“Oh, don’t exaggerate.”
“Honey, you had a staff that lived in the house.”
“They weren’t my staff.”
“And I suppose you did a lot of your own chores, did your own laundry, washed dishes, that kind of stuff?”
“You’re hardly being fair. It wasn’t like I asked for my parents’ lifestyle. You know that.”
“I know, sweetie. I just like to tease. Face it, you were a regular princess.”
“Yeah, the princess and the pea. Only the pea was Daddy, getting thrown in jail for bribing a judge or forgetting my birthday because he and Mom were off in Europe.”
“At least you had parents.” Baldwin looked into his wineglass, and Taylor reached over and touched his hand.
“I know. You’re right. Though sometimes I wonder if it would have been better to have been loved, then lose them, than be ignored.”
“I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, Taylor. When I lost my folks, well, it’s not something I would want to go through again. It’s impossible to understand when you’re young and you don’t have that structure anymore. One minute they’re there, the next they’re gone, and you’ll never see them again. It was rough.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Anyway, we were talking about Versailles.”
“Oh, shut up. It was a big house, okay? Happy now?”
“Yes, dear. Tell me your vision.”
She shut her eyes and tried to conjure up the scene. “It’s not really a vision as much as a memory. Every year my parents had a huge party for New Year’s. Themed, catered, the whole works. The year we moved into the house it was a costume ball. Kitty dressed as Marie Antoinette, I remember that perfectly, down to the wide-hipped dress and the towering crown of hair. It took four people to get her into the clothes. Just crazy. So anyway, I was spying on them from the top of the stairs. There was this little space that I could fit into, and I’d sit up there sometimes and watch the parties.”
“Sound of Music.” Baldwin laughed.
“What?” She opened her eyes; he was practically fizzing with mirth.
“You know, the movie? Sound of Music? The von Trapp children were presented, did their little song…‘So long, farewell-’”
“ Auf wiedersehen, good night. Yeah, I get it. Considering I was an only child, not so much.” She shook her head at his antics. “If you keep interrupting me, we’ll never get to it.” Her eyes fluttered closed, the memory taking her again.
“I’d watch from the balcony. That night, I remember seeing my parents in the foyer with a group of people. The men were giving my father a hard time about the new place, and there’s something about one of them. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but every time I think about that signet ring, I see this image, the men talking and laughing, one of them coughing and putting up his hand, but that’s it. I can’t remember anything else.”
“You think one of the men was wearing a signet ring?”
She opened her eyes. “Well, maybe. That combined with what Martin Kimball said, that he always thought the killer was a client of Burt Mars’s because the note came off of Mars’s printer. Mars was my dad’s accountant.”
“Was he crooked?”
“Ouch.” What a legacy to have, a father who every time his name was mentioned, or a name was associated with his, the first thought was corruption.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Taylor let it slide. “I don’t know if he was crooked or not. But if he did work with my father, and the killer knew Mars well enough to get on his computer and write a note to the police, I can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s a connection.”
“Let me get this straight. You think your father might have known Snow White while he was active?” Baldwin had leaned forward, wine and joking forgotten.
“See, I told you it was crazy. My dad was a lot of things, but I can’t imagine he’d stand by and let something like that happen. No, if he knew him, it was tangentially, not someone he was friends with on a daily basis.”
“You sure of that?”
“I’m not sure of anything in this case. I’d really like to find out what happened to that signet ring, though. It might answer a few questions. Whether or not it will help solve the case, I don’t know.”
“Too bad your dad’s not around to ask.”
Yes, too bad. Taylor gave Baldwin a weak grin and finished off her wine.
“Excuse me.”
It was the valet, with her keys. He handed them to Baldwin. “I’m leaving for the night. I pulled the car up-it’s right outside the door.”
Taylor looked at her watch. It was nearly 2:00 a.m.
“Oh, I am so sorry. We didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”
Baldwin pulled out his wallet and handed the young man a ten. He nodded his thanks and took off toward the kitchen, probably to snag some leftovers as additional payment for the evening.
“We should go.” Baldwin stood and stretched.
“Yeah. Let’s see if we can get some sleep, start fresh in the morning.”
They bundled up, got in the truck and headed out of downtown, both lost in their thoughts.
Fifteen
T he lights were driving her mad. After a productive evening in the bar, and a not-so-productive tryst back in a stranger’s hotel room, Charlotte had retired to her suite. Men. She was always amazed at their selfishness. How hard was it to make a woman come, for God’s sake? She’d picked poorly tonight; the fool was too drunk to care about getting her off. He’d passed out after his own release, and she’d stolen from the room like some kind of whore. If he’d left money on the dresser, it might have been a more redeemable situation.
After treating herself to a moment in a warm tub, she crawled between the stiffly starched sheets and tried to get some rest. But the lights from downtown Nashville spilled in through the too-sheer curtains, keeping her awake.
She got up and raided the minibar, sloshing some Scotch on the floor as she dumped three airplanesize bottles of Johnny Walker Red into a cut-crystal glass. Sipping the whiskey, she settled in the chair by the window. Might as well watch the world if she couldn’t sleep.
Amazing, at two in the morning there was still life on the streets. The Nashville she remembered from her youth was a quiet, somnolent place after dark. At least in the areas she’d been allowed to traverse. Church, maybe a restaurant or two. In her Peter Pan collar and pressed skirt, Mary Janes and velvet headbands, always on the arm of the latest in a series of nannies, she didn’t get a good sense of the town on those few weekends. Granted, she’d been sent away when she was still quite young.
It wasn’t until she was older, had gotten junked out of boarding school and was back home on the prowl that she found the raucous city life, the after-hours clubs, the raves, the ecstasy-driven techno punk music throbbing through her veins. Hmm. A hit of X wasn’t such a bad idea. She got up and rummaged through her bag until she found a prescription bottle with Klonopin on the label. The little pills of X fit so well with the legal medication-same color and shape. Someone without a practiced eye would have to look closely to see the difference. She shook out a tab and swallowed it with the whiskey, enjoying the burn and near-immediate effects of the combination. That was better.
The joys of traveling in a private jet meant she could bring her pharmaceutical stash with her and not worry about security. It was always such a pain to travel commercial; she had to be much more discreet than hiding a few pills in with her medication.
She lay back on the bed, thinking about Baldwin. And that bitch, Taylor Jackson. How that country frump had captured the eye of a man like John Baldwin was beyond her. Baldwin’s strong arms, the thick, unruly black hair,
