Manolos in Manhattan (42 page)

“No one, except...” Holly looked up at Hugh with sudden misgivings. “Except for Chaz...but he’d never do something like that.”

Darcy took a thoughtful sip of his coffee. “All right, then. I suppose we can eliminate Chaz as a suspect. But how much do you know about his friend, Klaus?”

“Not much,” Holly admitted. “He’s German; he designs hideous, sky-high shoes for women that Coco thinks are better than sex; and he takes his nasty little dog, Maximilian, with him everywhere he goes. Oh ‒ and he’s really, really rude.”

Hugh smiled slightly. “So you don’t like him, then?”

“I can’t stand him. There’s something...” She frowned, trying to find the perfect word. “Phony about him.”

“Well, we can eliminate him as a suspect too, I suppose,” Darcy ventured, “since it’s doubtful that he knew anything about Daisy’s portrait.”

“I know one person who had a very good motive.” Holly looked at him with a grim expression. “Ciaran.”

“Ciaran?” Hugh blinked. “I don’t follow. Why would he want to steal Daisy’s portrait?”

“Because he needs money,” she said flatly. “He’s deeply in debt. After all,” she added, “he tried to blackmail my father for a half-million dollars tonight.”

Hugh set down his cup. “Which begs the question ‒ what could Ciaran possibly have on your father?”

“Not a thing. But a couple of years ago, he slept with my mum.” At Hugh’s shocked expression, she hastened to add, “It was just a meaningless fling. He dumped her afterwards and left her feeling pretty bad about herself.” She pressed her lips together. “Now I know why Mum was so upset when I told her I was seeing Ciaran. She knew he was no good, but she couldn’t exactly tell me the truth. And she didn’t want to hurt me.”

“I’m sorry for her, and for you, of course. Duncan’s an unmitigated scoundrel. But I still don’t see where blackmail fits in.”

Holly felt her throat close. “Ciaran told my father that he’d break off our engagement and disappear from my life – for a million pounds.” Tears began to slide down her cheeks. “He never loved me, Hugh,” she whispered. “I was just a – a means to an end.”

Darcy’s hand came out and settled, strong and warm, over hers. “I’m sorry, Holly,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry he deceived you, and hurt you so badly. But in the grand scheme of things,” he added, his words grim, “you’re very lucky. At least things didn’t go as far – or end so badly – as they did for my sister, Phoebe.”

Holly wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “Ciaran got Phoebe pregnant and forced her to get rid of the baby, didn’t he?”

“Yes. But how did you know that?” Hugh asked, mystified.

“Because that’s what he said
you
did – to his sister, Jane.”

Hugh’s expression darkened. “God, I despise that man! Phoebe was barely eighteen. He’s lucky all I gave him was a bloody nose. I was a member of the Amateur Boxing Club as well as the Drama Club at Oxford, you know. I might’ve beaten him to a pulp.”

“I think,” Holly told him firmly as they pushed their chairs back and stood to leave, “that Ciaran Duncan had it coming to him. And I think that you, Mr Darcy‒” She smiled and took his arm. “‒have a really impressive right hook.”

A short time later, Hugh drew the Mercedes to a stop in front of Chaz’s apartment building. “Shall I come in with you? Or would you prefer to be alone?”

“Alone, if you don’t mind. It’s been a brutal night, I’m shattered.” She met his eyes across the darkened interior. “Thanks for driving all the way to Brooklyn to bring me home, Mr Darcy. And thanks for being so understanding about all of this.”

He reached out and took her hand. “I’m just glad you found out the truth about Ciaran before it was too late.”

“I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

“You weren’t stupid,” he reassured her. “You trusted a man who didn’t deserve your trust. You weren’t the first woman he deceived and, unfortunately, I daresay you won’t be the last.” He paused. “And one more thing before you go,” he added, and released her hand as he reached across her to open the car door.

Holly eyed him quizzically. “What’s that?”

“For God’s sake, Holly, call me Hugh.”

Holly let herself into the apartment, kicked off her shoes, and started to pack. There was no possibility of sleep anytime soon, not with the memory of Ciaran’s betrayal still so vivid in her mind. And there was no point in staying here at Chaz’s place any longer; after all, he was moving into Klaus’ apartment at the Dunleigh next week.

“I’m home,” Chaz announced a few minutes later as he opened the door and sailed into the living room. “But not for long. I’m spending the night at Klaus’ place, and he’s waiting in the car downstairs, so I just popped in to grab a few things…”

He stopped as he saw the boxes on the floor. “What are you doing?”

“I’m packing.”

“I can see that. Ooh...are you moving in with Ciaran?”

“No.”

Chaz was too keyed up – and probably a little too drunk after the party – to notice Holly’s subdued manner. “Just think,” he called out as he headed to his bedroom, “soon we’ll be neighbors at the Dunleigh. I know it’s not quite the same as roomies, but still.”

Holly said nothing but continued to pack.

“Oh, don’t look so grim!” he chided when he returned to the living room. He tossed his overnight bag on the sofa. “I’ll be sharing Klaus’ gorgeous apartment, and you’ll be living in wedded bliss with Ciaran in
his
gorgeous apartment.”

“No, Chaz, I won’t.” She tossed several books into a box. “Ciaran and I are over. I’m moving back to my parents’.”

He stared at her, appalled. “
What
? You can’t be serious! We haven’t even gone shopping for your wedding trousseau yet, or picked out your china pattern—”

“It’s not happening. I’m not marrying him, Chaz – now, or ever. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she reached around him to grab another stack of books. “I really need to finish packing.”

“Oh. Okay.” He picked up his overnight bag and regarded her with a frown. “I’ve gotta go. We’ll talk tomorrow, all right? I want details! I’m not letting you off the hook so easily.”

“Sure, okay. I’ll be at the townhouse.”

Chaz reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” he reassured her gently. “Whatever it is, you’ll work it out. Everyone has these stupid pre-wedding lover’s spats.”

“Thanks,” Holly murmured, and reached up to squeeze his hand back. She gave him a half-hearted smile. “I’m sure you’re right.” She couldn’t tell him that what had happened between her and her ex-fiancé tonight was far worse than a lover’s spat.

Ciaran Duncan had taken her heart, ripped it from her chest, and danced the Macarena on it.

She’d never forgive him for what he’d done. She despised him.

But as she finished packing up her books and began, once again, to cry, Holly despised herself even more.

After all, in spite of warnings from everyone from her parents to Hugh to her best friend, Chaz, Holly believed every one of Ciaran’s lies – because she’d
wanted
to believe him.

She’d insisted that her friends and family – the ones who knew her best, the ones who loved her best ‒ were wrong. They didn’t understand Ciaran. They were just being petty, and small-minded, and jealous. They envied her good fortune.

Holly shed her costume and stumbled, exhausted, into bed.

As she pulled the covers over her head and closed her puffy, tear-swollen eyes, she couldn’t help but wonder...

...how had Ciaran, the man Holly had always dreamed of, turned out to be her worst nightmare?

Chapter Seventy-Five

Holly sat on Chaz’s sofa the next morning and glumly surveyed the boxes containing all of her worldly belongings.

There really wasn’t that much.

A laptop, some clothes and shoes – well, okay, a
lot
of shoes – books, the box containing Daisy’s letters, a Bob Marley poster. That made up the sum total of her pathetic life...her pathetic, lonely,
loveless
life.

She stared at the bare spot on her finger where Ciaran’s ring had been.

“She’s a sweet girl. I’ve grown rather fond of her.”

He’d never loved her. He’d wined her, dined her, staged the most incredible, romantic evening for the two of them – ‘staged’ being the operative word ‒ and all of it was a sham.

Holly’s throat thickened.
Question
: Was there anyone more gullible in all of Manhattan than her?
Answer
: Probably not.

She thought of Daisy, and took out the last letter she’d written to Bix from the top of the box.

Your father knows I’m adopted, and he knows I’m mixed-race. He came to the club and said he’ll let everyone in town know I’m touched with the tar brush, and ruin my singing career to boot, unless I break things off with you.

I’m real proud of you for confronting him, and telling him you still plan to marry me; but he won’t let this go. He swore he’d never allow you to marry a ‘high-yellow gal’ like me.

I’m sitting here in my dressing room with my trunks packed and ready, counting the minutes until we elope, my darling Bixie. We’ll start over in Paris, the two of us, and—

The letter stopped. Holly lowered the page and frowned. Had Bix’s father, Graydon Averell, murdered Daisy?

Poor girl – her trunks were packed, and she’d been ready to run away to Paris with Bix. Then she’d disappeared.

Daisy and Bix never had their chance at happiness.

Holly swallowed, hard. She and Ciaran wouldn’t have their happy ending now, either.

But she was determined that Daisy and Bix would. She – and Darcy – would get to the bottom of Daisy’s disappearance. Together, they’d solve the mystery.

Abruptly, she stood up. She refused to sit around and cry over Ciaran Duncan. He
so
wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth the salt of even a single tear.

With renewed energy she picked up a couple of small boxes and began to load her car.

Chaz hadn’t come home last night. Why should he? He was in love, and had no reason to hang around the apartment watching reruns of
The Voice
or
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
with Holly any longer.

Chaz now officially had a life.

And she was happy for him, Holly told herself as she stowed an overnight bag and a few more boxes on the back seat of the Jetta. She really was.

She just hoped that Klaus didn’t trash Chaz’s heart the way Ciaran had trashed hers.

Halfway to the townhouse, Holly’s mobile phone rang. ‘You Make Me Wanna’. She started to grab it and tell Ciaran just exactly what she thought of him, but she resisted the urge. Instead, she let it go to voicemail.

There was nothing he could say or do to earn forgiveness for what he’d done, not only to her, but to her family. He’d had an affair with her mother. He’d tried to blackmail her father.

He’d told her nothing but lies from start to finish.

As she turned onto her parents’ street, Holly slowed the car. A throng of reporters loitered around the entrance to the townhouse and a couple of local television trucks were parked along the curb. What, she wondered with a sinking feeling, was going on?

She reached out to turn the radio on. “In other news, Suki Stephens has been arrested and charged with theft in the recent ‘Top Cat’ burglaries. Ms Stephens is an employee of the Brooklyn Heights decorating firm, Gavin Williams and Associates. Also arrested was Ian Clarkson, a former employee of Dashwood and James department stores...”

Crikey
, Holly thought, alarmed. She hoped Nat was okay.

“And in entertainment news, film star Ciaran Duncan has split with Dashwood and James heiress, Holly James. The two announced their engagement only last week. Neither could be reached for comment.”

Oh, shit
. Holly switched off the radio and sped up, and zoomed past the townhouse without stopping.

She headed for the brownstone. No one would find her there; it was Sunday, and the store was closed. She’d call Nat and find out what was going on, and hide out in the attic until the furor over her broken engagement to Ciaran died down.

And maybe, for a while, she could disappear off the media’s radar.

After Rhys assured her that Nat and the baby were fine, Holly rang off in relief and made her way up to the attic. The police had cordoned off the attic stairs with yellow “crime scene” tape; she ducked under it and went inside.

As she surveyed the quiet, dusty attic – cleared of most of the accumulated junk – Holly had a sudden, horrible thought.

The portrait of Daisy was gone from the attic. Did that mean that Holly wouldn’t be able to sense the flapper’s presence anymore?

“Daisy?” she said tentatively. “Daisy, are you here?”

“No. But I am.”

She whirled around to see Darcy standing at the top of the stairs. “Hugh! What are you doing here? You startled me.”

“Sorry.” He ducked under the yellow tape and joined her. “I was passing by and saw your car parked out front. Is everything all right?”

Holly shrugged. “Not really. Aside from the fact that Ciaran ripped out my heart and ran it through the shredder, now the press knows we’re over. So a gazillion reporters are camped out in front of my parents’ place, hoping for a nice sound bite about the breakup from me.” She felt her lower lip begin to tremble. “And the worst thing is...we’re no closer to figuring out who killed poor Daisy than we ever were.”

“Well, at least we know who
didn’t
kill her.” Hugh walked to the crate that Daisy’s portrait had so recently rested against and stared at the empty space with a brooding expression. “It wasn’t Graydon Averell.”

“But Bix’s father had the strongest motive.”

“After I took you home last night,” he answered, “I Googled his name to see what I could learn. He made his money in the stock market and the B&O Railroad. He married June Forsythe Averell, and they had one son, Braydon.”

“Bix,” Holly murmured.

Hugh nodded. “Unfortunately, on the night Daisy disappeared, Bix’s father collapsed. He was rushed to Mount Sinai, but died of a heart attack a few hours later. So Graydon Averell couldn’t possibly have murdered Daisy.”