Mysterious Millionaire
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Picking up his whiskey, the doctor said, “I’ve known Jerod for nearly twenty years. He’s no fool. Charlene hasn’t tricked him into leaving her the millions. I think he truly loves that little blond cupcake.”
“Can’t blame him for that.”
“But here’s the kicker. I think she loves him back. If Charlene wasn’t here to enforce what Jerod wants, Ben would have put the old man in a hospital with a troop of specialists poking and prodding.”
Which didn’t sound like such a bad idea to Liz. Jerod had a brain tumor and gazillions of bucks to spend on medical treatment. Why not get the very best care?
Both men drank in silence.
The doctor licked his lips and grinned. “There’s one big problem with the new will.”
“What’s that?” Tony asked.
“Patrice is going to kill Charlene.”
When the two men had finished their drinks, Liz cleaned up the glasses. Straightening the starched white maid cap on her unruly blond hair, she ascended the staircase into a maelstrom of activity. Guests had been greeted at the door with flutes of champagne and were mostly in the living room, where a wall of windows displayed a magenta sunset. Patrice wore her trademark black, but the other women were a couture rainbow. The men were equally chic but in more subdued tones.
Her gaze went immediately to Ben. Though he still wore jeans, he’d thrown on a white fisherman’s knit sweater that made his shoulders look impossibly broad. She was surprised to find him looking back at her. With a subtle grin and a lift of his eyebrow, he communicated volumes. He’d been here before, heard all the chitchat before. And he’d rather be standing by the lake counting the ripples. Or soaring through the sunset in a sleek jet.
Or maybe she was reading too much into a glance.
Purposely turning away, Liz reported to the kitchen, where she did her best to follow the orders of the very nervous chef and Rachel.
Throughout the dinner, her assigned task would be serving each course and unobtrusively whisking away the dirty dishes. Her real agenda? Listening for clues. One of these guests might be Ben’s drug connection. He took a seat at the foot of the table. To his right sat an impassive blond woman with a plunging neckline and arms as skinny as pipe cleaners. Though she was as gaunt as a heroin addict, Liz guessed that her vacant expression came from hunger rather than drugs. On Ben’s left was Tony Lansing, who held up his empty cocktail glass, signaling to Liz that he wanted a refill.
She darted downstairs, whipped up another vodka with a twist and returned to the dining room in time to see Jerod make his entrance. Rising from his wheelchair, he leaned on Charlene’s arm as he made his way to the head of the table.
Illness had not diminished the charisma of this former Texas oil baron’s personality. As he greeted his guests, he showed dignity rather than weakness. Nor did Charlene treat him like an invalid. Standing close at his side, she effortlessly outshone every other woman in the room. Though small and slim, her hot-pink dress emphasized her curves. Her blond hair caught the light from the chandelier and shimmered as she gave her husband a peck on the cheek and took a seat beside him.
“I’m hungry as a bear,” Jerod announced. “Let’s eat.”
Liz and the rest of the staff leaped into action. Serving a formal dinner wasn’t as simple as when she’d worked as a waitress in a pancake house. Though she tried to follow the moves of Annette and Rachel, she bumped against chairs and the shoulders of the guests. The appetizer plates made loud clinks when she placed them into the formal setting. When she cleared those plates and stacked them one on top of the other, Rachel was waiting for her in the kitchen.
“You’re doing it all wrong,” she snapped. “Take the plates two at a time. One in each hand and return them to the kitchen.”
“Seems like a waste of time,” Liz said.
“This china is antique and worth a small fortune. Handle it carefully. We don’t want chips.”
Serving the clear consommé soup was a choreographed ritual with Liz holding the tureen while Annette ladled. Should have been easy. But Liz had never before moved with a glide. Her steps bounced. The soup sloshed. Hot droplets hit her hands, clinging tightly to the handles. Don’t drop it. Whatever you do, don’t drop this slippery, heavy piece of heirloom china.
When they got to Ben, he looked up at her. “Are we having fun yet?”
How would you like this whole tureen dumped onto your lap, Mister? She muttered, “Yes, sir.”
When the main course—filet mignon so tender that it could be cut with a fork—hit the table, Liz realized that she hadn’t eaten. Hunger pangs roiled in her belly as she stood at attention with a pitcher of ice water to replenish the glasses. She tensed her abs. Don’t growl. Please, stomach. Don’t growl.
Dinner conversation twittered around the table. Though the basic topics involved golf scores and vacation plans for the summer, Liz recognized an undercurrent of tension in the too-shrill laughter and hostile grimaces. Patrice fired hate-filled stares at Charlene. One of the couples were former lovers who sniped mercilessly at each other. The dark, handsome man who sat to Charlene’s left eyeballed her cleavage with undisguised longing and spewed compliments as if Charlene herself had cooked this fabulous dinner. That had to be the infamous Ramon.
As she leaned close to Ben to fill his water glass, her stomach let loose with a roar loud enough to stop conversation at that end of the table.
Patrice glared at her.
Rachel gaped.
Gallantly, Ben patted his own belly. “Excuse me,” he said. “I must be enjoying the meal.”
Instead of being grateful, Liz felt a surge of annoyance. She didn’t need for him to rescue her from embarrassment; she had nothing to be ashamed of. But her cheeks burned. Another blush?
At that moment, she hated all these people with their expensive clothes, hidden agendas and cost-a-fortune dishes. She remembered every time she’d been hungry—not from a self-imposed diet but because she couldn’t afford a loaf of bread. In the real world, stomachs growled, and she wanted to stand up and take credit. Demure, silent serving definitely wasn’t her thing.
Tony Lansing waggled his cocktail glass at her. “I’d like another.”
“Yes, sir.”
Though he was the only person drinking hard liquor, the others had gone through more than a dozen bottles of wine. The pipe-cleaner woman next to Ben had barely touched her food but managed to polish off several glasses of Chablis. She leaned to the left like the Tower of Pisa.
Downstairs at the bar, Liz attacked the garnishes in the fridge, devouring a blood orange in two seconds flat. Of course, she drooled the juice onto the front of her uniform. Of course.
Her choices were to go through the rest of the meal with a big, fat stain on her chest or to wash it out and be soggy. Another idea popped into her head. She could go up to her maid’s garret bedroom and change—maybe using the time to make a quick search in Ben’s bedroom.
After she delivered the vodka to Tony Lansing, she pointed out the stain to Rachel. “I should change.”
“No time,” she said. “Clear the dinner plates. Serve the dessert. Then you can change.”
She whipped through her duties, noting that a couple of guests had already left the table to take bathroom breaks or “freshen up.”
As soon as the last dessert plate was delivered, she headed for the back staircase, ducking into a darkened hallway off the kitchen. There was just enough light for her to see a couple locked in a passionate kiss.
Consumed by desire, they didn’t notice her. But Liz soaked in every detail. The bouncy blond hair belonged to Charlene. The man was the very polished lawyer, Tony Lansing. Their embrace put a whole different light on Jerod’s changed will. They might be working together to siphon all the money away from the Crawford estate. Should she tell Ben? Was it any of her business?
The overhead hallway light flashed on. Ramon charged past her.
“Bastard,” he shouted as he stalked toward the couple.
Charlene and Tony broke apart. In the sudden burst of light, she blinked wildly. Her bruised lips parted in a breathless gasp. Tony seemed disoriented, which wasn’t a surprise to Liz. The lawyer had tossed back a gallon of wine and three vodkas during dinner.
Ramon’s arm raised over his head.
Liz saw the glint of light on a kitchen knife. Her reaction was pure reflex. She kicked hard at the back of Ramon’s knee, sending him sprawling against the wall.
He whirled, facing her. “Stay out of this,” he warned.
“Drop your weapon.”
He lowered the blade, threatening her.
There wasn’t much room to maneuver in the narrow corridor, and the skirt on her uniform restricted her ability to kick high. Aiming carefully, she delivered a quick chop to his wrist. The knife clattered to the floor.
Ramon blocked her next blow. He flung his entire body at her, pinning her to the wall. His breath smelled like the inside of a garbage disposal. “Not so tough now, are you?”
The only way out of this hold was a knee to the groin as soon as he gave her the space to strike. And she was looking forward to that ultimately disabling attack.
Before she could act, Ramon was yanked away from her and thrown facedown on the floor.
Ben stood over his prone body with the heel of his boot planted firmly between Ramon’s shoulder blades. He turned toward Liz. “Are you all right?”
“I could have taken him down,” she said as she adjusted her stained uniform. “I don’t need you to rescue me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He looked down at the knife on the floor, then confronted Tony and Charlene. “I want an explanation.”
“A misunderstanding,” Tony said smoothly. “Nothing to worry about.”
“He lies,” Ramon wailed from the floor. “He has insulted me. And my beautiful Charlene.”
Ben lifted him off the floor as if the muscular young man weighed no more than a sack of feathers. Ben’s large hand clamped around Ramon’s throat.
“Charlene is Jerod’s wife,” Ben reminded him. “She doesn’t belong to you.”
Charlene rushed forward. “Let him go, Ben.”
“I want this son of a bitch out of here.”
“Too damned bad.” Charlene tossed her head. “This is my house. I say who stays and who goes. Ramon amuses me.”
A vein in Ben’s forehead throbbed, and Liz sympathized with his anger. Some women enjoyed having men fight over them; the danger acted as an aphrodisiac. Indeed, Charlene appeared to be turned on. Her lips drew back from her whitened teeth. “I want Ramon to stay. And Tony, too.”
The lawyer found his voice. “Actually, I should be going. Thought I could catch a ride with Doctor Al.”
“If you must,” Charlene said.
“Thank you,” he said in a formal tone that was comical, given the threatening situation. “For a lovely evening.”
When the lawyer sidled out of the hallway, Ben released his hold on Ramon who slouched forward, rubbing his throat.
“One more thing,” Ben said to him. “Apologize to the lady.”
Ramon turned toward Charlene. “You know I would never hurt you. From the bottom of my heart, I am—”
“Not her,” Ben interrupted by physically turning him toward Liz. “Apologize to this lady.”
Ramon’s dark eyebrows pulled down in an angry scowl. His full lips pursed as he forced the words. “I am sorry.”
“Accepted,” Liz said quickly. She definitely wanted this episode to be over.
“There,” Charlene said. “Everything’s fine. And the night is young. I want to have some real fun tonight.”
In a low, dangerous voice, Ben warned, “Be careful what you ask for, Charlene.”
Chapter Five
Less than an hour later, Ben accompanied his grandpa upstairs to his bedroom suite, where the nurse would help him into bed.
“Wish I could stay awake,” Jerod said. “Charlene’s friends remind me of the days when I used to party all night long. Then I’d go home with the prettiest little gal in the whole damn place.”
“Good times,” Ben muttered with thinly disguised insincerity. He’d never been as social as his grandpa.
“Listen up, boy. It’s high time you find yourself a girlfriend.”
“Technically, I’m still married to Victoria.” They’d been living apart for over a year—far apart. Victoria had taken up residence in the Denver house while Ben stayed in Seattle, where his business was based.
The final court date for their divorce was in a couple of weeks, and he’d gotten to the point where he would gladly relinquish all the cash and property she wanted. But not custody. He’d never give up one precious moment with his beautiful five-year-old daughter. Natalie was the one bright spot in his life.
“Ain’t telling you to get married,” Jerod said. “But it wouldn’t hurt to start dating. Weren’t you sitting next to some cute thing at dinner?”
“Not my type.”
The only woman at dinner who had appealed to him was Liz. When he’d stepped into that hallway and had seen Ramon crushing her against the wall, he’d wanted to kill that sleazy jerk for laying his hands on her. If she’d given the word, he would have happily dragged Ramon out the door and thrown him in the lake. But those weren’t Liz’s wishes. Instead of fawning, she’d coolly informed him that she could take care of herself.
He had no doubt that she could have handled the situation. If he hadn’t intruded, she probably would have broken both Ramon’s kneecaps and knocked out his front teeth. He grinned at his mental image of a karate queen with tangled hair and a prickly attitude. Definitely a woman who could kick ass.
“What you need,” his grandpa said, “is to get back on the horse. Sure, you got bucked off once. That don’t mean it’s time to hang up your spurs.”
“We’re still talking about women, right?”
“Women. Horses. Same basic rules apply.”
Ben chuckled. If he compared Liz to the old gray mare, she’d likely buck him through a plate-glass window. “Sleep well, Grandpa.”
The hallway on the upper floor was calm and quiet. This multi-level house had been well built and soundproofed with plenty of room for noisy family or guests. Ben was tempted to retire to his bedroom and forget about the party that was ongoing in the lounge, but Charlene and her friends were as irresponsible as two-year-olds. He needed to keep an eye on things. To quell fights if they got physical and make sure nobody ripped off their clothes and dived into the lake. For the rest of the night, Ben would be the self-appointed sheriff.
He descended to the main floor, where Rachel and the staff bustled around, cleaning up the dining room and kitchen. He paused to compliment her and the chef on a job well done.
Then he went downstairs into the noise. With the fully stocked bar, carefully placed lighting and a state-of-the-art sound system, the lounge easily duplicated the atmosphere of a small, private club for eight or nine of Charlene’s friends. He wasn’t sure how many, couldn’t be bothered to remember their names. The guys seemed to be varying shades of Ramon. Big talkers. Some with trust funds. One of them—Andy?—Arty?—wanted to sell him a used Mercedes. As for the women—these were high-maintenance babes—much like his estranged wife. Been there, done them.
He was glad to see Liz stationed behind the bar. She’d discarded her maid cap and rolled up the sleeves on her uniform. For an apron, she wore a black sweatshirt with the arms tied tightly around her tiny waist. It was a goofy outfit that she somehow made look sexy as she juggled a silver martini shaker, poured a drink and garnished it with two olives speared on a toothpick. She slid the glass across the bar to a young man with a shaved head, who sipped, gave her an approving nod and strolled back to the pool table.
Ben rested an elbow on the bar. “You’ve done this before.”
“I’m a lot better at mixing drinks than serving a formal dinner.”
“You did fine.”
“Tell that to my growling belly. So, what’ll you have?” Her nose crinkled when she grinned. “No, wait. Let me guess.”
“Another of your hidden talents? You’re psychic?”
“No, but I’m a pretty decent bartender. That means remembering what people drink.”
He gestured to the guy who was walking away. “How will you remember him?”
“Baldy likes olives. That’s easy.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “See the woman with black hair and a hateful attitude? She’s a Bloody Mary.”
And a potential problem. Bloody Mary looked like she might go ballistic. “What about Charlene?”
“Top-of-the-line champagne. Lots of fizz and bubbles. And I wouldn’t try to pull a substitute because she’d know the difference.”
“How about Ramon?”
“Vodka and orange juice, the typical screwdriver. But with 7-UP. I call it a screwup.”
“Appropriate,” he said. “If I hadn’t shown up when I did, what would have been your next move?”
“Groin.” She illustrated with an emphatic jab of her knee.
He winced in sympathetic pain. “I’m glad you’re here. If things start getting out of hand—”
“I’ve got your back.” Her green eyes studied him. “Now, let me figure out your drink. Something basic and manly. No frills. Outdoorsy.”
He liked that description. “Go on.”
“Something strong. Maybe tequila. Are you the kind of guy who likes to get blitzed?”
An odd question. Even more strange was the way her attitude shifted from playful to serious, as if probing for a deeper answer. “I’m not a drunk.”
She held out both her fists. “Suppose in my right hand, I had a magic pill that would give you energy. In my left is one that makes you sleep. Which would you choose?”
“An upper or a downer.” He closed his hands over both her fists and pulled them together. “Neither. I like to be in control at all times.”
Charlene bounced up beside them. “What’s going on here? Ben, are you propositioning the help?”
“Go away, Charlene.”
“You’re such a grump.” She made eye contact with Liz. “You’d be doing everybody a favor if you got this guy to lighten up. He really needs a woman.”
Liz pulled her hands away from him. “That’s not part of my job description.”
“Speaking of uptight jerks,” Charlene said, “Where are Patrice and Monte?”
“You don’t want to see my sister,” he advised.
“Oh, but I do. I want my chance to gloat.”
The background music got louder and a couple of the women started dancing. Charlene shimmied toward them. When Ben turned back toward the bar, he saw an opened bottle of dark beer. The logo showed a sailboat scudding in the wind. “Good choice, Liz. It’s my favorite drink.”
“I knew somebody liked it.” She poured the beer into a tall, frosted glass. “There were two six-packs in the fridge.”
He settled onto a bar stool and spent the rest of the evening talking to Liz. Usually Ben kept to himself, but she was a good listener. He opened up. Spoke of his dreams, his love of the ocean and the purity of sailing in a hand-crafted wooden boat with a streamlined hull and perfectly designed sail—not unlike the wing of an aircraft—to catch the wind and soar.
Her green eyes shone with a steady light, encouraging him to wax poetic about the lure of open sea. “In a different era, I could have been a captain on a tallship.”
“Or a pirate,” she said. “A renegade.”
“Aye, matey.”
Though he probed, she avoided saying much about herself, claiming that her dreams generally revolved around mundane issues like paying her rent and having groceries. “What about your family?” he asked.
“Raised by a single mother.” She shrugged. “Her only dream for me was that I’d find a man to marry me and take care of me. And her.”
“You don’t share that dream.”
“Nightmare,” she corrected. “I don’t like people telling me what to do.”
“Nobody does.”
“Your family is a lot more interesting.” She refilled his beer glass. “From what I hear, you’re in the midst of the divorce from hell.”
He wasn’t surprised that she knew about Victoria. The staff overheard everything. Talk about his miserable marriage evolved into memories of better times. With his beloved daughter. With his grandpa.
Though their conversation was frequently interrupted by Charlene’s friends, he and Liz seemed to be afloat on an island of calm. When he looked at his wristwatch, he could hardly believe that it was after one.
The party had begun to wind down. In a dark corner, Bloody Mary and Baldy carried on a breathy conversation with a lot of groping. Others played pool. Charlene swayed and danced by herself while Ramon watched with eager eyes.
Ben was surprised when Patrice and Monte joined him at the bar. His sister was visibly upset, with makeup askew and eyes glowing like hot embers. She snarled at Liz. “Vodka and pomegranate juice in a tall glass. Make it a double.”
“Same for me,” Monte said.
“I didn’t expect to see you down here,” Ben said.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Patrice complained. “I can’t believe Jerod intends to leave everything to that witch.”
“We’re family,” Monte whined. “We deserve that inheritance. We need it.”
Ben filled his mouth with beer to keep from commenting. His sister had a healthy annual income from trust funds, owned houses and cars and anything else her greedy heart desired. Not exactly living in the gutter.
“Maybe I should get pregnant.” Patrice patted her concave belly. “Then Jerod would leave my child big bucks. The way he’s done with your kid.”
Anger clenched Ben’s throat. “What about Natalie?”
Charlene sidled up to them. “She’s the other big winner in the new will. A third for me. A third for your darling daughter. And the rest to be divided with dozens and dozens of others.”
Beside him, Patrice scraped her fingernails on the bar. “The new will won’t stand up in court. You tricked my grandpa.”
“I love him,” Charlene said. “That’s something you wouldn’t understand. Love. True love.”
Ramon had appeared behind her shoulder. It didn’t take a behavioral scientist to see that this conversation was about to turn nasty.
“Love?” Patrice spat the word. “Is that why you were humping Tony Lansing in the back hallway?”
Charlene tossed her head. “Just a congratulations kiss. No big deal.”
Liz placed the drinks for Patrice and Monte on the bar. “Here you go, folks. Drink up. And settle down.”
“Shut up,” Patrice snapped. “When I need advice from a maid, I’ll ask for it.”
His sister closed her talons around her glass, and Ben guessed her intention. Patrice was about to throw her drink, just like a soap-opera diva. Before he could stop her, she let fly.
Charlene ducked.
Ramon got drenched.
Ben waded in to stop the scuffle. Fortunately, Liz had come around the bar and helped. Between them, they subdued the women and their partners.
Patrice and Monte flounced back up the stairs.
Charlene stood at the bar beside him. Her chest heaved as she breathed heavily. “Go to bed, Ben. I’m not going to do anything naughty.”
He had absolutely no reason to believe her.
THOUGH LIZ HAD BEEN DRINKING nothing but ginger ale all night, she felt unsteady on her feet. It had been a long day; she was pooped.
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