Veiled Threats Read Online Free PDF Page B

counts. The house was Northwest avant-garde, with a king's ransom in oldgrowthcedar in swooping curves and jutting angles and unexpected skylights.
    My musings were interrupted by Theo, the chauffeur. He opened the door, stared coldly at my stained sweater, and lingered for just a moment before stepping aside to let me in. I'd been expecting Mariana, the housekeeper, and my cheery smile stiffened foolishly in place. Theo was about twenty-five, but his skin was as pale as a baby's, as if despite his spiffy sports clothes he'd never set foot in the open air. His hair, brows, and eyelashes were white-blond, giving him a colorless, raw look that I found unnerving.
    “It's a jungle out there,” I prattled. “I just got mugged by a cup of coffee.”
    No reaction whatsoever. “Mrs. Parry is in the master bedroom.”
    “Right.” I edged past him. Inside, antique Persian rugs mixed with gaudy Central American textiles, and a dizzying number of mirrors reflected confectionery art glass and ceiling-high houseplants. The main stairway had alternating black and white marble steps, like piano keys, rising from a black marble hallway edged with tiled pools complete with water hyacinths. Got to have those hyacinths.
    I ascended the stairs, and paused to admire the view from the landing. An immense ebony Doberman, as dark as Theo was pale, trotted out from a hallway: Augustus Caesar, guardian of the house and all within. Nickie called him Gus. Gus gave me a cold yellow stare.
    “You don't fool me,” I whispered. “I know your dirty little secret.”
    I leaned down to pull gently on his ears—a liberty I took with him only in private—and he closed his eyes in contentment. Outside the bay windows, Mount Rainier was in fullglory, snow white and ice blue above its forested lower slopes. My next wedding after Nickie's would be at a lodge halfway up Rainier, and I wished I were already there, strolling the meadows instead of dealing with a dress crisis. But duty called. From the master suite down the left-hand corridor I could hear a woman's voice, calm but sharp-edged.
    “I can't imagine what you were thinking of, Niccola. It's torn, for heaven's sake. And it's
dirty
.”
    I gave Gus a farewell tug and headed for the voice, through a foyer to a froufrou dressing room. Nickie stood in front of one mirrored wall, shoulders slumped and arms dangling, doing no justice at all to the Edwardian gown. Mariana, a wizened Brazilian woman, was standing quietly to one side without her usual sunny, gap-toothed smile. Beyond them, regally erect in a wicker fan chair, was Grace Parry, small, blonde, and elegant in a mauve silk suit and an out-of-season tan.
    “You're Carnegie Kincaid.” Her voice was low and smooth. I nodded, and she nodded back, slowly and thoughtfully. “You're fired.”

W E FROZE : N ICKIE WIDE - EYED , M ARIANA CAREFULLY EXPRES sionless, and me, I assume, with my mouth open. Nickie flung herself into the conversational breach, her gaze switching rapidly between me and her stepmother. She looked very much as if she'd been crying all night. Life went on, but no one was forgetting what happened to Michelle.
    “She's kidding, aren't you, Grace?” said Nickie. “It's not Carnegie's fault. We can return the dress—”
    “ A ctually, we can't,” I said briskly. “And we won't need to. I'll have it dry-cleaned, repaired, and starched, and once you have your hair up, and the right accessories, you'll be lovely.”
    She was, in fact, lovely already. The dress was fashioned from diagonal ribbons of glossy satin and bands of intricate, rose-patterned lace, with a skirt that dropped from a high waist to a scalloped hem that swept lower in back, forming a hint of a train. Antique gowns are often tiny, but this one had been created for a full-figured woman, and it fit Nickie like a dream. The low-necked bodice and softly draped skirt followed her curves, and the color, not so much faded as burnished by time, drew a golden glow from