Just Before Sunrise (26 page)

But Annie was intent upon her own agenda. "Sarah, if you don't want to do this, I'll take you home. We'll call a cab."

Garvin resisted stepping in to argue his case. Annie, he noted, was avoiding his eye.

Sarah shook her head. "I want to see my brother." She leaned on her cane and looked up at Garvin, and if there was a flicker of reluctance in her vivid blue eyes, there was no fear. "Shall we?"

Given her physical condition, they bypassed the open staircase and took the elevator to the small, private dining room on the second floor. They were running late; laugher and the clinking of glasses drifted up the corridor. As Sarah shuffled along, Garvin felt a sudden, unexpected urge to protect her. Whatever lingering doubts he had about her and what she knew about the deaths of her father and niece, she was infirm and maybe a bit off center, and she could very well be walking into the lion's mouth. But she showed no outward signs of nervousness as she moved slowly forward on her cane.

Neither, for that matter, did Annie. Garvin felt a surge of protectiveness toward her, too, never mind that it would only annoy her if she knew. In her mind he was the coercive bastard; she was the self-reliant Mainer. She was in no mood to know he was willing to get bloodied on her behalf.

When they came to the dining room, Annie hung back in front of the open double doors. Garvin narrowed his eyes on her, but she gave a tight shake of her head. "No—you and Sarah go on. I'll wait here until the dust settles. The Linwoods aren't my family."

They weren't his, either. But this wasn't the time to argue, to explain, to finally make her understand that Haley Linwood had been his wife but was no longer.

"If you're sure," he said.

She nodded. "I'm sure."

"This shouldn't take long. John's either going to kick us both out or invite us all to dinner. Either way, people will know Sarah Linwood's back in town." He turned to Sarah, who was staring silently into the dining room. "Are you ready?"

Some of the old dignity asserted itself as she raised her chin, wisps of reddish gray hair in her eyes. "Yes."

They entered the dining room side by side. Glittering chandeliers provided soft lighting for the fifty or so who had gathered for the dinner. They were friends of the Linwoods, wealthy residents of the Bay Area, the executive staff of the foundation, and Sarah's brother and sister-in-law, all the immediate family she had left.

A stunned silence followed their entrance. Garvin put a hand under Sarah's elbow in case she teetered, but she didn't. She held her head high and leaned on her cane in her bag-lady dress and bright red jacket. She would appreciate the drama of it all, Garvin thought with a lack of cynicism that surprised him. Considering the life she'd led for so long, she deserved the attention.

Unless she'd played a direct role in the deaths of her father and niece.

But that was a reckoning for another day. Garvin pushed the thought out of his mind as he heard a shocked, "Sarah." He saw her smile. She looked pleased, relieved, even happy, and she said in a clear, steady voice, "Hello, John."

Her brother emerged from the crush of guests, waiters, tastefully set tables. "Sarah. Good heavens." His voice choked. He moved toward her, half stumbling, his elegant dinner suit a contrast to his younger sister's eccentric attire. If he noticed—and Garvin was certain he did—he would be too mannerly to comment in front of his guests. "Come in, come in. Welcome. My God, Sarah, welcome home."

"Thank you, John." Her voice faltered, but she quickly cleared her throat and smiled. "It's good to be back."

Garvin backed off. Other guests, obviously not knowing what else to do, quickly resumed their chatting and drinking, casting furtive, curious glances at their unexpected fellow diner. Sarah Linwood stuck out. Even if she'd worn a black dress and pearls, she would have drawn attention, if only because she was a Linwood who had left San Francisco five years ago in disgrace. Her brother didn't get too close to her, as if he were afraid his younger sister might have gone crazy in the past five years and come home with lice.

There was shock and confusion, but from his own experience with the Linwoods, Garvin knew there would be no histrionics. Given the setting, John would button up any urge to throw Sarah out on her ear, to scream at her, throw a fit, demand what in hell she thought she was doing—or what she'd done five years ago.

Satisfied that all was calm for the moment, Garvin slipped back out into the hall. Annie hadn't moved from her spot on the Oriental rug. He grabbed her by the hand, noticing it was cold. "Nobody's fainted or thrown anything at anybody."

"That's not why I didn't go in."

"I know it's not. Look, you might as well come in."

She frowned at him, unamused. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

He stared back at her. "Why the hell would I be enjoying myself?"

Her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. I guess it annoys me that I should have listened to your advice and stayed home."

She slipped her hand from his and ran it through her hair, the dim light bringing out the flecks of slate in her eyes. She seemed to have a fresh set of misgivings. The Linwood dinner, Garvin realized, was far removed from the world Annie Payne knew. But then, so was San Francisco.

"Do you think Sarah will want to stay for dinner?" she asked.

"Let me put it this way—from what I've seen so far, I don't think she'll want to leave."

Nodding, Annie pressed her lips together. Garvin could feel her tension but knew there was nothing he could do about it. He glanced into the dining room, where John was hovering over Sarah, gesturing toward various guests, probably explaining who was who and trying desperately to adjust to the reality of his sister in a red corduroy jacket and Keds. Cynthia had joined them; she stood at her husband's side, looking uncomfortable and pale. A potential problem there, Garvin thought. Cynthia Linwood wasn't a woman who liked surprises. And her sister-in-law was one hell of a surprise.

He shifted his gaze back to Annie, who showed no sign of relaxing. "If you're worried you'll have to explain your association with Sarah, don't be. People should be able to fill in the blanks without much effort."

"So they should. I don't really care. I only care, Garvin, that you're using her—and me—to get what you want. Tonight has nothing to do with keeping Vic Denardo away from me." She turned to him, her eyes the color of a frozen lake. "It has to do with bringing him to you."

"You know that for a fact?"

She didn't back down. "Yes."

His jaw tightened. "You don't trust me," he said.

"We're not talking about trust. We're talking about your tactics."

He started to argue with her but saw Ethan Conninger coming out into the hall, a drink in one hand. "Jesus, Garvin," he said half under his breath. "A little warning would have been nice. Where the hell did you dig Sarah up?"

"I didn't. She decided to come home." It was the truth, just without the details.

Ethan's eyebrows rose. He glanced at Annie, then back at Garvin. He sipped his drink. "Annie here's known about her all along, I take it?"

Annie's expression didn't suggest she had any doubts about her ability to handle Ethan Conninger's questions. Anyone's questions. As distrustful as she was of Garvin, as annoyed and, in his opinion, thrown by her propensity for ending up in his arms, she was still remarkably self-possessed. She even managed an amiable smile. "I don't know about 'all along.' Sarah and I met a few weeks ago." Ethan started to ask another question, and Annie added, not too sweetly, "I'm afraid anything else is for her to explain."

It was all the answer Ethan was going to get out of her. He seemed to know it. He wasn't hostile, Garvin thought, just as curious and incredulous as everyone else. "I didn't mean to put anybody on the defensive, but—Jesus, she looks like a bag lady."

Garvin shrugged. "She's changed, that's for sure."

Ethan lowered his voice, his expression serious. "What about Vic Denardo?"

"She says she hasn't seen him since she left San Francisco."

"You believe her?"

"I don't know," Garvin admitted. "Right now, I think I do."

"I guess it'll all come out in the wash now that she's back. Jesus. Wait'll this one hits the rumor mill. The gossips're going to have a field day. Well, I should get back in there, be the dutiful money man." He clapped Garvin on the shoulder, managed a grin. "And I thought this was going to be another of those dull charity dinners."

When Ethan retreated into the dining room, Annie touched Garvin's arm, just a brief graze. Her eyes, he saw, had warmed up. "I've been flinging accusations at you," she said, "when you didn't want to come in the first place tonight. The foundation—your wife—"

"Your accusations aren't undeserved, Annie."

She smiled a little. "Did I say they were?" She glanced into the dining room, squared her shoulders. "Well, I might as well get this over with."

Annie Payne, a woman to do what had to be done. Garvin followed her into the dining room, where people were making an obvious effort to carry on with the evening. But he had no illusions that they were unaffected by Sarah's presence. How could they be? She sat at one of the round tables, sticking out like a vase of loud, cheap plastic flowers. And loving every minute of it.

Out of the corner of his eye Garvin saw Cynthia Linwood spot them and excuse herself from her husband and sister-in-law, then charge their way. She had her small hands clenched into tight fists at her side, as if to keep the rest of her from coming unraveled. She ignored Garvin completely and fastened her eyes on Annie. "Well. I see the doubters were right." Her tone was sharp, but at least she kept her voice low. "You didn't have the kind of money for the painting you bought last Saturday. Sarah put you up to it."

Annie remained calm, neither self-righteous nor defensive. "Sarah and I had an agreement. I couldn't break it on my own."

"So you let everyone think what they wanted to think." Without waiting for Annie to answer, Cynthia pivoted around at Garvin. "You could have warned us, Garvin. John—the shock—" She bit back her anger. "Here he is trying to move ahead with his life..." She swallowed, fighting sudden tears, and gave up trying to explain. "Excuse me. There are people I need to greet."

Garvin tried to stop her, but she ignored him. Annie swept a glass of champagne from a waiter's tray. "I suppose we deserved that," she said. "Shall we go see how Sarah's faring?"

"You're taking this in stride."

She shrugged. "In Cynthia Linwood's place, I'd probably have slugged one of us. Maybe both."

"I'll keep that in mind next time I piss you off."

She gave him a small smile. "Do that."

With a quick sip of champagne, she breezed past him. Garvin could see that no matter how much she'd anticipated it, her encounter with Cynthia Linwood had embarrassed her. But Annie Payne was one to brave her way through thick and thin. It wasn't just stubbornness, he realized. It was also determination and no small measure of courage.

He followed her to the table where Sarah had settled, her chin resting on her cane as she listened to her brother. "What doctors have you seen?" John was asking her.

Sarah waved him off. "It doesn't matter."

"It
does
matter. God knows what all this disease has affected."

Her taste in clothes, for one, he seemed to suggest. He was still pale from the shock of seeing his sister after five years, especially, Garvin presumed, in the condition she was in. Sarah hadn't come home subdued and remorseful. She'd come home reclusive and eccentric, a woman no one—even her own brother—would recognize as the one who'd run out on her family at the height of its worst crisis.

She spotted Annie and gestured for her to come closer. "There you are, dear. John, you've met Annie Payne, haven't you? She has a delightful new gallery on Union Street. I'm afraid I lured her into our family whirlwind. She had no idea what she was getting into, absolutely none."

"Yes, I've met Annie." Drawing on his well-bred manners, John managed a quick smile at her. "A pleasure to see you again."

She nodded. "You too."

"We'll get this all sorted out sooner or later." He glanced at Garvin, some of the amiableness dissipating. "Won't we, Garvin?"

"I'm sure," he said.

Sarah peered around her brother at Garvin. "I've been telling John I've spent most of the past five years in the desert southwest. I've ached and ached since I've been back in San Francisco." She chattered on cheerfully, although Garvin had no doubt she wasn't unaware of the current of tension in the room. "Of course, it's so damp this time of year. I never even used to notice the rain."

Her brother inhaled. "Sarah—"

"Did I tell you I went by the house the other day? It was so strange. I can't believe you found a buyer so fast, given its history."

John averted his eyes, obviously uncomfortable with Sarah's easy allusion to the tragedy that had occurred in their family home. Annie seized the moment to scoot off into the crowd with her glass of champagne. Her stiff back and brisk pace suggested she neither wanted nor expected Garvin to follow. But he did.

"Annie, are you okay?" he asked as he came up behind her.

She swung around at him, her hair shimmering in the chandelier light, her eyes hot now, fiery where before they'd been ice. "I'm fine. I have to tell you, this isn't how this sort of thing would go down in my hometown. Someone would stand up and demand to know what the devil Sarah's been up to the last five years, whether she ran off with Vic Denardo, or why she can't buy a decent dress. Why she had to show up at the annual dinner of the foundation set up in her niece's honor. There wouldn't be all this dancing around the real issues." She gulped some of her champagne, her hands shaking. "But that's why you chose tonight, isn't it? Because you knew she wouldn't be attacked."

"That's one reason," he said carefully.

"And me." She drank more champagne, sipping this time. "You were sparing me too. You knew people would control their emotions in such a public setting. And the emotions are running high, aren't they? You can feel them. Even Cynthia—she wanted to rip our heads off for pulling such a fast one on her and her husband. But she held back."