Chapter 11
Kane was glad he’d walked to the hotel when he passed the line of cars stretching down the street, despite the army of valets taking keys. The Rosette was sparkling, with all lights blazing and a red carpet out front. He could swear even the buttons on the valets’ jackets shone more brightly tonight.
The lobby was packed with tuxedos and evening dresses. He could see over most of the heads of the crowd making their way into the ballroom ahead, past reception, where the girl who’d called Ellen for him that first day, the one who seemed to be channeling Betty Boop, was handing out room cards. He let himself be funneled past her into the ballroom and gave his habitual slow smile to the waitress who handed him a glass of champagne. She blushed, and he thought, Ah, crap, that’s no fun anymore.
The woman whose blushes he really wanted to see was running this show, and Kane didn’t expect to get to talk to her for a while. He would have to content himself with the memory of their evening together, two nights ago. Of Ellen, demolishing her burger and taking tugs on her beer bottle that made him squirm. Of their conversation, which had no agenda and went off into rambling stories of their siblings and hometowns. And of Ellen finally, finally, giving him a smile that didn’t hide anything, that told him she was glad to be in his company. He wouldn’t be able to talk to her much tonight, but she’d put him at her table. So he could look at her, and plan their next date, and not think too hard about that warm, languid feeling he got around her, that he usually associated with really good sex.
The ballroom was huge; at least half the size of a football field. The musicians at one end were playing big band tunes, which he hadn’t heard in years. The colors in the room were all creams and blues: the windows were draped in great swathes of blue fabric, and the tables had crisp cream tablecloths over more blue. Silverware and candelabra and crystal chandeliers were everywhere, directing the flattering light onto the guests.
He found his name card and walked toward the table, taking his time as he met friends and colleagues on the way. He tried not to look as though the only person he really wanted to see was the hostess.
Ten days since the Grand Rapids fire with no new incidents, and Kane could finally begin to relax. It was frustrating as hell to be forced to let someone else deal with the problem, but the FBI had made it clear that if they needed anything from him, they’d call. They hadn’t called. Kane wasn’t used to letting someone else do the work. The fact that he had almost no idea how to find an arsonist in a country of three hundred million people was beside the point. Well, now he had something else—someone else—to focus on. Who knew? Maybe he did have time for a social life after all.
The main sponsor of the ball was already at Kane’s table. He liked Barton Laing, who had that Boston Brahmin attitude of service and modesty. Barton’s family’s wealth had founded one of the biggest children’s charities in the country, but his name was tucked away in an unobtrusive list of directors, and his table was just one of the many on the ballroom floor. Although Kane’s family had never scaled the lofty heights of the Brahmins, Barton’s and Kane’s parents had been friends.
Barton was a big man with sandy hair that still wasn’t going gray, even in his sixties. He was also rather deaf. He stood up, with a little difficulty, when Kane approached him, shook his hand heartily, and gripped his arm.
“Might have known they’d put your ugly mug at my table.” Barton smiled.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Kane answered.
“You remember my son Darren?” said Barton.
“Yes,” Kane said, surprised but putting out his hand. He hadn’t seen Barton’s son at this kind of event before. “How are ya, Darren?”
“Oh, hi, Kane,” Darren said, his voice a little nasal. Darren was three years younger than Kane, but still looked about fifteen years old, as if he’d never quite got over his gangly teenage years. He blinked a lot as he shook Kane’s hand, and Kane noticed that his rather large nose was red at the tip. Sure enough, as soon as he let go of Kane’s hand, he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose loudly. He looked as if his tux had been made for someone fatter and shorter, which, knowing Barton’s ability to pay for custom, couldn’t be true. Poor Darren, Kane thought, which was the same thing he’d thought twenty years ago when they’d been at high school together. Kane, king of the world as he’d been then, had tried to be nice to the awkward kid he’d been seeing at barbecues for years, but really, Darren just couldn’t get out of his own way.
Jon Mayhew was also there, with his wife, Deborah. It was Jon’s friendship with Barton that had inspired the idea for the fundraiser five years ago. Bill Cohen, whom Kane knew slightly, shook hands. Jon introduced him to the chairman of the hotel chain and his wife. Kane practiced not trying to elicit blushes from the women. Failed, but still, he’d tried.
There was no sign of Ellen.
The waiter took his order, the other tables were filling up until only a few people still stood talking, the band was playing “Don’t Get Around Much Any More,” the waitstaff were beginning to gather at the doors to the kitchens, and she still hadn’t appeared.
Jon caught his eye and grinned at him. Kane realized he’d been looking anywhere but at the people at his table. Deborah was on his other side, so he started talking to her and the chairman’s wife next to her.
The band finished the song. In the hush Ellen walked onto the stage. It nearly killed him, but he made himself respond to Deborah’s last comment before turning to follow everyone else’s gaze.
Even in this room full of bright ball gowns and twinkling jewelry, Ellen stood out. Where the skirt of her gown was a simple gold that fell to the floor in soft folds, the form-fitting bodice was encrusted with jewels of every color. Every time she shifted even a little, they reflected the light. The dress was guaranteed to draw everyone’s eyes to her, though her hair, piled on top of her head with just a few pieces coming down around her face, and her face itself, were enough to do that.
And she’d told him she didn’t like being looked at? She was in the wrong business.
She stood at the 1940s-style microphone and welcomed everyone, thanked them for coming, and introduced the chairman, who Kane hadn’t noticed had left the table along with Barton. That was all she did. But Kane was so blown away by her, the chairman and Barton could have been sending designer handbags to the starving for all he heard of their speech.
Finally, the three of them made their way back to the table, while the band picked up again and everyone politely applauded. Even then it took them a little while to reach him; people were stopping Ellen to talk to her. He recognized the all-business, set smile on her face and her rigid manner, composed but with an icy edge. It was such a contrast to the last time he’d seen her, the goodnight kiss they’d shared when he’d walked her home, the flush in her cheeks, the softness in her lips and her body...
Somehow she’d gotten to their table. Barton introduced Darren, who gave the table a mighty jolt with his knees as he stood up. Now afraid to move, he was too close to Ellen for politeness. “Hi,” he panted with embarrassment. “God. Hi.” Ellen shook his hand with a tight smile Kane was beginning to know well and looked very happy to turn from the kid.
And finally she was in front of him.
“Hi,” she said, the hard smile she’d had for Darren relaxing. Even in that one word he could hear the relief in her voice, and though Darren was obviously not a threat to anyone, Kane could have sung. Ellen sat down next to him, her flowery perfume delicately scenting the air.
Unfortunately, Darren seemed to feel that the only way to cover his faux pas was to start talking, so he leaned around his father (not an easy task), and asked Ellen where she was from, so she had to turn her back on Kane.
As the appetizers came around, Darren monopolized her, saying asinine things like, “Went to England once. It rained the whole time. How do you stand it?” Ellen just ate her salad and kept on smiling politely. Kane took it out on a slice of pear, then remembered his manners. Joining in the conversation on his side of the table, he tried not to eavesdrop on what was happening on his other side.
The main course came; the filets had been cooked to order, no mean feat with this many people to feed. That’s what you got for your thousand bucks, he guessed, and noticed that when Ellen got hers, she stopped being nice to Darren and concentrated on her plate.
Now that she was finally facing front again, he said, “Good?”
