Alliance for Saving the Loons. James MacDougal suggested you might be interested in helping us in our quest. We tried to call before showing up like this, but there was no answer.”
Jane allowed herself a cautious, curious glance at her companion. She had no idea who James MacDougal was, but apparently Annabel Tremaine did. She also hadn’t read
Gone With the Wind
very recently. She opened the faded red door wider, exposing herself to the brutal sunlight, and smiled up into Sandy’s beautiful gray eyes, ignoring his putative wife completely.
“This is rather a bad time,” she said vaguely, running a slender hand through a carefully styled mane of silver-blond hair. “My husband’s away right now, and I’m afraid I’m between maids, but if you want to come in...”
“We’d love to,” Sandy said firmly, turning his back on his beloved Melanie and putting one strong hand under Annabel’s elbow. Jane followed in their wake, allowing herself the brief, totally satisfying treat of sticking her tongue out at his beautiful back.
Annabel Tremaine must have been between maids for quite a while. The house was very dark—all the curtains were drawn, shadowing the disarray. Their hostess picked her way with exaggerated care over the piles of clothing, magazines, and dishes, dropping down on a damask-covered sofa and pushing a chintz comforter onto the floor.
“Could I offer you a drink?” she cooed, and everything clicked into place for a confused Jane. At eleven o’clock in the morning Annabel Tremaine was well and truly sloshed.
“It’s a little early,” Jane said, sinking down on a chair, jumping back up again and removing an empty wineglass before reseating herself.
“It’s never too early,” Annabel said cheerfully, blinking at them. “What about you, Mr. Wilkes?”
“Not right now,” he said.
“You wouldn’t mind getting me something, now would you?” Annabel purred.
“How about a cup of coffee?” he suggested calmly.
“Mr. Wilkes, I’ve been drinking since eight o’clock this morning, since my husband walked out the door. Why should I go and spoil such a carefully acquired state of bliss?”
“You don’t look very blissful,” Sandy said in a gentle voice.
Annabel blinked again, and slow tears ran down her beautiful cheeks. She was perfectly preserved, anywhere from forty to sixty, with wide, slightly dazed eyes, neatly coiffed hair, beautiful clothes, and makeup applied to her perfect features with a master’s hand. Her advanced state of inebriation didn’t even put a dent in her physical beauty. Clearly she didn’t make a habit of drinking all day, or it would have begun to take its toll on her exceptional looks.
“I’m not blissful,” she agreed with a trace of petulance. “I don’t want you to think I’m a drunk. I only do this when my husband goes out of town. He’s just been doing it a little too often, and I know he’s seeing her, and I don’t care. Not one tiny bit,” she added defiantly.
“I’m sure you don’t. How about some coffee?”
“How about some vodka?”
“It’s all gone.”
“Damn.” Annabel had slumped sideways a bit, but she pushed herself back into a sitting position, crossing her shapely ankles. “I’ll have to send out for more. I only hope we still have credit at the liquor store. Stephen’s been closing all my accounts. He’s put me on a budget. Would you believe such a thing? I’m sure he hasn’t put Miss Goodbody on a budget.”
“Miss Goodbody?” Sandy echoed. He hadn’t taken a seat, he was hovering in the doorway, and Jane suddenly realized his problem. He didn’t want to take advantage of the woman. It would have been a simple matter to mix her another drink from the bottle of vodka that was, in fact, half-full, and then pry any information he wanted out of her. Instead he wanted to sober her up. Jane’s partner in crime had a conscience. The notion was startling and yet, not really surprising.
“My husband’s
Jane allowed herself a cautious, curious glance at her companion. She had no idea who James MacDougal was, but apparently Annabel Tremaine did. She also hadn’t read
Gone With the Wind
very recently. She opened the faded red door wider, exposing herself to the brutal sunlight, and smiled up into Sandy’s beautiful gray eyes, ignoring his putative wife completely.
“This is rather a bad time,” she said vaguely, running a slender hand through a carefully styled mane of silver-blond hair. “My husband’s away right now, and I’m afraid I’m between maids, but if you want to come in...”
“We’d love to,” Sandy said firmly, turning his back on his beloved Melanie and putting one strong hand under Annabel’s elbow. Jane followed in their wake, allowing herself the brief, totally satisfying treat of sticking her tongue out at his beautiful back.
Annabel Tremaine must have been between maids for quite a while. The house was very dark—all the curtains were drawn, shadowing the disarray. Their hostess picked her way with exaggerated care over the piles of clothing, magazines, and dishes, dropping down on a damask-covered sofa and pushing a chintz comforter onto the floor.
“Could I offer you a drink?” she cooed, and everything clicked into place for a confused Jane. At eleven o’clock in the morning Annabel Tremaine was well and truly sloshed.
“It’s a little early,” Jane said, sinking down on a chair, jumping back up again and removing an empty wineglass before reseating herself.
“It’s never too early,” Annabel said cheerfully, blinking at them. “What about you, Mr. Wilkes?”
“Not right now,” he said.
“You wouldn’t mind getting me something, now would you?” Annabel purred.
“How about a cup of coffee?” he suggested calmly.
“Mr. Wilkes, I’ve been drinking since eight o’clock this morning, since my husband walked out the door. Why should I go and spoil such a carefully acquired state of bliss?”
“You don’t look very blissful,” Sandy said in a gentle voice.
Annabel blinked again, and slow tears ran down her beautiful cheeks. She was perfectly preserved, anywhere from forty to sixty, with wide, slightly dazed eyes, neatly coiffed hair, beautiful clothes, and makeup applied to her perfect features with a master’s hand. Her advanced state of inebriation didn’t even put a dent in her physical beauty. Clearly she didn’t make a habit of drinking all day, or it would have begun to take its toll on her exceptional looks.
“I’m not blissful,” she agreed with a trace of petulance. “I don’t want you to think I’m a drunk. I only do this when my husband goes out of town. He’s just been doing it a little too often, and I know he’s seeing her, and I don’t care. Not one tiny bit,” she added defiantly.
“I’m sure you don’t. How about some coffee?”
“How about some vodka?”
“It’s all gone.”
“Damn.” Annabel had slumped sideways a bit, but she pushed herself back into a sitting position, crossing her shapely ankles. “I’ll have to send out for more. I only hope we still have credit at the liquor store. Stephen’s been closing all my accounts. He’s put me on a budget. Would you believe such a thing? I’m sure he hasn’t put Miss Goodbody on a budget.”
“Miss Goodbody?” Sandy echoed. He hadn’t taken a seat, he was hovering in the doorway, and Jane suddenly realized his problem. He didn’t want to take advantage of the woman. It would have been a simple matter to mix her another drink from the bottle of vodka that was, in fact, half-full, and then pry any information he wanted out of her. Instead he wanted to sober her up. Jane’s partner in crime had a conscience. The notion was startling and yet, not really surprising.
“My husband’s
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