Chapter 4

            Eight weeks later . . .

It was the night of the Tampa Hospital’s Auction. The media attention promoting the event was astronomical. Once the news of the auction hit the local newspapers and magazines, her neighbors on Sunset Boulevard came by Layla’s house and called her to see what they could donate. They also complimented her on taking the initiative to help the hospital raise money for the oncology department. Layla and Damien had been interviewed by a local TV station. A photographer and reporter from an o****e society blog site had also come by their house to interview them and take pictures.

            Items that were donated for the auction attracted collectors and antiquers from up and down the East Coast. One of the donors was a ninety-eight-year-old woman from Palm Beach who was filthy rich. She also had stage-four cancer. She didn’t have long to live, and she didn’t have any family members to leave her fortune to. Because of the auction’s high-profile publicity, she had decided to donate five million dollars to the hospital’s oncology department and some of her antiques to the auction. One of the pieces was a picture of Elizabeth Taylor with her autograph at the bottom. She also donated a necklace that the famous actress had owned. The stage-four cancer patient had obtained the necklace from a Christie’s auction. She got the autographed photo from Ms. Taylor herself when vacationing in the south of France. She was married to Richard Burton at the time.

            Layla was able to host the event at the Tampa Palms Country Club. She and Damien were members, but she had only been there once. Damien would only go if one of the other doctors at the hospital or at the medical building where his private office was located invited him to lunch or to play golf.

            Social hour started ten minutes ago. Layla and Damien made the rounds. At least forty percent of the attendees were from out of town. Almost everyone from Sunset Boulevard was there along with the crème de la crème of Tampa.

            Carlton and Amanda Quinn approached them. They lived on Sunset Boulevard.

            “Damien, Layla, smashing event,” Carlton said with a big smile.

            “Yes, I believe this will be the nicest charity event we’ve had here in a long time,” Amanda stated.

            “Thank you, Amanda. All the credit goes to my illustrious wife,” Damien replied with pride.

             Layla beamed. “Oh, honey, you’re giving me too much credit,” she said bashfully. She was glad that social hour was going well, but they had to get through the auction and the dinner afterward. Even though the caterer that she hired had an excellent reputation, she was still nervous about how everything would go. All she could do was not show her anxiety and keep smiling.

              “I’m sure you deserve every bit of praise, Layla. I was hoping that we could set up a play date next week. Our son is a year younger than your daughter, but I’m sure they’ll get along,” Amanda said.

              Layla’s eyebrows arched with surprise. This was the first time that anyone in the neighborhood extended an invitation to set up a play date. The only time Keisha got to play with other kids is when Layla took her to the park at the end of the cul-de-sac or to the park in the city. “Oh, yes, of course. That sounds great.”

             “Wonderful,” Amanda said as he pulled her cell phone out of her purse. “Let’s exchange numbers.”

              Layla took out her cell phone, and the ladies exchanged digits.

              “Darling, let’s get a refill. Damien, let’s get together for a game of golf next week,” Carlton said.

              “That sounds fine,” Damien replied.

              They said their goodbyes to the couple.

              Layla looked at Damien. “Wow,” she whispered.

              “Yeah, I know. I think your plan has worked. With that being said, I better start brushing up on my golf game.”

               They both chuckled.

****

            Alec Peterson walked down the stairs to enter the room. Everyone was dressed to the nines. His partner and best friend, Bruce Styles, was already working through the crowd. They thought they would cover more ground by splitting up despite the fact that they were doing an unofficial investigation.

            Four years had passed since he saw her last. He had thought she was dead. That he had failed her. Bruce had thought it was a coincidence that Layla Miles, up and coming socialite, was the long-lost Lana Murphy when Alec had shown him the article on the Tampa Bay Society website. The conversation they had two weeks ago played in Alec’s mind as he maneuvered around the crowd.

            “Everyone has a double out there, Alec. There’s no way it is her,” Bruce said.

            “It has to be her. A man doesn’t forget a woman like Lana Murphy,” Alex countered.

            “Yes, she’s gorgeous, but it can’t be her.”

            “A grown woman doesn’t disappear into thin air.”

            “Well, she did. I’m sorry, Alec. I know you cared for her, but deep down, you know that she is probably at the bottom of the Hudson.”

            “I just need to be sure.”

            “Our supervisor isn’t going to approve an investigation on a hunch and a woman who looks like a dead witness.”

Alec stared at the family photo that was attached to the o****e article. “It’s okay. I’ll go it alone if I have to. I’m just going to go to the event to make sure it isn’t her.”

            “All right, but I’m not letting you go alone. We’re partners, and you might need a friend there with you.”

            Alec walked to the bar and ordered a rum and Coke. He was thankful that the drinks were free for social hour. There was no way he could afford a drink in this place. Once he got his beverage, he surveyed the room. Some of the items up for auction were in display cases. He was handed a program that listed the items. He almost choked on his salvia when he saw the minimum bids for some of the pieces.

            He could see the top of Bruce’s dark-haired head moving through the crowd toward him. It was hard for him to squeeze through tight spaces because of his bulky frame. “Hey,” he said as he approached Alec. He was holding a glass filled with clear liquid.  It was more than likely gin, Bruce’s drink of choice.

            “Did you see her?” Alec asked.

            Bruce cleared his throat. He had known Bruce since undergrad. Alec knew when Bruce had something important to tell him that might shake things up. “Okay, first you have to promise me that you won’t go off half-cocked in this place.”

            “Why?”

            “Just promise,” he repeated in a slightly demanding tone.

            “Okay, Dad,” Alec enunciated sarcastically. “I promise. Now, what is it?”

            “I think you’re right. Layla Miles could really be Lana.”

            “What?” he said loudly.

            A few people turned to look at him.

            “Keep your voice down. Where do you think we are? The twelfth street bar? You promised not to get upset.”

            “No, I promised not to go off half-cocked. Now, tell me what you found out.”

            “Well, I spotted her with the man in the picture, her husband, Damien. She’s a little older and her face is a bit fuller, but I think it’s her. To be certain, I walked over to the waiter they were getting a glass of champagne from. I introduced myself and said I wanted to meet the couple who organized the auction.”

             “What did she say? How did she react to seeing you again?”

             “Well, that’s the weird part. It was like she had no idea who I was. I could see it in her eyes. She shook my hand like she was truly meeting me for the first time. That’s what made me doubt it was really her. Then she spoke. She sounds the same,” Bruce explained.

              “She had to be pretending for her husband’s sake. We need to talk to her alone. Show me where you last saw her.”

               They walked through the crowd, trying to blend in and act like they attended these types of functions all the time.

               Alec stopped in his tracks. There she was, in a sky-blue gown that hugged her body. He’d recognize her anywhere. Bruce was right. She was curvier now than she was four years ago. Her light skin glowed and her dark, urban hair was in a French twist. She was talking to a man that looked like he worked for the country club. Alec quickly scanned their surroundings. He spotted her husband a few feet away chatting with a group of men. “This is our chance. Let’s approach her.”

              Before they could move, the last person Alec wanted to see near her walked up to her.

               “Oh shit,” Bruce said.

                Alec was stunned. How the hell did he find out she was in Tampa? And so quickly? He took a step, but before he could move any closer, Bruce put his hand on his shoulder.

               “Wait. We can’t make a scene, and we can’t take a chance on him seeing you,” Bruce said. “Turn around.”

               “What if–?”

               “He’s not crazy enough to cause a scene here or try to kidnap her at the moment. There are too many people who will notice that she’s missing,” he reasoned.

                Alec turned around to hide his face.

             “Good. I’ll keep watch. Just act natural, like we are having a leisurely conversation.”

            “I know what to do, Bruce. I’m not a newb at this,” Alec sneered in a whispered tone.