I pondered for a moment, then shook my head.
“She doesn’t know who we are or why we’re looking for her,” I said. “If we call her, we might scare her off. Let’s just go to the hotel.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Cameron tapped a few keys and the printer began to hum.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“I’m making a copy of Bree’s most recent school photograph,” he said. “It may come in handy.”
As I watched, Bree’s heart-shaped face appeared on a hitherto blank piece of paper. She was dressed in what appeared to be a school uniform—pin-striped blazer, light blue shirt, dark blue tie. Her lustrous hair was pulled back from her face with a pale blue ribbon, and her beautiful eyes were as solemn as an undertaker’s.
Cameron turned off the computer, collected the copy of Bree’s photo from the printer, and got to his feet.
“Where is the Hokianga?” I asked.
“Up north,” he informed me.
I thanked him silently for not blinding me with geography, then inquired, “How long will it take us to get there? ”
“We can be there by this evening,” he said.
I nodded. “How will we get there? Drive?”
“Leave it to me.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to make some arrangements before we leave. Will you be all right on your own at the Spencer for a few hours? I’ll drop you off now and meet you in the lobby at”—he checked his watch again—“four.”
“I’ll take a taxi back to the hotel,” I said. “I’ve decided to stay here for a while.”
“Suit yourself.” Cameron pulled the brass key from his pocket and handed it to me. “If you don’t mind my asking, why would you want to stay in this godforsaken place when you could be soaking in the hotel spa?”
“I saw a box of trash bags in the kitchen,” I told him. “It’s time someone used them. If Bree decides to come home, I don’t want her to break an ankle, tripping over her father’s empties.”
Cameron’s smile was so sudden and so sweet that it took my breath away.
“You’re a good soul, Lori Shepherd,” he said quietly.
“I’m not,” I countered, blushing. “I’m just channeling Ruth and Louise.”
Nine
Iretrieved the biscuit tin from Cameron’s rental car before he left, and nibbled on cookies while I waged war on the mess in the apartment. Anzac biscuits, it turned out, were raisinless oatmeal cookies with a pleasing hint of honey and a sturdy texture that kept crumbs to a minimum.
Since the Pyms didn’t own a washer or a drier, and since I didn’t know where to find a Laundromat, I couldn’t do a thing about the unwashed clothes strewn around Ed’s bedroom except to confine them to a trash bag, which I placed discretely in his closet. I filled the rest of the bags with fast food wrappers, pizza boxes, beer bottles, and the refrigerator’s moldy contents, hauled them to garbage cans behind the house, then got to work on some serious housekeeping.
By the time my taxi arrived, the Pyms’ apartment was as clean as I could make it. Although I’d had Bree Pym in mind while I’d vacuumed, dusted, and scrubbed, I’d had her great-grandaunts in my heart. I wouldn’t have been able to face Ruth and Louise again if I’d left the place as I’d found it.
Instead of going directly to the Spencer, I asked the cabdriver to drop me off in Takapuna’s shopping district. I had lunch at Aubergine, a charming restaurant the cabbie recommended, and withdrew eight hundred dollars in cash from a handy ATM before setting out to make a few necessary purchases. The friendly owner of The Booklover bookstore supplied me with a New Zealand guidebook, which I intended to memorize, as well as directions to a store called Kathmandu, where I bought a day pack and a modest duffel bag.
I was determined to prove to Cameron that Bree Pym wasn’t the only female who could travel lightly. I’d been in such a hurry to pack for my unexpected journey that I’d tossed clothes into my suitcase willy-nilly. Now I would take the time to pack intelligently.
When I returned to my suite at the Spencer, I tucked Reginald, the cookie tin, and my brand-new guidebook into the day pack’s main compartment and emptied my shoulder bag into its many smaller pockets. I then pared my wardrobe down to seven basic pieces that would see me through a range of temperatures and a variety of social situations. Those pieces fit comfortably in the duffel bag, with room to spare for toiletries, unmentionables, a nightgown, and a pair of black sling-backs that would serve as a dressy alternative to my sneakers. I’d depend on my trusty rain jacket to protect me from New Zealand’s changeable spring weather.