Party Crashers

they are." He grinned. "I can remember the drinks people order better than their names."
    "Did you happen to overhear any of their conversations?" Jolie asked carefully. "How they might have known each other?"
    He drew back a couple of inches, and she sensed his retreat. "You're asking a lot of questions."
    "It's for a good cause," Carlotta said, then nonchalantly unbuttoned the top button on her blouse and held the drink the bartender had delivered to her long, slender neck. Because of course, it was so hot in mid-October.
    Hardy stared at her cleavage. "Well...I don't remember any specific conversation."
    Another button came undone. "Do you remember seeing tattoos on their wrists?"
    He dragged his gaze up, then pointed his finger. "Yeah. In fact, I think they were all in here celebrating after they got them. I remember thinking they were grown men acting like a bunch of fraternity boys." He laughed. "In fact, I think I might have said something like that, and one of them remarked that they had their own fraternity house."
    "What did you think they meant by that?" Carlotta asked, playing with the next button.
    Fascinated, Jolie held her breath, wondering what would give first—Hardy, or Carlotta's bra.
    Hardy's Adam's apple bobbed. "I'm not sure, but I took it to mean that they had a playhouse, you know, somewhere to take their girlfriends, some place their wives didn't know about. That's pretty common, actually."
    Jolie and Carlotta's gaze swung to Hannah.
    "Did Russell have a playhouse?" Jolie asked, her heart beating faster.
    She nodded. "A condo on West Peachtree. We went there a few times."
    Jolie's heart beat faster as a few more pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Gary was a services broker, and he owned a condo on West Peachtree. The four men used it as a playhouse. Hannah could provide the link between the condo and Russell Island, and the tattoos would provide the link between the four men. Hope flowered in her chest. She gave Carlotta a triumphant nod, barely able to contain her excitement.
    Carlotta rewarded Hardy with a glimpse of her navel. "Thanks, Hardy."
    He grinned, then looked back to the photo, as if hoping to find more details he could expound upon—Carlotta was, after all, wearing a skirt that buttoned up the front.
    He pulled the picture closer, squinting.
    "What?" Jolie asked, thinking at this point any information would be pure gravy.
    Hardy shook his head. "I can't say for sure—this is an old picture, taken before we repainted, but..."
    "But what?" she prompted.
    "I swear this dark-haired lady staring off to the side looks like Della Underwood."
    Jolie's heart dropped. "What?"
    Carlotta grabbed the photo and jammed it close to her face. Jolie looked over her shoulder and broke into a full-body sweat.
    Carlotta nodded. "I think he's right. Della went through a brunette phase in the mid-nineties. Tragic, really."
    Jolie fairly buckled under the sense of betrayal—Beck had recognized his sister in the photo. That explained the phone call he'd made from her apartment. "... you should be thinking of a story. Yes, I got it from her and I have it with me...I shouldn't be here much longer ."
    He'd called Della to warn her. That was why he was trying to keep the story out of the papers and off television: for Della's sake, not for hers. He hadn't wanted to show the photo to Pam Vanderpool because he knew she would recognize Della.
    All this time, Della might have known something about LeMon that would exonerate Jolie...or is that what Beck was afraid of? That his sister was somehow involved? He said he'd come back to Atlanta because his sister was going through some things that he wanted to be here for. Had she gotten in over her head with her old lover Roger LeMon?
    Her heart shivered in disappointment. She'd imagined the connection between her and Beck, had wanted it to be so. Was she so starved for love that she couldn't recognize the real thing from a come-on?
    She drew in a shaky breath, determined not to cry.
    "Do you know Ms. Underwood?" Hardy asked them, handing back the photo.
    "Indirectly," Jolie murmured, feeling Carlotta's perceptive gaze all over her. "Excuse me—I need to make a phone call."
    "To Beck?" Carlotta asked in a low voice.
    "No," Jolie said. She was finished with being gullible. "To Detective Salyers."

Chapter Twenty-four

    JOLIE STOOD STARING DOWN AT GARY, glad she'd gone with the blue tie instead of the red one. It seemed more tranquil, and hopefully, more