Nothing to Hide. Isabel Sharpe
between them, and can’t stand myself anymore. You called just as I was about to become a heroin and shopping-channel addict. I don’t know which one’s worse.”
“Yeah?” He chuckled. She had a fairly edgy sense of humor, to put it mildly. Came from a rough childhood in South Boston. “Put down the needle and the remote and pack your bags.”
“When do we leave?”
“Considering the week I’m having, not soon enough. Saturday morning? I have a dinner meeting Friday.”
She clucked her tongue. “Only you would have a business meeting on a Friday night.”
“He’s a client in town for a conference.”
“I’m telling you, they own your very fine Jon-ass.”
“Ha.” He bristled at the dig. “Maybe not for long.”
“Yeah?” She dropped the sensual lounge singer act she did so well, her voice rising to its normal sweet pitch. “No offense, but I’ve been hearing that for a while.”
Jonas sighed wearily. “I know. But I’m getting closer. We can talk.”
“Good deal. Saturday suits me fine. What brought this on, by the way? I thought you were going to get rid of the place.”
“We’ve been summoned to chaperone young Erik and his latest target.”
“Erik needs a chaperone? What’s wrong with that boy? Or more to the point, what’s wrong with the woman? Frigid? Closet gay? From a past century?”
“I was just asking him the same thing. Between you and me, I think it’s a case of ‘she’s just not that into him.’”
“Ah. I suppose even a master can fail sometimes. Well, after all the stories you’ve told me, I look forward to watching him in action.”
“That makes one of us.” His voice came out more brusquely than he intended. “I’m sure he can’t teach you a thing.”
“You got that right.” Her voice went back to the sensual purr she used in her act to great effect. Sandra had been performing since she could walk, in community theater, in equity shows and her favorite—singing jazz and show tunes in clubs around Boston. She was beautiful, sexy, magnetic and a hell of a singer. “I also look forward to hanging out with you, Jonas.”
“That definitely makes two of us.” He hung up the phone, still annoyed with Erik and with himself for being persuaded, but now thinking the weekend might be just what he needed. A chance to get away, gain some perspective on life and work and what he wanted to do next. Lake George was a good place for that kind of deep thinking. And he’d have the chance to catch up with an old friend.
Nothing strange about that. He always looked forward to seeing Sandra. The odd thing was his immediate follow-up thought: that he was also looking forward to seeing Allie.
2
Hi Allie,
Erik asked me to email you to confirm that I’ll be at Lake George on Saturday (the 19th)—he didn’t think you believed I was coming. Obviously you’re a smart woman. I’ll make sure he behaves, though I’m guessing you can take care of yourself.
By the way, sorry you got laid off. The world makes no sense sometimes. I’m sure you’ll find a job soon. Mine isn’t thrilling me these days—I’m dreaming about starting my own company.
Wow. I haven’t admitted that to anyone yet. Barely even to myself. So now you know my deepest secret.
Jonas
P.S. It will be good to see you again. I enjoyed meeting you in New York
Hey Jonas,
No, I probably won’t need your protection, but I also enjoyed meeting you last Christmas. Erik said you’re bringing your girlfriend. Was he telling the truth there, too?
Thanks for the sympathy on being laid off. I’m sure something else will turn up. It’s the limbo that’s hard. Luckily I’ve had every crap job a teenager can land, so I won’t starve.
As for your new company, congratulations! But if that’s your deepest secret, you need more excitement.
Allie
Hi Allie,
I’m bringing an old friend. Sandra.
As for needing more excitement, hmm. Maybe being back at Lake George will inspire me to wilder things?
On that note, why are you stuck vacationing with Erik? I would think there’d be an army of Manhattan men clawing for your attention. Or do you just turn them all down? You should come to Boston. It’s a great city.
Jonas
Hey Jonas,
Ha! The only men clawing for my attention want me to pay my bills. As for Boston, you’re seriously tempting me.
Allie
I bet you say that to all the guys.
Jonas
Only the ones who do.
Allie
* * *
ALLIE CLIMBED OUT of Erik’s Mercedes after a long, bumpy ride down a tree-lined gravel driveway branching off a road halfway up the west side of Lake George. She inhaled the light, cool air with relief, having spent too many miles listening to Erik’s horrible music.
The Meyers’ property and Morningside—really, they named their house?—were even more stately and elegant in person than they’d looked in the pictures Erik showed her. Determined not to betray her intimidation or awe, Allie dragged her suitcase out of the backseat, waving off the very solicitous Erik who’d come around to help. He was being the perfect gentleman—almost too perfect. Less like a concerned friend and more like a guy lulling his intended victim into complacency. On the way over, he’d taken her to a lovely bistro off Interstate 87, and had seemed a little too eager to refill her wineglass, a little too eager to compliment her, touch her arm, bump hands and shoulders when they were walking. Maybe she was paranoid, but her guard was up—to put it mildly—and she was very glad Jonas and Sandra would be arriving the next day.
Jonas, anyway. Sandra, not so much.
Stop! Honestly, one meeting last Christmas and a few emails and she was as giddy as a preteen with a crush, obsessing over every word he’d said. Allie was the only person he’d told about wanting to start his own company? Uh-huh. Did she remember whose brother he was? Boston was probably littered with women who were “the only person he’d told.”
Shutting down those thoughts, she turned to face Morningside, which was lit with a soft glow from outdoor lights and the moon. The place was imposing. Eight bedrooms, Erik had said, in two gleaming white stories. A wide screened-in porch—or should she say a ver-an-da—wrapped around the north side, punctuated by a white balustrade and a lattice fence that effectively hid unsightly underparts. The south end of the house, also two stories, sat slightly lower, like a stunted afterthought. Black shutters—Dark green? Navy? Hard to tell at night—downstairs, and on the second floor, dormers relieved the whiteness. Farther north on the property and closer to the lake was the silhouette of a smaller house, begging to be explored. By the water stood a third structure, a boathouse, she’d guess. Surrounding the family compound, a fern-strewn pine and hardwood forest covered hills that came right to the water’s edge on either side of the curving sand beach. The grass around the house looked freshly mowed. She wouldn’t be surprised if the sand by the lake had been raked, too. The place had been thoroughly readied for the Lord of the Manor’s visit.
Sarcasm aside, Morningside was tranquil and totally private. Allie was glad that she wouldn’t have to cope with a cluster of mansions, women twirling parasols, wearing bonnets and the latest