Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Seymour
It was obvious, right?
Anyone could see that there is something Mandy wants to talk about, and she’s not. At least I could see it. I’ve been dealing with people and board members now for long enough that there’s a certain look, something in the eyes, or the way a person will look away after a few seconds.
From the moment she climbed into my car, and we headed up to the gallery, her nervousness was apparent in every movement.
Her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt, then smoothed it out, only to start again.
She took deep breaths like she was about to speak, held them for a moment, then released them without saying a word.
The silence in the car grew heavier with each passing mile.
But that all fades away. It’s a thing of the past.
Because I’m not leaving this car until I find out what happened in there.
She turned pale. Not just slightly, but the kind of pale that made her freckles stand out stark against her skin.
She had wobbled on her feet like she was about to pass out, reaching out to steady herself against a nearby wall. And now Stephen drops a name?
Of course, I’ve heard of Jack. Jack Hansen, art consultant. Anyone who loves art and deals with the buying and selling has heard of him.
“Jack’s an art consultant. Have you seen him at the gallery?” I lean forward slightly, watching her reaction.
Mandy takes a shaky breath, her shoulders rising and falling as she tries to calm herself. “I’ve heard Diana mention him now that I think about it, and I’d say that yes, he’s connected to the art world.”
“How often does he stop by the art gallery?” I keep my voice gentle, careful not to push too hard.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him,” she says, her eyes fixed on some point in the distance.
To me, the name Jack is familiar, but why hasn’t Diana mentioned him to the board or to Mandy? But there’s a more important question right now. “What happened in there?”
“Um, what do you mean?” she asks—oh, so innocently, though her hands clench in her lap.
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow at her.
She sighs, and when she finally tells me, her voice comes out barely above a whisper. “Stephen talked to the cops.”
“Officer Pete?” Now I’m on alert, sitting up straighter in my seat.
She nods, a quick jerky movement.
“And…?”
She visibly swallows. “He mentioned to Officer Pete that I’d had trouble with Darren. I swear I don’t know how he knew that, because it’s just me, you, and Julie who knows.”
I’m not surprised. Julie could have said something. Stephen could have seen something. It’s not hard to pick up these things. I feel my shoulders relax, relieved that’s all it is. “Let me guess,” I say, reaching over to take her hand. “You’re picturing a lifetime in prison.”
“I lied!” The words burst out of her. “To the cops. And now they’re going to ask me about it again.” Her fingers tighten around mine.
“Simple. If the cops talk to you again, Harris will be in the room. You don’t have to say anything. And if you do, you tell them what happened, and it was uncomfortable. They can’t convict you or charge you for murder based on something so flimsy.”
“Yes, but Stephen said Pete asked a lot of questions about me.” Her voice quivers slightly.
“I wouldn’t worry about it.” But I am worried about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the two murders are connected, because they’re too similar not to be. I don’t believe in coincidences.
I’m with Harris the next day. We’re having evening cocktails in my office, the leather chairs worn comfortable from years of similar conversations. The ice clinks against our glasses as we sit in companionable silence.
No new information has come forward. Barrie’s research, so far, has led to dead ends. The police aren’t offering much information to Scott. The cops haven’t reached out to Mandy again, but it’s only a matter of time. And I haven’t talked to Mandy since yesterday.
Obviously, Mandy isn’t a murderer. Yes, the mystery is somewhat interesting, because who would want to kill an artist? There are much more interesting bad guys out there.
“Okay, spill it,” Harris says, leaning back in his chair. His eyes narrow as he studies me over the rim of his glass.
I don’t even try to pretend ignorance, because I’ve been a moody bastard ever since he arrived. “Use your lawyer brain and figure it out.” That’s my cryptic answer, because I don’t want to say the words out loud. That I’ve fallen for someone again, and she’s hiding something from me.
“In my professional opinion, I’d say you have it bad.” There is no teasing in his tone. He’s dead serious, his expression grave.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Lawyers can be like that. They take their time to find the right words. Finally, he says, “Not every woman you meet is going to be Anna.”
Of course, he figured it out. I’ll be the first to admit it.
I’ve fallen for Mandy in a way I haven’t since Anna.
Except Mandy is nothing like Anna. Anna wowed me with her looks.
Mandy is beautiful, but not in the sleek, refined way Anna was.
Mandy is real. Mandy is passionate. I respond to everything about her.
“What’s the problem?” Harris asks, setting his glass down with a soft thud.
“She’s not being honest with me.” There, I admit it. It’s true. She told me about the conversation with Stephen, but that wasn’t what had her twisting her hands into knots on the way to the gallery.
Again, Harris takes his time, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against the leather armrest. “If you’re serious about Mandy, and you’re worried about the trust factor, and believe me, you have every right in the world not to trust every woman who snuggles up to you, there’s only one course of action. ”
He says it like it’s final. Like this one action will take care of everything. Could it be that simple?
I wait.
He shrugs. “Give her the Pretty Woman Test.”
Now, don’t judge me too quickly.
I agreed to this test for a couple of reasons. First, I want to know I can move forward with Mandy with no second guesses. Second, this will give me the chance to spoil her, to shower her with the attention and care she deserves. I never go the extravagant route. It’s been trained out of me.
Hide your wealth. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t be a showboat. You can’t trust people once they know your bottom line. I’ve lived by these mottos for a while now.
They’re like shackles. Chains.
Or they’re starting to feel that way. What started out as self-protection has become more of a prison.
The plan falls into place. I pull out my phone. It doesn’t take long to find her number on the gallery website. My thumb hovering over the keyboard before I type:
Seymour: How about a date tomorrow, Sweetness?
Of course, the plan is to throw her off with the text. I don’t text a lot, but this seems casual, like I’m going to take her to Beachside Java or a diner. That will make the surprise of the limo showing up at her house even bigger.
Mandy: I thought you’d never ask.
Seymour: Be ready at 2pm. Tomorrow.
Mandy: So early. We driving up to the mountains or out to the ocean?
Seymour: My lips are sealed. It’s a surprise.
The evening can’t come fast enough. My pulse quickens every time I think about seeing her. It’s been too long. I realize, we’ve been out on what could be considered dates, but this is our first proper date that’s not connected to trying to question someone.
The time crawls by, but eventually the finish line draws near. I imagine Mandy’s face, the surprise and delight, when the limo pulls up to her house. When the driver gets out and hands her the garment bag with a new dress.
She’ll think she’s coming right to my house, but the limo will bring her to a hair salon where she’ll get the full treatment, hair, nails, makeup. Whatever she wants.
I mean, women love that kind of pampering.
I dress with care, choosing black dress pants and a crisp white button-up. Seymour Black is hardly ever nervous, but tonight, my hands aren’t quite steady as I fasten the buttons. I’m excited. It’s also anticipation to see Mandy, to hold her hand, to be close to her.
I sit on my deck with drinks ready. I had someone come in to transform the space.
It’s straight from a movie. Delicate white lights are strung along the railing, casting a soft glow over everything.
Crystal vases filled with roses dot the space, and a table set for two holds chilled shrimp and appetizers.
Rose petals scatter across the crisp white tablecloth, their deep red a striking contrast.
Finally, the limo pulls up outside. My heart rate picks up as I walk to the front entrance, a smile spreading across my face as the driver opens the door to the limo.
Mandy emerges, wearing the sea-green dress I picked out, and just as I thought, it looks fabulous on her.
The fabric hugs her curves before flaring at the knees, the color making her eyes seem even more blue than usual.
It’s everything about Mandy that has drawn me in. It’s the freckles scattered across her nose, her curiosity, her smile, the way her eyes light up when she’s passionate about something. Her blue hair is styled in elegant waves, and there’s a hint of shimmer on her cheekbones.
She would look fabulous in a potato sack and messy bedhead, but tonight she’s stunning. I walk toward her and pull her into my arms. There’s a moment’s hesitation before she melts into my embrace, her body tense against mine.
“What are you doing?” she whispers against my chest, her voice uncertain.
“Treating you to a proper date.” I tip the driver and then we’re alone. “Shall we?”