Hit and Run (11 page)

‘They were invited to “sniff,”' AnnaLise said wearily. ‘And besides, whatever Hart might leave to me down the line isn't going to help much now.'

‘We could do him in.' Joy took a drag and blew out its residue as the door from the house opened. ‘Or, being the squeamish type, you could just ask him for a loan.'

‘There you are.' The words came from Dickens Hart himself. ‘Who needs a loan?'

Joy gave AnnaLise a significant look, which she promptly ignored. ‘“Loaner,” actually. We were talking about my wrecked, and therefore
no
-car, situation.'

‘You're welcome to borrow the Porsche, if you'd like.' Hart started to settle his butt on the corner of a massive wooden planter before standing up with a grimace to brush glass pellets off the seat of his pants. ‘Though I'd have to caution you against driving it in the mountains once the snow starts falling.'

Which could be any day now. ‘Thanks, but I'll be fine,' AnnaLise said simply, then changed the subject. ‘How are you enjoying catching up with everyone?'

A snort from Joy.

Hart ignored her. ‘Very much, AnnaLise, and thank you for asking. It's been like … well, a bit like
This Is Your Life
, what with Rose from my much younger days, Lucinda from early in the White Tail years, then your mother. And, of course, Shirley and Joy.'

‘If I'd have known “Sweet Jail-bait” was going to be here,' Joy retorted, ‘you can bet I wouldn't be.'

At the phrase ‘jail-bait,' Hart threw a startled look toward AnnaLise before saying, ‘Joy, I don't know what you mean.'

‘Amazing that you don't want AnnaLise to be aware of your little misstep,' Joy said. ‘Yet you invited the only one who really knows what happened – Sugar, herself.'

Hart said, running a practiced hand through his hair, ‘I happened to mention the weekend to her in passing, and it seemed rude not to include both Sugar and her lovely daughter.'

‘Pig,' Joy snapped.

‘
Who
,' Hart continued icily, ‘at least so far, aren't repaying my hospitality by helping themselves to my wine or making crude jokes at my expense.'

Joy dropped her cigarette and ground it into the patio block with a toe, seeming ready for a fight.

‘Well, I'm going to head in,' AnnaLise said, having had enough theatrics for one day.

‘I'll go with you,' Hart said hastily. Her biological father was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them.

As AnnaLise opened the French doors and stepped into the Lake Room, she almost collided with Nicole Goldstein, who was carrying a glass of wine in one hand and the bottle in another.

‘Excuse me, AnnaLise,' Nicole said, steadying the goblet. ‘Mr Hart asked me to open another bottle of wine, but we've run out of the one we were serving. I thought he might like to try this.'

Hart reached for the cabernet, apparently checking its pedigree. A lot of that was going on in general. ‘I'm afraid your choice is a very big red and could do with another four of five years of cellaring.'

‘Oh, I'm so sorry,' Nicole said, seeming mortified. ‘I should have asked you before I opened it.'

‘Not to worry, my dear,' Hart said. ‘With a little time to breathe, the glass you've already poured should be passably drinkable, if not optimum. Could you just leave it on my bedside table?'

Nicole nodded. ‘I'm glad to, but I'm not sure which room upstairs is yours.'

‘The master bedroom is on this floor,' Hart said. ‘It has the double doors at the end of the hall, just past the media room. Since it's barely ten-thirty, I'm going to catch some of the movie with our guests before I turn in.'

‘Shall I throw out the rest of the bottle?' Nicole held it up.

‘Heavens, no!' Hart commanded, and then lowered his voice as the girl cringed. ‘Just put the cork in loosely and leave the bottle on the bar. The wine should mellow nicely by tomorrow. And for the rest of our guests, why not open that nice merlot I use as an everyday wine. You'll find three or four bottles in the rack to the right when you enter my wine cellar.'

‘I can take the glass,' AnnaLise said to Nicole as Hart disappeared into the media room. There was no way she wanted the girl to visit Hart's bedroom, however innocently. Only God could know what she might find in the aging lion's love lair. Besides, after seeing the depiction on the floor plan, AnnaLise was curious.

‘Thanks,' Nicole said, gratefully handing over the wine. ‘I need to stash this bottle and open a new one. These folks drink like fish, so it's a good thing they don't have to drive anywhere. The road on this side of the lake is treacherous enough at night without having a snoot-full.'

AnnaLise looked at her own nearly empty glass. She'd thought about trailing Nicole to the kitchen for a refill, but given the girl's opinion of ‘these folks,' decided to set a better example. Besides, both Joy and AnnaLise had already done considerable damage to Hart's supply of ‘good stuff.' Not to mention their own respective livers. ‘Very true. And you be careful on the way home yourself.'

‘No worries,' Nicole said. ‘My granddad is coming to pick me up. He doesn't like my driving at night.'

AnnaLise wasn't sure that Sal's driving – especially after his taproom closed – would be an improvement. ‘That's very nice of him, but won't that be quite late?'

‘It will, but I'll need to clean up the media room after the movie anyway.'

‘Nicole? Got a sec?' Chef Debbie was at the doorway to the kitchen, sans the white coat. Though she and AnnaLise had to be about the same size, the über-high heels made Debbie tower over the reporter. The chef stuck her hand out. ‘You're Dickens' daughter, right?'

AnnaLise held up the two glasses awkwardly. ‘Sorry, I can't shake, but yes. I'm AnnaLise Griggs.'

‘Anything special you'd like to have tomorrow? I'm missing a couple of items, so need to stop at the store in the morning.'

‘I'm not sure you'll find a grocery open tomorrow.'

Debbie's brow wrinkled. Or tried to. ‘Why not?'

‘Thanksgiving,' Nicole said, trying to be helpful.

‘Well, sure, but don't the supermarkets open, at least for a few hours in the morning?'

AnnaLise shook her head. ‘My experience, which could be out-of-date, says no. Not around here.'

Debbie grimaced. ‘Well,
that's
not good. And I assume no all-night convenience stores.'

‘Sorry.'

The chef sighed. ‘Not your fault. But I'll do my best. That's why your father's paying me the big bucks.'

‘I just need to set this down,' Nicole held up the bottle of wine toward Debbie, ‘and I'll be right with you.'

‘Great. Just want to go over the menu with you before I leave. Good to meet you, AnnaLise.'

‘Same here.'

Nicole made a beeline for the bar, while AnnaLise went the other direction, past the media room to the massive double doors. Opening one of them, though, was problematic with a goblet in each hand. With a glance over her shoulder to confirm that Nicole was already out of sight and couldn't come to her aid, AnnaLise finished off the wine in her glass and tucked it awkwardly under one arm to turn the knob.

In contrast to the marble hallway outside the door, Hart's room was lushly carpeted. The oversized platform bed was already turned down for the evening, the lamps on the flanking ornate nightstands casting a soft glow. AnnaLise looked up, but there was no mirror overhead, as she'd smarmily expected. But then the man was nearly seventy. He'd probably had the mirrors removed with the velvet trapeze.

To her left, the lake-facing wall of the room was floor-to-ceiling glass, opening onto a moonlit private patio. On the opposite wall was a low dresser built of the same exotic wood as the nightstands and even the small waste basket that stood next to it.

Wanting to set the two wine glasses on the dresser, AnnaLise rescued a crumpled scrap of what looked like the Hart's Head floor plan from the trash and flattened it with the palm of one hand to serve as a make-shift coaster.

Placing the glasses on the paper, AnnaLise noticed a number scratched onto it in blue ink. ‘Seven-oh-two area code,' she read. ‘Chef Debbie's Las Vegas cellphone, perhaps?'

Unsurprised that the old leopard hadn't changed his age spots, AnnaLise turned to survey the rest of the room. An armless, high-backed slipper chair was positioned in the shallow corner formed by a bump-out – probably a closet – next to the entryway into the suite. Simple and sleek, the chair was much more to AnnaLise's taste than the heavier, carved furniture in the room.

But it was the wide hallway beyond the chair that caught her attention. Assuming it led to a spa-like bathroom, AnnaLise passed between mirror-image walk-in closets (one, alone, the size of her bedroom in Daisy's house) and stepped into the en suite.

The twin centerpieces of the room were a deep soaking tub/whirlpool and a bow-front shower. The tub looked big enough to allow for swimming laps, and the shower like it had been designed to decontaminate Hart after he teleported in from another planet. Each side of the room had its own granite-topped vanity and a separate room with toilet and bidet.

Trying hard to tamp down thoughts of
my mother can't afford health insurance, while my father is living like this
, AnnaLise returned to the bedroom.

She'd assumed the wall behind the chair she'd admired was yet another big closet, but returning to the double-door entrance AnnaLise realized it actually hid a small switchback staircase. Hand on doorknob, she could just make out the film voices of Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan punctuated by laughter, including – she thought – some from Dickens Hart.

Figuring she had time to take a quick peek upstairs before Hart said good night to his guests and turned in, AnnaLise climbed the carpeted steps to find herself in a personal library. To the right of the stairs was a door.

Opening it, AnnaLise found a wall of books. Boxes upon boxes of them, apparently not deemed worthy of being displayed on the floor-to-ceiling shelves of the impressive library. There were so many boxes she couldn't even step into the storage room.

Shutting that door, AnnaLise approached the bookshelves. She'd expected to find leather-bound volumes, bought for show, not for reading. But these books – hardcover and paperback, fiction and non-fiction – had been read, and many not just the once. The only furniture in the room was an overstuffed leather recliner so huge she couldn't imagine anyone short of cyclopsed ogres wrestling the thing up the narrow stairs.

‘OK,' AnnaLise said softly. ‘This setup I
do
covet.' She'd never have taken Hart for a reader, but maybe a love of the written word was the one thing, other than dark hair and brown eyes, that she'd inherited from the man. She slipped a copy of Jeremiah Healy's
Blunt Darts
off the bookshelf.

A door opened below. AnnaLise returned the novel to its shelf and tiptoed to the top of the stairs, trying to ascertain whether the sound had come from out in the foyer or inside the master bedroom itself.

To avoid further awkwardness, the proper thing would have been to call out immediately, beg forgiveness for nosing around and hightail it out of there. Unfortunately, by the time AnnaLise realized the noise had, indeed, been one of the double doors to the room opening and decided what she
should
do, the time to take the high road gracefully had, unfortunately and irretrievably, passed.

The sound of something being set down. Then the creak of bed springs and … had that been a whimper? Or a groan?

Fearful that she'd find her father out of his clothes and perhaps into … well, something – or somebody – else, AnnaLise debated staying upstairs.

Eventually Hart would have to use the bathroom. Or fall asleep. The steps were right around the corner from the door, so she wouldn't need more than five seconds to be down and, quite literally, out.

In the meantime, AnnaLise would be comfortable enough up there, maybe even pass the time by reading a book.

But luck was with her, and it wasn't five minutes later that AnnaLise thought she heard a door close from the direction of the bathroom. Not hesitating and risk losing her chance again, AnnaLise crept down the steps.

Near the bottom, she could just make out the sound of water running. Continuing down, AnnaLise snuck her head around the corner and, seeing no one, stepped out past the slipper chair to look down the bathroom hallway. Sure enough, the door was closed, a sliver of light showing beneath it.

Turning to leave, AnnaLise nearly collided with the chair. She steadied herself on its high back and did a double take. A small, brightly flowered nylon bag with a black handle and shoulder strap had appeared on the seat.

Just large enough to hold a change of clothes. And a toothbrush.
Either daddy's become a cross-dresser or he's at it again,
AnnaLise thought.
And I'm betting Chef Debbie from Vegas is the unlucky woman.

Not wanting to push her own luck, AnnaLise Griggs tiptoed to the door and, as silently as possible, let herself out.

N
ow standing outside the media room, AnnaLise debated going in.

Much as she loved
When Harry Met Sally
, the best scenes were probably already history. Besides, given the chattering going on in the room, AnnaLise wouldn't be able to watch the film in peace as she'd prefer, but rather be expected to make small talk.

And, God knew, enough of that would be clogging the balance of the weekend.

The door opened with a bump, and Shirley Hart came out.

‘Movie over?' AnnaLise asked.

‘No, but the deli scene just concluded, and it's been a long day.'

‘Amen to that,' AnnaLise said, falling into step with her as they climbed the stairs.