Read Online The Color of Death by Elizabeth Lowell - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Lowell
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booze.
Geraldo gave his nephew a hard hug. “We’re proud of you, chico . You’re one shrewd buyer. Since you’ve taken over the estate gems and import end of the business, profits are up forty-seven percent.”
Peyton grinned. He got half of all increased profits in the portions of the business he ran, which meant a nice bonus by the end of the year. About a million dollars, as a matter of fact.
“Thanks,” Peyton said, returning the hug. He stepped back and smiled at the manager, who was still hovering. “I know how busy you are with the Mother’s Day promotions. Don’t waste time with us.”
The woman smiled a bit uncertainly and withdrew.
The two men began walking down a side aisle of the jewelry store. Geraldo glanced down at the “school sweethearts” display—delicate silver or ten-carat gold chains with two paper-thin hearts joined at the point and two tiny faceted stones, one for each heart. All for under twenty-five dollars.
“We sell a buttload of that junk,” Geraldo said.
“Sometimes I think every girl over five owns one or two of them,” Peyton agreed. “The real money is in replacing them,” he added. “Wear one a few times and wear it out. Costs more to repair than it’s worth, so you whine and pine until the parental units buy more jewelry for their precious kids.”
“Cheaper to buy a good one in the first place.”
“If you had the money, sure. They don’t. That’s why they buy cheap first, second, and third.”
“At least we can offer pretty good value in the estate jewelry boutiques,” Geraldo said. “That was a great idea.”
Peyton smiled. The best idea of all had been pulling out the real stones and putting in something less valuable. Zircon for diamond, spinel for ruby, synthetic for real, bad quality for good. No one noticed except the accountants, who approved of the fattened bottom line.
Sometimes he wondered if his mother suspected, or if she really believed her son was a frigging business genius who still couldn’t be trusted to run the family stores without constant oversight. It really pissed him off that he wasn’t allowed to buy a pair of underwear without ten minutes of maternal advice.
Relax, Peyton told himself. Don’t be like your old man and pop a vein in the middle of an argument. Just keep slamming away themoney and in a year—three max—you’ll be toasting your butt in Rio de Janeiro with four underage sweeties to keep you happy.
He took several relaxing breaths and concentrated on his own personal vision of Paradise: young women in his bed and his safe-deposit boxes brimming with the best of the gems that the South American gangs brought to him.
And if the gangs roughed up a few couriers along the way, hey, life was tough all over.
Chapter 13
Scottsdale
Tuesday
8:00 P.M .
Sharon Sizemore shook back her artfully sun-streaked brown hair, adjusted a pair of thin-rimmed, rectangular black reading glasses, and skimmed the room-service menu. Nothing had changed since yesterday. She could have the scampi on fettuccine or she could just cut to the chase and order a cold pasta and shrimp salad.
Because whatever she ordered, it would be cold by the time it got to her room.
“Make mine rare,” Peyton Hall said from the suite’s bathroom.
“Cabernet or zinfandel?” she asked, understanding his unspoken request for filet mignon, rare, with baked potato, double sour cream and chives, extra butter.
“I’ll try the zin this time.” Smiling, dripping water from his shower, Peyton stood in the bathroom door and watched her order their dinner. This was as close as he would get to having a naked secretary, which had been a favorite fantasy since he’d gotten his first executive office. He’d tried it once with a call girl. It just wasn’t the same. “Tell them not to hurry.”
“You do want dinner this month, don’t you?”
“You’re too hard on the staff.”
“Someone has to be,” she muttered. “Once, just once I’d like to
Geraldo gave his nephew a hard hug. “We’re proud of you, chico . You’re one shrewd buyer. Since you’ve taken over the estate gems and import end of the business, profits are up forty-seven percent.”
Peyton grinned. He got half of all increased profits in the portions of the business he ran, which meant a nice bonus by the end of the year. About a million dollars, as a matter of fact.
“Thanks,” Peyton said, returning the hug. He stepped back and smiled at the manager, who was still hovering. “I know how busy you are with the Mother’s Day promotions. Don’t waste time with us.”
The woman smiled a bit uncertainly and withdrew.
The two men began walking down a side aisle of the jewelry store. Geraldo glanced down at the “school sweethearts” display—delicate silver or ten-carat gold chains with two paper-thin hearts joined at the point and two tiny faceted stones, one for each heart. All for under twenty-five dollars.
“We sell a buttload of that junk,” Geraldo said.
“Sometimes I think every girl over five owns one or two of them,” Peyton agreed. “The real money is in replacing them,” he added. “Wear one a few times and wear it out. Costs more to repair than it’s worth, so you whine and pine until the parental units buy more jewelry for their precious kids.”
“Cheaper to buy a good one in the first place.”
“If you had the money, sure. They don’t. That’s why they buy cheap first, second, and third.”
“At least we can offer pretty good value in the estate jewelry boutiques,” Geraldo said. “That was a great idea.”
Peyton smiled. The best idea of all had been pulling out the real stones and putting in something less valuable. Zircon for diamond, spinel for ruby, synthetic for real, bad quality for good. No one noticed except the accountants, who approved of the fattened bottom line.
Sometimes he wondered if his mother suspected, or if she really believed her son was a frigging business genius who still couldn’t be trusted to run the family stores without constant oversight. It really pissed him off that he wasn’t allowed to buy a pair of underwear without ten minutes of maternal advice.
Relax, Peyton told himself. Don’t be like your old man and pop a vein in the middle of an argument. Just keep slamming away themoney and in a year—three max—you’ll be toasting your butt in Rio de Janeiro with four underage sweeties to keep you happy.
He took several relaxing breaths and concentrated on his own personal vision of Paradise: young women in his bed and his safe-deposit boxes brimming with the best of the gems that the South American gangs brought to him.
And if the gangs roughed up a few couriers along the way, hey, life was tough all over.
Chapter 13
Scottsdale
Tuesday
8:00 P.M .
Sharon Sizemore shook back her artfully sun-streaked brown hair, adjusted a pair of thin-rimmed, rectangular black reading glasses, and skimmed the room-service menu. Nothing had changed since yesterday. She could have the scampi on fettuccine or she could just cut to the chase and order a cold pasta and shrimp salad.
Because whatever she ordered, it would be cold by the time it got to her room.
“Make mine rare,” Peyton Hall said from the suite’s bathroom.
“Cabernet or zinfandel?” she asked, understanding his unspoken request for filet mignon, rare, with baked potato, double sour cream and chives, extra butter.
“I’ll try the zin this time.” Smiling, dripping water from his shower, Peyton stood in the bathroom door and watched her order their dinner. This was as close as he would get to having a naked secretary, which had been a favorite fantasy since he’d gotten his first executive office. He’d tried it once with a call girl. It just wasn’t the same. “Tell them not to hurry.”
“You do want dinner this month, don’t you?”
“You’re too hard on the staff.”
“Someone has to be,” she muttered. “Once, just once I’d like to
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