Reluctant Witness (22 page)

“Well, look at me,” I chuckled to my
attentive companion, now wagging his tail at my feet. “I was all
worried about losing my party business and here I am in Atlanta,
already thinking about a new career. So far, so good.”

We rejoined the men in the living room, only
to find the renovation discussion had continued in our absence.
Rocky laughed when I shared my thoughts on the bathroom.

“Oh, great. Now there are two of you to jump
into the endless money pit with both feet! Must you feed his
delusions of grandeur, Marigold? I am so disappointed with you,” he
sniffed. “You looked like such a level-headed girl.”

“She can’t help herself. I seem to have that
effect on women,” Jefferson replied good-humoredly. “It’s all
because of my natural wit and charm.”

“Natural wit and charm, my Aunt Fanny!” Rocky
countered. “Let me give you a piece of advice, Marigold. Watch out
for this guy. He’s a clever bastard. He’ll turn your head with his
fancy ideas and have you turning cartwheels for him if you’re not
careful.”

“Might I remind you who signs your paycheck?”
Jeff asked with a hint of disdain in his tone. The head of Roaring
Kill Productions security team just snorted in response.

“Might I remind you that you assigned me to
look out for Marigold? I’m just doing my job, boss. I wouldn’t want
this sweet, little songbird swallowed up by the big, bad jungle
cat.”

“You can be replaced. Plenty of ex-cops
looking for work.”

“Ditto,” was Rocky’s quick retort. I could
tell they were used to verbally jousting with each other; it was
something they clearly enjoyed doing. “There are plenty of rich
guys who need security, especially when they get mouthy.”

“If I promise not to do any handsprings in
here, will you boys kiss and make up?” I asked. They both turned in
my direction, seemingly surprised by my good-natured teasing.

“Well, well,” Rocky grinned. “Maybe Marigold
is tougher than she looks.”

Jefferson didn’t say anything. He just stared
at me with those unfathomable eyes. Unable to meet his gaze, I
turned and feigned interest in Kary, who was still examining every
corner of the enormous living room. My heart raced. That
thud-thud-thud in my chest warned me I was reacting to his
hard-to-ignore masculinity. What was it about him that seemed to
set me on fire?

When Tom finally arrived a little while
later, the men sequestered themselves in the den for a briefing on
my situation. I was not invited. Just before the door shut, Jeff
poked his head out to speak to me.

“Marigold, I’ve put you in the blue guest
room, but go ahead and explore all the rooms. Get a feel for the
place.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Something important was going on, I decided.
Tom must have found out what happened when the police interviewed
Marvin Smith. Maybe they were trying to figure out how to break the
bad news to Lincoln. With a shrug, I got on with my self-directed
house tour.

Stepping past the den, I
entered a hallway and came face to face with an experience
reminiscent of
Alice’s Adventures in
Wonderland
. I had never seen anything like
it. These walls were painted deep, dark purple, embellished by
delicate silver damask stenciling that appeared slightly tarnished;
the ceiling was covered in silver leaf, reflecting the light from
the crystal sconces that illuminated my way. The overwhelmingly
vibrant color was interrupted only by the marble floor tiles. Had I
tumbled into a rabbit hole? I certainly felt as if I were in some
strange subterranean tunnel. I kept going, unsure of what to
expect.

Turning the ornate antique brass knob on the
first closed door I came to, I found myself entering another space
so dark, I could see nothing. I fumbled along the wall, hoping
there was a light switch. A moment later, an enormous candelabrum
heavily encrusted with crystal pendants came to life, throwing out
such strong light that I had to shield my eyes. Whirling around, I
lowered the dimmer switch, until the three tiers of electric
candles no longer blazed at their 100-watt capacity.

“Egad!” Was it the immediate relief from the
painful glare of the chandelier or the stunning sight of the decor
that made me utter that archaic expression? Maybe a combination of
both, I decided, as I gazed around.

Here, the Louis XVI theme was repeated in the
overly lavish decor of what must have been a very grand master
suite. The windows were covered in shimmering gold silk drapes,
fringed on the ends and topped with matching cornice boxes trimmed
in more gold braiding. The gold-and-ivory-striped walls were rather
subdued against the hand-painted floral detailing on each of the
door panels, but that was nothing in comparison to the ceiling.
Tiny song birds kissed cherubs as they carried flowing ribbons
through blue skies overhead. It screamed delusions of grandeur. I
shuddered at the thought of what furniture the condo’s previous
owner must have chosen to use in the room, picturing something
worthy of Marie Antoinette. All that was missing was the replica of
Versailles’ Hall of Mirrors, I thought. And then I walked into the
master bath. There it was.

“Geez, Louise!” I groaned, dismayed. Every
wall was smothered in reflective glass. No matter where I looked, I
could see myself multiplied, right down to the stunned look on my
face, making me feel like I was in the fun house of some demented
eighteenth century amusement park. Above the mirrors, a
hand-painted frieze encircled the room, depicting naked bathing
beauties who lounged beside ornate soaking tubs, attended by
cheerful cherubs and servants.

The theme continued on the ceiling, where
smirking angels peeped from behind their cloud cover, smug smiles
suggesting they knew it was naughty to snoop on the unsuspecting
bathers below, but didn’t care. The overall effect was one of
cartoonish voyeurism that seemed to poke fun at human modesty.

The little dog at my side seemed blissfully
unaware of the debacle. He busied himself checking out every
fixture in the room as I let myself re-imagine the bathroom.

At first glance, this seemed like no easy
task, but when I set my mind on looking past all the ornate
embellishments, I could see the good features in the room. Stripped
down of its excesses, much in this bathroom could be saved.
Mirrored walls and murals could be replaced by plain, painted
surfaces. The floor tiles were limestone and they seemed to be in
decent condition. The oversized shower, tiled in the same stone,
really just required a replacement for the ornate brass shower
enclosure. I decided that it made sense to also replace all the
brass fixtures and hardware with antique bronze; it would introduce
a more masculine feel for the master bath. The
cherub-and-rose-covered white cabinets could be repainted and
topped with a new counter.

But in the silence of the mirrored room, as I
sat on the edge of the large soaking tub and found myself
mesmerized by the repeated reflections, there was no escaping the
many faces of Marigold Flowers. I was everywhere, tattered ear and
all.

It occurred to me that I was slowly beginning
to transition into my new life, whatever that might be. Could I
find the inner strength to reinvent myself yet again and find some
semblance of normalcy in a new place, with a new circle of friends?
What if I no longer had what it took to start over? I was in my
thirties, no longer a fresh-faced kid with endless enthusiasm.

It took time and effort to adjust to my move
from Newport to Lake Placid after the shock of Jared’s murder in
May of last year. Half-numb with grief in those first few weeks in
the Adirondacks, I was forced to bury my emotions behind an overly
cheerful public smile. I was a hunted woman. I left my life Newport
behind and I couldn’t afford to look back with regret. Instead, I
hit the ground running to start a new business in Lake Placid.
Immersing myself in the local business community, I hooked up with
restaurant owners and caterers, joined the Chamber of Commerce, and
interviewed numerous candidates from Paul Smith’s College, the
culinary and hospitality school, looking for part-time helpers. I
created a business that was growing in leaps and bounds. I crafted
my reputation in the area, earning respect as demand for my
services increased. I did functions at country clubs, yacht clubs,
a local sports academy, a prep school, and private homes. I even
arranged a progressive wine tour for a group of college alumni.
They enjoyed a five-course meal over four hours, with stops at
three separate vineyards, sampling the different offerings.

Like her old counterpart in Newport, the
Marigold Flowers I became built a daily routine in her new town and
embraced an active social life. Lake Placid suited me for so many
reasons. I loved the mountains and the lakes, but it was more than
that. I enjoyed my work, throwing myself into each event, taking
pride in my accomplishments. I was a doer, an arranger, a fixer. As
a party planner, I brought families and friends together to
celebrate the important moments in life. Maybe it was selfish. Did
I need to share in those happy times with strangers because I was
cut adrift from the people I love?

My recent experience as Susan Langforth, the
pharmaceutical rep, opened my eyes to reality. I knew that I could
pose for a time as Susan, but the character just wasn’t enough like
the real me that I could spend the rest of my life being her. I had
lost so many connections to the people and places that mattered
most to me with every WitSec move. If I was going to start over
again, I wanted to take all the wisdom I had gained over the years
and use it to make a difference. I wanted to fit into my new world
and I wanted my new world to be a place I could call home.

I got my start in event planning when I took
a part-time waitressing job in college. The Dellavecchio family had
been in the restaurant business for three generations. Villa Tivoli
was housed in an elegant Italianate mansion on Long Island. With a
picture-perfect setting, great food, and a comfortable ambiance, it
was a popular local venue for all kinds of parties.

Lisa Dellavecchio took me under her wing to
teach me the finer points of creating memorable events. Weddings
were her specialty. Lisa’s father, Gino, was a tough task master,
expecting perfection from everybody, but he was also a generous
mentor to those like me, who wanted to understand the ins and outs
of the restaurant business.

It nearly broke my heart when I had to leave
Villa Tivoli unexpectedly. Just after my college graduation, the
marshals were spooked by a potential attempt on my father’s life.
We were collected in the middle of the night and relocated to
Texas. My sisters went off to college two months later, while I
tried to start a new career in Houston, where I had no connections
and no friends. When I finally landed a job as an assistant event
coordinator for a major hotel there, I got serious about learning
the business from the ground up. I took classes and got my Masters.
Within a few years, I proved myself and the chain promoted me,
first to their standard hotel in Austin and then to their crown
jewel in Dallas. For a few years, times were good. Would they ever
be good again? Could they?

I sighed aloud as I sat on the tub. I was too
aware of the emotional weight I carried with me after so many years
on my own. I had no one with whom to share my secrets. Only my
WitSec team and a handful of FBI agents were privy to the details
of my life on the run, and those people seemed to have cut me
loose. Where would I be without the Cornwall brothers? Who would I
turn to if they turned away from me?

Kary trotted over and pawed my leg,
commiserating. Gazing into those sweet, sincere brown eyes, I
recognized a friend.

“Don’t mind me,” I told him, picking him up.
There was something wonderfully comforting in having a companion,
even one that couldn’t speak. It made me realize just how lonely I
had been. Kary slumped down in my lap, his paws on my right arm, as
if to say, “There, there.” I returned the favor, tenderly rubbing
his ears.

“What a nice boy you are,” I told him,
feeling a little confidence seep back into my conscious mind. “Now,
where was I?”

Turning my attention back to the master
bathroom, I gently put the tiny dog on the tile floor and stood up.
“There’s got to be a toilet around here somewhere.”

I found it tucked into a separate room with
hand-painted walls that made me want to recoil in horror. The
unfortunate mural motif continued in here. A couple of life-sized
male attendants in white, powdered wigs and satin uniforms, no
doubt from the royal court of Louis XVI, stood at attention behind
the commode, as if ready to step out of the mural and flush. Both
sported lascivious grins.

“Ugh, creepy,” I confided to Kary. “Let’s get
out of here.”

The Shih Tzu and I left the master bathroom
and discovered a dressing room next door, filled with custom
cabinetry. The carved doors with the hand-painted panels mimicked
the French Rococo style, complete with gold tassels on each of the
crystal door knobs. Opening drawers, I examined them, noting the
dovetailed edges. I could tell these cabinets were well-crafted and
offered functional storage, even if the style wasn’t right. I
wondered if it was possible to have new doors and drawer fronts
made for them.

The dog and I made our way back out to the
hallway. It was a relief to shut the door on the master suite.

The next door I opened revealed a rather
utilitarian laundry room with a folding counter and hook-ups for a
washer and dryer. The lack of decoration made me think the previous
owner probably had never spent much time in this room. Was it a
case of not fussing for the hired help or was the laundry sent out
to the cleaners?