He tipped his head to me. “I will convey your sentiments to my employer, although I have to warn you that Clyde will not be pleased. There may be some more…pointed requests on his part.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the cold wind that was now gusting in between us. “If Clyde comes after me, then he’s the one who will end up dead. Not me.”
Another small smile curved Tucker’s lips. “I have no doubt about that.”
More annoyance spurted through me. I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or not. “But?”
The smile dropped from his face. “But please be careful all the same, Ms. Parker. I rather like being annoyed and frustrated by you, and I would hate to see our relationship come to an abrupt, unpleasant end.”
Shock rippled through me at his confession, but before I could respond, Tucker tipped his head to me again, then spun around and strode away.
Within seconds, he had rounded the corner and vanished from sight, leaving me standing alone on the sidewalk, extremely annoyed and even more frustrated than before—in all sorts of ways.
ChapterSix
Despite my run-inwith Hugh Tucker, the rest of the week passed by without incident.
I upped security at the shipping yard, but nothing untoward happened there, and no more dead guys mysteriously appeared and then disappeared around my mansion. Silvio hadn’t contacted me with any information yet, so I still didn’t know who the dead guy might have been working with or for, but Clyde O’Neal was taking my refusal to sell my shipping yard much better than I’d expected. I didn’t receive any more visits from Tucker, or threats from anyone else, but the peace and quiet didn’t comfort me. Clyde was probably just trying to sucker me into lowering my guard before he sicced Tucker—or someone else—on me again.
Either way, the lack of trouble set me on edge, and soon I felt like Silvio had at the Pork Pit earlier in the week. After a while, you got so used to being in danger and dealing with one problem after another that the rare calm spells seemed a little bit…boring.
Oh, I had no real desire to be in mortal peril, but at least if something horrible had happened, I would have been able to react to it and plan my next move. Waiting and wondering when my enemies were going to strike next was far more unnerving. It always reminded me of coming home from school as a kid and never knowing what kind of mood my father would be in. Whether Renaldo would be kind and charming, or cold and aloof, or angry and abusive.
As a distraction, I threw myself even deeper into work, and I ramped up my search for someone to help me run the shipping yard, along with the rest of my business. I plowed through dozens of résumés and background checks and even conducted several in-person interviews, but none of the applicants was quite right. They were either too innocent, inexperienced, and idealistic or too hardened, bitter, and jaded like me.
Even worse, almost every single person had lied on their application in one way or another, and the skeletons in some people’s closets made me even more wary of them. If folks had told me the truth, I might have been able to overlook their prior misdeeds. After all, I wasn’t exactly an upstanding citizen myself, and I’d done plenty of awful things. But starting out with a lie—like claiming you hadn’t embezzled thousands of dollars from your last employer when you actually had—would only lead to more trouble in the end for me.
My other main distraction was Mallory and Mosley’s take-two wedding reception. Despite all the preplanning my grandmother had done, I still spent several hours helping her pick out table linens, decide on a playlist, and taste-test appetizers, entrees, and desserts. So much for Mallory’s claim that I wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Still, spending some quality time with my grandmother helped ease the lonely ache I had felt ever since she had moved in with Mosley.
Finally, the night of the party arrived. Mallory and I had also gone shopping earlier in the week, and I shimmied into a royal-blue cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline, elbow-length sleeves, and a flared skirt that stopped at my knees. I left my black hair loose around my shoulders, highlighted my blue eyes with smoky silver shadow and liner, and painted my lips a deep, dark scarlet. Black kitten heels and my rose-and-thorn ring completed my party ensemble.
I grabbed my coat and purse and drove over to the Rhododendron Inn. A clipper storm had moved through Ashland yesterday and covered the ground with a couple more inches of snow and ice, but the winding road that led up to the resort was clear.
The Rhododendron Inn had been built in the early 1900s by Marisol Patton, a wealthy woman who wanted a mountaintop retreat so she could escape the sweltering summer heat in the lower hills and hollers around the city. Over the years, the Patton family had added on to the inn, until now the massive structure boasted thirteen stories and three wings, along with a spa, a golf course, a man-made lake, and a chairlift that climbed up to the ski and sledding slopes on the very tiptop of the mountain.
The resort’s exterior featured round white stones crisscrossed with thin black wooden beams, making it look like an enormous tic-tac-toe board that had been partially filled in. Golden light spilled out of the wide picture windows, highlighting the folks in tuxedos and glittering gowns who were streaming toward the main entrance. I handed my car off to a waiting valet and followed the crowd to the main ballroom in the center of the resort.
I’d been to dozens of luncheons and fund-raisers here, but tonight the staff had transformed the space into a winter wonderland that mirrored the snowy landscape outside. Sparkly silver linens adorned the tables, while matching panels of fabric covered with tiny white and blue twinkle lights swooped down from the ceiling like elaborate electrified cobwebs. Even more lights wrapped around glittering silver trees clustered together in the corners.
Some folks were meandering along the buffet tables, while others were standing in groups, talking, laughing, and sipping drinks. An enthusiastic band was playing swing tunes on the stage in the back of the ballroom, and the mood was fun and festive. A smile spread across my face. Mallory had been right. This was the perfect way to celebrate her new life with Mosley.
“Pumpkin! There you are!” Mallory waved at me, and I headed over to her.
My grandmother looked lovely in a powder-blue cocktail dress covered with silver sequins, while her favorite diamond tiara was nestled in her teased cloud of snow-white hair. Mosley was by her side, looking as distinguished as always in a matching powder-blue tuxedo. Together, the two of them reminded me of a prom queen and her adoring king.
I kissed them both on their cheeks, then drew back. “The party is wonderful.”
The two dwarves beamed at me. Mosley moved away to talk to some other folks, but Mallory looked past me as though she was searching for someone.
“You didn’t bring a date?” she asked in a hopeful voice.
Somehow I managed to keep from rolling my eyes. “No, I didn’t bring a date.”
“Well, that’s too bad.” Her shoulders drooped in disappointment, although she perked right back up again. “But it’s not too late for you to rustle up a date. The party will go to at least midnight, maybe longer if I have my way.”
This time, I did roll my eyes. “I’m perfectly fine flying solo tonight. Besides, it’s not like I can just wander around the resort, grab some random guest, and ask them to be my date.”
A guilty look flickered across Mallory’s face. “Well, actually, that might be easier than you think.”
