Eye of the Beholder (5 page)

Alexa glanced at the doors in question. One was the rear entrance of Joanna's Crystal Rainbow, a popular gallery that featured stone and crystal jewelry.

Alexa had met Joanna shortly after Elegant Relic had opened.
They were not close friends, but they had gotten to know each other as business neighbors. Joanna was the half-sister of the charismatic Webster Bell, owner and resident guru of the trendy metaphysical retreat called the Dimensions Institute.

The second door was the rear exit of Spheres, a metaphysically oriented bookshop owned and operated by Dylan Fenn.

Alexa turned back to Edward. “Whatever gossip you heard is more than a decade out of date. Forget it.”

“Happy to oblige.” Edward turned the key in the van's ignition. “As I said, my policy is not to get curious about the client.”

“Edward, about my reception invitation…”

“All right, all right.” He gave her a smile that showed off his nicely capped teeth. “If you're sure you really want to go to the ball, Cinderella, I'll arrange it. Just remember to stay out of sight while you're there. I have it on good authority that, whatever else he may be, Trask is no prince.”

“I'm not looking for a prince. All I want is to get back my career.”

Understanding softened Edward's expression. “I know, Alexa. Hang in there. If anyone can make it happen, you can.”

She stood watching as Edward drove slowly out of the alley. After a while she turned and went back into the crowded stock room.

She wondered why she had not told Edward that
Dancing Satyr
was not just a very skillful forgery. It was a McClelland piece.

Mac was back in business.

3
 

She saw the Jeep first. A layer of desert grit dulled the dark green paint, evidence of a long drive. The vehicle was parked on the side of the road above Avalon Point. The sight of it brought her to a halt on the path.

It was not unusual to see a tourist stopped here at the Point. The sun was about to set, and the view of the stark, red rock landscape with its towers and canyons was magnificent at this time of day.

Alexa glanced around, searching for the Jeep's driver.

It took her a moment to find him. He stood deep in the long shadow cast by a stone outcropping.

The first thing that struck her was that he was on the wrong side of the waist-high metal rail that had been erected a few years ago to protect sightseers. Alarm shot through her. He was much too close to the edge of the Point.

He seemed oblivious to the vibrant beauty of the spectacular terrain set afire by the dying light. As Alexa watched, he gazed broodingly down into the brush-choked canyon.
There was a dark intensity about him, as though he were engaged in reading omens and portents.

Sometimes an overly ambitious amateur photographer took one too many risks in an attempt to get the perfect sunset shot.

“Excuse me,” she said loudly. “That guard rail is there for a good reason. It's dangerous to stand on the wrong side.”

The man in the shadows turned unhurriedly to look at her.

Her first thought was that he could have stepped straight out of a Tamara de Lempicka painting.

The artist who had become known as the quintessential Art Deco portraitist would have loved him, Alexa thought. De Lempicka had excelled at creating a dark, sinister, edgy energy around her subjects. She had been able to endow them with a highly charged sensuality and an icy, enigmatic aura.

But in this man's case, she thought, de Lempicka would not have had to invent the ominous illusion. The painter's only task would have been to capture the unsettling reality of it.

The jolt of recognition hit Alexa with such force she froze in mid-step.

Trask.

Twelve years older, harder, more dangerous, but unmistakably Trask.
He looked even bigger than he had the last time. Lean and broad-shouldered, he still took up a lot of space. It was a wonder light did not bend to get around him.

He contemplated her for a moment.

“Thanks for the warning,” he said.

He made no move to get back behind the guard rail. It figured, she thought. This man was accustomed to standing on the edge of cliffs. She could tell that just by looking at him.

She realized she was holding her breath, waiting for him to recognize her. But he gave no indication that he remembered her from that long-ago scene in Lloyd's hall. She told herself she should be enormously relieved.

She released the breath she had been holding.

A gust of wind broke the peculiar little trance that had gripped her. She managed to keep her polite-to-the-tourist smile firmly fixed in place.

“You really should move back to the right side of that railing.” She was horrified by the slightly breathless quality she heard in her own words.
Get a grip, Alexa
. “Didn't you see the sign?”

“Yeah, I saw it.”

His voice was low and resonant. The voice of a man who did not have to speak loudly in order to get the attention of others. The voice of a man who was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.

She had pushed her luck far enough. Time to take her leave before he recalled her face. No sense taking chances. She searched for a suitable exit line.

“Are you lost? Can I give you directions?” she asked.

He looked amused. “I know where I am.”

“Well, in that case,” she said briskly, “I'll be on my way. It's getting late.”

He watched the breeze tangle her hair. “Can I give you a lift?”

“What?
No.”
Startled, she took a hasty step back, although he had made no move toward her. “I mean, thanks, but I live near here. I use this path for exercise.” Lord, now she was babbling.

His brows rose. “It's all right. I'm not a serial killer.”

She kept smiling. “Yeah, sure, that's what they all say.”

“I take it you're the type who doesn't take lifts from strangers?”

“No intelligent person accepts rides from strangers in this day and age.”

“Maybe I'd better introduce myself. My name is Trask. My company owns the new resort here in Avalon.”

Stay cool, Alexa
. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Trask.”

“Just Trask.”

“Yes, well, best of luck with the new resort.” She retreated another step. “Everyone in town is very excited about it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I'm glad to hear that.”

She did not trust the cool amusement she saw in his eyes. She dropped her own polite smile.

“Welcome to Avalon, Trask.”

She turned quickly and walked swiftly away from him.

“Better hurry,” he said much too softly behind her. “I hear that night falls fast in the desert. It'll be dark soon.”

She resisted the sudden urge to break into a run. With grim determination she kept moving, listening intently for the sound of the Jeep's engine.

She finally heard it come to life with a low, throaty growl. She did not look back, but neither did she take a deep breath until the sound receded into the distance.

Then and only then, did she allow herself to quicken her step.

Adrenaline rushed through her, creating a tingling in her hands and feet. She was both hot and cold. It was the sort of feeling one got after having had a very close call.

The other shoe had finally dropped. Trask was back in Avalon.

4
 

An hour later, dressed in a black satin robe splashed with an intricate, flowing Deco design worked in gold, Alexa stretched out on one of her most prized possessions, a chaise longue. The wrought iron piece was a sleek, 1920s-era creation, cushioned in black leather and ornamented with legs and arms in the shape of palm trees.

The chaise longue had been a gift from her former employer, the person she had once considered her closest friend and mentor but who had ultimately betrayed her.

Alexa's jaw tightened as she reached for the phone. Thoughts of McClelland had hung heavy on her mind all day, thanks to Edward. She pictured
Dancing Satyr
again as she picked up the phone. She had not been wrong. It was definitely one of Mac's pieces.

How like McClelland to send a piece into the Paxton Forsyth Gallery, the very bastion of the twentieth-century arts and antiques establishment. It had been a test, no doubt. Mac had wanted to see
if the bronze could get past Forsyth himself. Which, of course, it had.

“Hello?” Vivien Kenyon's warm voice came clearly over the line.

“It's me, Mom.” Alexa took a sip of the wine.

“Alexa, dear. Is anything wrong?”

“No, of course not. Everything is fine here.” Alexa settled deeper into the chaise. “I just called to see how things were going there.”

“Maui is great, as always.” There was a smile in Vivien's voice. “Lloyd is out on the golf course as we speak. He'll be back soon. You're sure everything is okay back there? I wasn't expecting you to call.”

Alexa took a sip of sauvignon blanc and contemplated the Cubist-inspired geometric pattern of her black, brown, and yellow rug.

“I met the owner of the new Avalon Resort & Spa today,” she said.

There was a short, brittle pause on the other end of the line. “You met young Trask?”

“I wouldn't call him young. Not anymore. Maybe never.”

“It's all relative, isn't it? But, yes, I suppose he would be twelve years older now, wouldn't he? That would make him, what? Thirty-four?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Did he remember you?”

“No, thank goodness. And it was a very casual sort of meeting. I didn't even give him my name.”

“I see.” Vivien sighed. “Well, it's not as though we didn't know that he was coming back to Avalon for the opening of the resort.”

“When are you going to admit that you scheduled
your vacation so that you and Lloyd wouldn't be here while Trask was in town?”

Vivien hesitated. “I suppose it was rather obvious, wasn't it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Lloyd refuses to be concerned, but I felt that, at best, it would be awkward for both of them to come face-to-face at the reception.”

“Ever the diplomat, hmm?”

“Ever the coward.” Vivien chuckled. “Besides, Lloyd and I were long overdue for this vacation.”

“You just got back from a cruise.”

Vivien let that pass. “I'm sure that Trask has made his peace with his father's death.”

Alexa thought about Trask standing on the wrong side of the guard rail, gazing down into the canyon below Avalon Point. “What makes you so certain of that?”

“Well, it's obvious, isn't it? He's been a wealthy, successful man for several years. He's got resources. If he'd intended to rake up the past, he would have done so long ago.”

“Maybe.”

“He didn't even bother to visit Avalon during the construction of the resort,” Vivien reminded her. “He let his staff handle everything.”

Alexa sipped wine. “True.”

“I'm sure he's only there now to handle the formalities associated with the opening of the hotel. He won't stay more than a few days, at most.”

“Probably not.” There was a beat of silence. “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“About what happened twelve years ago?”

“What about it?”

“What if Trask hasn't
made peace with the past? What if he's back in town to cause trouble?”

“I really don't think he would have waited this long to come back if he'd had revenge on his mind.” Vivien's own anxious uncertainty was painfully clear beneath the surface of her assured words.

“I was too young to pay attention to the details of the events,” Alexa said slowly. “But I do remember that Lloyd was involved in a partnership with Harry Trask and another man.”

“Dean Guthrie.”

“Right. Guthrie. That's the name. He's still around, isn't he?”

“Yes, of course. I never did care for the man. He drinks too much and he's got a violent temper. I forget how many wives he's had. Three, at least. He divorced the last one a few months ago. Someone said she's a jewelry designer. Lives out in Shadow Canyon, I believe.”