7

      It was the last chance Bay and Duncan had to talk one-on-one. Once they arrived at the house, Madeleine took over again leading Bay from one guest to the next. Contrary to Madeleine’s earlier criticism, she liked Odessa Davis best. Diminutive, eternally sunny and as plump as her husband, she exhibited a genuine affection for him even when gently chastising him about his sermon as Madeleine warned she would.

      Despite having left the church first, Holly arrived shortly after the Davises and didn’t participate in any conversation unless asked a direct question, something no one seemed eager to do. Lyle Gessler appeared from somewhere else in the house and planted himself behind Madeleine like a substitute guardian angel. Bay caught him watching her several times and, while his expression remained lawyer passive, his aura of disdain for her brought a chill that made the air-conditioned room almost too cold to bear.

      Granger Patterson was the last to arrive and offered no apology or explanation for delaying lunch. Tall enough to tower over Duncan, his sun-streaked blond hair also bore interesting silver highlights, a close match to his eyes. Bay guessed him to be in his mid-sixties, except that his hands and neck suggested a decade beyond that. Cosmetic surgery? From what she’d read in the news, an increasing number of men were opting to go under the knife for business reasons. Bay disliked him on sight, but not for that reason. Once they were introduced, the man simply gave her no other choice.

      “Ms. Butler.” He shook her hand in a firm, but brief exchange. “Tyler’s lady of the hour.”

      “Closer to a reluctant fifty-nine seconds if I’m lucky.”

      “Clever soundbite, though it wouldn’t work as well in print as on TV.”

      “I didn’t realize I was being interviewed.”

      “Would you like to be?”

      “Absolutely not.”

      “All right, we can talk price.”

      “That wasn’t an attempt at negotiation.”

      The slight duck of his head signaled his cynicism. “I don’t put much stock in modesty. I care about the story, not politics or agenda.”

      “Okay, then you know I haven’t voted in several years and my only agenda is to stay away from carnivores. If you can manage to insult me accurately, we might end up having a conversation.”

      His laugh sounded like someone strangling. “I’ll have my secretary set up an appointment.”

      “Not about a story.”

      “It could be lucrative for you. Madeleine tells me you’re an artist as well as craftsman.”

      “One who’s booked to September.”

      “You’ll be old news by then.”

      “Lucky me.”

      Being rejected didn’t phase Patterson. At lunch he sat on Madeleine’s left and Bay on her right, and while their hostess did her best to keep his attention, he remained doggedly intent on including Bay in their dialogue. Not only was Madeleine visibly annoyed, but it kept Bay from speaking to Lyle Gessler. Intercepting sharp looks from Holly at the far end of the table beside Duncan made it all worse.

      Rich food and stress took its toll and Bay excused herself before dessert could be served hoping to find aspirin in the guest bathroom to ease her throbbing head. The perfect hostess, Madeleine had several pain relievers displayed on a crystal tray for guests. Two tablets and a few moments with a cool washcloth against her forehead gave her the ability to head back to the others.

      On her way past the sunroom, she spotted Holly at the wheel-cart bar. “Could we talk for a moment?” Bay asked, as the young woman poured herself what looked like vodka from a crystal decanter.

      Ignoring her, Holly downed the double shot of liquor. “No need to practice your ‘Free at last, free at last’ speech on me. Unlike the very interesting Mr. Patterson, I’m not buying theatrics. I get enough at my day job.”

      So much for Madeleine’s claims. How could she misread Holly this badly? “It’s true. I really want—”

      “To be friends? Nice trick, considering we were never going to be that when Glenn was alive.”

      “I wanted to, so why not? We both cared about him.”

      Sheer hatred flared in the other woman’s eyes. “I loved him. You threw him away.”

      “We were friends, Holly. It was never meant to be anything else. He understood in the end and I was so happy for him when he met you and recognized that he was really in love.”

      “Ms. Butler, Holly,” Lyle Gessler said in the doorway. “You’re about to miss dessert. Mrs. Ridgeway would like you to return to the table.”

      Rejecting the arm Lyle offered her, Holly did that immediately. Bay saw her opportunity and tried to delay him.

      “Mr. Gessler, a moment, please. My case file,” she told the attorney as he paused. “I’d like to see it.”

      “That’s impossible.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I don’t have it.”

      “Who does?”

      He nodded toward the dining room.

      “You haven’t kept a copy?”

      “There was no reason to. I was the liaison. My area is corporate law, not trial law.”

      “Thank you,” Bay replied despite his condescending tone. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Ridgeway then.”

      She wanted to leave there and then, but somehow got through the white chocolate mousse with raspberry sauce, and the tedious wait for the other guests to depart. Finally, as Martin Davis and Odessa took their leave, she let Madeleine walk her to the door—only to be handed another rejection.

      “It’s over, darling. What good is reminding yourself of the unpleasant? It’s certainly not going to help your future.”

      “I’m still searching for clarity and perspective. I know Mr. Gessler gave me the abbreviated facts, but this is my life we’re talking about. I went from no future, to unlimited possibilities in a matter of minutes. I’m still coming to terms with how that happened.”