Lady Be Good (20 page)

“Anybody I know?”

It was probably wrong to bring up Ace, so Grace blundered ahead without mentioning his name. “I don’t think so. But afterwards—this is a bit scary—my friend Luke was approached by some people. Some dangerous people. They told him to stop asking about Jake.”

Emma looked up, curiosity in her gaze for an instant before she squelched it. In a different voice, she said, “Were they carrying guns?”

Grace held back a gasp. “Guns? No. But it was a violent encounter.”

“This friend of yours—Luke? Did he get hurt?”

“No,” said Grace, thinking of Luke’s arm and how awful it looked, but also how he’d brushed off the injury. “He was simply warned to stop asking questions about your husband.”

Emma nodded shortly. “Yeah, I can guess who that was.”

Grace sat down on the footstool in front of the chair. “Emma, I know you’ve been staying away from Nora. Are you in trouble?”

She glanced away from Grace and ran one nervous hand through her short hair while she considered the situation. Finally, she said, “No, I’m not in any trouble because I kept my mouth shut. I know when to keep quiet, see?”

“But—these people. Are they a threat to you? Do you need help?”

“No, I’m cool.” Emma shook a single cigarette out of the pack and held it between her long fingers. Looking at it, she said, “I know Jake was into some crappy stuff, and it got him killed. But now? I don’t want those people getting close to my family, understand? Not to Nora or to my sister Libby, and especially not Libby’s kids. So I don’t talk about any of it. To anyone. If you and your boyfriend know what’s good for you, you’ll keep out of it, too.”

“Are you saying--?”

“I’m saying you should shut up about Jake. Stop asking questions. Stop talking about him. I don’t know the people he gambled with, but I know they’re bad news. You could get into big trouble with those guys and trust me, you don’t want to do that.”

“What about the police?”

“What about them?”

“Shouldn’t you tell them what really happened to your husband?”

Emma suddenly got to her feet. “You’re not listening,” she snapped. “Sure, I could squeal and testify and whatever the hell gets justice done, but what if something goes wrong? What if Nora’s walking down the street someday, and a guy grabs her? Hurts her? Or worse, hurts one of Libby’s kids? You think I could live with myself? I’m telling you, Grace. Leave this thing alone. Forget you ever heard anything about Jake. He died in a car wreck. Let’s leave it at that.”

Pinned to the footstool by the force of Emma’s words, Grace said, “Okay. Okay, Emma, I understand.”

“Do I have your word? You promise you’ll drop this?”

“Yes,” Grace said quietly. “I’ll drop it. We’ll forget about it. Don’t worry about your sisters. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Emma already had the door open, but she turned and gave Grace a cold smile. “You didn’t upset me. This is my life now.”

“Emma--”

But she was gone.

“Damn!” Grace said aloud.

She hadn’t handled that very well, and now perhaps Emma was off on another bender.

Grace checked her watch. She had to get downstairs. Not just to the party, but to tell Nora that Emma was on the loose again. She grabbed her makeup kit and headed for the bathroom.

On her way past the desk, Grace finally saw a vase of flowers—white roses mixed with more colorful blooms. Just the kind of luxury Mama liked to have around to perk up a dreary hotel room. Grace cupped a rose and held it to her nose, hoping the fragrance might calm her down.

The card lay on the desk beside the vase. Grace picked it up again and read it:
Welcome back.

Dear Mama. Really, in spite of all the mother-daughter strife, she had a good heart. Thinking about Emma Blackbird, Grace realized that by comparison she was very lucky indeed.

She had better reciprocate and do Mama a good turn, Grace supposed. The party awaited, and her mother had gone to a lot of trouble to organize it. Grace began to unbutton her blouse, but a thought struck her. She turned back to the vase of flowers and stared at the card again.

Welcome back.
No signature
.

Couldn’t be.

Could it?

12.

Grace tore out of her blouse and ran to the bathroom with her makeup bag. It could be. It certainly could. She paid extra attention to her lipstick, then rushed to pull the new dress off its hanger. In seconds, Grace had it over her head and was tugging the delicate fabric down over her curves. Pink silk charmeuse that brought out the blush in her cheeks. The alterations were very precise, and Grace smoothed her hands down her waist and hips. She remembered the look in Luke’s eyes when he saw her pinned into it in the shop. He had voted against a long gown and suggested she looked best in a short cocktail dress that showed off her legs. In the mirror, Grace could see he had been right. The dress was perfect.

Grace hung her head upside down and brushed her blonde hair vigorously. Shaking it, she recombed the top and let it go. A little wild, a little sexy. Not exactly Dear Miss Vanderbine, but exactly how Grace felt right now.

Shoes, a small clutch handbag. She almost ran down the hall to the elevator.

Camera flashes blinded Grace the instant she stepped off the elevator. A jazz combo struck up a lively tune. Polite applause and a few raucous cheers from the back of the huge ballroom confirmed Grace’s belief that the party was very large. Perhaps three or four hundred people had crowded into the elegantly decorated ballroom. Most of them turned at her arrival. Nora stepped out of the crowd. She was smiling.

Still blinded by the camera flashes, but with Nora’s hand drawing her forward, Grace plunged into the throng.

“Nora, I just saw Emma, and--”

“I saw her, too. We’ll manage somehow,” Nora said. “For now, it’s a party! Come meet some important people.”

Dancers from the ballet company swirled nearby, charming the guests who mingled and laughed above the music. Waiters circulated with trays of drinks. Nora threaded Grace through the action.

Her mother’s voice warbled high, but commandingly: “Grace, dearie, this way!”

Mama looked extravagant in one of her taffeta ensembles, complete with feathers around the bosom and plenty of sparkling diamonds. The tip of her nose was adorably red, a sure sign that Mama had been sipping champagne. She looked happy—happier than Grace had seen in a long time. As if she, too, had decided life goes on.

“Dearie, you can’t imagine such excitement! Pamela Waldrop took one look at the decorations and fainted dead away! They’re reviving her in the kitchen. She refuses to leave in an ambulance. I just hope the rest of the party doesn’t kill her. But if it does--such publicity! This way. See what we’ve managed? All these attractive men! And I’ve trained them myself. Like the old days. And look! My prize pupil!”

Mama waved her hands like a magician revealing her best trick.

It was Luke.

At the sight of him, Grace’s heart began to throb in her chest, and the great ballroom suddenly didn’t have enough air.

His smile was broad and a little guilty but quivering at the edges, as though he were about to burst into laughter. He was dressed in the most elegant black dinner jacket and starchiest white shirt since Fred Astaire. He looked very handsome.

“Go on,” Mama prodded him with whisper and a jab in the ribs.

Reminded of his manners in front of the crowd, Luke took a pace forward and grasped Grace’s hand in his. His lines contained the barest stiffness of well-rehearsed words, but his grin was definitely genuine. “Good evening, Ms. Vanderbine. Perhaps you remember that we’ve met before?”

Trying to manage a smile that didn’t tremble, she said, “Yes, of course I remember, Mr. Lazurnovich. How nice to see you again.”

The television cameramen moved in close, catching Grace as she took Luke’s arm.

Responding to another nudge from Mama’s discreet elbow, Luke tugged Grace into the crowd. “Perhaps you’ll permit me to introduce some of my friends, Ms. Vanderbine. They’ve all come to wish you well. May I present Terrence Mitchell?”

Blood Mitchell, looking formidable and yet totally at ease in his dinner jacket and bow tie, reached for Grace’s hand. He played his part to the hilt, saying in formal tones, “How do you do, Ms. Vanderbine? Were your travel arrangements satisfactory?”

“Yes, thank you,” Grace responded to the transformed football player with a dazed smile.

“And Mr. James McCoy,” Luke said, guiding Grace down the line of tuxedoed men.

He’s Dead Jim McCoy glowered. His lines hadn’t been as carefully rehearsed as the others. He glanced nervously down at Mama Vanderbine, who shot him with a deadly look. Snapping to attention, he said in a rush, “Good evening, Ms. Vanderbine. Nice weather, huh?”

“Very nice, Mr. McCoy,” Grace agreed politely. “So good to see you again.”

He’s Dead must have panicked, because his eyes widened at her response. He hadn’t been prepared to think on his feet. Stumbling, he said, “Uh, yeah. Same here.”

Mama must have arranged all the football players in a receiving line so they’d catch the attention of the cameras first. She had choreographed the ballet dancers to move in the background, too, and the juxtaposition of enormous men and tiny, flitting ballerinas made for ideal camera footage. They were all definitely going to make the local nightly news. Luke kept Grace right in front of the cameras, and she did her best to look gracious and happy. The gracious part took some self-control. The happy came easily.

The host of a syndicated entertainment show caught up with Grace before she reached the end of the receiving line. “Dear Miss Vanderbine, can we ask you a few questions about your new book?”

For a second, Grace expected her mother to step forward.

But Mama actually stepped back.

With the microphone thrust in her face, Grace smiled and almost responded with some of the good sound-bites she had developed during her tour. Her own personality bubbled up, and she told anecdotes that made the people around her laugh. She was on auto-pilot now, filling the role of Dear Miss Vanderbine by improvising her material. The host looked pleased with her answers. He thanked her and walked away.

As the action swung around them, Luke leaned down to Grace and whispered, “How do you like your party so far?”

Grace almost threw her arms around him. But there were more party guests to greet. Along came Leon Murzinski in a dinner jacket, with only slightly sweating palms. He recited his lines and nervously glanced at Mama Vanderbine to be sure he hadn’t goofed. As Luke led her down the lineup, Mama gave each man a surreptitious pat to praise him for his good behavior. The football players visibly relaxed when they realized they had passed muster before the formidable Dear Miss Vanderbine and the blazing lights of the watching television cameras.

At the end of the line stood Darrell Washington in a suave black dinner jacket with a black shirt underneath, a jewel at the neck instead of a tie. Beside him, Jaydonna looked just as elegant in a shimmering column of silver. She had a necklace of diamonds braided into her hair.

“Hey, Gracie,” Darrell said easily, giving her a kiss. “Thanks for getting us invited to this barn dance.”

“Oh, Darrell, you’ve been drafted, too?”

“Luke asked us to show up, so we had to come. He said your mom needed a big crowd. You want some of the guys to rough up a book reviewer while we’re here?”

Grace laughed. “That won’t be necessary, but I’m grateful for the offer.”

Jaydonna was equally undeterred by the formal occasion, and she gave Grace a hug. “Gracie, you look so pretty. Pink is your color. No wonder the Laser spent all week here, practicing with your mama.”

With all sincerity, Grace said. “Thank you for coming, all of you.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Darrell said. “Watching a bunch of stiffs try to have a good time—it’s real entertaining.”

Jaydonna leaned close. “He’s only teasing. He’s watching all the ballet dancers and having a blast. I think he wants to buy season tickets to the ballet.”

Someone pressed a glass of champagne into Grace’s hand, and she began to notice tiny details of the party around her.

A waiter floated by with a silver tray of canapés. Grace saw Blood Mitchell reach for the tray, his huge hand capable of grabbing all the food at once. Mama spotted him with her eagle eye, however, and Blood froze. He took a single canapé, and it disappeared in one gulp.

He’s Dead Jim McCoy wasn’t having such good luck. Mama was keeping an especially eagle eye on his every move. He’s Dead was clearly uncomfortable, his face shining with nervous perspiration. He tugged at the stiff collar of his shirt. Mother discreetly elbowed him to put a stop to such behavior.

“Look relaxed, now, James,” she admonished in a barely audible undertone. Her upward gaze at He’s Dead however, packed the voltage of the Sing Sing electric chair. “A gentleman should always strive to look sedate, remember.”

He’s Dead, looking as if he’d actually much rather be in Sing Sing than this particular party, said, “Yes, Mrs. Vanderbine, ma’am.”

“You needn’t call me both Mrs. Vanderbine
and
ma’am.” Mama put her hand on He’s Dead’s arm. “We’ve discussed that before, James.”

Her slight hand must have caused still another jolt of electricity for He’s Dead, because he immediately snapped to attention. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Perhaps you should consider a longer course, James,” Mother said decisively. “You could come back to Connecticut with me. I have much better facilities there for teaching good manners. It’s so difficult to make real progress when my only help comes from poorly trained hotel employees. You must come, James.”

He’s Dead, in the act of stealthily swiping a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, promptly bobbled the dainty glass. He made a swift grab to catch it, but the glass upended, sending a spray down the front of his starched shirt. He’s Dead lost his cool. “Aw, for—”

Blood, sensing an outburst of less than gracious language, grabbed He’s Dead by his elbow and gave it a mighty squeeze, putting a stop to the obscenities before they got started. Blood pasted a smile on his face and turned to Mama. “James has had an unfortunate accident, Mrs. Vanderbine. Perhaps he and I should step outside for a moment and take care of this little problem.”