Chapter 2
The windows were open because the Jeep had no air conditioning.
“This weather is killing me,” Shana said.
The day was at its hottest by four p.m.—or at least Shana hoped it wouldn’t get any hotter.
Dane drove—as usual—and they sped by the ocean on their right, heading toward the exclusive neighborhood in West Tisbury where the rash of jewel thefts and parties had taken place.
“You’ll get used to it. Or it’ll change.” Dane kept his eyes on the road.
She hadn’t adjusted to the wild weather here. It was too unpredictable compared to her home in Sydney. How could she possibly adjust when the roller coaster was always about to take a plunge or turn a corner? Her mind had shifted from weather to Dane and she sighed.
“How about if you let me do the talking?” she said.
“Go for it, girlie.”
He still didn’t take his eyes off the road.
Just as well. She didn’t need one of his unnerving looks right now.
Sweat trickled between her breasts. She’d dressed up for their meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Gable in her best business suit.
Pale gray silk with a pale pink blouse and tasteful fake pearl choker.
Very tame. But the hot pink spike heels punched up enough power to make up for the rest of the outfit.
“When are you going to fix the air-conditioning in this damn junk heap?”
He finally glanced her way. With that smile—the one that crinkled the corner of his eyes—the kind smile. She felt the jump, the flash of response deep inside, and squashed it. He didn’t answer her. As usual. She huffed.
“As soon as we’re done here,” she said, “I’m cashing the check and bringing this heap in for repairs.” She couldn’t spare the money—not even an extravagant fee justified it. She had expenses. She thought of her mother.
“If you weren’t dressed up like a Barbie doll maybe the heat wouldn’t be getting to you,” he said. She laughed. It couldn’t be helped. Because they both knew even her usual cotton sundress wouldn’t save her from this heat.
“This is a business meeting. I’m dressed for business.”
She swatted his arm and felt the scorching warmth and filmy layer of perspiration covering the hard muscle.
The touch sent another singe of desire shooting through her.
The touch should have repelled her. That’s what she told herself.
But it was a mistake to touch him. Her gut knotted up with the instant escalation of her internal war between desire and self-preservation.
Set off by a mere tap of his hot slimy arm. God save her.
They got through the gated drive past a friendly-looking guard and pulled to the front door behind a Jaguar in the circular drive.
“That looks a lot like your car,” Shana said after they got out and walked to the door.
“It’s a later model.”
“Where is your Jag, anyway? We could probably use it right now.”
“Never mind that. Ring the bell.”
In the next moment Shana found herself stepping into a different world—like she ought to change her name to Alice, as in Wonderland.
Except the place felt more like something out of The Great Gatsby.
It wasn’t the opulence, it was the throwback style of the place with the black-and-white marble checkerboard entry foyer, the art deco furnishings, and the man who answered the door. He looked like an actual butler.
“This is disorienting,” she whispered to Dane as they walked after the man, who’d said, “Follow me this way.”
“What’s the matter? A little too retro for you?” Dane smiled and added, “At least there wasn’t a Duesenberg parked out front.”
He’d read her mind. As always. They stepped through heavy double wooden doors into a light, airy parlor done in the same art deco style with plush rugs and a chandelier.
Standing in the middle of the room, facing away from them and looking out the window was Mr. Gable, she presumed.
When the butler left, their host turned to greet them. They were in for some drama.
“Mr. Blaise and Ms. George—thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice. We do have a bit of an emergency. Very distressing business. Please sit.” He pointed to the seating arrangement opposite the windows, complete with a coffee table holding a pitcher of something cold and several glasses.
She’d bet her left pinky the crystal was Baccarat.
Dane said nothing though Gable looked at him expectantly. Then she remembered she’d promised to do all the talking. She took a breath. She was a professional investigator and this was the twenty-first century on Martha’s Vineyard and they weren’t looking for a Grace-Kelly-type cat burglar.
“No problem, Mr. Gable,” Shana said. “It’s our specialty to respond to emergency situations.”
“Of course—you’re famous for it.” Mr. Gable paused and looked them over. She and Dane stood in front of the small sofa. Dane remained silent.
“Famous?” she said. She sat. Dane sat.
“Yes—surely you’re aware—the video?” He paused.
“At the Lucky Parrot. I’ve seen the video of your recent takedown of that notorious cartel boss from South America.
Amazing.” He looked at Dane. “I hope your arm has healed well?” Mr. Gable sounded like a fan in the presence of a movie star.
His eyes glittered, and if they’d been in a cartoon, bursts of stars would be popping from his head now.
She wondered what kind of movies Gable made.
Dane lifted his arm. He wore a short-sleeved linen shirt and the scar from the knife wound still looked raw.
“It’s functional.” Dane looked at her. His face was like a picture etched in stone, void of expression.
But she knew him and knew he was expressing impatience by the mere fact that he looked at her instead of their client.
“Mr. Gable, can you tell us specifically what service you would like us to provide?” Shana asked.
“Yes of course—this business. I’m sure you know by now about the rash of jewel thefts at our parties in the neighborhood.
We love our parties—gala events, actually.
For charity, of course. It’s the reason we’re here for the summer.
Vacationing and gathering with friends and celebrating life and sharing our… success.”
In her mind, Shana substituted the word excess. But she said, “Of course. And you have a… charity gala planned for tomorrow night?”
“Yes. I have security—the usual—motion sensors, alarms, security personnel and even dogs. But since none of this seemed to stop the thefts from some of my best friends, I find I must take further steps. That’s where you come in.
After seeing that video at the Lucky Parrot, and checking up on your credentials, I think you two will be perfect to go undercover at the gala tomorrow evening—as guests—to catch the thief red-handed, as it were. ”
“To catch the thief?” Dane said. His voice was casual, but Shana knew he was mocking Mr. Gable and even if Mr. Gable were star struck, he wasn’t an idiot.
She moved her spike-heel-clad foot over her knee and stabbed Dane in the calf.
He didn’t move and didn’t make a sound. But she knew he felt it when he smiled.
“Yes, ironic, isn’t it? The reminiscence to a Cary Grant movie did enter my mind.
But it’s all too real, I’m afraid. The insurance company—the same one who insures everyone in the area—is pressuring us to step up security or stop hosting parties.
But I’m not going to stop living my life over a jewel thief. ”
“Of course not,” Shana said.
“So you’ll do it then?”
“Yes.” Shana wondered if she’d just signed up for hiding under the bed waiting for a jewel thief to strike so she could jump out and—never mind. She doubled up on her smile. Gable went on.
“I’m not sure how payment for your services works, but I’ve prepared a check for your retainer.
” Gable reached inside his sports jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to Dane.
Shana kept her smile in place and hoped there were a lot of zeros on that check.
She kicked Dane’s leg again. He took the envelope with a big fat grin planted on his face. Aimed mostly at her.
“Thank you, Mr. Gable,” he said. “I’m sure this will be fine, but Shana will send you our contract later. Can we have a look around?”
Mr. Gable popped up to stand and reverted to fan-man as he led them back to the foyer. Shana followed the two men, caught up and said, “We’ll need the names of your security personnel, the service personnel and—”
“Of course. I’ll have Frank—our personal assistant—you met him at the door—send that to you along with the blueprint of the estate and schematics for our security system. Anything else?”
*****
“Yes—can we meet Mrs. Gable?” Dane said. He didn’t like the way Mr. Gable was looking at Shana at that moment—as if she were a piece of art he might collect. It was a good thing she was wearing the so-called business suit and not her usual sundress—or maybe Gable was being polite.
“Yes—my wife Laura will be joining us outside on the ballroom terrace.”
They walked through the multi-chandelier-lit space of the ballroom—it took a half a minute to cover the expanse of tile—and Dane thought he’d need to clone himself and Shana three times to cover this room at the party.
When they made their way, the men in time with the rhythmic clicking of Shana’s heels, to the furthest terrace door, it swung wide.
A stunning high vista overlooking the ocean greeted them, along with an equally stunning woman.
She joined them and smiled at Dane without looking at Shana.
He smiled back—his polite, no-nonsense smile.
Mrs. Gable reminded him of a forties-era movie star with her shiny waves of brown hair framing her face and her cinch-waisted dress falling to mid-calf.
She was painfully thin but elegant-looking in a Kathryn Hepburn way.