"I didn't wear the right shoes for this," Murrow complained.
"Don't be such a baby, baby," she replied. "This is an adventure. And you know how hot I am after a good adventure."
With that for encouragement, Murrow stopped complaining and even took the lead, creeping through the shadows just outside the reach of the light thrown from the hotel windows, until they were opposite the large bay window of the Algonquin Room. They could see clearly the people in the room, all except one who was sitting with his back to the window, engaged in conversation with Louis.
A moment later, they both stood stunned, their mouths hanging open in disbelief, when the man Louis had been talking to stood and approached the window. He peered out into the dark, obviously saw nothing of interest, and closed the drapes.
"You see who I saw?" Stupenagel whispered.
"Corporation Counsel Sam Lindahl!"
"In the flesh. Come on, we need to figure out a plan."
"A plan?" Murrow said, trotting after her on his tiptoes, trying unsuccessfully to keep more snow out of his loafers. "A plan for what? Ariadne? Hey, wait up!"
They hurried to their room, where Stupenagel began to dress in more appropriate clothes for traipsing about in the woods on a winter night. As he followed suit, she told him more about the anonymous call. "Somebody wanted me to see these folks together and look into local real estate dealings. The clerk told us that Ewen has a house over in Bolton Landing. The Landings sounds pretty upscale to me, especially for a union boss. Something's going on here and it ain't a fishing trip. I'm going to follow Ewen and Carney and see for myself."
"I'm coming with you," Murrow said.
Stupenagel patted his cheek. "I don't want to tell you what to do, but if this group splits up, I'm going to need you to stay with whoever remains at the hotel."
"You going to take the car?"
"No, the hotel has a twenty-four-hour taxi over to Bolton Landing. I'll leave the car with you in case you need to ride to my rescue." She slipped into her parka and turned to look at Murrow. She laughed. He was dressed entirely in plaid from his waist up-a black-and-green plaid deerstalker complete with earflaps, a plaid scarf, a plaid shirt, and over it, a plaid coat. He rustled when he walked, due to the bulky ski pants he'd pulled on-the only piece of apparel that wasn't plaid as, looking down, she saw that he was even wearing plaid wool socks.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing; you look prepared for a meeting of the wild Scots tribes from the Highlands," she said. "I didn't buy all that for you, did I?"
"No," he grinned. "I ordered it from the Land's End catalog. Cool, huh?"
"Cool," she said, making a note to herself to burn it all when he wasn't looking.
A half hour later, they were sitting in their rental car in the hotel lot when Lindahl, Ewen, and Carney emerged from the hotel and walked briskly to a car, got in, and left. Stupenagel kissed Murrow, then jumped out and trotted to a taxi she'd asked to wait for her "until our friends get done yakking inside."
Murrow walked back inside the hotel as if he'd been out for an evening stroll. He continued to the back of the hotel and exited, making his way to the spot where he could see inside the Algonquin Room. The drapes were pulled apart again and he could see that Louis, Radinskaya, and Zulu were still there, engaged in conversation with a lot of smiles and laughter. Unsure of what else to do, he stationed himself in the woods, jumping when some bird suddenly screeched as it flew above him. Probably an owl, he thought. Then there was a loud crackling in the bushes off to his right. Raccoon, he guessed. Bears would be hibernating this time of year…I think.
The crackling noise got louder. Murrow decided he'd seen enough and could go in now. He made for the door, sure that he was being followed by a man-eater who'd awakened from his nap in a grumpy mood. He sighed with relief when he got inside the door and looked out. He couldn't see anything but felt sure he was being watched by a pair of beady, ravenous eyes.
Actually, the eyes were large and brown. Having hoped for a handout, which hotel guests sometimes gave in the form of crackers and carrots, the doe gave her tail a disappointed flick and disappeared back into the trees.
Murrow arrived in the lobby and nearly panicked. The three targets were standing near the elevators talking. He pulled his hat down until he could barely see out from under the bill. They hardly gave him a second glance as he wandered off to the pub. He peeked out a minute later in time to see them get in the elevator and the door shut.
Flipping open his cell phone, Murrow was suddenly aware that he was sweating profusely beneath all those layers of plaid, which included plaid long underwear that Ariadne had not seen. He hit the preset number for her cell.
"Hi, Honey Buns," Stupenagel answered.
"Hi, Big Mama," he replied in his best secret agent voice. "The chickens have gone to bed. I repeat, the chickens have gone to bed."
"Oooh, you sound so clandestine and sexy," Stupenagel purred. "If I was there I might be tempted to forget this whole thing and let you have your way with me."
"I'll take the rain check, sweetheart," he said, using his best Humphrey Bogart voice. "This is kind of fun." He was feeling quite bold and dashing. "Where are you, doll? I want to come pick you up."
"That'll work, Agent Murrow," she replied. "Here, I'm going to let you talk to Jimy Murphy. He's my handsome young taxi driver; he'll give you directions."
"What? How cute?" Murrow asked, trotting out the front door to the car. "Agent Murrow? Where in the hell did that come from?"
"Just listen to Jimy for now, Agent Murrow, I'll explain the scenario when I see you," she said. "These lines are not secure. I repeat, these lines are not secure."
After leaving Murrow, Stupenagel had jumped in the waiting taxi and shouted, "Follow that car."
The teenage driver-whose taxi driver photograph hanging from the rearview mirror identified him as James D. Murphy-turned around and said, "Really? I've always wanted to have someone say that. 'Course, this won't be too hard as everybody around these parts knows Mr. Ewen. Heck, his nephew works as a mechanic down at the taxi barn. They're probably going to his house in The Landings."
"Well, then, James," Stupenagel said, "this will be easy. Just hang back a little."
"Jimy, just call me Jimy…with only one m…I used to use two m's but I wanted to do something different."
"Well, then," Stupenagel said, "pleased to meet you Jimy with one m; it's good to be different."
They drove in silence over the bridge and had almost reached Bolton Landing when Jimy cleared his throat. "Uh, I was just thinkin'," he said. "You're not a private detective or something, maybe working for his wife in New York City? I don't want to get him in trouble. He sometimes calls me for a ride, and he's a good tipper."
Uh-oh, Stupenagel thought, kid's worried about losing his date money. Interesting about "Mrs. Ewen in New York City." The hotel clerk seemed to think that Mrs. Ewen lived at The Landings. She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Okay, Jimy, I'm going to have to trust you here. But actually, I'm working undercover to protect Mr. Ewen. As you know, he's an important man, the head of the police union, right?"
"Yeah," he said cautiously.
"Well, then, you can understand that he's the sort of high-profile target terrorists are looking for, right?"
Jimy nodded and swallowed hard, his jutting Adam's apple bobbing rapidly.
"So you know about his wife?" she asked.
He started to turn around to answer but she stopped him.
"Don't turn around; better that you can't identify me if the enemies of this country try to connect you to me. Now I need you to answer me truthfully, so that I know you're on the up-and-up. What do you know about his wife here in Bolton Landing?"
"Well, not much…but everybody knows that Inge isn't the real Mrs. Ewen," he said, then got a sly smile on his face. "Not unless his kids-he's got two sons who come up here to fish sometimes-are older than their mother."