Envy(113)

Without disengaging her eyes from Parker’s, she asked, “Need any help?”

“No, thank you.” Mike went into the kitchen through the connecting door and it swung closed behind him.

Maris was slightly short of breath. Her tummy felt weightless despite the meal she’d just eaten. Two glasses of wine were hardly enough to make her feel this light-headed. So she attributed her sudden case of the flutters to the way Parker was looking at her—like she was the tastiest item at the table that evening.

“Well? What’s it to be, Mr. Parker?”

“Tell you what.” His eyes, which had strayed to the vicinity of her breasts, moved slowly up to her face. “We’ll play a game of high-card draw.”

She arched her brow inquisitively.

“Remember the scene in Grass Widow,” he continued, “where Cayton and the reluctant witness to the murder played that game?”

“Vaguely,” she lied. Actually she remembered it vividly. When the book was published, that scene had created a buzz. “Erotically charged,” was how Publishers Weekly had described it. “The reluctant witness was a woman, right?”

“Frenchy. Fragile, fair, and flighty. So nicknamed because—”

“That part I remember.”

He grinned a fox’s grin. The one he grinned right after isolating the plumpest hen in the flock. Maris knew she’d been had, but she didn’t care. In fact, she was struggling to contain the idiotic smile her lips were aching to smile.

Pulling a serious face, she said, “My memory is a little dim on the rules of this game.”

“Easy. They used a standard deck of cards. They each draw a card. High card wins.”

“Wins what?”

“If Cayton won, Frenchy had to give him a clue to the murderer’s identity.”

“What if she drew the high card?”

“Cayton granted her a sexual favor.”

“He granted her a sexual favor.”

“Right.”

She tapped her pursed lips with her fingertip as though stymied by the illogic. “It seems to me that—and correct me if I’m wrong—that Cayton would win either way.”

“Well, see, he made up the rules, and he’s no dummy.”

“But Frenchy—”

“A crotch-throb by any standards. Long red hair. Legs that go on forever. Pale freckles on her tits. An ass that… Well, you know the type. But, unfortunately, she’s not the brightest bulb in the chandelier.”

Maris gave the swaying chandelier overhead a glance before continuing. “So the outcome of this game was that Cayton got the information and the crotch-throb.”

“Was that a brilliant idea or what?”

“And you expect me to be no brighter than Frenchy? You expect me to play by these rules?”

“I guess that depends.”

“On how badly I want to hear those plot twists?”

“Or on how badly you want those sexual favors.”





Chapter 26


Daniel was holding in his hand the final handiwork of Howard Bancroft’s legal career. Noah had waited until after dinner to produce it. They were relaxing in the cozy living room, now lighted only by the soft glow of table lamps.

Daniel had just finished reading the power-of-attorney document. He peered at Noah over his reading glasses. “So, there was an ulterior motive behind this weekend of togetherness.”

Noah expelled a puff of cigar smoke. “Not at all, Daniel. I could have presented this to you in the city. At any time.”

“But you chose to give it to me here. Why?”

“Because here in the country your mind is uncluttered. We can talk uninterrupted, away from the distractions of the office, without Maxine fussing over you at home. We can speak frankly, one man to another, son-in-law to father-in-law.”

He could see that the old man was still dubious. He had expected him to be. In fact, he had expected a fiery outburst. Daniel’s reaction was much milder than Noah had been braced for.

But the old man was stubborn and unpredictable. His mood could fluctuate drastically within seconds. There might yet be an eruption of temper, and it might come at any moment. Noah watched warily as Daniel worked his way out of his easy chair and propped himself on his cane.

Noah leaned forward solicitously. “Do you need something, Daniel? More port? Let me get it for you.”

“I’ll get it myself, thank you,” Daniel said brusquely.

He did so, leaving Noah in a state of carefully concealed agitation. His feet were propped on the ottoman in front of his chair. His posture was a slouch. He appeared to have nothing weightier on his mind than the smoke rings he blew toward the ceiling.

Daniel returned to his chair and declined to speak until he had taken a few sips of his port. “If this is a family meeting, why have you chosen to conduct it when one family member is noticeably absent?”

Noah took his time answering. He studied the smoldering tip of his cigar as though carefully choosing, then analyzing, what he was about to say. “This is an extremely delicate matter, Daniel.”

“Which is my point.”

“Mine also. It’s not an issue to spring on Maris over the telephone.” He took a sip of his single-malt scotch. As he returned the tumbler to the end table, he noticed the wedding reception photograph of them. He touched the silver frame wistfully and smiled fondly. “Maris thinks first with her heart, then with her head.” His gaze moving back to Daniel, he added, “You know that. You’ve lived with her longer than I have.”