Carolina Heat (14 page)

“I didn’t get to finish my laundry. It’s sitting in the washer in a big, wet clump. Not all of us live in hotels, you know. When men are driven to do laundry, it’s usually a desperate situation,” he grumbled.

“Stop complaining.” Annabelle’s voice was cool. “I told you I’d get us an appointment before noon.”

“Give me a break. It’s a quarter to twelve,” Mark protested.

“Not the point. Had you chosen to believe me, you’d have waited until this afternoon to do your chores. Underestimating me is
never
a good idea.”

Mark twisted in a dainty, antique chair far too small for his frame. “I’ll stop complaining if you stop gloating. Deal?” He stuck out his hand.

“Deal.” They shook on it, and didn’t pull their hands apart until the receptionist motioned from the doorway. They followed her down a long hallway lined with paintings as elegant and aged as the antiques in the waiting room.

“I smell very old money,” Annabelle whispered.

“Or at least the trappings of it,” Mark shot back. “Who knows how much is really left?”

They were led into a conference room, offered refreshments, and then left alone. The room was dominated by a large oil painting of Prescott Hall.

“Mark, was that an idle comment about the money, or have you heard rumors the Prescotts are running low on cash?”

“To be honest, I don’t pay much attention to gossip. Being gone for months at a time doesn’t keep me up on the local rumor mill. I have a few friends I could ask, though. Nothing stays a secret for long around here, especially not in the rarified social circles the Prescotts frequent.”

“I think you should ask around. Money, or lack thereof, is a pretty strong motive for crime. At least it gives us something to check out after we leave.” Annabelle reached into her bag and made sure her cell phone was turned on.

Mark knew it was time to put a halt to her compulsion. “Okay—fifth time you’ve checked your phone since I picked you up. Unless you have a small pet stashed away in there, I think you can assume it hasn’t magically turned itself off in the last ten minutes.”

“Vanessa’s computer was delivered to Jonathan over three hours ago. I don’t understand why he hasn’t called yet.”

“Sugar, you said he’s a hacker, not a miracle worker.” He patted her hand in reassurance while trying to hide a grin. It was entertaining to see the cool and collected Miss Carlyle a little flustered. And it was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. “For all we know, Jonathan could still be taking a shower or enjoying a second cup of coffee.”

Her eyes narrowed. “From the moment the box was delivered, he should’ve been working on it. My note made it perfectly clear how crucial the situation is. If he rolled over and hit snooze or ran off to the gym before booting her computer, I will make his life so miserable…” She broke off her tirade at the look of astonishment on Mark’s face.

“I was just trying to get you riled up. You know, to distract you. Don’t go threatening to lop off your brother’s head on account of my bad sense of humor.”

Annabelle lightly thwacked the back of his head. “Maybe I’ll threaten you instead. Deliberately trying to make me crazy, are you?”

Mark was spared having to answer by the appearance of Lamont Prescott. With his seersucker suit and bow tie, he looked much more the part of a genteel plantation owner than a lawyer. Mark and Annabelle stood as Prescott crossed the room, hand outstretched.

“Miss Carlyle and Dr. Dering.” He vigorously pumped their hands. “It is a genuine pleasure to meet you both. Please take a seat and we can discuss how my humble firm can serve you.”

Mark and Annabelle shared a look of confusion before she responded. “We’re not here on business Mr. Prescott, at least, not legal business.”

“Then I’m afraid I don’t understand how I can help.”

“I’m sorry for the miscommunication. I thought I explained this fully to your secretary. We’re here about your book collection.”

“Ah!” His eyes lit up with the passion of a true collector. “Are you fellow enthusiasts, then?”

“I lean more toward reading than collecting. Actually, we’re looking for a single book.”

His cordiality perceptibly dimmed a notch at her words. Prescott settled into the leather chair at the head of the table, hand poised over a legal pad. Mark could almost see the lawyer part of his brain shifting into action.

“You don’t sound as if you’re a native, Miss Carlyle. This book must be very important to make you travel all the way to our fair city in pursuit of it.”

Mark was suddenly glad his role in this discussion consisted of sitting back and not saying a word. Things were about to get very sticky, and he didn’t envy Annabelle the thin line of truth and lies she had to walk.

She leaned forward and launched into the collection of half-truths which comprised her cover story. “A good friend of mine, Tad Thornton, is a museum curator. He toured your plantation and was quite taken with your marvelous library. When he heard
Wanderlust
was planning a story on Charleston, he insisted we include your lovely home.”

Mark watched her pause, take a sip of water to give Prescott a beat to absorb the news. Sure enough, as she set her glass back down a look of pride washed across the older man’s face. Her timing was impeccable.

“I was able to see the plantation myself just this week. It will make a wonderful addition to the article.”

Mark was impressed. Annabelle’s poise never flickered as she recounted her tale. Prescott looked completely taken in by the telling.

“So you’re a writer for
Wanderlust
. Why, I’ve had a subscription for years. I make it a point to dig up old issues when I’m planning a trip. First-rate publication.”

“I’m glad you think so. It’s always gratifying to hear from subscribers in person. Makes all the nights cooped up in hotel rooms banging away on my computer worthwhile.”

Mark was worried she might be laying on the compliments a bit thick, but it seemed to be working. Prescott was completely relaxed in his chair. The mention of his library hadn’t caused so much as a flicker in his eyes.

“Miss Carlyle, I’m honored you want to mention Prescott Hall. My plantation manager can provide some photos if you have the space.”

“It’s a generous offer, Mr. Prescott, but in fact there is another matter in which only you can assist me. You see, Tad was hoping to borrow a book he noticed in your collection for an upcoming exhibit at his museum. As long as I’m down here, he asked if I’d see if you’re open to the idea. He thought the personal touch might make you more amenable to a loan. I can assure you every precaution and safeguard will be taken with your property, both during transport and the duration of the exhibit.”

Prescott stood abruptly. “I am more than open to the idea, Miss Carlyle. I’ve always been proud of my collection, and the thought that a museum is interested in even a small portion of it tickles me right down to my toes.” He bounced on the balls of his feet twice, in emphasis. “This is a red-letter day, indeed!”

Annabelle worried her lip with her teeth, the picture of innocent frustration. “And I’d be happy to celebrate with you, except for the small fact that the book is missing.”

Prescott’s bushy eyebrows exploded upwards. “What? Impossible. Young lady, I assure you whichever book your friend has his eye on, it most certainly isn’t missing.”

He was following her cues as if they’d handed him a script. The meeting was going exactly as Mark and Annabelle had planned. Mark kept his fingers crossed Prescott wouldn’t ask the title of the book. It was an obvious question, but since they had no idea what it was, if he brought it up they were sunk.

She cleared her throat. “Perhaps I misspoke. After I searched the library during my visit with no results, one of the tour guides mentioned someone else had used the library two weeks earlier. Is it possible they simply borrowed the book in question?”

Mark realized he was holding his breath. This could be the break they needed.

The lawyer strode to the door and bellowed for his secretary. “I do remember giving permission for someone to spend the afternoon with my collection, but the name eludes me at the moment. I was about to leave on a trip and didn’t pay the request much heed. But we keep a record of those things for liability and such. We’ll have this cleared up in no time.”

After muttering instructions to his secretary, Prescott rejoined them at the conference table. “Suppose I should’ve paid more attention. Letting someone poke around is entirely different from letting them stroll off with one of my books. If you ask me, it’s downright rude. Nobody takes advantage of Lamont Prescott.” The telephone in the middle of the table buzzed, and Prescott snatched the receiver.

“Who was it?”

Mark gave Annabelle’s hand a squeeze under the table. This could be it—one name and then they could call the police and bring this whole thing to a close. Investigative journalism was sure a lot easier than historical research. It usually took him weeks, if not months to pore over manuscripts—or even to find the manuscripts in the first place. Annabelle was here for less than a week and information was dropping into her lap. He shook his head, bemused. Must be the difference between dealing with people who had been dead for centuries and people you could just call up and actually ask questions.

Prescott asked his secretary to repeat the name twice, and then slowly hung up. After adjusting his bow tie, he finally spoke. “Her name was Varina Howell.”

Mark planted his hands on the table and leaned in. It was definitely his cue to join the party. “Is this some kind of a joke?” His voice was coated in ice.

Annabelle tugged on his sleeve. “Mark, what is wrong with you? I really don’t think you need to take that tone with Mr. Prescott.”

He whipped his head around to face her. She’d had her shot at being in the driver’s seat, but it was time for him to take over. “Well, I really
do
think I need to take this tone, as you so nicely put it. I sat here for half an hour while you two piled on the bullshit ankle deep, but I can’t listen to it any more.”

“Young man, I’ll thank you to remember this is a place of business,” Prescott blustered. “Miss Carlyle, your taste in escorts is highly questionable.”

“Mr. Prescott, I don’t know what to say. You were so generous in sharing this information with us…” Her tone was soothing and apologetic, even as she glared daggers at Mark.

“Oh, right. You could starve to death depending on this kind of generosity.” Impatient with the whole situation, Mark shoved back his chair and stood. He was easygoing to a point, but push too far and his temper went straight to a full boil. He crossed to the other side of the table. Past experience taught him he’d need lots of elbow room. When he got this worked up his arms and legs took on a life of their own.

“Don’t you see, Annabelle?” He pointed dramatically at Prescott. “He’s playing us for fools.”

“You are not making any sense,” she hissed between gritted teeth.

Mark threw his arms out to the sides in frustration. “Varina Howell—the name doesn’t mean anything to you?”

Annabelle shrugged her shoulders. “Should it? I know all of three people in this city.”

“I guess Mr. Prescott assumed you being a Yankee, he could slip one over on you. Since I hadn’t opened my mouth yet, he had no way of knowing I was from right here in Charleston.”

Exasperation colored her voice. “What difference does it make where we’re from?”

“A simple matter of history. Varina Howell might not be a household name up in New York City, but most school kids down here learn it at a real young age. She was the second wife of Jeff Davis. That is, Jefferson Davis, President of the Confederacy. The War Between the States, secession…any of this ringing a bell for you?”

Annabelle didn’t move at all for a moment, didn’t even blink. Mark could practically hear the gears in her head working and decided to buy her another minute. He made a show of closing the door for greater privacy, then stopped chin to chin with the older man. “Mr. Prescott, I’m insulted and disappointed. I know you must recognize the name.”

“Of course I did. That’s why I made my secretary repeat it. Damn thing doesn’t make any sense. Now I have a stolen book and a joker with a love of history to report on my insurance claim. I’m as shocked as you are. More so at the thought you might imagine I was involved in some way.” He smoothed his lapels, every inch the Southern gentleman. “Both this firm and my family have a long-standing reputation of integrity. You have no right to question me, sir. No right at all.”

Her first interview with a partner was a disaster of epic proportion. The discussion had gotten completely out of hand. Mark and Prescott both all but quivered in outrage and were practically in a fighting stance. If she didn’t act quickly it was a very real possibility that they’d come to blows. Annabelle realized Mark’s level of indignation, although justified, was out of proportion to a missing book. Unwilling to disclose the real reason behind their urgent quest for the book, she knew they had to back off, or risk losing even this slim lead. She left her seat to join the fray.

“Mr. Prescott, I apologize. We were taken by surprise.” She dug her fingers into the back of Mark’s arm, warning him to play along. “My friend here knows I’ve received quite a few unkind comments on my Yankee upbringing since arriving in Charleston. Consequently he’s a bit overprotective at the thought of someone trying to take advantage of me.”