A Masked Murder, page 4
“Are you going to be able to go with Ben Hartley?” Jasmine asked, with an expectant raise of her eyebrows.
“If only!” Autumn replied. “I’m going to be so busy at this ball that getting to know Ben better is probably going to be the last thing I’ll have time for.” Remembering her unsuccessful attempt at conversation with him earlier this morning, she added, “I don’t even know if he’ll be there.”
“Oh, he’ll be there,” Jasmine reassured her. “Everyone will be there. The whole town’s going to turn out for it, you watch.” Giving Autumn a grin, she picked up her apron and headed through to the kitchen.
“The whole town,” Autumn muttered to herself.
Taking the list of chores from the meeting out of her purse and sat down at the desk, ready to tackle it, she felt an unaccustomed stab of stress.
What with having to manage everyone’s expectations, all the conflicting opinions, and her own personal chore of having to look after a difficult and temperamental artist, this ball was suddenly feeling like an event to be dreaded.
Don’t worry, Autumn, she told herself firmly. It’s probably going to be one of those occasions that seems like an impossible challenge beforehand, but turns out just fine on the day. Everything will go smoothly. Three days from now, it’ll all be over, and then the worry will be gone.
But even as she reassured herself with those upbeat words, Autumn couldn’t help worrying that speaking them aloud might be tempting fate.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Those flowers are in completely the wrong place! Really, did the event manager not listen to a word I said?”
The words, spoken from behind a glittering cat mask, were instantly identifiable, Autumn thought. It was an hour before the ball began, and she felt as if she’d been in nonstop motion the entire afternoon.
Her feet were aching in their silver high heels. Why had she thought it was a good idea to arrive in her ball gown? Mistakenly, and far too optimistically, she’d believed that after their tireless planning, the only thing left to do would be to straighten out a few final details and make sure that all the name tags and guest lists were in order.
Wrong.
She’d been in constant motion since then, her own mask pushed up onto her head, and her shoes getting scuffed as she’d moved tables, rearranged the bunting on top of the entrance door, and made nonstop adjustments to the drinks tables. Her pale green dress, with a satin bodice and a flared skirt and sparkling sequins on the front, had a smear on the skirt. One of her fingernails was broken, and her hair was escaping from the jeweled clips that held it back.
Now, from behind her cat mask, which Autumn had to admit was a masterpiece of design, with more bling and crystals than she’d have thought possible, Mrs. Hayman was wanting to make yet more adjustments to the hall’s layout.
“I think, perhaps,” Thom said, in a voice thrumming with forced reasonableness as Autumn took a tired step toward the flowers, “we could leave them as they are. We need to set out the snacks and welcome drinks now.”
“Oh, alright,” Mrs. Hayman practically purred. Thom was the only person on the committee that she actually listened to, Autumn had discovered. It was fortunate that he was also the chairman.
She was just about to turn in the direction of the arriving buggy, loaded up with crates of food, that had parked by the door, when she saw another buggy had pulled up, this one loaded with paintings.
Her guest had arrived.
Her difficult guest.
“I’d better go and welcome Rowan Stafford,” she said breathlessly. Heading outside, she realized from the fresh smell in the air that it had rained lightly, but that the clouds were now clearing and it looked set to be a beautiful evening.
Heading straight over, she saw him climb out of the buggy, staring at his paintings and then looking around in an expectant way, as if waiting for somebody to do the offloading for him. Probably about fifty years old, he was wearing an aquamarine suit, a silver bow tie, and had a supercilious expression on his long, lean face. He wasn’t wearing a mask. Instead, he had a short-brimmed, silver trilby hat atop his head.
Well, the only somebody available to help was herself. Not another set of hands could be spared right now. Trying her best to smile calmly, Autumn approached with her hand held out.
“Good evening, Mr. Stafford,” she said. “I’m Autumn Ray, one of the organizing committee. Can I help you set out your paintings?”
“Yes,” he said, shaking her hand. His grip was cool and firm. She noticed diamond cufflinks sparkling at his wrists. At any rate, they looked like diamonds to her. Maybe they were just costume jewelry. “These paintings are very valuable, madam,” he warned her in a voice that was not as jovial as she’d have liked it to be. “Can I remind you of the old adage: Lovely to look at, delightful to hold. If you should break it, consider it sold?”
Wrestling with the heavy frame of the first painting, Autumn tried her best to laugh dutifully. Luckily the buggy driver, seeing her efforts, climbed out and rushed over to help.
“That applies to you, and to any other of tonight’s guests, madam. I do charge for any damages, and that’s the bottom line,” Stafford cautioned as they lifted the first of the heavy paintings.
Autumn was not going to say anything, but she considered that to be insufferably rude. What a thing to say, when he wasn’t lifting a hand to help move his own paintings?
She spent the time walking between the buggy and the lobby, inventing her own rhyme.
“Lovely to look at, but so heavy it’s crazy. We’d go a lot faster if you weren’t so lazy.”
They set the paintings down, and then returned to the buggy for the fold-up stands. These had to be unfolded and put into place. Again taking a supervisory role, Stafford made sure not to dirty his hands by actually touching them. He was more of a pointer. That he did very well.
“An inch more to the left, madam,” he directed her. “You clearly have no eye for balance. It’s a unique gift, being able to eyeball accuracy to the degree that I am able to. Do you know that one of the talents every painter should have is to draw a perfect circle, freehand? I can do that,” he said proudly.
“What’s he going on about?” the buggy driver asked Autumn, in a confused stage whisper, as they edged the big, gilt-framed painting the required inch further left.
“I’m not even sure,” she admitted. All she was sure of was that her arms were aching, and they were rapidly running out of time.
Thankfully, at that moment, Thom bustled over.
"Ah, Mr. Stafford," he said, beaming. His own dinner jacket had not escaped the efforts of the afternoon. There was a dusty smear on his sleeve and another smudge on his shirt. His highwayman's mask was askew. Autumn saw Stafford eyeing it in a shocked way, as if it offended his artistic sensibilities. Tiredly, she was waiting for him to say that the mask was too far to the left.
Instead, he held out a regal hand. “I will require a comfortable waiting room,” he said. “Mingling with the crowds is very tiring, and I get sick of being asked the same thing over and over again. I know it’s the price I have to pay for my talent, but there are limits.”
“Absolutely,” Thom said, flicking Autumn a sympathetic glance. “Ms. Ray is going to make sure you have everything you need, and there’s a back office with an armchair where you can relax when you need to. Now, I must talk to you about the speech. Come with me and I’ll show you where the podium is.”
Stafford consented to be led away, and Autumn breathed a massive sigh of relief. Thank goodness she’d been pre-warned about him. At least she’d felt prepared for his persistent level of nastiness and his belief that every other human being was far inferior.
“Thank you so much for helping,” she told the buggy driver.
“No problem,” he replied. “I’ve got Boris in the harness tonight. Nothing Boris likes better than standing and snoozing. The halt’s his favorite activity,” he said with a grin. “I’ll go out for the next lot of guests if we’re done. See you later.”
Autumn took a deep breath, stepping back from the display. Now that she had time to actually look at the paintings, she had to admit they were hypnotic. Very unusual, with intricate designs and colors, they looked like a kaleidoscope of things you almost recognized, and things you didn’t. Staring more closely, she saw a hidden face appear, leaping out at her from a jumble of tiny shapes and mysterious, dark colors. And there was an eye in that painting – and there, a hand.
What a pity such a talented artist had such an ego, she thought, sadly.
At any rate, Autumn decided that she needed to take a quick break now and make sure she looked presentable before the guests began arriving. She turned away from the art display and headed to the restroom – the doorway draped with silver tinsel. Inside, she checked her make-up, readjusting her lipstick. The mask covered her eyes and cheeks, but a touch of lipstick was definitely needed. She tidied her hair and then, thinking of Ben, took a perfume atomizer out of her purse and applied just a little to her wrists and neck.
This was one of her favorite perfumes, with a light, fresh scent of rose and Jasmine. Just smelling it made her feel cheerful, and Autumn reminded herself that the worst was now over. The preparations were done, and all that remained was for her to socialize, mingle, keep an eye on Stafford, and have some fun.
She headed out, smiling as she heard the music start up. The committee had been in agreement that old favorites, and songs from the eighties and nineties, were the best musical mix. Autumn happened to love that music. She’d seen the playlist and was looking forward to every single song.
Now, though, the first guests were starting to arrive. As she walked toward the entrance, her heart sped up. There was Ben, one of the earliest arrivals, looking chiseled and gorgeous in a well-cut black suit and a bowtie. His mask was a beautiful depiction of a fox's head, flame red and white. His dark hair was neatly brushed back.
If only they’d been able to come to this as a couple! With that thought surging in her heart, Autumn headed toward him, ready to give him a welcoming hug, hoping that the connection she felt with him would be strengthened this evening.
But as she headed his way, two unexpected things happened.
Firstly, to her horror, she saw Leila Bridges, who was a part time model and owned a fashion boutique, make a beeline for Ben. Leila, wearing a glittering silver mask that covered her eyes only, grasped his arm possessively, smiling up into his eyes.
And then, at almost the same time, her own arm was grasped from behind.
Wearing a flattering dinner jacket and a joker mask, Ethan enfolded her in a bear hug, even as Ben’s gaze swung her way.
CHAPTER SIX
Stress exploded in Autumn as she struggled out of Ethan’s grasp. Of all the times to be publicly friendly to her, he’d chosen now? She looked again at Ben, but Leila had managed to maneuver him into facing the other way. Now all she could see was Leila herself, adjusting her mask flirtatiously and winding a lock of her artfully highlighted hair around her pearly-nailed finger.
But what if Ben had turned his back on purpose, believing that Autumn was here on a date, and thinking it best not to go over and greet her?
“Hello, Ethan,” she said, extricating herself from his grasp as politely as she could. Ethan was a hugger, he always had been. It was just this particular hug that had been so badly timed.
“You’re looking stunning,” he said, and her anxiety surged as she saw a trace of the old tenderness in his face. Or maybe she was just imagining it. Maybe the mask was making it more difficult to read his actual expression. At any rate, she didn’t want it to be there. She and Ethan were over. Over!
Had he planned that the masked ball was going to be a time when he tried to rekindle things? That would be disastrous. She didn’t want to rekindle a relationship that always got so many sparks flying.
"You're looking wonderful, too." She had to admit, he was. Ethan had always been easy on the eye, and his charismatic smile helped a lot. Plus, he was really charming – when they weren't fighting like cat and dog.
Glancing around again, Autumn saw to her dismay that Ben had disappeared. Probably, Leila had whisked him away to the drinks table. There was a stream of other guests filtering in. There was Willow. Her sister, probably recognizing that she needed rescuing, headed over. She was wearing a flamboyant dragon mask that went perfectly with her red gown.
“This is going to be such fun,” she enthused. “Hello, Ethan. Who needs a drink? Can I get you all a drink?”
“I’ll come with you,” Autumn said, hoping that she might be able to bump into Ben at the drinks table. It felt so wrong that she hadn’t even had a chance to say hello to him yet. And the hall was getting more and more crowded with every moment that passed.
“Oh, look at the artwork!” she heard someone cry out admiringly, and glanced that way, feeling worried in a whole different direction, now, because she had to babysit Stafford, who’d shown himself capable of offending anyone in a nanosecond. She could only hope that his biggest fans would just agree with him and be oblivious to his arrogance.
“Look at the hall,” someone else said, as she passed. “Isn’t the decor fantastic?”
As she reached the table, still looking around and trying to work out who was who, because it wasn’t that easy when everyone’s eyes were behind masks, Willow had already gotten her a cocktail. It was a jewel blue in color, in a tall glass.
“These are the welcome cocktails. Great job, Autumn. What’s in them?”
“I – I don’t really remember.” In that confused moment, the ingredients eluded her. There had definitely been vodka, that she knew, and crushed ice, and a couple of other ingredients, at least one of which was also alcoholic. “They are quite strong,” she warned.
"Good," Willow said. "You're looking a little stressed. Take a deep breath, calm down. You've organized this all so well, and it's going to go amazingly."
"I hope so," Autumn said. The music seemed to be getting louder, and conversation was rising to a babble that filled the room. "I'd better go and greet a few people and then keep an eye out for what Stafford is doing. I hope you enjoy the evening, and thank you for getting me the drink." She squeezed Willow's hand before turning away. Willow headed off to join her group of friends, and Autumn wove her way through the crowds, greeting as many people as she could by name, as soon as she'd figured out who they actually were.
And then, suddenly, turning as she thought she heard her name, she found herself face to face with Ben.
He was smiling at her, and for a moment, relief and nerves uncoiled inside her all at once. Thank goodness she’d nearly finished her cocktail. At least she felt less frazzled than she had before taking that first sweet, pungent sip.
“You look amazing, Autumn!” he said. “That dress – it’s beautiful on you. Stunning.”
She let out a long, shaky breath of relief, feeling delight replace some of the stress that was bubbling inside her. With all the rushing around, she’d completely forgotten the care she’d taken with her outfit, and how she’d hoped that Ben might notice that the dress complemented her hair.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’ve been looking for you all evening. I wanted to say hello as soon as I arrived, but I didn’t get the chance,” he admitted, with a wry grin.
“I’m sorry. I was also waylaid,” Autumn said. “I wanted to say hello to you, too. Unfortunately my ex chose that moment to greet me.”
“Your ex?” Ben asked. Did she see a flash of relief in his face? Under the mask, it was difficult to tell.
“My ex,” she repeated firmly.
“Well, here we are now. And I think we should give each other a proper greeting, too,” he smiled.
She leaned forward, and felt his arms enfold her, and her heart quickened. There was something between them, she hadn’t imagined it. Slowly, given that both of their lives were overwhelmingly busy, this connection was strengthening. She felt utterly confident of it in that moment.
It was wonderful, even though she knew that a moment was transient, and that any relationship in its beginning stages felt fuller of ups and downs than a rollercoaster ride.
“Tell me about this old town hall,” he invited, and she felt grateful for the conversational topic. She’d been about to ask him if work had been busy, which she knew was uninteresting, but she hadn’t been able to think of anything else at that moment.
“Well, the town hall is one of the oldest buildings on the island,” she said. With all the noise, they were standing very close together, his head slightly bent toward hers, and their hands brushing. Autumn noticed every time the contact happened, and her heart skipped. Every time. “It was built at the same time Harbor View was. In fact, I think it was the same architect who did both.”
“I wondered about that,” he nodded thoughtfully. “As I walked up to this hall tonight, it reminded me of the front door of your bed and breakfast, in a certain way. Maybe the style, that use of stone, the design.”
“I’ll have to go and look it up later,” Autumn said. “You’ve sparked my curiosity. I know exactly when our house was built. I wonder if the town hall was built before or after.”
“Maybe it was the practice building for your house?” Ben suggested with a grin, causing Autumn to laugh.
She was just about to say something along the lines of how she hoped the town hall wasn’t as quirky to maintain as her old house, but at that moment, there was a smashing of glass from somewhere behind her, and a loud, panicked cry.
Her nerves were on edge, and she knew she jumped visibly at the noise.
“I’d better go and see what that is,” she said, tearing herself away from the enjoyable conversation, and rushing through the crowds to see what the catastrophe was.
