Eye of the Beholder (6 page)

“Looking back on it, Mom, do you think there's any chance that Trask was right about his father's death not being an accident?”

“My God, Alexa, you can't possibly believe that Lloyd would—”

“No, of course not,” Alexa said hastily. “Never in a million years. But what about Guthrie? You just said he drinks too much and he has a temper. Do you think he might have had something to do with Harry Trask's death?”

“I talked to Lloyd about it at the time,” Vivien said quietly. “He has always been convinced that, even though Guthrie has a temper, he's not a killer.”

“Lloyd was
always pretty good at figuring out what made people tick,” Alexa admitted.

“You should know,” Vivien said gently.

Alexa recalled how patient and understanding Lloyd had been with her during those tumultuous years after she and Vivien had moved into his home.

She had fiercely resisted the notion of anyone trying to take her father's place. Lloyd had never tried to do that. She still remembered the conversation she had overheard between her mother and Lloyd shortly after they had married. Vivien had been worried about Alexa's failure to accept her new husband.

Lloyd had been as steady and calm about Alexa's icy attitude toward him as he was about everything else. “That girl doesn't need another father in her life,” he'd said. “She needs a man who can show her that not all men are like her father.”

Somehow in his own quiet, solid, dependable way, he had become very important to her over the years. It was Lloyd who had taught her how to drive, helped her select a college, instructed her in the fundamentals of running her own business.

Patient, solid, dependable Lloyd. She was surprised by the hot rush of protective loyalty she felt toward him.

“When it comes to judging people, Lloyd's track record isn't perfect,” Alexa said.

“What do you mean?”

“Don't you remember? Twelve years ago he said that Trask would not come back.”

“I remember.” Vivien paused. “I also recall that you said Trask would return some day.”

“I was right.”

5
 

Trask stroked the stylized wings of one of the two massive marble condors that guarded the lobby staircase.

“It looks like something that fell off the top of the Chrysler Building,” he said.

A pained expression appeared in Edward Vale's eyes. It vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced by the serene arrogance of authority.

“It's considered an excellent example of the Aztec and Mayan influence on the Deco sculptural style.”

“How much did I pay for them?”

Edward was unable to conceal another wince. “I'd have to check the paperwork, but I believe we purchased the pair of condors for something in the neighborhood of twenty thousand.”

It was Trask's turn to wince. “That's a hell of a neighborhood. Twenty grand? For two marble birds?”

“We were fortunate to get them,” Edward assured him. “They were previously in the hands of
a private collector. If it hadn't been for my, uh, contact in the Deco market, I wouldn't have even been aware that they were for sale.”

“Guess I should be grateful that your contact found a couple of condors instead of a pair of pink flamingos.”

Edward cleared his throat. “The sculptures make a brilliant frame for this truly outstanding staircase.”

Trask took a step back and studied the unabashedly exotic lines of the cascading staircase. It was the focal point of the ornate lobby, the sort of staircase that women clad in satin evening gowns descended with languid grace in old Cary Grant films.

Trask reminded himself that he knew a good fantasy when he saw one.

“You're right, Vale. The birds suit the staircase.”

Edward relaxed slightly. “I'm glad you're pleased.”

Trask turned slowly on his heel, surveying the rest of the lobby. From the elaborate wrought iron and etched glass fixtures that produced a sultry ambient light to the richly lacquered end tables and the low, sweeping curves of the chairs, it was a complete universe. The lobby reeked of a dark, smoldering sexuality and between-the-wars decadence. The entire effect was anchored by the antiques and objets d'art that were strategically showcased throughout the hotel.

He knew that when guests stepped through the front doors they would walk into another time and place, a world in which sophisticated romance and dangerous intrigues seemed possible.

He had bought and paid for a fantasy, and that was exactly what had been delivered.

“You did a good job, Vale. Looks like I got my money's worth.”

“Thank you.” Edward glowed with relief. “May I say that you've created a very unique vision here at the Avalon Resort & Spa. I'm sure your guests will be enthralled.”

“Has all of the art arrived on site?”

“Yes.” Edward cleared his throat. “With the exception of one bronze that will be installed at the end of the hallway in the west wing this afternoon.”

“Fine. Then we're set.”

“Yes, indeed.” Edward smiled broadly. “I can assure you that, so far as the art collection is concerned, everything will be in place for the reception.”

“Good. My PR people are counting on the art and antiques to pull in the media.”

“I understand. I'm sure it will have the desired effect.”

“It damned well better have the right effect,” Trask said. “I paid enough for it.”

The sound of footsteps on tile caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Pete Santana striding swiftly toward him.

Pete had worked for Avalon Resorts, Inc., for four years. He was an outgoing, high-energy type with a keen eye for the subtle details that made the difference between four stars and five in the travel guides.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Pete came to a halt. He acknowledged Edward with a quick nod and then looked at Trask. “I've got a meeting with the head of
security in a few minutes. We're going to go over some parking and crowd-handling issues for the night of the reception. Thought I'd better check to see if you wanted to join us.”

Trask shook his head. “No, thanks. You're in charge of running this hotel, Pete. I told you, I'm only here to help draw the press and the VIPs. After that, I'm strictly on vacation.”

“Right.” Pete hid his obvious skepticism behind a professional smile. “Well, I'd better get to the meeting. Let me know if there's anything you need, sir.”

“I'm not one of the guests, Pete. I can take care of myself.”

“Right,” Pete said again. He looked even more doubtful.

“Oh, yeah, one more thing,” Pete added. “About those two particular RSVPs you wanted Glenda to follow up.”

Trask stilled. “What about them?”

“I checked with her a few minutes ago. She told me that Guthrie never bothered to respond so she called his office and was told that he definitely will not attend the reception.”

Interesting, Trask thought. The hunt had barely begun, but the quarry was already running for cover.

“What about Kenyon?” he asked. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vale stiffen. You knew you were in a small town when even your overpriced art consultant had heard the local gossip.

“Glenda mentioned that she had received written regrets from Mr. and Mrs. Kenyon,” Pete said. “Seems they're in Hawaii for the month.”

Santana looked as wary as Vale, Trask thought. Apparently everyone had leaped to the conclusion that he was back in Avalon to do more than just open a resort. Fine by him. When you wanted something at the bottom of the pot to float to the surface, you got out a spoon and started stirring.

“All right, Pete. Thanks for the update.”

“Sure. Like I said, let me know if there's anything else.” Pete glanced at Edward. “By the way, Glenda got your last-minute addition to the guest list, Mr. Vale. She sent out an invitation to Alexa Chambers.”

“Thank you,” Edward said in a strangled voice.

“No problem.” Pete smiled. “It's standard Avalon Resorts procedure to allow all major subcontractors and suppliers on a project to invite a few guests to the opening night reception.”

“Very kind.” Edward dug out a pristine white handkerchief and blotted his forehead. “A bit warm in here, isn't it? Perhaps the air conditioning needs adjustment.”

Trask watched with interest as Edward wiped away perspiration. Outside, the late spring sun had driven the temperature into the mid eighties, but here inside the lobby the atmosphere was cool and comfortable.

“I'll have someone check the equipment,” Trask said softly.

“Yes, well, just a suggestion.” Edward smiled weakly. “If you'll excuse me, I'll go see about that bronze.”

He swung around and fled toward the massive etched glass doors at the front of the lobby.

Trask waited until he had disappeared. Then he
walked past the very expensive condors and went up the staircase to the second floor.

At the top of the stairs he turned and went down the carpeted hall to the owner's suite at the far end of the west wing.

He opened the door and entered a room that exuded raffish elegance, a place designed for midnight seductions and the hatching of dark plots.

Subdued, milky light from the frosted glass wall sconces gleamed on the abstract design of the red and gold screen. The vermilion and yellow tapestries that covered the furnishings added a rich, decadent touch. According to Nathan, the sofa and armchairs were replicas of designs featured in something called the 1925 Paris Exposition. When Trask had asked what that was, Nathan had groaned. Trask had been left with the impression that the event had been a defining moment in Deco style.

He went to the black lacquered cabinet and switched on a lamp that looked like a hood ornament from a 1927 Packard. He opened the cabinet doors to reveal the state-of-the-art business work station inside. Picking up the phone, he punched in a downstairs extension.

Glenda Blaine, his unnervingly efficient head of public relations, answered on the first ring.

“Blaine here,” she said with the brusque precision of a military officer reporting in from the front.

Glenda had worked for him since the inception of Avalon Resorts, Inc., but he still found himself tempted to salute every time he spoke with her.

“I understand we sent out an invitation to someone named Alexa Chambers.”

“Yes, sir.
It was a last-minute request. I handled it myself.”

Trask leaned back against the edge of the desk and studied the graceful, marble-topped console in front of him. “I believe that her name was submitted by the art consultant.”

“That's right.”

“Do we have any record of what Alexa Chambers did on the project?”

“Let me check.”

Trask listened to the faint rustle of papers on the other end of the line. An image of Glenda's terrifyingly efficient desktop floated through his mind.

She came back a few seconds later.

“Here's the list, but there are no details concerning her connection to the resort project. All I have is an address for her here in Avalon.”

“See if you can pin down her connection to the project. Find out if she was a supplier or a sub, will you?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“And, Glenda?”

“Yes?”

“Be discreet will you?”

“I'm in PR, sir.” There was no hint of amusement in her words, only firm, professional assurance. “I am nothing if not discreet.”

“Sorry. It's just that I'd rather Vale didn't find out that I'm questioning any of the names on his list.”

“I understand. He might take offense. Artistic types can be temperamental.”

“Yeah, just like us business types.”

Glenda paused for a beat or two. Trask wondered if she was rerunning the conversation through her
neatly organized brain to see if she was supposed to laugh. She evidently concluded that a polite chuckle was unnecessary because when she resumed speaking her inflection did not alter.

“Ms. Chambers may not have had anything at all to do directly with the project,” she warned. “You know how the architect and design people are. They often use their invitation privileges for clients, friends, and relatives. Opening night receptions provide an opportunity to show off their work.”

“I'm aware of that. Get back to me when you find out which category Ms. Chambers falls into.”

“Yes, sir.”

Trask slowly put down the phone. He straightened away from the desk and walked across the thick carpet to the French doors.

He twisted the ornate brass knob and stepped out onto the balcony. A warm breeze, as light as a woman's silk scarf and infused with the clean scent of the desert, drifted over him.

He wondered if Harry would have been pleased with the way the resort had turned out. He knew that he would get some answers here in Avalon but that would not be one of them.

Nathan had come up with the design based on Harry's original concept. The resort had been constructed on the bones of the old Avalon Mansion, which had been built in the 1930s by a retired mobster who had moved to Arizona after Prohibition was repealed.