book?” Leslie’s head dipped slightly, showing that she was impressed. In Leslie’s case, Colin understood the gesture to be more than a show. While Leslie Morrison had grown up among the rich in Southern California and was considered old money, she also was one of the most genuine among them.
Which, along with the fact that the Morrisons and Fairbankses had been doing business together for almost a millennium, was probably why Julie felt so comfortable with the older woman.
With a bit of humility Chantel nodded a little shyly. He wondered what she hid behind the sip of wine she took.
Amusement?
Or real embarrassment.
He wanted to believe the latter but had ceased expecting the best from people—especially the people in his crowd—a long time ago.
“What kind of book are you writing?” Leslie asked.
Another bit of a pause from Chantel was followed by, “Women’s fiction police procedural.” She took another sip, and added, “It’s a woman-in-jeopardy story told from the point of view of a female cop.”
Not very ladylike material, which might explain her slight discomfort. But then she probably hadn’t been in California long enough to know that she’d fit right in.
Leslie’s eyes widened. “Oh, Colin.” She reached out as though to touch his wrist and then pulled back. “You have to get her to help us with the library project,” she said before turning to Chantel. “If you have time, that is...”
“Of course I have time,” Chantel said. “My calendar is empty at the moment. What’s the library project?” She looked at them, her gaze lingering a tad bit longer on Colin.
Pretty sure he wasn’t imagining her interest, he took a step closer to her, intending to give her the short version, when Leslie said, “Colin, the two of you would be perfect for the lead roles!”
He’d agreed to help out—partially because his firm was handling the estate and resultant legal details, and partially because he wanted Julie to have more exposure in the book world—but his assistance was to have been only behind-the-scenes.
“What lead roles?” Chantel gave her head a little shake, but she was smiling through her confusion.
“Oh, we’re hosting a decadent murder mystery dinner—at a thousand dollars a plate—to help purchase books for our own full-service library in Santa Raquel.”
He’d hoped Julie would be a part of it, but so far, she’d refused to commit to anything other than helping Leslie with behind-the-scenes paperwork, guest lists and contacting people she knew with personal rare-book libraries who might be willing to donate a copy or two.
“Katie Estrada, a childless widow, willed her family’s mansion to Santa Raquel with the caveat that it be used as a library,” Colin said. “A trust was set up with money left in her estate to fund the salary of one librarian and to cover basic operating expenses for the first ten years,” he added.
“Voters passed a one-time tax levy to fund the minimal renovations necessary to convert the first floor into usable library space,” Leslie popped in. “But a similar levy to purchase books failed in November. Colin came up with the idea of the fundraiser. We’re hosting it on-site, opening up the mansion for those on the guest list to have access to the upper floors and rooms, as well. The evening is based loosely on the children’s game Clue, with built-in characters who will be seen in different rooms in the house and on the grounds. Attendees will be expected to speak with as many of those characters as possible throughout the evening and to ask fellow guests if they’ve seen or spoken to the characters, like investigators would question witnesses.”
Chantel was following every word, grinning and nodding.
“My firm handles the trust and all estate matters.” Colin explained his involvement.
“The idea is wonderful,” Chantel told him. “And certainly not something they taught you in law school.”
“It allows guests to feel some affinity with the home, to make a memory there.” Leslie stole Chantel’s gaze from him.
“The point of the format is to bring guests together in a feeling of mutual support, rather than in suspecting one another of ‘murder,’” he added, not sure why he was promoting the event so heavily to this woman.
Because he wanted her to be his leading lady?
He wasn’t even planning to play a part. Let alone a lead role.
Her approving nod gave him his answer. He was trying to impress her. Might as well be honest with himself about that.
“We’re hoping, of course, that attendees will pledge continued monetary support,” Leslie added. “We’d like to be able to have the library open by summer. Colin and his sister, along with the rest of the committee, already have more than a hundred people confirmed for the event.”
“I’d be happy to help in any way I can.” Chantel didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been involved with library funding work in the past.”
Of course she had. Her family was in publishing. He should have thought of inviting her to the event; he was sure he’d have gotten around to thinking of it.
Just as soon as he got his head out of his pants. Chantel Johnson was a beautiful woman and new to town. But she was also a person who’d piqued his interest.
He didn’t just want to take her to bed—though there was no denying he wanted to do that—he also wanted to do it more than once.
Maybe even over a long period of time—if things continued as well as they’d started.
He’d been with her over an hour and she hadn’t raised his defenses or said a single thing he’d found boring. Everything about her was unique. And everything about him was interested.
* * *
OH, BOY. She was in over her head.
Thanks to the family that had largely left her to tread water in her formative years, Chantel was a good swimmer. Leslie leaned in, closing off their threesome from interruption from the rest of the room. “We have a basic script,” she said. “But it’s just that—basic. With the price we’re charging, I’ve been a bit nervous that the evening would turn out to be too much of a been-there-done-that with this crowd.”
Colin shifted. His arm brushed her bare shoulder again, but she was ready for the heat this time. She maintained the contact, her visible attention on the woman she’d hoped to meet that night.
But meeting Leslie Morrison wasn’t even close to getting the job done. Chantel needed a lot more time in the woman’s circle if she hoped to get the necessary evidence to save her life.
Or to gain her confidence enough to get her to press charges against her husband.
At the moment, Colin Fairbanks seemed like a fairly obvious godsend. He was her ticket to the circle—one that would not raise suspicion in anyone who might get nervous about Leslie suddenly having a new “friend.”
Her job, she suddenly understood, was to make certain that she kept him interested enough to keep her around.
Leslie was still talking. “But if we can give attendees an evening to remember, something that’s not easy to do with this bunch, we’ll get donations commensurate with their enjoyment. Some of us out here on the West Coast might be hard to truly entertain, but probably because of that, we’re very generous with our money when we do find ourselves having a good time.”
She was speaking freely because she thought Chantel was “one of them.” Chantel got that. It was up to her to keep Leslie and her crowd under that impression.
“So I’m thinking, with your writing skills...you could take the basic story and add twists and turns that will give them something they’ve never seen before, something unique.”
Oh,