angry red ink. Ned spots my gaze and flips a file folder shut,
covering the papers. He stuffs the stack in his desk drawer,
and I catch a glimpse of the name at the top of the file:
Cooper Enterprises.
“At any rate,” Ned says, trying to act casual. “I suppose I
should be off. Have a few things to finalize for that merger.”
“The merger with Cooper Enterprises,” I say, trying to meet
his eye.
He won’t look at me. “That’s the one, Lonnie.” He stands,
brushing off his suit coat. “You know, I’m having drinks tonight
with Jerome Smith, the big cheese over at Cooper. You ought
to join us. It’ll be a good learning experience for you to see how business works.”
I think of Cassandra anxiously waiting for me on the beach.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to, Ned.”
“Oh nonsense. What plans could you have? You’re not going
down to that beach again, are you?”
Tension snaps me like a whip. “I…”
But Ned seems to have made the comment glibly. He pats me
on the shoulder as he breezes out of the office. “We’ll be in the
library just after supper. I’ll expect you to be there.”
h
“You need to go.” Cassandra is calmly resolute. It’s rather
endearing to see the change that’s come over her since she
decided to fight my fate. She reminds me of a lady detective in
one of the dime novels I used to devour as a kid. No stone can
be left unturned. No clue deemed trivial.
“I want to be with you tonight,” I tell her, brushing my fingers through her soft hair.
“Later,” she says. “This is more important.”
“More important than spending my final week with you?”
“We’ve spent all day together. Besides, you’ll have a lot more
than a week if we take this seriously.” She presses her lips to
mine in a swift but wine-sweet kiss. “You do some digging
tonight. Get me information I can use, and I’ll be here on the
beach, waiting for you.”
I don’t argue. The girl has me completely besotted. I head back
inside to freshen up in my room. Looking in the little, round
mirror on my wall as I comb my hair, I think about her, about
the softness of her skin, fragrant as a rose petal. Like music, the
first lines of a poem drift into my mind. My gaze falls to the
blank sheets of paper on my desk. They’re serving dinner downstairs, but a few lines can’t hurt. I need to get this down.
I’m just scratching off the final lines of the poem when a
knock raps at my door. I sit up with a start. The dim light from
my window betrays a later hour. Who knows how long I’ve
been writing? Ned’s certainly wondering where I am.
“Coming,” I call out as I jump up from my desk and
straighten my tie.
Walking down to the library, I rebuke myself. Ned’s bound
to become suspicious of that beach with me going there so
much. I have to be more careful. The last thing we need is for
him to start paying attention to what I’m up to. And what if
he really investigated those suspicions? It could be a disaster.
At the polished wooden doors to the library, I resolve to be my
usual, chipper self tonight. But when I step into the room, the
sight I’m greeted with throws me for a loop.
I expected Ned and this Jerome Smith character, but the library
is nearly full. At least a dozen men stand scattered about, sipping brandy and smoking Ned’s best Cuban cigars. I don’t know these men. They aren’t Ned’s usual crowd. These aren’t uppercrust Crest Harbor men. They seem to have money. Their sharp, tailored suits proclaim that much. But something about them
makes me think they know their way around the rougher streets.
“There he is!” Ned’s voice booms across the room. “Lonnie,
come on over here.”
I force a polite smile as I head over to him, but my eyes dart from
one face to another. In the corners of the room, I notice four men
who have the unmistakable air of bodyguards. They’re big and