The Collector, Page 32

  hood to slip into the driver’s seat.

  “You have a car.”

  “I do. I don’t get it out much.”

  “You have a really hot car.”

  “If you’re going to drive a hot woman to the beach, it should be in a hot car.”

  “Well played. I got nervous.”

  “About what?” He negotiated traffic as if he commuted daily—with ruthless determination.

  “About everything. I imagined this Miranda saying, ‘Oh, Antonio! Of course, what an old dear. We’ve got him propped up in the corner over there. Do go say hello.’”

  “I don’t see that happening.”

  “Of course not, but I started thinking it. Then we’d go over, and he’d say—or shout because I see him as stone deaf—‘Poker? Hard Luck Jonnie! Those were the days.’ Then he’d tell us he gave the egg to the girl he was sleeping with at the time. What was her name? He’d cackle out a laugh, then drop over dead.”

  “At least he died on a happy memory.”

  “In another version Hot Asian Girl bursts in—she’s wearing Alexander McQueen, I’m pretty sure—holding everyone at gunpoint while the boss comes in behind her. He looks like Marlon Brando. Not hot-and-sexy Brando in the old black-and-white movies, the really fat Brando. He’s wearing a white suit and a panama hat.”

  “It is summer at the beach.”

  “Because this is my fantasy, I know kung fu, and HAG and I square off. I completely kick her ass, and you restrain the boss man.”

  Ash spared her a glance before he bulleted between two taxies. “You get the hot woman, I get fat Brando? It doesn’t seem right.”

  “It’s just the way it was. But when we thought everything was okay, the terrible happened. I couldn’t find Earl Grey. I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find him. I’m still a little sick about it.”

  “Then it’s a good thing it never happened—and it won’t.”

  “I still wish I knew kung fu.” She peeked into her bag, where Earl Grey curled and slept.

  “What’s in there? You didn’t put the dog in there? You brought the dog?”

  “I couldn’t leave him. He’s my responsibility. Besides, women have tiny dogs like this so they can carry them around in their fashionable bags.” She gave him a smiling glance. “They’ll just think I’m eccentric.”

  “Where would they get that idea?”

  She loved new spaces, and though she wouldn’t have chosen the Swansons’ Hamptons house for herself, she could appreciate the theme. All white, acres of glass, slick and ultramodern, it offered white terraces adorned with white pots filled with red flowers.

  Casual, she thought, it wasn’t, but stood as a testament to money and determined contemporary style.

  People already were mixing on the terraces—women in floaty dresses, men in soft-colored suits and sport coats. The light held bright, and the whoosh of the waves mingled with music streaming from the open windows.

  She saw waitstaff passing trays of what she thought were Bellinis, of champagne, of pilsner glasses and finger food.

  Inside, the sky and sea dominated through the walls of glass. But all the white hurt the eyes, chilled the skin.

  Furnishings with silver or mirror finishes paired with hard reds, blues, greens of chairs and sofas, the same colors echoed in the slashes and strokes of the art framed in silver on the white walls.

  Not a soft edge anywhere, Lila thought.

  “I couldn’t work here,” she murmured to Ash. “It would give me a constant headache.”

  A woman—again in white, short and snug—hurried toward them. She had a tumble of ice blond hair and eyes so eerily green Lila credited tinted contacts.

  “You must be Ashton!” She grabbed Ash’s hand, then leaned in for the European double-cheek buss. “I’m so glad you could join us! I’m Miranda.”

  “It was nice of you to ask us. Miranda Swanson, Lila Emerson.”

  “Aren’t you as fresh as a strawberry parfait? Let me get you both a drink.” She circled her finger in the air without looking around. “We’re having Bellinis. Of course, we can get you anything else you like.”

  “I’d love one.” Lila beamed at her, very deliberately. She felt a little pang of sympathy.

  She judged the woman to be about the same age as Ash’s mother, but Miranda had sculpted herself down to a sharpened stick, one that appeared to run on nervous energy and whatever frothy substance she had in her glass.

  “You have to come meet everyone. We’re all very casual here. I was delighted when your mother called, Ashton. I had no idea she was here, spending some of her summer.”

  Lila took a glass from the server’s tray. “You have a gorgeous spot.”

  “We just love it. We completely redid the house when we bought it last year. It’s lovely to get out of the city with all the heat, the crowds. I’m sure you know just what I mean. Let me introduce you to—”

  Earl Grey took the opportunity to poke his head out of the corner of the straw bag.

  Miranda’s mouth dropped open, and Lila held her breath, half expecting a scream.

  Instead, there came a squeal.

  “Oh, it’s a little puppy! She’s like a little toy.”

  “He. This is Earl Grey. I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t want to leave him home alone.”

  “Oh, oh, he’s precious. Just precious.”

  “Would you like to hold him?”

  “I’d love it.” Miranda gathered the dog in her hands, immediately lapsed into lisping baby talk.

  Lila just slanted a look toward Ash, and smiled. “Is there anywhere I could take him for a little walk outside?”

  “Oh, of course! I’ll show you. Want to go for a walkie?” Miranda cooed, rubbing noses with Earl Grey, then giggling when he lapped his tiny tongue on her face.

  This time Lila just batted her eyes at Ash as she followed the besotted Miranda back out the front door.

  Bellini in hand, Monica wandered over to her son. “That’s a clever girl you have.”

  He leaned down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “I don’t know if I have her, but she’s pretty damn clever.”

  “My son knows how to get what he wants, and always has.” She kissed his cheek in turn. “We need to mingle a bit, but then we’re going to find a nice quiet spot in this ridiculous house for you to tell me just why you wanted an intro to Miranda Swanson.”

  “Fair enough.” But he glanced toward the door.

  “I think Lila can handle her end of things.”

  “So she’s always telling me.”

  “Quite a contrast for a man who’s gotten used to handling too much for too many. Let’s be social.” She took his hand, strolled with him into the gathering in the main living area. “Toots, I don’t think you’ve met my son.”

  Toots? Ash thought, then resigned himself to the social hour.

  Outside, Lila walked a wide white path between sharp blades of ornamental grasses and thorny rosebushes. And waited for her opportunity.

  “Biff and I travel so much I never thought about getting a dog. So much trouble. But now . . .” Miranda held the leash while Earl Grey sniffed the grasses. “I’d love to have the name of your breeder.”

  “I’ll get that for you. I really appreciate you inviting us tonight, and being so understanding about Earl Grey. I didn’t realize until Ash mentioned it, you knew his half brother Oliver.”

  “Who?”

  “Oliver Archer, he handled the estate sale through Old World Antiques for you.”

  “Oh! I never put that together. He did mention he was Spence Archer’s son. I’d forgotten. Such a bother, all that estate business, and he was so helpful.”

  “I’m sure he was.”

  “Biff and I just couldn’t see the point in keeping that old house, and all the things. My grandmother collected everything.” She rolled her eyes. “You’d think it was a museum, full of stuff, musty old place.”

  “Still, it must’ve been hard, selling off family things.�
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  “I prefer living in the now. Antiques are just old things somebody else already used, aren’t they?”

  “Well . . .” In a nutshell, Lila supposed. “Yes, I guess they are.”

  “And so much of it’s heavy and dark, or gaudy. Biff and I like clean and modern. Oliver—I remember him, of course—was a huge help. I should invite him out for a weekend this summer.”

  “I’m sorry, I thought you knew. Oliver was killed a couple weeks ago.”

  Instant shock and distress flew into her eyes. “That’s terrible! Oh, he was so young and good-looking. That’s tragic. How did it happen?”

  “He was shot. It was all over the news.”

  “Oh, I try never to listen to the news. Always so depressing.”

  “There is that,” Lila agreed.

  “Shot.” Miranda gave a shudder. “A mugging, a robbery, I guess.”

  “Something like that. You sold him an egg.”

  “There’s a good boy, going pee-pee. A what?” She glanced back at Lila. “An egg? Why would I sell anyone an egg?”

  “A decorative egg. An angel with a chariot.”

  “How odd. I don’t remember— Oh, wait. Yes, I do. God, it was so gaudy and old-fashioned. It had all these papers with it written in some strange foreign language. But Oliver was taken with it, and asked if I’d consider selling it to him outright. I didn’t see the harm.”

  “The papers were actually for two eggs.”

  “Really? Well, as I said, that old place was full of things. Biff and I are more minimalist.”

  “Ash learned about it—he’s handling his brother’s estate. You know what that’s like.”

  Miranda rolled her eyes wearily. “An enormous eater of time and energy.”

  “Yes. And in going through all the papers, he learned Jonas Martin Junior lost the second egg in a poker game. To Antonio Bastone.”

  “Bastone?” Something bright came into her face. “Was that it? There’s some family legend about that—some treasure wagered away. My grandfather—Jonas Martin—was the black sheep with a weakness for gambling and women.”

  “Do you know the Bastones?”

  “I dated Giovanni one whirlwind summer when we were in Italy—I wasn’t quite eighteen. I was wild for him, probably because my father didn’t fully approve due to this poker business.”

  “Where in Italy, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Florence, at least we spent a lot of time in Florence. The Bastone villa is in Tuscany. Giovanni married some Italian model and had a herd of children. I haven’t seen him for years now, but we still exchange cards at Christmas. A woman only has one first love.”

  “It’s a lucky woman to have an Italian first love with a villa in Tuscany. Did you ever talk about the egg his grandfather won from yours?”

  “We had much more important things to talk about—when we talked. I should get back—I could stay out here with this little sweetie all night.” She gathered Earl Grey up in her hands. “Do you think he’s finished?”

  “Yeah, I’d say we’re finished.”

  By the time they circled back to the house, Lila steered the conversation into empty small talk by dropping the name of clients who also had a house in East Hampton. They parted ways when Miranda introduced her—as Leela—to two couples on the east terrace.

  She let it go, decided Leela was a trust fund baby who dabbled in fashion design. She entertained herself with that persona for a few minutes, then excused herself to hunt for Ash.

  He scooped her up from behind, an arm firm around her waist. “There you are. You have to see the view from the second floor.”

  “I do?” she asked as he carted her briskly to the glossy white staircase.

  “Yes, because my mother’s there, and I’m under orders to bring you up. I had to fill her in,” he added quietly.

  “Did you?”

  “I mostly filled her in. You can keep her entertained while I hunt up Biff Swanson and see what I can find out about the egg.”

  “That’s not going to be necessary. Mrs. Crompton. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Monica. Let me see your ploy.”

  “My ploy?”

  “The famous Earl Grey.”

  At the sound of his name, the dog poked his head out of the bag, gave one cheerful yip.

  “I’m more inclined toward big, sturdy dogs, but he’s certainly cute. And he has a very happy face.”

  “That’s his charm for me. Happy face.”

  “First”—she took Lila’s arm, led her farther away from a small group of guests—“I’m going to apologize for Ashton’s father.”

  “There’s no need for that.”

  “I wouldn’t have left you alone with him if I’d known where he’d gone in his head. And as I had two children with him, I should have known, or guessed. His current wife and I don’t have much in common, or any particular liking for each other, but she would’ve been appalled if she’d known how he treated a guest in their home. As would Oliver’s poor mother, and Isabella—Spence’s third wife. So on behalf of all the formers and the current, I’m sorry you were treated so shabbily.”

  “Thank you. It was a difficult day for everyone.”

  “A horrible day that went from awful to even worse. Ash has told me what’s going on, or as much of what’s going on as he’s decided to tell me. I’m going to say I was terribly fond of Vinnie. He and Angie, their family, are all part of mine, and a welcome part. I want to see the people responsible for taking his life, for breaking Angie’s heart, caught and punished. But I don’t want it at the risk of my son, or a young woman I’m already fond of.”

  “I understand. Basically we’re just gathering information right now.”

  “I’m not Oliver, Mom,” Ash put in.

  “And thank God for it.” The breeze caught at her hair, fluttered the golden red waves. “Among countless other differences, you’re not greedy, entitled or stupid. Oliver was, and often all at the same time. It’s ridiculous to say not to speak ill of the dead. We’re all going to be dead eventually. What would we talk about in the meantime?”

  Lila let out a quick laugh before she could swallow it. “Ash says he’s going to take care of me—and while he’s trying to do that, I’ll take care of him.”

  “Both of you make sure you do.”

  “And since you’re filled in, I can tell you—both—my ploy hit the jackpot. Condensed version. Miranda didn’t have a clue about the egg Oliver bought—she just saw it as old-fashioned and gaudy. To her, it was just more clutter in an old house she didn’t want.”

  “The Martin estate is one of the most beautiful homes on Long Island,” Monica told her. “It’s been let go far too long, as Miranda’s grandmother—her father died several years ago—has been ill for a long time. I’ve been to parties there, back in the day. I was pregnant with you, Ash, the first time I went there.”

  “It’s a small, incestuous world. What about the Bastone connection?”

  “In the vein of small, incestuous worlds, Miranda had her first love affair with Giovanni Bastone one long-ago summer in Tuscany. The Bastones have a villa there. It has to be near Florence, as she said she and Giovanni spent a lot of time there. And she vaguely recalls a family legend about Jonas Martin—the black sheep in his time—losing a family treasure in a wager with Antonio Bastone—one of the reasons her father wasn’t happy about her dating the young Bastone. He—Giovanni—married a model, and they have several children.”

  Monica sent her a look of pleased approval. “You got all of that by walking the dog?”