ChapterEleven
The Sheridan Art Museum occupied what had once been the Beverly Hills estate of silent film producer Harold Sheridan, and the building still retained the grandeur of 1920s Hollywood royalty. As Matt drove through the iron gates of the estate, the three-story Mediterranean villa rose from perfectly manicured grounds, its cream-colored stucco walls and red tile roof speaking to an era when movie moguls built palaces to rival European nobility. Palm trees created a canopy over the circular drive, where valets in crisp white shirts efficiently whisked away luxury cars.
"I feel like I should have worn something fancier," Haley said as they got out of the car.
"You look great,” he said, silently noting how the light-blue dress highlighted her eyes and her curves.
"You don't look so bad, either," she muttered, her gaze sweeping down his gray suit and maroon-colored tie. "But you might be hot. It's supposed to be low eighties today."
"I had a feeling this was a suit and tie event," he replied. And he was right. Every man within his view was formally dressed.
He put a hand on her back as they walked up the steps to the main entrance to enter the building through a pair of massive oak doors flanked by marble columns. Inside, the lobby hummed with quiet chatter as guests checked in at the reception desk and then accepted glasses of sparkling champagne from waiters moving through the rotunda.
The interior was breathtaking. Soaring twenty-foot ceilings were supported by hand-carved wooden beams, while crystal chandeliers cast warm light over polished floors inlaid with intricate geometric patterns. After checking in with the receptionist, a woman in a silky gray dress directed them toward the main gallery, where the special exhibition was housed.
"The contemporary pieces are in the east wing," the woman said with a practiced smile, "and the garden reception is just through those doors." She gestured toward a wall of floor-to-ceiling French doors that opened to a spectacular view.
Through the glass, Matt could see the museum's crown jewel—formal gardens that would have made Versailles jealous. Geometric hedges formed perfect patterns around a central fountain, while ancient oak trees provided shade for elegantly dressed patrons browsing the silent auction tables scattered throughout the space.
They accepted champagne from a nearby waiter, then headed farther into the museum.
"There she is," Haley said suddenly, nodding toward a woman near a large abstract painting that looked like someone had thrown red and black paint at a canvas. "That's Brooke Mercer."
Brooke was even more striking than she'd been in the picture he'd seen last night. Her dark hair was swept into an elegant updo, and in a champagne-colored dress, she had the kind of polished beauty that came from expensive skincare and professional styling.
"She's very attractive," Haley commented. "Probably the prettiest woman Landon ever dated. He was a shy, nerdy kind of guy, but he did blossom when he got to Westbridge. He gained confidence."
"Enough confidence to get himself a beautiful girlfriend," he murmured.
"I still think it's strange he never told me about her."
A tall, skinny blonde woman interrupted Brooke's conversation with the older couple. And as the two of them moved away, the blonde gestured toward the entrance, as if she were displeased about something. Brooke nodded in response and walked back to the check-in desk. As the blonde turned her face in their direction, he realized he recognized her. "That's Jill Adler, isn't it?"
"Yes. Trent's twin sister and Henry's cousin."
"She looks stressed. And she seemed annoyed with Brooke about something."
"Events like this are probably always stressful. Should we try to talk to Jill?"
"Let's start with Brooke and let Jill calm down a bit."
They walked quickly back toward the hostess. As Brooke finished her conversation, she turned around and then halted when she saw Haley.
"Oh my God," Brooke breathed, her hand flying to her throat. "Haley? Haley Kenton? I can't believe it's you. It's been so long since I've seen you."
"Hello, Brooke," Haley said. "You look wonderful."
"I...thank you. You do too." Brooke's gaze darted between Haley and Matt, clearly trying to process this unexpected encounter. "What brings you here? Are you interested in contemporary art?"
"Actually, we came to see you," Haley said. "This is Agent Matt Lawson with the FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions about Landon."
If Matt had thought Brooke looked pale before, she went absolutely white now.
"FBI?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't understand. What could you possibly want to know about Landon now? He died so long ago."
"We're following up on some new information," Haley said.
"New information?" Brooke's voice cracked slightly. "About Landon's death? But it was ruled an accident."
