Читать книгу Undying Laughter - Kelsey Roberts - Страница 9

“What the hell does this mean?” Wesley demanded, waving the small card in his hand.

“It means I have an admirer with an even sicker sense of humor than my own,” she answered, trying to make light of the situation. “If I ever find out who has been sending these to me, I’ll refer them to you for professional help.”

It was obvious from the ominous expression in his blue eyes that Dr. Porter shared Gina’s concern over the succession of notes.

“How long has this been going on?”

Averting her eyes from the potted blossoms, Destiny answered, “About three months.”

“Have you contacted the authorities?”

She met his gaze. “Do you have any idea how many cities I’ve been in during that time?”

Wesley shook his head.

“My manager did hire a private detective,” she began, unable to keep the disgust out of her voice. “He proved himself completely inept, to the point of not even bothering to show up last night. Instead, I received a crumpled bill from his office, along with a poorly typed memo indicating that Greg Miller, private investigator, hadn’t uncovered squat.”

“Then maybe you should hire someone here.”

“And waste more money?” she scoffed. “No, thanks. I’m sure whoever is sending these things will eventually get the hint. Or,” she added as she leaned closer, “the florists will run out of gardenias, and he’ll be out of luck.”

“This note doesn’t give me the impression that we’re dealing with an admirer,” Wesley told her. “It’s too threatening. Too indicative that he is not overly fond of you.”

Destiny rolled her eyes. “Fond?” she repeated with a throaty laugh. “Live dangerously, Dr. Porter. This bozo obviously hates me. But that’s okay, I hate gardenias. So I guess he and I are running about even.”

She watched as deep lines appeared at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

“Lighten up, Doctor. I’m not saying I’m thrilled by his persistence, but he’s hardly overtly threatening. He hasn’t come near me.”

“Why are you so convinced it’s a man?”

“Gina’s picked him out of the audience. Wait until tomorrow night. If he comes, which he always does, I’ll have Gina point him out to you.”

“Did your assistant have a vision, or is there something in particular about this man that makes you believe he’s your morbid admirer?”

“Can we get out of the sun?” she asked, not really interested in discussing the matter any further. Lord knew, it was a topic both Gina and David had beaten into the ground during the past several months.

“Sorry,” she heard him mumble as he slipped a key into the ornate lock and opened the door.

It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the shadowy interior, even after he’d flipped a switch to turn on dim, period chandeliers.

“Wow,” she said as she admired the long, rectangular room. Tables were arranged with wide aisles leading up to a small, but certainly sufficient, stage. The lighting she saw at the base of the stage was fine upon inspection. All in all, The Rose Tattoo promised to be a fairly decent engagement. “When David told me I’d be playing in an outbuilding, I sure wasn’t expecting anything like this.”

“That’s because my oldest boy and his wife did the renovations.”

Destiny twirled around at the sound of the female voice echoing through the room. A woman she placed somewhere in her early fifties sashayed toward them. Her outfit was outrageous—animal-print, skintight pants, a form-fitting blouse and bleached hair that nearly touched the ceiling. Garish clothing aside, Destiny was drawn to the woman’s warm, welcoming smile.

“I’m Rose Porter,” she said, extending her hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

She turned to Wesley and said, “I saw the flowers outside. Your idea?”

Wesley shook his head. “I’m afraid they came with Miss Talbott,” he answered dryly.

“Maybe we should make it a practice to send all our performers a little something,” Rose said thoughtfully. “Maybe an Elvis tape.”

Destiny watched as Wesley tried to hide a cringe behind square-tipped fingers. “We’ll think about it.”

“Anything you need,” Rose began, “just let us know.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Destiny answered. Especially if I get to catch the occasional glimpse of Dr. Porter while I’m here.

* * *

“I‘VE CALLED THE STATION house,” Gina was saying, her words running together in an agitated string.

Destiny had barely time to deposit her purse on the rattan sofa before her friend had launched into a long, involved explanation for her failure to show up at The Rose Tattoo. Destiny had stayed through dinner, at Rose’s insistence. Unfortunately, Dr. Porter had disappeared before the lunch crush.

“I can call Western Union and make an immediate cash transfer. I think they said five hundred dollars for the bond.”

“Don’t bother,” Destiny said with a sad sigh.

Gina’s faced wrinkled in astonishment. “What do you mean?”

“He can spend the night in jail. God knows he’s done it often enough before.”

She walked over to the refrigerator and rummaged around until she found a diet soda, then lifted one of the leaded glasses from a neatly arranged tray. Each ice cube made a pleasant sound as she dropped it into the glass. She retrieved the bottle of soda and poured herself a generous portion.

Gina stood a few feet away, her hands resting on her nonexistent hips. Destiny never ceased to be amazed by the slenderness of the woman. She often remarked that even during the throes of PMS, Gina never managed to balloon above a size three. The fact that she was five-eight in her stocking feet mattered little, or that she still carried herself like the famous cover model she had once been.

“C’mon Destiny, Carl’s your father. And your mother was really adamant when she called.”

“I’ll bet she was.” Destiny smiled, easily imagining her mother’s response to her former husband’s latest predicament. In spite of the divorce that had taken place more than twenty years earlier, Chief Judge Mona Talbott still monitored the activities of her parasitic ex-husband. “My mother will survive.” Destiny took a long swallow of her soda, allowing it to slide smoothly down her throat while pushing the memories of Dr. Porter to the back of her mind. Silently she told herself that her reaction to the man was simply the result of too many months on the road and not enough dates. Still, she just couldn’t seem to rid the image of his dark hair and light eyes from her brain.

Gina’s pretty face was a collage of concern and frustration as she watched Destiny refill the glass. “More flowers?”

“Uh-huh,” Destiny grumbled into the glass.

“That’s it!” Gina bellowed, raising her arms and allowing them to slap loudly against her thighs. Destiny found herself sneaking a peek at the lower portion of the ragged scar marring the brown-skinned woman’s otherwise perfect leg.

“Girl, you’d better call someone. How about the police?”

Massaging the tension in her neck, Destiny offered a wan smile. “And tell them what? I’m Destiny Talbott and I’d like to report a delivery of flowers. I don’t want my name and face plastered on the cover of every grocery-store rag. Not now. Not when I’m this close.” She pinched her thumb and forefinger in front of her eyes, barely allowing light to pass between the small opening they formed. “I’d be labeled a paranoid crazy.”

“Get serious, Destiny. You can’t just ignore all the threats and stuff. Your buddy David isn’t capable of handling this situation. It’s gotten way out of hand, and you can’t keep pretending that it isn’t happening.”

“I’m giving it my best shot.”

“Fine. Do what you want. You will, anyway.” Gina pointed a long, tapered finger at Destiny, shaking it for emphasis every now and then. “I don’t mean to criticize your original patron saint, but David seems to worship the paycheck he gets from Sommerfield, not to mention—”

“Leave it alone, Gina.”

Destiny’s body tensed. What if? No! her brain screamed. It couldn’t be David. It had to be a crazy person, and she wasn’t about to let some lunatic exploit her—not now.

“Fine,” her friend responded, clearly hurt. “And what about your father?”

“We’ll wire the money in the morning. A night in jail will be good for him.”

“What am I supposed to tell your mother? She’s depending on you to take care of this.”

“And I will. Only it will be tomorrow instead of the moment her majesty issues the order.”

Destiny brushed past Gina, no longer interested in the conversation. Her whole body ached with the need to relax.

The second story of the villa sported an impressive master suite. The room must have been twenty-five by twenty-five, with adjoining dressing areas and a bathroom large enough to accommodate a family of six with room to spare.

Kicking off her shoes, Destiny pulled her dress over her head as she walked to the bath. The marble floor was refreshingly cool against her feet. The room smelled of exotic tropical fruits. She considered taking a long, hot bath, but opted instead for a long soak in the hot tub out on the patio. Letting pulsating streams of hot water rush over her body was a surefire way to wash away any lingering traces of her anxiety.

Removing the rest of her clothes, Destiny discarded them carelessly in a pile. As she stood completely naked, she ignored the pang of guilt trying to weave its way into her consciousness. Leaving her father in jail wasn’t as easy a decision as she’d let on. In spite of everything, he was her father and she loved him.

Taking a few hairpins off the vanity, she secured the knot at the nape of her neck and willed herself not to think about her father’s all-too-familiar plight.

“Blast you, Carl!” she whispered to her reflection.

Grabbing the soft white terry robe from a hook on the back of the bathroom door, Destiny sat on the edge of the bed to wait until she no longer heard Gina moving about in the rooms below. She was tired, too tired for another well-intended confrontational scene with her friend.

It wasn’t long before she padded down the stairs, through the streaks of shadows and light from the moon sneaking in between the blinds. Carefully she opened the French doors that led to the tiled patio. “So far, so good,” she whispered, her voice drowned out by the gentle rustling of the wind through the oleander bushes and the distant crash of waves from the Atlantic.

Dropping the robe, Destiny stepped down into the circular tub. Heat from the water rose in a swirl of steam before floating off on the breeze. The powerful jets forced ribbons of bubbles over her body, kneading her tense muscles like a patient lover. Closing her eyes, Destiny sank lower, allowing the swirling streams of water to work their magic. It was like being drugged, lulled into a sense of blissful relaxation.

“Miss Talbott?”

Her eyes flew open to find two figures near the back gate silhouetted in the moonlight. They were both tall and broad shouldered—and one was recognizable. Her eyes seemed determined to fix on that one form. The sinewy way his body tapered from those shoulders into that very sexy lean waist, she was absolutely certain she was looking at the outline of Wesley Porter. But then she recalled the voice saying her name. It was a voice she didn’t recognize.

Instantly thinking of the flowers and the notes, Destiny screamed for Gina. The sound of her voice echoed in her own ears as she groped at the edge of the hot tub for her robe. Neither man moved in that fraction of a second.

Bright lights flooded the patio, blinding Destiny as she pulled the robe into the water. The sodden garment was immediately heavy and difficult to maneuver through the water.

“Up!” Gina’s commanding voice split the night. “Get your hands up where I can see them! Now!”

Destiny backed out of the tub, wrapping the robe around her as she went.

“You okay?” Gina asked, her brown eyes never wavering from the pair standing awkwardly under the lights, their hands high in the air.

“I’m fine,” Destiny answered in a high-pitched voice. Gina, wearing nothing but a flimsy teddy, stood with her legs shoulder width apart, her small silver revolver pointed in the direction of the intruders.

“Go in and call the police,” Gina said. “I’ll keep them here.”

“Maybe not,” Destiny said as she shook the fog of fear from her thoughts. “Sorry, Officer Gina. That’s Dr. Porter from The Rose Tattoo.”

“Oops,” Gina said in a small voice as she lowered the gun.

Dylan fished inside his jacket pocket and retrieved his identification. He held it out for them between his thumb and finger in a very nonthreatening manner.

It seemed appropriate that Destiny be the one to examine his ID while Gina allowed the gun to dangle at her side. With a wad of wet terry cloth in her fist, she moved forward, barely aware that the full length of her leg was revealed with each step.

Standing in the shadow of the uncharacteristically silent Wes, Destiny scanned the laminated photo and found out that Dylan was some sort of agent for Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.

“Get your permit, Gina,” she said. “Agent Tanner probably isn’t too keen on having a gun waved in his direction.”

“Okay,” Gina said just before scurrying off.

Then Destiny got mad.

“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing on my patio in the middle of the night!” she bellowed at Wes, certain this late-night call was all his idea. She looked up into his blue eyes. The flash of amusement she saw there only added fuel to the fire of her anger. “And why did you drag him along?”

Grinning down at her from his superior height, Wesley said, “I called Dylan and asked him to help out. He’s taking time away from his wife and new daughter just for you.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled. “But couldn’t all this have waited until morning?”

Wesley crossed his arms in front of his chest, grinning like the proverbial cat, and said, “Probably. But then I would have been deprived of the opportunity to see you naked.”