The Christie Caper - Carolyn Hart [45]
Annie felt as if a curtain had parted. Performance. What an apt description. Hadn’t there been, throughout Bledsoe’s attack, a sense of unreality, a feeling that his appearance was deliberately calculated to produce a certain effect?
Henny reached for an olive. “Jerk,” she said succinctly.
Laurel cleared her throat. “Not attractive. That is, not in his intentions or, certainly, in his manner. But really, not a man to dismiss lightly. Unfortunately, great”—a quick glance at Max—“uh … personal magnetism is not necessarily associated with rectitude. However, if one were to be confined to a desert island and to choose companions solely on the basis—”
Annie broke in. She understood very well indeed where Laurel was heading. But such discussion was not appropriate for everyone present. To be precise, Max would never comprehend the fact that Bledsoe, asshole that he might be, was undeniably a sexual magnet as far as most women were concerned.
“Hunk.” Lady Gwendolyn’s light voice summed it up.
Annie stared at her in astonishment, Laurel in admiring agreement, and Henny with amusement.
Max looked startled.
“But irrelevant to our present concerns,” Lady Gwendolyn continued. “The point is, we must look beyond the moment. We must be aware of the overall picture. Neil Bledsoe’s appearance at this conference has been an anomaly from the beginning. Here is a hard-boiled fan at a meeting alien to his beliefs. Why? That’s the question to be answered.”
“Buttering up his old aunt, in hopes of a legacy,” Henny suggested cynically.
A brief headshake, which sent a hairpin flying from the coronet braids, dismissed that suggestion. “Even a cursory acquaintance makes it clear that such an approach wouldn’t be in character. No,” Lady Gwendolyn mused, “it will be nothing that simple.” She tilted her head questioningly, and another hairpin hung perilously from the pale red braids. “Perhaps he plans to mount a vendetta against an enemy from his past?”
“He wants to destroy my conference,” Annie moaned.
Max drew a huge question mark on the pad. “Maybe. Maybe not. He’s having a hell of a time. That may be all there is to it.”
Lady Gwendolyn smiled at Max. “In this instance, I feel confident that the truth, when known, will be quite convoluted. There will be nothing simple here. As we’ve all observed, there are dark secrets between this man and some of the other conference attendees. There was such patent relief on their part when he attacked Christie. Each apparently feared that Bledsoe’s presence here was personally directed at them. But—keep in mind—the Christie attack may merely be a smoke screen.”
So Lady Gwendolyn, too, had seen those expressions of relief. But it was possible to be too clever. “We have to look at what’s right in front of our noses,” Annie insisted.
“I’m reminded of an old adage.” The author smiled gently at Annie. “A carrot for the donkey. Fools it every time.”
Annie had the distinct feeling she’d been called—very gently—a donkey. Her mouth opened, shut. Dammit, how was she supposed to compete with the cleverest living mystery writer?
Annie whirled and stalked to the open doors of the balcony. She stared down at the spouting fountains, then spoke calmly, but there was underlying steel in her voice. “There he is, sitting at his ease in the Palmetto Court with that scruffy writer ogling him like he’s a hero.”
Bledsoe clearly was in good spirits, talking animatedly, gesturing broadly with his huge hands, then lifting up a tall glass, draining it almost to the bottom, and refilling it from the pitcher. Sangria. Annie thought he looked like a vampire quaffing blood. Probably why he liked the stuff. The young writer, her oddly angled face aglow, hung on his every word. Annie fought away a surge of absolute fury. Anger wasn’t the answer. But there had to be an answer.
A waft of Evening in Paris perfume, and Lady Gwendolyn stood beside her. “One has to admit that Bledsoe’s an interesting chap. I once knew a Johnny like that. In the war. I always felt he had an ace up his sleeve.” Her mouth quirked in a half-smile at once