Crossing The Lion Part 14

"What's that?" he asked.

"The old Burby charm," I replied, grinning. "And that's the deadliest and most foolproof weapon of them all."

"You think I'm charming, huh?" Nick murmured, snuggling up closer.

I snuggled right back. "I'd say you fit into the charming category."

"I think you're pretty charming, too."

We forgot all about Linus and the rest of the Merrywood household as we got busy showing each other just how charming we could be.

Chapter 9.

"The whisper of a pretty girl can be heard further than the roar of a lion."

--Arabian Proverb The next morning, I woke up to find Nick curled around me like a giant bathrobe. Lou, meanwhile, was stretched out in front of me, while Max had somehow managed to find a comfortable spot between our feet.

I was amazed by how much less creepy the Merrywoods' mansion felt now that I had two dogs and--even better--a living, breathing teddy bear in my bed to cuddle with. In fact, the bedroom didn't feel the least bit haunted anymore, despite the wallpaper with eyes, the hidden staircase, and the quirky, if not actually scary, aunt living upstairs.

Yet once I fully reached consciousness, I realized that there was still a dark cloud hanging over the day. A few seconds later I remembered why: Today was Sat.u.r.day. Linus's memorial service was being held this morning, which meant it was going to be a difficult day for everyone.

I climbed out of bed in slow motion, taking care not to wake Nick. I managed to get dressed quietly enough that he was still asleep when I slipped out the door, with Max and Lou trotting beside me. The three of us headed downstairs, where I let them out for a quick pit stop. I stood in the front doorway, noting that there was still a nasty chill in the air and that a thick, smothering fog still hugged the entire island.

The dogs didn't want to stay out there any longer than they had to. As soon as they raced back inside, I led them to the kitchen to supply them with food and water.

They were still lapping away thirstily as I went into the dining room. The large room was set up the same way it had been yesterday, with an elaborate eggless breakfast buffet laid out on a side table.

Even though the ridiculously long dining-room table was set for the entire Roman army, only two people were seated. Townie was at one end of the table, with Missy sitting catty-corner to his right. At the moment, they were both sipping their coffee politely, with Missy somehow managing to keep her hands to herself.

"Good morning," I greeted them with a big smile. Meanwhile, I studied them, trying to pick up on any tensions or subtexts that might be lurking behind those coffee cups of theirs.

"Good morning, Jessie," Missy replied. "You're up nice and early."

Was I just imagining things, or was some of her usual chirpiness missing?

"How did you sleep?" she added, her cup clanging against the saucer as she put it down.

"Not that well, actually," I replied.

"That's too bad," she said. "What was the problem?"

How about things that go b.u.mp in the night? I thought wryly.

Aloud, I said, "I kept hearing strange noises." I watched her even more closely, searching for some indication of whether she'd spotted me last night--in other words, a sign that she knew that I knew.

But her expression remained blank as she nodded. "Whatever you heard was probably the result of this horrible storm," she commented. With a sigh, she added, "Goodness, I'm beginning to think it's never going to let up!"

Townie reached across the table and took his wife's hand. "You didn't sleep well last night, either, did you, honey?"

A startled look crossed Missy's face.

"I didn't, as a matter of fact. I even got up for a while." She gave his hand a squeeze. "I was tossing and turning so much I was afraid I was keeping you up, cupcake. So I went into one of the other rooms for a while and lay down."

Such a considerate wife, I thought dryly. She can't sleep, so rather than disturb her husband, she finds another bed. One that happens to have another man in it.

"You're so considerate, sweetums," Townie said.

I nearly gagged as I watched him lean over and plant a kiss on Missy's cheek. If only you knew what I knew, I thought.

But what mattered even more was the fact that Missy didn't seem to be aware that I'd spotted her sneaking off to Harry's room late last night. Which meant she'd have less reason to be guarded with me.

I decided to take advantage of her ignorance by finding out more about the allegedly happy couple.

"The two of you seem so happy," I said casually. "How long have you been married?" I bit into a blueberry m.u.f.fin. Not only was it still warm, it was moist and flavorful and just sweet enough. I instantly concluded that Cook was at least as good with baked goods as she was reputed to be with fudge.

"Gosh, it's been almost eight years," Missy replied. Giggling, she added, "But it feels as if we're still newlyweds." She suddenly grasped Townie's arm, not seeming to notice that it kept him from smearing onto his croissant the orange marmalade he'd scooped up.

"I'm a newlywed myself," I told them. "Nick and I got married in June."

Missy's eyes widened. "Gee, you two really are newlyweds!"

Yes, I thought, and our wedding vows are still fresh enough in my mind that I remember them.

But enough about me. "How did you two meet?" I asked.

"Believe it or not, it was at a wedding, of all places." For some reason, Missy seemed to feel that statement warranted more giggling.

Townie jumped in, perhaps to give her a chance to catch her breath. "That's right," he drawled in his usual lockjaw style. "We were both in the wedding party. I was a friend of the groom, and Missy was a friend of the bride."

"Binky and I went to college together," she explained. "So of course I said yes when she asked if I wanted to be a bridesmaid. And the dresses were ever so pretty! Pale yellow, with full skirts and low necklines and ribbons and ruffles everywhere.... We even had big straw hats with long satin ribbons the exact same color!"

The image was chilling. As an antidote, I took another bite of Cook's blueberry m.u.f.fin.

"And I was the best man," Townie continued. "Gates and I worked together back in the day. Our first job, right out of Harvard."

Oh, yes, the Harvard thing again, I thought as I chewed. It's amazing how Harvard grads are so good at working the name of their alma mater into the conversation. Maybe the school offers a special seminar in how to do exactly that.

"That was at Waterston Peabody," Townie added.

I guess my expression reflected my cluelessness, because Missy quickly explained, "Waterston Peabody is one of the most highly respected venture-capital firms in the country."

"And venture-capital firms do what exactly?" By this point, I figured there was no reason to try to hide my ignorance about the workings of the business world.

"They invest," Missy said with a dismissive little shrug.

"In new ventures," Townie added, patting his wife's hand. That is, the one that wasn't still glommed on to his arm as if the two of them were walking across a rickety bridge. "Entrepreneurs who want to start a business go to a firm like Waterston Peabody and present their business plan. If they have what sounds like a great idea, the venture capitalists invest their stockholders' money in the new venture they've proposed. In other words, they give them the money to turn their idea into reality. Then, if the new company is a success, the venture capitalists--and their stockholders--get a piece of the profits."

"It's kind of like buying stock, except you do it in advance, before the company has been formed," Missy added.

"I see." Maybe the workings of the business world weren't that complicated after all. "Is that what you do now, Townie?"

He hesitated a second or two, stroking that jaw of his that he kept in such tight control. "I'm actually involved in a few different things," he finally replied.

"Townie is ever so clever!" Missy chirped, her eyes s.h.i.+ning. "He's one of those people who are incredibly creative when it comes to finding ways to make money."

Then maybe he should have been the next in line to run Merrywood Industries, I thought.

While that idea had popped into my mind all by itself, I realized that I might have just stumbled upon a possible motive for Townie. Perhaps Linus and Townie had indeed been talking about the possibility of him taking over the family empire. After all, he was a member of the family--and Harry, Linus's most obvious successor, wasn't. And if Townie really was as good at business as Missy claimed ...

As if on cue, Linus's right-hand man came wandering into the dining room, appearing to be only half awake. Harry's hair was slightly mussed and his eyes were rimmed in red. He also looked as if he'd gotten dressed by pulling on the same pants and s.h.i.+rt he'd tossed onto a chair last night.

"Tough night?" I couldn't help asking the other half of the deceptive duo as he headed straight for the coffeepot.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." After grabbing a cup and filling it to the brim, he glanced up at me. "Why, does it show?"

"We all had a difficult night," Missy piped up. "We were just talking about that very subject. I think it's a combination of this awful weather and the fact that Daddy's funeral is today."

"That would explain it," Harry agreed.

I noticed that he didn't look at Missy--or Townie, for that matter--as he sat down at the table, as far away from his lady friend as possible. Instead, he focused on his cup, seemingly intent on ingesting as much coffee as he could.

While both Missy and Harry were highly skilled at acting as if nothing was going on, I wasn't nearly as good at it. So I was relieved when Nick came bursting through the doorway, as energetic as a talk-show host who was making his entrance.

"Good morning, everybody," he cheerfully greeted the four of us. "Looks like we're in for more rain."

Thank goodness for weather, I thought as everyone mumbled their agreement. How would any of us get through life without being able to bring it up whenever there was nothing else to say?

"It's going to be pretty uncomfortable, crossing the bay this morning," Townie observed. "The water will probably be rough enough to make all of us seasick. Fortunately, it's a short trip."

"Actually," Missy said, "it occurred to me that it might be a good idea for someone to stay behind while the rest of us are at the funeral. I expect most of those dreadful reporters and photographers on the other side of the bay to follow us to the funeral, but some might stay behind to try to sneak over to the island. I can imagine them snapping pictures and peering through our windows and heaven only knows what else. If that happened, we'd need someone to alert the police."

"Won't Alvira be here?" Harry asked.

"Aunt Alvira has already made it clear that she has no intention of accompanying the rest of us anywhere," Missy replied curtly. "True to form, she pooh-poohed the very idea of a memorial service for her brother. She intends to stay up in the attic, the way she always does."

Focusing on Nick and me, she added, "I wondered if the two of you would be willing to remain here at the house while the rest of us go to the service and then on to the funeral home. Since neither of you knew my father and all."

"Of course," I replied immediately.

"Whatever you want," Nick agreed.

Inwardly, I was rejoicing. Being asked to stay behind with Nick was more than I could have asked for. And it had nothing to do with my charming husband--but plenty to do with having just been handed the opportunity to do some high-quality snooping.

The first thing on the day's agenda was paying a second visit to Alvira. Ever since she'd promised to share a tidbit of information she referred to as a clue, I'd been counting the minutes until I had the chance to find out what it was. Since I'd soon have the house practically to myself, I decided to be patient.

After breakfast, Nick headed back up to our room to immerse himself in the principles of law. Max and Lou trotted after him happily. I, meanwhile, went into the sitting room that was closest to the front door to wait for everyone to leave. Since I figured I should at least try to look as if I had a reason for being there, I grabbed one of the thick volumes off the shelf. Fortunately, the gesture didn't set any shelving units or other pieces of furniture into motion.

I plopped into an overstuffed chair and opened the heavy book in my lap. But I was much more interested in the sounds of the Merrywoods and the rest of their household getting ready to travel across the bay together for the funeral.

When someone walked into the room, I automatically looked over to see who it was--then immediately did a double take.

At first glance I'd thought it was Scarlett, but I had to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.

I was, but this was a whole new Scarlett. The other one could best be described as prim. This one, on the other hand, could best be described as va-va-voom.

Instead of wearing her hair pulled back in a severe bun, today she had a lush mane cascading over her shoulders. Before it had looked like a respectable dark brown. Now, however, I could see that it was a deep shade of espresso, interlaced with strands of gold that might or might not have been natural.

Her conservative business suit had been replaced by a tight-fitting dress with a short jacket made of the same fine wool. It was black, of course, since she was on her way to a funeral. But the dress skimmed her frame in an extremely flattering manner, hugging curves that had been impossible to discern beneath a straight skirt and tailored blazer. The neckline was low, perhaps even too low for an occasion like this one, since it revealed an abundant amount of cleavage that once again was new to me.

No sensible shoes today, either. Scarlett wore black heels that were so spiky, any self-respecting dominatrix would have been proud to own them.

And while I'd never seen her wearing any makeup before, that, too, had changed. The shade of lipstick she wore was a deep brownish-red that complemented her skin tones. She'd apparently subst.i.tuted contact lenses for gla.s.ses, and I noticed for the first time that her eyes were dark brown. The same tone was mirrored in her eye shadow, mascara, and eyeliner, all expertly applied.

To use an old-fas.h.i.+oned phrase, she looked like a scarlet woman.

"h.e.l.lo, Jessie," she said casually. "I didn't realize anyone was in here."

"I was looking for a good spot to read," I said, holding up the book I'd grabbed off the shelf. "Missy asked me to stay behind while everybody else goes to the funeral. I figured I'd stay here on the main floor so I could keep an eye on the place, but it's hard to find a decent reading light anywhere in this house."

"I know what you mean," she agreed, rolling her eyes. "I constantly nagged Linus about it, telling him over and over again how bad it was for his eyes. But he always had his own way of doing things."

A heavy silence followed, no doubt the result of both of us contemplating the fact that Linus's days of doing things his own way were over.

"What are you reading?" Scarlett finally asked, craning her neck.

Good question, I thought.

I held up the book, allegedly to show her the cover but really to let me see it.

"Uh, Understanding the Basic Principles of Accounting," I said, as surprised as she probably was. Thinking fast and speaking even faster, I added, "Part of being a veterinarian means running my own business. I have a terrific a.s.sistant, but I need to learn more about the day-to-day stuff myself."

"I see," she replied, not sounding entirely convinced.

Wanting to move away from that topic in case she decided to ask me something technical, I observed, "You certainly look ... as if you're ready to go." I'd caught myself at the last second, realizing that complimenting her appearance, even as a matter of politeness, wouldn't have been appropriate.

"We're all planning to go over together," she said. "The service starts at noon, and since it's still pouring, it might take us awhile to get there. I hope everyone else is running on schedule."

She flicked her sleeve and glanced at her watch. It looked as if it was made of pure gold. But something else also made it glint: Both the band and the oval-shaped face were studded with diamonds. Not those pitiful specks that I could afford, either. These were king-sized diamonds that had undoubtedly come with a king-sized price tag.

It wasn't exactly the kind of accessory I'd expect someone to be able to afford on a personal a.s.sistant's salary, even if the person she personally a.s.sisted was known for his generosity.