The Wicked Wife (Murder in Marin Book 2) (9 page)

Peninsula society on Saturday will welcome for the first time a new international celebrity, supermodel Willow Wisp, believed to be the world’s second most photographed woman behind Kate Middleton, the Duchess of Cambridge.
 

The party at the fabulous Golden Gate Avenue home of William Adams, one of San Francisco’s top attorneys and one of world’s wealthiest individuals, is to welcome Ms. Wisp, the woman he proudly refers to as the new love of his life.

Many of the Peninsula’s social luminaries will be in attendance, including the Bothertons, the Buckleys, the Greens, and the Hassies.

After listing those tortured quotes she had worked so hard to get, Sylvia concluded with a brief recap of Willow’s meteoric rise to become a pop culture icon and promising her readers much more to come about this, “very special fete,” in next week’s column.

After Willow pronounced herself pleased with the work of her stylist and makeup artist, she dismissed them and returned a phone call from her occasionally insane, but irresistibly sexy and adorable, Russian violinist, Viktor Kozlov. His brief message, in his usually tortured English, explained desperately, “Most lost with not having you! Please to call, must soon speak!”

Absentmindedly, she stared at her iPhone. For all of his idiosyncrasies, there was no doubt that she missed Viktor’s magical touch and sure-footed performance. She had often imagined being the instrument that had brought him worldwide acclaim.
 

“Play me,” she whispered loudly in his ear whenever she longed to feel his strong fingers pressing down upon her.
 

“You like, no?” he asked as their two slender bodies wrapped their way around each other.

“Oh, yes. Oh, yes,” Willow responded passionately, demanding yet another incomparable solo.

The thought of all those passionate moments brought her anxious index finger to the verge of pressing the callback option on her phone’s display screen. Her intention, she told herself, was to patiently explain why their relationship must remain in the past.
 

But the breathless sound in his voice as he pleaded, “Must see you, world most empty without you,” melted the good instinct that told her to keep Kozlov far from her bed.

“I’m rushing out to a personal appearance that I’m already late for. Where are you?”

“Coming in plane for San Francisco in two days.”

Against every instinct, she agreed to call him on Monday so that they could meet.

Kozlov exclaimed, “This is most excellent,” and promised to “count many minutes until we be at sides with each other.”
 

Kozlov’s touch was still on her mind as her driver brought her to William’s front door, where a team of valets for parking the guests’ cars was already waiting in place.

The invited guests began arriving shortly after four on a perfect mid-May afternoon.
 

It had been less than four months since Willow and William had met at the symphony’s Black & White Ball. William, tanned with dark hair streaked with wisps of silver, clad in a soft yellow cashmere sweater atop cream-colored linen pants, looked successful and distinguished. His strikingly attractive companion looked as though she had stepped out of the pages of
Vanity Fair
.
 

Together, as they warmly greeted their guests, they conveyed the right illusion: that they were obviously meant for each other.
 

The home had been built on one of Belvedere’s highest points. The large, expansive deck on its third floor sundeck was not only perfect for receptions but afforded breathtaking views of the Golden Gate Bridge and the entire San Francisco skyline: from the distant dome atop the iconic Palace of Fine Arts to the pyramid peak of the Trans America Building looking down on North Beach, and its centerpiece, Coit Tower, and then down to the busy waterfront and east across the Bay Bridge to Oakland, Berkley, and the hills beyond.
 

Sylvia reasoned that it would be less noticeable that she turned her “plus one” invitation into a plus two, if she came a little late, so she, Jack, and Holly arrived after most of the guests were already enjoying the delicious hors d’ouerves and the four-piece ensemble playing light jazz. The breeze was just strong enough to cool what might otherwise have been a too warm afternoon sun.
 

The demographics of Southern Marin County never ceased to amaze Holly. Within the space of a few miles, you could find pockets of poverty and enclaves of incredible wealth nestled between wide swaths of middle- and upper-middle class families, who were trying desperately to hold on in a part of the world where rising costs outstripped the majority of incomes.
 

Finally sighting Willow, Holly observed her from afar. As she glided comfortably through the gathering, it was obvious that Willow was accustomed to being followed by dozens of sets of eyes. Sometimes, she leaned casually on the arm of a very proud William, but just as often she confidently struck out on her own, each time introducing herself, as if the guest had no idea who she was.

As impressed and delighted as Holly was with Willow’s ease and grace, it irritated Pamela Botherton. She and her closest friend, Julia Hassie, huddled near an alcove that led back to a spacious family room, where a wall of windows looking back out to the far side of the sundeck from where Mt. Tamalpais could be seen towering over the redwoods of Mill Valley. Accustomed as they both were to being the center of attention at most peninsula gatherings, the two were in a stew over the seemingly gracious Willow Wisp.

“I can’t imagine what William Adams sees in her,” Pamela said in a low voice.

“I suspect he’s more in lust with her than in love,” Julia responded.

Pamela nodded. “I think he’s making a fool of himself, flitting around with a woman who is less than half his age!”

“Men can be such utter fools, Pamela. I’m certain one day she’s going to clean him out.”

“Julia, with his money, I don’t think that’s possible! But if she marries him, I’m guessing she’ll walk away with a nice slice of the Adams’ fortune.”

“I understand she’s worth millions on her own.”

“Perhaps, but I’ll bet the bank she has her eye on trading in those millions for a few of his billions.”

“I’m sorry that we haven’t yet had the chance to get to know one another.” Willow’s silky voice could be heard from behind them.

Both the women nervously tittered as they gave a brief thought to what they then dismissed was the unlikely chance that Willow had overheard any of their conversation.

Pamela put on her brightest smile. “Don’t give it a thought my dear! You’re so busy meeting so many new people that I’m sure it’s all a bit overwhelming.”

Try doing eight personal appearances a day with handlers pushing and pulling you in different directions and you’ll really know what it feels like to be overwhelmed, you nasty cow, Willow thought, hiding her own feelings behind an equally false smile. “We should do tea one day, and get to know each other better,” she added, but she dreaded the very thought of spending any more time with these two society matrons than absolutely necessary.

“Oh, we’d enjoy that!” Pamela and Julia responded in unison and then tittered nervously as their words tripped over each other.

“I’ll have my person contact your people and we’ll get something on the calendar,” Willow suggested, knowing that it was highly unlikely that either of these two had “schedulers.” It was something she said to embarrass these two irksome creatures, who she had overheard regarding the trading of millions for billions.

Willow reached out and gently touched each woman’s hand and then moved on. In her celebrity, she had honed an uncanny sense of those who thought kindly of her, and those who loathed being in her presence. That expertly tuned radar told her that Pamela and Julia tilted heavily toward the loathing side of the meter. They both would require careful observation, particularly if William were fond of either one of them.
     

Sylvia, who stood at the opposite end of the expansive and stunning terrazzo floor deck, was quick to observe the interplay between the three women. “How many twenty-nine year-old girls can carry themselves with that much poise and grace?” she murmured to Jack.

Despite being pleased with seeing the opulence of his surroundings, having long been a student of great wealth, the tentative half-smile plastered on her husband’s face was proof that he was thoroughly disinterested in the event.
 

She shrugged. She was more determined than ever to get close to Willow. Doing so would leapfrog the Stokes many rungs higher on Belvedere’s social hierarchy. With that in mind, she made her way over to the guest of honor.

Sylvia realized that her first conversation with Willow was destined to go well when Willow took hold of both of Sylvia’s hands, as if she was greeting a long lost friend. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Stokes, for your kind words in today’s
Peninsula Standard.
”

Delighted that Willow even knew who she was, let alone appreciated what she had written, Sylvia stuttered, “Oh! It—it was my
pleasure
! I was delighted to have the chance to include it in this week’s column. In fact, I’m doing a follow-up next week.”

“I don’t think that William is used to receiving all this attention,” Willow murmured demurely.

Sylvia chuckled. “That’s what happens if you’re fortunate enough to date a superstar.”

“Oh, I’d hardly call myself a superstar,” Willow responded with false modesty. “As you get to know me, you’ll see that I’m just a Marin County girl who got a few lucky breaks.”

“You’re a beautiful young woman with great poise, charm, and intelligence,” Sylvia said with the certainty of a devoted and loving aunt. “You made your own breaks.”

“You’re too kind, Sylvia,” Willow said, as she gave the aspiring society scribe a gentle kiss on the cheek—a sure sign of her affection and approval of her new friend and ally.
 

At that moment, Holly came up alongside of Sylvia. Taking her arm, she smiled innocently at Willow.
 

Sylvia took the cue. “Willow let me introduce Holly Cross, my dear friend, who is also the production manager for all of the
Standard
newspapers.”