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staircase."
    Trask took a step back and studied the unabashedly exotic lines of the cascading staircase. It was the focal point of the ornate lobby, the sort of staircase that women clad in satin evening gowns descended with languid grace in old Gary Grant films.
    Trask reminded himself that he knew a good fantasy when he saw one.
    "You're right, Vale. The birds suit the staircase."
    Edward relaxed slightly. "I'm glad you're pleased."
    Trask turned slowly on his heel, surveying the rest of the lobby. From the elaborate wrought iron and etched glass fixtures that produced a sultry ambient light to the richly lacquered end tables and the low, sweeping curves of the chairs, it was a complete universe. The lobby reeked of a dark, smoldering sexuality and between-the-wars decadence. The entire effect was anchored by the antiques and objets d'art that were strategically showcased throughout the hotel.
    He knew that when guests stepped through the front doors they would walk into another time and place, a world in which sophisticated romance and dangerous intrigues seemed possible.
    He had bought and paid for a fantasy, and that was exactly what had been delivered.
    "You did a good job, Vale. Looks like I got my money's worth."
    "Thank you." Edward glowed with relief. "May I say that you've created a very unique vision here at the Avalon Resort & Spa. I'm sure your guests will be enthralled."
    "Has all of the art arrived on site?"
    "Yes." Edward cleared his throat. "With the exception of one bronze that will be installed at the end of the hallway in the west wing this afternoon."
    "Fine. Then we're set."
    "Yes, indeed." Edward smiled broadly. "I can assure you that, so far as the art collection is concerned, everything will be in place for the reception."
    "Good. My PR people are counting on the art and antiques to pull in the media."
    "I understand. I'm sure it will have the desired effect."
    "It damned well better have the right effect," Trask said. "I paid enough for it."
    The sound of footsteps on tile caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Pete Santana striding swiftly toward him.
    Pete had worked for Avalon Resorts, Inc., for four years. He was an outgoing, high-energy type with a keen eye for the subtle details that made the difference between four stars and five in the travel guides.
    "Sorry to interrupt." Pete came to a halt. He acknowledged Edward with a quick nod and then looked at Trask. "I've got a meeting with the head of security in a few minutes. We're going to go over some parking and crowd-handling issues for the night of the reception. Thought I'd better check to see if you wanted to join us."
    Trask shook his head. "No, thanks. You're in charge of running this hotel, Pete. I told you, I'm only here to help draw the press and the VIPs. After that, I'm strictly on vacation."
    "Right." Pete hid his obvious skepticism behind a professional smile. "Well, I'd better get to the meeting. Let me know if there's anything you need, sir."
    "I'm not one of the guests, Pete. I can take care of myself."
    "Right," Pete said again. He looked even more doubtful.
    "Oh, yeah, one more thing," Pete added. "About those two particular RSVPs you wanted Glenda to follow up."
    Trask stilled. "What about them?"
    "I checked with her a few minutes ago. She told me that Guthrie never bothered to respond so she called his office and was told that he definitely will not attend the reception."
    Interesting, Trask thought. The hunt had barely begun, but the quarry was already running for cover.
    "What about Kenyon?" he asked. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vale stiffen. You knew you were in a small town when even your overpriced art consultant had heard the local gossip.
    "Glenda mentioned that she had received written regrets from Mr. and Mrs. Kenyon," Pete said. "Seems they're in Hawaii for the month."
    Santana looked as wary as Vale, Trask thought. Apparently everyone had leaped to the conclusion that he was back in