“What did you do to him, anyway?” She raised her head from his chest and saw the small, fist-sized stone gargoyle lying on the floor beside Dylan’s head. “Good grief. No wonder he went down. Nice shot.”
“I told you that I used to play a little ball.” He moved his right shoulder in an absent way, as if remembering an old ache.
Alexa gave him a tremulous smile. “I remember. Your father dreamed that you might turn pro someday.”
Trask nodded. He said nothing.
“I think that your father’s crazy dream just helped save my life,” Alexa whispered.
Trask refocused on her face. “Dad always was a little ahead of his time.” He pulled her hard against him, crushing her. “Christ, Alexa. You scared the living daylights out of me.”
“I was a little nervous, myself,” she mumbled into his shirt. “Maybe I’ve pushed the envelope on this wild woman stuff far enough.”
“You can say that again,” he muttered into her hair.
She turned her head against his chest to watch as Webster gallantly assisted Harriet to her feet.
“Are you sure you’re all right, ma’am?” Webster studied her with grave concern. “Maybe I should call 911.”
Harriet smiled beatifically. “No need for that. I’m as fit as a fiddle.” She looked expectantly at Alexa. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, dear?”
Alexa sighed. “Webster Bell, Trask, allow me to introduce Harriet McClelland, my former employer. The woman who taught me everything I know about early-twentieth-century art and then some.”
“A pleasure,” Webster said politely.
Trask contemplated Harriet in silence for a long moment. Then his mouth curved slightly at the corners. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Harriet’s blue eyes sparkled approvingly. She winked at Alexa. “I must say, dear, your taste in men has definitely improved since we last met.”
36
“The little sociopath had us all fooled.” Webster sank wearily into one of the suite’s red tapestry chairs. “I still can’t believe it. So Harry Trask really was murdered. You were right all along.”
“I was right, but for the wrong reasons.” Trask lounged against the back of the red tapestry sofa. “Fenn admitted to Strood that he got rid of my father because Joanna was set on marrying him. He didn’t even know that the partnership between Dad, Guthrie, and Kenyon had gone bad. Fenn wanted to make certain that Joanna’s inheritance remained linked to Dimensions.”
“I’m so bloody sorry.” Webster massaged his silver temples. “For everything.”
“No one in this room is to blame,” Trask said very steadily. “Fenn was the killer. He bears full responsibility.”
Alexa, seated on the sofa below him, looked up. Her eyes were shadowed with concern. He put one hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. He had been finding excuses to touch her all evening, he realized. He did not want to let her out of his sight. He had a feeling that some of his old nightmares were soon going to be replaced with a new batch.
He took a swallow from the glass of very expensive single malt scotch he had retrieved from a locked case behind the resort’s bar. Alexa, Webster, and Harriet followed suit. A short silence descended on the small gathering.
The confrontation in Elegant Relic showed every indication of turning into a major bonding experience, Trask thought. He had brought them all back to the suite for a late dinner and an informal debriefing after Strood had finished taking down their statements.
It was nearly midnight now. The French doors were open to allow the desert night into the room. He took a deep breath of the clean air.
“I must say, that young man, Fenn, is clearly bonkers.” Harriet gave a delicate shudder.
Trask watched in amused awe as she tossed back a healthy gulp of the potent scotch. Other than a slight brightening of her blue eyes, she appeared unfazed.
“He said he wanted to sacrifice Alexa to some things he called vortices,” she continued. “Can you imagine?”
“I’ll tell you what I find hard to believe,” Alexa said. “It’s that Fenn was a hot shot corporate financial officer before he quit to follow the Dimensions Way.”
Harriet made a tut-tutting sound. “We all take odd turns in our lives from time to time. Who would have believed that a woman with an unerring instinct for early-twentieth-century art and antiques would have opened a shop that specialized in tacky museum reproductions, for example.”
Alexa turned on her. “Of all the unmitigated gall. How dare you call my shop tacky? It’s your fault that I had to open Elegant Relic in the first place…”
“Now, now, ladies,” Trask said soothingly. “We’re straying from the subject.”
Webster walked to the open doors. “From what I can gather, Stewart was so zealous about the Dimensions Way that he was an easy target for Fenn to manipulate. In addition, because of his past, violence was not foreign to him.”
Trask thought about what he had learned during the talk with Strood. “Dylan appointed himself Stewart’s personal meditation guide and swore him to secrecy, just as he did with Liz. They both went along with it because they believed he really could teach them how to ascend to a higher plane of consciousness.”
Alexa looked at Webster. “How is Joanna doing?”
“Much better.” Webster gave her a wan smile. “I talked to her for a few minutes after Strood finished with me. She said that, deep down, she had always wondered about the circumstances surrounding the death of Harry Trask.”
Alexa glanced at Trask and then turned back to Webster. “But she never said anything because of you.”
Webster hesitated. “In some distant corner of her mind she was secretly afraid that I might have killed Harry to keep him from getting his hands on her money. I can see where she got the idea. She and I had some almighty quarrels over the subject of her marriage.”
“This Joanna was obviously caught between a rock and a hard place,” Harriet observed.
“Bad enough to lose the man she loved,” Alexa said quietly. “She could not endure finding out that her only living relative, her beloved brother, might have been the killer. No wonder she wanted the past to stay buried.”
Harriet looked at her with a fond expression. “I had no idea you’d been living such an exciting life since we dissolved our partnership, dear.”
“We didn’t exactly dissolve our partnership,” Alexa said through her teeth. “You disappeared in the middle of the night and left me to face the music.”
“It amounted to the same thing,” Harriet said cheerfully. She looked at Trask. “I understand that you’re the proud new owner of Icarus Ives’s Dancing Satyr.”
“I own a statue called Dancing Satyr.” Trask glanced at Alexa. “I’m told it’s a fake.”
“It is,” Harriet said. “One of my best pieces.”
Trask nearly choked on his scotch. “It’s a McClelland?”
“Yes, dear.” Harriet smiled. “I wonder if I might ask a small favor of you…”
“Whatever you do,” Alexa warned. “Don’t listen to her.”
Several hours later Alexa awoke to find herself alone in the black lacquered bed. She turned and saw the solid, dark shape of Trask outlined against the window.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly.
“Yeah.”
She sat up and folded her arms on her knees. “You’ve got the answers you came here to find.”
“Most of them,” he agreed.
She braced herself to ask a question of her own. “How long will you be staying in Avalon?”
“That depends,” he said.
“On what?”
“On the answer to my last question.”
A lightheaded sensation passed through her. “What is your last question?”
He watched her from the shadows. “Before you abandon your wild and reckless lifestyle entirely, will you take one more risk?”
“What kind of risk?”
“On me?”
&nb
sp; A glorious rush of warmth rose within her. The sense of weightless happiness was so great she wondered that she did not levitate off the bed. She pushed aside the covers, got to her feet, and walked across the room to join him.
She put her arms around his neck and raised her mouth to his.
“I kept telling Dr. Ormiston that I wouldn’t have a problem with commitment when I met the right man,” she said.
A long time later Trask rolled onto his back and put one arm behind his head. He had never been more satisfied, more content, more at peace, he thought. And the sex was terrific, too.
“What are you thinking?” Alexa asked in a sleepy voice.
He smiled to himself and gathered her close. “Wild woman lives.”
37
Three weeks later…
“You were certainly busy while your mom and I were out of town.” Lloyd stretched out on Alexa’s patio lounger and reached for his beer. “Scared the bejeezus out of us when we found out what had happened.”
“What can I say?” Alexa smiled. “I went through a wild period. Probably just a phase.”
“Let’s hope so. Don’t think I could take too much of that kind of excitement.” Lloyd eyed her. “Trask, I assume, is not just a phase?”
“No. Trask is permanent.” She watched the setting sun paint the desert with the uncanny light of other dimensions. “I’m going to marry him.”
“Figured as much.” Lloyd gazed out over the glowing red and purple landscape. “That why you asked me to come over before Trask and Vivien got here tonight?”
“Yes. I wanted to discuss something with you in private.”
He nodded. “You probably want to talk prenups. I know I’ve always made a big deal about them. You’ve got a fair amount of money to protect.”
“Thanks to you.”
Lloyd shrugged that off. “All I did was take what your grandmother left you and put it to work. Anyhow, like I said, I know I’ve drilled the idea of the importance of a prenuptial contract into your head since you started to date.”
“Good advice, Lloyd. I’ve never forgotten it. Think I’ll need one with Trask?”
Lloyd gave her a searching look. “Do you think you need one?”
“Nope.”
Lloyd smiled slowly. “That’s pretty much how I see it, too. Does he want one?”
“Nope.”
“Figured he wouldn’t. Forget the contract. Twelve years ago that stubborn son-of-a-gun wouldn’t take a dime from me. He hasn’t changed much from what I can tell. If the marriage doesn’t work out, he won’t touch your money. And you wouldn’t touch any of his. You’re just as proud and bullheaded as he is.”
“The marriage is going to work just fine.”
“I think you’re right.” Lloyd took a swallow of beer. “Trask turned out okay. Had a feeling he would.”
Alexa smiled. “You were the only one around who wasn’t worried when you heard that he was coming back to Avalon.”
Lloyd snorted. “Probably should have worried some, after all.”
“But not about Trask.”
“No, not about him.” Lloyd arched one thick brow and gave her a long considering look. “Always knew you’d recognize the right man when he came along.”
“That’s what I tried to tell Dr. Ormiston.”
“So how come you wanted me to come over early tonight?”
“So that I could ask you if you’d walk me down the aisle.”
Lloyd paused, the beer halfway to his mouth. A slow smile curved on his face. Warmth gleamed in his eyes. “I would be proud to walk you down the aisle, Alexa. Nothing would make me happier.”
“Thanks.” She blinked away some moisture that was causing the twilight scene to shimmer a bit in front of her eyes. “Thank you very much, Lloyd.”
They were both quiet for a while.
“Tell me something,” Lloyd said eventually. “How’d you know Trask was the right man?”
“I think it was because, in some very important ways, he reminded me of you.”
EPILOGUE
Two months later…
Harriet handed her engagement gift to Alexa with a flourish. “You’ll want to open this one first, dear.”
Alexa took the silver and white present from her. “I’ll put it with the others.”
“I think you should open it now,” Trask said.
Alexa waved a hand at the huge crowd gathered on the grounds of the Avalon Resort & Spa. “What about our guests? Most of the town is here today, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed,” Trask said. “We’ll get back to them. Open Harriet’s gift.”
“But everyone’s waiting for us to do the first waltz bit.”
“Go ahead,” Vivien urged. “Open Harriet’s present.”
Lloyd smiled at Alexa. “Our guests can wait five minutes.”
Edward Vale hoisted his champagne glass. “To Harriet’s gift.”
Alexa ignored him. Edward had been drinking champagne all afternoon. Luckily he was staying at the hotel, she thought. He would not be fit to drive by the time the reception ended.
She looked at the circle of faces gathered around her. This was one of the happiest days of her life, she thought. She was officially engaged to the man she loved and she was surrounded by good friends and family. It probably didn’t get much better than this.
She could afford to be flexible.
“Okay, okay, I’ll open Harriet’s gift.”
She ripped into the gorgeously wrapped package and uncovered a white box. She raised the lid, tossed aside the tissue, and saw a copy of Twentieth-Century Artifact. A very new copy.
Alexa stilled.
“Hot off the presses,” Harriet said. “Won’t be on the stands until next week. I prevailed on an acquaintance to get it for me. Page twenty-three.”
Alexa fumbled with the cover. It was not easy to get to page twenty-three, she discovered. Her fingers were trembling.
“I’ll do it for you.” Trask took the glossy magazine from her and flipped through it quickly. “Here we are.”
Alexa took back the magazine and looked at the Insider’s Notes column.
CORPORATE COLLECTION STUNS DECO COLLECTORS
Insiders were enthralled by the glittering collection of Art Deco housed in the sumptuous new Avalon Resort & Spa in Avalon, Arizona. “I wanted the best,” Edward Vale, the corporate art consultant who supervised the project told TCA. “Naturally I went to the expert who exposed the McClelland forgeries, Alexa Chambers. She has an incredible eye for early-twentieth-century art and antiques. The client was delighted with the result.”
Avalon’s collection is the envy of several major museums and galleries. Its breadth and depth is remarkable. Indeed, it stands comparison with the finest collections in the country.
Never has the notion of the “modern” been so well defined as it was by the artists and craftsmen of the Art Deco period. Ms. Chambers has done a magnificent job of capturing that sensibility.
Of interest to insiders is the fact that the original catalog of the collection listed an Icarus Ives sculpture, Dancing Satyr. That piece, we are told, although purchased for the Avalon resort, was later sold to an anonymous collector before the hotel opened. “It was a personal decision,” said JL Trask, president and CEO of Avalon Resort, Inc. “I was never a great fan of Ives’s work.”
Trask went on to say that, although the hotel’s collection will be limited to the very finest examples of the Deco period, he himself has begun a unique private collection. It will be limited to the infamous, quite brilliant forgeries created by the anonymous sculptor whose work brought down the McClelland Gallery over a year ago.
Collecting rare and interesting forgeries has long been in vogue in the art world among a certain eccentric type of collector…
“Eccentric?” Trask snatched the magazine out of Alexa’s fingers. “Let me see that. Damn it, Mac, it was your idea to claim that I was starting a private collection of McClelland forgeri
es. You never told me that I’d get labeled eccentric in the press.”
“It’s all right to be called eccentric in the art world, dear,” Harriet said airily. “There’s a certain mystique involved.”
“Well, it’s not okay in the business world,” Trask growled. “Eccentric. Of all the—”
“Relax.” Alexa gently took the magazine from him, closed it, and handed it to a smiling Vivien. “Someday the McClelland forgeries are going to be worth five times what Icarus Ives’s work is worth.”
Harriet beamed.
Trask looked at Alexa, eyes gleaming. “Think so?”
“Yep.” She smiled complacently. “I’m an expert, remember?”
“Well, as long as you’re sure.”
“Think positive,” she said. “You live in Avalon, remember? Thinking positive is the local motto.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Cheer up, the bottom line is that you’ve made a brilliant investment,” she said.
He smiled. A slow, sexy heat gleamed in his eyes. “Well, that’s okay, then. You know me when it comes to the bottom line.”
He caught her hand, drew her to him, and led her away toward the assembled guests.
Alexa smiled. “You know something? Back at the beginning I told myself that falling in love with you would be the most reckless act of my life.”
“Was it?”
“No,” she said. “It was a sure thing.”
“Funny you should say that.” His fingers tightened around hers. “Back at the beginning I told myself I wouldn’t get caught in the fantasy.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah,” he said, “but it turned out okay. Bottom line was that it wasn’t a fantasy. It was real.”
Jayne Ann Krentz, Eye of the Beholder
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