Killer Summer

31

As Summer heard the television switch off, she braced herself for the confrontation. Like a heavyweight fighter before the bout, she lowered her head, closed her eyes, and visualized her opponent’s weaknesses, his soft spots, knowing all along that he had the weight advantage.

First, she wanted to see if he would remember that he’d invited her. Supposedly, she was to be his date at the wine-auction dinner, but he tended to forget his offers to her, especially if a better offer came along.

If he did remember, then she intended to incite his anger, exploit his sense of social punctuality with her wet hair and the towel wrapped around her. Seeing her like this he would make impossible demands she couldn’t meet and would then desert her, telling her to catch up-and that was all she needed.

“Summer, are you ready?” he eventually bellowed from the other side of her door. “We don’t want to be late.”

She drew a deep breath and strode into the living room just in the towel, knowing how uncomfortable it would make him. He could barely look at her at the pool. Perhaps he saw her mother in her, or maybe he couldn’t face his daughter as a grown woman, but whatever it was it momentarily gave her the upper hand.

“I’m running a teensy bit behind.”

His face registered horror.

“Sorry. Is twenty minutes okay?”

“Twenty minutes? NO! That’s not okay. I told you ten of seven. It’s already five ’til.”

“Hey, I don’t get all dressed up that often,” she said, changing to a tone of voice she knew he didn’t care for. “Besides, I thought it starts out as a cocktail party, right? So, what’s the big deal? We can be late.”

“We cannot be late! Cocktail hour’s more important to me than the auction.” He drew a deep breath-a bad sign; he was struggling for patience. “You’re important to me. I wanted to show you off.” He sounded so hurt, she loved him for it. “Once we’re sitting down at dinner, we’re stuck with whoever we’re stuck with. But at the cocktail party…”

“Please, go ahead,” she said. “I’ll hurry.”

“I’ll wait.”

“NO!” she barked out too loudly and too quickly.

His parental radar switched on, and she chastised herself for the outburst. He could read her far better than she was willing to admit, and he cared more about her than she let herself believe. His look conveyed all of this, and the guilt it caused her ran up her spine in an icy shiver.

“You’re trying to put together a deal,” she said, “right?”

“I’m always trying to put a deal together, sweetheart.”

He sounded defeated. She resisted feeling any sympathy for him. He had denied her the opportunity of watching Enrico in the semi-finals. He had made her come to Sun Valley with him instead. He’d made her play tennis with him in the mixed doubles, had humiliated her with his poor playing. He deserved what she was about to do to him.

“You go on,” she said. “I’m not real big on cocktail parties, anyway. I mean, what’s the point?”

“I’m sorry if this trip hasn’t lived up to its billing,” he said. “I really thought you’d have a better time than you’ve had.”

“I’m okay.”

“No. I should have had you bring a friend or something. I wasn’t thinking right.”

“I’m fine, Dad.” The guilt now traveled to her throat, where it balled up in an unforgiving knot. She was not going to change her mind about this. She was not going to cry.

“Fact is, things are not going real well moneywise. I think you know that. I think you know I’m going through a rough patch. Times like this, I know we both miss her. Miss her a lot more than we talk about-”

“Don’t.”

“We should talk more, you know? Figure this stuff out together.”

“Dad…”

“We’ve only got each other, you know? None of the rest of it matters to me, Sum. I know you probably don’t believe that, but it’s true. You’re it. You’re all I’ve got. The meetings, the deals… they’re just a means to an end, a way to keep us going, keep you going, give you the best shot I can give you. Your pal, the tennis guy… Eric-”

“Enrico!”

“He was not the way to go. He… you know what that’s all about. You know what he wants from you. And it’s not happiness. It’s not safety and security. It has nothing to do with any of that. My job, whether you like it or not, is to help you make the right decisions. Not run your life. That’s not what I’m talking about. Just to make decisions with a clear head and your eyes wide open. That’s all. That was not the case here. You can be mad at me, that’s okay. Pissed-off? Absolutely. But please know that, in my heart of hearts, I have your best interests first. Not mine, yours.”

“Violins, Dad.”

“Yeah, okay. So get dressed.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“If you aren’t there in ten minutes, I’m sending the Texas Rangers after you. I don’t want to do this dinner alone. I need you, okay? We’re a team tonight.”

“O-kay.” Her voice cracked, and she looked to the carpet. “I’ll hurry,” she choked out.

She pushed the door shut behind her, then held her back to it, as if blocking out all that she’d just heard.

Why tonight? Of all nights, why tonight?

Teddy Sumner’s antennae were sparking. He knew she was up to something secretive. Either it was something she was doing for him, or against him, and, given the past two weeks, he was betting on the latter.

He left the suite and headed directly to the concierge in the lobby, a blond-haired woman in her late forties, with an agreeable face. He kept his voice low.

“Your house detective, as quickly as possible.”

“Of course, sir. If you’d like to have a seat.” She indicated a wing chair with Queen Anne legs.

“I don’t need a seat, I need your house detective. Right now!” He could be a real bastard when he needed to. This was one of those times.

She pulled a walkie-talkie from a drawer. “Chuck,” she called into it.

Sumner spent the next five minutes watching the door to the patio swing open and shut. The bar on the terrace was active, and dinner was already under way for the Saturday-night show on the outdoor ice rink. But all he saw was the world moving on without him.

The concierge caught him looking. “Scott Hamilton’s All-Stars,” she said, “best ice show of the summer. Would you like tickets?”

“No thank you,” he said, “just the house detective.” He didn’t want to make conversation. He checked his watch instead.

Chuck Webb filled out his navy blue sport coat to the point where it wouldn’t button. He had an agreeable face but a drinking man’s complexion.

Teddy Sumner passed him a hundred-dollar bill as the two shook hands. Webb gripped the bill but didn’t pocket it.

“There’s no need for that.” He pretended to hand it back, immediately cut short by Sumner’s raised hand.

“I have a seventeen-year-old daughter who thinks she’s twenty-six. She’s up in the suite, three twenty-seven. I wish I could say I trust her but I don’t. You have kids?”

“Two boys. A little younger than yours. We use an outfit called Super Sitters. The hotel, I’m talking about. Good people. Patricia can arrange it.” He looked back toward the concierge desk, a yard or two away.

“She’s supposed to join me at the wine auction,” Sumner said. “I’m betting otherwise. I need someone to keep an eye on her. If she leaves the room, I’d like to know about it. And if she doesn’t head over to the dinner, I need to know about that too.” He pursed his lips. “How about it?”

“I’m spread a little thin tonight,” Webb said. “I wish I could help out but-”

“You got cameras? If she doesn’t leave the room in the next fifteen minutes, I need to know. And if she does, then maybe you or one of your guys could just keep an eye on her long enough to make sure she’s headed to the dinner. Please?”

He fished for another bill but Webb stopped him.

“Room three twenty-seven,” Webb said. His left hand slid in his pant pocket and came back out empty.

“I appreciate it,” Sumner said.

“I’ll need a cell number.”