Dead Giveaway (17 page)

During the next few months, she'd been friendly and businesslike despite her breaking heart, and when she couldn't stand the strain for one moment longer, she'd consulted Rachael and dissolved their partnership.

Even though she was no longer involved with Johnny in any way, his betrayal still hurt. Ellen knew it was partially her fault. She'd tried to be something she wasn't. An expensive hairdo, makeup applied by an expert, and a designer gown could camouflage the package, but nothing could change the contents. And as she became accustomed to being alone, she admitted that it was a considerable relief not to have to worry about how she looked and what she said. Now she was just plain Ellen, and if people didn't like her, that was too bad.

Of course she'd missed the hours she'd spent with Johnny, so to compensate, she had poured all her energy into running her mannequin business. Ellen knew her products were good, but orders were slow and her expenses were much higher than she'd figured on. She knew it took time for a small business to show a profit, but she was barely at the break-even point and she was running herself ragged, trying to handle everything on her own.

One morning she'd run into Jack St. James and when he'd casually asked how her business was doing, she'd burst into tears. It was just too much for one person to handle alone, she was losing money every time she turned around, and she wished she'd stayed in Minnesota and never tried to go into business for herself. After a couple of astute questions, Jack had told her she needed a business manager and recommended his friend, Walker Browning. Walker had spent the first two weeks examining the books and he'd discovered that Johnny had contracted with several firms who were bleeding off Ellen's profits. Their shipping charges were ridiculously high and the company they used was only minimally responsible for damages. Walker had found another carrier who guaranteed all losses at a much lower tariff, and Ellen had agreed to switch the moment their contract ran out. They were also changing warehouses as soon as their lease was up. Vegas Dolls had been paying through the nose for a prime location they didn't need.

When Walker had handed her his set of recommendations, Ellen had been astounded. She knew nothing about business, and obviously, Johnny hadn't either. If she followed Walker's plan, her running expenses would be cut by more than a third!

Next, Walker had concentrated on generating new business. He'd persuaded Ellen to ship out a free sample mannequin to several chains of clothing stores and every one of them had placed an order for more.

There was the sound of a key in the lock. Walker looked startled to see her sitting there.

“Ellen! I never expected you to wake up. You all right?”

Ellen nodded. “I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep, that's all. Where were you?”

“Up in the spa, enjoying the view.”

Walker smiled his contagious smile. He seemed honestly glad to see her awake and Ellen couldn't help but smile back. She couldn't thank Jack enough for sending her Walker. He didn't mind working long hours and seemed just as excited as she was when they came up with a good model, even suggesting some new features of his own. He never pried into her personal life and he'd caught on to her moods so quickly it amazed her. If she didn't want to talk, he did his share of the work in silence. If she was in the mood for conversation, he treated her to stories of growing up in Chicago that had her in stitches. She knew he liked her and she didn't have to be on her guard.

“Tell me about it, Walker.” Ellen tucked her knees up and the blanket slipped down a little. She saw her image in the mirror over the fireplace and smiled again. Here she was in her blue flannel granny gown, the bunny slippers on her feet, alone in her living room with a man and not even the slightest bit embarrassed. Perhaps if Johnny had truly been her friend, things might have worked out better between them.

Walker sat down on the couch. “It was spectacular, Ellen. You know those little crystal balls you find in the stores at Christmas, the ones with the winter scenes and the snowflakes?”

Ellen nodded.

“Up at the spa with the dome overhead and the snow falling outside, I felt like I was trapped inside one of those crystal balls. It was a strange feeling. I was all alone, but I wasn't alone because some big hand up there was shaking the ball to make the snow swirl. That sounds pretty crazy, doesn't it?”

“Nope.” Ellen shook her head. “I wish I'd been there.”

“It's not too late. Why don't you go put on your suit and we'll sit in the Jacuzzi with the lights out. Then I can show you what I mean.”

Ellen began to smile. Her former coworkers at Garfield Elementary would have had a collective fit if they thought she was even considering such a thing. She was glad she didn't have to worry about proper behavior for a teacher anymore.

“Come on, Ellen. I really want you to see it. It's the chance of a lifetime.”

Ellen smiled and got up. She turned at the doorway with a smile. “It's really strange, Walker. Somehow, you've plugged into my fantasy. When I was a little girl, I always dreamed of hiding inside the little crystal ball my mother had on the mantel. Now here I am, over thirty years old, and I'm finally going to do it.”

Jayne woke up to feel her husband's arms around her. God, how she'd missed him! She burrowed a little deeper under the covers and thought about how good it was to have him home again. Last night had been like a second honeymoon. If only they could stay like this and ignore their problems. Perhaps they needed blackout drapes like Marc, so they could sleep and make love all night and all day.

The sun streaming in through the shuttered window cast a bright pattern of gold stripes against the knotty pine-paneled walls. Moira had burned cattle brands into the wood at strategic intervals and the bedroom had the look of an elegant bunkhouse. Jayne squinted and tried to read the time on the Lone Ranger alarm clock Paul had found for her in an antique shop. Seven-fifteen. At seven-twenty, the clock would whinny like Silver and play the first eight bars of the
1812 Overture.
She reached out and pulled the plug so it wouldn't go off. The button had broken off while Paul was gone and she hadn't gotten around to fixing it.

The bedroom was filled with promotional objects that had been sold in the forties by the enterprising cowboys and cowgals of the silver screen. It had all started when Jayne had casually mentioned that she'd always wanted the Tonto Trick Lasso she'd seen as a child, advertised in the back of a Lone Ranger comic book, and Paul had turned it into a holy quest. Now she had the lasso, along with a Gene Autry hat rack, a Roy Rogers Happy Trails phonograph that played only seventy-eight RPM records, a Gabby Hays Sidekick trunk that sat in the corner next to her dressing table, and a Dale Evans Little Cowgirl mirror framed with rope. Paul had even managed to find a Cisco Kid poncho, obviously a product of some tongue-in-cheek promoter. He'd spent hours searching for cowboy movie memorabilia until she'd begged him to stop. That was another of their basic differences. She'd always enjoyed trying new activities, but Paul threw himself into them with such zeal that they ended up as work instead of fun.

Jayne grimaced as she remembered suggesting they camp out at the Grand Tetons for a week last summer. She'd always wanted to see Jackson Hole. Paul had agreed that it might be fun and the next thing she knew, their living room had been loaded with camping equipment. She could see the need for backpacks and sleeping bags and she hadn't objected to the three tents: One for sleeping, one for cooking, and one for storing their supplies. Paul said he wanted to be prepared for any contingency and he'd pored over countless volumes on life in the wild, taking notes on the proper procedures for setting up their base camp and making detailed lists of the supplies they'd need. Jayne had thought all this preparation was silly. They were just going for a week and if they ran out of something, they could get in the car and drive to the store. And if the tent blew down, or the air mattresses went flat, or it was too cold at night, they could always dash up to the lodge to get a nice comfy room there. Absolutely not, Paul had been firm. Jayne had wanted to camp out and that was exactly what they were going to do.

Paul had been so thoroughly prepared that absolutely nothing had gone wrong. But what Jayne had thought would be a carefree week of romping through the park and sleeping out under the stars had turned into a test of their survival skills.

The same thing had happened when they'd taken up tennis. She'd watched Laureen and Alan play and it looked like fun, so she'd asked Paul if he'd pick up a couple of racquets and a can of balls while she took care of the rest of the things she had to do in town. She should have known better. Paul had purchased every conceivable item of tennis equipment, all the proper clothing the salesman insisted they'd need, and a stack of instructional videos. He'd even arranged for them to take lessons from a pro three times a week. Naturally, the fun had gone out of it.

Jayne sighed. Paul researched a subject to death while she tended to go off half-cocked. There simply had to be a happy medium.

“What is wrong, Jayne?”

Jayne opened her eyes to find Paul staring at her. “I was just thinking about tennis, that's all. And how it's no fun anymore.”

“I know. I have thought similarly. Perhaps it would be more enjoyable if we failed to keep score.”

“You'd go for that?” Jayne was clearly surprised. “I thought you were keeping a log of how many matches we won.”

“I deep-fived it.”

“You mean deep-sixed. Then you're willing to play just for fun?”

Paul nodded and glanced at his watch. “We can go to the court before brunch. Unless you would rather argue first.”

“But I don't want to . . . oh, you mean
that
kind of argue.” Jayne began to smile. “I'd love to, but I can't think of anything to argue about.”

“Speak the words
grumble-mumble.
And then
walla, walla, artichoke.
”

“What?” Jayne pulled back a little to stare at him.

“It is a crowd noise. A month ago, I became the additional in a movie of the television.”

“You were an extra? How did it happen? Tell me!”

“I was walking to the office of Marc, and the director invited me to join them.”

“And you did? Just like that?” Jayne was clearly surprised. It was totally out of character for Paul to do anything spontaneous.

Paul grinned. “I knew you would say to have fun and I did. They first divided the group into two sections. One was to speak the
grumble-mumble,
and the other the
walla, walla, artichoke.
The director told us it would simulate the sound of many persons arguing. Which words do you choose to speak, Jayne?”

Jayne frowned slightly. “I think we'd better postpone this, Paul. We're supposed to meet the gang for brunch in less than an hour.”

“It does not matter to me if we are late.”

“It doesn't?”

“No. You are of more importance than the clock which tells the time.”

Jayne wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Paul had definitely mellowed.

Hal popped the last of a strawberry muffin in his mouth and waved Jayne away as she passed the plate. “I had three already and I couldn't eat another bite. We'd better save a couple for Clayton and Rachael.”

“What's keeping them?” Vanessa looked thoughtful. “I knocked at their door on the way up here, but they didn't answer. I know Clayton's not exactly the passionate type, but maybe . . .”

“That's enough, Vanessa!” Hal cut her off before she could finish. “They probably just overslept like Jayne and Paul. Yesterday was quite a day, right, Jayne?”

“Right.” Jayne felt the blush rise to her cheeks and hoped she didn't turn the color of the red cowgirl shirt she was wearing. She wasn't sure whether Hal was referring to Paul's return, or to everything else that had happened. “Anyone want another piece of Laureen's quiche?”

Alan rubbed his stomach. “Just one more. My wife makes the best quiche I ever tasted.”

“That's sweet, Alan.” Marc winked at him. “And pretty sly, too. Did you marry Laureen to get a controlling interest in her quiche?”

“No, he didn't,” Laureen laughed. “I was a terrible cook when we got married.”

Vanessa looked puzzled. “I don't get it. If you were a terrible cook, I don't see why in the world he'd ever . . .”

“Vanessa!” Hal clamped a hand over her mouth. “I don't believe you were ever a bad cook, Laureen.”

“I was, though. The first time I made breakfast for Alan, I burned the toast and the eggs were as hard as rocks.”

“And I didn't even notice.” Alan smiled at her. “I was thinking about how pretty you looked across the table. I could have been eating cardboard.”

Grace laughed. “Now that's true love. Moira won't even let me try to cook. She says I break too many dishes. Five years ago, right before that last big party we had for all Moira's clients on Thanksgiving, or maybe it was Halloween, I really can't remember which, I had all the china sitting out on the counter, two dozen salad bowls and two dozen plates and two dozen cups and saucers in that wonderful old-fashioned gold leaf design and I reached for the silver coffeepot and . . .” Grace cut herself off in midsentence and turned to look at Moira in alarm. “Why aren't you stopping me, Moira? I know I'm babbling.”

“I was waiting to see how long you'd go on.” Moira reached for Grace's hand under the table and squeezed it, and then she turned to the rest of the group. “Gracie's impossible in the kitchen. I don't see how she can be so graceful on the stage and such a total fu . . . klutz in the kitchen.”

Jayne glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. “Do you think I should go down to check on Clayton and Rachael? They're over an hour late.”

“I will go also, Jayne.” Paul stood up and bowed. “Excuse me. And please to hold down the rampart until we return.”

“It's hold down the fort,” Jayne corrected automatically. “Better make some more coffee, Ellen. I think I drank that whole pot all by myself.”

Jayne frowned as they got into the elevator. “Better stop at our place, honey, just in case. Rachael gave me a key when they delivered the new dishwasher and I think I still have it.”

“They purchased a new dishwasher?” Paul looked surprised. “The one they had was under warranty.”

“I know, but Rachael bought a whole bunch of new glasses that wouldn't fit in the rack so they traded it in for a different model. Hold the elevator. I'll be right back.”

When they got down to the fifth floor, Paul rang the doorbell repeatedly with no result. “I am not sure that we should use the key, Jayne. It is an invasion of their privacy.”

“Oh fiddlesticks! They won't mind. Come on, Paul. Let's roust them out of bed.”

The apartment was silent as Jayne and Paul walked from room to room. The bed looked as if it had been slept in, but Rachael and Clayton were nowhere in sight.

Paul was clearly unsettled by the sight of the deserted rooms. “This is very curious. Where could they be?”

“Uh, oh.” Jayne rushed to the hall closet and looked inside. “Their coats are gone and so are their boots. Remember how Clayton was so hot to take the snowmobile last night? I think we'd better check to see if it's still here.”

Several minutes later, they had their answer as they stared at the empty spot where Paul had parked the Arctic Cat. There was nothing to do but go back to the spa.

Everyone was stunned, most of all Grace. “I can't believe that Rachael would let him start out on the thing in the dead of night.”

“Well, that's exactly what they did.” Jayne gave a rueful laugh. “I swear, Clay doesn't have the brains that God gave a barrel cactus!”

“Maybe they waited until morning,” Marc suggested. “It wouldn't be as dangerous in the sunlight.”

Laureen shook her head. “I know for a fact they left before daybreak. I got up at six-thirty to start the quiche and I would have heard them.”

There was a long, tense silence while everyone imagined the worst. Then Ellen spoke up. “There was plenty of light last night. It was a full moon. I saw it from the Jacuzzi.”

“What were you doing in the Jacuzzi in the middle of the night?” Vanessa wanted to know.

“I couldn't sleep. Too much excitement, I guess. So Walker and I went up there to enjoy the view.”

Vanessa looked shocked. “Really, Ellen! You went up to the Jacuzzi in the middle of the night with a . . .”

Hal clamped his hand over Vanessa's mouth. “Sorry about that. So what shall we do about Clayton and Rachael?”

“I don't know that we can do anything.” Marc shrugged. “They took off with our only means of transportation. I guess we just have to hope that they got through all right.”

 

 

It was seven in the evening when they finished packing the things in Johnny's kitchen. Laureen glanced down and groaned. “That's enough work for today. Just look at my hands! They're black from all the newsprint.”

“Not as black as . . .”

Hal clamped his hand over Vanessa's mouth, a gesture that had become pure reflex. “I think I'll stay and finish a couple more boxes. It's too early to go to bed.”

“How about a game of charades?” Grace rose to her feet from a cross-legged position and stretched.

“We could play at our place,” Moira chimed in. She loved charades. “Are you up for a game, Ellen?”

Ellen nodded. “I'm terrible at charades, but I'll play anyway. Walker?”

“Sure. How about you, Jayne?”

Jayne hesitated. There was something bothersome about Clayton and Rachael's disappearance, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was.

“Come, Jayne.” Paul squeezed her shoulder. “You have always enjoyed the charades.”

Reluctantly, Jayne nodded. There would be time to think about Clayton and Rachael later. “All right. I'll play if Hal's on my team. He always guesses the ones I have to act out.”