It was almost completely dark outside, the setting sun a dim glow on the horizon. The golden glow of flickering gas flames lit the drive beneath the portico, and there were tall black gas lamps lining the drive. Very classy. A line of men in sharp black vests and pants with crisp white shirts and black bow ties lined the drive. The close cropped hair, clean complexions, and heavily muscled torsos left little doubt. They were all Rangeman. None smiled. All were alert and had their eyes on everything except us.
Ranger got out, leaving the motor running. One of his men slipped behind the wheel as my door opened. I was offered a white gloved hand by one of the men, and promptly delivered to Ranger. No one dared breathe a word, or even smile. I was impressed. I had never seen this side of Rangeman before.
We slowly climbed the sprawling brick steps up to the oversized double doors. The flash of a camera blinded me for a moment. Ranger paused and allowed our picture to be taken, his hand on mine. From my peripheral vision, I could see a young woman with long, white-blonde hair. I recognized her as Jayme Upton, a society journalist from New York.
Another pair of Rangeman attendants opened the carved double-doors for us. Just inside, we were wanded by a man dressed like a butler but acting like a cop. A very tall, broad shouldered cop. Probably state police. I expected a loud beep as he wanded my legs. I was carrying. But nothing happened. Beside him sat a decorative table. A small woman, similarly dressed, was searching the ladies' bags. I handed mine over, knowing my knife would be confiscated immediately. But when the lady looked up at us surprised, Ranger gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and she quickly closed the bag and handed it back to me.
"Enjoy your evening," she said flatly.
Ranger drew my arm through his and escorted me directly through the foyer and past the drawing room where the first of the guests were already mingling. We passed by the expanse of the kitchen, and made our way through an opulent private office. We glided through the French doors out onto a patio overlooking terraced gardens and the most breathtaking view I had ever seen. We were high on a hill. The last trace of the sun was dipping below the distant tree line, a golden glow tipped with orange flame. The sky was awash in mingled shades of blue, dark as night to the east, tapering to a light blue and green in the west. Below in the garden, gas lamps flickered along the garden paths, so inviting.
Ranger lead us down a winding path. My shoes tapped softly against large squares of glazed indigo tile. Ranger sat me on a carved stone bench in the middle of the garden facing a large, green-bronze fountain. White coy played in the deep water beneath the blooming lily pads. Ranger crouched beside me. He slid a black duffel bag from under the bench. I expected him to open it and wire us. He glanced at his watched, then up at the sky, taking notice of the field of stars above and setting sun. He seemed to change his mind, sliding the bag back under the bench.
"Is something wrong?" I asked.
"We have a few minutes," he said.
His gaze drifted from the sky to me. He let his eyes travel over me, slowly, sensuously. He gently reached out his hand, brushing my legs from my ankle up my calves, beneath my skirt. Then he gently applied pressure behind my knee, urging me to slide forward on the bench as he leaned in close, his body beside mine. His other arm came around my hips, and we were suddenly face to face, his lips gently brushing mine. Then he slid his lips down my jawline, under my ear, down my neck, trailing tiny kisses as his hand continued to caress my lower leg.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered, as if to himself more than to me.
The moment was so romantic, so perfect, I didn't dare to move. I wanted to close my eyes, but the scene below was so breathtaking, I just let myself get lost in the wash of color, the breeze, the flickering flames, and the musical cascade of the fountain. His breath was warm against my skin. I was aware of his hands on me, and the magnetic pull I felt whenever he was near me. I was racked with desire.
Ranger slowly retraced his way back to my lips, then pulled away just enough to look into my eyes. And I took another look at him. Smooth, freshly shaved skin. Even after the excitement earlier, he still smelled fresh from the shower. Bulgari. His eyes were dark. The lines of his face, so beautiful. His lips were parted just slightly, so inviting. But he was much more than this. No fine suit or luxurious surroundings could ever make him seem anything but utterly dangerous. His ever vigilant eyes were fixed on me, but his senses were aware of everything around us. There was fear in the mix. A ripple of excitement washed over me, and he sensed that too.
"So beautiful," he whispered again. "Almost perfect."
Almost? My eyes narrowed a bit.
"Something's missing," he mused, drawing his hand from behind my back. As it registered that he had something in his hand, I realized he was down on one knee beside me. With one hand, he flicked open the lid of the black velvet box. Inside was a blue diamond ring, surrounded by white diamonds, with a matching white diamond band. It was a set, not just an engagement ring. And it exactly matched the diamonds I had picked out earlier.
"Are we playing a married couple again?" I asked him, preparing myself in case he said yes.
"This isn't play," he said. "Marry me."
"You already know I will," I said, still not able to believe this was really happening.
"Then say yes," Ranger coaxed, taking the rings from the box, discarding it.
"Yes," I said, trying not to cry. I didn't want to mess up my makeup.
Ranger took my hand and slipped the rings onto my finger. They had been joined together and fit perfectly.
"Now you're perfect. Now you're mine." He drew me into him again, and kissed me. This kiss conveyed more than passion or possession. Satisfaction, maybe? Pride? Relief? "Does it feel different now?" he asked. "Do you feel what you wanted to feel?"
"Yes," I admitted.
"Good," he said. "Tonight, I'm introducing you as my wife."
"But, we're not really married yet," I said, surprised.
"I'm not introducing you as 'almost my wife'," he said, pulling the duffel bag out, preparing to wire us both. "These are short range, monitored by Rangeman, and I they won't work near the jamming equipment in the dining room or around the poker table."
"So, they're pretty much useless," I said, confused, as Ranger carefully wove a small black mic and wire into the webbing of my undergarment just below and between my breasts. He slipped a flat disc I recognized as a GPS tracker into my bra cup, out of sight.
"This should allow Lester to monitor you while you're upstairs. They'll have eyes on me, not on you."
"Hold it," I said, my head still spinning. "If we're married, what about your ring?"
Ranger held up his hand. There was a shiny new platinum band on his left ring finger.
"You're going to wear a ring?" I asked, surprised. "You always said your love didn't come with a ring."
"Babe, you're no secret anymore." He paused. "Would you prefer I didn't wear it?"
I could feel my mouth hanging open, but I was at a loss for words.
"Besides, it'll drive Morelli crazy," he teased, gently pushing my jaw closed with his index finger.
When he closed the bag without taking a gun out, I gave him a questioning look. "No gun?"
Ranger opened his jacket to reveal the butt of a compact gun.
"And a knife?"
"Yep," he said, without elaborating.
"But they wanded you. If you got weapons through, the hitter can too. What's the point of wanding people at the door?"
"Roger just pretended to wand us, but he is wanding everyone else. We're providing the illusion of safety for the guests, and the illusion our security is that lax for the hitter."
"Oh." I could feel my hands trembling. I wasn't sure the exact reason, there were so many to choose from. Normally, I would have sat on my hands, but that wasn't an option. I'd destroy my manicure.
"Nervous?" Ranger asked, his voice calming.
"Yes. Besides the obvious, I don't know how to fit in with these people," I whispered.
"Babe, this is a dinner for Juniak, not world leaders."
I gave him an exasperated look.
"OK. A few helpful hints." Ranger sat on the bench beside me. "Our hosts, the Prestons, are old money. So are a few of the others. The unwritten rule that governs their life is Noblesse oblige." The French word rolled effortlessly off his lips. "It means, 'nobility obliges'. Nobility must extend beyond entitlements. It requires persons of status to fulfill social responsibilities, particularly in leadership."
"That's why they're hosting this fundraiser?"
"That's part of it, anyway. The upper class lives by a different set of unwritten social rules."
I nodded.
"They appreciate one-of-a-kind objects, especially when it comes to cars, art, jewelry, and designer clothes. They like to talk about their family legacy. You may feel shunned. Social exclusion is as important to them as achievement is to the middle class. When it comes to food, presentation is most important. Comments will be made about the chef's artistic creativity rather than taste or portion size. Name dropping is taboo for old money, but enjoyed by new money. Language often incorporates foreign phrases. This used to keep the hired help from understanding the conversations, but now it's mostly just habit. The truly wealthy view their world from an global perspective. The focus tonight is local government, but you will hear the difference in their conversation. They'll talk about Europe as if it's next door, and most of them live there at least part time. They consider travel in their personal plane as common as driving a car."
"Okay, but how do I make them like me?" I wondered.
"You don't."
I gave him an even more worried look.
"Don't worry if no one likes you. Love and acceptance is conditional on social standing. It doesn't matter if they like you or if you've accomplished great things. You might connect with some of the new money because they are unconsciously leaning on their middle class mores, but don't be surprised if they shun you later in the evening once they discover you have no social standing. Financial, political, and social connections are the driving force. Intimate friendships as we know them rarely exist. Be careful about making jokes. You won't win them over that way. They have a completely different sense of humor than you do. Humor usually involves tearing someone down for making a social faux pas. So keep quiet as much as you can. If you talk too much, they'll find a reason to make fun of you. It's a function of social exclusion. And don't speak to the help. Don't identify with them. Don't defend them. Don't smile at them. And don't feel sorry for them. Tonight, you need to stay in character. Mrs. Juniak needs you." He paused. "I need you."
"I'm glad I'm not rich," I said, without thinking.
"Be sure you don't say that out loud tonight either," Ranger warned. "Juniak's here," he said, tapping his ear. He must have had a receiver.
I didn't even ask why I didn't have a receiver. I knew it was probably because I'd start talking out loud to whoever was on the other end, or I'd start acting like a crazy person. I could just see myself craning my head to look out the windows, following the Rangeman chatter. Talk about a social faux pas. Some other time, I would have been mad, but I was just glad to have one less thing to worry about tonight. My focus needed to be on sticking close to Mrs. Juniak.
The sky was dark now. There was no moon, just the dim twinkle of stars. Our magic moment had long passed. We were back on the job. Ranger rose, helped me to my feet, and lead the way back inside. I gasped when I caught sight of Hal and Woody standing at attention in the shadows on either side of the patio. I hadn't seen them when we came out, but I knew they'd been there, watching over us the entire time. They didn't move to follow. They were guarding against a breach from the gardens. Ranger locked the French doors behind us. For a moment, I wondered how Hal and Woody were supposed to get back in, then I remembered. Rangemen don't need keys.
The lights inside had been dimmed, giving off an evening glow and making the hushed conversations seem more intimate. Most of those conversations halted when Ranger and I glided into the room behind the Governor and his wife. A servant carrying a tray of cocktails appeared. Ranger slipped champagne flute into my hand. "Sparkling Pom," he told me. It was sparkling champagne with bright red pomegranate seeds floating merrily amid the bubbles. Ranger chose a darker concoction in a masculine tumbler. "Clove and Cana," he whispered, taking a small sip. I knew he wouldn't really drink it. He only held the glass for appearances.
I glanced around the room. We seemed to be in the presence of royalty. Jayme Upton was mingling inside now, getting the scoop on who was wearing what. I quickly recognized the famous actress she was chatting with. I also recognized our hosts, the Prestons. This young power couple was destined to be the next Bill and Hillary. I also recognized a billionaire sports team owner, and, oddly enough, a popular astronaut.
I took a sip of my champagne, hoping it would calm my nerves, when the light caught the dazzling blue diamond on my finger. I got a full body shiver. I was getting married. I took a good long look at the ring, admiring it in the light for the first time. The blue stone in the center was round cut, glistening with thousands of tiny facets. This diamond didn't come from the mall like the discount ring Dickie bought me during the Valentine's Day sales. I found out how cheap he was when the plating wore away and I had to take it in for repair. He hadn't even purchased the maintenance plan. This ring was platinum. I could tell by the weight. It was even more beautiful than I had first thought. I'd never seen a diamond sparkle like this. I had to wonder if it had been custom made. At the very least, he'd had it sized. It fit perfectly. The rush job alone must have cost him. He couldn't possibly have picked it out until after I'd been to Macy's. He was still a mystery sometimes.
Ranger wasn't watching me admire the ring. His eyes were on the guests as he lead us further into the room to stand beside the Governor.
"Ah, here you are," Juniak said jovially, clapping Ranger on the back. "May I introduce my associate, Carlos Manoso, and his lovely wife Stephanie."
I tried to hide my surprise. But Ranger had probably been with Juniak most of the day, so, of course he knew.
"Carlos is the managing member of Rangeman LLC. I believe some of you already know him."
"Oh, yes," a middle aged man in an brown vest answered in a clipped English accent. "Rangeman installed the safe rooms and security system for our house while we were in Naples." He was looking down his nose at us, like he couldn't believe Juniak was introducing the help. He took in my dress, and it registered that we were guests, not wait staff. He was about to say something to Juniak, but once he'd looked Ranger up and down, he decided not to cross him. A man like Quentin knew better than to jeopardize his family's safety by insulting the man providing his security. A man like Quentin was eventually going to be in need of protection.
"This is Quentin Weighwright. Of the Edinburgh Weighwrights," Ranger informed me, mostly for Quentin's benefit.
I wasn't sure what to say, so I tried to look unimpressed.
"I love your iced mani," Jayme said to me as she approached. "Cherish...Me?"
"No," I said, trying to sound like I knew what she was saying.
"Then, who?"
"I have my own manicurist," I said. "She new and she has a very limited clientele."
"Come now, you must tell," she said in a sing song voice.
"No, I don't." I said, not quite playful. I honesty didn't know how to make Leticia's interview at Clara's sound high class.
A chiming bell sounded from down the long hall.
"Ah, Dinner," Juniak said, pleased, as if he were starved.
We all placed our glasses on the trays held by attendants on either side of the wide doorway as we made our way down the hall to the dining room.
I was glad I had already seen a picture of this room. I felt less overwhelmed than I would have been. The soaring ceiling and grandeur of the furnishings felt just right tonight.
The Governor was seated at the end of the first table, by the fireplace. This seat was the close to the hallway door and far from the windows. Mrs. Juniak was seated beside him, her back to the wall, facing the windows and the rest of the room, which surprised me. I figured that would be Ranger's seat. Instead, Ranger was sitting on Juniak right side, facing Mrs. Juniak. Ranger's back was to the room. This surprised me because Ranger was always one for having his back to the wall. In restaurants, we always sat in a corner where he could keep an eye on the room. Once I was seated beside Ranger, I realized he had placed himself between the Juniaks and the windows. Anyone approaching from the other table would have to come past Ranger to get to the Governor. And if someone did manage to take out Ranger, I was right there to get the Juniak's out of the room while Rangeman rushed in. I didn't like that plan, but I didn't have a better plan to offer.
Before I could start worrying, more wait staff appeared. These were professional waiters, not Rangeman.
Donald Preston, our host, stood at the head of the other table. "We are pleased to have Chef Frederick la Grande here tonight. He's served in all of New York's finest restaurants. I trust you will discover a new favorite dish tonight."
I expected applause, so prepared to clap, but Ranger slipped his hand between mine, deftly lifting my fingers to his lips. There was a brief burst of amiable chatter instead of applause.
The host gave a curt nod to the wait staff. "You may serve."
"Sit up straight," Ranger advised.
As I did, an arm suddenly appeared from behind me. The napkin that had been standing erect on my plate in some soft of Origami fold was smartly snatched up and laid across my lap.
"Tonight's appetizer is Lobster with Sauce Piquant, served with wild rice, artichoke hearts, and wild mushrooms," the head server announced as a plate was placed on top of the plate in front of me. It was a work of art, as was the delicacy place in front of everyone else at the table. I couldn't imagine what it would take to make this once, let alone twenty times.
I watched Ranger and did what he did, choosing the cutlery, cutting the succulent meat using my knife and fork properly. I really didn't want to embarrass him. I paused as I brought the fork to my lips.
"I have a man in the kitchen," Ranger assured me. No food poisoning tonight.
The first bite was indescribable. All I could think of was Remy, the cuisine loving rat from Ratatouille, trying to explain his love of gourmet food to his idiot brother who ate nothing but garbage. Compared to this experience, Pino's was garbage. Ella's cooking was delicious, but this...this had to be fattening. Really, really fattening. My suspicion was confirmed for me when Ranger left half of his on his plate. I didn't care. I cleaned my plate.
Mrs. Juniak smiled and said to me, "Chew slowly, dear. It's a long way from the soup to the nuts."
At first, I wasn't sure what she meant. It sounded kind of dirty to me. I glanced at Ranger for a translation.
"Slow down," Ranger whispered as I licked my fork. "It's an eight course meal."
The second course was soup. We had a choice between a beautiful green Watercress Vichyssoise with a sprig of watercress garnish or Ginger Carrot Delight with a swirl of lemon ginger cream. Ranger had the watercress and I had the carrot soup. I tried to eat slowly and pay more attention to the dinner conversation.
The Weighwrights were sitting across from us, beside Mrs. Juniak. They were old money, no question. I didn't catch what he did for a living. Probably nothing. From the way he talked, I gathered his frequent travel had more to do with pleasure than business. His interests were polo horses, art, and antiquities, and buying houses in which to keep all of the above. Beside them sat Jayme Upton. Her main interest was in getting Mr. Weighwright's attention. She was failing so far. On the end, opposite Juniak, was a thin man with a bulbous nose, brown hair, and a thick, bushy mustache. He introduced himself as William "Wild Bill" Waterford. He was a disgruntled business man in his late 50's. His company sold plastic pipe, and he intended to have words with Juniak after dinner. Beside me was an elderly couple, Ollie Otto and his wife Violet. They were almost as comical as their names, which I thought sounded like Alley Oop and a purple car. Mr. Otto seemed to have developed an interest in politics after his retirement from the Air Force, much to Mrs. Otto's displeasure. She thought the young people could handle things without his help. She thought he was just trying to get out of his husbandly duties, whatever those were. Apparently, Mr. Otto had written no less than five thousand letters to the Governor's office, making sure that Juniak was well informed on the issues that were important to the elderly citizens of New Jersey. Having gone to this much trouble, he didn't want Juniak to be replaced as Governor, because then he'd have to start all over educating the new guy.
The third course was Broiled Blue Marlin Oscar with Red Carpet Tomato Peppadew Puree and Golden Caviar. It was a star-burst of colors and textures on a plate. White fish steak on a red swash of tomato puree, drizzled in a yellow sauce, with asparagus draped lovingly over the top, a sprinkling of flower-petal-like crab meat, and crowned with a dollop of orange caviar. I sampled each item one at a time before I began mixing things together. It was like eating an art project. Every combination was different. By the time I figured out what I liked most, there was nothing left of it.
While I was picking apart round three, I tuned in to the other table. I could watch them in the mirrors on the wall in front of us. Our table comprised all the possible inside suspects, as far as Ranger could tell. Those seated behind us were the least likely suspects. These included James Wagoner, the sixty-something CEO of an international corporation based in Denmark. Their SoPhine frozen dairy products were very popular at Costco. The forty-something Mrs. Wagoner was looking very relaxed, I noticed. A little too relaxed, maybe. Beside the Wagoners sat Floyd Franco, the billionaire marketing exec who was buying up New Jersey sports teams. Beside him was a stunningly beautiful lady who was not his wife. Next up was David Myers, a retired Professor of Economics at Princeton, still working full-time as an author and public speaker. Apparently his opinion was highly sought after regarding investment decisions and the like. On the end of the table sat Donald Preston, our host, and the newly elected Mayor of Bernardsville. Beside him, his wife Betsy. The young power couple were mid-twenties with two children. They were both fresh out of college and had eagerly hit the campaign trail together. I suspected Donald had his eye on the Governor's mansion and would be pushing Juniak towards some loftier seat in Washington before long. Beside Betsy sat Katrina Blum, a Hollywood actress and self-described political activist. Her interests included animal rights, the environment, and promoting Botox safety awareness. Astronaut Ted shrike and his wife were interested in education and fund raising for NASA. They didn't seem to be interested in anything else. Ted was very unhappy to be seated so far from Juniak, because he had come specifically to twist the Governor's arm until he promised to run for Congress next election.
The fourth course was Kobe Sirloin Tips in Mushroom Wine Sauce with Duck Fat Potato Dominoes and Rocket. Now this was a dish I knew what to do with. But this was no ordinary meat and potatoes. The succulent beef melted like butter in my mouth. I didn't even know a cow could be this delicious. The white squares of potato had been baked like a loaf, leaving a perfect golden crisp all along the edges. I chose to completely ignore the idea that it was duck fat that was making them so savory. I completely ignored the strangled sounds coming from Katrina the vegetarian, who had been served a tofu salad instead. I was in heaven.
"How do you like these potatoes?" Ranger asked. It had been the potatoes that Orin had poisoned at Kinsey's wedding rehearsal.
"Delicious," I said, then catching my error. "They are stacked like little dominoes," I smiled. "Chef Grande is very clever." I glanced over at Ranger. He was savoring every bite. This time, even his plate was going back empty. I had to smile. I leaned a little closer and whispered, "I get the duck fat. But what the heck is rocket? Do I even want to know?"
Ranger leaned close and kissed the shell of my ear before whispering, "Babe, the rocket's the best part."
I blushed, my lower-class mind thinking all kinds of dirty things right there at the dinner table.
He pulled back to study me for a beat. "You haven't even touched it yet," he whispered suggestively, making me turn even more red. Finally, he reached out with his fork and stole the greens I'd shoved over to the side of my plate, dropping them on his. He took a bite and smiled playfully at me. "It's just arugula," he told me, taking another bite of the bright green lettuce leaves.
"Oh," I said, watching him. He could seem so relaxed and steady in this crowd. I couldn't have imagined him like this when we first met. I wondered if he'd been practicing for tonight, or if he'd learned these things while hanging out with Kinsey. Maybe Kinsey had schooled Ranger and Juniak while they were growing the business. Yeah. That made sense. That explained a lot of things, like Ranger wearing cashmere and listening to classical music in the car. Kinsey was schooling him.
But it also raised questions. Who was the real Ranger? Was this where he was headed? Was this the kind of life he wanted? It wasn't what I wanted.
I closed my eyes and tried to recall the images I'd found on Ranger's boat. The old family photo. Ranger and Lester in Miami. Tank and Ranger. Julie, and me. Rangeman. He could dance to any music, dress for any occasion, speak intelligently about any subject in probably a dozen languages. He could take charge in any emergency. He could network with international agencies. But what he wanted was simple. Love, freedom, and trust. And I was the one person who could give him that. And that's what he wanted for me, too. And for his old neighborhood. Even for Stark Street. Of course, it was going to take some very tough love to reach Stark Street. But Ranger could handle it.
The fifth course was Grande Gourmet Salad with Sweet and Spicy Glazed Tempeh This wasn't a healthy salad either. Crumbled blue cheese, newly candied pecans, fresh picked wild strawberries, more of the minced ginger Chef Grande had used with the carrot soup, smoked sesame oil mixed with the raw earthiness of the apple cider vinegar, chili and garlic sauces. These were tastes I could relate to. The greens were different. This wasn't ice berg lettuce. I recognized some of the arugula from earlier, but there were other greens mixing in a flurry of shapes and textures, the flavors ranging from buttery to peppery. I knew the tempeh was supposed to be healthy, but the glaze coating it wasn't.
At our table, Quentin Weighwright was echoing Mr. Wagoner's complaints about tax incentives, tariffs, and finding a reliable pilot for last-minute inter-continental flights. Mr. Waterford tried to steer the conversation to wage issues, while Mr. Otto suggested that Waterford wasn't hiring enough elderly employees. This set Waterford off on heath care issues. Nothing regarding labor issues concerned Mr. Weighwright in the slightest. Jayme Upton was calling Quentin by his first name, and trying to get him talking about his latest trip to Greece. Mrs. Weighwright seemed oblivious to Jayme's efforts to enamor her husband. She seemed distant and distracted.
"What's the trouble, Buffy?" Quentin finally asked his wife. I nearly choked on a piece of blue cheese. Did he really call her Buffy?
"Sara, our youngest, is home alone tonight," she explained to us.
"You worry too much, as usual," Quentin chided. "You know she's perfectly safe in that house with all the servants. Besides, we have Mr. Manoso's assurance that she won't be kidnapped." Quentin turned to Ranger, looking down his nose at him. "You do guarantee your men will be there in fifteen minutes or less if an alarm is triggered. Isn't that right? Even though it appears all of your men are here with us tonight?"
Rather than enter into a pissing contest with Quentin, Ranger smiled winningly at Mrs. Weighwright. "You know, you can look in on Sara anytime you like," he reminded her.
Buffy nodded, looking somewhat embarrassed. "It wouldn't be polite at the table," she said.
"Oh, go on," old Mr. Otto barked. "What's the use worrying. Check on the girl." Mrs. Otto nodded her agreement.
Buffy looked around the table for approval.
"Certainly, dear," Mrs. Juniak assented.
"Thank you," Buffy said relieved, as if she'd been holding her breath all through dinner. She pulled her cell phone from her clutch, punched in a code and in moments was able to see that Sara was doing her homework at the kitchen table with her tutor. The cook was cleaning up the dinner dishes. All the alarms were activated and secure.
"Happy now?" Quentin asked, annoyed.
"Yes, I am," she said, placing the little screen next to her plate without turning it off.
"You'll wear the battery down," he complained.
"There's a charger in the car," she answered back under her breath, smiling at everyone. "Thank you," she said to Ranger.
"Thank Stephanie. She designed your security package."
"Me?" I asked, surprised. After telling me that accomplishments wouldn't impress anyone, I didn't understand why he was pointing this out now.
Ranger nodded. "The Weighwrights own the Colonial with the river view. Circular drive. You had us wire the window screens in the children's rooms to the monitoring system, and included the mobile touch pads to give them more flexibility.
"I love those features." Buffy said.
Ranger lovingly tugged on a stray curl that had escaped my pin-up. "You climbed through the bushes, remember? You made us re-design the exterior lighting and install the barking dog alarm on the outer doors."
"Oh, yeah." Now I remembered.
"You did that for us?" Buffy asked, shocked I would care enough about their safety to get my hands dirty.
"That was you?" Quentin groaned. "It's like living on an airport runway. And I hate that barking dog alarm. It's ridiculous," he complained.
"I wanted the children to be safe. Cesar told me there had been attempts to kidnap the children. I've been kidnapped. I know what it's like. The soft lighting was pretty, but it wasn't practical. There were too many places to hide in the dark. And fifteen minutes is a very long time when someone's trying to kidnap or kill you. Delaying an intruder with the dog alarm gives you time to get into the safe room," I explained.
"I don't care what Quentin says," Buffy gushed. "I love it. I had Rangeman do the same with our villa in Paris," she told me.
"You installed a system in Paris?" I asked, surprised.
"Where did you think I was? The third world?" he asked, teasing me.
"Maybe," I said, honestly.
"You do security work in Dubai?" Mr. Wagoner asked from behind us.
"We can talk about it," Ranger answered.
"You're married and you work together, but you don't know where he's been for a week?" Wild Bill Waterford snapped at us.
"I told you. They're newlyweds," Juniak said.
"Congratulations to the handsome couple!" Jayme Upton said, raising a glass to us.
"Here, here," Mrs. Juniak cheered. "To the newlyweds!"
Everyone drank to us, just as the sixth course was being served. Puerto Rican Caramelized Plantains. These were delicious. Ranger hardly touched his, but I savored every bite. I was so glad we opted for a drop waisted skirt. Some of the other ladies had stopped eating and were trying discretely to adjust their waistlines, but not me. This dress was perfect.
Buffy and Violet were bantering at the other end of the table now. Quentin was desperate for a smoke and could think of nothing else, much to Jayme Upton's displeasure. So Jayme turned her eyes to Ranger. I mean, who wouldn't. But I wasn't feeling quite so generous about this sort of unwanted attention. I picked up my water glass with my left hand and positioned it so that the big shiny diamond was in plain view. Then I slowly raised it to my lips in an arch that intersected Jayme's gaze. She looked at me, surprised, and I gave her such a death glare that she was joining in a discussion with Buffy and Violet in no time. The other wives may not care what their husbands did, but I made sure Jayme Upton knew I cared. And if she went home and read even half of what was printed in the papers about me, she would know that I could dispose of a body without much difficulty.
The seventh course was freshly baked crackers and aged cheese with fresh fruit. This seemed a very plain ending to what had been a spectacular dinner, but honestly, the herbs and spices that were lingering from the earlier dishes made these snacks taste better than ever. The polite conversations were winding down, and the guests were all gearing up to talk to Juniak about their special interests. Mr. Otto jumped right in, unexpectedly interested in wheel chair accessible bathrooms for someone so spry. Juniak seemed surprised by the number of establishments that were inaccessible to the elderly and promised to look into it.
The eighth and final course wasn't served in the dining room. Instead, we all retired to a pair of joined sitting rooms where fine coffee was served with caramel nut raisin tarts, heavy on the nuts. I was absolutely stuffed to the gills. Now I understood what "soup to nuts" was all about.
Ranger left me comfortably lounging with Mrs. Juniak in what was to become the ladies lounge, while he shadowed Juniak in the other room. Only Betsy Preston seemed to be disappointed by this division of the sexes. She wanted to keep close to Donald and be included in the men's conversations, but that left her in the position of abandoning her female guests. Donald seemed ready for her to go, but she was clinging to his arm, her conversation witty and her smile warm. Despite her best efforts, we could all see that she was losing ground.
"She's going to have to do more than that," Franco's lady friend said, joining us in the ladies lounge. Her long blonde hair was gorgeous, and her body was toned. I wondered how she met the sports guy. Maybe she was a cheerleader, like Morelli's old flame, Terry Gilman.
"You look so familiar," I said to her. "Have we met before?"
"I'm Solange Blanchard. I was Miss New Jersey a few years ago."
"Oh, yeah," I said, finally placing her. "You totally deserved to win," I said without thinking.
"Well, you can't win them all. Can you?" Jayme asked, indicating that Franco had no plans to marry her.
"Don't you dare," Solange hissed.
"Inquiring minds want to know," Jayme said.
"You'll be kind, or you'll regret it," Solange told her bluntly.
"I'm just asking a question," Jayme said, crossing her legs demurely as she sipped her coffee.
"Does anyone know this Wild Bill? What's his story?" I asked, looking curiously at the thin man whose name was too close to Waters to go unnoticed. He didn't look like the photograph of Waters that Ranger had shown me, but if he was here, he'd have to be in disguise.
"Not really," Buffy answered. Jayme shook her head. Mrs. Juniak shrugged.
Katrina Blum and Mrs. Shrike were in negotiations to have Blum star in a commercial to promote the grass roots website , trying to get people to pressure their congressmen and other members of the administration appropriations commissions to approve 1% of the budget to space programs. Half a percent just wasn't enough to fund NASA. Turned out, Katrina the activist wasn't active unless she was getting paid, and a half percent wasn't good enough for her either.
When I looked back into the other room, Ranger was engaged in conversation with Waterford. They were having an intense discussion about the plight of medium sized businesses. Waterford's company no longer qualified as a small business as defined by the SBA, yet it was unable to compete with large corporations. His plastics business was being squeezed out. Waterford was warning Ranger that if he were to have over 500 employees and lose his minority SBA preferential treatment, he'd be feeling the crush too. Waterford sounded like a man on the edge of losing everything he'd worked his life for, including his home, car, retirement, and life savings. He was sounding a little bit dangerous. I knew that just beyond the windows, out it the darkness, a dozen Rangemen were waiting for Ranger to give the signal to move in. I watched with bated breath as Ranger personally escorted Waterford out the front door and away from Juniak.
"Don't look so worried, dear," Violet Otto said, her elderly voice shaking along with the rest of her. "People will think you don't have faith in your husband to handle himself."
"Trust me, he can handle anything," I assured her.
"Maybe so," she said. "He does look quite capable."
I smiled at her. Violet Otto had been a dark haired beauty once, but age had not been kind. Her skin was wrinkled and puckered, dotted with liver spots, and she trembled like a leaf. Her eyes were slightly jaundiced and bloodshot. She'd tossed back a few drinks, but she'd hardly touched her food. She popped a few pills now, and looked around for Ollie.
"Are you staying the night?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, unsure who knew about the after party.
"Me too," she said with a girlish giggle. "You're surprised."
I nodded. "Does Ollie like to play poker?" I asked, wondering how they could possibly afford to throw away money in a high stakes game like this. They must have been very well off, but I could swear she was wearing costume jewelry.
"He dabbles," she said in such a way that I wondered if he might be a professional gambler in addition to political junkie.
Within the hour, those who were not staying had been politely escorted to the door by one or both of the Prestons.
Those staying for the poker game included Juniak, Ranger, Donald Preston, Old Ollie Otto, James Wagoner, the SoPhine CEO, and Floyd Franco, the sports team owner.
"Well, gentlemen. You're on your own. May the best man win!" Betsy called out as she lead the way upstairs. All of the ladies waived goodnight and followed her up the stairs.
I felt a stab of apprehension as I looked back at Ranger. He hadn't given the all clear. I had to assume Waterford was in Rangeman custody, but he might not be the second assassin after all.
"Babe," Ranger mouthed to me. His gaze was more than just appreciative. He was encouraging me. He had confidence in me.
I blew him a kiss for luck as I followed the ladies, the last up the stairs. I was on my own now.
