Kiss and Tell (4 page)

“Yes. Don’t.” With a stern look that included Marsh, Leila swept out of the room.

As Marsh watched, Simon took three plates from the cabinet and spread them out on the kitchen counter.

“Hello?” Leila’s voice came out of the telephone’s speaker.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m really sorry about this—”

“Simon, hang it up!” Leila shouted from the other room.

Simon reached over and pushed a button. “Okay,” he shouted back.

But Marsh could still hear Elliot’s voice over the speaker. “Simon…” he said warningly.

“We can hear them,” Simon said with a grin, “but they can’t hear us. She’ll never know.”

“I stand to make seven figures on this deal alone.” Elliot’s voice was tinny over the speaker. “I just can’t pass that up.”

Marsh crossed the kitchen, gazing at the telephone as if that would shut it off. “Leila wanted privacy.”

Simon shook his head. “Aw, you’re no fun now that you’re in love with her.”

Marsh winced, looking quickly toward the other room. “Shh!”

“She can’t hear us.”

“We shouldn’t be listening,” Marsh insisted. “How do you turn this thing off?”

“How about next weekend?” Leila’s voice asked. “Will you make it down here next weekend?”

“Say no.” Marsh stared at the speakerphone, willing Elliot to answer with a negative. His desire to hang up the phone and give Leila privacy was forgotten. “You’re far too busy. You can’t possibly find time to visit.”

There was a pause, then Elliot said, “I’m looking at my calendar, and I don’t know…” He sighed. “Right now, I’ve got to say no, Leila. I’m way too busy. It’s a bad time of year. But I’ll tell you what. If you can get back to New York a few days early, I promise that we can have lunch.”

“Of all the pompous, condescending, outrageous,
pompous
—”

“You already said that.” Simon carefully balanced and carried all three of the plates toward the sliding doors that led to the back deck. “Hit the kill switch on the phone, will you? It’s the button on the top left.”

“I’ll call you in a few days,” Elliot’s voice was saying as Marsh pushed the button and the speaker clicked off.

“He’s dreadful.” Marsh followed Simon onto the deck.

“He’s not quite as bad as I imagined,” Simon said, “but he’s close.”

“She’s not going to marry him,” Marsh said hotly. “I’m sorry. I simply won’t allow it.”

“You won’t
allow
it?”

Marsh turned to see Leila standing in the doorway.

“What was that odd click I heard just as Elliot was saying good-bye?” she asked.

Simon shrugged. “Probably just the telephone line making noises. Interference.”

“You are
such
a lousy liar,” Leila said. “Why do you even bother?”

“Dinner’s ready. Who wants wine?” Simon vanished into the kitchen.

Leila turned to face Marsh. “And
you.
You’re not going to
allow
me to marry Elliot?”

“Lei, I gotta agree.” Simon came back out onto the deck carrying three glasses, a bottle of white wine, and a bottle of soda. “Elliot’s…well…he’s…”

“He’s an ass,” Marsh said flatly.

Simon grinned, pouring a glass of wine for himself and Leila, and a glass of soda for Marsh. “Two extra days in sunny Florida in December…in exchange for lunch with Elliot. Is that supposed to be some kind of fair trade?”

“That click was just interference on the phone line, huh?” Leila crossed her arms. “You guys listened in on that whole conversation, didn’t you?”

Marsh shifted his weight guiltily. They had. They’d eavesdropped, fulfilling all of Leila’s dark expectations regarding her privacy—or lack of privacy—on Sunrise Key.

But Simon just sat down and started to eat his dinner. “This is getting cold. You guys should eat.”

Marsh knew that he should tell Leila he was sorry. They’d violated her privacy, and that was wrong. But the words that came out of his mouth were not at all apologetic. “I have to warn you. If you insist on marrying Elliot, I intend to stand up and loudly proclaim my unhappiness when the reverend says, ‘Speak now or forever hold your peace.’ And for an encore, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of there, kicking and screaming if need be.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Leila’s voice dripped with disbelief. “You’d never create such a scene.”

“Just try me,” Marsh threatened.

“Fine, I won’t send you an invitation.” Leila crossed her arms.

“Oh,
that
will surely keep me away.”

“Yo, guys?” Simon interjected. “Food’s getting cold.”

“What could Leila possibly have been thinking?” Marsh said. “I mean, did she actually sit down and think, ‘Golly, I’d like to have some children. Let me see if I know any idiots I can join in a loveless marriage in order to conceive them.”

Leila’s eyes flashed with anger. “I happen to know that Elliot’s IQ is a great deal higher than the average—”

“Leila, I have that copy of the party’s guest list that you wanted,” Simon interrupted.

Leila’s mouth shut as absolutely as if Simon had pressed a button and turned her off. She stared at Simon, glancing once at Marsh, as if hoping he hadn’t heard her brother’s words.

“Guest list?” Marsh’s anger and frustration instantly evaporated. Why would Leila want a list of guests for a party that had already happened?

“You might at least have waited until we were alone,” Leila said to Simon through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, well, I figured both Marsh and I could help you,” Simon replied.

“For the New Year’s party?” Marsh asked, looking from Leila to Simon. “
That
guest list?”

“She wouldn’t tell me why she wants it,” Simon said. “But my guess is that she’s going to try to track down this guy who kissed her.” He grinned at Marsh. “Remember, the guy I
told
you about?”

“Argh.” Leila sank into her seat at the table and buried her face in her hands.

“Simon,” Marsh began. The last thing he wanted was to embarrass Leila. But Simon held up his hand, stopping him.

“Look, Lei,” Simon said. “It’s too late to pretend that Marsh doesn’t know what happened last night. I’m going to help you, right? He might as well help, too. If two heads are better than one, think of how terrific three will be.”

“Terrific,” Leila muttered.

“Do you really want to find this man?” Marsh asked, hardly daring to hope.

She looked up at him. “Yes,” she admitted with a sigh. “Yes, I do. I know it sounds crazy but—”

“That’s
great,
” Marsh said. “It’s not crazy, it’s great.”

“I need to find this ninja,” Leila continued, “so that I can prove to myself he wasn’t real. I didn’t even know who he was. Whatever I felt from kissing him
had
to have been the result of too much champagne, or I don’t know, lust, or the phase of the moon. It just wasn’t real. I mean, I’m probably going to find him, and he’ll turn out to be someone I absolutely hate, right?”

“So why bother going to all the trouble of tracking this bozo down?” Simon asked.

“Ninja,” Marsh corrected him. “Not bozo.”

Leila looked out into the starry darkness of the sky. She was quiet for several long moments. “Doubt,” she finally said. “Just the barest, smallest sliver of doubt.” She glanced back at Marsh and he saw there were actually tears in her eyes. “I just keep thinking, what if…”

“That’s not doubt,” Marsh told her. “That’s hope. Hope that there really is one special person out there just waiting for you to find him.”

Leila blinked back her tears. “God, I wish you were right.”

“Are you so sure I’m not?”

“John McGrath?” Leila read from Simon’s long, hand-scribbled list of names.

“Cross him off, too.” Simon tipped his chair back and rested his bare feet on the highly polished antique dining room table. “I saw him with some kind of Roman toga thing on.”

“Very original, old John is,” Marsh commented.

“How about Paul Casella?” Leila asked.

“Didn’t see him,” Simon said.

“He brought a date,” Marsh volunteered. “A young woman he’s been seeing for the past few months, lives on the mainland. They came as Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Oh, yeah,” Simon added. “Big plastic submachine guns.”

“That was Paul.”

Leila crossed Paul’s name off.

“Preston Seaholm?”

Simon and Marsh looked at each other blankly.

“Was he even at the party?” Marsh asked.

“Dunno,” Simon responded. “
I
didn’t see him.”

“Frankie said she saw his car,” Leila said.

“I guess that makes him a suspect,” Simon said. “Seaholm’s tall enough, right?”

Leila nodded. “But remember, I don’t know exactly how tall the ninja was. I just had this sensation that he was taller than me.”

“And that he was strong,” Marsh reminded her. Simon coughed.

“And that he carries a beeper,” Leila added. “Does Pres Seaholm have a beeper?”

“I don’t know,” Simon said. “But that wouldn’t be too hard to find out.”

Marsh looked over Leila’s shoulder, quickly skimming through the list of names. His own name was up at the top of the page. Leila had apparently skipped him. He wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted or relieved. “Who’s next? Keith Banner? I don’t remember seeing him at the party.”

“Same here,” Simon said. “And I know
he’s
got a beeper.”

“Nope.” Leila crossed Keith’s name off the list. “It’s not Keith.”

“Did you see him, then?” Marsh asked.

“Nope.”

“How can you be so sure?” Simon asked.

Leila carefully laid her pen down on the table. “If you must know, I’ve had the dubious honor of being kissed by Keith Banner before. He’s an octopus. My ninja was not.”

“Octopus?” echoed Marsh, frowning slightly.

“Eight hands,” Simon explained.

“Oh,” Marsh said. “Right. Of course. Octopus.”

“My ninja was a gentleman.”

“
Your
ninja.” Simon lifted his eyebrows as he glanced at Marsh.

“There were three other ninjas at the party,” Leila pointed out. “I don’t want to get mine confused with the others. Sean Green. How about Sean Green?”

She looked at Simon and he smiled happily back at her. He was actually enjoying himself, the wretch.

“Sean came as Dracula.” Simon watched as Leila crossed that name off the list.

“The final name is—drum roll please!—Liam Halliday,” Marsh announced. “The esteemed sheriff of Sunrise Key. I, for one, didn’t see him last night.”

“Neither did I,” Simon said. “But isn’t he way too tall?”

“He is rather tall,” Marsh agreed.

“I’m going to include him among the suspects anyway,” Leila decided, “because although I don’t remember my ninja being extremely tall, I don’t remember him
not
being extremely tall.”

“So, how many does that give us?” Simon asked.

“Six.” She counted them off on her fingers. “Hayden Young, Robert Earle, Alan Lanigan, Bruce Kimble, Preston Seaholm, and Liam Halliday. Except for Robert Earle, whom we know nothing about, they’re all single, they all RSVP’d they’d be coming, and they all possibly carry a beeper.”

“Are you sure you got everybody?” Simon asked.

Leila flipped through the pages, scanning the list of names.

Marsh. She’d missed Marsh.

Was it possible?

She glanced over her shoulder to find him watching her. One elegant eyebrow rose slightly as he evenly returned her gaze, and she turned away. No. No way. She just couldn’t see Marsh kissing her the way that ninja had kissed her. Those kisses had been pure rocket fuel, relentlessly combustible and unrestrained. That was hardly Marsh’s style. She could imagine Marsh kissing her carefully, sweetly, without managing to mess up her hair or even smear her lipstick.

“Now what?” Marsh asked. “Do you intend to line them all up and kiss them, then?”

Leila twisted her head to look up at him again. “Line them up, no. Kiss them, yes.”

“You’re kidding,” Simon said flatly.

“How else am I going to prove to myself that what happened last night was just an aberration or a fluke?”

Simon exchanged another look with Marsh.

“What if it wasn’t?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Leila admitted. “I haven’t really considered that possibility.”

“You better,” Simon said. “You better be ready for anything. What if this guy is Mr. Wonderful?”

“That’s unlikely.”

“Assuming he’s Mr. Wonderful is reaching a bit,” Marsh interjected. “I mean, ‘Mr. Wonderful’ is expecting too much, don’t you think?”

“What if he is?” Simon persisted.

“First things first, all right?” Leila said. “And first I’ve got to narrow this list down. There were only four ninjas at the party. Only four of these six guys could be real suspects.”

“What are you going to do?” Simon asked. He pulled his feet off the table and leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he studied his sister’s face. “Call them up and ask what they wore to the party?”

Leila shook her head. “No. I’m going to hire Frankie. She’s a private investigator.”

Simon hooted with laughter. “Frankie? Get real, Lei. What did she do, get a fedora and a trenchcoat from the Private Eye Store? And now she thinks she’s a real PI?”

“She got her license, Simon. You told me that yourself.”

“I could get a piece of paper that says I’m president of the United States,” Simon retorted. “That doesn’t make it true.”

“She
did
find Becca Tennison’s retainer,” Marsh pointed out.

“Sherlock Holmes is shaking in his shoes,” Simon said.

“Everybody has to start somewhere.” Leila stood up and stretched. “Do you remember how everyone scoffed when
you
decided to become an art and antiques dealer?”

“Yes. And I also remember that Francine Paresky scoffed particularly loudly. It’s payback time.”

“Speaking of payback time,” Leila said, “you guys owe me an apology for eavesdropping on my conversation with Elliot.”

“I
am
sorry,” Marsh murmured.

“I’m not.” Simon leaned back in his chair. “And I still think the guy’s a jerk for standing you up this weekend. He said he was coming down here with you. He shouldn’t have let business get in his way.”