Baroque and Desperate by Tamar Myers Page A

spoke again.
    â€œThe rules of this weekend’s event are quite simple”—she paused, allowing the black buttons to settle on us briefly—“you see, my dears, my grandchildren and I are very fond of games. Aren’t we?”
    â€œYes, Grandmother,” Edith said.
    â€œThat last one was Edith’s doing,” Mrs. Latham said. “A scavenger hunt to the Bahamas.”
    â€œIt was beastly hot,” Rupert whined. “Freeport in July is not my idea of a good time.”
    â€œYou won, didn’t you?” said Albert.
    â€œYeah, I won.”
    â€œBecause if you didn’t like the prize—”
    â€œI liked the prize.”
    â€œYou damn well better have. That Porsche cost me a pretty penny.”
    â€œYou mean it cost Edith, don’t you?”
    â€œYou son of a—”
    â€œAlbert!” Edith said sharply.
    The auburn-haired Alexandra came softly to the rescue. “When it was my turn, I chose a mystery cruise of the Mediterranean. There weren’t any prizes, just surprises.”
    â€œLike the belly dancer in our Cairo suite!” Sally said. “Unfortunately, she wasn’t a real belly dancer, but a stripper. I was off shopping when Harold discovered her, and by the time I returned Fatima was down to her last veil.”
    Husband Harold turned red and grinned. “Grandmother, weren’t you about to explain your rules?”
    â€œAh, yes, thank you, dear.” Mrs. Latham surveyed her descendants slowly, adding to thedrama. “First, as you know, this is a treasure hunt, and first prize is one of my antiques.”
    There were a few groans, and I think I recognized Rupert’s voice.
    The old lady held up a quieting hand. “But, as I said on the invitation, that missing antique is worth a minimum of a hundred thousand dollars—which, I believe, is still worth more than a Porsche. Not that a Porsche isn’t prize enough for a family game.”
    Albert raised his glass of punch. “Touché.”
    Flora must have slipped out and in again, unnoticed, because suddenly she was at my elbow with a silver tray of shrimp canapés. I decided to compliment the cook and took several.
    When we were all served, the grande dame cleared her throat. “Now, here are the rules. You may play individually, or as teams.” She glanced at C.J. and me. “Some of you have decided to bring professionals into the game. That is fine, too. I believe I said so on the invitation.”
    â€œYou did,” Sally said, “but Harold and I don’t need one, that’s for sure. And I doubt if Edith and Albert do, either.”
    Edith scowled at her sister-in-law. “Speak for yourself.”
    The bird eyes brightened. “The game begins now and continues until three o’clock Sunday afternoon, or until the missing antique is found. However, between the hours of midnight and eight in the morning, both tonight and tomorrow night, the game will be temporarily suspended.
    Tongues twittered.
    â€œI need my beauty sleep.” She paused to appreciate the polite chuckles. “And I’m not about to let the game go on unsupervised. Which brings me tomy next rule—during those eight measly hours, no one is allowed to leave his or her room. Since each of your rooms has its own bath, this should not be a problem. Breakfast, incidentally, will be promptly at half past eight.”
    Rupert cleared his throat.
    â€œWhat is it, dear?”
    â€œWhat if we get hungry, Grandmother? I don’t know about y’all—” he glanced at his siblings and their mates, “but I sometimes get the munchies in the middle of the night.”
    Mrs. Latham awarded her youngest grandchild with a fragile smile “In that case, I advise you to stock up on snacks. Anyone caught outside his or her room during restricted hours is automatically disqualified. Is that clear?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” we