Deadly Valentine by Carolyn G. Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

and do that. Tell the old man. See if I care.” And he turned and stumbled away.
    The anguish on Sydney’s face drained away all the anger and disdain Annie had previously harbored against her beautiful hostess. Because there was pain here. Too much pain. To her own amazement, Annie suddenly felt extremely sorry for Sydney Cahill.
    “Syd—” she began, when a firm hand grasped her arm and she was whirled onto the dance floor, her Queen Victoria mask slipping sideways. “Queen, my Queen, my place is forever at your side. Hey, you’re cute.”
    Albert turned out to be a visiting tennis star, Manfred Schutz. Manfred danced like a dream, if a bit too closely, and he misinterpreted her twisting to look about the floor in search of Sydney. When an elbow in his ribs didn’t persuade him to back off just a bit, Annie said crisply, “I’d like you to meet my husband. He’s that big guy right over there.” The distance between them increased perceptibly. With a clear understanding of Manfred’s intentions, she found an unmarried friend, also a tennis player, and left them together. Manfred bent close and expertly began to maneuver his new quarry toward a curtained alcove.
    Annie again began looking for Sydney. She would have, she knew, no difficulty identifying Sydney’s spectacular dress and cleavage. But when she finally spotted her, ten minutes later, Annie’s new-found compassion received a jolt. It was disconcerting to find the object of her good intentions in the arms of the Cowardly Lion (aka Max Darling). Of course, she knew the man was Max. She would know that body anywhere. What she could see of it. Sydney was plastered against him closer than Bertha Cool to a dollar.
    Annie took off her mask, the better to see. Her eyes narrowed.
    Well, she would give Max a
little
credit. He was backpedaling, and that wasn’t his normal mode of dancing. It was that morning all over again, a voracious, full-bodied woman doing everything but say, “Take me, I’m yours.” And for all Annie knew those very words, or a slightly more subtle equivalent, might be issuing from Sydney’s delectablelips right this moment. Compassion disappeared faster than a mint Christie at a classic mystery sale.
    Madame Bovary thrust a drink into Annie’s hands. “Want me to see if Miss Melville is available?” The protagonist of
Miss Melville Regrets
is one of the world’s most unusual assassins.
    “Not funny, Henny.” She took a deep gulp and realized Henny had given her a gin and tonic, which she loathed.
    “Actually, I’d say Sydney is getting nowhere fast,” Henny judged.
    Annie was too cool to be outwardly proud of her husband, but inside she felt a warm glow. Max was, literally, unhanding himself, removing Sydney’s beringed fingers from his shoulders and stepping pointedly away from an inviting alcove.
    Henry VIII tapped on Sydney’s shoulder. She turned eagerly. Annie wondered if beneath the mask of Marlene Dietrich, Sydney’s lips were curved again into a hopeful, vulnerable smile. Sydney stepped coquettishly into the man’s arms and tilted her head to one side inquiringly. Obviously, she didn’t recognize her partner. They danced a few feet, then Sydney reached up to lift her partner’s mask.
    Annie saw the face, too, and was perhaps more surprised than the hostess, who must have known that all of the Graham family was invited. Joel Graham, the dentist’s son, winked sensuously at Sydney. It might have looked absurd, a horny kid mimicking a Hollywood come-on. But the lusty twist to his full lips and the hot light in his heavy-lidded eyes exuded confidence and experience. Joel might be just a senior in high school, but he was eighteen going on twenty-eight. He bent closer to Sydney, who had gone rigid in his arms, and whispered something. She pulled away, stumbling in her high heels as she did so. Annie would have bet that Joel said something no nice young man said to a nice woman.
    She hoped it got him in some hot water