I was reminded of Vinnie flirting with Suzie in her Mae West voice. She had been funny and charming, while Minka was just icky and awkward.
Edward turned and gave another grand signal to the orchestra leader, who instantly cued the band to begin their own special rendition of “Brick House.”
No! No, no, no. This was so wrong. I could hear Derek trying to suppress his laughter.
Edward urged Minka gently toward the dance floor and they began to move to the music. It was awkward, because Minka could barely walk in that getup, let alone dance.
But now it all clicked into place. Edward Strathmore was grooming Minka LaBoeuf to be his very own real-life Mae West. The man was more than a little twisted, but that’s what happened when you had so much money, you could buy—
“Oh!” I struggled for breath, understanding in that instant what I’d missed the last time I was here. I’d known something was wrong at the time. I just hadn’t known what it was.
I glanced around. I would need to double-check one thing before I could do anything about it.
With every eye on Minka and Edward, including Derek’s and Alex’s, I was able to slip away to the elevator. I pressed the button for the top floor and made my way back down the wide hall to Edward’s private library. When I reached the door, I glanced around to be sure I wasn’t being followed. Then I tried the door handle but it was locked.
Darn! I felt along the top ledge of the doorjamb, but no key was hiding there. I lifted the edge of the beautiful oriental carpet runner to check, but again no key.
Derek had once shown me how to pick a lock, but I had nothing to use as a pick.
Yes, I did! My prosciutto-melon toothpick. I pulled out the plastic toothpick and wiped it with the wadded napkin a few times, just to be sure it was clean enough. Then I slid it into the lock.
I twisted and turned it and tried to spin it. The plastic bent back and forth and I knew this wasn’t going to work. Someday I would insist on another breaking-and-entering lesson from Derek and perhaps a little pouch with my very own burglar’s tools—which I’m sure he would love to give me. But for now I wondered if maybe I could find the actual key in Edward’s bedroom or his office. I didn’t want to leave here without confirming what I’d seen before.
I turned and almost collided into Edward.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” he asked, dangling a key in front of my eyes.
“Oh, Edward, what perfect timing.” It was an effort to hide how badly startled I was to find him there. “I was just coming down to get you. I wanted to take another look at your collection of Cosway bindings one more time, but I didn’t want to disturb you while you were entertaining. But since the door was locked, I was on my way to find you and, well. Here you are.”
I was babbling.
“Yes, here I am,” he said smoothly. “I saw you leave the ballroom and I had a feeling where I might find you.” He slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. “Let’s go inside, shall we?”
Crap, I thought. Another confrontation with a lunatic. My head was still pounding from last night’s adventures with Garth/Gerald.
“Oh!” I squealed with ultrafake enthusiasm as I sprinted over to the glass-in display of Cosway bindings. “I can’t get enough of these lovely books.”
“I should warn you,” he said as he followed at a more sedate pace. “We had an unfortunate incident occur two nights ago. A man tried to break into the house and I had to shoot him.”
I glanced at him, feigning horror. “That must’ve been terrible for you.”
“Yes, and for him. He was going to steal from me and now he’s dead.”
I tried to react calmly, but how could I? He wasn’t quite the eccentric charmer I’d met the other day. Did he think I was here to steal something?
“Ah!” I cried. “And here are the Frances Hodgson Burnett beauties.” I stared at the trio of books one more time. “Stunning.” They really were, but I could barely see them. My mind was racing through various scenarios of how I might get out of here gracefully.
“You didn’t really come here to see these, did you, Brooklyn?”
“Why, Edward.” Stay calm, I told myself. “Who wouldn’t want to see these beautiful images again?”
He laughed. “You’re a terrible liar.”
He was right. I was an incredibly bad liar. But that didn’t mean I was going to confess anything to him.
“The last time you were here,” he said, “I neglected to show you the portrait I had commissioned. Let me give you a private viewing.”
He pulled a cord and the velvet curtain parted, revealing the portrait of himself with Mae West.
“She was so lovely,” he murmured. “So smart. So filled with life and vigor.”
“That is remarkable,” I said.
“But you’ve seen it before, of course.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”