Randall #01 - The Best Revenge (31 page)

“Because you thought I was guilty?”

“Because she’s a poor, lonely old woman, and you’re an over-privileged child of the elite. And yes, I thought you killed Jon-Don Parker.”

“How could you? How could you believe that?”

She jumped up. She couldn’t bear to sit near him now.

“You may have convinced the world tonight that you’re some sort of squeaky-clean fairy-tale princess, but you did give one hell of a wild party, and you did spend most of it entertaining that pretty-boy drug addict in your bed.”

“You think I had sex with Jon-Don Parker?” She went to the kitchen and started refilling her pudding bowl.

“Why not?” He followed, wobbling on his cane. “I know first-hand that you don’t limit your sexual activities to your fiancé. Where is he, by the way—your fiancé? I’d think an engaged couple would want to be together on such a happy occasion.”

“You don’t know anything! He’s not a fiancé! Not mine.”

“Oh? You two looked pretty lovey-dovey on the tube a few minutes ago.”

She wanted to throw something at him.

“That was before I saw him—in the stupid gazebo. If that’s what he wants, he isn’t engaged to me!”

“You broke off your engagement because of a gazebo?”

She bit her lip. No way was she going to cry. “The engagement broke because he’s in love with somebody else, and he thinks I am, too, but he’s wrong!”

The rage inside her erupted as the bowl of pudding seemed to leap from her hands. She ran for the door, tears blurring the vision of Jonathan’s startled face, covered with brown, sticky goo.

“Camilla!”

“He is so wrong!” she called out into the night.

Chapter 34—Making Whoopee

Loud knocking woke Camilla. She lay in the dark, terrified—unable to remember where she was. She lifted a heavy hand and managed to switch on a lamp over the nightstand. As its lavender-shaded glow illuminated Violet’s crowded apartment, she searched for the source of the noise.

“Hey, I’m freezing my butt off out here,” said a voice.  Frantic knocking followed. Did the old man next door know she was here?

She sat on the edge of the bed and checked the time. Five-thirty. She shivered in the worn flannel nightgown she’d found Violet’s closet.

More knocking.  

“It’s me. Jonathan. For God’s sake, let me in.”

He was wet. Very wet. Water ran from the dark curls plastered to his forehead into rivers that ran down his cheeks. His corduroy jacket and jeans looked as if he’d been swimming in them. His teeth chattered as he stumbled into the room.

“Damned Edsel died.” He set down his cane and removed his dripping jacket. “Down at the bottom of the last hill. The mechanic told me it was just a matter of time. Everything was going at once.” His words came in breathless spurts. Damned ankle. Hey, could you get me a towel or something?”

She dashed to the bathroom for one of Violet’s large purple bath towels. Jonathan dried his hair and face and peeled off his shirt, which was soaked through as well. She noted it was not the ragged T-shirt that he had been wearing earlier.

“At least the rain rinsed the chocolate out of my hair,” he said. “That’s never happened to me before.”

“I thought you said the Edsel broke down last month.”

His chest was glistening. Perfectly muscled. Magnificent.

“Not the car—the chocolate. Nobody’s ever thrown a bowl of chocolate pudding at me before.” He wrapped the purple towel around his shoulders.

She waited for him to smile, but he didn’t.

“You’re angry.” She was suddenly afraid. His powerful body would be dangerous if he chose to be violent.

“Angry? Of course I was angry. I was furious. So furious I couldn’t sleep. I kept hoping you weren’t sleeping, either.” He stopped toweling his hair and studied her face. “But you were? Sleeping?” He took a step closer. She could see him wince with pain as he put weight on his injured ankle.

“Please sit down. I’m sure you should get off that ankle. Does it hurt?”

“It hurts like hell.” He didn’t sit down.

“But why? Why did you come here in the middle of the night?”

“There are some things you just can’t say on the phone.” He gave her an odd look. “Do you know you look about twelve years old in that thing?”

She looked down at the peter-pan-collared granny-gown that barely covered her knees. “Violet’s. I don’t think she’s got anything that will fit you. I’ll hang your wet stuff in the bathroom. You’d better give me your jeans, too. Maybe you can use that quilt on the bed for a robe.”

Jonathan’s face broke into a grin.

“Two minutes I’m here, and you ask me to take off my pants? You’ve always been a woman who comes to the point.”

“That is not the point. At all. And if that’s what you came here for, Mr. Kahn—just to be rude and insult me—you can go right back outside again. I didn’t ask you to walk here in the rain in the middle of the night.”

“No.” He looked vulnerable in nothing but the purple towel. “No, you didn’t. And I didn’t come here to insult you.”

“Why did you come?” She added his jeans to the damp bundle.

“Because of something you said—just before you attacked me with the pudding. Something about thinking you were in love with somebody. I need to know if that had anything to do with me?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “Of course it did.”

His gaze was so intense she could hardly stand to look at him, and his body was so near—so naked. She turned away, trying to get her breath.

She dashed to the bathroom and tossed his wet things over the shower rod. When she returned, he hadn’t moved. He stood watching her, an unreadable smile on his face.

She picked up the quilt. “Here. Don’t freeze to death.”

He draped the quilt around his shoulders and gave her a warm, sweet smile.

“I don’t intend to.” He folded her into the quilt, putting his arms around her until she felt his damp body pressing against hers, as his lips touched her hair, her cheek, her mouth. As she nestled her cheek in the hollow of his shoulder, she could feel the weight of his body leaning, pressing against her…

Until she realized he was about to fall over.

“Please, you’ve got to get off your feet.” She helped him to the couch.

He laughed and pulled her down with him, kissing her again. And again. His kisses were sweet, warm heaven. She knew she could lose herself in them forever. But when he finally drew back, his eyes were fierce and scary.

“Is it really over between you and Smith?” he said. “You’re not just using me again to get his attention?”

“Again? But I’ve never used you!”

“Sure you have. You used me. You used Jack Daniels, too. But tonight you seem pretty sober. You might not pass out on me this time. But I’d like to know if this is going to mean anything to you.”

“What do you mean—pass out on you?” She had to know. “You mean we didn’t—do anything that night?

“If we’d ‘done anything’, I’d like to think you’d remember, Camilla.”

She felt the coolness of his damp skin through the thin fabric of the nightgown. Now she knew why passion was so often described in terms of fire. Her wanting him had turned to pure heat.

“I never used you to get to Plantagenet. It’s always been you I wanted, just you.” Her lips sought his as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Don’t lie,” he said. He cupped her chin in his hand and fixed her with his steel-blue gaze. “Just tell me that tomorrow morning, when he waltzes in here with a florist shop under his arm, you’re not going to start ‘Mr. Kahn’-ing me again.”

She didn’t want to argue with him.

“It’s already tomorrow morning.” She pointed to the window, where the first light grayed the sky. She kissed him again, trying to erase his false suspicions and silly accusations. She felt his hands on her body, under the nightgown, cool and burning all at once…

Loud noises erupted in the hallway outside.

Camilla jumped to her feet, smoothing the nightgown as she heard the sound of a key in the lock.

The door opened and in walked a smiling Violet, looking remarkably stylish in a well-cut, plum-colored suit and matching hat, and a rumpled Plantagenet, in a damp tuxedo, carrying two leather suitcases and a purple tote bag.

“Darling! Thank God!” Plantagenet set down the luggage to give Camilla a quick hug. “Are you all right?”

Plant. Here. It made no sense.

“Of course she’s all right,” Violet said with a snort. “I told you she would be. Besides, she’s got Genghis here to take care of her, doesn’t she?”

Plantagenet gave Jonathan a look of cold fury.

“You don’t waste a minute, do you, Kahn?”

Jonathan stood slowly, wrapping the quilt carefully around his unclothed body.

“Hello, Smith,” he said. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to the party.”

Plantagenet didn’t move.

“Why here, Kahn? This little museum of kitsch doesn’t strike me as the ideal spot for a seduction. Or maybe you just wanted to get away from your phone? I’ve been calling your place half the night.”

“Don’t be a nincompoop, Planty,” Violet said as she removed her hat. “There’s no hanky-panky going on here. If you’d pay attention, you’d see that Camellia was sleeping on the bed, which is all mussed up, and Genghis was over there on the sofa. Besides, just look at her. She’s not exactly dressed for making whoopee, would you say? Camellia, where did you find that god-awful nightie? It looks like something from my rag bag.”

Camilla’s attention was on Plantagenet. How had he known she was here?

“Planty, I don’t know why you are so worried about Camellia,” Violet continued. “Where else would she go, now that those police people have come to their senses? That’s just what I told her mother. This is where Camellia lives. She didn’t know that Mrs. R. refused to cash my checks and decided to rent the apartment to that toothless old drunk. Camellia probably wanted to get settled so she’ll be ready for work on Monday. Genghis here hates when she’s late for work.”

“You’ve talked to Mother?” Camilla managed to say. “I didn’t know you’d ever met my mother.”

“Sure I did. At the jail. And I’ve been writing her for months. Got the address off that letter you left here. I didn’t want her to worry about you. Don’t forget I was a mother myself.” She turned to Jonathan. “Genghis, I never saw a man look so silly. Where are your clothes?”

Camilla tried to explain. “They were soaked, so I hung them in the bathroom.”

“I got caught in the rain,” Jonathan said. “I’m afraid the Edsel has given up the ghost. It just stopped dead. I’ll get someone to tow it tomorrow.”

“Maybe it’s just as well that I had to take a taxi from the airport,” Violet said. “I couldn’t figure out why you weren’t home when I called you to pick me up. Anyway, I’m sure Planty here will be happy to give you a ride home. You better get dressed first, though. You could get arrested.”

With an enigmatic look at Camilla, Jonathan disappeared into the bathroom.

Violet seemed to take no notice of the tension. “Planty, why don’t you take Genghis home, and Camellia can get dressed. Then you come back here and take her to breakfast. They do a bang-up brunch at the Del. I took Camellia there once. That’s where I’m going to have my eighty-fifth birthday party. I hope you’ll be there.”

Jonathan emerged from the bathroom wearing his damp clothes.

Camilla couldn’t let them leave like this.

“Mr. Kahn. I mean, Jon—Jonathan,” she said, trying to think of some way to connect. “Work. Do you want me to come in on Monday?”

“Yes. Mr. Kahn strongly recommends Dr. Lavinia shows up at work on Monday.” His voice was devoid of emotion. “There are thousands of letters stacked up.”

“What did you call him?” Violet said.

“Mr. Kahn? Jonathan?”

Violet walked peered at Jonathan. “That’s your name—Jonny?”

“Nobody’s called me that in a long time,” he said with a thin smile. “But I would prefer it to Genghis.”

“Oh, why?” Plantagenet said, holding the door. “Genghis suits you so well.”

Jonathan gave Camilla a dark look before he followed Plant into the hall. “Good-bye Ms. Randall,” he said. “See you on Monday.”