The Good Die Twice (3 page)

Sara averted her attention to the photos on
the coffee table. She remembered Sheila Monroe. At the time Sara
met Dagger, he was engaged to Sheila. It had been only a couple of
days before the wedding. But Dagger never made it to the
wedding.

Dagger poured himself a cup of coffee and
took the invite from Simon. “Spending time at a social event with
Sheila and her father is not my idea of an enjoyable evening.”

Simon pointed a thick finger at the bottom of
the invitation where it read
Number of Guests
and whispered,
“You don’t have to go alone.”

CHAPTER 5

Cedar Point was one of the largest suburbs in
northwest Indiana. Some called it a mini-Chicago with its close,
thirty-minute proximity to downtown Chicago. Unfortunately, the
Chicago skyline was a little more picturesque than Cedar Point’s.
Just east of Cedar Point one could see the belching smokestacks
from the Gary steel mills spewing a haze that settled across the
entire lakeshore on calm days.

With its population around 125,000, Cedar
Point was slightly smaller than South Bend, Indiana. It had seen
its income derivation change from industry to technology in just
twenty-five short years. Its Center for Performing Arts had
produced plays comparable in talent and scope to Broadway, bringing
in audiences from Chicago and Indianapolis, which was three hours
to the south.

Ten miles of Lake Michigan beaches were kept
pristine by city workers, volunteers, and owners of the beachfront
properties. The Cedar Point Yacht Club accepted boats only over
thirty feet in length. For several years avid fishermen challenged
the elitist rule in court only to be turned down by judges who
owned no less than thirty-five-foot Bayliners.

The Tyler mansion claimed a five-block area
just one mile from the yacht club. With a widow’s walk on each end,
the estate appeared like a fortress resting on top of a hill, its
circular drive lined with limousines and vanity cars.

From the front seat of Dagger’s car, Sara
stared apprehensively at the forty-room mansion and the bubbling
fountain in the middle of the circular drive. The setting sun cast
long shadows across the immaculate landscape. She tugged nervously
on the spaghetti straps of her black dress.

“You okay?” Dagger gave her hand a squeeze as
he brought the Ford Torino to a stop. A hubcap clattered to the
brick drive and rolled to the valet’s feet. The engine belched and
sputtered, refusing to quit, until at last, with one final shudder,
it stopped.

The valet looked too old to be parking cars.
Dagger guessed him to be part of security. Old man Tyler probably
didn’t want any of the luxury cars of the attendees stolen. The
valet’s thick eyebrows hovered over his beady eyes surveying the
cancerous rust spots dotting the aged black Ford Torino.

Dagger dropped his car keys into the valet’s
hand. “Treat my baby good.” Dagger patted his arm. “It’s
priceless.”

“Yeah, I bet.” But the valet’s attention was
quickly drawn to Sara as she stepped out of the car, the slit of
her dress exposing a shapely leg, her long hair shiny and framing
her face. The last of the sun’s rays caught the blue-green of her
eyes.

Dagger wrapped a protective arm around her
waist. “You’ll do just fine, Sara.”

“I think I need more practice walking in
these heels.” Her black ankle-wrap heels were a little more than
two inches high. She stepped gingerly up the stairs to the main
entrance.

“Think of it as walking on your tiptoes.”

“I don’t know which is worse, the heels or
the panty hose. Women actually wear these things all day long?”

Dagger laughed. Everything about Sara was so
refreshingly uncomplicated. She had never worn nylons or heels
before today. Even the dab of eye shadow and mascara she was
wearing had been applied and removed three times until she had
gotten the hang of it.

Sara had always led a simple life with her
grandmother, raising their own vegetables, eating fish out of the
stream, and wearing clothes hand-sewn by Ada Kills Bull. Sara
didn’t know how to drive, had been home-schooled, yet seemed to
know a little about a lot and was a quick learner.

They made a striking couple, Sara with her
long, dark hair which the sun had streaked a variety of colors, and
Dagger in his tuxedo with his thick hair pulled back in a pony
tail, a diamond stud earring in his left ear, his features angular,
eyes mysterious.

They entered the foyer. Sara gaped at the
crystal chandelier hanging over their heads. Loud voices and
laughter spilled out from the ballroom and classical music played
softly in the background. Dagger felt as if they were part of a
herd of cattle being directed through one central doorway.

As they drew nearer, Dagger understood why.
Everyone was being steered through a metal detector. A tuxedo-clad
security guard had a wire snaking up under his jacket, around his
neck, and into his ear.

Just as Dagger expected, as he and Sara
walked through the doorway, the metal detector rang out. The husky
security guard motioned Sara through and asked Dagger to check his
pockets.

“I’m sure you’re looking for this.” Dagger
pulled a Smith & Wesson Shorty .45 from his belt holster.

Another security guard appeared out of
nowhere. He had large, flat features, and a mouth in permanent
frown mode. His name badge said MEYERS. Meyers checked that the
safety was on and then examined the pistol.

“You’ve got a goddamn Trijicon night sight on
this baby. What were you going to do? Go hunting in Mr. Tyler’s
backyard tonight?”

Dagger pulled out a business card. “I have a
license.”

Meyers reluctantly took the card and
snickered. “You can get your toy back when you leave.” He motioned
Dagger through the doorway.

“Did you know they were going to check?” Sara
whispered.

“Of course. That’s why I gave you my Bersa
.380 to carry in your purse.”

“You should have seen Prince Charles’ face
when I asked him point blank how long he had been having an
affair.” Sheila Monroe threw back her head and gave a throaty
laugh. A large emerald pendant surrounded by diamonds draped her
slender neck. Her white, glittery, off-the-shoulder dress fit her
slender body like a second skin.

Sheila’s audience consisted of three female
college friends, two co-workers at
The Daily Herald,
and
three male hopeful suitors.

“He’s available now, Sugar. You should
interview him again.” Laurette’s Georgia accent was heavy and
sometimes exaggerated. Her hazel eyes flashed as she fluffed the
bangs of her short red hair. Laurette was Sheila’s closest friend
and had been slated to be her maid of honor.

Molly’s deep dimples pinched at her cheeks.
She was the first to see Dagger at the bar. Her squeaky voice
sounded more like a little girl’s. “Uh, oh. Look who’s here,
Sheila. I guess we can bring our bridesmaid dresses out of
storage.”

Sheila’s shoulder-length platinum hair swung
freely as she turned in the direction of the bar. She brushed one
side of her hair behind her ear with her fingers, revealing an
engagement ring she had yet to remove. Her heart skipped into her
throat. Dagger always did look good in a tuxedo. But then again, he
looked good in anything he wore. She had even gotten used to
Dagger’s penchant for wearing black.

She especially loved how his eyes seemed to
always rest in shadow, making him appear sensually dangerous. Being
a reporter, she was adept at pulling information from people, men
especially. But Dagger was like a closed book, answering in cryptic
sentences, sometimes answering only with a smoldering gaze that
would send a shiver of excitement through her body. She could
forgive him anything, even for canceling their wedding two days
before the gala affair. She watched him accept two drinks from the
bartender.

“Well, well. Who is that gorgeous creature
with Dagger?” Sal Wormley lifted his wire-frame glasses. Coarse red
hair stood straight up, as though searching for sunlight. The
freckles dotting his white skin were the same color as his
hair.

“Put a sock in it, Worm. She isn’t WITH
Dagger. She works FOR him,” Sheila clarified.

“She works FOR him?” Laurette drawled, “or
UNDER him?” This got a laugh from everyone.

“You two haven’t even been dating again, have
you?” Molly squeaked.

“We’ve kept in touch. Just needed some time
apart, that’s all. My god, Dagger’s thirty years old. Of course
he’s going to get cold feet getting married for the first time.”
Sheila checked her engagement ring, rubbed her thumb across the top
as if to shine it.

“Did you ever see so much jewelry in your
life?” Dagger asked over the rim of his martini glass. Sara didn’t
have to respond. Her eyes looked like a deer’s in headlights, part
fear, part excitement.

The room was filled with the Cedar Point
elite in politics, business, philanthropy, art, you name it. Women
were coifed, curled, painted, squeezed into dresses, toes pinched
inside sequined shoes. Men were stuffed into tuxedos they hadn’t
had on since New Year’s Eve. Some owned as many tuxedos as business
suits. But the men were scarce and Dagger figured out why.

A reading room near the bar was emitting
billows of smoke. Although smoking was not permitted in the house,
the emergence of the latest trend in cigar smoking prompted Robert
Tyler to convert his reading room into a cigar room.

“I guess that’s where most of the men
disappeared to.” Dagger’s gaze roamed the ballroom, feeling eyes on
him. He located the source. “I think we’ve been spotted. Let’s get
this over with.”

Sara felt the room closing in. So many
people, so many stares. The impulse to flee was compelling. She
grabbed Dagger’s arm and whispered, “I want to go home, Dagger.
NOW.”

Dagger lifted her glass to her lips. “Take a
deep breath and a long sip.”

“I don’t want anything to drink.” Her eyes
darted around the room, and she clamped her bottom lip between her
teeth.

“Look at me, Sara.” His gaze was penetrating,
almost threatening—if she hadn’t known him better—but his touch was
gentle as he brushed her hair away from her face. “I’m not going to
let anything happen, okay? We’re going to drink their liquor and
eat their two-hundred-dollar-a-plate meal. If you want to swipe a
few crystal goblets, I have more than enough room in my pockets.” A
nervous smile tugged at Sara’s lips. “Don’t fail me now, Sara. I
can’t face Sheila and her cronies on my own.”

After a couple sips of champagne, Sara
released her grip on Dagger’s arm and they made their way across
the room.

Sheila smiled seductively, her eyes running
the length of Dagger’s frame as he approached. After wrapping an
arm around his waist and planting a kiss on his cheek, Sheila
proceeded to place herself between Dagger and Sara. Dagger didn’t
reciprocate the hug.

“You’re looking good, Sheila.”

“Of course.” Sheila tried clasping Dagger’s
hand but he moved his martini to his left hand. “You remember
Molly, Laurette, Jim, Worm, Kelly.” Sheila continued the
introductions, completely ignoring Sara. When the men turned their
attention to Sara, Sheila was forced to introduce her. “Oh, and
this is Dagger’s...just what is it you do, dear? Receptionist?
Secretary?” Eyelashes too long to be real fluttered.

Sara held her hand out to the men. “Sara
Morningsky.”

The men lurched forward. The women watched
for Sheila’s reaction.

Pumping her hand a little too strongly, Worm
stammered, “Sal Wormley, cub reporter at
The Daily
Herald.”

“So, Sugar,” Laurette asked Dagger, “I hear
you’ve moved.”

“My former landlord didn’t care too much for
Einstein.”

“Einstein?” remarked a pudgy young man who
was sweating profusely. His Napoleon haircut was plastered to his
damp forehead.

“Dagger’s mangy bird,” Sheila explained.

“Actually, he’s a beautiful scarlet macaw and
he’s quite intelligent,” Sara offered.

“Einstein is in love with Sara.” Dagger stole
a glance toward Sara, which was difficult to do since Sheila was
blocking his view.

“I bet.” Worm’s glasses started to fog
up.

The young men watched Sara, studying her full
lips and turquoise eyes. The women looked in unison again to Sheila
for her reaction. Their gaze shifted constantly as if the women
were spectators at a tennis match.

Sheila asked Dagger, “Have you seen Daddy
yet, honey?”

Honey? An uneasy feeling crept up his spine.
Dagger’s gaze drifted to Sheila’s left hand where she flashed her
engagement ring. Sheila sprinkled endearing terms a little too
freely for his liking. Obviously, he thought, he must be the only
one who understood what unengaged meant. “I’m sure I’m the last
person he wants to talk to.” Dagger intercepted a waiter and
exchanged his empty glass for a fresh martini.

Laurette pressed on. “Are you in a big ole’
house or a tiny little apartment, Dagger?”

“Actually, it’s a converted car
showroom.”

“How tacky,” Sheila muttered.

Dagger continued, “I’m adding on to it,
though. I like working with my hands.”

Molly’s baby voice chimed in, “That’s what
Sheila tells us.”

The women smiled coyly. Dagger could feel
Sheila’s breast pressing against him, her tight grasp around his
waist almost stifling.

Sara took a sip of champagne and caught a
glimpse of Sheila’s engagement ring. All the apprehension Sara had
felt in the car, arriving at a house full of people she didn’t
know, letting Dagger coax her out of her secure house in hopes of
getting her used to being around other people—none of it had
prepared her for this. She wanted to curl up and die, run for the
safety and security of familiar surroundings.

Worm turned to Sara and asked, “So, where do
you live?”