Free Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_02 by Scandal in Fair Haven Page A

title. They obviously were all ranked 5.0 or better.
    It didn’t take me long to peg the players’ names. Patty Kay, of course, I recognized from the newspaper photo and the photos in her purse. The redheaded pro at the tennis spa, Evan, was a flirty, sexy Australian who always called his pupils by name, Gina, Edith, Brooke, Patty Kay.
    Gina’s short dark hair fit her like a sleek fur cap. She danced around the court and had an astonishingly strong serve for her size. She talked incessantly. “Good shot. Good
shot”
“Oh, damn!” “I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” “Did you drill that right in my face, Edith?” “Short, Brooke, short!” This must be Gina Abbott, whom the lawyer described as Patty Kay’s best friend.
    Edith’s plump face was claret red by mid-match. She huffed and puffed, but she had a wicked backhand and a corkscrew serve that drove the others mad. She chattered brightly, but when she had a chance to drill an opponent, her eyes glittered with undisguised satisfaction.
    Brooke—Brooke Forrest, the trustee?—was the classic beauty of the bunch. She had an elegant, patrician face,luxuriant jet-black hair, aquamarine eyes, camellia-smooth skin. Somehow Brooke never looked hurried or hot or frantic. Her timing was superb, and her strokes smooth as spun glass.
    Patty Kay was in charge. With great good humor, of course, but there was no mistaking the leader. And she was the champion of the doubles players, a booming serve, a slashing return of serve, put-away volleys. She was always moving.
    In life, Patty Kay Prentiss Pierce Matthews had a mischievous grin, sparkling green eyes, and a husky, almost breathy voice. Her laugh ranged from an infectious peal to an earthy whoop. She laughed a lot. She wasn’t conventionally pretty. Her face was too angular, her mouth too wide. But she was compelling, fascinating, a woman who would always be noticed.
    The laughter stopped when the tennis started. Patty Kay’s eyes blazed with fierce determination and total concentration. She was the kind of player who would rather die than lose. But they all played hard, Gina making little cries of victory or despair, Edith’s mouth a thin, straight line, Brooke’s body arching gracefully for an overhead.
    Patty Kay’s iron will wasn’t as apparent off the court. At night—the four women lounging in brief, expensive silk gowns as they played bridge and gossiped—Patty Kay was the life of the party. Her earthy laughter sounded again and again. She could outlaugh them all: Gina, thin and nervous, talking a mile a minute; Edith, smiling and agreeable on the surface, but eager to cut down her companions in a superficially nice way; Brooke, tall, dark-haired, serious, her beauty almost breathtaking.
    Perhaps the four women took too long a holiday. It was toward the end of the tape, again during one of the nightlybridge games, that Brooke—Brooke Forrest?—and Patty Kay clashed.
    “I wonder what David will think about you and Evan?”
    Brooke was arranging her cards. Her beautiful eyes studied Patty Kay for a moment before she said, “What are you talking about?”
    “Our tennis pro from heaven, my sweet. You can’t tell me,” Patty Kay said slyly, “that you aren’t lusting for his body. I saw the way you leaned against him this afternoon. Mmm-mmm.”
    “Who wouldn’t lean on him?” Gina gave a raucous whistle.
    Edith simpered. “Brooke, your secret’s out.”
    Brooke’s exquisite face might have been chiseled out of stone. Her eyes flashed as she looked from Edith to Patty Kay. “You’re not funny, either one of you. And don’t you dare say anything like that to my husband.”
    “Tell the truth and shame the devil,” Patty Kay crowed.
    Brooke threw down her cards. “Patty Kay, stop it. You don’t understand. David—” She shook her head and her lustrous black hair swirled around her narrow, elegantly boned face. “That would make David wild.”
    “Oh, ho. That’s an almost irresistible