The Seduction - Art Bourgeau Read Online Free PDF Page A

pretentious
whiskey ad. There was something very . . . physical . . . in the way
he looked at her that both unsettled and attracted her. Like her
father . . .
    Carl was on his feet, too, and for a moment she
compared him with the stranger. Both were dark and slim, had beards,
but there it ended. There was something obviously soft, pliant in
Carl—none of that in this new man.
    She kissed Carl lightly on the lips, Justin on the
cheek, and shook hands with the stranger who was introduced as Felix
Ducroit, a friend of Justin's from New Orleans.
    A waiter brought her a chair, and only then did she
acknowledge the presence of the other woman across from her. She was
in her mid-thirties, with reddish-blonde hair of that in-between
length that meant she was letting it grow out. Her skin was soft and
delicate, the kind that begged floppy hats and cool shade, but the
tracery of wrinkles around her eyes indicated a careless disregard of
its delicacy. Her eyes were clear and deep blue, but underneath were
dark shadows that made her look tired and drawn.
    Carl introduced them. "Laura Ramsey, this is
Missy Wakefield," and Missy was irritated even more. By
introducing Missy to the other woman, rather than vice versa, he made
it seem as if Missy were the intruder, and not, as of course it was,
the other way around.
    Missy smiled through cocaine-clenched teeth and
managed a perfunctory "Hello."
    "Would you like a-" Carl started, but
before he could say "drink," Violet, a pretty waitress with
a gentle look and flowing hair of a sixties flower child, appeared at
her shoulder with a Stolichnaya and soda.
    It gave her a small sense of satisfaction when Violet
leaned over to say, "We missed you, but your tan looks great.
Did you have a good time?"
    "Yes, but it's good to be back."
    "Where were you?" she heard Laura Ramsey
say.
    Missy let the question hang for a moment while she
settled back and lit a cigarette. lf there was one thing a lifetime
of breeding and manners had taught her, it was how to keep everyone
waiting.
    Finally she said, "St. Martin."
    "Did you stay on the French side or the Dutch?"
    "The French. The Dutch is too much like a bad
weekend in Atlantic City."
    "It's a great island. I managed to get there two
years ago for a few days. How long were you there?"
    "Only a week this time, unfortunately."
    "What she means, Laura, is that the reason she
was there was unfortunate," Carl said. "Missy's father just
died, and she was at their family place down there recovering from
the shock . . ."
    In fact, she hadn't intended to mention her father's
death, at least not in front of two strangers, and she resented the
way Carl seemed to be, deliberately, asserting himself by stepping on
her toes.
    "I'm sorry to hear that. Were you close?"
Laura asked, the sympathy in her voice sounding sincere but too near
pity for Missy's comfort.
    "Yes," she said flatly and then hurried to
change the subject.
    "Now, folks, bring me up to date on what's been
going on around here."
    "To be honest," said Justin, "when you
arrived we were talking about the South Philly runaways."
    "The what?" said Missy.
    "I guess you haven't seen the papers,"
Justin went on. "Yesterday one of them, I forgot which, had an
article about it. It seems that teenage girls have been disappearing
without a trace from South Philly. Almost a dozen of them . . ."
    Carl put in, "it wasn't that many, more like a
half-dozen—"
    "Half a dozen, a dozen," said Justin.
"People are beginning to take some notice."
    "Well, South Philly seems like a good place to
disappear from," said Missy with an edge in her voice. This
wasn't what she wanted to talk about now.
    "They ran pictures of the girls, and they were
all quite pretty, so young and fresh—"
    "And Justin has been trying to get me to admit I
know something about it," said Carl, smiling nervously.
    Missy smiled back. You'd better be nervous, she
thought. Making me sit here like this with another woman at the same
table, right here in front