Jack laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I think Melody would be a lovely name for a boat.’
The city couldn’t burn an actual two-masted sailing ship, of course, especially not an antique one, so they’d duded up a barge with poles and second-hand sails, decked it with flags and banners, and moored it in the middle of Annapolis harbor just off the Naval Academy sea wall.
As the rowboat neared the Peggy Stewart, the crowd on shore began waving and shouting. My preparations for a sunny day out had included a fringed parasol, so I held it aloft and shouted ‘Huzzah,’ along with everyone else.
When the rowboat pulled alongside, ‘Stewart’ and the ‘Williams brothers’ tossed their torches into the replica. There was a flare-up as the accelerant ignited. The crowd went wild. Higher and higher rose the flames, licking at the ropes, gobbling up the sails. You’d have thought it was Army-Navy game day in Annapolis the way the crowd roared.
The rowboat returned to the dock and the trio of arsonists climbed out. Jack Donovan sauntered over to greet them, shaking their hands, clapping them on the back in a job-well-done sort of way. Then the four men wandered off together, presumably to lift a pint at Middleton’s, pursued by one of the auxiliary LynxE cameramen.
As the flames consuming the Peggy Stewart replica began to die down, the crowd gradually lost interest and began to wander. I’d thought I’d lost track of Amy and Alex, and then I spotted Amy, standing with French next to a fellow in a makeshift colonial costume who was trying to chat her up, but Amy appeared to be staring at the burning ship, pretending not to listen. I decided to bail her out, so I gathered up Melody and Gabe, ducked out from under the canopy and traipsed over to join them. By the time I got there, however, the pesky individual had moved on.
For our day out, Founding Father had issued us vouchers, redeemable for treats at the Market House and other local business. I reached into my pocket and pulled out three of mine, facsimiles of Maryland colonial currency in two-dollar denominations. I handed them to French. ‘Why don’t you take Melody and Gabe over to Storm Brothers and buy them some ice cream?’
‘Where’s Alex?’ I asked Amy after they had gone.
‘He’s off with Michael, buying a beer. They’re supposed to be fetching me the eighteenth-century version of a Sprite, but it’s been a while, so I think they must have meant beers, plural.’
‘Alex certainly looked handsome today,’ I commented as we watched one of the charred masts snap and topple into the water.
‘Hubba hubba,’ Amy said. ‘Don’t you think it’s totally unfair how guys are born with the gorgeous fringed eyelashes?’
‘Totally.’
‘There you are!’ said a familiar voice behind us. Michael, carrying a can of Sprite in one hand and a bottle of Sam Adams lager in the other. ‘Sorry, Hannah,’ he said, handing the Sprite to Amy. ‘I should have asked if you wanted anything. Sip of my beer?’ He tipped the bottle my way.
I screwed up my face. ‘No, thank you. Stomach still delicate.’
Amy popped the top on her soda after fumbling a bit because of her gloves. She took a grateful sip, then said, ‘Where’s Alex got to?’
Michael shrugged. ‘He got waylaid by a guy who wanted to talk about Patriot House. I think he was angling for an introduction to you.’ He nudged Amy’s arm.
Amy tossed her head and made an elaborate show of rolling her eyes. ‘Sure he wasn’t a reporter?’ she asked.
‘Gosh,’ Michael said. ‘I bet you’re right. Alex better mind his Ps and Qs.’
Watching rivulets of condensation drip down Michael’s beer bottle made me desperately thirsty. ‘Take care of Amy, will you? I’m going to get something to drink. Non-alcoholic,’ I added.
I flipped open my parasol, held it over my head and began weaving through the crowd in the direction of Starbucks. As I passed Aromi d’Italia, I thought I caught sight of Alex’s distinctive blue suit over by the harbor master’s office. As Michael had said, Alex appeared to be talking to someone. I made a left turn and headed in their direction, but just as I got within hailing distance, his companion wandered away. ‘Alex!’ I called, waving my parasol to attract his attention.
‘Hannah?’ Alex glanced quickly over his shoulder, then back at me.
‘Who were you talking to?’ I asked.
‘Some tourist from Raleigh, up for the day.’
‘Ah. Michael was worried that he might be a reporter.’
Alex flushed. ‘Shit, Hannah. I know better than that. I’m not itching to get canned. Besides, I need the money.’
‘Amy’s been wondering where you got to.’ I smiled, looped my arm through his. ‘Shall we?’
Alex covered my hand where it rested on his arm. ‘I’m very fond of Amy,’ he confided. ‘As you are no doubt aware.’
‘A person would have to be blind not to notice,’ I teased. ‘No wife or girlfriend at home, I suppose?’
‘Do I seem like a rogue to you, Mrs Ives?’
‘Not at all, Mr Mueller.’
We’d reached the boardwalk when Alex said, ‘I had a fiancé until six months ago. She dumped me for a motivational speaker from Des Moines. Seems there’s more money in the touchy-feely biz than in music.’
‘Motivation, schmotivation.’ I squeezed his arm. ‘I’d rather listen to you play the violin any day.’ I looked up, smiled. ‘How long have you been studying?’
‘Since I was five. Mom bought me one of those teeny-tiny violins and took me to a woman who taught the Suzuki method.’ He laughed at the memory. ‘Suzuki believed that children who hear fine music from the day of their birth and learn to play it, develop discipline, endurance, and sensitivity, as well as a beautiful heart.’
That certainly described Alex, I thought, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
‘And the dancing?’
He shrugged. ‘Just a hobby.’
As we neared the place where I’d last seen Michael and Amy, I was suddenly distracted by a handsome chap wearing a dark green suit with gold buttons. His khaki breeches fit his slender frame to perfection. He’d topped off his ensemble with a powdered wig and a tricorn hat, and as we approached him along the boardwalk, he removed his hat and bowed deeply.
‘Paul!’ I grinned up at Alex. ‘Sorry, Mr Mueller, but I know this gentleman.’
Alex released my arm, doffed his hat and bowed deeply. ‘Later, alligator.’
My heart raced as I closed the distance between me and my husband. Paul gathered me in, crushing me and hundreds of yards of fine silk fabric to his own equally well-costumed chest. I flipped the parasol so it shielded us from Chad’s Steadicam and planted a kiss on my husband’s lips. He returned it hungrily.
‘Watch it, bub, or I’ll roger you right here,’ I whispered, my lips close to his ear.
‘Is that a promise?’ he murmured into my hair. ‘I’ve been worried about you, Hannah. Jud told me you’d been ill.’
‘He shouldn’t have worried you, Paul. I’m fine. Really. A touch of the flu. No big deal.’
‘Thank God.’ He kissed me again, then said, ‘I got your message.’
‘Both of them?’ I knew about the bottle-mail, but wasn’t sure about the email.
‘Both. You should take up calligraphy. That note was a work of art.’
‘For a beginner,’ I said, leaning back so I could look him in the eyes. ‘Amy’s back now, thank goodness. Problem solved.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘So she’s no longer in any danger?’
‘She and her husband talked it out. I think she’s safe, at least until Drew figures out that she’s not going to go along with his plan. But that won’t happen, if it happens at all, until Amy leaves Patriot House. Till then?’ I shrugged. ‘What could be safer than a house full of people where cameras are rolling practically twenty-four seven?’ I looped my arm through his, and urged him along the sidewalk back toward the water: Mr and Mrs Colonial Annapolis on an afternoon stroll.
‘What about the fugitive, Drew Whats-his-name?’
‘Don’t you think you should turn him in?’
‘I’ve never laid eyes on him, Paul. He’s like a phantom. But then, that’s what SEALs are trained to be. Shadows. Besides, who would believe me? I have no proof. The only proof would be the man himself, or his body, and Drew Cornell is making himself scarce.’
‘Amy?’
‘Maybe, although I think she figures Drew is entitled to the money after the hell he’s been through.’
The sun beat down hotly on my bonnet. I shifted the parasol to better shade my face, then reached for my fan. ‘Is it hot, or is it just me?’
A look of concern crossed his face. ‘Is it too soon for you to be out? We don’t need any relapses here.’
I smiled up at him. ‘I was on my way to Starbucks when I was – how shall I say? – interrupted.’
‘How about some water?’ Paul reached inside his coat and came out holding a bottle of Deer Park spring water. He twisted off the cap and handed the bottle to me.
I took an unladylike swig. ‘Ooooh, that tastes good,’ I said, dabbing at my lips with the back of my gloved hand. With the parasol and the fan, the bottle would require three hands, so I gave it back to him. ‘Where did you get that fabulous costume, Paul?’
‘I borrowed it from the Masqueraders’ costume room,’ he said. ‘School for Scandal opens in a couple of weeks. I think this outfit properly belongs to Sir Benjamin Backbite, but it fit, and the director is a colleague of mine, so there you have it.’
‘Is some midshipman running around the stage in his skivvies?’
Paul laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it back in plenty of time for the dress rehearsal.’
As the flames of the burning vessel died down, the wind fanned the embers, sending sparks spiraling up into the sky. Spectators began to drift away, to the bars, to the restaurants and to the souvenir vendors that were waiting to separate them from their money.
‘Walk me home, will you, Paul?’ I suddenly felt drained, weary. Maybe I had ventured out a little too soon.
‘Do we need to get permission from Founding Father first?’ he asked, taking my arm.
I shook my head. ‘We’ve been surprisingly free to wander today, although they have beefed up their film crew.’ I pointed my parasol at Chad. ‘Exhibit A, or maybe B. Maybe he’ll get tired of following us. Find other fish to fry.’
A few minutes later we did, in fact, lose Chad. I had steered Paul purposefully toward the canopy where I’d last seen Karen and Dex. There, in the space the VIPs had vacated, we found Gabe and Dex kneeling on the ground, playing a game of marbles. Irresistibly cute and quintessentially mediagenic. One look at the kids and Chad was a goner.
Paul escorted me up Prince George Street where we stopped at the Paca House gate. A security guard dressed in the red and white uniform of the Maryland Militia was guarding the door. ‘Your house, I believe, madam. Mine is just up the street.’ He bent down and kissed me on the forehead. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Of course I am, Paul. It was only the flu. I just need a little rest. Probably tried to overdo it.’ I touched his cheek.
‘Will you email me again?’
I whipped off my hat and shook out my curls. ‘Can’t. Amy’s iPhone went AWOL.’
‘Ah, that explains why you didn’t answer. But I did leave you a message in the bottle.’
‘You did? When?’
‘Just before climbing into this get-up and going downtown to meet you.’
‘What did it say?’
‘Aside from arranging to communicate with you through the proprietors of Maryland Table at the Market House, not much. Just a little something of my own. I call it “Heart Foam.” I shall not publish it,’ he said, quoting from a favorite Gilbert and Sullivan operetta, Patience.
‘I set everything up with Maryland Table just like you asked in your note,’ Paul continued. ‘Kyle was happy to cooperate.’ He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a tiny blue notebook decorated with white stars. Strapped to it with a rubber band was a ballpoint pen about three inches long. He pressed them into my hand. ‘Here, make it easy on yourself.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, tucking the notebook into my pocket. ‘And you can do another something for me in the not-so-according-to-my-contract department.’
‘What would that be?’
‘Go to CVS or Walgreens and buy some lipstick, eyeliner and blush. As small as they come. Then go to the travel section where they’ve got those sample-sized bottles of shampoo? Get a couple of those. Oh, and deodorant. And toothpaste …’
Paul held up a hand, palm out. ‘Whoa. I’m going to have to take notes.’
I grinned. ‘It doesn’t really matter. Wrap them up in brown paper and string, and leave them with Kyle at the market.’
‘Got it, but what for?’
‘If I need to get a message to you, and I can’t get to the market, I’ll send Melody. It’s just a little incentive for the wee lassie. Am I brilliant, or what?’
He stroked my cheek with the back of his index finger. ‘I miss you, Hannah Ives.’
‘And I miss you, too.’
‘Aside from the flu, are you having fun yet?’
‘I think so. But I’ll be glad when it’s over, and I can sit on the sofa with you and watch the whole thing from the other side of the camera.’
He kissed me sweetly on the mouth, then said, ‘It’s a date.’
With one eye on the guard, I asked, ‘Do you want to come in for a minute?’
‘Tempting, but I’ve got a department head meeting in thirty minutes. I could attend in all my sartorial splendor, but I think I’d better shower and change.’
‘Shower? Hot water, too? My God, you do know how to torture a gal.’ I planted a kiss on his cheek, then turned and scampered up the stairs. When I reached the front door, I wheeled about and waved.
Paul swooped off his hat, placed it against his chest and bowed deeply. I laughed out loud. It was all too Georgette Heyer for words.
NINETEEN
‘I don’t have a problem with having servants. If they weren’t serving us, they wouldn’t have a job.’
Jack Donovan, Patriot
The servants had been given the day off, so except for the security guard there appeared to be nobody in the house but me.
In full view of the SelectoZoomMini mounted on the back wall, I made a leisurely show of dropping my hat, kicking off my shoes, and peeling off my stockings, leaving them in an untidy heap on the floor. Then I wandered into the garden in my bare feet.
The stones were hot, so I took to the lawn, descending the terraces one by one until I reached the pond. Extending my arms like a tightrope walker, I teetered playfully along the bricks that lined the canal that carried water from a natural spring into the pond, one foot ahead of the other, gripping the stones with my toes.
The bee hives were buzzing in the late afternoon sun, so I gave the industrious insects wide berth, skirting behind the spring house until I reached the wall. As Paul had promised, the bottle was wedged into the same vertical slit where I’d left it for him several days earlier. I eased it out, then leaned against the bricks, enjoying their warmth against my back as I tried to determine the best way to get at my husband’s message.
The cork came out easily, but extracting the note was quite another matter. I stuck my index finger into the neck, but only succeeded in spinning the note around. I’d need a tool, I decided, and if that failed, I could always break the bottle. I slipped the bottle into my pocket where it could make friends with the notebook Paul had given me, and headed back to the house.
As I passed the spring house again, I pulled up short. Something (or someone) had disturbed the grassy plot just in front of the door. Fed by the same natural spring used by the bathhouse and the pond, the spring house, set about four feet into the ground and lined with brick,
remained cool throughout the year. It was where we kept our milk and butter. Had someone been pilfering?
And then I saw the hat. A black tricorn with a blue cockade.
I took a deep breath, wrenched open the door and peered inside.
Lying in a puddle of milk on the bricks below, wearing the same suit I had seen him wearing at the burning of the Peggy Stewart, was Alex Mueller. Nearby lay a crock of milk, a fist-sized chunk broken out of its side. ‘Alex!’ I scrambled down and knelt beside him. I touched his cheek, hoping for a sign of warmth, but it was cool, clammy. Then I felt his neck for a pulse.
Nothing moved under my fingers.
Alex’s beautiful eyes stared blindly at the wall, the lashes hanging over them like awnings. There was a nasty gash on his temple. ‘Oh, Alex, what the hell were you doing out here? Did you fall?’
I remembered the muddy grass, the torn up bits of sod and thought: Drew Cornell. He’d been watching the house. He’d been inside the house. He knew what room everyone slept in. Had he discovered the relationship between Amy and Alex the same way I had? Had he killed Alex in a jealous rage? Struck him on the head with a blunt object and pushed him into the spring house, leaving him to die, cold and alone?
Fueled by rage, I hoisted myself out of the spring house and sprinted through the boxwood. I raced up the long walk, taking the stairs as I came to them two at a time. When I reached the porch, I paused to catch my breath. I needed to dial 9-1-1, but to do that, I’d need a telephone.
‘Help! Help!’ I screamed as I ran into the house.
Where was everyone? Where was the security guard, for that matter? Using both hands, I pulled the front door open, looked right and left, but the guard had inexplicably disappeared.
I closed the door, fell back against it and tried to think.
To one side of the entrance was a red fire alarm box, and at that moment it seemed to be shouting, ‘Hey! Look at me! Look at me!’ I reached out, took firm hold of the handle and pulled down.
Covering my ears against the wail of the claxon, I retreated to the front steps where I nearly ran into the security guard, rushing into the house, in the act of zipping his fly.
The Last Refuge Page 17
