Deadly Valentine by Carolyn G. Hart Read Free Book Online

raised an eyebrow. Had true love already taken the final count? But no, as the couple clipped past, Laurel blew a kiss in the general direction of Howard.
    Sydney, once again, was oblivious to her husband. She scanned the dancers, her face alight with eagerness. Howard’s dark eyes followed Laurel.
    But not only Laurel looked toward Howard, Annie realized.
    A young man with tousled curly hair and an almost overcivilized face—too long eyelashes, a sensitive mouth, a delicate mustache—watched, too, a young man who would have been handsome if he hadn’t been scowling. He stood a few feet away from the clot around the bar, hands jammed in the pockets of his tuxedo, shoulders hunched.
    Howard’s stride slowed when his glance met that of the sour young man. Sydney moved on ahead and was lost among the throng of guests.
    Once again, the look in Howard’s eyes surprised Annie. He might be the richest shipowner in America; surely he was also one of the unhappiest. He stretched out his hand, but the young man pivoted on his heel and walked away.
    Howard’s hand slowly fell to his side. Then Laurel appeared. Rising on tiptoe, she murmured in Howard’s ear, one beautifully manicured hand resting lightly on his shoulder.
    Annie surveyed those nearby. Thank God, the music was loud, the voices louder, and nobody was paying any attention to their host.
    Where was Sydney?
    It would be pretty awful if Sydney noticed her husband’s deportment with Max’s mother. But what could Annie do? Besides, she wasn’t Laurel’s mother. Which conclusion left her more confused than ever.
    Because she felt this urge to
do
something. But when she turned back, Laurel and Howard had disappeared.
    Annie felt a beading of sweat on her brow. She’d bettersee where Sydney was. Then maybe she could find Laurel and detach her from Howard.
    She had already covered a half dozen steps when she heard Max. “Annie, hey Annie, where’re you going? I’ve got your spritzer.”
    He caught up with her. Annie accepted the glass, drank half of it in a gulp, then looked up into Max’s surprised face.
    She felt on the other side of an abyss from him. He had no idea about Laurel. Annie couldn’t tell him his mother was—No, she couldn’t.
    “Let’s go get some masks,” she said brightly and headed for the nearest table.
    The mask seekers were just this side of pushing and shoving in their eagerness to make a selection from the tantalizing array.
    With one distinct exception—their not-so-charming neighbor, General (retired) Colville Houghton. He leaned on his ebony cane and surveyed the masks and the guests with equal distaste. His wife, Eileen, attired in a formal gown that would have found favor at a DAR banquet—a lace-covered bosom and a skirt with sweeping folds that gave no hint of the body beneath—fingered the cameo at her throat and turned a carefully schooled face toward the dance floor.
    Annie didn’t blame Eileen for distancing herself from the old brute, in spirit if not in fact. He looked like the skull at the feast, deeply socketed eyes, prominent cheekbones, downturned mouth, clipped gray mustache.
    “Sodom and Gomorrah,” he intoned in a deep, gruff voice.
    A full-bodied redhead in a dress that started low and finished high drawled, “Lighten up, Pops,” which sounded odd issuing from the lips of Little Bo Peep.
    The general’s face took on an unhealthy hue, his sallow skin flushing purplish red.
    Eileen Houghton began to speak in a smooth, social tone. “I do believe I see the McKenzies across the room, Colville. Yes, he’s waving to us. I’ll go fetch them.”
    Annie didn’t blame her. She’d get the hell out, too.
    The general didn’t move.
    Annie and Max stepped past him. At the table, guests jostled one another, eagerly grabbing up masks, trying them on, discarding, trading, amid bursts of laughter and comments, some ribald: “Who’s this?” … “Hey, I always wanted to be a general. Who matches? Mamie or Kay