centerpiece, one containing five small envelopes and the other containing two hundred envelopes of a comparable size.
After a speech, Ann proceeded with the raffle by first introducing the five club members who were either donating their services or that of an employee as prizes. Holly was among them. She would be donating her own skills for the Decorating Consultant for a Week prize.
Next, Ann called for a volunteer to step up and draw two envelopes, one from either bowl. A jovial bald-headed man responded. He first read out the name of the winner, a woman who was present. After the excitement had died down, he revealed her prize in his booming voice, “Nanny for a Week!”
The raffle proceeded with three more volunteers assisting. In order, lucky ticket buyers won Fashion Consultant for a Week, Personal Fitness Trainer for a Week and Girl Friday for a Week. Finally, only one prize envelope remained to be awarded to the winner of Decorating Consultant for a Week.
Holly smiled at her own reaction. Her nerves had tightened with the suspense. Who would win her?
The last volunteer, a matron in pearls who happened to be one of Holly’s wealthier clients, stepped up beside Ann. Holly had sold Gwendolyn Myers her fund-raiser ticket. Gwendolyn dipped a manicured hand into the bowl still filled with envelopes, fished around at length to prolong the drama and eventually plucked out one. Careful of her nails, she opened the envelope and showed the card inside it to Ann, who blinked and cast Holly a surprised look that said, You won’t believe this.
“Shall I read the name?” asked Gwendolyn, getting into her role as though she were an emcee on an awards program.
“Please do,” said Ann, whose expression was amused.
Somebody, read the blasted name, thought Holly, her curiosity thoroughly aroused.
Gwendolyn cleared her throat and intoned, “The final lucky winner of the evening is…Graham Knight.”
Holly’s mouth fell open.
“Is he present tonight?” Gwendolyn was inquiring.
“No, I don’t believe Graham was able to come,” Ann spoke up smoothly. She moved things along and concluded the raffle with another speech while Holly was adjusting to this unexpected development.
“Holly, will you notify Graham Knight? Or would you like for me to?”
“I’ll do it,” Holly replied without hesitation. She and Ann were on their way to their cars and had paused in the parking lot. “I won’t mind having a legitimate excuse to pay him a visit at his office. You probably guessed that from our earlier conversation when his name came up.”
“True,” Ann admitted laughingly. “What a coincidence for him to win you!”
“How well do you know Graham, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Fairly well. Our connection, of course, is Bob.” Bob was Ann’s husband, a prominent builder on the North Shore. “We’ve had Graham over to dinner at our house quite a few times over the past five years. Bob considers him an excellent architect and is always glad to land a project designed by Graham.”
“When he came to dinner, did he bring a date?” Holly was blatantly fishing for information.
“On a couple of occasions he brought a very striking woman he was obviously quite infatuated with. As a matter of fact, she had coloring very similar to yours. Golden-blond hair and blue eyes. And I believe she was an interior decorator, too. Her name has slipped my mind. We’re talking at least four years ago.”
“Hmm, I wonder if she’s still around. I haven’t run into any other decorators who look like me.”
“The relationship apparently didn’t last. Maybe she moved away. It’s my impression that Graham hasn’t been that involved with anyone since. When I quiz him, he always denies having a special woman in his life. He’s such a nice solid guy. I’ve no doubt he’s good husband material.”
“I’m not looking for a husband,” Holly volunteered frankly. “But I enjoy male company, and he’s awfully likable and cute.”
Ann lightly slapped her forehead. “A brain cell just kicked in! Heather. That was Graham’s woman friend’s name. Heather. Holly. Same first initial,” she remarked.
Holly wasn’t acquainted with anyone named Heather.
The two women bade one another good-night. On the way home Holly mulled over the background on Graham’s past love life that Ann had divulged. Maybe he was still carrying a torch for this old girlfriend Heather who bore some outward resemblance to Holly. Maybe he was reminded of Heather everytime he ran into Holly and experienced nostalgia or pain.
It would explain why he kept his distance from Holly when he plainly was drawn to her.
One way or another, Holly intended to solve the mystery. Darn, she wished tomorrow were a weekday instead of Saturday. She guessed she would have to wait until Monday to drop in on Graham at his office and make her announcement. “You lucky man, you won me!”
By then he might have heard through the grapevine. Holly liked the idea of breaking the news personally. It was rather late in the evening for someone—including her—to phone him tonight. She was probably safe. What the heck, Holly thought, I’ll call him tomorrow morning at home and ask him to meet me for coffee.
Graham’s home number was conveniently listed in the phone directory.
Holly waited until nine-thirty to call, figuring that was a decent time to bother him on a Saturday. If she waited too late, she increased her chances of not catching him at home before he went out to run errands or whatever.
He picked up on the second ring and said hello in a tone that was almost a shout. Holly could hear some kind of loud background noise. A TV playing?
“Hi, Graham. This is Holly Beaumont. I have some news I’d like to tell you in person. How about meeting me for coffee at the Breakfast Joint?”
“I wish,” he said with an emotion that seemed to be bitterness.
Were those the voices of children shrieking and wailing?
“Graham, what’s all that racket?”
“What? I can’t hear you, Holly.”
“I said what’s all that racket?” she shouted. “Can’t you turn the TV lower?”
“Hold on. I’ll have to do it manually.”
“Don’t you have a remote?”
“God knows where it is, or whether it’s still functioning. Hold on,” he said again.
About ten seconds later some of the noise subsided, but not the shrieking and wailing. That noise obviously wasn’t coming from the TV.
“Okay. That’s a little better,” he said. “Look, Holly, I’m sorry, but I’m tied up here. Justin, don’t hit your sister. Jennifer, stop kicking Justin.” His pleas, obviously not intended for her ears, held desperation.
“Whose children are those?” Holly asked, having deduced
