Genuine Lies (24 page)

“I’m relieved, for Millie’s sake, to hear that.”

“It was kinda gross.” Brandon couldn’t help but relish it. “She looked sick and all, and just was lying there breathing real fast. Then these little wet things came out. And there was blood too.” He wrinkled his nose. “If I were a lady, I wouldn’t do it.”

Paul had to grin. He reached out and tugged the bill of Brandon’s cap over his eyes. “Lucky for us they’re made of sterner stuff.”

“I’m pretty sure it had to hurt.” He looked at his mother. “Does it?”

“You bet.” Then she laughed and swung an arm over his shoulder. “But sometimes we get lucky, and it’s worth it. I’ve almost decided you are.” Since it didn’t seem quite the time for a discussion on sex education and childbirth, she gave him a quick squeeze. “Mr. Winthrop came to see you.”

“Really?” As far as Brandon could remember, it was the first time an adult had ever done so. Especially a male adult.

“It so happens,” Paul began, “the Lakers are in town Saturday.”

“Yeah, they’re playing the Celtics. It’ll be maybe like the biggest game of the whole season, and …” A thought wiggled into his brain, such a huge and stunning one, he gaped.

Paul’s lips curved as he saw the wild hope in the boy’s eyes. “And it so happens I’ve got a couple of extra tickets. Wanna go?”

“Oh, wow.” His eyes threatened to pop out of his head. “Oh, wow. Mom, please.” As he turned to grab her around the
waist, his entire face was suffused with urgent pleading.
“Please.”

“How could I say no to someone who aced his spelling test?”

Brandon let out a whoop as he hugged her. Then to Paul’s astonishment, the boy spun around and launched into his arms. “Thanks, Mr. Winthrop. This is the best. Really the best.”

Rocked by the spontaneous show of affection, Paul patted Brandon’s back, then nudged aside the book bag that was pressing into his kidneys. It had cost him nothing, he thought. He bought two season tickets every year as a matter of course, and had wangled the third from a friend who would be out of town. As Brandon grinned up at him, his face beaming with excitement and gratitude, Paul wished he’d had to slay a few dragons for the seats, at the very least.

“You’re welcome. Listen, I’ve got one extra. Is there anyone you know who’d like to go with us?”

It was almost too much. Like going to sleep in August and waking up on Christmas morning. Brandon stepped back, suddenly unsure if it was cool for a guy to hug another guy. He didn’t know. “Maybe Mom.”

“Already declined, thank you,” she said.

“Jeez, Dustin would really go nuts.”

“Dustin already is nuts,” Paul said. “Why don’t you go give him a call, see if he can make it?”

“No kidding? Great!” He bolted into the kitchen.

“I don’t like to interfere in man business.” Julia unbuttoned her suit jacket. “But do you know what you’ve got yourself into?”

“Boys’ night out?”

“Paul.” She couldn’t help but be kindly disposed to him now—not after seeing Brandon’s face. “If I have this right, you were an only child, you’ve never been married or had any children of your own.”

His gaze wandered down to her fingers that were still toying with the buttons of her jacket. “So far.”

“Ever baby-sit?”

“Excuse me?”

“I thought not.” On a sigh, she slipped out of the jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. She was wearing a brick-colored sleeveless leotard, and Paul was delighted to see that as well as terrific legs, she had great shoulders. Smooth, creamy, and athletic. “Now, for your opening act, you’re going to take two ten-year-old boys to a professional basketball game. Solo.”

“It’s not like a trek into the Amazon, Jules. I’m a reasonably competent man.”

“I’m sure you are—under normal circumstances. Circumstances are never normal with ten-year-olds. It’s a very big arena, isn’t it?”

“So?”

“I’m going to have a lot of fun imagining you with two wild-eyed little boys.

“If I do a good job, will you treat me to a post-game … drink?”

She had both hands on his shoulders now, and a terrific urge to slide her fingers into his hair. “We’ll see,” she murmured. Her eyes changed, darkened. Going with impulse, she started to lower her head.

“He can go!” Brandon shouted from the kitchen doorway. “His mom says it’s okay, but she has to talk to you to be sure he’s not making it up.”

“Right.” Paul kept his eyes on Julia’s. Even if he’d been across the room, he could have seen the desire turn to astonished embarrassment. “I’ll be back.”

Julia blew out a short breath. What the hell had she been thinking of? Wrong question, she decided. She hadn’t been thinking at all, just feeling. And that was always dangerous.

Sweet Lord, he was attractive, appealing, sexy, charming. He had all those qualities that tempted a woman to make mistakes. It was a very good thing that she knew the pitfalls.

She smiled as she heard Brandon’s excited voice pipe in counterpoint to Paul’s deeper, wryer tones. Cautious or not, she couldn’t help but like him. She wondered if he had any idea how he had looked when Brandon had swooped into his arms. That blank astonishment, then the slow pleasure. It was
entirely possible that she’d misjudged him, that he’d asked the boy to the game without any ulterior motives. She’d wait and see.

Now she’d better start thinking about dinner. She glanced toward the mantel to check the time on the antique ormulu clock. It was gone. Baffled, she stared, then the color drained out of her face.

She hadn’t been wrong. There had been someone in the house. Struggling not to panic again, she made a careful search of the living room. Besides the clock, there was a Dresden figurine, a pair of jade candlesticks, and three of the miniature antique snuff boxes that had been in the display cabinet.

Keeping a mental account, she hurried into the dining room. There, too, she found several small, valuable pieces missing. There had been an amethyst butterfly that would fit in the palm of her hand, and had probably been worth several thousand dollars. A set of salt cellars from the Georgian period.

When was the last time she had seen any of these things? She and Brandon invariably used the kitchen or the terrace for meals. A day, a week? Two weeks? She pressed a hand to her churning stomach.

There could be a simple explanation. Maybe Eve had decided to remove the pieces herself. Clinging to that, she went back into the living room to find Brandon and Paul seated, discussing plans for the big night.

“We’re going to go early,” Brandon told her. “So we can meet some of the guys in the locker room.”

“That’s great.” She forced a smile. “Listen, why don’t you get yourself a snack, and we’ll deal with your homework a little later?”

“Okay.” He leapt up and shot Paul another grin. “See you.”

“You’d better sit down,” Paul advised when they were alone. “You’re white as a sheet.”

She only nodded. “There are some things missing from the house. I need to call Eve right away.”

He was up, taking her arm. “What things?”

“The clock, antique boxes. Things,” she snapped, afraid she would babble. “Valuable things. The tapes—” “What about them?”

“They’re misfiled. Someone …” She forced herself to take a long, deep breath. “Someone’s been here.” “Show me the tapes.”

She led the way into the office off the living room. “They’re mixed,” she told him as she opened the drawer. “I always file them alphabetically.”

After nudging her into the chair, he looked for himself. “You’ve been busy,” he murmured, noting the names and dates. “Any chance you’ve been working late and jumbled them yourself?”

“Almost none.” She caught his doubtful glance around the disordered room. “Listen, I know how it looks, but the single thing I’m obsessive about is keeping my interviews in precise order. It’s part of my work pattern.”

He nodded, accepting. “Could Brandon have played with them?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I didn’t think so.” His voice was mild, but there was something flickering in his eyes, something dangerous, when he looked at her again. “All right, Julia, is there anything on these tapes you wouldn’t want someone to hear before publication?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Yes.”

His lips tightened before he closed the drawer. “Obviously you’re not going to expand on that. Are any of the tapes missing?”

“They’re all there.” A sudden thought had more color washing out of her cheeks. Snatching the tape recorder out of her briefcase, she grabbed a tape at random. A moment later a thin, nasal voice entered the room.

“My opinion of Eve Benedict? A tremendously talented actress and an enormous pain in the ass.”

Julia let out a little sigh as she hit stop.

“Alfred Kinsky,” she explained. “I interviewed him
Monday afternoon. He directed Eve in three of her early films.”

“I know who he is,” Paul said dryly.

Nodding, she slipped the tape back in its plastic case, but held on to it. “I was afraid someone might have erased the tapes. I’ll still have to check them all, but …” She dragged a hand through her hair, loosening pins. “It wouldn’t make sense. I could always reinterview. I’m not thinking. I’m not thinking,” she said to herself, then put the tape down to press her fingers to her eyes. “Someone came in here to steal. I’ve got to call Eve. And the police.”

Paul clamped a hand on her wrist as she reached for the phone. “I’ll call her. Relax. Go pour yourself a brandy.”

She shook her head.

Paul punched in the number for the main house. “Then pour me one—and leave the bottle out for Eve.”

However much she might resent the order, it was something to do. Julia was replacing the stopper in the decanter when Paul strode into the living room.

“She’s on her way. Have you checked your personal things?”

“My jewelry. A few pieces I have from my mother.” She handed him the snifter. “It’s all there.”

He swirled the brandy, watching her as he sipped. “It’s absurd for you to feel responsible.”

She was pacing, couldn’t stop. “You don’t know how I feel.”

“Julia, I can all but see the thoughts in your head. I’m responsible, she’s thinking. I should have prevented it.” He sipped again. “Don’t these lovely shoulders of yours get tired carrying the problems of the world around?”

“Back off.”

“Ah, I keep forgetting. Julia handles the wrath of the world alone.”

She turned on her heel and marched into the kitchen. He heard her murmur to Brandon, then the slam of the screen door. Sent the child out to play, he presumed. However rattled she might be, she would protect her son first. When Paul
walked into the kitchen, she was standing with her hands braced on the sink, staring through the window.

“If you’re concerned about the value of the missing pieces, I can promise you they’re insured.”

“That’s not really the point, is it?”

“No, it’s not.” After setting the brandy aside, he moved behind her to massage her rigid shoulders. “The point is your space has been invaded. This is, after all, your space while you’re here.”

“I don’t like knowing someone could walk in here, look through my work, select a few expensive trinkets, and stroll out again.” She pushed away from the sink. “Here comes Eve.”

Eve rushed in with Nina one step behind. “What the hell is all this?” she demanded.

Braced, Julia told her as quickly and clearly as possible what she had discovered.

“Son of a bitch” was Eve’s only comment as she moved from the kitchen into the living room. Her gaze sharpened as it swept the room, noting the spaces where items were missing. “I was damn fond of that clock.”

“Eve, I’m so sorry—”

With an impatient wave of her hand, she cut off Julia’s apology. “Nina, check the rest of the place against your inventory list. Paul, for Christ’s sake, pour me a brandy.”

Since he was already doing so, he only lifted a brow. She took the glass and drank deep.

“Where’s the boy?”

“I sent him outside to play.”

“Good.” She drank again. “Where have you set up your office?”

“In the den, through here.”

Eve had already swept in to yank open drawers before Julia could speak again. “So, you claim someone’s gone through the tapes.”

“That’s not what I claim,” Julia said evenly. “That’s what I say.”

The faintest hint of amusement touched Eve’s lips. “Don’t
get up on your high horse, girl.” After brushing a finger over the tops of the tapes, she let out a quick laugh. “Well, well. Busy little beaver, aren’t you? Kinsky, Drake, Greenburg, Marilyn Day. Good Christ, you’ve even gotten to Charlotte Miller.”

“Isn’t that what you hired me for?”

“It certainly is. Old friends, old enemies,” she murmured. “All tidily filed. I’m sure dear Charlotte gave you an earful.”

“She respects you almost as much as she dislikes you.”

Eve glanced up sharply, then let out a full-throated laugh as she dropped into the chair. “You’re a cool-handed bitch, Julia. By God, I like you.”

“I’ll return both compliments, Eve. But more to the point, what do we do now?”

“Hmm. You haven’t got any cigarettes around here, do you? I left without mine.”

“Sorry.”

“Never mind. Where the hell’s my brandy? Ah, Paul.” She smiled and patted his cheek, and he crossed over to hand it to her. “How convenient that you were here in our moment of crisis.”

He let the sly inference pass. “Julia is naturally upset at having the house broken into, her work pawed over. And, perhaps not so naturally, feels responsible for the loss of your property.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Eve dismissed it all with a negligent wave, then sat back, eyes closed, to think. “We’ll check with the guard at the gate. There may have been some deliveries, some repairmen—”

“The police,” Julia interrupted. “They should have been called.”

“No, no.” Already planning, Eve swirled her brandy. “I think we can handle this incident with more delicacy than the police.”

“Eve?” Nina stepped into the doorway, a clipboard in her hand. “I think I’ve got the bulk of it.” “Estimate?”

“Thirty, maybe forty thousand. The amethyst butterfly.” Her eyes filled with concern. “I’m sorry. I know you were fond of it.”