“You’re all set, Ms. McFadden,” the guard finally said, handing back her invitation and identification. “Just keep heading straight down the road and you’ll dead-end at the big house.”
“You’re not going to search me or my car?” she asked, referring to the mention in the invitation about security measures.
“No, ma’am,” he replied, deadpan. “You’ve been pre-cleared for entry.”
This just keeps getting weirder and weirder. What did Ruth get me into?
It wasn’t Ruth’s fault, though. Not really. Harper’s reporter instinct had been nudged by the unexpected invitation and Ruth’s gossip about Latimer. She had no interest in doing a big-business exposé. But she was known for having a nose for a good story. Harper usually gravitated toward human interest pieces, though . . . to big stories seen through the eyes of seemingly small, everyday people. She couldn’t imagine what a good human interest story might be in regard to Jacob Latimer. By all reports, the man more resembled a machine or ghost than a flesh-and-blood man.
At least it won’t be boring, Harper thought wryly as she progressed down a stunning drive canopied by soaring pine trees, landscaped grounds, and several outbuildings. Suddenly the sprawling main house came into view. The mansion blended both features of the old Tahoe style with a clean, minimalist, almost Japanese aesthetic: Western log lodge meets Frank Lloyd Wright. The result was stunning.
A woman in her thirties wearing a black cocktail dress briskly stepped down the stairs when Harper pulled up at the porte cochere. A young man followed and came around to open Harper’s door.
“Just leave your keys,” the woman said. “Jim will park your car for you. Welcome! I’m Elizabeth Shields,” the woman said when Harper alighted. She peered at Harper through a pair of tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses. Harper sensed she was pleasant, but guarded . . . and curious, as well.
“Harper McFadden. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Harper said, extending her hand.
Elizabeth was an attractive brunette in her midthirties. Something about the way she wore the expensive-looking, but simply cut cocktail dress called to mind a uniform instead of party attire. As Jacob Latimer’s assistant, Elizabeth must have to dress up for work a lot.
“Follow me,” Elizabeth said, nodding her head in the direction of the stairs. “I’m sorry about all the security measures. The software industry is ridiculously competitive these days; it’s a necessary precaution, I’m afraid,” Elizabeth explained as she led Harper through a pair of enormous carved pine doors with wrought iron handles. Harper didn’t have time to tell Elizabeth the security check had been surprisingly brief. She was too busy goggling as they entered a high-domed entry hall and then a great room featuring lodgepole-pine-beamed thirty-foot ceilings, two soaring river rock fireplaces, and a long stretch of floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a jaw-dropping panoramic view of Lake Tahoe and the surrounding mountains. Despite the open, old Tahoe design of the structure, the furniture and finishes were contemporary, utilitarian, and elegant. It was the most stunning room Harper had ever seen, whether in photos or real life.
Elizabeth turned as they walked, and saw her gawking. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling.
“That’s a bit of an understatement.”
Elizabeth laughed and opened a glass-paned door for her. “I find myself thinking that a lot. Mr. Latimer has a way of making regular speech seem inadequate.”
“I can imagine,” Harper muttered, following Elizabeth out the door and onto an enormous terrace.
The scene was breathtaking, something straight out of a movie set. The section of the terrace closest to the house was under a protective roof, so that one could use it even in inclement weather. Given the two outdoor stone fireplaces on the upper deck, a person could sit out there comfortably, enjoying the scenery even as the surrounding mountains became white with snow. Even in late August, the nights could turn pleasantly chilly in the alpine setting. Cozy flames flickered in the fireplaces, beckoning a person to curl up on one of the many couches or chairs near them.
Elizabeth led her down some stairs, and they arrived at the second terrace level. This and the next deck down were places to bask in the sun. Again, there were multiple seating areas, landscaped flora, trickling fountains, and stone paths. Harper’s eyes caught on one of several circular-shaped, deep wicker divans with a sunscreen attached to the top of it. The circular screen on one had been lowered to block what was happening in the deep couch. Six bare feet stuck out of the bottom of the obscured divan. Harper heard muffled male and female laughter.