Night Whispers Read online

  Sloan was so distressed by the prospect of being put on display like a curiosity for a bunch of strangers to observe, judge, and conjecture about that she let Paris lead her past the staircase and around it to a closed door on the right, behind the living room. When Paris dropped her arm to open the door, Sloan remembered her shower and stepped back; then she realized what she was looking at and changed her mind. The open door revealed a large, luxuriously paneled room that could only be Carter’s office. It was from here that Gary Dishler emerged from time to time.

  A carved mahogany desk was at the opposite side of the room, with a credenza and bookcases built into the wall behind it. Paris walked over to the desk, removed a key from a drawer, and unlocked a pair of doors on the wall behind it. She opened the doors, and Sloan’s gaze riveted on the computer monitor that had been concealed behind them. The screen was illuminated, the computer ready for use, a message flashing asking for the user to type in a password.

  Paris slipped into a high-backed maroon leather chair at the desk and swiveled around to the computer.

  Sloan’s heart began to beat with excitement as she stationed herself beside Paris. “I use FRANCE as my password,” Paris said innocently.

  Sloan watched Paris pull up a file named “Palm Beach Guest List” from a computer folder called “Address Lists,” then send the file to a printer. She leaned down and opened another cabinet door to the right of her knee that revealed a high-speed laser printer and the computer’s central processing unit.

  Sloan glanced at the CPU, but her primary interest was the icons displayed on the monitor that indicated what programs and possibly what kind of information Carter was accessing on the computer. Before she could do more than glance at all that, Paris retrieved a page from the printer and sat back up, blocking Sloan’s view of the computer screen. “Do you think Carter would mind if I used his computer later?” Sloan asked as casually as she could. “I’d like to check my E-mail, and I’d like to send a few messages.”

  “It sounds funny to hear you call him by his name,” Paris confided with a smile. “And no, I’m sure he won’t mind if you use the computer, unless he’s using it himself.”

  “Does he use it often?” Sloan asked, her excitement building.

  “Yes, but not for very long. He can access the computer at the bank in San Francisco and see what’s happening. He uses it mostly for that and for other business things.”

  Sloan knew the bank meant Reynolds Trust in San Francisco. “What sort of other business things is he involved in?”

  “I don’t know. Father doesn’t like to discuss business. He says it’s too complicated for Great-grandmother or me to understand.” She removed the remaining pages from the printer, closed and relocked the doors, put the key back in the top right-hand drawer of the desk, and took a pencil from a leather holder on the desk.

  “I’ll take this in to Noah. I’m already dressed to go out . . .” she hinted. As they left Carter’s office, she said happily, “We’ll have a wonderful time. We’ll spend the day being pampered and come home and get dressed for your ‘debut.’ ”

  Sloan left her at the staircase and headed upstairs to her room. Paris took the party list into the dining room and sat down at the table. She checked off several names on the list; then she looked at her father and her great-grandmother. “How many people do you want to invite? It’s such short notice that half the people will have other plans, so we ought to figure on inviting twice as many.”

  “Keep it small,” Carter bit out.

  Noah ignored him and looked at Paris. “Check off the people you particularly want to invite, and I’ll pick out the others. We know the same people.”

  Paris checked off several names on each of the eleven pages and handed the entire list to Noah.

  “I’ll have Mrs. Snowden take care of everything else,” he promised, standing up. “Is seven o’clock all right with you?”

  “That’s fine,” Edith said. “The weather has been so pleasant; I wish we could have a garden party.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Noah said, already turning to leave.

  “Keep the damned thing small,” Carter reminded him.

  Edith’s thoughts shifted inexorably to money. “There’s no need to be extravagant,” she called after him. “Feed them hors d’oeuvres, not a banquet. Two of our servants can act as waiter and bartender; we don’t need to pay the caterer’s staff for that.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Noah said curtly over his shoulder.

  “We’ll need champagne,” Paris reminded him.

  “Domestic champagne,” Edith stipulated.

  He was around the corner, starting down the hall, when Paris caught up with him. “Noah,” she said worriedly, lowering her voice, “maybe we should wait to give the party.”

  His jaw tightened. “What are you worried about? The cost? The fact that your family’s skeleton is coming out of the closet? Or is it the competition from Sloan you’re worried about?”

  She stepped back as if he’d slapped her. “What are you talking about?”

  “What are you trying to talk about?” he shot back.

  “I—I’d rather wait and have a lovely party than toss together some shabby little affair like Father and Great-grandmother are describing. Father isn’t thinking clearly. We’ve always given beautiful affairs, and if Sloan’s party isn’t like that, people will think she doesn’t matter enough for us to bother. The good caterers need plenty of notice to plan menus and hire staff, and they’ll all be booked solid right now. Then there’s flowers and music and chairs and tables and linens—there’s no way to arrange for all that in a few days, let alone a few hours.”

  Noah’s anger with her vanished, and his expression softened. “I apologize for misjudging your motives,” he said gently. “I should have known better. Leave the details to me.”

  • • •

  Courtney and his father looked up when Noah strode into the house. “What’s up?” she asked eagerly, noticing the determined set of his jaw and his long, swift strides.

  “Carter is giving a party for Sloan,” he replied without stopping. “Is Mrs. Snowden upstairs?”

  Courtney gave an indelicate snort. “Where else would she be? She follows you from city to city, house to house, hotel to hotel, ever at your beck and call, twenty-four hours a day . . .”

  It was an exaggeration, but Noah didn’t bother to point that out. Mrs. Snowden’s sister lived forty miles from Palm Beach, and when he went there twice a year, she accompanied him. It was an arrangement that worked well for both of them; Noah always had a limited amount of work for her to do even when he was on vacation, and in return for working a few hours each day, Mrs. Snowden got an all-expense-paid trip to see her sister.

  “Good morning,” she said, turning around from the file cabinet as he strode into a library that doubled as his office when he was in Palm Beach.

  “How is your sister?” he asked automatically.

  “Fine.”

  The social amenities over, Noah sat down behind his desk and nodded for her to sit down across from him. “We’re going to give a party,” he announced, shoving a notepad and pencil across the desk to her.

  “I thought you said Carter Reynolds was giving the party,” Courtney said, plopping into the chair beside Mrs. Snowden’s and swinging her leg over the arm.

  Noah ignored her, and so Mrs. Snowden picked up the pad and pencil. “When is the party to be?” she asked, pencil poised.

  “Tonight.”

  She drew the obvious conclusion. “A small dinner party?”

  “Something a little larger.”

  “How much larger?”

  Instead of answering immediately, Noah scanned the pages of names and addresses of the Reynoldses’ friends in Palm Beach. He picked up a pen and drew a line through names belonging to people he personally didn’t like, and people he thought Sloan wouldn’t like; then he slid the pages across the desk to her. “About a hundred and seventy