“It’s true. I saw you and wondered if it was you. Then you disappeared, and I was distracted.”
Probably by Brandon, Phoebe thought. “You can’t tell anyone I was there last night. I’d just die if anyone knew, and sneaking in like that just makes it worse. I wasn’t myself.” Phoebe looked at the pink roses trailing up her white-painted trellis. This is my life. She got her breathing and heartbeat under control and turned back to her sister. “There is one thing you could do for me. I’d like to get a message to the man I danced with. I wonder if Dylan might know him.”
Maggie frowned. “What kind of message, Phoebe?”
“As I was leaving, I overheard another man talking on the phone about him. Not by name but by his description…” She paused, removing a folded piece of paper from her dress pocket. “After I got home last night, I typed up everything the man said.” Except, she thought, what he’d said about finding out who her swashbuckler’s dance partner was. She didn’t want any reason for anyone—Dylan, Olivia, her sister—to worry about her. She thrust the note at Maggie. “I was going to give it to Dylan when he got back from Boston, but I chickened out.”
“Because you don’t want him to know you were there last night,” Maggie said with some sympathy.
Phoebe nodded. “I didn’t tell Olivia, either. I got so carried away dancing. If I’d just slipped in, had a few hors d’oeuvres, checked out the costumes and left, that’d be one thing. But I didn’t.”
“You had a good time, Phoebe. You didn’t make a spectacle of yourself, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
It was exactly what she was thinking. “I just don’t want to have to explain. It was a moment, and it’s over.” She smiled. “I’m back home where I belong.”
“Right. I understand, Phoebe.” Maggie held up the folded paper, a spark in her eyes now. “What’s in the note? Anything juicy?”
“I only heard one end of the conversation so I don’t have the context for what was said. It struck me as provocative. Like this guy had an ax to grind with my swashbuckler. He’d already disappeared on me, so I just got out of there. Then I thought about it and realized I probably should have found him and told him what I overheard. I hadn’t wanted to chase him down if he didn’t want…you know.”
“You mean you didn’t want to go find him if he’d ditched you,” her sister said.
Phoebe felt her cheeks flame. “That’s what I mean, yes.”
Maggie sighed. “I can’t say I blame you.”
“When I got home I decided I should write everything down.”
“Was there an implied or direct threat in what you overheard? Were you afraid? We can always talk to Eric.”
Eric Sloan was Brandon’s eldest brother, a town police officer. “I’d have grabbed a security guard if I’d felt threatened. It wasn’t anything that overt. Really, for all I know my swashbuckler was stepping out on his wife last night and she sicced this guy on him.” Phoebe gave a small, thin laugh. “That’d be right up my alley, wouldn’t it? Not that I’ll ever see him again.”
“Phoebe—”
She held up a hand, stopping her sister. “No, don’t. Don’t tell me anything you know, anything you suspect. I want to forget last night. I’ve assuaged my conscience by writing the note and giving it to you to give to Dylan. Let him think someone tucked it in your dress and you only just found it.”
“You mean I lie to him instead of you lying to him?” Maggie grinned suddenly, tucking the note in her pocket. “I’m proud of you, Phoebe. I didn’t think you had it in you to be a little devious.”
“I just don’t want this to become a thing. You can read the note. If you think I’m overreacting and it’s not worth giving to Dylan, just toss it out your window.”
“And risk having some big gossip in town find it? No way. Did you include a description of this man you overheard?”
“I did, yes.”
“You’re a regular James Bond.”
Phoebe was relieved to see Maggie more animated, even if it was at her own expense. “Whatever is going on, it has nothing to do with me. I was just a curiosity.”
“Because of that killer dress, not to mention a couple of dips you took while dancing—”
“Maggie, please. Don’t.”
Her sister tilted her head back, studying Phoebe in the late-afternoon light. “This swashbuckler of yours really got to you, didn’t he?”
“We had a moment and now it’s over, as well it should be. It wasn’t real. For me, or for him.”
Maggie nodded. “Okay. If you say so. Meet you at Mom’s in a bit?”
“Sure. Maggie, last night—”