Alan looked shocked. “Laureen!”
Laureen got to her feet. “Come on, everybody. Let’s stop by our place so I can pick up my reading glasses.”
“Good idea, honey.” Alan grinned at her. “I remember when you got The Joy of Sex and you acted out The Joy of Cooking.”
“And I spent the entire five minutes trying to figure out what sex had to do with Laureen stirring something and licking her fingers.” Moira stopped and her face began to turn red. “Oh, sh . . . shucks! I don’t believe I said that!”
Marc laughed. “I don’t either. I’ve got a jug of wine I can bring, if you don’t mind stopping at my floor. And while I’m there, I’ll just check my . . .”
“Answer phone?”
They all spoke in unison and Marc laughed. “I keep forgetting. Well, I just hope you all can read my mind like that when it’s my turn to do a charade.”
There was a determined expression on Vanessa’s face as she pulled on a black turtleneck sweater and a pair of black slacks. The game of charades would keep everyone busy for at least two hours, which gave her plenty of time.
She reached up to take off her earrings and reconsidered as she caught her reflection in the mirror. The sparkling diamonds lent a touch of elegance to her all-black outfit. The heart-shaped earrings had been a present from Hal for their first anniversary, the last present he’d given her, but she was about to cash in for a whole lot more.
The call had come the morning the avalanche had hit. Since Hal was working, Vanessa had taken the message and she’d been immediately suspicious. When she’d asked, Hal had told her that a Swiss bank was handling some property he owned over there, but of course she’d heard all about those numbered Swiss bank accounts, and she was positive that Hal was hiding his money from her.
She’d spent all last night searching for some sort of evidence. She knew that if she found the number to Hal’s Swiss bank account, she could fly over there and clean it out. She’d seen a movie just like that. But she hadn’t found the number, even though she’d gone through everything in the apartment. And then, just this morning, while they were in Clayton’s unit, she’d realized that Hal might have given the number to Clayton to keep for him. Vanessa gave one last glance in the mirror and turned to go out the door. Clayton had given her a key before Rachael had moved in and he’d forgotten to ask for it back.
Her hands were trembling slightly as she reached for the elevator button. Then she remembered that the elevator shaft was right outside Moira and Grace’s living room. If Hal heard the elevator running, he’d realize that she was awake, and he might come up and find her.
Vanessa turned on her heel and headed for the stairwell. Clayton’s unit was only two floors up. She felt proud of herself for thinking it through. Maybe her luck was changing and she’d find what she needed to get away from Hal for good.
THIRTEEN
Jayne was watching the oven timer impatiently when Paul came up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist.
“Do not look at it, Jayne. A watched clock never ticks.”
“It’s a watched pot that never boils, but you’ve got the right idea.” Jayne turned and kissed him. “The smell’s killing me and my stomach’s growling worse than a grizzly in heat.”
They both turned to look through the oven window. It had all started when Marc said he was dying for pizza and wished a delivery truck could get through. Laureen had remembered the refrigerated pizza dough she was testing for her cooking show, and offered each of them a batch for individual pizzas with toppings of their choice. If anyone was interested, they could have a contest to see who could come up with the best pizza. Laureen would be the judge, along with Alan. There were no hard-and-fast rules. If you didn’t have what you needed, you could borrow from someone else. And everyone would have plenty to eat.
“Your pizza is giving a delicious aroma.” Paul studied Jayne’s entry, which was browning nicely. “I think you will surely win the contest.”
Jayne shrugged. “I doubt it, not with plain old sausage and cheese. But I figured somebody in this family had to make a pizza that’s edible.”
“Is this a personal criticism, Jayne?”
Jayne giggled. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a sardine and cream cheese pizza before.”
“But you say you like lox and bagels. My pizza is almost similar, except for the difference in fish.”
“Some difference!” Jayne giggled again. “And lox and bagels aren’t served hot.”
“I fail to see why they could not be. And this will not squeeze from the sides when it is bitten. Is it baked enough, Jayne?”
“Two minutes to go. Why don’t you get out that big basket in the cupboard?”
Paul had just finished lining the basket with towels when the stove timer rang. Jayne lifted out the pizzas and set them inside. “All set and rarin’ to go. Let’s hustle over before they get cold.”
As they walked down the hallway, Paul was smiling. “What type of pizza will Ellen and Walker bake?”
“Ellen’ll bring pineapple and Canadian bacon. She told me that was her favorite. I don’t know about Walker, though.”
“Watermelon pizza?”
“Paul!” Jayne was shocked. “You shouldn’t say things like that!”
“I do not understand why. Walker does not seem to be sensitive about his race. I am sure he would smash up if I told him that joke.”
“Crack up, not smash up, and no, he wouldn’t. That’s how racial problems get perpetuated. Everyone starts believing those awful stereotypes.”
The elevator stopped at the eighth floor, and Walker and Ellen got on, bearing two pizzas wrapped in a towel.
Jayne inhaled as the elevator started to descend again. “Whatever that is, it really smells good. What did you bring, Ellen?”
“Canadian bacon and pineapple. Walker made his own creation with his favorite things on top.”
Jayne gave Paul a warning glance. “Like what?”
“Oh, the usual.” Walker grinned at her. “Chitlins and collard greens. I was going for the watermelon when Ellen stopped me.”
Paul laughed and turned to Jayne. “You see? I was correct.”
Both Walker and Ellen looked puzzled and Jayne sighed. “It’s a little complicated. Paul was going to tease Walker about watermelon pizza, but I assured him that it was in bad taste.”
Walker nodded solemnly. “It certainly would have been. I tried watermelon pizza once and it was awful.”
At the sound of a key in the lock, the Caretaker flicked off the light and pressed himself against the kitchen wall. The footsteps headed down the hallway toward Clayton’s office and he followed silently in the semidarkness. The hallway had floor-to-ceiling windows and the lights from Betty’s suite above reflected harshly against the freshly fallen snow.
The figure darted into Clayton’s office and when he reached the door, he saw the glimmer of a penlight traveling across the floor, stopping at Clayton’s file cabinet. The drawer opened almost noiselessly and the intruder propped the light on the handle of the drawer above to shine down on the files below.
Delicate hands, small-boned. It was a woman, but which one? And what did she want?
They’d all gone to their own kitchens to bake the pizzas, and any one of them could have come here on the pretext of borrowing something from Clayton’s refrigerator. Then he noticed a wedding ring, which eliminated Ellen. And Grace and Moira. Jayne had long, strong fingers from years of practicing the piano. And Laureen’s hands were larger, he recalled from close-ups on her cooking show. It certainly wasn’t Betty, which left the nurse and Vanessa.