Chapter 40

Sandra

I absolutely cannot believe this shit! I'd been after Christian Wallace for the better part of two decades – almost twenty years being haunted by the two women I had let down. If half our suspicions were right, there were a lot more bodies out there – maybe not dead by his hand, but, when you're giving the orders, I still hold you responsible. It really didn't matter either way since all we had – all we were ever likely to have – were suspicions, but still, I was looking forward to laying a few wreaths and giving some of my personal ghosts the news that they could rest, now. The others would have to take what comfort we could squeeze out. Hopefully, seeing the bastard fry for the twelve current counts, knowing that no one else would suffer at his hand, or orders, again...

And now this! I couldn't believe I was packing a bag to go and visit this son of a bitch. I had planned on going out for the trial either way; had been looking forward to seeing him finally go down in court, but to slink out like this ... It stank too much of being summoned, and being summoned by someone like Christian Wallace made me yearn for things: a quiet place to toss my breakfast, a really hot shower ... Damn that man!

Still, it wasn't all bad; to finally learn the truth after all these years... ? How could you not look forward to that? What really had me worried was the way he had said it. Like it was the silver lining of a particularly dark cloud. Like it was somehow going to justify everything he'd done. Of course, that was probably just me reading more into it than was really there. There was also a hint of something else there; hidden behind the ego boost he was getting from all but ordering me to visit him. What could he possibly have meant when he said I had a bigger problem on my hands now?

I contented myself with the thought that maybe he was just grasping at every straw he could think of. If that was the case, then I was going to enjoy this trip far more than I should. Wallace was in quicksand, and he knew it, and, if he was grasping at straws, then I wanted to be the last one, just so I could see the look in his eyes when I pulled that last straw back out of his reach. Now that would make it a worthwhile trip.

Jimmy

Things seemed to have settled down for a while, and I had been able to get back to the routine of business – as routine as it can be trying to earn a living while constantly wondering if or when the next disaster was going to land, anyway. I found the routine oddly reassuring; just doing the small jobs to keep busy, promote the business, and make a living. Most were still the anonymous tip jobs for reward money, which is usually pretty good. The trickiest part of the jobs themselves was not making them look too easy – not a huge problem when no one knows where the information is coming from, but still ... There had also been a few smaller-scale jobs for a couple of companies that Veronica Blake had recommended me to, and searching for Phoebe, of course, although I didn't see myself ever collecting the reward for that particular job – not that that was ever my intent.

And then there was dinner with Ceres. I wasn't sure what to expect after I told Veronica Blake that I would attend Gordon Ceres' party – I certainly wasn't ready for the invitation that arrived a couple days later – but I figured that, if he went to the trouble of printing invitations, it was pretty unlikely he was trying to lure me to my doom out of revenge, so...

"So what exactly is 'dinner casual'?" I asked Christine when she showed me the invitation. She had forbidden me to open the mail after the first week, saying, "David, I'm your secretary, you have to let me do something, so I feel like I'm earning my paycheck."

"Just about anything above sweats and sneakers," she answered. "In the summer, you can even get away with shorts and a polo shirt, but only if the party is at least partly outdoor, like a barbeque. Might be a good idea to see if anyone you know has been to one of his parties, though; you don't want to be too casual."

"Ah, so there's casual, and then there's casual?"

"Definitely," she said, "especially when you're around rich people. Sometimes casual means nothing designer; other times it stops just short of the 'good' jewelry."

"Well, I'd have to say Ceres qualifies as rich," I said. "Did I show you the pictures of the estate?"

"No," she said dryly. "As I recall, I tried to look, but you just kept telling me to turn the next page. Do you think the pictures are still up?"

"I don't know," I answered, walking to the desk and opening up my laptop. "Let's find out."

They were, and she was suitably impressed.

"Wow!" she exclaimed. "Do you have Veronica Blake's number in your phone?"

"Yeah, you want me to call her?"

She gave me one of 'those' looks. "And ask her what?"

Have I mentioned how much I hate that the women in my life are always right? I handed her my phone and was surprised when, instead of calling, she copied the number into her phone and saved it, then made the call from her phone. I guess it made sense, though, she was my secretary after all; it was sort of important that she have the phone numbers of my clients.

"Hello, Miss Blake? Yes, good evening, this is Christine Payson, with Finders; am I interrupting anything... ? Yes, I'm Mr. Malcolm's secretary, and I was wondering if you might be able to give us an idea what to expect at this party he's been invited to, at Mr. Ceres' estate? The invitation says dinner casual, but, as we all know, casual for the rich and famous isn't always the same as casual for you and me. As you can imagine, David has problems with people taking him seriously, something about his age and the way he dresses; he's basically a jeans and t-shirt guy at heart, so ... exactly! He doesn't want to be too casual, but he doesn't want to overdress, either. I was wondering if ... really? Well, David will be very relieved to hear that. Thank you Miss Blake ... Veronica, for your help ... Wonderful, I'll look forward to meeting you."

She broke the connection and turned to me. "She said Ceres is a very casual kind of guy. His idea of dressed up is shoes that you have to polish and that anyone wearing a tie at one of his affairs is usually part of the catering staff. Dockers and a polo shirt should be fine."

"What are you wearing?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Don't give me that," I sneered derisively. "The invitation says 'and guest', and you just told Veronica you would meet her there."

"No," she retorted, "I said I was looking forward to meeting her. I'm your secretary; she's a business associate, so it makes sense that we'll meet one of these days."

This sounded so much like arguing with Allison that it was scary. Clearly she wanted to go, but it was just as clear that, if I wanted a date for the event, she wanted me to ask her. Well, I can play hard to get just as well as the next guy.

"Oh, well then, I guess I'll need a date. Hmmm ... Christine?"

"Yes?" She answered, smiling sweetly.

"Would you book a flight for Amber to arrive the day before, please? And she'll need something suitable to wear so – when you pick her up – why don't you..."

By now her jaw was on the floor, and there was fire in her eyes. If we'd been closer to the couch, I'm sure she would have been reaching for a throw-pillow already. I'm just glad we didn't have a fireplace – pokers, tongs, hot coals...

"I'm kidding!" I said quickly and then stepped in close and put my arms around her waist. "Christine, would you be my date for a dinner party?"

"Why, David, I'm flattered you would ask me," she said. "I'm sure you would rather take your fiancé."

"Well, of course," I said, "but she's away at school, and I don't want to pull her away from her studies on a whim. And, if you remember, this is one of the reasons she wanted me to hire you: so I could go to these types of things without looking like fresh meat to the local piranha. Do you think you have something suitable to wear, or do you need to go shopping?"

She pulled back a little. "Seriously? You want me to buy a new dress?"

"That's up to you. Do you think you have something appropriate? I know most of your clothes are in storage."

She shook her head. "David, I didn't put any clothes in storage. The last couple years, my wardrobe has pretty much been uniforms for work and a couple pairs of jeans and sweats, for around the apartment. I think the green dress you bought me would be a little much for this type of event..."

This time I pulled back and, addressing her sternly, said, "Miss Payson, if you're going to accompany me on business, you are going to need to dress appropriately. Why else would there be a wardrobe allowance in your compensation package?"

She looked properly surprised and dropped into the character of a secretary being scolded by her boss.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malcolm; I was just so excited about getting the job, I really didn't read all the details in my contract."

"Oh, really?" I said, grabbing her hand and dragging her towards the couch. "Then you probably missed the punishment clause altogether." I moved the coffee table aside with one foot, sat down, patted my lap, and said, "Well, I'm waiting?"

Looking chastened, she dropped to her knees and started moving forward.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded.

"I thought..." she began, confused.

"Miss Payson, it appears you didn't read your contract at all," I said. "The contract clearly indicates 'underwear only' for disciplinary purposes. I have no intention of wasting my time spanking your jeans, now drop them, and assume the position!"

"But..." she pouted, finally understanding what I had in mind.

"Now, Miss Payson!"

With a face that would have made an errant five-year-old proud, she unfastened her jeans, pushed them to her knees, and lay across my lap. The ivory globes of her firm behind were exposed – and defined very nicely, I might add – by the black T-back she was wearing.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malcolm, I ... ow!" she cried softly as my hand came down on the near cheek. "I promise I'll ... ow!" she cried out a little louder this time. "Please, Mr. Malcolm ... OW!" she went on like that for the full ten swats and then sat with her head in my lap whimpering apologies over and over again for being a bad girl and offering to make it up to me. She sounded sincere, so I let her, which, of course, led to other things. Sometime later – after our showers and after I had shoved two more proto-patterns over to the other side – I took her to dinner and to look for a new dress.

"You know I'm really going to miss this job when I graduate and start flying," she said as we were eating.

"Me too," I said, and then took a sip of my water before continuing. "I'm hoping that the business will expand to the point where I'll need a private jet and crew within a few years."

"Oh, right," she said, rolling her eyes. "You planning to be the private eye to the rich and famous?"

"Oh no," I said. "I plan to expand into a lot of different areas. Once my research team graduates and gets to work, I hope to have a lot of new opportunities."

"Your research team?" She asked. "Research into what?"

"Not sure yet. It depends on what she comes up with that's marketable."

"She?"

"Yeah, Allison – my sister – she's on an advanced, independent study program, so she can move up faster and get into serious classes."

There was a pause, and Christine had sort of a blank look on her face for a second. It didn't take long to figure out what had happened.

"Okay, I think we're getting into areas that are a little too sensitive for her," Christine said. "I'm assuming you mean what she learns researching her energy theories about you and Easy. Do you really expect to get big enough to need your own jet, or were you just pulling my chain?"

"I'm sorry, Christine, I didn't mean to drag you out in public like this; I should have been more careful. Do you want me to change the subject? I could just say I was teasing..."

"No, that's okay," she said. "I'm already here, and it's nice to get out once in a while. Besides, I'm curious about how you plan to get that big, because I get the impression you're not kidding."

"No, actually, I'm not," I said. "Allison's already warned me that her research is likely to be expensive, and, considering the nature, it's going to have to be one hundred percent privately funded. She's hoping that somewhere along the line, she'll come up with something that has marketable applications."

"Really?" She asked, obviously interested in the idea. "Like what? I mean how would you... ?"

"I have no idea," I said. "I'll have to wait and see what she comes up with."

It's amazing how long it takes a woman to find a casual dress, but we did manage to get home eventually.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and that's true, but it's also important to have the right photographer telling your story. The photos on the realtor's website did not come close to doing justice to Ceres' estate. If I had been impressed on my first visit, I was blown away on my second. Darkness and decorative lighting turned the place into a sight to rival any of the casinos downtown.

"Wow!" Christine said as we turned into the driveway.

A man in a red coat waved us forward and opened Christine's door for her as another magically appeared to open mine. He handed me a ticket stub, and, as soon as we were clear, pulled the car forward and parked it with about two dozen others not far away.

The man in the red coat actually escorted us inside to that huge lounge I mentioned before and announced us.

"Mr. David Malcolm and Miss Christine Payson," he said in a voice that carried easily through the room despite the buzz of conversation and the music playing in the background. Heads turned our way briefly, and, out of nowhere, Ceres voice boomed out.

"David!"

The voice barely preceded the presence as Ceres made his way toward us. Given his stated dislike of handshakes, I was totally unprepared for the enthusiastic greeting as he not only grabbed my hand, but pulled me in and hugged me.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come," he said. "You grace my humble home."

He turned and repeated the greeting with Christine, saying, "And you must be Miss Payson? I had heard you were beautiful, my dear, but, I must say, the rumors do not do you justice."

"Why thank you Mr. Ceres," Christine said, dropping a quick curtsy. "I could say the same for your 'humble home'. David told me a little about it, and I saw the pictures on the realtor's site, but this ... You have a beautiful home."

"One of the rewards of hard work is that I get to surround myself with beautiful things. Come, let's get you a drink and introduce you to some of our other guests. Dinner should be ready in about thirty minutes. And please, call me Gordon. Paul!"

The object of Ceres' affection detached himself from a conversation and made his way over to us.

"Paul, would you get Christine something to drink and introduce her around while I talk to David?"

"Certainly, Gordon ... David, nice to see you again ... Hello, Christine, I'm Paul; what can I get for you?" He led her off towards the long bar, introducing the people they passed along the way. "This is Suzanne..."

I lost the rest as Gordon Ceres took my arm and walked me back towards the far corner, where I saw "Femme en Bleu" standing on an easel behind a cordon of velvet ropes.

"Now then, David, I'm sure you're curious as to why I invited you here."

"Well, it does seem odd after all the trouble I've caused you."

"Nonsense," he scoffed. "I was fully prepared for the possibility that someone might actually find the painting. I cannot fault you for doing the very job I hired you to do."

"But you didn't hire me," I pointed out, "Intersure did."

"A trivial point," he assured me, waving the thought away like an annoying insect. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors that I bought my way out of the charges?"

"Yes, actually, I have."

"Well, they're true. The entire venture cost me about two million dollars, including what it cost to set the whole thing up in the first place."

"Mr. Ceres..."

"Gordon, please."

"Gordon ... this isn't helping my confusion any. I don't understand how you can be so happy about me costing you that kind of money."

"Ah, but you gave me so much by doing it," he said in a voice gone airy and melodramatic. "I am old fool, David. Worse, I am an old fool in love, and you will discover that there is nothing so pathetic in all of the world. I was desperate to know if Paul loved me as much as he seemed to, and so I devised that insane scheme to test him. It was a folly worthy of the poets of old, to be sure, and I realized too late what I had done. I almost lost him when the truth came out. And if you had not found her, I would have been forced to hide my Lady away forever, lest someone realize the truth. But, having been found out, I have no need to hide anything any more, and that is quite a relief. Having to keep too many important secrets from the important people in your life is both tiring and tiresome.

He had that one right.

But, thanks to you, it all worked out: my Lady is back, so I am free to display her for all the world to see; and Paul has forgiven me for putting him through the anguish of thinking he had betrayed me."

"Well, I'm happy it's all worked out for you, but two million dollars is a lot of money," I said.

"Don't give it another thought, it was money well spent," he assured me. "A very smart man named Einstein once pointed out that everything is relative, and, while it is a lot of money, it is only about two percent of my total worth. Tell me: If you were down to your last dollar, and it would cost you two cents to know that the love you feel is true, would you hesitate?"

I smiled because I had no need for such a test, but he took it as confirmation anyway, and I did understand what he meant.

"Of course you wouldn't," he said. "So don't give it another thought. I am not in any way upset with you; quite the opposite, in fact, so relax and enjoy yourself, and after dinner I will play for you."

"Oh, don't do that," I said, catching him off guard. "I'd much rather you played for her, Gordon; I'm pretty sure I'll get a better performance that way. You might play well for me out of gratitude, but, when you play for her, it will be from the heart, and that is where all great music begins."

"Wisely spoken, my young friend," he said, obviously touched by my words. "There is far more to you than meets the eye; though you hide it well behind the facade of your youth, and that is wisdom in itself. While it can be a royal pain to not be taken seriously, being underestimated can serve you greatly in life. Now then, let's get back before Christine thinks I've done something horrible to you."

Dinner was fabulous, and his new chef, Josephine, got a huge round of applause when he introduced her afterward. While the rest of us enjoyed desert – and more drinks – Gordon played for us, first with the quartet that had been providing background all evening, and then solo. He's good – really good – and there was a noticeable difference when Paul and one of the servers carried The Lady in and set her on her easel in front of him while he played. Christine was in tears by the time he finished, and she wasn't alone.

"I could listen to him for hours," Paul said, wiping his eyes. "When we first met, he used to joke about the woman in his life, and I was terrified by the love in his eyes when he talked about her. When he finally introduced us, my first thought was: 'Thank god she's only canvas!'"

"So what will you be doing once you move?" I asked. "Aren't you worried about being bored out in the middle of nowhere like that?"

"Bored?" He said. "Are you kidding? That place is huge! Between managing the coffee plantation and starting up the vineyard, the last thing I'll be is bored. God, I can't wait to get started. I have some ideas for new varietals that I'm dying to test out, and..."

After Ceres finished, the musicians came back in, along with some of their friends, and the dancing started. I was very glad I'd taken those lessons for Amy's party. All in all, it was wonderful night, and Ceres wouldn't let us leave until we promised to come visit the estate once they'd moved and got things set up.