“Ha,” he said bleakly.
“I’m sure the detectives will be consummate professionals,” I said, throwing all attempts at humor overboard, “and I know that everyone will understand and be eager to do whatever they can to help.You’ve spent years building solid relationships with your clients, Bill. They think you’re wonderful.”
“One of them doesn’t,” Bill muttered gloomily.
At which point I carried Damian’s cell phone back into the nursery and turned it over to the twins, in hopes that a father-sons chat would lift Bill’s spirits. Thankfully, Will and Rob became so involved in describing their complex battle with the squid that they forgot to mention the Bad Man.
The battery should have been dead by the time the boys gave the phone back to me, but the medicine had worked. When I returned to the foyer to continue our conversation, Bill sounded more cheerful than he had in days.
“You haven’t told me about Peter yet,” he said. “Did you find out why he’s on Erinskil?”
I gave him the highlights of Peter’s story, carefully editing out the colorful history of the Slaughter Stone and Cassie’s preposterous allegations regarding illegal drugs. Tales involving smugglers and human sacrifice, I decided, would only put a damper on Bill’s newly happy mood.
“Poor old Peter,” Bill said, when I’d finished. “Hunted like a rat for being decent. He and his friend chose a good place to go to ground, at any rate. Erinskil sounds fantastic.”
“It’s amazingly beautiful,” I said. “We’ll come back here for a family vacation when . . . when Chief Superintendent Yarborough’s detectives finally knock on the right door.”
“When Abaddon’s caught and put away.” A note of gloom reentered Bill’s voice, but he shook it off. “Yes.We will go to Erinskil as a family, and we’ll hike the coastal path and tour the tweed mill and fight squids together on Percy’s battlements. I can’t wait. I really can’t wait.” He promised to call again the next day and then went back to the seemingly hopeless chore of finding the hidden psychopath in his roster of staid and eminently civilized clients.
Mrs. Gammidge called a short time later to announce the arrival of our guests. Damian asked her to send them up and went with me to meet them at the elevator. Although their wardrobes were probably even more limited than Damian’s, Peter and Cassie had done what they could to spruce themselves up. They’d exchanged their bird-watchers’ costumes for freshly laundered jeans and crewneck sweaters and swapped their grubby hiking boots for fairly clean sneakers. Peter’s dark hair was neatly combed, and Cassie had bundled hers into a sophisticated chignon.
They also came bearing gifts: a pair of adorable stuffed animals—seal pups—for the twins.
“We sell them to raise funds for the trust,” Peter explained. “Cassie and I always have a few in our packs.”
“The boys will love them,” I said.
“I’m sorry we’re so late,” Cassie added. “Mrs. Muggoch wanted to hear about each and every bird we’d spotted.”
“Kittiwakes and fulmars,” I chanted. “I’m pretty sure I saw a pigeon, too, but I don’t suppose it would interest Mrs. Muggoch. And don’t worry about being late. I’m letting the boys stay up past their bedtime anyway, in honor of your visit.”
Rob and Will nearly came unglued when they saw Peter. He was one of their great heroes, a man they knew who’d not only paddled down the Amazon but explored the smoking craters of active volcanoes. They accepted their baby seals with unconcealed delight, introduced Peter to their little knights, and gave him an exhaustive tour of the nursery before pulling him into an armchair and perching on its arms while he regaled them with seal stories. It took them a long time to notice Cassie.
“Is Cassie your girlfriend?” Rob asked, out of the blue.
“She’s a chum,” replied Peter, blushing.
Will wasn’t buying it. He studied Cassie for a moment before saying matter-of-factly, “You and Peter could get married at the castle if you like. Sir Percy won’t mind.”
“Thank you,Will,” said Cassie, flushing crimson. “But Peter hasn’t asked me to marry him.”
“You should,” said Rob, focusing his relentless gaze on Peter’s beet-red face. “Cassie likes you.”
Dinner’s timely arrival spared my friends further torture at the hands of my insightful sons, and we distracted them afterward with games, but they returned to the subject after they’d had their baths, when Peter was helping me to settle them—and their seal pups—in their beds.
“When you and Cassie have babies,” said Will, as though he’d given the subject serious consideration, “you can leave them at Anscombe Manor with me and Rob.”
“We’ll teach them how to ride,” said Rob, yawning.
Will nestled his head sleepily into his pillow. “When they get bigger, we’ll let them ride our ponies.”