Free Dead By Dusk by Heather Graham Page A

fuck-you-if-you-don’t-like-it amusement.
    â€œAh, gentlemen!” Arturo said, noticing that the men’s eyes had strayed, and their attention had wandered from the conversation. “You must meet Stephanie Cahill. Stephanie is here to direct our first venture into entertainment. Carlo Ponti, Miss Cahill—Stephanie, Dr. Carlo Ponti. And this! A fellow American, Stephanie, here to work the dig. Mr. Grant Peterson. Mr. Peterson, Miss Cahill!”
    Carlo Ponti offered her a pleasant appreciation with a kiss on the hand and a sparkle in his eyes.
    Grant didn’t leave his chair.
    â€œIt’s a small world, Arturo. Stephanie and I are old friends. Very good friends, as a matter of fact. Steph . . .”
    Then he rose at last, coming toward her. He kissed her on both cheeks.
    And they seemed to burn, as if she had been brushed by the most searing fire, a blaze that burned brighter than the sun.
    â€œWell, hello!” Suzette said, inching her way between Stephanie and Grant. “Suzette Croix, hi. We saw you working last night—we were stuck after the rock slide—but you never made it back to the camp. I’m part of the comedy improv group.”
    â€œHow do you do,” Grant said politely. “This is Dr. Carlo Ponti.”
    â€œHello, Suzette!” Carlo Ponti said, his voice full of the flattery that Italian men seemed so capable of giving, a very simple and pleasant appreciation that was usually lovely. “We almost met before. You were out at the dig.”
    â€œYes, yes! And this is Lena Miro–who was with me,” Suzette said quickly.
    â€œ Il piacere è mio ,” Lena murmured, which caused Carlo Ponti to ask about her Italian, and the two went into a conversation in the language, which left Carlo appearing very pleased.
    â€œSo! You two worked together!” Suzette said, taking Grant’s arm and looking from one of them to the other.
    â€œGrant owns the club in Chicago where I worked,” Stephanie said. To her own ears, her words sounded stiff and forced. But she must have been speaking fairly normally, because Suzette didn’t seem to notice a strained tone.
    â€œReally! Imagine that! Did you know you would both be here? Well, actually, how could you not—”
    â€œWe didn’t,” Stephanie said sharply. Too sharply.
    Grant’s eyes were very cold. “We didn’t. Stephanie had left the club when she accepted this offer, I believe. And I knew nothing about the club here when I signed up to volunteer at the dig.”
    â€œWow! Small world, huh?”
    â€œWay too small, isn’t it?” Grant murmured.
    â€œHey!” Drew said, coming up behind Stephanie and placing an arm casually on her shoulders. “Hi,” he said to Grant, aware that the women were grouped around him, and he was obviously someone they had met who was interesting. “Drew Cunningham.”
    â€œGrant Peterson.”
    Doug was behind Drew; introductions went around again, with both men meeting Carlo Ponti as well.
    â€œWe should get a big table, huh?” Drew said. “Arturo—you still buying?”
    â€œTonight, yes!” Arturo called back to him, grinning. “After tonight—no! Then the bar must begin to make money, not spend it.”
    â€œLet’s push a couple of smaller tables together, huh?” Drew said. “We can all get acquainted. And Arturo, Carlo—thank the good Lord you’re among us! This is Italy, and we’re surrounded by Americans!”
    â€œAmericans are good friends to have,” Arturo assured him.
    â€œYes, but when we go to dinner, you can actually read the menu.”
    â€œIt’s in English as well as Italian,” Arturo reminded him.
    â€œBut it’s more fun when it’s in Italian and we have to figure it out,” Drew assured him. “Come on, everyone have a seat—this is great!”
    Apparently, everyone but Stephanie thought