It terrified her to be doing the same thing again. Almost like a second chance. Like the movie Peggy Sue Got Married. Go back and redo it. Go back and get hurt again.
Her phone rang, and they all three looked at it.
“It’s Dad,” Diana gasped, closest to the caller ID. “Something’s wrong. He always e-mails.”
“It’s about time he called,” Venus retorted. “When he didn’t show up for the opening, I was ready to fly to Palm Beach and knock down his door to talk to him.”
On the third ring, Athena picked it up and put it on the speaker. “Hi, Dad. We missed you yesterday.”
But what if he had showed up? What would he have done when confronted by Connor and Drew? Been defensive, or guilty? She wished again for the hundredth-plus time that she knew why he wouldn’t talk to her about what happened at Clayworth’s.
“I assume you girls are all together watching Talk of the Town. I’m very proud of all of you.” His voice sounded strong, normal, loving.
“Thanks, Dad. When are you coming home?” Venus shouted.
“Yes, we miss you tons,” Diana called.
“I miss all of you, too. I’m working on some projects. I’ll be there soon enough. Athena, why are you wearing those glasses? You haven’t needed them in years.”
Because if I wasn’t, everyone could read my confusion about you and now Drew.
She fiddled with the rims, avoiding her sisters’ questioning looks. “Some eye strain at work. I’ll be fine.”
“Make sure you take care of yourself. I love you all, and I’ll see you soon. I promise.”
“Love you, Dad,” they chorused in unison.
Love you, Dad, but why won’t you confide in me?
For the last six years since her mom died, Athena had been his confidante.
All these years, I’ve never told him about Drew and how he changed my life.
The truth made her sway a little on the balls of her feet. Now she had even more secrets to keep.
Diana rose as gracefully as a ballerina from the deep blue and crimson Oriental rug. “What’s wrong, Athena? Are you upset about Dad’s call?”
“I’m fine. Really.” She shook off guilt enough to smile. “Maybe we should fly down to Florida to see him. But I just can’t right now. I need to stay here and find Bertha’s dresses. If I hadn’t gotten sick, Bridget would have set the lock and maybe the dresses wouldn’t have been stolen. Other people wouldn’t run the chance of being infected.”
Venus grimaced. “No way is this your fault. There are probably millions of people who have it in for the high and mighty Clayworths. They should count themselves lucky you want to help.”
Diana nodded. “Totally not your fault. But you’re the perfect person to help them. You have connections. Know the collectors.”
She nodded. “I need those dresses for the museum. The exhibition will save the scholarship program and help Makayla.” Determination burned in her blood. “I’ll work with Drew to find those dresses, no matter what it costs me.”
Her sisters’ eyes locked, and for once she could see they were in agreement. Even to her own ears, the note of passion in her voice had been clear.
Deep inside her, fear took root. Yes, her passion to find Bertha’s dresses burned brighter than ever, but heaven help her, did it still rage as hot for Drew Clayworth?
CHAPTER
On Monday morning at her office, fully recovered from telling the truth—at least, she hoped so, for everyone’s sake—she called Penelope Knowles, the best-known collector of Bertha Palmer gowns in the city.
Her maid answered. “Knowles residence.”
“Hi, Betty. It’s Athena Smith. Is Penelope in?”
“Hello, Miss Smith. I’m sorry, Mrs. Knowles isn’t home. She has a Service Club luncheon in the Maple Room at Clayworth’s. May I take a message?”
“Please ask her to call me at my office or on my cell as soon as possible. She knows the numbers. Thanks, Betty.”
Athena glanced at the clock. Eleven-fifteen. Did she want to wait? Could she wait?
She needed to find Bertha’s dresses. For her mother’s scholarship fund. For Makayla. For posterity. Find them to assuage her guilt for any part she may have played in getting them stolen in the first place.
Outside the museum, she hailed a cab.
Ten minutes later she walked into Chicago’s retail jewel, John Clayworth and Company. Ever since she was a little girl Athena had loved shopping here, but today she was a woman on a mission. Couture history and innocent lives are at stake here!
She’d take up her position at the entrance to the Maple Room so Penelope couldn’t escape her. Every instinct screamed that Penelope would be the first collector contacted by any legitimate seller or thief. She had a reputation for paying top dollar for what she wanted.
For an instant Athena thought she might be hallucinating again, but no, she did hear Penelope singing.
Athena ran down the wide aisle toward the Shoe Salon, following Penelope’s loud, actually very melodious rendition of “The Lady Is a Tramp.”
A crowd had formed in a tight circle, but she pushed through to the front to see a white, pleated Oscar de la Renta blouse sail past to land on a display of Brian Atwood stilettos.
Shock rooted Athena to the Clayworth blue carpet as Penelope shimmied out of her beige skirt.
“The… lady… ,” Penelope belted out, “is… a… tramp!”
On the last note Penelope twirled around, right into Drew’s arms.
Totally ignoring the gaping crowd, he held Penelope, clad in nothing but a nude demi-bra and matching boy shorts, while he stripped off his blue button-down shirt and draped it around her.
Adrenaline rushing, Athena stumbled over shoes littering the carpet, forgotten by enthralled spectators, to fight her way to his side.
Eyes blazing, he mumbled to her, “Stay right here.”
Not a minute later, Bridget led in the paramedics.
Penelope singing, “Jim, my wonderful Jim,” went willingly onto the stretcher and out the door.
Drew glanced down at Athena, speechless, at his side. “I believe we have our first lead,” he drawled while shrugging into a fresh shirt brought by Bridget.
Not a moment too soon. Most of the hordes of women still hovering in the shoe department were staring at his lightly golden chest and six-pack abs leading down to his low-slung jeans.
So am I.
She shook off the heady sensation of small, rippling waves of excitement to find her voice and her common sense. “We need to get to the hospital. Now.”
Lewis Stemmer waited for them at the third-floor nurses’ station.
“Mrs. Knowles is coherent, and her vitals are good. I explained what happened to her and asked if she’d been exposed to any of the missing Bertha Palmer dresses. She keeps insisting she bought the dress to conserve it and give it to the museum. I explained that you had suffered a similar illness from the same source. She’s demanding to see you. Are you willing?” Dr. Stemmer asked.
Stricken with guilt for whatever part, even innocently, she’d played in making Penelope ill, Athena nodded. “Of course I will. Where is she?”
Drew by her side, Athena followed Dr. Stemmer to the end of the hall, where he stopped in front of a closed door.
“I believe Mrs. Knowles will be fine in a few hours.” A smile quirked Dr. Stemmer’s long mouth. “Physically. The rest I hope you can help her work out. Good luck.”
Adjusting her dark glasses, Athena opened the door.
Penelope Knowles lay prostrate in the bed, her arms flung out in abandonment, a cold compress across her eyes. Water leaked into her long chestnut hair, which hung limp around her face.