“I’m aware of recent developments,” he said. “They sound promising, but—”
“Stop right there,” I said, warding him off with an outstretched palm. “I’m not letting you rain on my parade. Bill’s not like me, Damian. He doesn’t exaggerate for dramatic effect. If he says something is so, it’s so.”
“But he hasn’t said—”
“I’m not listening,” I broke in. “It’s half past six. Please call Percy and tell him that I will join him and Kate and Elliot in the library for cocktails before dinner.” I clapped my hands and danced into the sitting room, closing the door behind me. When I reached the bedroom, I grabbed the blue journal and flung it open, saying, “Dimity! Great news!”
You’ve had word from Bill, I take it?
“The best of best words,” I said. “Abaddon’s as good as caught!”
I don’t wish to seem pessimistic, my dear, but I must point out that “as good as caught” isn’t nearly good enough.
I frowned. “You’re as depressing as Damian.The detectives have a lead, Dimity. They’re hot on Abaddon’s trail. Bill’s sure they’ll catch him soon.”
Until they have him in custody, Lori, I would urge you to remain vigilant.
“Of course I’ll remain vigilant,” I retorted, “but I’m going to be happy, too, no matter how much cold water you and Damian throw on me. I’ll talk to you later, all right? I have so much to tell you!”
I hope you’ll be able to tell me by then that Abaddon is well and truly caught.
“He will be,” I vowed, and closed the journal.
I quickly changed into a blouse of crimson silk and an elegant, long black skirt and joined Damian, who’d donned his trusty blue blazer. Together we made our way to the library, where we met up with Sir Percy and his assistants.
It was easy to see why Kate and Elliot preferred Dundrillin’s library to the pub in Stoneywell. The oak-paneled room was a softly lit, restful retreat filled with leather-bound books, hung with fine oil portraits of Sir Percy’s ancestors, and warmed by a handsome fireplace of Portland stone. Reading tables and racks of magazines occupied the center of the room, and traditional, masculine leather furniture—a sofa and four armchairs—clustered companionably around the hearth, with polished walnut occasional tables placed conveniently nearby, to receive a discarded book or a Waterford tumbler. An assortment of silver candelabras was also in evidence—insurance, no doubt, against the next power outage.
Kate and Elliot had already claimed the chairs nearest the hearth, so I sat in the corner of the sofa, facing the fire. Damian, who preferred to keep an eye on the door, took the chair next to Kate’s, and Sir Percy took charge of the liquor cabinet, busily dispensing gin-and-tonics that contained far more gin than tonic. He poured a glass of sherry for himself and sat with it at the other end of the sofa. I waited until everyone was seated to announce Bill’s spectacular news.
“Bravo!” boomed Sir Percy, and raised his glass to toast my brilliant husband, the brilliant chief superintendent, and the general brilliance of Scotland Yard. “Knew they’d nab the villain. Couldn’t be happier for you, my dear.”
Kate and Elliot added their congratulations, and Sir Percy proceeded to entertain us with wildly comic speculations about Abaddon’s true identity (“The prime minister’s been looking rather shifty-eyed lately. . . .”). Damian alone took no part in the general merriment. Although he smiled dutifully at Sir Percy’s antics, he maintained an air of sobriety that told the rest of us quite plainly that our giddiness was premature. We paid no attention to him.
“I don’t envy Peter and Cassie their walk to Dundrillin,” Elliot ventured, after Sir Percy had settled down. “It’s a miserably damp, foggy evening.”
“It’ll get worse before it gets better,” Sir Percy said. “I’ve had a peep at the radar. A storm’s brewing to the west. It’ll be here before dawn.” A sunny smile lit his face. “I love a good storm. Thunder, lightning, rollicking surf—you’ll feel the headland quake like a cowardly puppy, Lori.” He sipped his sherry, then added, as an aside to me, “Wouldn’t advise stepping out on your balcony in the thick of it, though.You might find yourself airborne.”
I was about to tell him that I fully intended to enjoy the storm from the safety and comfort of my bed when Damian’s cell phone rang. I held out my hand, hoping against hope for news of Abaddon’s capture, but Damian didn’t pass the phone to me. He kept it pressed to his ear, and I could tell by his taut expression that he didn’t like what he was hearing.
“You’ve confirmed his identification?” he asked. “And the hire agreement? What about the boat? Have you searched it? Good. It’s unfortunate, of course, but there’s not much we can do about it. Keep me informed.” He ended the call and returned the cell phone to the inside breast pocket of his blazer.