Another Man's Treasure (a romantic thriller) (Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series Book 1) (10 page)

After the cake, I spy some lovely Delft on the mantle in the living room that I’d like to check out, but Cal steers me across the room directly toward Spencer.  Lifting his head from a conversation with a much shorter man, Spencer looks straight at me as I approach. It seems to me that his eyes widen, like he’s amazed to see Cal with the likes of me.  Standing right before the senator, I can feel his vitality.  What a difference between him and my father, who will also be turning sixty-five in a few months.

Spencer smiles broadly at Cal, covering his moment of surprise.  “Finally getting around to introducing me to your lovely friend?”

“Audrey Nealon, Spencer Finneran,” Cal says.

I shake his hand.  “Happy birthday.  This is a lovely party.”

“Thank you.”  He leans in, still holding my hand, and says sotto voce, “Because it’s my birthday, Anne insisted we only invite people we actually like.  That’s why Cal brought you, instead of some dreadful lobbyist.  Right, Cal?”

“Absolutely.  Tonight I’m off duty.”

I smile, even though I know Cal and Spencer are always at work.  The glad handers on the front porch are evidence of that.  Still, Spencer’s comment reassures me.  I come with absolutely no political benefits, so Cal must have brought me for purely social reasons.

I only have a chance to say a few more words to Spencer before some other friend pulls him away. Then Cal and I make the rounds of the party together, Cal whispering sly commentaries about the guests in my ear.  Eventually, one of the thick-necked, ruddy-faced blowhards from the front porch corners Cal, and I excuse myself to use the ladies room.  A line has formed outside the powder room in the hall, and a woman descending the stairs urges me to use the upstairs bathroom.  “Second door on the left,” she directs.

Once upstairs, I’m distracted by the oil portraits hanging at regular intervals in the hall.  Stern-faced, barrel-chested men; dour women in mob caps.  These are what I call ancestor paintings, and these ancestors look to go way back to Revolutionary times.  Old family, old money—nothing like my roots.  I’m curious if these are Spencer’s forebears or Anne’s until I come to a painting of newer vintage, showing a not quite beautiful woman in an evening gown of a style popular in the 1930s or 40s.  She has Anne’s laughing eyes and high forehead.  It must be her mother. 

As I stand admiring it, my nose begins to twitch. A distinctive aroma, but not one I smell all that often anymore.  I inhale deeply, then cough.

Weed.

Someone in one of these bedrooms is getting high while the senator’s birthday rocks on below. 

My first impulse is to giggle and slip away to the bathroom.  Clearly the poor kid in the black tee shirt and jeans needs a little something to help him get through this family get-together. 

But the Finnerans are no ordinary family.  The governor’s election is a couple weeks away.  Cal has been working so hard, and any taint of scandal could tilt the tight race.  Despite what Spencer said, the people downstairs are not just friends and family; Cal introduced me to a woman who’s a reporter for the Style section of the New York Times. A woman who very well might wander up here to use the bathroom, just as I did.

I’ll go down and get Cal—he’ll know how to deal with the problem.  But when I look over the banister, I know it will take me ten minutes to find him and pry him away from whomever he’s talking to.  Meanwhile, the aroma of burning weed grows stronger.

It’s coming from the bedroom across the hall from Anne’s mother’s painting.  Glancing over my shoulder, I step up to the door and tap softly.  There’s a clatter within, then dead silence.

I try the door: locked.

I tap again.  “Listen,” I stage-whisper into the crack between the door and the frame.  “I can smell that here in the hall.  You’d better put it out before there’s trouble.  I’m saying this as a friend, okay?”

No response.  Now what do I do?

I have no way of knowing that it’s the kid in black who’s in there smoking.  In fact, I’m annoyed with myself for playing to stereotypes.  Maybe it’s one of the aging frat boys from the porch.  Or maybe it’s one of the botoxed, highlighted matrons fluttering around Spencer.  But deep inside I’m sure it’s the kid. I haven’t seen him since the cake-cutting, since he shared that glance with Anne.

I decide to play the guilt card.  “I know this party’s a drag for you, but it’s important to your grandmother.  Don’t wreck it for her.”

The door flies open.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The kid is two feet away from me, wreathed in a cloud of smoke.  I step into the room and quickly shut the door. 

He backs away from me, his eyes big black pools of confusion. “Who…”

“I’m a friend of a friend of your grandfather’s.  Cal Tremaine’s date.”

“Asshole,” he murmurs under his breath. 

I’m not sure if that’s directed at me, Cal, or Spencer.  Maybe all three.

He seems stupefied, either by what he’s been smoking or by my appearance.  I figure this is no time for lengthy discussions.  I pluck the remains of the smoldering joint from between his fingers, march it over to the attached bathroom, and flush. 

“I hate to be a tool,” I say when I’m back in the bedroom, “but if you were to get caught tonight, the result would be worse than a little argument with your parents.  It could cost your grandfather the election.”

“Like I give a shit.” He’s sprawled across the pretty lavender and white bedspread in this guestroom, his face arranged in perfectly cultivated teenage disdain.

I don’t need to keep talking to him but I feel a surge of sympathy.    I’ve been envying the Finneran solidarity, but maybe he hates growing up in the glare of politics.  He didn’t choose to be born into this family. 

Well, none of us chooses our family, do we?

I extend my hand.  “I’m Audrey Nealon.  What’s your name?”

He ignores the hand, but answers.  “Dylan.”

“Well, Dylan, no matter how bad it might be to have a grandfather who’s the governor of New Jersey, it’ll be even worse to be the reason why your grandfather’s
not
the governor of New Jersey.  It might be best for you to chill up here—smoke free—until the party’s over.”

“Whatever.”  His eyelids droop as if he might doze off while he’s talking to me.

I cross the room and listen for any sounds in the hall before opening the door.  “Thanks, Dylan.  Stay out of trouble for your grandma’s sake.”

My words ignite Dylan.  He springs off the bed and shouts after me, “Lady, you don’t know anything about what would make my grandma happy.”

By the time I get back downstairs, the atmosphere in the house has shifted subtly.  The party has peaked; people are starting to say their good-byes and head home.  Anne stands in the hallway, thanking a steady stream of guests for coming.  The caterers load their van.

Cal emerges from the living room and holds out his hand to me.  “There you are.”  He takes my hand and leads me over to Spencer.  “Look at Audrey, Spence. She’s survived her first Finneran party and she’s still on her feet.  A real trouper, wouldn’t you say?”

Spencer beams at me.  “She’s a keeper, Cal.  Now Audrey, tell this cheap bastard to take you somewhere fancy for your next date.”

For some reason I’m absurdly pleased by Spencer’s approval.  At the same time, I’m embarrassed by his assumption that Cal and I are headed for a second date.  I cast about for some lighthearted response but come up short.

“Cheap!  I’m not cheap!”  Cal pulls me closer.  “Tell Spencer to give me one day off from his campaign, and I’ll gladly take you to the fanciest restaurant in New York.”

“Don’t be drawn in by his promises, Audrey.”  Now Anne is in on the banter.  “Our lives won’t be our own until after Election Day.  In the meantime, he’ll expect you to make all sorts of absurd accommodations to meet his needs.”  She wags her index finger at me, but her face lights up with an indulgent smile.  “Don’t do it.  You give an inch and they take a mile.”

I feel myself blushing but I sense it’s a nice rosy glow, not my usual crimson blotches of humiliation.  I’m not used to being the center of attention, but this is quite pleasant.  For once, I’m not the girl on the outside looking in.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” I say.  “This was more fun than going to a fancy restaurant.  Honestly.”

“I’m delighted to have met you, dear.”  Anne takes my hand in hers.  “And I don’t say this to all the girls Cal brings around, do I Spencer?”

“Whew, that’s for sure!”

“Let’s not go any further down that path,” Cal says.  “Time for me to take Audrey home.”  Cal wraps me in the shawl the Nordstrom salesladies picked out for me. The appearance of one accessory makes me realize I’m missing another.  Where’s my little evening clutch?  Shit!  I must’ve set it down somewhere when I was trying to balance a glass of wine and an hors d’oeuvre.  I look around anxiously. I should have known I couldn’t pull off this fancy cocktail party thing. 

“What’s wrong?” Cal asks.

“I seem to have left my purse somewhere.”

Am I paranoid or do I see a flicker of irritation pass across Anne’s face as she imagines a half-hour hunt for my bag when all she wants is to get everyone out the door.  She draws the catering crew boss to her side with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and murmurs in his ear.

  “Black with sequins?  It’s in the kitchen.”  He returns momentarily with the silly little satin envelope.  I must’ve set it down when Cal introduced me to Anne. 

“Aren’t these things a nuisance?” Anne says with a heavenward glance. I think now I must’ve imagined her impatience. “When Spencer and I go out, I make him carry my lipstick in his jacket.”

“I keep telling her if a reporter ever sees me pull a tube of Revlon out of my pocket, my career’s over.”

We say our good-byes in a cloud of laughter and make our way out to the car.  As we’re buckling our seat belts, Cal reaches over and pats my knee.  “You’ve cleared a really high bar, Audrey.  Anne likes you.”

Does she?

“She’s a very gracious lady.  I’m sure she’s nice to everyone who comes to her home.”

“Oh, she is, she is.  A politician’s wife can’t afford not to be.  But believe me, I know her well enough to recognize when she’s being politically correct and when she’s genuine.  You, she truly likes.”

I feel a warm glow inside me.  I don’t know why it should matter, but I want Anne Finneran’s approval.

On the drive home, I tell Cal about my encounter with Dylan.  I watch as his hands tighten on the steering wheel, then relax when I get to the part where I flush the joint down the toilet.  He turns to look at me while we’re stopped at a light.

“That was brilliant, Audrey.  You did exactly the right thing.  That damn kid’s always in trouble.  Wait until I tell Spencer about this.”

I reach out and touch Cal’s arm.  “Don’t tell Spencer, please.  Tell Anne.  She’ll know how to handle it.  Dylan’s an unhappy kid.  It can’t always be easy to be a Finneran.”

Two vertical lines appear on Cal’s brow.  “This isn’t the first time he’s fucked up.  Dylan’s a scandal waiting to happen.  He has to be reined in before he jeopardizes Spencer’s election.”

“The race really is that tight that something like this could tip it?”

Cal looks away from the road for a second to catch my eye.  “It’s not just about winning, Audrey.  It’s about the future of this state.  Do you realize that you and I have never had the opportunity to vote for a principled, honorable person for the governor of New Jersey?  Since we’ve been old enough to vote, every candidate of either party has been a buffoon or a crook.”

“Sometimes both.”

Cal smiles, but I can see he’s not really amused.  This means too much to him.

“Spencer Finneran is different, Audrey.  He’s the real deal.  He has a solid plan to make life better for the people of New Jersey.  All the people, not just the special interests.  So, yeah, I don’t want that brat Dylan to undermine it all.”

“I understand.  But he’s a kid, Cal.  Didn’t you ever do anything reckless when you were sixteen?”

He takes a quick sidelong glance at me, but the worry lines don’t disappear.

“C’mon…I can’t believe you were a choirboy all through high school.”

Cal starts to laugh.  “I ran track in high school.  Several colleges had their scouts out looking at me.  I really needed the scholarship money.  So, what do I do?  The night before the big all-county meet I go to a big beer blast at the house of some kid whose parents were out of town.  Of course the party got busted by the police. I knew if they caught me I wouldn’t be able to run in the meet.  So as the cops were coming through the front door, I took off out the back.  One cop saw me and gave chase. He followed me up hills and through back yards.  I was a sprinter, but he clearly was a distance runner.  He was gaining on me when I came to a little backyard goldfish pond.  I leaped over it, but when he tried, he fell about a foot short.  Landed in water up to his thighs.  I dashed through a hedge and got away.”

“So, how did you do in the big meet?”

“Broke a record for the 100 meter sprint.  Won a full ride to Brown.”

Maybe it’s the wine I drank, or maybe I’m a little high on the praise I’ve won from Spencer and Anne.  I reach over and lightly stroke Cal’s cheek.  “So maybe Dylan will turn out to be as successful as you.  Cut the kid a break.”

Cal smiles.  “You’re really a champion of the underdog, aren’t you Audrey?”

“Let’s just say I can identify.”

Cal glides into a parking spot in front of my condo.  Somehow the whole evening has gone by without my finding a chance to ask him about Agnes’s stolen jewelry. He kills the ignition and slides his arm across the back of my seat.  Now is definitely not the time. A surge of heat from my core makes my own perfume smell stronger.  It mixes with the clean leathery smell of the BMW and the subtle scent of Cal’s aftershave.  I can only detect it when he’s very close, as he is right now.

“I didn’t really know what to expect tonight, Audrey.” He runs his thumb lightly along my jaw. He might as well have touched me with a live wire. “But I found I enjoyed your company very much.  Can I see you again?  And I mean soon, not after the election.”

I try to play it cool, but I know I’m pathetically incapable of nonchalance. “Yes.  I’d like that,” I manage to choke out.

He pulls me closer and kisses me.  It’s a wonderful kiss.  Lingering, not demanding.  This man knows what he’s doing. 

He can sense my eagerness; I know he can.  I haven’t had sex for over a year, since I broke up with Gavin, a chronically despondent unpublished novelist and paralegal.  I haven’t been kissed by anyone since except for a slobberingly inept software engineer I met at a St. Patrick’s Day party.

Then Cal draws back.  He knows I’m his for the asking, but he opens the driver’s side door and walks around to hold my door for me. He leads me up the walk, then smoothes the hair back from my face. I realize I’ve forgotten all about Agnes’s stolen jewelry.  Well, too late now. Cal kisses the top of my head and whispers in my ear.  “Good night, Audrey.  I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Shakily, I pull the keys from my bag and let myself into the condo.  Ethel bounds up to greet me, then skids to a stop.  She seems to know that if she jumps up on me now she’ll knock me flat on my ass.