I paused at the Paca House gate. ‘Don’t you have a place to go home to?’ I inquired sweetly.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he drawled, ‘and as soon as I lock this camera up, I’m going there.’
At that time of year, the sun set around seven o’clock, but it wasn’t well and truly dark until seven thirty. I waited in my room until the long case clock chimed the half hour, then threw my dark cloak over my neon-yellow dress. I entered the garden through the kitchen, skirted the flower and holly parterres by way of the green houses, scampered as quickly over the footbridge as possible before melding into the darkness of the wilderness plantings along the back wall.
Paul was waiting for me. Through the vertical slit in the wall, we touched hands. ‘I feel like I’m in the visiting room at the Maryland state penitentiary,’ he said as his fingers met mine.
‘It feels that way to me, too.’
‘I got your message,’ Paul said, cutting to the chase. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I have a job for you, and I think it might be dangerous.’
‘Yes?’
‘At the State House ball? I want you to seduce Amy…’
‘What?’ he sputtered before I even had time to finish the sentence. ‘Are you completely out of your mind?’
I squeezed his hand. ‘Sorry, let me rephrase that. I want it to appear as if you’ve got a thing going with Amy.’
‘And that’s different, how?’
‘She will know you don’t mean it, for one thing. What’s even more important, so will I.’
‘Hannah, I’ve gone along with some of your hare-brained schemes before, but this one really takes the cake. No. My answer is No. N, O. No.
‘Amy and I have talked it over, Paul, and it’s the only way we can think of to draw Drew out of hiding, make him show himself. He’ll be at the ball, we feel certain of that.’
‘And suppose I agree?’
‘I’m going to pretend to be outraged, of course. I’m an old hag, tired and worn out. You’re the elder statesman, virile, devastatingly attractive.’
‘What bullshit. Never mind. What does this Drew person look like?’
‘Longish hair, bleached white. Otherwise, I don’t know. Amy had pictures of him on her iPhone, but they disappeared along with the phone. Her Facebook account was hijacked, so the photos on her wall are inaccessible, too. There may be photographs on the Internet, but I doubt it. Drew was, is a SEAL, after all. People in covert ops don’t generally post their mug shots all over cyberspace. Do you have any buddies who can pull something out of the official records?’
‘I’m not sure I have any buddies who are that good, but I’ll try.’
I rested my forehead against the bricks, still radiating heat from the sun. In spite of their warmth, a sudden chill crept over me. I shivered. ‘I feel like someone’s watching us.’ I kept my voice low. ‘Look over my shoulder, Paul. Do you see anything?’
‘Where?’
‘Anywhere!’ I said impatiently. Cautiously, I turned, straining my ears, listening for the rustle of a bush, the snap of a twig, looking for the sudden flick of a curtain in the window of one of the condos in the building next door.
Paul squeezed my fingers. ‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you, sweetheart.’
Again, I shivered. ‘I know that Drew’s out there somewhere, watching, always watching. It gives me the creeps.’
‘Do you think he’s going to rise up out of the fish pond wearing a ghillie suit?’ In the gathering dark, I couldn’t see my husband’s face, but I could tell from his voice that he was smiling.
‘Did you get my note?’ he asked, steering the conversation away from disgruntled SEALs who may or may not be hiding among the bulrushes, dressed like Sasquatch.
‘What note?’
‘The one I left in the bottle.’
I pressed a hand to my mouth. ‘Oh my gosh! I totally forgot. I’d just picked it up and was heading back to the house when I found Alex…’ I took a deep breath. ‘It’s been sitting in my pocket all this time. I’m so sorry, Paul.’
‘Never mind. It wasn’t all that special anyway.’
‘I’m sure I’ll treasure it,’ I said. ‘Once I have enough light to read it by.’ I leaned closer to the opening in the wall. ‘Guess I better be going in.’
His fingers found mine. ‘I guess. See you at the ball?’
‘At the ball, then.’
‘And Hannah?’
‘What?’
‘I’m bringing back-up.’
I smiled. ‘That’s what I hoped you’d say.’
Back in my bedroom, I lit the candle on my bedside table, then fished the little bottle out of my pocket. Using the tweezers that Amy had managed to scrounge up for me, I teased Paul’s note out of the narrow mouth, dropped the note onto the table, then smoothed it out and read, not the silly poem I expected but this:
Can’t wait to see you at the ball, Mrs Ives. Something tells me you’ll be needing a date. It wasn’t Paul’s handwriting.
That night, I crept out to the summer house, let myself in, and gave the diary cam a piece of my mind.
Jud! Listen up. This is important. Amy’s husband isn’t dead. You hear me? Drew Cornell is alive, he wants Amy all to himself, and he’s not going to let anything stand in his way. I’m convinced he murdered Alex Mueller. Did you get that? He murdered Alex! Now he’s sent me a note saying he’s planning to crash the ball. It’s a long story, but I’m worried that he’s going to harm my husband. You’ve got to get your security team on Drew right away. If anything happens to my husband, I swear to God, money or no money, I’m going to walk. Got it?
TWENTY-THREE
‘I’ve got this recipe for battalia pie, and it calls for… hold on a minute while I find the page… sheep’s tongues and shivered palates, two pair of lamb’s stones, twenty to thirty cockscombs, with savory balls and oysters. Lay on butter, it says, and close the pie with a lear. Jesus, where’s Wikipedia when I need it?’
Karen Gibbs, cook
Dressing for the ball would have been exciting in any case, but in anticipation of what might happen if Drew made his promised appearance kept my nerves – and Amy’s – on edge.
I wanted to get a message out to Paul, but leaving it in the bottle was out – Drew would be on the lookout for that – and with preparations for the ball occupying all our time, I had no opportunity (or good excuse!) to sneak out to the Market House.
‘Relax, Hannah,’ Amy said as she handed me my petticoat. ‘Jud’s security people will take care of everything. Nothing bad is going to happen to Paul.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ I said, stepping into the garment and tying it securely around my waist.
‘Of course I’m right. In a few hours you’ll be dancing the night away, your husband on your arm.’
I was still fretting when Melody entered the room, but for the young teen’s benefit, Amy and I pretended everything was normal. Amy helped us both dress and we, in turn, assisted her. After I’d donned my gown and all its associated paraphernalia, only one thing remained – my wig. It had been professionally dressed for the occasion with ribbons and papier-mâché birds. ‘It looks like the birds have nested in my wig,’ I giggled as I settled it on my head, tucked stray strands of my own hair in with my fingers.
‘Cool beans, Mrs Ives. Mine just has flowers,’ Melody complained as she sidled up close to me so we could both share the mirror.
‘As befits a maiden,’ I said, adjusting one of my birds, a canary, that seemed to be perched on one leg. ‘It’s birds in my belfry, at least, and not bats, although my husband might beg to differ.’