Authors: Stephanie Queen
Her heart rose, drumming in her throat. She picked up her glass and swished the soda water, wishing it was something stronger. Al held his glass of some kind of scotch out to her. She took a swig. It burned through her, but left warmth in its wake. She thought of Barry Dennis. Al spoke again, snapping her attention back.
“He’s also talking again to people who were at the party with you the night of Don’s death. They’re trying to pry even a small hole in your alibi. That’s all they’ll need. I’d feel a lot better if Mark Baines were around.”
“So would I,” she admitted. “Let’s talk about something else.”
She didn’t eat much. On the way home, the implications of what Al told her spun in her head. She looked out the window of his car. Thank God they were almost back to her house. Al broke the silence.
“How about those Celtics? I have tickets to tomorrow’s game. Want to go?”
She wondered if he knew of her affair with Barry. “I’m already going, but thanks.”
“With who?” He looked away, back at the road. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business, is it?” He seemed to want an answer to that. She sighed.
“It is none of your business, but I’m going alone. I’m meeting Barry Dennis after the game.” She looked at him so there was no misunderstanding.
His eyes widened. He looked incredulous for a second, then morose. “Guess I can’t compete with him, can I? No. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He shook his head, either in disgust or in resignation. She wasn’t sure. Either way, she felt relieved that he was now completely disillusioned about romancing her. Once her mind settled on seeing Barry, the tension that had kept her stiff and uncomfortable all evening disappeared. She took a deep breath. God help her.
Stepping from the locker room after the game, Barry was only moderately surprised to see Roxanne.
“You’re turning into a regular groupie, Rox,” Barry said as he moved quickly through the crowd of media people and headed toward her. He’d spotted her instantly. He put his arm around her and swept her with him swiftly past the poised pens. Then he remembered.
“Shit.”
“What? Did I foil some prior plans?” Her smile looked as if she hoped she did, as if the evening wouldn’t be as enjoyable unless she claimed his attentions over everything else. Or it could be his imagination.
He smiled down at that mischievous twinkle he saw and shook his head. “Yeah. You did. I did have other plans. And yes, I will change them to accommodate you.” He shook his head again, and leaving her standing in the dark corridor, he walked back toward the dressing room. Then he threw over his shoulder, “Don’t bother apologizing.” He heard her laughter bubble as he walked back through the crowd. The sound brought a fresh grin to his face.
“Hey Barry. Great game. Good to see you back in form,” Kevin said to him as he walked by. Then Kevin nodded his head in Roxanne’s direction. “Be careful, though.”
Barry laughed. “Jealous, Kevin?”
“Sure. But I mean it.”
“Don’t worry about me.” He ducked back into the dressing room. Some of the guys were still there, outnumbered by reporters three to one.
“Dave,” he called to his friend. Dave was always one of the last ones out. He never seemed to be in a hurry.
“Yo. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“No. I won’t be making it after all…” Barry didn’t want to explain why.
“Why the hell not?” Dave stood and buttoned his shirt. Barry noticed the reporters who’d been sitting with Dave taking an interest, listening for his answer.
He sighed and swiped a hand through his damp hair. “I’m going with Roxanne instead.” He didn’t keep his voice low. Dave raised his brows. He hoped to hell his friend wasn’t going to make an issue of it here. It really was no big deal. Yet he felt that twitch of defiance as he stood there.
“So. Bring her with you. We’d be glad to set another place at dinner.”
“Thanks. I’ll take a rain check.” Barry turned, but not before seeing Dave’s face crack into a grin.
“Oh, I get it. You two want to be alone. Is that it?” Dave spoke a little too loudly. Barry grimaced, turned back to his friend. “Fuck you,” he mouthed, as the reporters were getting up and coming over with big smiles, mumbling amongst themselves about a budding romance.
Barry disappeared fast. He got through the crowd in record time and swept up Roxanne on his way. He was a thirty-one year old man and he didn’t need the adolescent baloney that Dave seemed to thrive on. But he couldn’t help smiling at the thought of his friend.
He wondered, not for the first time, what the hell he was doing and whether she was worth it. Slouched back in his car, he glanced over at her. Her face glowed with pleasure. Her black sweater clung to the tempting roundness of her breasts. She could definitely make him feel better. This was exactly what the doctor ordered, he reasoned.
Chapter 13
ROXANNE WALKED into Harry’s office Monday morning and flung the check for ten thousand dollars on his desk. That should cover the expenses for her gala that Harry had been fronting through his office for her. Dr. Oki sat in the chair opposite the desk. “Got anything for me besides bills?”
“Yeah. More warnings. Penelope’s been talking to Dr. Evans, my spies tell me. Trying to put pressure on him to stop the special fund for the research. He hasn’t said anything to me, though. I think he’s reluctant to stop money from flowing in—no matter what the source,” Harry said.
“You should be concentrating more on saving yourself from Penelope. She’s got a lot of power,” Dr. Oki said, frowning. Unusual for him.
“I’m doing all I can. I’ve got a lawyer. I’m not giving in. I won’t let her win this one. This fund-raising project is going to reach its goal. There’s too much riding on it.” She thought of Lindy. She shuddered in spite of her brave words.
“I have to tell you something else…” Harry began.
“Out with it, Harry.”
“There was a man here asking questions of some of the staff around this office and others…”
“Let me guess. He was a reporter and he wanted to know if I was really a fortune hunter?”
“No. He wasn’t a reporter. He claimed he was but I had him checked out—you know I know most of the people in the media around these parts. And that’s not the most disturbing part, Rox. His questions were in a different vein. Seems Dr. Evans led him to believe there was something suspicious about the way you administered money. He asked a lot of questions about this fund-raising project—and about your personal life too, of course. Rox, rumors take on a life of their own. You—we—could be in big trouble.”
“I’ll let Al know about this. You think Dr. Evans is up to something?”
“Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of that baloney. You should be more worried about this investigation into Don’s death.”
“Unfortunately there’s nothing I can do about Penelope’s persistence in trying to pin a murder charge on me. My best defense—my only defense—is the fact that I’m innocent. Al’s on it. He’s having her PI dogged every step of the way.”
“I hate to get personal, Roxy, but where are you getting the money to pay Al? This has to be costing a fortune in legal fees. And you gave away your fortune.” Dr. Oki shook his head.
Roxanne almost blushed at the question. And she never blushed. It was a sore spot becoming sorer by the minute. She hated relying on Al. She didn’t want to rely on any man. She didn’t want to have to depend on a man for her welfare, in spite of what people thought. She learned long ago from dear Dad—who hadn’t taught her much else—that she’d best depend on herself. It wasn’t the money necessarily that bothered her. Roxanne knew she’d find a way to pay that back eventually. It was the wear and tear on their previously pleasant relationship that bothered her. She didn’t want it completely ruined.
“I’ll pay him every cent eventually.” She couldn’t think about when that might be.
“Don’t worry. We’ll see you through this, eh, Tim?” Harry said and looked at the doctor.
“Penelope Boswell picked a fight with the wrong woman. You have a lot of friends, Roxy, and we’re not going to stand by and watch her take shots at you. If we can help in any way at all—you just name it,” Dr. Oki said.
She didn’t deserve them. She had little to give in return. All she could do for these men was the best possible job she could on her fund-raising campaign. She would not let them down. With more determination than ever, she left the office.
Laura had mentioned earlier that someone new called from Mark’s office. Laura had asked about Mark but they were vague and said something about a leave of absence.
Roxanne badly wanted to call Mark. On the drive home she eyed her cell phone, but didn’t dare punch in his number. He’d made it clear they could not be friends. He deserved for her to respect his wishes. He deserved someone who could love him. Roxanne was not that woman. She doubted she would ever be that woman for any man. She didn’t want to be like her mother, bound to someone she didn’t love—she’d already tried that. But she didn’t want to be like Bonnie, old and alone. There seemed to be no choice for her in between.
After she arrived home she found herself wandering around the big house alone. She stopped in the kitchen and looked at her Celtics schedule to see that they had an away game. Calling Barry was out. She thought of calling Al, but for what? She didn’t want to lose his friendship the way she’d lost Mark’s, and she was stretching it to the limit as it was.
Bonnie was out at Vegas night with a group of seniors at the church. She always said it made her feel young to hang around with them, never admitting that she was a senior herself. And Laura was with Dr. Oki. Again tonight. That brought a smile to her face in spite of her mood.
At ten thirty Roxanne decided to go to bed early. She lay in bed and watched the news. The last thing she heard before falling asleep was that the Celtics lost to Detroit.
Her house was almost unrecognizable, Roxanne thought as she stood on the threshold of the seldom-used great room. Normally the room’s size was intimidating. Tonight the giant Christmas tree, cascaded with white and silver ornaments, dominated the space and gave it the right proportion. It towered toward the twelve-foot ceiling, touching it with the tip of its star. The air smelled rich with the scent of pine. All around the room, evergreen garlands, holly, poinsettias and mistletoe hung. Roxanne sighed. She felt like a stranger walking into someone else’s holiday wonderland.
Standing with her hands on her hips and nodding, she watched Bonnie place a dish of chocolates wrapped in red and green foil.
“I’m glad I had the caterer take charge of the decorating. I couldn’t have done it this beautifully,” Roxanne said. She felt she had to justify the extravagance to Bonnie who had chided her on the expense.
“It’s lovely, but it ain’t worth a five carat diamond-studded Rolex. Face it, we can’t afford to stay here and you wanted to go out of this house with a bang.” Bonnie shook her head, looking around.
“Shhh.” Roxanne walked into the room. “The caterer’s help will hear you. They’re only in the next room.” She waved her hand in the direction of the dining room where they were setting up a buffet. “When in Rome, I always say. Besides, it didn’t cost that much for the decorating. I spent some of the money on my dress and other things.”
Roxanne felt good about this party. In spite of a rocky beginning, her annual gala benefit would turn out well. In the face of Penelope’s best efforts to blackball the event, Roxanne still managed to sell more than enough tickets to justify the cost.
“Better be some crankin’ dress. Too bad you don’t have any jewelry to wear with it,” Bonnie snorted. They both laughed at the irony and Roxanne decided it was time to go upstairs and dress. She turned and looked at the room over her shoulder. The warm inviting glow of the soft light melted her. She loved this room tonight. She embraced the notion that it was hers. She would cherish that thought. She needed to. It would be the last Christmas party she would ever throw here. Or possibly anywhere.
Laura arrived well ahead of the scheduled time and Roxanne came down finally dressed at six thirty.
“Wow, you look gorgeous,” Laura said.
“I have to say, that is some crankin’ dress,” Bonnie admitted.
“Thanks, ladies. Coming from my two worst critics that means a lot.”
They laughed. She knew they were going easy on her, because the dress, a silver sequined number with a plunging neck, plunging back and high side slit, was typically flashy, typically flattering and typically a tiny bit risqué. She was sure neither of them approved at all. She sighed.
They checked out the preparations in the kitchen around them. Roxanne answered questions for the caterer about where the bar and food should go and who should answer the door. There were five servers for the evening and two bartenders. Roxanne wondered if she needed another bartender. Ten seconds after they’d decided who would be taking invitations at the door, the bell rang.
“Who will be hosting the event with you for the evening?” the caterer asked.
“No one. I’ll play hostess alone.” She answered the doorbell.
“Harry, come in. You’re just in time. You can be the host. Mr. Miller, the caterer insists we have a host as well as a hostess.” Roxanne looked back at the man and winked. He gave her an approving nod.
Bonnie took Harry’s invitation and coat.
“Be glad to help. Do I get a drink first?”
“I’ll get you one. Let me know when Tim…Dr. Oki arrives,” Laura said, heading toward the bar.
By nine-thirty most of the guests she’d been expecting had arrived, including John Benson, the Celtics coach, and Dave McCall and his wife. The man taking invitations and coats was on a break and the doorbell rang. Roxanne strolled through the crowded room to the front hall and opened the door with a smile to find Barry Dennis towering before her in a black tux, bow tie and coat draped over his arm. He whistled without saying a word, stepped inside, threw his coat over the banister and took her in his arms.
“Man, are you a vision,” he murmured. Then he covered her mouth with his before she could catch her breath from the surprise of his embrace.