Low Country Liar (5 page)

"I'd like to take you to lunch tomorrow. I'd make it for today, but have this—" he touched the folder under his arm, "—to work on. Which means I'll have to settle for Ellen bringing me back a sandwich." He noticed her hesitation and teased, "Come on, Ann. I'm harmless. Just look at me—I wear glasses, I'm short, or at least shorter than Slade. But I have a great personality. Perfectly harmless, I promise."

"I'll bet you are," she laughed with mocking skepticism.

"What do you say? Is it a date?"
Drew wasn't put off.

"Ask me tomorrow." If I'm here, Lisa added to herself.

"I'll do that." He started to straighten from the desk, glancing at the watch on his wrist. "Talking about lunch, if you want yours today, you'd better be leaving. Things get pretty hectic around here in the afternoons."

Lisa looked at her own watch, realizing how swiftly the time had fled since Slade Blackwell had left. It was nearly noon and her stomach was beginning to protest its hunger after skipping breakfast that morning. Mentally she thumbed her nose at the unfinished letter in the typewriter carriage and opened the lower desk drawer where she had put her purse.

"That's a good idea," she told Drew. "I think I will leave now."

Later, sitting alone in a booth at a nearby small restaurant crowded with lunch-hour patrons, Lisa stared at the few crumbs left that had been her lunch. She had had time to think while she was eating and she was just beginning to recognize what a very complicated and potentially embarrassing situation she had got into with her lies.

Drew Rutledge had the folder Lisa wanted to read and he wouldn't return it before tomorrow. Which was too late. That left her with two choices. The first was to go back to the office and tell Slade Blackwell who she really was before he discovered it for himself.

But how could she possibly explain why she hadn't done it before? Lisa didn't think he had all that great a sense of humor to laugh off her masquerade.

The second alternative was to continue the deception until she could get her hands on the records concerning her aunt and take the risk of being unmasked before she could succeed. The only way she could do that was by avoiding meeting Slade Blackwell as herself, Lisa Talmadge.

Considering her aunt had invited him to dinner this evening, that was already impossible. He would recognize her instantly. Then she would have to be the one who did all the explaining instead of the other way around.

Sighing, Lisa glanced out the restaurant window. The sunlight hit the glass at just the right angle to reflect her own image. Her green eyes focused on the blurred reflection of the green turban on her head. Slade had made a reference to the hat earlier. The idea that had germinated at his mention of it now began to grow.

In flashback, she remembered the mailman who stopped at the television studio practically every day for the past year. Yet when she had seen him off work in a store without his uniform, she hadn't recognized him.

The wheels began to turn inside her head. A disguise was the answer, a very subtle disguise. Lisa Talmadge had shoulder-length silver blond hair. Mrs. Ann Eldridge, whose hair had not been seen, thanks to the turban, would have—Lisa thought for an instant—red hair.

It would be a perfect foil for her fair complexion and green eyes and such a startling contrast to the true color of her pale hair. With luck, Slade Blackwell would never compare the two women.

Within seconds, Lisa was at the cash register, paying for her meal and inquiring where the closest wig shop was located. She was told a boutique three blocks away carried a small selection. In all it turned out that the shop had no more than a dozen wigs in their inventory. One was red, a shade of flaming orange, cut short, styled in a pixieish bob. Lisa hardly recognized herself when the saleswoman helped her put it on.

"That's it," she declared, and walked out of the store moments later wearing it, carrying the green turban in her hand. A brighter shade of lipstick glistened on her lips.

On the way back to the office, Lisa passed a jewelry store and remembered the "Mrs." part of her disguise. She hurried inside and bought the first inexpensive plain gold wedding band she saw. Outside the shop, she slipped off her birthstone and slipped on the wedding band.

At ten minutes past one she was rushing toward the Blackwell office. Aware that she had taken longer than she should, she crossed her fingers and hoped that she could make it back before Slade Blackwell did.

After going through all of this, she didn't want to give him cause to dismiss her and have the agency send him someone else. Not when she hadn't accomplished her objective.

Unfortunately her wish wasn't to be. Approaching the office entrance from the opposite direction was Slade Blackwell. His long strides brought him to the door three steps before Lisa reached it. He waited for her, his dark eyes making a sweeping appraisal of her.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Lisa murmured hastily. Self-consciously she raised a hand to the red wig. She wondered if he was astute enough to recognize it as a wig. "I stopped at a salon during my lunch hour and had my hair washed and blown dry."

His gaze flicked to the green turban in her hand. There was nothing in his carved features to indicate he didn't believe her story. "Because of my comment about your hat?" he questioned, opening the door and holding it for Lisa.

"Well, yes," she admitted, glad she wasn't Pinocchio or her nose would have been six feet long by now.

The hard line of his mouth curved faintly. Lisa saw the suggestion of a smile an instant before she walked ahead of him into the office.

"I didn't intend to sound critical, Mrs. Eldridge. I was merely curious. Women so seldom wear hats nowadays," he remarked.

"I don't generally, either." Lisa Talmadge wore hats, not Ann Eldridge. She would have to remember that.

"Tell me, do you have a temper to match it?" The amusement in his low voice was unmistakable.

"Everyone has a temper, Mr. Blackwell. Some people have a lower boiling point than others," she replied. "That's the only difference."

"Is your boiling point low?" he mocked.

"Well, well, well!" The exclamation from Drew Rutledge allowed Lisa to ignore Slade Blackwell's taunting question. "If I'd had any idea your hat was hiding that hair, I would never have let you lunch alone!"

"She's married, Drew," Slade pointed out dryly, not pausing in his walk toward his own office.

"I know." Drew winked at Lisa as if there was a secret between them. "But just because she's married doesn't mean she has to eat alone or that I must deprive myself of an innocent hour of her beautiful company."

"You'll have to forgive him, Mrs. Eldridge." There was friendly indulgence in the look Slade Blackwell gave his assistant. "Drew has a weakness for redheads."

"That's right," Drew agreed as Lisa's shorter steps carried her toward the double doors Slade was holding open for her. "Slade gets the blondes and I get the redheads."

What happens when you have both in one? Lisa thought, her cheeks dimpling faintly at the unspoken question. But that was her secret and she hoped it would stay that way. She had barely walked around the desk to sit in her chair when Slade Blackwell's curt voice wiped the trace of a smile from her face.

"Haven't you finished those letters yet, Mrs. Eldridge?" His dark gaze dwelt pointedly on the partially complete letter in the typewriter.

"Not yet," Lisa defended herself instinctively. "Shortly after you left the office, Dr—Mr. Rutledge came in to ask me for the Talmadge file. I'm not familiar with your filing system and it took me some time to find it." Another lie, since Drew had been the one to locate it, but she doubted that Slade Blackwell would ever question him about it.

"It's a standard system," he replied automatically. The hint of asperity in his tone indicated that he found her excuse inadequate. Almost instantly a preoccupied light entered his eyes. "The Talmadge file," he repeated in a thoughtful murmur.

"Yes, the Talmadge file," Lisa affirmed. "He assured me that he had your permission to take it from the files. If you want me to, I'll go and get it and bring it back." Gladly, on winged feet, she would go after it.

"That's not necessary." Slade Blackwell dismissed the suggestion without hesitation. "Get Mrs. Talmadge on the phone for me. Her number is in the directory on your desk."

"Yes, sir." Lisa hid her dismay and quickly flipped through the telephone listings until she found her aunt's number. Her pulse was hammering in her throat as she dialed it and listened to the ring.

 
"Talmadge residence," Mildred answered on the fourth ring.

"One moment." She couldn't disguise the pitch of her
voice, not with Slade Blackwell standing beside her desk. "Did you want to take the call here or in your office? "

"In my office." He started to turn, then stopped, his gaze narrowing on her. "A piece of advice, Mrs. Eldridge. If encouraged, Drew will find many excuses to distract you from your work."

Lisa stiffened. "I'll remember that, Mr. Blackwell. But, as you also pointed out to Mr. Rutledge, I am married so he's unlikely to receive any encouragement from me."

"I hope not."

Fuming silently at his cynically skeptical reply, Lisa glared at the retreating set of broad shoulders as he walked to the connecting door to his inner office.

"He is insufferable!"
she murmured aloud before hearing Mildred's impatient voice in the receiver. Lisa removed her hand from the mouthpiece and said huskily, "Please hold the line for a call from Mr. Blackwell."

"Slade? Well, tell him to hurry. I can't stand here all day," the housekeeper grumbled.

There was the telltale click of another phone being picked up. As Lisa replaced the receiver, she heard the echo of Slade Blackwell's voice on the line.

What did he want to talk to Mitzi about? The impulse was strong to listen in, but Lisa knew she didn't dare. She turned her swivel chair to the typewriter and picked up the earpiece for the dictaphone.

She tried desperately to concentrate on the letter she had to finish, but she kept watching the small telephone light out of the corner of her eye. Her typing was not the fastest to begin with. The distraction of watching the telephone made it even slower. It didn't improve until the light went out.

That letter was finished and another begun when the telephone rang again; a business call for Slade. She transferred it to him and went back to the letter. She wanted them all done and ready for his signature when he asked for them, which she guessed would be soon.

Despite numerous interruptions—phone calls, clients, and instructions from Slade to make notations of appointments with various people—Lisa completed the last of the dictation an hour and a half later. She had it all stacked neatly on her desk and was looking apprehensively through the papers in the tray that needed to be filed. Any filing system was a mystery to her, whether it was a standard system as Slade had informed her, or not.

The door to his private office opened and Slade walked out. "Have you finished those letters yet, Mrs. Eldridge?" His attitude indicated that he expected a negative answer.

"They are right here, sir." Lisa wasn't able to keep the ring of triumphant satisfaction out of her voice as she gathered the papers together.

He took them from her without making a complimentary remark. As before, he skimmed through the contents as if expecting to find something to criticize. It irritated Lisa, mostly because she was afraid he would find something. Apparently satisfied with what he found, he turned and started toward his office. Pausing, his dark, impersonal gaze swung to her.

"I have dictated some legal briefs I would like typed. They are filled with 'to wits' and 'whereas' and 'parties of the first part.'" His mouth quirked, a dry humor surfacing to her surprise. "Do you think you can do them?"

The prospect of spending the rest of the afternoon pounding at the typewriter was depressing. It brought her no closer to the purpose of her masquerade. But she really had very little choice.

"I…can try." She smiled in an attempt to hide her lack of enthusiasm.

"Very well. I'll bring them in to you." The instant he disappeared inside his office, Lisa took a deep breath and exhaled it angrily in a sigh.

Almost as quickly, Slade was back and Lisa had to fix an interested and studious look on her face. He briefly went over the contents with her and explained the form he wanted the material to take. He was all business, very professional, yet patient with her ignorance. Grudgingly Lisa gave him credit for that. She couldn't accuse him of being a tyrannical employer.

After he'd left so she could begin typing, Lisa wished she had not taken advantage of his mistaken identity of her. It was proving to be a lot of work. Surely there must have been an easier way to get the information she was seeking. But she couldn't think of a single one as she put the paper and carbons in the typewriter.

Chapter Three

A BLOCK FROM HER AUNT'S HOUSE the street was empty of cars and pedestrians. Lisa paused to pull the red wig from her head and free her blond hair from its confining pins. Stuffing the wig in her handbag, she briskly ruffled her hair to rid it of that matted look.