Copy Cap Murder (3 page)

“Oy, Harrison! Scarlett! You missed the turn, yeah?”

I glanced over my shoulder at our party, who were all clustered around Notting Hill Gate. Caught up in our conversation, we'd missed the entrance to the underground.

“Oh, sorry!” Harrison shouted back. He took my elbow and guided me back to our group.

“We were discussing the history of Guy Fawkes, fascinating stuff,” I said. “My fault.”

“No, it was me,” Harrison said. “I was distracted.”

“That's one word for it,” Nick said and gave us a broad wink. “Come along, loves, we're off to the Boltons, second wealthiest street in all of London according to the
Daily Mail
.”

“Nick, how can you stand that rag?” Fee asked.

“Are you kidding?” he asked. “It's the highlight of my day. Now come along, I don't want to miss a moment of our time living like the other half or the upper tenth, more accurately.”

He brandished his walking stick like a drum major's baton and led the way down the steps. As everyone fell in behind him, I glanced at Harrison and found him looking at me. It made me too aware of him, of us, of whatever was happening between us, so I did what I always do, I made a joke of it.

I forced a laugh and rolled my eyes and said, “I wonder
how far we would have walked before we realized we'd missed our gate.”

Harrison reached between us and straightened my beanie although it didn't need it.

“I have a feeling, Ginger, that I could have walked all the way across Merry Old England with you by my side and never have realized we'd left the city.”

The man charmed me stupid. There was no other explanation for why I suddenly couldn't remember how to make my legs move in an alternating motion that would propel me forward, you know, that thing called walking.

“Come on,” he said and grabbed my hand. “We're going to miss the train.”

I let the man lead me to the platform to meet our friends with the sneaky suspicion that I would pretty much let this guy drag me anywhere. Uh-oh.

When we arrived at Harrison's boss's house, Nick's comment about the other half hit me like a frying pan upside the head.

Viv and I do pretty well in the hat shop. We're on one of the main tourist thoroughfares in London; Mim bought the building outright forty years ago, so we're not mortgaged up to our eyeballs. Viv is brilliant and has a lot of high-society clients, who are more than happy to pay four to eight hundred pounds for a hat. Yeah, chew on that conversion for a bit. So we're doing well, better than most, in fact, especially since Harrison is in charge of the money and is much more fiscally responsible than we are.

But there's doing well and then there's doing spec-freaking-tacular. As we stood on the sidewalk looking up at the glowing white monstrous colossus that loomed over
us, I felt small, like ant under boot small. It occurred to me that the ant's perspective on things stinks.

Harrison led the way into the courtyard. It was festively decorated with twinkling lights and glass lanterns, which made the entire front of the house glow. Large dried cornstalks stood on either side of the massive front door with pumpkins of all sizes scattered about. It reminded me of Thanksgiving in the States and I felt a sharp pang of homesickness.

Although I had most recently lived and worked in Florida, I had always traveled north to spend the holiday with my parents. They resided in New England, where my father was employed as a research scientist. I loved going back to enjoy the cold crisp air, the snuggly feeling of impending winter, and my mother's apple pie. I realized this would be the first Thanksgiving that I hadn't shared with them.

“All right, Scarlett?” Andre asked me.

“Yes, I'm fine,” I said with a forced smile. Then the front door opened and my eyes went wide. “I'm just taking it all in.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “I wish I'd brought my camera.”

A stern-looking man in a crisp black suit, white shirt and narrow tie stood in the doorway. His face was impassive as he took in our party. Then his eyes lit on Harrison and he lowered his head in greeting.

“Good evening, Mr. Wentworth,” the man said. “Please come in.”

“Thank you, Price,” Harrison said. “And how are you this evening?”

“Very well, sir,” the man said. He stepped aside and Harrison led the way into the house. “I hope the evening finds you the same.”

“It does,” Harrison said.

“The party is in the back garden,” Price said. “If you'll follow me.”

“I feel like I'm in an episode of
Downton Abbey
, yeah?” Fee whispered.

“I call the part of the good-looking footman,” Nick whispered in return.

I snorted. I couldn't help it. Viv giggled and Andre guffawed. Harrison looked back at us as if we were a pack of unruly children he'd discovered on his way here and hadn't been able to ditch us.

A golden chandelier hung over our heads, sparkling its jubilant light all over the foyer. I gawked. I can admit it. I was pretty sure the thing was made of real gold. Holy bananas!

We entered a great room that was bare except for several giant paintings that decorated the walls and a lone glass table in the center that upon second glance was probably a pricey sculpture of some sort. Andre froze. I slammed into his back with a very unladylike oomph.

“Andre, love, what are you staring at?” Nick asked.

“He's looking at the Rothko.”

I turned at the sound of the voice and saw a woman stride into the room, watching Andre with a knowing look as if the two of them shared a secret.

I glanced back at the painting. My knowledge base of art is pretty rudimentary, but even I knew who Mark Rothko was, an abstract expressionist who came into
popularity in postwar America with Jackson Pollack and William de Kooning. Of course, my first thought was to wonder whether the piece was an original and then I did a mental face palm. In this palatial estate of course it was an original, just like the chandelier was made of real gold.

“Ava, it's good to see you,” Harrison said.

The woman was a tall, willowy blonde with pouty red lips and large eyes that were accentuated by an amazing amount of black eyeliner. She was dressed all in lavender cashmere with dark purple leather boots and a matching belt. The sparklers on her fingers were bigger than my knuckles and the perfume she wore was the sort of fragrance that is one of a kind, made especially for the person wearing it. I'd like to say it was tacky and noxious but no. It was a light scent that brought to mind fields of wildflowers and warm summer breezes.

“Harrison, it's been too long,” she said. Her voice was a low-slung sultry growl as she enveloped him in a hug I found to be entirely too chummy, and I wondered at Harrison's relationship with her.

“It has,” he said. “But you look as if time stands still around you. You never change a bit.”

The way Ava preened under the compliment I gathered that vanity was her weakness.

“Be sure to tell Tyler that,” she said. “I don't think my husband appreciates me nearly as much as he should.”

Ah, she was the boss's wife. I felt myself stand down.

“It will be the very first thing I say to him tonight,” Harrison said.

“Be sure that you do.” Ava slipped her arm through Harrison's and turned to study us. “Are these your friends?”

“Yes, friends and clients,” Harrison said. He introduced each of us by name. “This is Ava Carson, our hostess for the evening.”

She looked at each of us in turn as if trying to memorize our faces. Then she clapped her hands together in a gesture that reminded me more of a little girl than a grown woman.

“How lovely it must be to have friends,” she said. She looked at me. “You're from the States. My father loves your country-western music. He fancies himself quite the singer.”

Her gaze seemed to go fuzzy as if her mind had just wandered off leaving no forwarding address.

“Awkward,” Nick whispered in my ear. Andre gave him a quelling look and approached Ava with his usual Andre Eisel charm.

“Tell me, Mrs. Carson, is the Rothko your favorite?”

She stared at Andre for a moment and then her eyes cleared and she smiled. “Yes, it is. How did you guess?”

“Because it is as breathtaking as you are,” he said and flashed a smile at her. She beamed. “Also, it's the first thing you see when you walk into the room and I assumed you hung it there to give it preferential treatment.”

Fee made a bit of a gagging sound behind me but Ava looked entranced.

“Quite right, Mr. Eisel,” she said. “How very clever you are.”

“Please call me Andre,” he said. Oh, he was a charmer, our Andre. With his sculpted physique, dark complexion and close-shaved head, he could have been in front of the camera instead of behind it, and very few people, men or women, were immune to his flattery.

“Ava,” she returned. “Are you an artist, Andre?”

“I dabble.” Andre ran a hand over his smoothly shaved head as if he were embarrassed. His diamond earring winked in the light as he looked down to study his shoes.

“Oh, dear, I'd best rein him in. He just doesn't understand the effect he has on people, it's like a superpower,” Nick said to me. He stepped forward and spoke to Ava, “He is a brilliant photographer. Don't let his modesty fool you.”

Ava smiled at the couple. “I like you two. Come with me, I'll give you an art tour of the house.”

Andre looked as if he'd hit the lottery while Nick gave us a tiny finger wave as they disappeared behind Ava.

“She seems nice,” Viv said.

Harrison sent a rueful glance in the direction the three of them had taken. “Sometimes.”

He and Price shared a glance that was rich with understanding, and I got the feeling there was more to Ava Carson than I had just seen. I also got the feeling that both Price and Harrison were very relieved that she was nice at the moment, which I found interesting.

Price led us down a long corridor that opened up into several great rooms on each side and ended in a gorgeous solarium. Stone statuary, plants and several water features filled the glassed-in space, which had the rich smell of earth and the spicy musky scent of things growing.

Several groups of people were scattered among the labyrinth of plants and trees, sitting on stone benches or on groupings of padded iron furniture. Three sets of French doors were wide open on the far end of the sunroom and Price led us toward them.

The sound of music grew louder as we approached the outdoors. Voices in conversation and laughter mingled
with the music and I could feel the party atmosphere kick into high gear as we strode through the doors.

“Here you are, sir,” Price said as he gestured to the party unfolding before us.

“Thank you, Price,” Harrison said.

Price went back to his post as we turned to take in the sight before us. More twinkling lights lit up the entire terrace as well as the backyard, which looked to be the size of a modest football field, meticulously landscaped with flower beds, hedgerows and enormous trees. Even in the dark, it was a slice of wilderness paradise in the heart of the city.

More cornstalks and pumpkins decorated the terrace and lawn, as well as hanging glass lanterns in red and orange. A huge bonfire was roaring in a large concrete basin in the middle of the backyard while clusters of people filled the terrace and the yard, most of which were dressed just like us in hats and scarves and warm coats.

There were several bars serving mulled wine and hot toddies as well as multiple food stands, offering roasted chestnuts and warm pasties. Despite my bout of homesickness earlier, I felt my spirits lift at the festive atmosphere.

“Vivian Tremont!”

As one, the four of us turned to see who was calling for Viv.

It was a beautiful brunette, Elise Stanford, who was easily recognizable not just because of her trademark thick glossy brown tresses but also because she greeted us every morning on the television, where she delivered the day's news with a side of tea and gossip.

“Hello, Elise,” Viv said. They exchanged an air kiss.

“I love the hat. I simply love it,” Elise gushed. “Is that the new fashion? I simply have to have one.”

Viv glanced over her shoulder at me with a very clear I-told-you-so look on her face. I just smiled. Obviously, there was no accounting for taste.

“They are becoming all the rage,” Viv said. “My assistant, Fee, and I simply can't keep up with the demand.”

Fiona looked as if she might swoon when Elise glanced her way.

“Do you have a moment?” Elise asked. “I want to introduce the two of you to my producer, Sam Kerry. I think we could do a brilliant segment on winter hats in the next few days. What do you think?”

Viv and Fee disappeared into the crowd, and I found myself standing alone with Harrison. I wasn't sure what to say or do because while we're friends, we're rarely alone. I decided now was as good a time as any to discover a bit more about the man who had the uncanny ability to make my heart go pitter pat.

“So, Harry, looks like you're stuck with me,” I said as I slipped my arm through his and pulled him toward the bonfire. “Tell me, who does a gal have to kill to own a place like this?”

“Why, the person who already owns it. Right, Harrison, old boy?” It was not Harry who answered me.

A distinguished-looking man, with perfectly cut silver hair, a clean shaven face and an impeccable navy suit under a matching overcoat, was standing on the other side of Harrison smiling at me in amusement. I knew without being told that this had to be Harry's boss. Oh, gees!