The Baron (6 page)

“Nonsense.”

“Would you like another cocktail?”

“No thank you. I have to drive home.”

“I’d be happy to dr—”

“No!” Halley looked up, startled. It was the real world he was talking about now. It was intruding, and she felt suddenly sad. “I mean, I have my car here, you see. But thank you for offering.”

“You know we’ll be ending the masquerade shortly, Contessa. That bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Halley looked up into his eyes and smiled sadly.
“Honestly? Yes, I guess it does. It has been a lovely weekend. Reality will change that.”

“Why?”

“Well because it will that’s all.”

“I want to see you again, Contessa.”

“See me …?”

“Yes. You yourself admitted it was a wonderful weekend.”

“
Lovely
. I said it was a lovely weekend.”

Nick smiled and spread his fingers through the thick, lustrous hair at her neck. “All right.
Lovely
weekend.”

“But it was the Baron and the Contessa who were having a lovely weekend.”

“And you don’t think the real people behind the Baron and the Contessa would like each other?”

“Maybe,” Halley said with a soft smile. “But their worlds wouldn’t be a fantasyland like this. They might find that in the light of—”

“Good evening, lovely guests!” Herb’s melodious baritone hushed the crowd, and Halley’s words were left dangling. She felt relieved. What else was there to say?

“While we are enjoying our cocktails and hors d’oeuvres, our detective would like to have a word with us. Monsieur?” Herb stepped back and let the short, mustached actor take center stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come for us to weed out the chaff from the wheat.” He nodded to a large man playing his assistant. “Please collect the ballots, Charles.”

The crowd murmured in anticipation as pieces of paper were dropped into a silver bowl.

“We have amongst us a murderer,” the actor said in heavily accented English. His small, round eyes searched the group.

Nick’s fingers rubbed lightly along the side of Halley’s neck, and she sighed softly.

“I see some of you are not disturbed by this.” The detective raised his bushy eyebrows and looked at Halley and Nick in mock seriousness. “Perhaps that should make us suspicious.…”

A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd. “The Baron stood to inherit a bundle,” one guest said.

“But he doesn’t wear lipstick, and we found a tube of lipstick near the body,” another said.

“But what about the Contessa?” Joanna, the has-been actress, countered.

“But the
motive?
” Otto Bailey asked.

“Ah, I can see you have all put deep thought into this,” the detective said. “Marvelous! And we shall see shortly who is to win Mr. Harrington’s grand reward of a week aboard his incredible yacht,
Sea-breeze
, completely equipped with everything your heart—and that of a dozen of your closest friends—desires for pampered, sublime happiness: cook and crew, caviar, and hidden pleasures too incredible to mention!”

Again the night air filled with a rippling of pleased chatter.

“So now to business.” The detective’s brows drew together, and he lit a long-stemmed pipe dramatically, then continued. “We have here the deceased—Lucius A. March, wealthy entrepreneur, uncle of Janice and Melody March.” He nodded to the blonde in the black dress and her “sister,” a nervous woman who was trying to give up smoking and spent every waking minute knitting a long, narrow band, “And on his wife’s side, uncle to the Baron von Bluster.” He stretched out the last name dramatically, until all the guests were laughing. Then, one by one, the actor-detective went through the list of characters, giving each one a motive of some sort.

Halley tried hard to concentrate, but Nick’s warm fingers, now gripping her waist, were building a
whole other kind of anticipation within her. She felt as if fireflies danced beneath her breasts and tickling butterfly wings fluttered in her stomach. She bit down hard on her lower lip and shut her eyes tightly.

“Don’t worry, my Tessa. If you did it, I’ll bail you out.” Nick’s lips were so close to her ear, she could feel the movement of his words; it was a tantalizing sensation.

Her eyes shot open. “And you, what if
you
did it?”

“Then you bail me out. We can’t lose each other again, my love.” His deep, husky voice filled her fully with the fantasy. “Ah, Tessa—Monsieur Detective is about to point out the murderer.” Nick dropped a kiss on the top of her head and directed her attention back to the detective.

Halley clenched her fists and fought the rushing feelings of emotion. It’s not real, she shouted silently, and forced herself to concentrate on the small man entertaining the guests with a very good imitation of Hercule Poirot.

“Mr. March, our victim, had an extensive art collection, as we all know.” He nodded solemnly. “You knew that, did you not, Mr. Boyles?” His gaze settled on the butler with whom Halley had had lunch and who now was standing next to her.

‘Of course I did,” the man answered. “I worked for the old man. I would have had to be blind not to.”

The detective laughed merrily. “Blind. You weren’t blind. Not only that, but you recognized great art when you saw it.”

“Only because I always heard the Baron talking about how valuable it was! He coveted the collection!”

Nick’s brows lifted in surprise. Halley bit back a giggle and looked up at him solemnly. “Baron, you—”

“But
I
have an alibi!” Nick smiled smugly and looked around at the guests.

Halley frowned and wondered which lovely guest would step forward.

“Our lovely hostess Sylvia Harrington and I were having a chat in the library until nearly two A.M.”

The imitation Poirot nodded his head. “Absolutely true!”

Halley tilted her head to one side and looked into Nick’s laughing eyes. “You could have fooled me—”

“Ah, Contessa, you don’t think I’d cheat on you our first weekend together?” He kissed her soundly then, and the guests voiced delighted approval.

“The Baron was too enchanted with finding his beloved Contessa again even to have played with the idea of murder,” the detective announced decisively.

“But you, Ms. March—” He pointed to Janice, the blond-haired niece dressed in black. “Where were
you
at midnight last night?”

“Me? Don’t be ridiculous!” The woman’s brows lifted arrogantly. She spun around and stared at her sister. “What about her? Melody’s the one with the knitting needles!”

Melody dropped her band of yarn to the floor, her eyes wide. “Why, of all the—”

“Yes, and her knitting needles have been found all over the estate. Anyone could have picked them up. Anyone who wanted to murder someone.” The detective looked again at the butler. “Anyone who might have been stealing the artwork and replacing them with forgeries, until Mr. March began to suspect—”

“It was
Janice’s
idea!” the butler yelled, his arm flying out and pressing Halley back into Nick’s arms.

“Welcome,” Nick murmured seductively, and Halley responded with a dreamy smile.

“Of course it was,” the detective continued. “Her uncle suspected her part in the forgeries and was about to cut her out of his will. By murdering him
and
implicating Melody, she’d have twice as much fortune to share with her lover, the butler! And that,
my friends”—his round face broke into smiles—“is that!”

The guests’ loud and appreciative applause filled the night air, and Halley felt Nick’s arms encircle her, then continue to clap. She was cozily trapped, wonderfully enclosed. The smell of his after-shave blended with the night breeze, and Halley breathed it all in, savoring it, tucking it away.

Herb Harrington stepped back into the circle of guests and quieted them one final time. “And the winner of the cruise is none other than my close friend, Otto Bailey, known in real life, as most of you know, as Stan Melrose. A hand for our chief detective, please!”

Halley watched and smiled as the elderly man and his gray-haired wife walked up and hugged Herb.

“Well, good for Stan and Abbie,” Nick said, half to himself. “I’ll have to see that they make use of it.”

Halley looked up questioningly, but Nick just smiled down at her and rubbed his chin into her hair.

“And now, folks, a final feast awaits you. Please help yourselves to the buffet and spend the remainder of the evening peeling off your disguises and getting reacquainted, now that we’re back in the real world!”

Halley stiffened, and Nick pulled her away from the mingling, noisy crowd of people who were greeting each other by their familiar names.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Halley tried to smile brightly. At least nothing
should
be the matter. She was blowing this out of proportion.

“Well, then, it’s time to confess.”

Halley took a quick lungful of air. “All right. I am Halley Finnegan.”

Nick’s eyes smiled. “Halley—” He said her name slowly, letting the sounds slip off his tongue only when they were ready.

Halley laughed. “Halley. Plain, simple Halley Finnegan. And you are Nick. Nick Harrington?”

He nodded. “That’s right. Not the original, however. I’m the third.”

“Nick Harrington the third.” Halley’s heart thudded. She smiled into the space between them. “I’m impressed.”

“Well, I’m starved, Halley Finnegan. Shall we?” He ushered her to the enormous buffet table, which was filled with platters of smoked turkey, ham, rare roast beef, and croissants. Mustard sauces and vegetable salads wrapped in pockets of freshly baked dough rounded out the meal. The assortment was endless, and Halley filled her plate enthusiastically, finding food a much more manageable topic of concentration than Nick Harrington the third.

“Contessa—”

“Halley,” she said, correcting him, as they walked over to a circle of wrought-iron chairs.

“Halley, then.” Nick set his plate on the low, round table and rescued two glasses of wine from a passing waiter’s tray. “Halley, I want to see you again. Tomorrow if possible.”

She looked up, her forkful of turkey fluttering loosely in the air. She gulped. “Why?”

He drew his brows together dramatically. “Because, my Contessa, we have so many years to make up for—”

“Halley, remember? And, Nick, I don’t think—”

Before she could finish, they were joined by several other guests, who sat down and filled the charged air with lively conversation. Halley felt a wave of relief, as if she’d been rescued from some danger. She watched as they talked, half listening to them, but mostly thinking about the irony of it all. In their disguises they had been totally free to flirt and laugh and let emotions soar. Now, within the space of a few moments, it was all different. She looked at
Nick’s handsome face, then at the others in the group. Obviously they all knew each other, had grown up together, felt at ease with each other. Just as she and Rosie did, and Archie and Bridget and the people who made up
her
world.
That
was her life. This was Nick’s.

Only Nick noticed when she got up from her chair.

“Halley?”

She smiled down at him. “I want to see Sylvia.”

“But only for a minute,” he said. “Hurry back.” Then he was distracted by a question from one of the others, and Halley walked off quickly. The cooling night air was refreshing, and she felt the cobwebs in her mind gently blow away. Nick was still caught in the fantasy, but logical Halley wasn’t. Too bad. It was a lovely fantasy. The masquerade had been fun, but she was exhausted, and her feelings for this lovely fairy tale were growing too real to play with anymore.

No, she knew what she had to do. She’d take her money and run, as they say. Take her dreams and tuck them away, before the masquerade was dropped completely.

It would be lovely if fantasies came true, she thought as she searched for Sylvia and Herb Harrington, but they couldn’t. Halley Finnegan couldn’t be a contessa. No, even if fantasies could come true, she couldn’t be a contessa, not by the farthest stretch of the imagination. That was the clincher, because it didn’t take any imagination at all to turn Nick into a real-life baron. The thought made her strangely sad.

“It was wonderful!” she told Sylvia after Herb had sent a servant for her bags. The two stood alone on the wide fan of steps in front of the house.

“You’re sure you can’t stay a few more hours?” Sylvia looked genuinely disappointed.

“Yes, and I’m terribly sorry.” She watched Rosie’s
bags being loaded into the tiny Volkswagen that the servant had driven to the entrance. Had it been only yesterday when she’d arrived? It seemed a lifetime ago. Impulsively, she hugged Sylvia before starting down the steps.

Halfway down, she stopped and turned around.

“Yes, dear?” Sylvia said.

“I truly
did
have a wonderful time. I wonder if you’d mind telling the Baron how much I enjoyed his company, and that perhaps we’ll meet again … maybe in Antibes?” She smiled up at her hostess.

Sylvia nodded. “Or perhaps even in Philadelphia,” she said wisely.

As Halley watched, a hint of a smile lighted the older woman’s face, then she turned and walked slowly back into her lovely home.

Halley sat behind the desk in the tiny library office, her legs twisted around the straight wooden legs of the chair. A small smile played at the edges of her lips. She turned a page of the heavy book, and a fine puff of dust filled the air. “Ah-choo!”

“God bless you, Halley Finnegan! And where in heaven’s name have you been?”

“I’ve been to London to visit the queen.” Halley smiled up at her friend Rosie and slipped her glasses to the top of her head.

“You’re not very funny, Finnegan. At the very least I deserve a full report. Those were
my
clothes, you know.”

“Rosie, of that I was very, very aware. There was no way on earth they could have been mine!”

“You didn’t call last night.”

“I was bushed.”

“How bushed? And
why
were you bushed, living in the lap of luxury for two days?” Rosie leaned against the desk and sipped coffee from a Styrofoam cup.