String of Lies (21 page)
Mallory moved off without a second glance in Jo’s direction, leaving Jo reeling from what had just slammed into her. Had Mallory Holt just threatened her? Was she saying that the Holt Corporation had in fact bought her building from Max McGee? Or was it something she planned to press for, now that Jo had angered her.
And what, exactly, was Mallory Holt angry about? Was it simply that Jo had wasted the time of her artist lover? Or was it that Jo had come too close to a murderous secret?
Jo realized she had been standing openmouthed, so she snatched a caviar-topped cracker from her plate and bit into it. She moved back into the crowd, and seeing Rafe still in close conversation with the aspiring actress, veered away, searching for a friendlier face than the one she had just encountered, or perhaps a bit of quiet, where she could pull herself together. She eventually found herself in the hotel foyer, which was empty at the moment except for staff. One of that staff wore gold braid and was blowing on his cold hands. She headed toward him.
“Getting warmed up?”
Randy Truitt looked up and nodded.
Jo peered through the glass in the hotel’s front door and saw the snow coming down steadily. Randy had done a good job keeping the immediate walkway cleared, but elsewhere she saw the snow had accumulated a few inches.
“Have you had anything warm to drink?” Jo asked. “If not, I could grab some coffee back there for you.”
“That’s okay. Someone brought a cup out to me.” He smiled. “She’s also gonna sneak out something for me to eat, but don’t tell anyone.”
That must be Lisa Williams, Jo thought. She wondered if Lisa had brought the coffee before or after Alexis Wigsley had her intrusive talk with her, and if she had mentioned it to Randy.
“I’m glad you’re being looked after. Looks like the worst of your job is over, huh?”
“Nah, I’ll be hopping again when people start to leave. Which might be soon if they’re worried about the snow.”
“Good point.” Looking out at it once more, Jo wished she could have borrowed Javonne’s supertraction SUV along with everything else. How, she wondered, would Rafe’s aging sports car fare on the slippery streets?
Jo felt more than ready to leave the ball, but not just because of the weather. The thought of going back and having to see Mallory with her “gracious hostess” mask firmly in place was unnerving. But she needed to get over it. She had more work to do. Randy got a signal from a hotel staff person to return to his snow clearing, so Jo wished him well and headed back to the ballrooms.
Rafe, she saw, had been joined, in addition to Tara, by another attractive, possibly aspiring actress, so she changed direction, not interested in more theater talk. She decided to try for a word with Xavier—to see if he’d followed up on Carrie’s suggestion to get a public defender, and to ask after Sylvia.
She slipped behind the buffet table and pushed through one of the swinging kitchen doors into a large room of stainless steel efficiency. Jo walked past warming tables and hanging pots, searching for Xavier, the noise and clatter of the ongoing work echoing about her until she spotted him at the far end of the room. She also spotted Alexis Wigsley and Mallory Holt hovering over him. Their backs were to Jo, but Mallory’s words rang clearly.
“I’m appalled that this hotel, knowing what I’ve gone through so recently, actually hired this man to work at my ball!”
A managerial type in navy pinstripes stammered out placating phrases: “Extremely sorry—had no idea—a terrible mistake.” A chef in a tall white hat stood to the side, hands on his hips, his face a picture of extreme annoyance.
Alexis Wigsley chimed in with, “Inexcusable, totally inexcusable. I was certain you’d want to know, Mallory.”
The focus of all this, Xavier, stood quietly, looking miserably from one to the other.
Jo began to rush forward, but a kitchen worker, unaware of her presence, stepped back from his workstation with a large wire basket of clean plates, blocking her path. By the time she squeezed by, the pinstriped man had Xavier by the arm and was marching him out a back door.
Mallory and Alexis waited until the door slammed behind the two, then turned and headed toward the door Jo had just entered, Mallory flush faced and Alexis babbling on about having to watch everything like a hawk or heaven knows what would be slipped by a person. Neither seemed to notice Jo as they hurried by on the opposite side of a wide, center work island with tall kettles atop it, which was just as well. Jo felt as furious as Mallory presented herself to be, but with far greater justification, and she couldn’t predict what might have come out of her mouth if Mallory had stopped at that moment. Jo willed herself to cool down and think.
Mallory’s reason for ridding the hotel kitchen of Xavier’s lowly paid presence was obviously that she suspected him of her husband’s murder. But did she really? Jo wondered. Was she truly convinced of Xavier’s criminality, or was it merely a smokescreen to cover a murderous plot of her own? Mallory hadn’t been too upset over her husband’s murder to meet with Sebastian Zarnik or to carry on “bravely” with the Founders Ball. And her outrage, as Jo had seen, could be turned on and off when it suited her. Pointing the finger at Xavier, who already had several fingers conveniently pointed at him, certainly aimed people away from looking too closely at her.
Mallory, Jo was learning, was a very clever woman, but had she been clever enough? Jo got a revealing look at her tonight. But a lot more, she was sure, remained hidden. How was she going to dig it out?
After taking a few minutes to regain her composure, Jo rejoined Rafe in the buffet area, finding him, for once, standing alone and with no mound of food in hand. He looked over at her approach and smiled just a bit guiltily.
“Sorry, I seem to have been neglecting you,” he said.
“No problem. I’ve been having a very interesting time.”
“Did you want to have a dance?” he asked with no discernable enthusiasm.
“Thanks,” Jo said, “but I think I’d rather just stroll around and listen to the music.”
Rafe obligingly held out his arm for her to take, and they wound their way through the crowd toward rooms neither had yet seen.
“So,” Jo asked, thinking of the aspiring actresses, “will you be getting some good new blood for the playhouse?”
“That remains to be seen. Having played the second lead in a high school production of
Grease
doesn’t automatically translate into working on a professional level.” Rafe sighed. “Sometimes, though, I have to take what I can get.”
Grease
doesn’t automatically translate into working on a professional level.” Rafe sighed. “Sometimes, though, I have to take what I can get.”
Jo noticed Heather Bannister standing alone on the other side of the room, and followed the woman’s gaze to see Heather’s husband, Kevin, putting in an order at the nearby bar. Suddenly Alexis sidled up to Heather, and Jo watched them talk, Heather looking not terribly pleased. Jo could sympathize and wondered what was being said.
“Ah, Rulenski,” a male voice boomed. A tall, large-chested man stepped up to shake Rafe’s hand. “I hear you’re doing
Barefoot in the Park
next. Any room for the wife in it?”
Barefoot in the Park
next. Any room for the wife in it?”
As Rafe went into a diplomatic explanation of the sparseness of roles for the play and how they had already been cast, Jo glanced over toward the Bannisters and saw Kevin heading toward Heather, two stemmed glasses in his hands. He stopped abruptly, possibly on seeing Alexis, and veered off in another direction. Interesting, Jo thought.
Rafe was introducing her to the large-chested man, and Jo turned back to find her hand quickly swallowed up in his much larger one and heartily pumped up and down.
“Crafts, huh?” the man, whose name Jo had missed, said.
“The wife likes crafts. I’ll have to send her over. Where did you say your shop was?”
By the time Jo explained her shop’s location and answered several follow-up questions, Alexis was no longer to be seen, and Kevin Bannister had delivered Heather’s drink. The two looked to be in close consultation, and Jo could only guess as to its nature.
The large-chested man moved off, to be replaced by several others, all interested in Rafe’s theater plans, and most offering suggestions for changing them. Mallory Holt was nowhere in sight, nor Sebastian, nor Alexis. Given their early-bird habits, Ina Mae and Loralee were likely tucked in their respective beds by now, and Jo began to long for the comfort of her own soft pillow as well.
When the last of a seemingly endless stream of theater enthusiasts took off, Rafe turned to Jo and asked, “Had enough?”
“Absolutely!” she answered, and they headed to the coatroom to retrieve their wraps. They weren’t the only ones, unfortunately, and they had to wait in a slowly moving line, then join a second line to wait for Rafe’s car. Jo glanced around several times, wondering if Russ Morgan had left already, and if so, with whom, but saw no sign of him.
When the Miata was driven up, Jo and Rafe scurried out through the cold to it, and Randy Truitt opened the door for her to slide in.
“Thanks, Randy,” she called out, her breath fairly freezing in place.
Randy only nodded, looking somewhat grim, and Jo supposed the pace might be getting to him, not to mention the cold. Her own toes had turned numb in that short run, and she hoped the Miata’s heater would kick in rapidly.
Rafe, thankfully, drove off with care. The streets, despite evidence of having been plowed once or twice, were slippery, and Jo felt the car fishtail slightly on a curve. Rafe chatted on, though, seemingly more concerned with a few criticisms he had received that evening than with the driving conditions.
“That tall woman,” he groused, “what’s her name? Used to be some kind of teacher.”
“Ina Mae?”
“Yeah. I think she’d like to see us put on a stream of G-rated Pollyanna-type stories. How does she think I’m going to get an audience for that kind of stuff?”
“From the families of Abbotsville, I suppose.” Jo reached down to rub her chilled toes.
“Right. The families who stay home to watch their rented DVDs. They’re not going to drag themselves to our playhouse. The people that do come want sophistication; they want mind-blowing drama, they want . . .”
Rafe ranted on about the supposed preferences of his audience, and Jo wondered when he had actually offered them such things at his playhouse? Not as long as she’d been in Abbotsville, which admittedly hadn’t been very long.
They came to Jo’s street, and Rafe groaned at the sight of its unplowed surface. He gamely turned into it, though, and bumping through high ruts, pulled up in front of Jo’s house. He reached for his ignition to turn it off, but Jo stopped him.
“Never mind walking me to my door. There’s no use you ruining your shoes.”
“You’re sure?” Rafe asked, unable to completely cover his relief.
“Absolutely. Thanks for inviting me, Rafe. It was a highly interesting evening.”
Rafe grinned. “That’s one way of putting it. Thanks for coming along.”
Jo gritted her teeth and pulled off her sandals. It would be a frigid run in bare feet, but she couldn’t afford to ruin her good shoes. She hopped out, holding Javonne’s dress up knee-high, and made her way up the snowy walk as rapidly as she could manage. She knew she must look like a duck on drugs, but her appearance, at this point, was the least of her concerns. She waved to Rafe once she’d reached her door and had turned the key in the lock, then watched him drive off, after a worrisome but brief tire-spin in the snow, and sincerely hoped he’d make it home without trouble.
Jo dropped her shoes in her little foyer and made a mad dash to the bathroom to wrap her icy feet in a warm, fluffy towel. Once the feeling returned to her toes, she carefully removed her borrowed finery, returned her silk camellia to its wreath, wiggled gratefully out of her “corset,” and flopped into bed to soon find images of her dance with Russ Morgan inexplicably weaving their way through her dreams.
Chapter 20
The next day, Jo arrived at the craft shop a half hour early, which, being Sunday, meant around 11:30. She had left word at Otto’s for Randy to come shovel the snow in front of the shop, wishing she’d thought of mentioning it the night before. Who knew when he’d get her message? Charlie had taken care of her walk after the couple of previous snowfalls. But since he was temporarily out of commission, it looked like it was up to Jo, unless Randy miraculously appeared.
Bundled up in a parka, wool hat, and snow boots, Jo managed to clear the deep snow from her shop door to the curb, and a couple of feet or so on each side, before finding herself puffing. She decided that would do, that her doorway was at least minimally accessible, and set her shovel aside to open up shop. She had doffed her wet outerwear and was setting up her coffeepot when the phone rang.
“Jo’s Craft Corner,” Jo sang into the phone, pleased at the early sign of interest in her shop on this cold, quiet day.
“Jo!” Carrie’s voice cried into her ear. “Did you hear about the accident?”
Jo’s first frightened thought was for Rafe and his fish-tailing sports car. “What happened? Who was it?”
“Alexis Wigsley. Her car spun into a telephone pole over on Greenview Street. She’s dead!”
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