Low Country Liar (6 page)

Some vacation, she thought wearily. Her arms, neck and shoulders ached from the unaccustomed time she had spent at the typewriter. If this was what it was like to be a secretary, she decided that she was going to recommend Donna, her production staff secretary, for a raise when she got back to the Baltimore television station.

A car turned onto the street behind her, and Lisa cast a frightened look over her shoulder. Before leaving the office, she had heard Slade Blackwell mention to Drew that he was going straight from the office to Mitzi's house. She expected him to overtake her any minute. Not this time, though, as the car drew level with her and Lisa saw the driver was a balding, middle-aged man.

But the scare prodded her into walking faster. She had to reach the house before Slade Blackwell or all her plans were for naught. The wrought-iron gates blocking the driveway entrance at the sidewalk were closed when Lisa reached the house. She didn't breathe easy until she was inside. Her plan to rush immediately to her room and change clothes was thwarted by her aunt, who appeared almost the second Lisa closed the entrance door behind her.

"You made it back without getting lost, didn't you?" Mitzi's wide smile of greeting was swiftly replaced by a look of concern. "You look exhausted, Lisa."

"It's been a long day." The muscles in her arm protested achingly as she tried to brush the hair away from her face.

"If I'd known you were going to overdo it your first day here, I would have waited till tomorrow to invite Slade for dinner. As it is, it's too late. He'll be here any minute," her aunt apologized.

"I'd better run upstairs and change, then."

"There's no need to," Mitzi insisted. "From the looks of you, you'd do better to sit down and put your feet up and maybe have a relaxing drink." It sounded like a heavenly suggestion to Lisa, even though she knew she couldn't accept it. "Besides," Mitzi continued, "the outfit you're wearing is very attractive. You don't have to change it."

But that was precisely the point. She did have to change it. Slade Blackwell had seen her in it practically all day, but Lisa couldn't very well tell her aunt that.

"I think I would rather, Mitzi. A wash and a change of clothes will make me seem like a new person." I hope, Lisa thought.

"You do what you think is best," her aunt conceded. Lisa started to hurry towards the stairs. "If your Mr. Blackwell arrives before I'm down, make my apologies, will you?" she tossed over her shoulder. Pausing at the stairs, she added, "I noticed the driveway gates are closed."

"That's all right," Mitzi waved aside the comment. "Slade will probably walk, he usually does."

Suppressing a shudder that he might have been only a block or two behind her all the way from the office, Lisa darted up the stairs. As she reached her room, she heard the opening of the entrance door downstairs. Another minute and her deception would have been uncovered before she had had a chance to make it work:

Her bedroom was spacious, decorated in vivid greens and golds. An alcove of the room was designed as a mock sitting room, complete with sofa, chair and an antique secretary desk. What had once been a dressing room off the bedroom had been remodeled into a bathroom. It was to the latter that Lisa hurried.

She would have loved to take a quick shower, but there wasn't time. So she settled for washing and splashing lots of cold water on her face to rinse away the weariness. From the closet, she chose a creamy blue dress. Its simple lines flowed smoothly over the bodice to her waist before flaring into a full skirt. Its style and color made her look petite and dainty, an appearance of fragility that was deceiving and a definite contrast to the bold outfit she had worn earlier.

Reapplying her makeup, Lisa was adding the finishing touches of mascara to her lashes when she noticed the way the blue color of her dress accented the green of her eyes. Only last night Mitzi had made the comment that her eyes were Lisa's most striking feature.

Two women with the same unusual shade of green eyes would definitely be noticed by Slade Blackwell.

But how on earth could she change the color of her eyes, Lisa wondered frantically.

Breathing in sharply, she dropped the mascara wand on the dressing table and raced into the bedroom proper. Her bag was on the bed where she had left it. Lisa opened it and dumped the contents, wig and all, onto the bedspread, scattering them around until she found her sunglasses.

Quickly she slipped on the large, wrap-around glasses and dashed back to the mirror. The lenses didn't conceal her eyes with the reflecting ability of some mirrorlike sunglasses, but the smoky-blue tint did mask the color of her eyes.

"Praise be," Lisa murmured in satisfaction.

Dressed and with every potential problem countered, she had no more reason to linger in her room. At the top of the stairs she hesitated, hearing the low voices coming from-the living room. She pressed a hand against her jittery stomach, trying to quiet the butterfly sensation.

Her palms were clammy with nervousness. She couldn't put off the moment of truth. Fighting the traitorous weakness in her knees, she descended the stairs and entered the living room.

"There you are, Lisa. I—" Mitzi's bright exclamation ended abruptly as a frown dressed her forehead. Lisa was conscious of Slade Blackwell courteously rising to meet her, but she kept her attention on her aunt. "Why are you wearing sunglasses at this hour? Mitzi queried with astonishment.

"Working so much of the time in the television studio around all those bright lights, my eyes have become sensitive to too much light. After being in the sun all day, my eyes started to bother me." Lisa was becoming certain she was a natural-born liar. "A specialist recommended that I wear sunglasses whenever that happened."

"You never mentioned it," her aunt queried.

"It isn't a serious problem. More of an inconvenience than anything," Lisa assured her, and turned to meet Slade Blackwell. She had been covertly watching him ever since she entered the room, but she had not detected any glimmer of recognition of her as Ann Eldridge in his dark gaze. "You must be Slade Blackwell." A full smile parted her lips as she walked toward him, extending a hand in greeting. "I'm Lisa Talmadge, Mitzi's niece."

"So I guessed." He returned her smile with one of his own.

The warmth it gave to his hard features was astounding. It seemed to slowly draw her breath away. Lisa realized how very potent his charm could be when he turned it on, as he was doing now. Her hand was lost in the firm grip of his, being held longer than was necessary. It created a disturbing sensation in the pit of her stomach.

"Mitzi described you perfectly as a beautiful, intelligent blonde, but she didn't mention that you had cold hands," he mocked, the velvet quality of his voice taking any sting from his comment.

"Cold hands, warm heart," her aunt quipped from the side.

"I think it's a sign of poor circulation," Lisa denied her aunt's allegation, and determinedly withdrew her hand from his warm grasp.

She had felt herself beginning to warm to him. Seeing this side of him, she could well understand how her aunt, who was so sentimental and romantic, had been taken in by Slade Blackwell's charm. The secret, Lisa believed, was to stay out of range of that magnetic forcefield radiating around him. His physical attraction was a bit overwhelming at close quarters.

That was something she hadn't noticed about him at the office where Slade Blackwell had kept himself aloof and impersonal, crisply professional except for that one taunting remark about her red hair. Correction—Ann Eldridge's red hair.

"May I fix you a drink, Lisa?" Slade Blackwell asked smoothly, not faltering even slightly over the use of her given name.
 

"Lisa drinks gin," Mitzi Talmadge inserted, turning to Lisa to add, "Slade has a bartender's touch with mixed drinks."

"Gin?" Slade looked at her, waiting for a confirmation of her choice.

"No, I think I'll just have some juice." As tired as she was, Lisa knew the last thing she needed was an alcoholic beverage to muddle her thinking.

"Are you sure?" He gave her a chance to change her mind.

"Quite sure," Lisa nodded positively.

He walked to an ornate wooden trolley cart that was used as a serving bar. "There's tomato and orange juice in the icebox," he said without looking. "Which would you prefer?"

"Tomato." Lisa watched him pour the tomato juice over the ice cubes in a glass, add a dash of tabasco sauce and a wedge of lemon. Never once did he falter over the location of an item. "You know where everything is, don't you?" she commented, letting an inflection of sarcasm creep into her voice.

"I drop in quite often." He shrugged offhandedly, carrying her drink to her, but his dark gaze was probing her expression for the reasons he had used that tone.

"But not often enough to wear out your welcome." Her tongue seemed to be running away with her, maybe because she had held it in all day.

"I hope not." But this time his smile didn't reach his eyes, eyes that had gone blank and shuttered.

"You couldn't possibly do that, Slade," Mitzi laughed, missing or overlooking the tiny barbs in Lisa's remarks. "Mildred and I love having you here. You couldn't come often enough. I would be delighted if you looked on this as your second home. You should. After all, you're responsible—directly and indirectly—for all that's been done here."

"Of course, how could I have forgotten?" The words were out before Lisa could check them.

 
She seemed bent on a course of self-destruction, making Slade an enemy and arousing his suspicions. Maybe it was true that those who do wrong really want to be caught.

 
Lisa only knew she had gone too far to reverse direction now. "Mitzi told me that you persuaded her to reopen the house and supervised the remodeling and redecorating. Naturally you would be familiar with everything, wouldn't you?

"A house in this neighborhood of Old Charleston is an investment. Besides, it would have been a shame to let this beautiful home become a derelict of the past," Slade replied.

"I agree with you completely," said Mitzi. "In fact I did the first time you suggested it, Slade, but I would never have attempted it on my own. Not that I couldn't have done it, but it's so time-consuming. You know how I dislike details, Lisa," she laughed at herself. "If Slade hadn't intervened to take charge of the workmen and various trades, I doubt if I would have fixed the old place up simply because I don't like the hassle that's inevitable."

"Yes," Lisa agreed. "You were lucky to have Slade take care of all that." She turned to him, a saccharine smile curving her mouth. "Ever since Mitzi has moved back to Charleston, all her letters have been singing your praises. You've become quite indispensable to her."

"I think Mitzi and I have become good friends. The purpose of friendship is to help each other when help is needed." There was a challenging set to his jaw although his voice remained quite calm and steady. "Now that Mitzi's on her own, without a man to look after her, I try to do what I can to help."

"I'm sure you do," Lisa taunted softly, and his gaze narrowed with piercing thoughtfulness.

"Believe me, I appreciate it," Mitzi stated. "I'm not interested in business and finances. I don't want to be bothered with investment credits and capital gains and stock dividends. It's a relief to turn it all over to Slade, I'm afraid I've rather taken advantage of his good nature, though."

"It must be wonderful to have someone you can trust so implicitly." Lisa thought the real point was who was taking advantage of whom? "It must be an awesome responsibility for you…Slade—" she hesitated a bare second over his Christian name "—to have virtually sole control of someone else's money."

"Yes, it is," he agreed.

Lisa saw his mouth tighten and knew her gibes had to be getting close to their mark. She really should keep quiet, but she was deriving such fiendish delight out of antagonizing him.

Her subconscious seemed to have come up with a daring battle plan. While Lisa Talmadge attacked him boldly head on, Ann Eldridge could sneak up on him from behind.

"Lisa thinks I'm too trusting," Mitzi sighed in amusement. "But I'd rather be that way than the reverse. And of course, she doesn't know you as I do."

The invisible darts Lisa had been tossing hadn't escaped her aunt's attention. Neither did she seem upset by them. Yet, in the acknowledgment, there was a hint for a truce, however temporary.

"You're too trusting," Lisa reaffirmed, but gently and with affection. "It would be too easy for someone you like to take advantage of you."

Her subtle accusation against Slade Blackwell had been made, but not in a way that he could take open offense. He didn't like it—Lisa could tell by the hardening of his dark features.

"May I fix you another drink, Mitzi?" Slade rose from his chair, carrying his emptied glass.

"I don't believe so." Mitzi swirled her drink, ice cubes clinking against the side with the agitation of the liquid. "I still have some left, but help yourself by all means."

"I think I will," he said grimly, walking to the trolley cart. "In one way or another, it's been a long, tiring day."

You can say that again, Lisa thought, remembering the chaos in the office that afternoon.