The Wicked Wife (Murder in Marin Book 2) (10 page)

Willow smiled. “Delighted to meet you, Holly.”

“You’re my favorite perfume,” Holly gushed.

Willow laughed. “I always love hearing that. In fact, if you both have your cards on you, I’ll have my secretary send you each a bottle.”

Sylvia’s polite entreaty—“Oh, you shouldn’t bother,”—was drowned out by Holly’s declaration: “Oh, my God, I’d
love
that!”

As they laughed at themselves, Willow declared, “Sylvia, you have to be a little more like Holly. When you have a chance to get something you want, you go for it. I know I do!”

At that moment, the three of them formed a bond.

This pleased Willow. Women like Botherton and Hassie would do what they could to make her life in Belvedere unpleasant, but Sylvia’s positive coverage in the local community newspaper could help dampen the blow.
 

Sensing an opportunity, Willow pushed ahead. “In fact, after I make a quick trip to Paris for a
Project Runway
special, why don’t the three of us get together for lunch? I’d like to discuss how I could get involved in some local charity work. I know it’s very important to William that we do what we can to help our community, and I think the three of us together can cook up some wonderful good deeds to do. As a thank-you for steering us in the right direction, I’ll bring along some extra bottles of perfume.”

To end the conversation on a high note, she kissed each one of them on the cheek and promised to be in touch.

Jack may have been content to stay at a distance, but that didn’t stop him from closely following the conversation. As Willow strolled off, Jack leaned in and said, “I think you two have a new best friend.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Sylvia said.

“I would!” Holly exclaimed. “She wants some good local press, and I want some ridiculously expensive perfume. If we play our cards right, she can make our Christmas shopping a whole lot easier.”

“Christmas?” Jack said with a laugh. “That’s seven months off!”

“Never hurts to plan ahead if you’re a single girl on a tight budget.”
 

Soon after the last of their reception guests had departed, William declared happily that, in his view, “the party was a complete success.”
 

“It was a lot of fun,” Willow said in a relaxed, matter-of-fact fashion.

“Everyone adored you. I think they’re all looking forward to seeing much more of you.”

“I enjoyed meeting everyone, but that Pamela Botherton and Julia Hassie seemed to have their noses a bit out of joint.”

He shrugged. “Pamela Botherton has made a nuisance of herself for years. She and that pal of hers, Julia Hassie and the rest of their socialite posse—Cynthia Buckley and Vivian Green—would presume that you’re not quite right for me. I’m too old, and you’re too young.” He rolled his eyes. “They’re just a bunch of jealous old goats who think that no one has a place in Peninsula society without their approval. Don’t pay them the least bit of attention. I invited them because Fran served on several local charity groups with one or more of them. She found them tiresome, too, but always felt that we should be involved and be supportive of those things that are important to our community.”

“At least I have one fan in Belvedere society—the local newspaper’s columnist, Sylvia Stokes. In fact, she brought along the paper’s production manager, Holly Cross, and she was sweet as well.”

“Sylvia has a good heart. You know, her husband is a finance guy with the UC system. It would be fun to get to know them better. I’d like to consider getting more involved with the University of California from a philanthropic standpoint. It would be nice to hear from someone on the inside how they’re doing with their investment portfolio. When you give to an organization, it’s comforting to know they can grow your money, rather than just spend it.”
 

She nodded. “I’d like that; I noticed Jack keeps to himself. But I suppose most financial planners and analysts are quiet people. But Sylvia and Holly are both sweethearts, and I’m looking forward to getting to know them better.”
 

Back at home, Willow prepared for a morning flight for a one-day event at the Beverly Center in Los Angeles. She reflected on the success of the afternoon. Willow thought she was well received by the small group of people William felt closest to.
 

She was glad that James had not been there. Becoming an important part of William’s life, she certainly didn’t need him hanging about, expecting sexual favors for stock tips and financial help that she no longer needed.
 

Step one and two had been completed and accomplished. Tomorrow morning’s flight would give her time to plan all the details of the what, where, and when of step three: giving William an insider’s taste of a celebrity’s life.
 

Then, all that was left was the proposal, which if Willow’s prognostications continued to be on target, should come in the next six to eight weeks. It can’t happen soon enough, she thought, as she dabbed on generous amounts of an anti-aging cream on her face, neck, and hands. It was a formula she had prepared especially for her own private use. And yet, as with all cosmetic products, she had her doubts about its actual worth.

She gave a weary sigh as she put on a light cotton nightgown, slipped between soft inviting sheets, and placed a comfortable silk mask over eyes. In the darkness, her first thoughts were of Viktor’s strong fingers wandering about her neck and shoulders as he kissed her passionately. She would call him the next day, perhaps from the car on the way to the airport.
 

Willow wanted very much to see him, to again be the instrument of his passion…

A flash of annoyance pushed Viktor from her thoughts. What am I thinking? Why, I must be insane, she thought. How could it ever be worth the risk?

As a lover, William was not qualified to carry Viktor’s bow. But as a life partner, he had so much more to offer. As age thirty approached, she thought, it was time for her to act wisely.

Willow drifted off to sleep and happily dreamt of a life filled with opulent homes, grand trips, and dazzling jewels. She was close enough now to feel the eternal glow of one of the world’s most significant fortunes.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Every Friday after five, Rob and Holly had a standing date to join Eddie for drinks at Smitty’s, the popular dive bar in the heart of what Sausalito locals often referred to as the “resident serving area” of town. For the locals, this phrase distinguished Caledonia Street—with its scattering of restaurants, coffee shops, dry cleaners, hair salons and movie theater—from nearby Bridgeway, the town’s main tourist thoroughfare that ran a distance of a half-mile, and was filled with trinket shops, eateries, bike rental kiosks, ferry docks, and charter buses.
 

To the few visitors who were venturesome and energetic enough to go outside the highly trafficked tourist area, they were invariably surprised to find a sleepy town that had a reputation infinitely larger than its small size and population of seven thousand souls.

Holly came into Smitty’s carrying a copy of the just released
Peninsula Standard
that carried Sylvia’s column, which was solely devoted to last Saturday’s party at the Adams’ home.
 

While the men downed drafts of Guinness, Holly sipped her usual drink: a martini made with Hangar 1Vodka, garnished with two olives. “I don’t know if either of you gentlemen noticed,” she began teasingly, “but I was mentioned in today’s edition of the
Peninsula Standard
, in the society column, no less!”
 

“Oh, damn! I haven’t had the chance to get my copy yet,” Eddie said, as he rolled his eyes.

“I only read it because I read every damn word of every damn paper I put out,” Rob said, only somewhat in jest. He quickly added, “Not that there is anything wrong with that!”

“Okay,” Eddie said. “So, read me your news; it’s not every day one of us makes it into the society news.”

“Then, for Eddie’s sake,” Holly said, as she snapped open the paper, turned to the inside back page, and began reading. “Belvedere’s William Adams introduced Peninsula society last Saturday to the new woman in his life: the international celebrity model, Willow Wisp. Ms. Wisp, who of course looked stunning in a flame-hued lace Valentino sheath, was enthusiastically greeted by over a hundred quests at the afternoon event held at the stunning Adams’ estate high above Belvedere on Golden Gate Avenue.
The Peninsula Standard
was represented by both myself, and senior editorial staff director, Holly Cross—’”

“Hold it right there,” Eddie interrupted. “Besides its illustrious editor, I thought the
Standard
only has a staff of one.”
 

“Well, yes, if you’re going to be uncreative in your approach to our system-wide staffing policies.”

“Huh?” he said with a cocked brow.

“If you look at the big picture,” Holly continued confidently, “we have part-time staff in news bureaus throughout central and southern Marin.”

“You mean your collection of aging community volunteer writers?”

“Well, yes, if you want to put a harsh light on it!”

Despite enjoying the verbal jousting between his best friend and his production manager, Rob felt the need to interject, “Let her finish! This is the most fun she’s had since the Bradley murder case.”

“Okay,” Eddie conceded. “Please continue, Senior Editorial Staff Director.”

“Thank you!” Holly nodded at each of them, and then gave the paper a proper shake. “Now, where was I? Let’s see, oh yes…‘Together, Adams and Wisp will be at the top of everyone’s party list. He is an internationally renowned attorney and investor, and as most know, one of Forbes’ wealthiest people in the world. And thanks to the sensational success of her perfume, ‘Willow Wisp,’ the twenty-nine year-old Marin County native is known around the globe.”

“Holly, unless you’re mentioned again, I think I’ve heard enough. This society yaya is not my thing,” Eddie groused. “Now, if someone bangs one of them over the head, and throws their body into a dry creek, give me a call. Otherwise it all sounds like yada, yada, yada to me. Anyway, since when are you into this kind of silliness?”

Before she could answer, Rob offered, “Since she started scheming to get free perfume from the enchanting Miss Wisp.”

“So, you’re conning her?” Eddie asked.

Holly lifted her chin defiantly. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. That’s why you’ve got friends like Rob and me—to say it
for
you.”

“Listen, you two! Those gift bottles—which, by the way, run over a hundred dollars a pop—make lovely Christmas presents, and I’ve got a big family! If I can knock a few people off the shopping list, it’s like money in the bank. Not to mention I’ll look like a generous Santa.”

“Now, that’s more like our Holly—working all the angles,” Eddie muttered, as Rob nodded approvingly. “Holly, be honest. What are those two doing together?”

She shrugged. “I think they need each other. His wife died over two years ago in a skiing accident. I think he’s ready to move forward with his life. And Willow seems nice enough. She’s bright and charming. Most of all, she’s a really attractive woman. I guess you could say she’s the ultimate arm charm.”

“So, what does she see in him?” Rob asked. “Karin tells me that he’s nearly double her age.”

“My first thought is she sees really huge dollar signs,” Holly admitted. “But Sylvia thinks—and I can see why—that she’s got plenty of money of her own. I mean, let’s face it, she’s a regular on
Project Runway
, she models at major couture shows, and she does a lot of top fashion magazine covers. Even if she’s getting a very tiny percentage of Willow Wisp sales, that would still be an awful lot of money! Retailers can’t keep that perfume in stock.”
 

“Being the detective in our little threesome, there’s still got to be something beneath the surface.”

“Like what?” Rob asked.

“I’m not sure. But just like firefighters believe that where there is smoke you’ll find fire, police believe that where there’s money there’s the potential for mischief.”