Untitled (26 page)

   "You are not." Jim held me firmly in place. "Just because she brought the dog—"

   "Who even as we speak could be out of that bag and munching on someone's thousand-dollar wingtips."

   "Then we really owe it to all these fine people to check on him, don't we?"

   I surrendered with a sigh. "Now who's the soul of logic?"

   He beamed a smile. "I'm learning from the best."

   "Not Eve."

   "Not Eve. You," he said, and before I had a chance to even realize he was schmoozing me to get his way and that I was letting myself get schmoozed because Jim's compliments always made me feel like I was on top of the world, he had me by the hand and was leading me toward our table.

   Dougy was already there. So was the big new bag Eve had told me about. In keeping with the theme of the party, it was a black and white leather tote studded with rhinestones, plenty big enough for Doc, his blanket, and his new chew toy. As promised, the bag was on the floor beneath my chair. At the same time I shook the senator's son's hand, I nudged the bag with my foot. The tiny yap that came from inside soothed my worries.

   "So . . ." With a look at Jim that told him to not let the bag out of his sight, I lowered myself onto the seat next to Dougy's and, manners be damned, I propped one elbow on the table to make sure that my wrist—and the diamond bracelet on it—was easy to see. "How are you enjoying the event, Mr. Mercy?"

   As I've mentioned, our table was near the stage, and the flash of the spotlights that were trained on the closest humongous flower arrangement glittered off the diamonds like a million twinkling stars. It was a wonder Dougy wasn't blinded.

   But just like with his father, if I expected some
aha
moment of recognition when he saw the bracelet, I didn't get it. Squinting a little, Dougy adjusted his position, the better to keep his corneas from being fried. "My wife is a whiz when it comes to things like this. Imagine spearheading all this and running a successful clinic, too. She's really something."

   "She had help, of course."

   Dougy thought I was somehow belittling Lorraine's accomplishments. His shoulders went rigid, and he cocked his head. "Of course she had help. No one can pull off something like this alone. That would be impossible."

   "Not what I meant." It wasn't, and I figured I'd better get back on track before I offended Dougy and he clammed up. "I know she's the genius behind it all, and I'll tell you what, I'm blown away. Eve's been helping, you know. And every day, she's got another story about Lorraine and her incredible ideas, and how she knows exactly who to go to to get things done. I was just thinking that a thing like this takes a team of workers and months of planning."

   Dougy softened a bit. He nodded. "Sometimes years."

   "And I was just wondering, you know, if Sarah ever helped."

   This time, when Dougy narrowed his eyes, it wasn't because of the glitter off the diamonds. I had the feeling he was trying to read my mind. "Why would you ask that?"

   I shrugged. Maybe the atmosphere went to my head. Maybe it made me think I was better than I was. A better detective. Maybe that's what made me think I could lay my cards on the table. "No reason, really. But I know you and Sarah were going on a cruise together and—"

   Dougy pushed his chair back from the table and got to his feet. "It was nice to see you again, Miss Capshaw," he said, and before I could scramble for the words to make him sit back down again, he was gone.

   "So much for that plan," I told Jim.

   "At least Doc's still here." He pulled the bag between us, peeked inside just to be sure, and gave the dog a quick pat on the head. "And once dinner is over . . ." He looked across the room to where an orchestra was setting up and tuning their instruments. "You'll dance with me?"

   I felt heat color my cheeks. Gliding across the floor in Jim's arms sounded like heaven on earth. Just imagining it made me fizzy all over.

   Until I reminded myself that I wasn't as much a glider as I was a stomper of feet.

   "Oh, I don't know." I twisted Doc's collar on my wrist. "I'm not a very good dancer."

   "But you'll dance with me anyway."

   It was no longer a question. "It's so easy to do something wrong when you're dancing," I said, wondering why Jim didn't understand this. "I'll trip. I'll fall. I'll stomp. I'll look ridiculous."

   "And you'll dance with me."

   "I would, but—" My words washed back at me, and for the first time, I actually listened to what I was saying. They sounded a whole lot like every excuse Peter had ever used. Not for just not wanting to get out on the dance floor, but for not buying a house back when prices weren't sky high, and for not starting a family, and for never thinking that I had talents for being anything but a bank teller.

   I reminded myself that I was a new woman. A woman who no longer lived with the flabby excuses of the past.

   I pulled in a breath for courage. "I'd love to dance with you," I said. It was true. And terrifying. "Maybe in some dark corner where nobody can see us?"

   "Aye, if that's what it takes." Jim laughed. He skimmed his hand up my arm. In the reflected light of the stage spots, his hazel eyes were flecked with green. His hair, a rich mahogany color, was touched with auburn. Even if I tried, I couldn't have resisted his invitation. And yes, I'll admit it: I didn't even try. Especially when he added, "And when we're done dancing—"

   Well, I actually don't know what he was going to add. Because before he had a chance to finish, I heard Lorraine Mercy call to me from over near the stage.

   It was the first time I'd seen her that evening, and I have to say, her outfit went right along with her image. She looked like a queen (and a little like a mermaid) in an off-theshoulder black gown that hugged her hips and thighs and flared at the ankles. Ever practical, I wondered how she could move so quickly in a dress that tight.

   "Oh, Annie!" In a half waddle, half spring, Lorraine hurried over to where we sat. "I'm so glad I found you. Eve needs your help. Come on."

   She tugged me out of my chair. Before I could ask what had happened and where we were headed, she hurried over to the exit doors on the far side of the ballroom. If I had any hope of catching up, I couldn't afford to dawdle. I left Jim with a quick, "I'll be right back" and a reminder to keep an eye on Doc. Then I went after Lorraine.

   Apparently, a lifetime of privilege and a trust fund big enough to fill the Capitol Rotunda had a way of instilling talents common mortals never even dream of. Even in stilettoes, Lorraine moved like the wind. I scampered to keep up, and big points for me, I only tripped a time or two.

   "What happened?" I asked as I closed in on her. I was breathless from the effort. "Where's Eve and—"

   Lorraine didn't take the time to answer. She punched through the doors and sped down a long hallway on the other side. This was the utilitarian part of the hotel. No fancy carpeting here, no paneled walls or oil paintings. The heels of my shoes slid against the linoleum. When Lorraine got to another set of doors, she waited for me to catch up.

   "Where is Eve?" I asked again. The sling back on my left shoe cut into my heel, and I was limping. I hoped my panty hose hadn't run. "And why—"

   "Here." Lorraine pushed open the door, and we stepped inside. It only took a moment for me to realize that we were backstage. "I tried to help her out, but she insists you're the only one who can do it. We don't have much time. The vice president is scheduled to arrive any minute. You're going to have to take care of this, Annie."

   "OK. I will. I just need to know—"

   There was a maze of pulleys and curtains and backdrops ahead of us. Lorraine maneuvered through it all while I brought up the rear. By now, I pictured every calamity imaginable, and as each presented itself inside my mind, my panic climbed and my heartbeat increased.

   Eve had fallen and broken a leg. Eve and the senator had quarreled, and she was inconsolable. Eve had an uncharacteristic case of stage fright. She'd gotten kidnapped. She was—

   "Stuck." The moment I laid eyes on her, Eve shrugged and explained. She was standing just behind the curtain in the shadow of a huge flower arrangement that looked just like the ones in front of the curtain. From the other side of the curtain, I heard the hum of the party.

   Eve's cheeks flamed with embarrassment. She put one hand on the skirt of her gown and gave it a delicate tug. "There must be a nail or something sticking out of the stage. I can't move."

   "And I'm relieved! Thank goodness that's all it is. You scared me to death." I turned toward Lorraine just so she'd know, but she was already gone.

   Eve shifted from foot to foot. "The Dalai Lama really did want to talk to Doug," she explained. When she made a move to give the gown another tug, I waved her off and took over. I knelt at her side and peered down at the place where a hem stitch had caught against an exposed nail, wondering how I could unstick it without tearing the gossamer fabric.

   "So I figured I'd see if Lorraine needed any help, and she did. But honestly, Annie . . ." Eve squirmed to see me better. "I've been over this stage a dozen times this evening. Why did this have to happen now? It's almost time for the vice president to get here. It's nearly time for the curtain to go up. I hate to be responsible for delaying everything. You know how people are, they'll find out, and they'll know it was me, and somehow, Doug will get blamed. Politicians have to be so careful. About everything." She wrung her hands. "What if I'm responsible for him not getting the vice presidential nomination?"

   "That's not going to happen," I told her. I made sure to keep my voice level and my hands where she couldn't see that they were shaking. "I'll have you unstuck in a second. I've got my little traveling sewing kit in my purse, so if you need any fixing—"

   "I don't have time for fixing!" Eve's eyes filled with tears. "I don't want to be responsible for Lorraine's fundraiser being a flop."

   "You're not. You won't be. Don't worry." Like a burglar preparing to crack a safe, I scraped my thumbs over the tips of my fingers and got down, stomach to stage, for a closer look at the tangle of thread. "Just hold still," I warned Eve. "You don't want to make it any worse. And don't worry about time. Nobody's going to try to rush us. Nothing can get started while we're still here."

   It came down to that whole soul of logic thing again. All that sounded perfectly logical, didn't it?

   That doesn't explain why at that very moment, the curtain started to rise.

   Or that as it did, we heard a desperate yapping coming from one of the tables very close by.

   "Oh no!" Though I tried to stop her, I couldn't move fast enough. Eve spun around to see what Doc was up to. Her dress ripped up the side.

   I chanced a look out at the ballroom and saw about a thousand people who couldn't decide which was the biggest show: the two women looking like fools up on the stage, or the little dog that bounded out of Eve's purse, yapping its head off.

   They didn't have long to consider it.

   Before I even had the time to be mortified, I heard a bang that reverberated through the room like thunder and a thousand collective gasps.

   Right before one of those giant flower arrangements toppled off its perch. The last thing I saw was the big-asa-Volkswagen metal bowl and a tumble of white flowers. Just as it all came right down on us.

          OK, I'll go out on a limb here and say this should have struck me as odd. Or at least it should have been my first clue that something was very, very wrong. But honest, at the time, it never occurred to me to question it.

   I liked Jim. Twice as much as I liked any other guy. Blame it on a head filled with what felt like old and sticky cotton candy and a noise in my ears as loud as the roar of a jet engine. To my way of thinking, it made perfect sense that there would be two of them.

   Two Jims equals twice as nice. And Jim—both of them— looked delectable, in spite of the fact that one sleeve of his (their?) tux jacket was ripped, and there were white sprinkles in his hair and a streak of dirt across his cheek that made it look as if he'd forgotten to shave one side of his face.

   This was all very un-Jim, but I didn't wonder about any of it. Maybe I would have tried if my head wasn't pounding, and my stomach wasn't flipping and flopping, and my left arm didn't hurt like hell. When I tried to move, the room spun and tipped like one of those masochistic Tilt-A-Whirl rides at the amusement parks. The kind that always make me sick.

   Better to concentrate on Jim and on the fact that he was there with me—wherever
there w
as. Just seeing him made me smile.

   Neither one of the Jims smiled back. They glanced up and over to my right. Anxious to see where I was and what was going on, I turned my head that way. The room spun a little more.

   There was a handsome African American man with saltand-pepper hair and a natty goatee standing at my shoulder. In fact, there were two of them. They were twins.

   "Good to see you awake," they said. They spoke with one voice. OK, it took a while, but I was beginning to get the picture. Or should I say, both the pictures? Once I realized I was seeing double and accepted the fact as an aberration of my eyes, not my mind, it was a little easier to concentrate. My stomach settled a bit, too.

   "I'm Dr. Lawrence Anderson," the man said at the same time I noticed that he was wearing a white lab coat. He had a stethoscope around his neck. "You're in the ER at Virginia Hospital Center. Can you tell me your name?"

   No-brainer. At least it should have been. But when I tried to nod, a shower of stars burst behind my eyes. "Annie," I said. My voice was as dry as dust. "Annie Capshaw."