I watched them wistfully, wishing I had Bill’s hand to hold, then averted my gaze and looked stoically into the fire.
When Nell returned, and her father’s cup had been filled, she resumed her place on the ottoman with Bertie. Derek drank his tea in one long draft, looked longingly at the emptied cup, and set it aside. “All right,” he said, “I’m ready. Fire away.”
He listened without interrupting while the three of us recounted what had happened. When we’d finished, he looked from me to Emma to Nell, then back to me. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” he said. “For reasons unknown, your father-in-law has set out to see a long-lost and possibly nefarious cousin, with Aunt Dimity and, er, Reginald in hot pursuit.” He clucked his tongue. “Can’t leave the three of you alone for a minute, can I.... What do you plan to do next?”
“Lori’s driving down to Haslemere,” said Emma, looking pointedly at her husband.
“Is she?” Derek said.
“Yes, she is,” I replied. “As soon as I’ve made sure that Gerald’s at home.” Without waiting for further discussion, I dialed Gerald’s number and listened in disappointment while a recorded message informed me that, due to a fault on the line, the call could not be completed. Sighing, I let the receiver fall into its cradle, then jumped—as did the others—when the telephone rang under my hand.
I snatched it up. “Hello?” I said eagerly.
“Hello back at you, Lori-my-love.”
“Bill!” I exclaimed, astonished. It was nearly noon in Finch, but dawn had barely cracked back in Boston. “Oh, Bill, I’m so glad to hear your—”
“Listen, Lori, I don’t have much time,” Bill interrupted, sounding breathless and preoccupied. “There’s been a change of venue. Reeves Biddiford has decided to move the meeting up to the family lodge on Little Moose Lake, and he’s sending a car around to take me to the airport. We’re flying up early so we can get in some fishing before we begin our discussions.”
“Fishing?” I said.
“Fishing?” Derek echoed in the background.
“Reeves thinks it’ll soothe his savage relatives,” Bill explained. “If he’s right, we may be on the verge of a major breakthrough, Lori. If I handle it properly, I may be able to wrap the whole mess up by next week.”
“But, Bill—”
“Sorry, love, the car’s here and I’ve got to run. Tell Father I said hello. I love you. I’ll call. Bye for now.” And before I could get in so much as an “I love you, too,” my husband had hung up.
I set the phone down gently and turned to my attentive audience. “That was Bill,” I announced unnecessarily. “He’s gone fishing.”
“Fishing?” repeated Derek. “Bill?”
My husband was notoriously sedentary. He wore thick, black-framed glasses, carried an extra twenty pounds around his middle, and had the prison pallor and slouched shoulders of a dedicated desk-jockey. The Harrises knew as well as I did that the last time Bill had gone fishing he’d tripped over his own waders and fallen headlong into an icy Scottish trout stream.
“He’ll be in a boat this time,” I explained lamely, “on a lake up in Maine. It has something to do with the negotiations he’s working on.” It suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea how to get in touch with Bill at Little Moose Lake. “Wonderful,” I groaned, my shoulders slumping. “Now I’ve lost my father-in-law and my husband.”
“And Reginald,” Nell reminded me.
“Hush,” said her father, coming to stand by my side.
“Now, Lori,” Emma soothed, “you haven’t lost them. You’ve merely misplaced them. Temporarily. I’m sure that Bill’s secretary will be able to tell you how to get in touch with him.”
“And I have some suggestions about finding William,” Derek added. I looked up at him hopefully. “First off, we’ll ring the local constabulary in Haslemere and ask them to keep a lookout for the Mercedes. They might even be willing to stop William and get a message through to him.”
“That’s a fine idea,” said Emma. “And if you still need to go down to Haslemere, I’ll drive you.”
“A capital plan,” Derek agreed, “except for one thing. I’ll drive Lori to Haslemere.” He wagged a grubby index finger at his wife. “No, my dear, can’t have you deserting the dahlias in August.”
“But you have to fix the church roof,” Emma countered.