Читать книгу The Millionaire Meets His Match - Patricia Seeley - Страница 9

Chapter One

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Cass Appleton glared across the wide expanse of teak desk at the office manager safely shielded behind it.

Mr. Howard, as his brass nameplate proclaimed him, smiled with a practiced artificial concern that said he was used to dealing with overwrought women. “Simply that,” he said in his most consciously soothing voice. “When the attendants arrived this morning, they found the door open...”

“I don’t believe it!” Cass slapped both hands on the polished wood surface of the desk. “How could you let this happen? I told you he could slip off those ridiculous hook latches you use on the doors. I told you that you’d need to take extra precautions. It’s sheer negligence for you to have let him escape despite my warnings. With the rates you charge, the least I have a right to expect is that you won’t—” She broke off, unwilling to admit the harsh reality. “Won’t...misplace my cat. Have you checked behind all the furniture?”

“My dear Miss Appleton, you didn’t allow me to finish. It wasn’t simply your cat’s cage that was found open, but the rear door of the clinic itself. We were burglarized last night”

Cass continued to stare at him, unappeased. “Are you trying to tell me someone broke in here and stole my cat?”

Surprise ruffled briefly across Mr. Howard’s carefully composed features before he regained his self-possession. “Of course not,” he assured her. “Your animal, as you know, has very little monetary value. I meant that although your cat did, apparently, manage to get out of his cage, he still would have been perfectly safe and sound inside the clinic building had we not experienced this unforeseeable break-in. I’m happy to say our alarm system worked perfectly and the thieves were frightened off before any of the expensive drugs or equipment could be taken. Unfortunately, your—” he dropped his gaze to the file folder on his desk “—Cuddly evidently used the opportunity to run off through the outer office doors.”

“Crud-ley,” Cass corrected him through gritted teeth.

“Pardon?” Mr. Howard asked as if suspecting he’d just been sworn at in some foreign tongue.

“His name is Crudley, not Cuddly. The r isn’t silent.”

Mr. Howard straightened his tie and relaxed fractionally. “Oh. Of course. In any case, I did send the boys out immediately to search the area as soon as I was informed one of the animals was missing. But on these busy streets, with all the early-morning traffic that rushes by, they weren’t able to find any sign of him.” He shrugged philosophically, apparently able to detach himself from the unpleasant reality of the fate he’d just suggested Cass’s cat would inevitably meet

“All I can do now,” he continued, “is tender the doctor’s sincere sympathy for your loss and my personal apologies for the negligence of the kennel staff. I assure you, they will be sharply reprimanded for this oversight. Naturally you won’t be charged for your cat’s two days’ board. And although there is no question of your suffering any financial loss by your cat’s disappearance, the doctor has instructed me to offer you a free replacement, with all its shots, and a free neutering when the time comes. We have several nice kittens available right now, if you’d care to pick one out. Then we can all put this unpleasant incident behind us.”

Cass felt the hot color rising to her cheeks. “I don’t want a ‘replacement.’ I want Crudley back. I left him in your care. You’re responsible. Do something.” The last words came out almost a plea, and Cass instantly despised herself for asking anything of this heartless petty functionary. Were there people who could be appeased by the kind of cold-blooded drivel Mr. Howard had been spouting? Or was she merely too inconsequential to rate a conference with the clinic’s owner himself? “I want to talk to Dr. Bellingham,” she declared.

The office manager shook his head and sighed. “I’m afraid that will be impossible. The doctor’s schedule is quite full for the next several days—the annual dog show, you know. In any case, I assure you I have followed precisely the doctor’s instructions on this matter. There is nothing further that he, or I, can do for you.”

Cass stood and smoothed the creases from her rapidly wilting summer suit. “We’ll see about that,” she said, hoping but doubting that the words sounded vaguely ominous.

The office manager smirked priggishly and barely inclined his head in acknowledgment of her empty threat, then rose fluidly to open the door for her to leave.

Outside, the late-afternoon sun still blazed high in the sky, sending waves of heat rippling up from the hot asphalt parking lot. The scorching air suddenly seemed too suffocating to inhale, and Cass staggered slightly as she tried to catch her breath.

She never should have brought Crudley to this callous overpriced clinic. She’d deliberately chosen the most expensive veterinarian in town, a man whose patrons included most of the elite in Newport society, believing Crudley would receive the best possible care from him. Now, it turned out, she had been wrong to assume he was well cared for.

Cass stalked over to her car, threw open the door and then slammed it shut behind her. Shoving the key in the ignition, she started the engine with an unnecessary roar and turned the air-conditioning on full. The cooling blast did little to ease the fevered anguish that overwhelmed her. It was too much. On top of everything else that had been miserable and hopeless in the past three days, now Crudley was gone.

Gone. The word brought such a spasm of pain to her midsection that Cass felt nauseated, such a tightening of her throat that she could scarcely breathe. She slumped over the steering wheel and rested her head on her forearms, feeling the tears well up in her eyes and overflow down her flushed cheeks.

A gentle tapping on her window startled her. Cass looked up to see Bobby, one of the kennel attendants, peering anxiously at her through the glass. She pushed the air-conditioning switch to a lower setting and rolled down her window.

“Are you all right, Miss Appleton?” the boy asked. His brown eyes were warm with concern. Unlike most teenage boys, he didn’t seem to be uneasy in the presence of someone else’s emotional display.

Cass grabbed a tissue and quickly blotted her eyes. “I’m fine, Bobby. Thanks. I just had some bad news.”

Bobby glanced around the parking lot furtively, then hunkered down beside her car, out of sight of anyone looking their way from the clinic. “I know,” he said. “That’s why I was waiting for you. I’m the one who opened up this morning and found Crudley gone.” He shot a quick look in the direction of the building, then turned back to Cass. “He’s a great cat, Miss Appleton. Not like most of them that come to this place, all pampered and spoiled with no personality. Crudley is a real character. And smart? Miss Appleton, I’ve never seen a smarter cat. You could teach him to do anything, I swear. Whenever I see him here, I make it a point to look after him myself and make sure all his instructions are followed to the letter. I would never let anything happen to him.”

Cass experienced a rush of compassion for the boy. Unlike the office manager’s prepared bromides and rehearsed apology, Bobby’s words had the ring of truth. His feelings for her plight were genuine, based on his own affection for her cat. “It’s not your fault,” she assured him.

Bobby’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, I know it’s not. That’s what I had to tell you. I’ve known Crudley for three years and I know he can pick locks and open doors on regular cages. I’ve seen him do it During the day, if I’m working alone in the kennels, I let Crudley wander around with me while I feed the other animals and stuff. Then I play with him awhile before I put him away for the night But before I leave, I always put a special lock on his door so he can’t get loose during the night. I wouldn’t want him to get hurt or anything.”

Bobby gave the clinic another surreptitious glance. “Miss Appleton, Crudley was locked in tight last night. I saw to that. And then this morning, when I got here, he was gone, and someone had left a note for Dr. Bellingham. I heard the doctor and Mr. Howard talking about it, and then I sneaked into the office after they left and looked for it. It’s just like the kind of ransom note you see in the movies.”

“Ransom!” Cass interjected.

Bobby nodded. “Yes, ma’am. With words and letters cut out from old magazines and newspapers. It said that the kidnappers had taken Princess Athabasca and would be calling Mrs. Crosswhite tonight with instructions on how to get her cat back.”

“Princess Athabasca?” Cass frowned. “Mrs. Crosswhite? There’s another cat missing?”

“No, ma’am.” Bobby shook his head emphatically. “Just Crudley. But the kidnappers think he’s Princess Athabasca.”

Cass pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. “Bobby, I don’t understand.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen Princess Athabasca. She’s a big gray cat with golden eyes.” He paused, as if waiting to see if Cass had caught on. “Her breed is very rare and expensive, and she’s a national champion, but she looks a lot like Crudley, even though he’s just a regular cat. I would never get the two of them confused,” Bobby assured Cass, “but someone who’d only seen a picture of the Princess or read a description and knew she would be here this weekend might make that mistake.”

Cass at last began to understand the significance of what Bobby was explaining to her. “So someone did steal my cat,” she summed up incredulously, “because they thought he was someone else’s cat.”

“Mrs. Crosswhite’s,” Bobby repeated. “She’s filthy rich and crazy about her cat. The kidnappers are going to demand a ransom. Only they haven’t got Princess Athabasca, and Mrs. Crosswhite’s not going to know what they’re talking about when they call.”

Cass drew a sharp breath, remembering her own conversation with the office manager. “You mean Mr. Howard and Dr. Bellingham didn’t tell Mrs. Crosswhite someone had tried to steal her cat?”

Bobby shook his head. “No, ma’am. They don’t want anyone to know about it. They don’t want the rich customers thinking their animals aren’t safe here. They even told the police there was no need to make a report since nothing was taken. The chauffeur picked up Princess Athabasca this afternoon and took her home. When the kidnappers contact Mrs. Crosswhite tonight, she’ll just think it’s some prank and ignore it.” Bobby’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Then I don’t know what will happen to Crudley.”

Cass shared his unspoken fears, even as her heart leaped with the knowledge that, for the moment at least, Crudley was alive and safe. “Nothing is going to happen to him,” she said firmly, patting Bobby’s shoulder to reassure him. She turned and looked at the blankly imposing facade of the veterinary clinic. “I’m going back in there and force that weasel Mr. Howard to call Mrs. Crosswhite and tell her what’s going on. Then I’m going to contact the police and have them put a trace on her phone so when the kidnappers call, we can find out who and where they are.” In the space of a few seconds Cass had almost convinced herself that Crudley was on his way home already.

One look at Bobby’s expression reminded Cass her problems were far from over just because she knew the reason for Crudley’s disappearance. “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “I don’t think anyone in there is going to help you.” He made a grim face. “The old man isn’t interested in anything but the bottom line, and he mostly hires people who can’t afford to be anything but loyal. He doesn’t want any scandal or bad publicity, and he’ll lie if he has to. The official story by eight o’clock this morning was that someone tried to break in but was scared off by the alarms and never got inside. They’ve either hidden the kidnappers’ note or destroyed it, because when I sneaked back into the office during lunch to look for it, it was gone. There’s no way I can prove what I’ve told you, except for this.”

Bobby pulled a padlock out of his pocket and handed it to Cass. “It’s the one I used to lock Crudley in. Unless somebody slipped him a set of lock picks, Crudley didn’t let himself out of that cage. Someone used the key I left on the board.”

Cass stared at the lock. It was all the proof she needed. “I can’t let them get away with this,” she insisted. “And I have to do something to save Crudley.”

“I know. Me, too. I’ve been thinking about it all day, trying to figure out what to do, and I decided we should go to Mrs. Crosswhite ourselves.”

“Go ourselves?” Cass echoed, still trying to formulate a plan of action despite the tumult of emotions swirling in her head.

“Yes, ma’am. I figure if we tell her the story, she’ll want to help. She’s really a nice lady,” Bobby said with the confidence of youth. “I’ve met her when she brings Princess in. She’s a little dizzy, if you know what I mean, but good-hearted. She always pets the other animals and talks to them. She’s pretty cool.”

Bobby’s idea wasn’t half-bad. It was simple and direct, and it didn’t rely on the dubious support of Dr. Bellingham or Mr. Howard. Cass’s mind raced ahead. She would contact Mrs. Crosswhite, explain the situation, ask her to stall the kidnappers and then go to the police for their assistance. “It’s a good plan,” she told the young kennel attendant, “except for one thing. I can’t let you go with me, Bobby.”

Hurt and then indignation flashed across Bobby’s face. “It’s for your own good,” Cass explained. “I can’t let you do anything else that might jeopardize your job. As I recall, you’re going to be putting yourself through school soon.”

The boy nodded mutely.

“You can’t afford to lose this job,” Cass said soothingly. “I can’t take the chance that you’ll be penalized for doing the right thing in coming to me. I want you to promise you won’t say anything about this to anyone else. I’ll tell the police that my information came from a confidential source. With luck, Dr. Bellingham will suspect Mr. Howard slipped up somehow.”

Bobby grinned. That particular possible consequence seemed to make Cass’s alterations of his plan more palatable. “Okay,” he agreed. “Do you know where Crosswhite Manor is?” Without waiting for her answer he plunged on. “It’s not along the Cliff Walk, with the real famous places. It’s out farther, next to Heritage Park. You can’t see the house from the road—Mrs. Crosswhite has acres and acres—but you can’t miss the spot. There’s a high iron fence all around and a gatehouse out front with the name on it.”

Cass nodded. “Thanks, Bobby. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done. If you hadn’t figured all this out and then put your job on the line by telling me about it, I doubt I would ever have seen Crudley again. Now I think there is a good chance he’ll be home very soon.”

“He’s a great cat, Miss Appleton,” Bobby said. “If there’s anything else I can do, you let me know.” He stood up and threw a disgusted look back at the clinic. “I’m gonna start looking for another job, anyway. I don’t like working here anymore. These animals have no class.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his lowslung jeans and exaggeratedly sauntered back to work.

Cass pulled out of the parking lot into rush-hour traffic. She should have taken a back way to Heritage Park, but on impulse she drove toward Bellevue Avenue. Her route would now take her past the renowned mansions Bobby had referred to. Perhaps looking at them first would make Crosswhite Manor seem less imposing.

When she’d first moved to Newport, Cass had behaved like a typical tourist. She’d strolled along the Cliff Walk, enjoying the panoramic ocean view on one side and the incredible architecture on the other. Along this one threemile stretch of Atlantic coastline, she had seen some of the most opulent private homes, built around the turn of the century. The Breakers. Rosecliff. Marble House. The names evoked images of beauty and extravagance, money and imagination indulged and run wild. That had been Cass’s first purely practical opinion.

But although the imitation European palaces, castles and châteaus were undeniably pretentious, Cass had come to think of them as oddly charming. Like the yearly yacht races and tennis tournaments, these flamboyant “summer cottages” belonged to a different era, or at least a different class than the one Cass inhabited. It seemed pointless to speculate about the motives and morality of the people who’d lived in such grandeur.

Except now Cass was forced to ask for help from one of the residents of the great mansions. She fervently hoped that Bobby was right about this specific woman and that she was in fact “a nice person” and “pretty cool.”

Nervously Cass practiced explaining the bizarre mixup that had led to Crudley’s kidnapping, and Mrs. Crosswhite’s unintentional involvement in Cass’s plight. Not until she pulled up the driveway in front of the heavy iron gates and saw the redbrick gatehouse manned by a private guard did Cass realize she had overlooked a fundamental problem. The guard eyed her neutrally, glanced conspicuously at a clipboard in his hand and then walked over to her car as she rolled down the window.

“Good day, ma’am,” the guard said politely, just a hint of a foreign lilt adding music to his deep commanding voice. His eyes took in every detail of the interior of Cass’s car as though she might be smuggling contraband. “Your name, please?”

“Cass Appleton,” she told him. The guard studied his clipboard again. “Mrs. Crosswhite is not expecting me,” Cass offered. “I didn’t know I would have to come here today. It’s an emergency. I only need to speak to her for a few minutes.”

“Mrs. Crosswhite does not see anyone without an appointment,” the guard said placidly.

“I can’t make an appointment,” Cass protested, growing frustrated. “Mrs. Crosswhite’s telephone number is unlisted.”

“That is because she does not like to be bothered by people she does not know.”

For a moment the two of them stared at each other, neither willing to give an inch. Sweat trickled between Cass’s shoulder blades, and she wondered how the guard managed to look so cool. Maybe it was all in the attitude. “Fine,” Cass said eventually, raising her chin to look down her nose at the man, not an easy thing to do when she was sitting and he was towering over her. “Maybe I’ll just wait here and catch her when she comes out.”

“I would not advise that,” the guard replied. “This driveway is private property. I am asking you to leave. If you do not, I will be forced to call the police. You could, of course, wait in the street if you choose, but the local authorities do not take kindly to people loitering in the area.”

He wasn’t bluffing. He had no need to make empty threats. He held all the cards and he knew it. Logic, duty and the law were on his side, and Cass was on the other. After a few seconds of glaring at the guard to prove he couldn’t run her off, Cass threw the car into reverse and backed down the long, winding driveway to the street. Despite the guard’s warning, she parked there for a few minutes, fuming.

She was annoyed at herself for not having anticipated the problem of getting in to see Mrs. Crosswhite. She should have realized visitors would be screened. On the other hand, what difference would it have made if she had thought about it ahead of time? She had a feeling the guard had heard every story in the book and didn’t believe any of them. It would have come down to the same thing, one way or another: no appointment, no entrance, at least not through the front gate.

But surely there was another way in, Cass thought with sudden inspiration. The servants wouldn’t use the front gate. Cass put the car in drive and headed slowly along the border of the Crosswhite acreage. She didn’t remember passing another entrance, but she had been watching for the gatehouse. Almost a quarter of a mile from the main driveway, Cass spotted an unmarked service road. She turned into it and followed it for several hundred yards, stopping when she discovered a second massive iron gate, this one flanked by brick pylons, but no guardhouse. There was no sign of a guard, either, only a man digging in a nearby flower bed. The gardener, no doubt.

Cass parked the car and got out to examine the gate. She glanced at the gardener, who showed no interest in her arrival. Perhaps that was a good sign. Maybe people went in and out here all day without anyone noticing or caring. Cass pulled on the iron bars experimentally. The gate was definitely locked. Someone would have to open it for her from the other side.

She sneaked another peek at the gardener. Was he part of the permanent staff, or did Mrs. Crosswhite hire some landscaping service when she needed work done? Cass thought it over. A place this size would obviously have full-time year-round maintenance workers for the grounds. Her posing as one of the staff would be too risky; the gardener would probably know she was lying. Better to pretend to be a lost visitor coming to see Mrs. Crosswhite. That was sort of true, at least.

Cass took a few steps toward the gardener and called out, “Excuse me.” The man continued working as though he hadn’t heard her. With an easy rhythmic motion, he plunged his shovel again and again into the soft earth of the flower bed, deftly turning the soil as he lifted the blade out. He was drenched with sweat, yet his movements seemed almost effortless. A natural animal grace marked every aspect of his activity. His T-shirt had been cast onto the nearby grass. For a moment Cass stood mesmerized by the play of muscles across the man’s broad shoulders and back, the gleam of his bronzed skin.

With an effort she shook off her trance and walked closer to him, following the heavy ornamental iron fence a short distance until she was only a few feet from the man. “Excuse me,” she repeated, louder than before.

This time, the gardener must have heard her. He drove his shovel into the ground and turned toward Cass. Involuntarily she caught her breath. He was incredibly good-looking. Her next thought was that he’d probably been a beautiful child. The years had sculpted a leaner, more angular look to his cheekbones and jawline, and added enough experience to make the face even more interesting than it was handsome. His sea green eyes regarded her with polite inquiry, the proper attitude, she supposed, for the hired help. Cass wished she felt equally unaffected by him. She was here on business, after all.

She cleared her throat. “Would you help me, please?” she asked. She tried to sound imperious, like a lady of the manor used to ordering the servants about. Instead, her uncertain delivery gave the request a peculiar poignance rather than any insistence.

The gardener leaned on his shovel, one foot propped on the blade. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’m here to see Mrs. Crosswhite. Would you please let me in?” Cass pointed to the huge wrought iron gate.

“The main gate is back that way.” The gardener jerked his head in the direction she’d just come from. “Security there screens all visitors.”

“I know. I was already there. He... There wasn’t anyone at the gate so I came around here.” Cass had thought it wasn’t possible to feel any more overheated and uncomfortable until hot blood flooded her cheeks with the lie. She tugged at the neckline of her wilting silk blouse, trying to unstick the material from her perspiring skin.

“The front gate is always manned,” the gardener said, watching Cass squirm as he calmly confronted her with her own falsehood.

Cass pushed a wet tendril of dark hair out of her eyes. She had no patience for this kind of game. “All right,” she admitted. “Someone was there. He wouldn’t let me in. He insisted I had to make an appointment first, but I can’t make an appointment because Mrs. Crosswhite’s phone number is unlisted and I haven’t time to write a letter. It’s vitally important that I speak with Mrs. Crosswhite. If I could just explain the problem to her...”

“Explain it to me.”

The gardener walked casually toward Cass, pulling off his heavy gloves. He stopped just on the other side of the fence, disconcertingly close. Cass could smell the mingled scents of earth and grass clinging to his sweat-sheened body. The sun glinted off his streaked sandy brown hair.

“Explain it to you?” Cass repeated.

“Explain it to me. Convince me you need to see Mrs. Crosswhite and maybe I’ll let you in.”

Cass didn’t like the direct way he looked into her eyes, or the keen intelligence evident in his coolly assessing gaze. He seemed to be taking her measure in a completely detached, analytical way that was more intimidating and more intimate than the leering and ogling some men indulged in. She felt exposed and vulnerable, as though all her secrets were being laid bare before his critical eye. She took a step backward and folded her arms protectively across her breasts, forcing herself to meet his stare. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s personal.”

Gabe Preston had assessed the woman on the far side of the fence with a single, trained glance. Now he made a show of giving her a slow once-over, head to toe, just to see how she’d react. Nice legs, he thought fleetingly, as she reflexively retreated a step or two despite the obvious protection of the wrought iron gate standing between them.

Everything about her was all wrong. Her dressed-forsuccess suit was damp and wrinkled with heat and perspiration, but the style was a mistake in any case. The straight, clean lines of the short jacket and slim skirt had trouble accommodating the lush curves of her body which spoiled the intended silhouette.

The haircut was equally amiss. Some hair stylist’s fantasy of sleek sophistication, it clearly was supposed to have a sculpted appearance. Instead, her thick, dark hair was windblown and tousled. It curled and waved around her face damply, destroying the elegant simplicity she probably hoped for.

In short, she was a mess, albeit an attractive one, right down to the guarded but obviously distressed expression in her hazel eyes. Gabe was intrigued in spite of himself. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what it’s about,” he advised her.

Was Cass only imagining a change in his voice or did he really sound concerned now? Here was her opportunity, yet she balked at telling her story to a stranger. He would think her ridiculous and no doubt refuse to help.

“I can only say it’s urgent,” she hedged. “A matter of life and death, really. Please, won’t you let me in?” She read surprise and doubt but also hesitation in his unguarded eyes. Desperately she searched for a way to tip the balance in her favor. “I...I’ll pay you,” she added, fumbling at the catch of her purse.

For a moment the gardener looked stunned. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Cass didn’t understand what he found so funny. Did Mrs. Crosswhite pay this man so well he didn’t need any extra money, or was it the notion that Cass could have enough in her purse to interest him that he found so hilarious? Regardless, she seemed to have forfeited what little headway she’d made. Any spark of compassion she might have glimpsed in the gardener’s eyes had been extinguished by amusement. She snapped her purse shut

“Excuse me,” the man said, recovering himself and taking note of Cass’s stony expression. “I suppose that must seem like a logical offer to you. And it probably sounds hypocritical to say, standing in front of a place like this—” his arm made a sweeping gesture encompassing the estate grounds “—that money can’t buy everything. But it can’t, you know. That’s the first thing you learn when you’re around people who have lots of it.”

He leaned against the wrought iron bars of the fence, so close Cass could hear him breathe. He lowered his voice to acknowledge their new proximity. “Money is also no guarantee of sincerity, I’m afraid. No,” he said, shaking his head, “you’ll have to find some other way to convince me to let you in.” Then he made a deliberate show of giving her a slow once-over, head to toe, and grinned wickedly as he met her gaze.