The Wicked Wife (Murder in Marin Book 2) (3 page)

But after a series of passing flings with several of Hollywood’s most sought after leading men, and professional sports’ highest paid athletes, Willow was suddenly smitten with a love for classical music. She set her eyes on the brilliant young conductor of the Vienna Philharmonic. Unfortunately for Willow, the Viennese maestro was more interested in Viktor Kozlov, the brilliant Russian violinist, who, to his great disappointment, was interested in Willow.
 

So began Willow’s most passionate affair. Borrowing a lyric from a Broadway musical she saw as a child, Willow explained to her friends with an innocent smile, “He plays the violin and I am undone.”

Renowned for his sensitive yet forceful finger work, both on stage and in the bedroom, the tempestuous soloist, known to symphony goers in disparate parts of the globe as the “Magician of Moscow,” began spending more of his time in San Francisco where he explained to a local music critic, “This is most beautiful place. I like most often to stay here.”

Kozlov’s favorite view was from inside Willow’s bedroom in a luxury high-rise condominium perched atop San Francisco’s Russian Hill. While Kozlov looked out of windows offering incomparable views of San Francisco Bay and Angel Island, Willow lovingly massaged his tired shoulders, arms, hands and fingers that, in the past month, had endeavored to please audiences from San Paulo to San Moritz.

James had come to know Willow while working as her attorney. As a small, but thriving corporate entity in her own right, reliable and expert legal representation was a necessity of life. James and his alluring wife, Jade, a native Hong Konger, invited Willow and Viktor, to be their guests at the San Francisco Symphony’s gala night. But, at the very last minute, Kozlov got into a furious long distance exchange with his agent over a contract for three appearances with the New York Philharmonic. Afterwards, he declared to Willow in his less-than-perfect English, “Too much upset to join you for making party!”
 

Already dressed and bejeweled, Willow was not keen on the idea of spending one more night at home with her dramatically moody lover. Instead, she summoned her driver and was soon on her way to the gala.
 

One of the world’s most desirable women, now unescorted, was perhaps ready to turn the page and begin a new chapter in her well-publicized quest for the perfect man.
 

A few days before the gala, James mentioned that he would like her to meet his partner, William Adams.
 

“Why should I want to do that?” Willow asked coquettishly.

“Because he’s unattached, and he’s an extremely wealthy man with a wife who died over two years ago.”

“He doesn’t look like the Monopoly Man, by any chance?” Willow asked suspiciously.
 

“Hardly! He’s my age—a little past fifty-five—but in splendid shape. Plays racquetball like he’s going off to war.”

“Sounds intriguing. And how wealthy is wealthy?”

“Billions—with a capital B.”

They were standing close to each other in James’ richly appointed wood paneled office; her lawyer, mentor, and one-time lover brushed his lips against her bare right shoulder, and imagined taking her right there.

“Don’t get any naughty thoughts, James; I thought we agreed to keep our relationship strictly business from now on.”

“That would be easier to do if I didn’t find you so irresistible.”

“Well, try darling, try. If I continue to tempt you, I might have to take my business to another firm.”

“You tease, but you would never do that. I’ve made you too much money.”

“If money were the only criteria, then Henri LeBon could take me to his bed every night of the year.”

“I don’t think he’s your type.”

“Oh, Henri might surprise you.”

“I’d rather not find out,” James said with a smirk, while his eyes followed her delicate and tempting curves as she headed to his office door.”

“Be nice to William if you meet him at the Symphony’s gala. I think you two would really hit it off. I’m being serious now.”

Willow never gave the idea of meeting William a second thought until Viktor’s tantrum just a few minutes before the limousine was to pick them up for the gala. For the most part, she’d dismissed James’s comments regarding William’s wealth as one more example of his over-inflated ego. But in the few quiet moments she had in the car taking her south down Van Ness Avenue, she thought it wise to quickly search Wikipedia on her iPhone to see if this man William Adams was actually someone she wanted to know.

“Oh my God,” she said softly to herself, as her driver negotiated yet another busy night on San Francisco’s streets. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized that Adams was indeed on Forbes list of the world’s wealthiest individuals.
 

She was quickly taken by the thought of what such great wealth could mean to her. Her success and careful investments had brought her millions, but his billions made her look as poor as the forlorn flower girl she saw on the street corner as her limousine stopped at a red light just minutes from the entrance to the gala.

For ten years, her life had been photo shoots, personal appearances, Lear jets, gorgeous women, handsome men, and embarrassingly high earnings. But Willow was well aware that the shelf life of a top model is even less than that of a world-class athlete. As Oscar and Gloria Bukowski frequently told Willow as a child, “All good things must come to an end.” She never doubted their advice. William’s great fortune would no doubt outlive the fleeting magic of Willow Wisp.

CHAPTER THREE

The night of the gala, Willow giggled girlishly when William suggested, “Let’s escape this madhouse and go someplace we can talk.” Moments later, they were in the back of William’s town car, heading up Franklin Avenue on their way out of San Francisco.
 

“Why, Mr. Adams, are you kidnapping me?” Willow asked, doing her best impression of a girl swept away by a powerful man.

“I won’t lie. That’s exactly what I’d like to do.” William knew he was being somewhat bold, but certainly for all her seeming innocence, an international superstar model could not possibly be all that innocent.

As their limousine climbed up into the Marin headlands and through the Rainbow Tunnel just north of the Golden Gate Bridge, they were treated to the city’s dazzling light show—the Bay Bridge, The Embarcadero, and all seven of San Francisco’s famous hills. However, Marin County was its usual sleepy self. As their limousine went down the steep Waldo Grade past Sausalito’s northernmost point, there were just a few cars on the road that late January weekday night. Moments later, they exited the highway near the entrance to Tiburon.
 

Having grown up in the nearby town of Larkspur, Willow knew the route well. Yet it had been many years since she had glided along Blithedale Boulevard, the road that hugged the backwaters of Richardson Bay, which divided the Tiburon Peninsula from the yacht-filled shores of Sausalito.
 

Just after entering the downtown area of Tiburon, the driver made a sharp right, heading over the short causeway into Belvedere and began the climb up to Golden Gate Avenue. It was the longer of the approaches to Golden Gate Avenue, but certainly the more scenic, affording hilltop views of Tiburon’s boat harbor and romantic and expansive views of the sparkling lights of San Francisco from the Belvedere side of the bay. Although narrow and winding, the driver instinctively knew this was the route his employer would most prefer on this special night.

Small lights along a perfectly manicured lawn illuminated the driveway of William’s palatial home. As they pulled up in front of the massive glass front door adorned with ornate ironwork, William was quite convinced that he must have, by now, impressed the young woman he so admired.

Willow smiled sweetly as she stepped inside the front door. The floor of the grand circular foyer had a two-story atrium and an Italian marble floor. A gracefully curving stairway, trimmed with mahogany accents, ascended to a second floor balcony.
 

Willow thought, what a lovely welcoming home. Yes, I could happily live here.

With the exception of his live-in housekeeper, Mrs. Jackson, the staff had all departed for the night. She offered to prepare something for them, but William assured her that they would be perfectly fine. He then introduced Willow Wisp as the woman who, “Half the women in the world would like to be.”
 

“You’re being silly,” Willow purred demurely, as she took Mrs. Jackson’s hand.
 

Mrs. Jackson went off to her downstairs bedroom, hoping that she would never see this Willow Wisp person again.
 

William ushered Willow into what he called the den. “It’s my favorite room in this old place,” he told her. As it was on any winter’s night, the fireplace was prepared with wood, and waiting to be lit. Two comfortable overstuffed chairs in the perfectly appointed room were positioned facing the fire.
 

It’s absolutely perfect, Willow thought.

She’s utterly perfect, William thought, as he offered to make her a drink.

“Perhaps just a little sherry with water,” she said.