Free Engaged to Die by Carolyn Hart Page A

store closed. Henny had planned to drop by this afternoon to pick up her latest order, Kathy Lynn Emerson’s Face Down Beneath the Eleanor Cross, Marlys Millhiser’s Killer Commute, and Katherine Hall Page’s The Body in the Cast . She’d call Henny and promise to bring the titles to the art exhibition tonight. Henny never missed a good party.
    â€œâ€”but she said she had to hunt for him.” Max raised a blond brow. “She didn’t give a name, just said ‘him.’”
    Annie welcomed a jolt of the strong iced tea. “She doesn’t know his name.”
    â€œNo name, but apparently she has a description. In her second call, she was excited, saying somebody told her they’d seen a guy in a golfer’s cap and argyle sweater out on Black Duck Road. I’m sorry to report”—Max’s tone was amused—“that the sighting apparently did not lead to her quarry. In the last call, she was discouraged, lots of sighs and sniffs and sad laments. She perked up at the end and said she’d see you tonight. She said she’d decided to come to the reception at the gallery because Mr. Mackey was so nice and besides you’d said most everybody on the island came to a free party and maybe he—with hopeful insistence on the pronoun—would be there, and besides the gallery was on Black Duck Road. She asked you to call her if you had any idea what she should do.”
    â€œLordy,” Annie murmured.
    â€œWhat’s so special about this guy?” Max poured the Bud Light.
    â€œOh, he’s some mysterious Lothario she met in the fog on the harbor pier at midnight. She fell for him and thought they were having a great love affair. Most romantic of all”—Annie’s tone was dry—“they never gave each other their names. What price he’s married?” Annie spooned more chili. “Anyway, he didn’t show up last night and she’s trying to find him. I’d call and tell her to give it up, but she’s pretty determined. You’d think she would realize he can’t really be interested in her or he’d tell her who he is! Maybe she’ll be a little savvier the next time she meets a romantic stranger.” Annie pushed away the memory of Chloe’s young, unhappy face. Chloe might have fallen in love with the idea of falling in love, but that didn’t lessen the hurt.Annie almost reached for her cell phone, then steeled her resolve. She simply wasn’t going to listen to Chloe moan. The episode at Snug Harbor had definitely exceeded Annie’s daily quota for misery. If it weren’t for that, she’d almost certainly look for Chloe, help her in her search. But, darn it, it was time Chloe grew up a little bit. Mr. No-Name was clearly bad news. Besides, she’d see Chloe tonight at the gallery. Annie would make a special point to introduce her around. It would be an elegant party. Surely that would lift Chloe’s spirits.
    Â 
    The house was almost two hundred years old. The two-story tabby structure, with wide verandahs on both the first and second floors, sat high on stuccoed brick arches. Nathaniel Neville had transformed it into an elegant art gallery. As his fortunes prospered in the heyday of the nineties, when the rich got infinitely richer and many of them chose to invest great sums in art works, Neville had built a huge and elegant Italian villa that was less than a five-minute walk through a live oak forest from the gallery.
    Max curved into the circular drive. “There probably isn’t a spot this close, but we’ll give it a try.”
    Japanese lanterns decorated both verandahs and dangled from the live oak trees. The lanterns were soft smudges of color in the fog. Through the uncurtained bay windows, Annie glimpsed men in tuxedos and women in winter gowns of silver lamé or black velvet or sparkling sequins on silk. The lighted windows were brilliant in the winter