hands trembling slightly as he offered a taste to the man who ran the place. Chase lifted the glass to his nose, sniffed, then sipped, swishing the wine around in his mouth before nodding.
The waiter poured me a glass, then poured more into Chase’s. He left without meeting my eye.
Chase lifted his glass, and we clinked.
“To delightful company,” he said, his eyes smoky as his tongue gently licked the rim of the glass. I wanted to be that glass, and he knew it. I was a lousy detective.
“So when was the last time you saw Kelly?” I asked.
Chase cupped his glass in his hand, staring at me over the top of it. “Four days ago. She was very much alive.”
“Did she tell you she was pregnant?”
The glass wavered slightly. “What?”
“Did you know Jeff Coleman?”
“Slimy little bastard,” he said. “But good at his job.” He tipped his glass toward me.
“He’s the one who sent me over here,” I said. “He was supposed to be here, not me, yesterday.”
“I suppose he has some explaining to do,” Chase said.
The salads arrived, perfect crispy Romaine with parmesan shavings and a tangy anchovy dressing.
“Did you know Matt Powell?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Did Elise know him?”
“Of course.” He took a sip of wine. “You think Matt was Elise’s lover?”
“The name fits the tattoo.”
“So his murder was a little tit for tat?”
Clever. I nodded. “It would make sense.”
“So who killed him?”
I thought about it a second, taking the time to savor my salad. “Chip, maybe.”
Simon laughed. “He couldn’t kill anyone. He can barely get through a day. I tried to tell Elise…” His voice trailed off.
“What did you tell Elise?” I asked, fork in the air. “You warned her not to marry Chip? Do you think she got cold feet and ended up here with Matt Powell and decided to marry him instead?” As I spoke, the scenario felt right. Except for one thing. Kelly Masters. “When did Elise meet Kelly?” It wasn’t completely a non sequitur.
He didn’t indicate that the change of subject bothered him. “As far as I know, they never knew each other.”
“So they didn’t meet through you?” I tried to read his face, but it showed me nothing.
“Kelly and I were over a long time ago,” he said. “As were Elise and I.”
“Did you see Elise when she came to town?” I asked as the waiter took our salad plates away.
Chase poured more wine for each of us-had I really finished the glass?
“I haven’t seen Elise in over a year,” he said. “She wouldn’t exactly seek me out.”
“What happened between you?” I wanted to see if he’d corroborate Chip’s story.
He didn’t say anything, just stared at me for a few seconds, then, “What happens to any relationship when two people have nothing in common except great sex?”
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond, and he asked another question before I could.
“Is that what happened with you and Paul Fogarty?”
I caught my breath. How had he known about Paul?
He was smiling, his eyes flashing. “You’re not the only one with a computer and resources, you know, Miss Kavanaugh.”
The filet arrived then, medium-rare, bursting with juices, on a bed of mashed garlic potatoes, the horseradish sauce not overpowering but complementing the meat. I didn’t want to tell him anything about Paul-or our sex life, which was none of his business, thank you very much-but that sabotaged my own questioning. We ate in silence, each sneaking little peeks at each other over our forks.
We were at an impasse.
He knew it, too.
“Dessert?” he asked, pouring more wine.
“I’m stuffed,” I said. “I need to get back to the shop.” As I said it, I looked at my watch. Two thirty. I was supposed to meet Joel out in the lobby at two. My face gave me away.
“Do you have a train to catch?”
I put my napkin on the table next to my plate. “Actually, I really do need to get back. I’m late as it is.” I tried a smile on for size. “I’m the boss. I can’t have my staff doing all the work while I’m out playing.”
I stood up, and Chase stood up, too, walking around the table and taking my arm, again sending a spark through my skin. His lips brushed my cheek, and I could feel desire rush through my body.
“I hope we can do this again,” he whispered.
“I don’t see why not,” I said, my voice tinged with that faux accent. “Thank you for everything.” I didn’t trust myself to look at him before I grabbed my bag off the back of my chair and stumbled on those high heels out of the restaurant. I could feel his eyes on my back the whole time.
I hadn’t learned much. And I’d forgotten to ask about Matthew.
I had just reached the lobby when a hand clamped itself hard around my shoulder.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?”
Chapter 29
Bruce Manning didn’t bother to disguise his irritation.
“I was just having lunch,” I said. “Can you take your hand off me?”
He didn’t move it. “The last time you were here, someone turned up dead. You spoke to my daughter-in-law and she disappeared. I see a pattern.”
I wasn’t so sure. It was tenuous at best. But his grip was strong, and I was trying not to flinch.
“Future,” I said.
“Future what?”
“She is your future daughter-in-law. She hasn’t married Chip yet.”
The semantics escaped him as he scowled. “I see you’ve bewitched my manager.”
Bewitched? What century did he live in?
“I’m no witch,” I said, twisting my shoulder to try to release his grip.
“You’re as bad as she was,” he muttered, the pressure tightening and pain shooting through my arm.
“Who?” I asked when I caught my breath. “Did you hurt Elise, too?”
“I don’t like your insinuation. I’d like you to stay out of my hotel and casino. I’d like you to tell my manager that you can’t see him anymore. If I see you, I’m going to call the police.” His voice was low, but he kept his face neutral. Anyone watching us probably wouldn’t suspect he was threatening me.
“You don’t scare me,” I whispered.
“I should. Now get out.” And as quickly as he’d grabbed me, he released me, my arm dangling by my side.
I reached up and rubbed my shoulder. It had gone slightly numb. “I’m waiting for someone to pick me up.”
But Bruce Manning had already dismissed me and walked away-toward Simon Chase, who was watching the whole thing. Manning flicked his hand at Chase, who turned to follow him, but not before I saw his raised eyebrows, a question as to whether I was all right. I nodded.
I didn’t care that Bruce Manning was one of the richest and most powerful men in the country. All I cared about was that he’d hurt me, in public. I could try to press charges, but I’d be laughed out of court. I’d be a fool to go up against him; it would be his word against mine.
Still, I could tell Tim and maybe he’d be able to give me some advice.
I moved farther into the lobby, glancing around for Joel. I didn’t see him. But I did recognize the woman hovering behind the gigantic spray of flowers.
