafe, too?”

Maggie stopped dead.

The crowd of reporters shuffled to a halt. Questions died out as they waited to see what she would say.

How had her sister become involved? And which one? She had a bad feeling she could guess. Fury blurred the edges of her vision as her glare settled on the reporter in front of her. He waited expectantly. When she continued her hard stare, his arm wavered, then pulled back. No one moved.

She wouldn’t stoop to asking them to fill her in. Instead, she tipped her chin up. In low, emotionless words, she said, “You are in my way. Please move.”

The words died away in the warm spring breeze. A couple of questions were yelled from somewhere in the crowd, but most of them simply waited silently.

One beat. Two.

The man stepped aside.

Spine rigid and head high, Maggie walked to the back door of Fortune’s Folly and unlocked it. Turning, she looked at the mass of people behind her. They crowded close, but left a little more distance than they had before. She’d have to remember that they respected bitchiness.

“Perhaps you didn’t know this,” she began. Microphones lifted. Cameras flashed. They waited. “This parking lot is for employees only. If you don’t move those vans, you’ll all be ticketed and towed.” Before they could respond, she slipped inside and locked the door.

Maggie closed her eyes, leaning against the door until the pounding anger ebbed and her mind stopped spinning.
Stay calm. Be rational.
She’d find out what Rafe had said. And how it involved one of her sisters. Something inflammatory, no doubt, and meant to hurt. She could handle this.

She allowed a small smile—she’d taken those reporters by surprise. It counted as a small victory.

“What’s wrong, Maggie? I thought you’d be used to notoriety.”

She gasped, putting a hand to her chest.

She didn’t have to search for the source of the voice—he stood right in front of her, arms folded and a small sneer twisting his lips on one side. Her heart tripped right back into high gear, thundering in her ears.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly bone-dry. “Rafe!” It was barely more than a croak, fear turning her voice scratchy and weak. “How did you get in here?”

Chapter
Ten

O
h God, he wasn’t alone. A man stepped out from behind one of the stacks of boxes crowding the back room. Since packing up half her merchandise, the back room had been reduced to narrow paths between stacks of cardboard boxes and wooden crates.

At least it wasn’t Rafe’s hired muscle. Parker Jameson, legal watchdog, brushed dust from his suit jacket as he stepped around Rafe. “Don’t answer her, Mr. De Luca. I’ll handle it.”

“How did you get in here?” Maggie repeated, relieved that her voice didn’t shake. She couldn’t say the same for her insides, which were twisting with anxiety. Not sure whether to be afraid or furious, she’d gone with both. Her stomach wasn’t happy with the choice.

“The door was locked. That means you broke in. I’m calling the cops.”

“We walked in through the front door, Ms. Larkin. By invitation, all nice and legal.”

“How . . . ?”

“The contractor you hired to replace your front window. I believe his name is Rob Beamer, of Beamer Doors and Windows. An accommodating man. The De Lucas have used him several times themselves. He understood our desire to wait inside to avoid the very scene you encountered.”

Great, the De Lucas owned her contractor. She’d fire him on the spot except no one in Barringer’s Pass did better work. If there were someone else, the De Lucas would undoubtedly buy his loyalty, too.

She clenched her jaw. “What do you want?”

“To deliver a message, Miss Larkin.” He paused, holding her gaze with his hard, flat stare. “You will cease and desist. Now.”

“Cease what?”

“Everything. Speaking to the press. Raising speculations. Asking questions. I believe you know what I’m referring to. The De Lucas have had their privacy invaded for long enough, and they will not tolerate any more.” He cocked his head, looking her over as though trying to determine how bright she was. “Do you understand the meaning of slander, Miss Larkin?”

She was on safe ground here. “I haven’t made one single accusation against Rafe or his family.” That wasn’t exactly true, since she recalled making several during the original yelling and shoving match at The Aerie. “About the accident,” she clarified. “And I never lied about Rafe to the press. I can’t help it if they jump to false conclusions.”

He gave her a tolerant smile, the kind usually reserved for small children. “Have you ever heard of libel by innuendo?”

She hadn’t. But she could figure it out—intentionally reporting something so it would be taken the wrong way, purposely defaming someone’s character. She licked her lips nervously. She’d certainly done that one. But it was probably the
Entertainment Tonight
piece that had him upset, and she had a clear conscience there. Or at least, not too murky.

“I never implied that the De Lucas had anything to do with the accident that wrecked my store.” She’d left that to the media. She was getting good at careful wording.

“Yes, you carefully sidestepped that, didn’t you? My firm will be contacting the
Entertainment Tonight
legal department later this morning. But I am not that easily fooled, Miss Larkin, and you are not blameless—”

“Fuck this bullshit!” Rafe exploded, causing Maggie to jump. He pushed past Parker Jameson, and she automatically took a step back. Then another. He backed her against a tower of boxes, until his snarling face was inches from her own. She froze, unable to think of anything except that no one’s teeth were naturally that bright.

“Listen, bitch, I’m through playing games with you. You either make me look good in the press, or I’ll rip you apart. First in the press, then in private. Understand?” With his finger he traced a line across her neck, raising shivers all the way to her toes. “No hick cunt is gonna trash my reputation—”

“Rafe.”

The one word, along with Jameson’s hand on his arm, halted the threat before Rafe could finish it. As intimidated as Maggie had been at the outburst, she was more unsettled by the emotionless ease with which Jameson controlled him. It spoke volumes for the power the De Lucas put in his hands.

Jameson rested his gaze on her. “I believe we have delivered the intended message, Miss Larkin. I trust you understand.”

She did. But she couldn’t do anything about it. “I don’t even talk to the press. But I can’t make the tabloids and TV stations stop asking questions, and if I don’t answer them, they speculate. This thing has taken on a life of its own, and your client is as much to blame as I am.”

“But you
can
do something, Miss Larkin.” Jameson’s voice was smooth as oil. “You can speak to the press and tell them they are off-course and out of line, that the De Lucas had nothing to do with the accident at your store or the rumors that surround you and your sisters.”

Her sisters—she still didn’t know what Rafe had said about them. “What rumors?”

He shrugged. “Just the same old stories of your sordid life that I’m sure you’ve heard before. It’s unfortunate that your youngest sister has to suffer for the poor judgment shown by her older siblings. Unfortunately, your past makes it easy to believe those rumors about how she financed her education.” He turned to Rafe. “What was the term they used?”

Rafe’s lip curled into the semblance of a smile. “Hooking.”

“Ah, yes. I believe an escort service was involved. But of course it’s all unfounded rumor.”

Rage burned in her chest. She fisted her hands at her sides, nails biting into her palms. “Sophie isn’t part of this. Whatever you’ve done, undo it. Fast.”

“Or what, Miss Larkin? You’ll sue, engaging in a protracted public debate about your sister’s character?” He lifted one eyebrow. “Frustrating, isn’t it? But I believe Rafe could be persuaded to say a few kind words about the girl, if you do the same for him. You’ll let us know your decision, won’t you?”

Jameson walked to the back door, stuck his head outside and looked around, then held it open for his client. With a final vicious glare at Maggie, Rafe followed.

Maggie sagged against a stack of boxes. She had to call Sophie. This whole fiasco with Rafe had already endangered her sister’s relationship with her boyfriend, and forced her to make awkward explanations to colleagues at the university. If Rafe’s new accusations hadn’t reached them yet, Sophie might be able to minimize the damage.

Her hands were still shaking with anger as she dialed Sophie’s number.

“Maggie!” Sophie answered the phone after one ring.

“Hi, Sophie. I wanted to warn you about some things Rafe De Luca may have implied about—”

“I heard! I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch. Who does he think he is? Do you think those reporters would come over if I called them? I have a few things I’d like to say.”

“Sophie, don’t do that!” Why had she ever thought Sophie was mild-mannered?

“Why the hell not? He sure doesn’t hesitate to spread lies whenever he wants to. I could make up some dandies. If he wants to imply that we had a fling, let him. I’ll be glad to fill in the juicy details about what Rafe is like in bed.”

“Is that what he said?”

“He said meeting you just confirmed every impression he had about the Larkin sisters after meeting me last year at a private party in Boulder.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“The kind of party where the entertainment for the evening is provided by an escort service with an 800 number and employees named Bambi and Ginger.”

“Oh, God, Sophie, I’m sorry!” A side job with an escort service definitely wouldn’t play well with the dean. “I hope your boyfriend knew it was all made up.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Sophie replied stiffly. “He moved out.”

Maggie squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry, Sophie.”

“Don’t be. Good riddance. And if Rafe wants to play hardball with the Larkins, let him bring it. I’ll be glad to give the press details of our night together. Poor Rafe, trying to compensate for his little weenie and his problem with premature ejaculation.”

Damn! Apparently beneath that sweet, studious exterior, her sister was as much of a fighter as she and Zoe. Maybe more, which meant Maggie would have to work twice as hard to end this before Sophie blew the whole thing onto the cover of
People
magazine.

“Just don’t do anything yet, okay? Stay home and stay out of it. Please. I’ll talk to Cal and we’ll decide what to do.” For once she would be glad to consult with him.

“Can’t stay home. Amber and I are going shopping.”

“You and Amber? How—”

“Cal got Zoe’s number from the hotel, and asked her if she knew someone who might want to hang with his sister for a day while he investigated Rafe.” Maggie heard a laugh in the background and some talking. “Really?” Sophie said. “Hey, Maggie, are you really sleeping with Cal?”

“No! Did Amber say that?”

“She says no,” Sophie reported.

When the conversation went on without her, Maggie raised her voice. “You two have fun talking about my nonexistent sex life. I have work to do.” She hung up, too aware that she’d be in a far better mood if the nonexistent part hadn’t been true.

Since it was true, and since Cal wasn’t knocking on her door to say he’d just ditched his little sister and was dying to ravish her luscious body, work seemed to be her only option. Starting with the message light blinking on her phone. Sighing, she picked up a pen and hit the play button.

“Hello,” a woman said in precise, businesslike tones. “This is Sandra, calling for Mr. Damon Martin. Mr. Martin would like—”

Maggie hit stop. Did she say Damon Martin? As in the Academy Award–winning, to-die-for actor Damon Martin? She hit rewind.

“Hello, this is Sandra, calling for Mr. Damon Martin. Mr. Martin would like to place an order for an item shown on the Fortune’s Folly website. He is aware of the recent damage to your store and understands that shipment might be delayed. If possible, he would like to order item number 1708, the handwoven silk tapestry from India. Your website says you have two in stock, however Mr. Martin would like four of them. Please call me to confirm the order—”

Maggie hit stop again and fell back in her chair. Four? Holy shit! That tapestry retailed at $28,000! Unless her webmistress had made an error . . . Frantically, she turned on her computer and called up the Fortune’s Folly website, double-checking item number 1708. She wasn’t crazy. One of the biggest stars in Hollywood had just placed a $112,000 order with her store.

She stared in wonder at the phone for several seconds, then fumbled for her pen and wrote down the phone number Sandra recited. Then stared at the paper. Then giggled. Obviously, she couldn’t call Sandra back until she could talk without sounding like someone was tickling her with a handful of feathers.

Grinning, she hit play again. “Hey, hi there,” a man’s voice said. The lazy drawl sounded vaguely familiar. “Say, I want to buy one of those fossilized dinosaur footprints you have on your website. But I’d really like one from a bigger dinosaur if you have it. And carnivorous, that would be cool. Give me a call. Ask for Mick.”

Maggie blinked as recognition clicked in her brain. Mick Perry, lead singer of the rock band Changeling.

Nervous laughter bubbled from her throat. Her idea had worked! Far better than she imagined, too. A lot of powerful people must be dying to show just how much they disliked the De Lucas, and Fortune’s Folly had become the vehicle for their revenge. She looked at the blinking light on the phone—six more messages.

Laughing out loud, she picked up her pen and hit play.

Cal pulled onto the highway fast enough to send the back of the truck skidding, spraying gravel, but it didn’t even begin to relieve his frustration.

His investigation into Tara Kolinowski’s disappearance had hit a dead end. Maybe if he had as much money and power as the De Lucas, he could buy his way past it, but he didn’t. And they’d gotten there first.

Both of Tara’s friends had been bought off. He didn’t know if they’d seen Tara leave with Rafe on that last night of their ski trip, and he’d never find out. They wouldn’t talk about it.

He wasn’t even sure they had anything to hide. Each had talked freely about the details of the trip, right down to that last night, with one exception. Both claimed to know nothing about Rafe De Luca. Cal found it odd that employees at the hotel would remember that Tara had been with him the night before, but her roommates knew nothing about it. What young woman intent on meeting celebrities wouldn’t brag about that?

They’d even given him the same line Tara’s father had used, that asking about a celebrity would just distract people from the real investigation into Tara’s disappearance. Either they thought exactly like Tara’s parents, or the De Lucas had planted that line in everyone’s head in addition to spreading a little financial aid around. At least Tara’s old school friend had had the grace to blush when he’d asked if the Land Rover outside was hers. A high-end SUV like that had to run $80,000, at least. There was no way her job in customer service for the gas company paid that well.

He’d gone all the way to Denver again to talk to one friend, then sidetracked into the foothills to find the other. A lot of driving for nothing. It was past six o’clock when he finally pulled into the Lost Canyon Lodge—home sweet home. A quick dinner sounded good. Crashing on the bed sounded even better. He rounded a huge boulder and a stand of aspen, feeling almost fond of his rustic cabin in the woods.