Killjoy (Buchanan-Renard #3)

Killjoy (Buchanan-Renard #3) Page 9

“Was there a screwup?” Sara asked her.

“There certainly was,” Anne said. She turned in her seat so she could look at Sara while she explained. “No one from the spa was waiting for me at my gate to help me with my carry-on, and if I hadn’t seen Mr. Edwards holding up the sign at your gate as I was walking toward the baggage claim area, I would have been left to fend for myself. I was quite weary,” she added. “And the thought of carrying my luggage to a taxi stand was more than I could bear.”

“There were skycaps around who could have assisted you,” Carrie told her.

“That isn’t the point,” Anne snapped. “I shouldn’t have been inconvenienced.”

What a bitch, Carrie thought. The look on Anne’s face was almost comical. She was pouting like an eight-year-old.

“I assure you, Mrs. Trapp, your every need will be taken care of by an excellent staff, and I once again apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Will there be servants at the retreat?” she asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“How many?”

“Four,” he answered. “They’ll be arriving from the spa shortly.”

“I wish to have one of them assigned to me,” Anne demanded. “Will you see to it?”

“Yes, of course.”

Anne nodded. “Good,” she said, and she sounded mollified.

Sara and Carrie exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Then Anne said, “I’m pleased to know we won’t be alone tonight . . . in the event something should happen . . . or break. You just never know.”

“The house is getting a new alarm system. The wires haven’t been properly hidden yet, but it’s workable,” he promised. “Once it’s turned on, you won’t be able to open your windows or outside doors, of course, but it does get quite chilly up here at night, so I can’t imagine you would want to keep any windows open.”

Carrie studied her traveling companions. They both looked vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn’t pinpoint where they might have met.

She stared at the back of Anne’s head and then finally tapped her on her shoulder and asked. The blond woman with deep-set brown eyes half turned in her seat and smiled slightly.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever met,” she said. “Have you ever been to Cleveland?”

“No,” Carrie answered.

Up close, she noticed how sallow the woman’s complexion was. She didn’t think Anne was at all well. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, and her skin was almost waxy, but that could have been due to the heavy makeup she was wearing. Perhaps Anne had paid her fee for some kind of miracle cure for her waiflike, nearly anorexic body. Carrie judged her to be around her own age, give or take a few.

Judge Sara Collins had just the opposite problem. She could have stood to loose a good sixty or seventy pounds. Perhaps she was going to have liposuction or stomach staples. She looked old, around seventy or so, and her face definitely showed her age. Maybe she was there to have a face-lift. Carrie was dying to ask but didn’t dare.

Where could she have recognized her from? Maybe she’d seen her on television. Court shows were the rave now. Did Sara have her own program like Judge Judy?

She would have asked, but their chauffeur had turned into a tour guide and was keeping up a steady monologue about Colorado. One story led to another and another, but they were interesting tidbits, and Carrie thought it would be rude to interrupt. Still, he wasn’t giving them time to get to know each other. She decided she’d ask Sara if she was a celebrity when they were settled in the house.

Then she began to wonder what the other women thought about her. She knew she looked older than her actual age. An old hag, she thought. Yes, that’s what they probably thought.

They’d been on private roads now for quite awhile, and it was getting steeper. Winding around and around was making Carrie more carsick. Great, she thought. I’m going to throw up on our proper English butler. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful way to impress the other houseguests?

“Does the company own all this land?” Sara asked Monk.

“Yes, madam,” he answered.

“Is the house much farther?” Carrie asked.

“It’s just around the next bend.”

They were in the middle of nowhere. A wilderness, Carrie thought, and she began to feel uneasy . . . nervous. She suddenly realized she hadn’t seen a house or even a cabin in quite a long time. Then it occurred to her that an alarm system wouldn’t do any of them any good. If the alarm went off, who would hear it? Was it tied into the nearest police station, and if so, where in God’s name was that? An hour away? Two hours? Or would the alarm sound at the spa?

Yes, that was surely how it worked. And that meant that the spa was close by. Having figured it out, Carrie leaned back in the leather seat and tried to relax.

The house suddenly came into view. It was incredible. Massive gables of natural cedar rose into the sky, and two-story panes of glass reflected the mountain peaks behind them, as if the magnificent structure were placed there with no other purpose than to pay tribute to the grandeur that surrounded it. A circle drive curved toward the wide porch that stretched across the front of the house. Waist-high stone walls were built as protective barriers from the sheer drop at the back.

Sara gasped. “Look at that wonderful porch and those lovely rocking chairs. I simply must try one of them out.”

Monk parked the Land Rover in the center of the stone circle drive and rushed to open the doors for his passengers.

“If you stand on the porch and look in the window, you can see through the house to the vista beyond,” he pointed out.

“Oh, it is lovely,” Anne said. “It looks brand-new,” she added as she walked to the wall on the side of the drive and looked down at the trees below.

“It was built four years ago.”

“How in heaven’s name did they get all the glass up these mountains?” Sara asked.

“Very carefully, I would imagine,” Carrie replied.

“I believe you ladies will be very comfortable here,” Monk said.

“Oh, yes, we will be.” Sara was so enthusiastic that Carrie wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d started clapping her hands.

Wasn’t Sara used to such ambience? She was a judge, for heaven’s sake. Surely she had money. And obviously so did Anne. Neither one of them would have been able to afford the spa if they weren’t well-off.

“If you ladies would like to go inside, there’s champagne chilling for you. I’ll bring the luggage in.”

Carrie opened the door and led the way inside. She noticed the thin wires up against the house and assumed they were part of the alarm system.

“Watch your step,” she said. “Don’t trip over the wires.”

The floor plan was open, very spacious. To the left of the huge marble entry was a magnificent spiral staircase that reached up three stories. Light flooded the room, and when they raised their eyes higher, they could see the golden clouds through a long rectangular skylight.

“Isn’t the staircase beautiful?” Sara said. “The wood . . . the steps, they’re twice the length and depth of any I’ve ever seen. It must have cost a fortune to build it,” she added. “Look at the railing. The craftsmanship is exceptional.”

Carrie agreed. Then Anne called to them. “The mountains look like they’re on fire with the sunset. Come see.” Even Anne, a difficult woman to please, couldn’t contain her enthusiasm.

Carrie stood in the foyer taking in the view. Colorful oriental rugs—high-quality rugs—were scattered across the living room’s pale brown, marble floor. In harmony with the mountains, the furnishings were done in soft browns and beiges. The stone fireplace was at least sixteen feet high and similar, she thought, to the fireplace in the villain’s house she’d admired when she’d watched one of her favorite movies, North by Northwest. The room was square like the living room in the movie too. No, this one was much better, the furniture updated and more exquisite.

Directly ahead, the sun was setting, and the burst from the fiery ball filled the room with a soft orange hue.

“I feel like I’m in heaven,” Sara said.

“If you go to the top of that spiral staircase, you will be in heaven,” Carrie joked.

Anne spotted the silver bucket with a bottle of champagne on the sideboard. There was a beautiful crystal vase with three long-stemmed, bloodred roses next to it. The petals were just beginning to open. “Shall we have a glass of champagne?”

“But of course,” Sara answered.

The three women stood in front of the window overlooking the panorama as Anne struggled to get the bottle uncorked. She laughed nervously when the cork popped and the liquid bubbled over, then carefully filled each Waterford crystal flute.

“We should have a toast,” Carrie said.

“Good idea,” Sara agreed.

She and Anne lifted their glasses and waited for Carrie to do the honors.

“To us,” she said. “May all our dreams come true.”

“That’s lovely,” Anne said.

They sank down onto the plush, down-filled sofas and sipped their champagne, making idle chitchat, carefully avoiding any personal topics, while Monk carried their luggage upstairs to their suites. Carrie was still feeling a little nauseous, so she didn’t drink more than one tiny sip.

Monk joined them ten minutes later with a tray of canapés. As he was placing the linen napkins next to the tray on the coffee table, Carrie heard a door close. She looked toward the hallway leading from the dining room and saw a woman wearing a black dress walk into the kitchen.

“Maids have arrived,” she remarked to Sara.

“Do have one of these cucumber canapés,” Anne suggested. She’d just finished eating the bite-size treat. “They’re quite tasty.”

Carrie didn’t want to tell either woman she wasn’t feeling well, and she certainly wasn’t going to admit she’d gotten carsick.

“Yes, I will,” she said. She popped the little sandwich into her mouth, barely chewing it before swallowing it down. “It is good,” she said.

She couldn’t make herself eat another and became even more queasy watching Anne eat two salmon puffs as well as the cucumber sandwiches, and Sara devour twice as many.

Within minutes they were all yawning. Monk noticed. “If you ladies will follow me, I’ll show you to your rooms,” he said as he leaned down to turn on one of the table lamps. Now that the sun was going down, the room was filled with shadows.

“I am so sleepy,” Anne said.

“It must be the mountain air,” Sara suggested. “I’m feeling lethargic myself.”

They followed Monk to the spiral staircase. Carrie looked up and remarked, “Who would have thought stairs could be a work of art.”

“I hate stairs,” Anne said. “The next house I build will be a sprawling ranch.”

Sara and Carrie ignored her comment. Monk drew their attention when he said, “I’ve unpacked your overnight bags. Mrs. Trapp, you and Judge Collins will be in suites on the second level on opposite ends of the floor. Mrs. Salvetti, you’re one floor up. I hope you’ll all find the accommodations satisfactory.”

Anne followed Monk, then came Carrie, and Sara, gripping the banister for support, was the last in line.

“I feel like I’ve been in this house before,” Sara said. “Yet I’ve never seen a spiral staircase like this, so I don’t know why I feel that way.”

“I think it’s the fireplace,” Carrie said. She paused on a step to look down into the living room once again. “Did you ever see the movie North by Northwest? It starred Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint, and in the cl**ax, they had to climb out on the presidents’ faces?”

“I do remember. The stone fireplace is very like the one in the movie. That must be why it seems so familiar to me.”

“I never saw the movie,” Anne said.

Carrie was floored. “You’ve got to be kidding. It was one of Hitchcock’s best.”

Anne shrugged. “I was busy running my business,” she said. “I didn’t have time to go to movies.”

“But it’s a classic. It’s been on television at least a hundred times,” Sara said.

“Oh, I never watch television.”

Carrie didn’t know how to relate to the woman. Anne sounded as though she were boasting about the fact that she didn’t watch television. Carrie’s life revolved around networks and sponsors. She looked up at Anne now as if she were an alien. Not watch television or go to the movies? Amazing. No wonder the woman was so dull.

She didn’t feel at all guilty about her snap judgment. Anne, unknowingly, had just insulted everything that Carrie worked for or believed in.

Monk showed Sara into her suite first.

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” Sara said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night,” Carrie called as she followed Monk down the long hallway.

He opened Anne’s door for her, and then turned to Carrie. “Your suite is directly above Judge Collins’s,” he said. He led her up the staircase to the next level.

“So there are four full suites?” Carrie asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

They reached her door, and Monk stepped back to let her go inside. The large bedroom with an adjoining sitting room was a soothing amber color. Two overstuffed chairs flanked a fireplace, and the four-poster bed made of light, burled pine was covered with a thick down comforter.

She yawned loudly. Monk or one of the maids had laid out her robe and gown on the bed. She spotted her carry-on on the luggage rack. It was open and empty, and she was going to ask where her laptop was, but then a wave of nausea and dizziness struck, and she had to sit down. She took several deep breaths as she held on to the bedpost.

“Is everything all right, Mrs. Salvetti?”

She didn’t want to be difficult or complain the way Anne did, and so she simply said that she was weary from the long day. “I’m usually a night owl, and I don’t go to bed until two or three in the morning, but tonight I can barely keep my eyes open.”

Monk’s expression was sympathetic. “It takes awhile to get used to the mountain air, and the staff from the spa did suggest that all of you have an early night. Tomorrow promises to be quite busy.”

“Yes, I’m sure it will be.”