the scar, Nathan came back with my drink and then disappeared again. But the timely interruption had distracted Lenore.
“You’re just what we need around here. ” John Oliver resumed his seat across from his wife. “We haven’t had the most gregarious company for the past several days.” He indicated a couple seated at a distant table. “Sam and Sheila Kramer. Honeymooners. They’ve hardly said a word to anyone.” He grinned. “Not that I blame them.”
The Kramers were oblivious to their surroundings, clasping hands across the table. Both were red-haired and freckled, as perfectly matched as Raggedy Ann and Andy. I envisioned carrot-topped children running rampant through their household.
“And, of course, there are the Chesleys.” He lifted his glass in another direction. “Orthopedic surgeon. Insists anyone who runs is a fool, but he told me he’s making a fortune off their abused knees. His wife,” Oliver said calmly, “thinks he’s a dreadful flirt. Can’t say as I’ve noticed.”
“You’re forgetting Rafferty.” Lenore’s green eyes gleamed. “You mustn’t forget Rafferty.”
Oliver grimaced. “Our introspective author hasn’t made an appearance yet. He should be here soon. For all the man keeps a low profile—creating, you know—he does manage dramatic entrances with great regularity.” Oliver straightened. “And here he comes.”
I glanced around immediately. The man who had just entered the dining room did so silently, moving with a smooth grace that belied the tension in his stern face. He was very dark-haired and brown-eyed, wearing horn-rimmed glasses that did not entirely hide the intensity in his eyes as he glanced in my direction. He went directly to an unpopulated corner of the room.
“Rafferty doesn’t talk to anyone,” Lenore confided. “I think he must be pretending to be one of his characters.”
“Characters?”
“Out of one of his books. Haven’t you heard of them? He does spy books, John tells me.“
“He just prefers to keep to himself,” Oliver said calmly. “That’s something I like in a man.” He smiled as I looked at him quickly. “I’m a businessman, Kelly; I have to be able to trust my associates to keep things confidential. Talkative people can’t keep secrets.”
Lenore smiled at him lazily as she raised her drink. “And you will have Kelly believing you can’t keep one, my dear.”
Oliver laughed and lighted a slender cigar. "An insinuation I’m talking too much. Well, perhaps I am.”
Nathan Reynolds returned to our table and took his seat with us. He kept an eye on the others, always the attentive host, and yet he was able to make me believe he cared about us in particular.
“Do you play tennis?” Lenore Oliver veered off on another tack, avid with interest.
I smiled. “No. Not at all.”
Oliver laughed at his wife’s moue of disappointment, then looked at me through the curling cigar smoke. “Lenore is a tennis fanatic, you see. She’s been hoping for a decent partner since we arrived three days ago. Guess she’ll just have to keep banging balls against the backboard and taking lessons from the pro.”
I wondered about the other guests. Surely there had to be someone Lenore could play. I glanced around the room and saw only the people Oliver had already mentioned: the honeymooning Kramers; the doctor and his wife; Rafferty the writer, who was staring into the shadows of the lantern-lighted room with all the absorption of deep thought.
Nathan broke into my thoughts as he cleared his throat, smiling at me encouragingly. “Perhaps you could take lessons from Randy Poe, our resident tennis pro. Then you could give Lenore some competition.”
I laughed at him. “If you had ever seen me with a racket in my hands, you’d know better than to suggest that.”
Nathan nodded commiseratingly. “I never saw the sense in whacking a little ball back and forth, myself. ” He sent Lenore a disarming smile that removed the potential barb from his words. “But we do have other activities here at Smoketree, Miss Clayton. What could I suggest?”
“To tell the truth, I hadn’t really thought about what I’d like to do. I just sort of—came…”
“Ah.” John Oliver’s tone said he had found something telling in my simple statement. I looked at him sharply and found him watching me. His expression was blank, carefully so, and I wondered uneasily what went on behind his eyes.
“If you came for the relaxation of doing absolutely nothing, we offer that as well,” Nathan said. “You’re under no pressure here. Do whatever you like—or don't—and if I can help arrange anything, just let me know.”
I smiled at him gratefully. “I will. Thank you.”
“Kelly Clayton,”