Don't Look Down (14 page)

She put a hand over his lips. “If any ‘What ifs’ show up, I’ll give talking to you some serious thought.”

“All right.” With a slight smile he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Hey, I’m trying.”

Whew. Considering that she’d been anticipating a knock-down drag-out, that had gone pretty well. All this time he’d been trying to butt into her business, and now she’d landed in the middle of his. He kept his balance pretty well. She liked that. Maybe he was learning, after all.

Rick’s phone gave a four-tone ring. “Donner,” he said.

“That’s my cue to take off. I have to meet Stoney.”

He caught her hand again before she could head down the street. “Hold on a minute. There’s another charity dinner tomorrow. If we’re going, I need to call for tickets,” he said, lifting the phone. “Tom.”

As Rick listened to the attorney, his grip tightened around her wrist. She looked up from her watch as he snapped the phone closed without even saying good-bye, his gaze practically boring a hole through her.

“What now?” she asked, freeing her arm and taking a subtle step backward.

“Katie Donner. You remember Kate?”

“Of course. Tom’s wife. Is she all right?”

“She saw you.”

Sam frowned. “Then she should have said hello.”

“You were driving the Bentley. Actually you were stopped at the front gate of Coronado House.”

Shit
. She’d nearly forgotten that bit of nonsense. “I didn’t want to have to explain it to you,” she said slowly, easing back another step.
Don’t get trapped. Don’t ever get trapped
. That was in the top three lessons for thievery her father had taught her.

“Explain it anyway.” He stopped, taking a deep breath that shook around the edges. “What the devil were you doing with Patricia—and at Coronado House? That wasn’t just mild curiosity before, was it? You went inside.”

And this was why she preferred blending and anonymity. Too damned many people knew her now. “Fine. Patricia knows Daniel, and I wanted a way into the house that didn’t look totally bogus. It didn’t work, though, because apparently Daddy Kunz did some background on me, and both kids know about the Jellicoe legacy. I took off and called you for lunch. The end.”

“So you used my ex-wife to gain illegal entry into a house.”

“There was nothing illegal about it.”

“And you lied to me about your acquaintance with Daniel and Laurie.”

She frowned. “Okay, I lied. I’m trying to win the bet.”

“A wager I’m beginning to regret agreeing to.” Blue eyes continued to glare at her. “How did you know that Patricia is acquainted with Daniel?”

“I saw them talking together,” she lied. The ring thing and everything surrounding it were still between her and Patty. She’d given her word about that—and with his obvious suspicions, no way was she going to confess to a B and E, whether it had been to return an item rather than take one or not.

“So you just rang her up and asked to join her at Coronado House, and she agreed,” he said, his rich voice thin with sarcasm.

“Pretty much. I think she’s still trying to size up our relationship. Yours and mine. Looking for clues and shit. So I used her, and she used me. And everybody goes home happy.”

“Everyone but me, apparently. Didn’t it occur to you that I would prefer you not become chummy with my ex-wife, or did you just not care?”

“Maybe this just isn’t about you,” she retorted as the valet arrived with the silver SLR. “If you’ll remember,” she continued, as Rick slid into the driver’s seat, “you didn’t ask me whether I approved of you helping Patty with her little problems, but I didn’t throw a tantrum about it.”

She left him in the SLR and started down the street in the opposite direction, toward the Bentley. Damn it, nobody got under her skin like he did.

The SLR slammed into reverse, coming into the corner of her vision as he backed around the corner, matching her pace. “Samantha!”

“I’m busy,” she snapped, increasing her pace and knowing the two of them probably looked like complete looney tunes. But dammit, she’d been making concessions, trying to at least keep him apprised of what she was investigating, if not how.

The car continued to back up beside her. “I’m not going to stop arguing just because you walk away,” he said after a moment.

She stopped, leaning through the open passenger window. “Good,” she muttered, meeting his gaze and then retreating again. “But you’d better have a good reason to fight. Patty isn’t one. I’ll see you later. I have a meeting with Stoney.”

Samantha continued on, pretending not to be listening as the car window slid up, the gears changed, and the engine revved as it headed into drive again. That car was definitely worth the half million he’d paid for it last month. She was abruptly worried that the time would come when Rick wouldn’t bother to argue, though, that he would realize that every time he conceded the point, he actually won. Or even
worse, that he would decide her supposed lifestyle wasn’t worth the risk to him or his company.

But hell, so far she liked playing with fire—as long as she never looked down. In a way, it made her whole life an adrenaline rush. If she got dizzy and fell, then it would be her own damned fault.

Before she went into Gressin’s Antiques, Sam spent a moment looking through the front window. Furniture, chandeliers, vases, a nineteenth-century rocking horse—decorator items. She frowned, wiping the expression away before she pushed the door open and entered. Nothing from the Gugenthal collection of jewelry or any self-respecting Van Gogh or O’Keeffe would be in here, even if someone had tried to fence them at a legit antique establishment.

“Sam,” Stoney’s voice came from the far right corner deep inside the shop.

She spied his domed forehead through a forest of fringed lampshades and headed through the clutter in his direction. “We already have office furniture,” she said in a low voice as she reached him. “Or is this the next installment?”

“Very funny.” He fingered a small mahogany wooden jewelry box. “Isn’t this nice?”

“It’s very pretty. What—”

He flipped open the lid. A large ornate “G” in gold leaf decorated the inside of the red crushed velvet lid.

“Gugenthal?” she muttered. “A bit gauche, isn’t it?”

“That’s kinda my point, sugar,” the big man returned. “It’s not exactly up to the specs of the rest of the collection—like maybe it dates from right before the Gugenthals had to sell out.”

“Ah, a poor attempt at a return to the glory days. If you can’t make it expensive, make it loud.” She closed the lid
again, gently turning the box over to look for any markings. “It is handmade,” she conceded after a moment, running a finger over the carved emblem of what looked like a tiny pine tree. “Probably in Belgium. It could be from the Gugenthal family, then. But what—”

“I asked when it came in. The owner said yesterday.”

“Hold on.” She flipped open her phone and dialed, at least as horrified as she was amused that she had this particular number memorized. “Frank? It’s Sam. By any chance were any jewelry boxes listed among the stolen items for Kunz?”

“Nope,” the detective answered after a minute. “Why, did you find something?”

“Maybe. Mostly I was wondering how organized the theft was. Stuff scattered around, or laser surgery?”

It wasn’t entirely a lie, and it seemed to satisfy Castillo. “Mostly scattered around, I would guess. That’s a good analogy. Mind if I use it in my next briefing?”

“Be my guest. Just don’t give me any credit for it.”

“Like I want anyone to know that I know you.”

She hung up, turning back to look at the box again. “It wasn’t reported stolen.”

“That doesn’t make it any prettier.”

Sam rubbed her temple. “Okay, I’ll go with this scenario: It’s ugly, it’s empty, so let’s get rid of it. I mean, relatively crappy as it is, I’d still put it at what, five, six hundred bucks?”

Stoney nodded. “Seven twenty-five with store markup.”

“That’s not very sentimental of the family—if it came from Coronado House. The patriarch did maybe die in the room with it, after all.”

Her former fence grimaced. “That’s the part I’m not sure about. The timing’s right, but you said Daniel was a brown-haired tan guy.”

“Yes.”

“The seller was blond.”

“You didn’t get a name?”

“I asked, but you know how snobby antique dealers are. ’A blond gentleman’ was all I could get.”

Samantha grinned. “Point me in the snob’s direction.”

Stoney gestured her toward the front of the store and then headed for the exit. At least somebody knew and appreciated how she worked enough to give her a little space.

She liked antique shops, and not just because on rare occasion she’d been able to acquire a contracted item from one of the more elite establishments—and breaking into a business was just simpler than breaking into a house. This particular store was mid-range, and she’d never explored it before. Fleetingly she wondered whether this was where the high-society ladies dumped the stuff they lifted at parties.

The owner had probably never been handsome, and now that he’d thinned down and lost his butt as older men tended to do, he’d become almost the sterotypical poster boy for nerdy old snob. He even wore Coke-bottle-thick round glasses, poor guy.

“Hi,” she said, favoring him with a bright smile as she reached the cluttered counter.

“Good afternoon. You’re the young lady interested in the seventeenth-century mahogany jewelry box?”

“Early twentieth century, you mean,” she corrected. “The nails in the hinges are aluminum.”

“So you know your jewelry boxes,” the dealer conceded, setting aside the newspaper he’d been perusing. “Your companion said you did.”

“They’re a hobby of mine. I always ask Mr. Barstone to keep an eye out for them.” She shifted, leaning an elbow on the counter and favoring him with a view of her pink bra. “It’s Danish, isn’t it? Or Flemish, rather.”

“According to the craftsman’s signature, yes.”

“Was it an estate piece?”

“The gentleman who brought it in said it had been a gift. He’s brought me pieces before, and I have no reason to doubt him.”

“Do you think he has any more boxes in his possession? Flemish, but older?”

“He may have access to some,” the dealer said grudgingly.

Sam recognized the hesitation, and the reason behind it. She sent him a coy smile. “I might have access to some things that would benefit you, if you help me out.”

“B-Beg pardon?”

She leaned closer, making sure he could see the pink lacy B-cups. “You know. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

“Oh, my.” Fumbling for the Rolodex, he nodded so vigorously she worried that he would break a vertebrae. “I’ll give you Mr. Pendleton’s number. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“That’s great,” Sam returned, using every bit of her experience to keep from batting an eye at the name. Pendleton. Aubrey Pendleton, Laurie’s walker?

She thanked the antique dealer again and made her way outside to where Stoney leaned against his Chevy and sucked on a fast food soda. “Was I right?” he asked.

“Looks like it. The seller was Aubrey Pendleton. I saw him an hour ago with Laurie Kunz.”

“Damn, I’m good,” Stoney stated, polishing off his soda and pushing away from the truck. “I’d better get back to the office. We’ve got some file cabinets and a conference table coming in.”

She refused to rise to the bait and ask where
this
furniture had originated. “I’ll follow you. I have to make a few phone calls.” She needed to find a walker, and she wanted to know
from Leedmont at which street corner the girl had jumped into his car, and where they’d stopped when she’d fallen onto his lap. Hm. Sometimes it definitely felt like the good old days were more glamorous than her new gig.

Monday, 2:40 p.m.

“H
ow long are you going to stare out my window?” Tom Donner asked, looking up from the pile of paperwork on his desk.

Rick looked back down at the revised list of demands from Leedmont. “I’m not staring,” he grunted. “I was glancing.”

“You’ve been glancing a lot.”

“I’m a little worried.”

“Jellicoe seems able to take care of herself.”

She could, but it wasn’t precisely what she was doing as much as it was with whom she was doing it. Patricia, Leedmont—she couldn’t get much more tangled in his life, and yet she continued to protest whenever he offered his advice on her affairs.

“I knew I shouldn’t have called you when Kate phoned me.”

“You should always call me.” All he needed was for ex-wives and current lovers to mouch about together and no one to tell him about it.

“Yeah, well, I thought it was kinda interesting. I didn’t know you’d go Pompeii.”

“You bloody well did. Otherwise you would have had Kate call me with the news. You wanted Sam and me to argue.”

“Okay, maybe I did.”

Rick spared a moment to glare at the attorney. “And why is that?”

“Jellicoe’s used to looking for weak spots in security. She figures Patricia’ll know all of yours, so of course she wants to buddy up. Face it, Rick. You’re just another mark.”

“I’m nobody’s mark, Tom,” he retorted. “And if you repeat those sentiments to me or to anyone else, I’m going to stop pretending to fire you and do it for real.”

“Can I just say that you’re crazy, then?”

“You can say that.” Today he would agree with the assessment. “Once.” He blew out his breath. Keeping his…frustration bottled up like this was going to give him a heart attack. Damn it, he was used to action. See a problem, handle it. Make it go away, or turn it to his advantage. Having someone else able to dictate the direction he went—that was new. And it was extremely difficult, however important it was that he give her space.

“Well,” Tom continued after a long moment of silence, “from what you said, Jellicoe was using Patricia to win your bet. I doubt the two of them would get together to go shopping. It was probably just a onetime thing.”

God, he hoped so. At times he wished Samantha was the kind of girl who just went shopping. But if they’d met at Neiman Marcus, he would never have gotten to know the real Sam Jellicoe. She would never voluntarily reveal her secrets to anyone. Only the fact that he’d caught her breaking into Solano Dorado and then the two of them had nearly been blown up five minutes after that—that was the only reason he’d gotten to know the real Samantha Jellicoe. And
he thanked his stars that they’d both survived that first meeting, and for every day with her since then.

Richard forced his attention back to the paperwork in front of him. “Do you have that employment clause for me?”

“It should be coming off the printer right now.”

Rick nodded. “I’ll take it with me and look it over tonight. If it passes muster, I’ll send it over to Leedmont. It would be nice if he was on my side when the rest of the board votes on it.”

“I get the impression that he’s more stubborn than he is sensible.”

And for that reason it would have been handy to know why Leedmont had hired Samantha. “I don’t need him if I get a unanimous vote from the rest of the board. He would just make everything easier. I figure the best way to proceed is to get the new proposal to the board just before they get on the plane. That’ll give them a few uninterrupted hours to mull over their futures without Leedmont to persuade them to reject my offer.”

“You’d better stow some booze on the plane for ’em, too,” Tom said, following him to his secretary’s printer outside the office door. “They’ll need it.”

“One would hope so.”

He waited while Shelly put the revised paperwork into a folder, then headed out to the parking garage and his SLR. Before he settled in to look over the contract revisions, he was going to make good on Tom’s suggestion and have a drink. A large one.

“So you’re saying it’s wrong for me to use a potential source of information just because she happens to have a history with the guy I’m sleeping with.”

“Sam, all I said is that I’m staying out of it.” Stoney didn’t
bother to hide his grin as he went back to checking off office furniture from a list on a clipboard. A list he wouldn’t show her. “I’m in Illinois, I’m so far out of it.”

“I would have told him if something important came up. But she was barely worth the gas money I spent.” Of course, Patricia was also pretty much still at her mercy as long as she had the surveillance tape of her lifting that ring. But the more people who knew about it, the less pull she would have. For that reason she was keeping her trap shut about the deal with Patty. “Actually, I don’t know what Rick even saw in her.”

“Whoop, I’m moving farther away. Now I’m in Idaho. And don’t follow me.”

Samantha spun another circle in the cushy green reception chair. Even with the good news and potential lead of the Gugenthal jewelry box, foremost in her mind was the stupid argument with Rick. Of course he’d been mad that she was hanging out with Patty—whether the woman half drove her nuts or not. Thank God she hadn’t kept Leedmont a secret from him. “Stoney, you’re my Yoda. Advise me and shit.”

“Three months ago I told you hooking up with Richard Addison was a mistake. Everything after that’s your own fault, honey. I’m the one who lined up the paying vacation for you in Venice.” He examined a file cabinet serial number and checked it off his clipboard list.

“We’re not going to find Jimmy Hoffa in one of these, are we?” she asked, rapping a knuckle against the metal cabinet.

“If we do, you have to do the TV interviews.” Stoney drew a breath. “Okay. One piece of advice. If you like Addison, and if your hanging out with his ex-wife upsets him, don’t do it.”

“Wiser words were never spoken,” a low Southern drawl came from the doorway.

Samantha whirled in her chair. Tall, athletic, and fiftyish, Aubrey Pendleton strolled into their reception area. “Mr. Pendleton,” she said, standing.

She offered her hand and he took it, though instead of the standard “Pleased to meet you” handshake, he brought her knuckles to his lips. “You must be Samantha Jellicoe. Your call surprised me.”

“Why is that?” she asked, withdrawing her fingers.

“Ladies with Rick Addison for a companion usually don’t need another gentleman’s services,” he returned, nodding at Stoney. “Aubrey Pendleton.”

“Walter Barstone,” Stoney responded, stepping forward to offer his own hand.

Aubrey didn’t kiss Stoney’s knuckles, which was probably a good thing. Sam went around to the reception door and opened it, gesturing Mr. Pendleton to join her. Taking in the bare walls, muted paint color, and eclectic collection of furniture, he complied.

“This place used to belong to an insurance company,” he commented, following her toward her office. “Gossip was they couldn’t afford the rent.”

“Great,” Stoney grunted from behind them.

Pendleton offered a smile of perfect teeth. “Personally I thought they either attracted the wrong clientele, or chose the wrong area of town for their business. With your connections, I doubt you’ll have any problems.”

Jeez. Everybody knew who she was and with whom she was sleeping. Sam wondered what else he might know. “Speaking of connections,” she said, imitating his easy, confidence-inspiring style of conversation, “I happened into Gressin’s Antiques this afternoon. You wouldn’t by chance have any other Flemish jewelry boxes available for purchase, would you?”

“Ah, very smooth, Miss Jellicoe. My compliments.”

She smiled. “Sam’s fine.”

“I never call a lady by her nickname,” he returned. “She deserves to be addressed with more respect than that. Might I call you Miss Samantha?”

“Sure.” Rick rarely called her Sam, but she figured that was just his British showing. That whole respect thing, though—that was nice. “Jewelry boxes?”

They sat in her office guest chairs, while Stoney went back to checking off furniture. She swore her desk chair had changed style twice and color three times.

“Jewelry boxes,” Pendleton repeated. “You know, a nice selection of grand master prints would give you a fine sense of elegance in here.”

So he wanted to chat around the topic. Okay, she could do that. “There’re already some Monets in the common hallway.”

“Too European,” he drawled, sounding dismissive. “Something closer to home. O’Keeffe, maybe.”

“Desert life? Not really quintessential Palm Beach.”

He chuckled. “Diego Rivera, then.”

Sam cocked her head at him. “Is this an art quiz? Rivera’s South American, but he’s definitely not upper crust art guy. Why don’t you hit me with a few naked natives like Gauguin?”

Nodding, he sat back in the chair and crossed his ankles. “Laurie Kunz gave me the jewelry box two days ago and asked if I’d get rid of it for her. She said she’d never liked it, and that with the trust tied up for the time being, she could use the ready cash for tipping the extra people they were bringing in for the wake.”

She took a moment to study both his expression and the tone of his voice. “You didn’t approve,” she finally said.

“Charles and I and a few other gentlemen used to play poker on Thursday evenings when he was in town.”

“You liked him.”

“Yes, I did.”

“So did I,” she admitted.

Pendleton nodded. “And he liked his collections. I offered to loan Laurie some ready funds. She had no reason to dispose of that box except for the fact that she could do it. I didn’t think it was seemly.”

“But you went to lunch with her today.”

His white-toothed smile appeared again. “One must make a living, Miss Samantha. And there are families one doesn’t cross if one wishes to remain inside the Palm Beach social circle.”

“Gossiping to me—or anybody—seems like a bad way to stay popular,” she noted.

“No, having information is vital, and knowing with whom to share it is at least as important.” He stretched out an elegant hand to touch her knee. “I’m choosing to share it with you.”

“Why?”

“Our occupations aren’t all that different, my dear. We both largely…live off the efforts of other people. Or you
did
, rather. You’ll have to let me know how well having a legitimate occupation agrees with you.”

Sam laughed. “If I knew what you were talking about, I’d definitely keep you apprised.”

“Fair enough, though I assure you that I am the very soul of discretion. Is there anything else?”

She hesitated for a bare moment. Living off her instincts had never steered her wrong before, and she sensed that she could trust Aubrey Pendleton. “Do you know of anybody setting up rich guys or tourists with a prostitute and then taking photos for blackmail?”

“I’ve heard whispers about some low-brow scam with a woman and photos. And something about a post office box.”

Bingo
. “I had a feeling it wasn’t a onetime thing. No clue about who’s behind it?”

Aubrey chuckled. “Darlin’, whoever it is, he’s not part of the Palm Beach social circle. I’ve seen things like this before. The beau monde would rather pay a few dollars than ever acknowledge the mosquito by calling the police and reporting it.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. This is exciting, actually, investigating murder and mayhem. I feel very
CSI Miami
.”

Samantha smiled. He did seem to be enjoying this, and he’d certainly been forthcoming. One more question couldn’t hurt. “Do you think his kids had anything to do with Kunz’s murder?”

He lifted both eyebrows. “Whatever my newfound penchant for excitement, I would not knowingly associate with murderers. Between you and me, they’re spoiled little shits, but killers? I don’t think so.”

Crap. Back to square one—though she wasn’t eliminating them on just one person’s say-so. “Thanks again, Mr. Pendleton.”

“Aubrey, please. And keep me informed on all fronts, if you would. I find it fascinating.”

“It’s a deal.”

Aubrey stood, offering her an elegant, old-fashioned bow. “Call me anytime at all, for business or for pleasure.” He smiled again, Southern gentleman to his bones. “And by the way, in my experience there are two ways to make a man forget an argument: food, and sex.”

Now
this
was getting interesting. “How many of your fe
male companions know that you have so much knowledge about men?”

With a wink he slipped through the doorway. “About as many as know I came here to talk to you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. Aubrey Pendleton was right—they both had some secrets.

When Rick got home there were already two messages waiting for him from Shelly in Tom’s office. He called her back, only to discover that the
Wall Street Journal
had been calling to confirm his buyout of Kingdom Fittings.

“Splendid,” he muttered. There was nothing like media interest to start raising the price of things. They hadn’t even agreed on terms yet, much less sale price. “Put them off until Friday, at least,” he instructed. “Tell them I’m attending a funeral tomorrow.”

As he hung up the phone it rang again, and he automatically picked it up. Not many people had his private office number. “Addison.”

“Hello, Richard,” Patricia’s cultured voice came.

He frowned. “I’m a bit busy right now, Patricia. I’ll call you back later.”

“I was just wondering whether you’d spoken to Tom. I’m quite anxious to get settled here.”

“And why is that again?” he asked. However lightly he might pretend to take Samantha’s warnings, he wouldn’t disregard them. Patricia rarely did anything that didn’t benefit herself. “Why Palm Beach?”

“We already discussed that.”

“Let’s discuss it again, shall we?”

She laughed, a sound he used to find attractive. Now it
sounded more like warning bells. “Why not Palm Beach? As I said, the weather’s nice, it’s far from Peter’s circle of influence and acquaintances, and it actually has a society and a season for the aristocracy—or what passes for them in America. Besides, most of my remaining friends have winter homes here.”