7. Video

Late the next morning, Bonnie woke to a muzzy head and a queasy stomach: the inevitable aftermath of an evening spent overindulging in rich food and fine wine. She rolled out of bed with a groan, slipped into some loose-fitting work-out clothes, and, face scrubbed and hair scraped back into a pony tail, set off to procure herself some English Breakfast tea and sympathy.

When, steaming mug in hand, she padded, barefoot, into her grandfather's suite, she was prepared to find that her mother, Junior, Max or, indeed, any combination of the three had preceded her, but it was someone entirely unexpected she discovered sitting hunched over a checkerboard across from Grandpa B. "King me," the visitor said, with ringing satisfaction even as Bonnie, all discomfort forgotten, caroled joyfully, "Eddie!" She set her mug down on the nearest surface, and launched herself in his direction.

"Hey, there, Lollipop!" Eddie had barely found his feet and extended his arms when she threw herself at him, nearly knocking him over. "Whoa, now!" he laughed. "Easy does it. Don't damage the goods!"

Bonnie hugged him tight, this favorite cousin of hers. She loved them all, of course, even stick-in-the-mud Stinson, but she had a special affection for Eddie, and she was not alone in this, despite protests to the contrary from others in the family, beginning with Gramps right on down to Reese. Eddie was a natural-born charmer, a shameless rogue and a veritable chameleon; entertaining and irresistible. Bonnie dropped back onto her heels, and slapped him playfully on the torso. "If you didn't make yourself so scarce, I wouldn't make such a fuss over you!"

Eddie rubbed a hand over his chest, and tried to look aggrieved. "You're my witness, Gramps. She assaulted me!"

"Oh, pipe down, you big baby!" Bonnie rounded the table, and kissed her grandfather's cheek. "Will you share Eddie with me, or should I leave you two alone to finish your game?"

"Stay, stay!" He motioned to the board, where Eddie's black pieces far outnumbered his red. "I was just going to let him win, anyway."

"Sound plan," she nodded approvingly. "We all know how he gets when he loses."

"And, they wonder," Eddie sighed, returning the game pieces to their box, "why I don't come around here more often."

Bonnie retrieved her rapidly-cooling tea and pulled a chair up to the table. "So, what's it been? A month? Two? What've you been up to, stranger?"

Eddie settled lower in his chair, stretched out his long legs, and entwined his fingers over his taut abdomen. "Oh, this and that. And, then, you know… the other thing. Stuff."

She opened her mouth to insist on a less evasive answer, but then he fixed her with a look that said, unmistakably, Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies, and she let the matter drop. His outfit, alone, spoke volumes: he was dressed head to toe, as usual, in black, but this morning's canvas shoes, baggy trousers and long-sleeved turtle-neck evoked the stock movie character of a cat burglar: he was Edwin Brennan Booth, man of mystery, gentleman thief. She wondered if he had a black ski-mask secreted somewhere on his person.

Rudesby had been correct in one respect: all seven grandchildren had trust funds established in their names, and could live very comfortably on that income alone. They were free to work or not, as they chose, with the result that they could pursue careers that appealed to them without regard to stipend. Of the four who were of an age to collect a monthly check, three were gainfully employed. Stinson, of the humorless bent and incredible knack for numbers, had gravitated naturally into the field of theoretical mathematics, and was the author of numerous journal articles and a faculty member at a prestigious area university. Bonnie had followed her passion for beauty into art conservation, and Junior, a teaching assistant in his first year of graduate school, was continuing his study of world ecosystems with a view to joining the fight to save the planet, quite literally. That left Eddie.

With his great personal charm, lead-actor good-looks and razor-sharp intelligence, Eddie could have made a go of any number of professions, and he had dabbled in more than a few. He had amused himself by strutting the cat-walks as a male model for a season, had tried his hand at car-racing and horse-breeding, had acted both in college and in small-budget movies, and had worked as a bodyguard and bouncer as a lark. He ran with a fast crowd, and, though he lived well beyond his means, he never seemed to want for money. Something of a numbers whiz himself, Eddie was said to have parleyed a fairly small stake into a huge nest egg by counting cards at the blackjack tables of Reno and Vegas, a rumor substantiated by the fact the Eddie was now barred from gambling in those towns. He was, ostensibly, a bon vivant, dilettante, carefree playboy, but that, Bonnie strongly suspected, was a convenient screen for certain risky, more adventurous activities. There was far more to Eddie Booth than met the eye.

"Of the two of us," Eddie said now, a twinkle having replaced the look of warning, "seems to me you're the one with significant news. 'Course, I wasn't best pleased about having to learn the glad tidings from social media…"

Bonnie looked from her teasing cousin to her expressionless grandfather and back again. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Better show her," Grandpa B said grimly.

Eddie collected his vid player from a back pocket, set the queued-up video going, and handed it over. On the small screen, against the elegant backdrop of La Coupole's candlelit dining room, Trev reached out, took her hand, and, eyes fixed on hers, began speaking in obvious earnest. The recording equipment had not been able to pick up his words, but his opening the little blue box and setting it before her needed no audio explanation. Bonnie saw her face soften with wonder at the sight of the gorgeous diamond ring, saw the glint of tears in her eyes, saw herself lean in and kiss Trev lingeringly. The image dissolved, to be replaced by the words: Trevor Wyndham-Pryce and Bonita Booth-Hodgins, Winners at Love. "No!" she whispered, feeling herself go cold and her stomach drop sickeningly. "This can't be…"

"What'd I tell you?" her grandfather said to Eddie.

Eddie gently removed the device from her hand. "You didn't know anything about this?"

Hand over her mouth against the rising nausea, Bonnie shook her head.

"No, of course not," he said, sober now. "What was I thinking? Still, what's the big deal, right? People were going to find out eventually…" His grandfather's stern expression gave him pause, and he looked more closely at his distressed cousin. "You don't mean to tell me…" He spared a quick glance at her left hand. "You refused him? Great balls of fire," he exclaimed, when she nodded. "This is bad."

Her grandfather laid a comforting hand on her arm. "Who did this thing, Tootsie Roll? Any idea?"

"No. I never thought… I didn't see… Oh!" She sat up straight, suddenly galvanized by near certainty as to the culprit. "It has to be!"

"Who?" Gramps said, and "Spill!" said Eddie.

"Wick-Sweets. He was there at the restaurant last night. Oh, the low-down, no-good viper! I'm going to have his guts for garters!"

"I don't know what that entails, exactly," Eddie said, "but it sounds good and violent. I want in."