Genuine Lies

teeny bikinis and what was packed into them. He wanted a Rolex, too, and the wardrobe to go with it. Once he was set up, picking up classy women would be like swatting flies.
    Lyle figured he was on his way. He could almost smell the sunblock and sweat.
    He kept careful notes in his cramped handwriting. What was taken away from the guest house, what was brought in. Who made the deliveries. He’d even had a key made so he could move through the house at will. It had been a little dicier getting into the main house, but he’d chosen his time well and had managed to make a copy of Nina Soloman’s phone log and appointment book.
    Travers had nearly caught him sneaking into Eve’s bedroom. Nosy, tight-assed bitch guarded the house like a junkyard dog. He’d been disappointed that Eve hadn’t kept a diary or journal. That would have been worth big bucks. But he had found some interesting drugs in her bedside table, and some strange notes in her makeup drawer.
    What the hell was she doing with notes that said stuff like “let sleeping dogs lie”? Lyle decided to keep the pills and the notes his own little secret until he could figure out what they might be worth.
    It had been a cinch to get information from the guard at the gate, Joe. He liked to talk, and when you added a beer and some stories of your own, he got diarrhea of the mouth.
    Even gone, Eve received lots of visitors.
    Michael Torrent had been driven away after learning that Eve would be on location for the next couple of weeks. Gloria DuBarry had dropped by to see Eve, then had changed to Julia on learning Eve was away. She had driven herself, and according to Joe had been teary-eyed when she’d found no one at home.
    A couple of paparazzi had tried to get through disguised as delivery men, but Joe had weeded them out. Joe’s ability to sniff out press was revered among residents of Beverly Hills.
    He’d admitted Victor Flannigan, then had let him out again less than twenty minutes later. Eve’s agent, Maggie Castle, had gone in as well, and stayed twice as long.
    Lyle gathered the information. He had what he considered a very professional report ready. Maybe he should go into P.I. work, he thought as he dressed for the evening. On TV those guys were always getting the chicks.
    He chose a pair of black thong-style bikinis and gave hisfavorite member a quick pat. Some unsuspecting woman was going to get lucky tonight. He wiggled into black leather pants, then zipped a matching jacket over his tight red undershirt. Women, he knew, really went for a guy in leather.
    He’d deliver his report, pick up the cash. Then he’d cruise a few clubs until he chose the lucky lady.
    Julia hadn’t been sure what she’d think of Rory Winthrop’s current wife. But whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that she would both like and admire Lily Teasbury.
    Onscreen, the actress usually played the frothy, flighty heroine who suited her busty blond looks and guileless blue eyes. At first glance it was tempting to typecast her as someone who giggled and wriggled a lot.
    It took Julia less than five minutes to revise her opinion.
    Lily was a sharp, witty, ambitious woman who exploited her looks rather than being exploited by them. She was also very much at home in the traditional parlor of the Knights-bridge house, looking very cool, very British, and very wifely in a simple blue Givenchy.
    “I wondered when you’d finally visit,” she said to Paul as she served aperitifs. “We’ve been married three months.”
    “I don’t get to London often.”
    Julia had been on the receiving end of that long, piercing look, and admired Lily for standing up under it with such apparent ease.
    “So I’m told. Well, you’ve picked a miserable season for this visit. Is this your first visit to London, Miss Summers?” “Yes, it is.”
    “A pity about all this sleet. Then again, I always think it’s best to see a city at its worst—like a man—that way you can decide if you can really live with all the flaws.”
    Lily sat, smiled, and sipped her vermouth.
    “That’s Lily’s subtle way of reminding me she knows all of mine,” Rory put in.
    “Not subtle at all,” Lily said. She touched a hand to his briefly, but—Julia thought—with a great deal of affection. “Itwouldn’t do to be subtle when I’m about to be treated to reminiscences about one of the great love affairs of my husband’s life.” She beamed at Julia. “Don’t worry, I’m not jealous, just