The burnt orange sunrise

CHAPTER 4

Des could feel the rear end of her cruiser shimmy on the curves as she made the climb up the long private drive to the castle. Black ice had formed on the pavement. Plus some windblown frozen rain was starting to come down, tapping against her windshield like BBs. She’d even heard rumbles of thunder. Just to play it safe, she’d checked in with the Westbrook Barracks on her two-way radio, but the National Weather Service was issuing no new watches or warnings for tonight. Their forecast called for flurries, diminishing winds and overnight lows in the teens. Nothing, in other words.

So why does it feel like something?

She parked near Mitch’s old truck. Grabbed her shoulder bag, got out and headed over the moat on the drawbridge, burrowed deep inside of her hooded coat, the frozen rain pelting her, the bare winter trees groaning and creaking against the wind.

She was just about to ring the bell when the castle’s massive front door swung open and there stood her doughboy in the warm glow of the lights, wearing a big happy smile on his round face. He looked like an eight-year-old boy who’d just gotten a new bicycle for Christmas. Make that Chanukah.

“You must be this new resident trooper I’ve been hearing so much about,” he said solemnly as he ushered her in. “Desiree Mitry, right?”

“That’s correct, sir.” She raised her chin at him sternly. “And you are…?”

“Berger. Mitchell Berger. I’m in vinyl siding. You need any durable, low-cost protection for your home, I’m your man.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, Trooper Mitry, but nobody told me you were a total hottie. Would you slap my face if I tried to kiss you?”

“Sweetness, you’d better do a whole lot more than that before this night is over,” she murmured, brushing his lips with hers. “It is getting nasty out there.”

He immediately put her in his big teddy-bear hug, making her feel more adored and cherished than she’d ever thought possible.

So why does he want to break up with me?

Des had been to Astrid’s Castle before. Les and Norma often hosted meetings of the Chamber of Commerce, of which Les was currently president. Still, she could never quite get her mind around how immense it was. And she had never been here at night, when the chandeliers were all lit. It was positively grand. Someone was even playing show tunes on the piano in the Sunset Lounge.

Les and Norma came to greet her. Les wore a welcoming smile on his face. Norma looked positively worn ragged. “Glad you could make it, Des,” he said. “How are the roads?”

“Getting a little slick, actually.”

“Sorry to hear that. If you have any qualms about driving home, we’ve got dozens of warm empty beds you can choose from.”

“So good of you to join us, dear,” Norma said with a bleary-eyed smile. “May I help you off with your coat?”

Before Des could respond, a tremendously self-important windbag started throwing himself a fit at the top of the staircase. “She is not in our room!” he shouted, clomping down the stairs toward them. He was a pear-shaped windbag possessing an exceedingly large head. “She is not in the morning room! She is not in the kitchen. She is not anywhere else!”

Des glanced over at Mitch. “And this is…?”

“Norma’s son, the great Aaron Ackerman.”

“Refresh my memory. What’s he great at?”

“Not to worry, he’ll let you know.”

“She must be found!” Aaron Ackerman roared. “I demand that she be found!”

Now an imperious old white-haired lady appeared in the dining room doorway. “Aaron, stop this appalling display at once,” she hollered at him. “You’re behaving like an overwrought little thumbsucker.”

“That would be Ada,” Mitch whispered to her.

“Good evening, Ada.” Des reached a hand out to the old woman. “I’m Des.”

“Of course you are.” Ada’s grip was firm and dry. “This is a genuine honor, Des. I’ve been so very anxious to meet you.”

“You have? Why is that?”

“Hel-lo, can I get some attention here?” Aaron cried out. “I can’t find Carly!”

“It’s a big place, Aaron,” Les pointed out mildly.

“And Carly’s a big girl,” Norma said. “If she wants to be found, she’ll be found.”

“But what if she’s thrown herself off of the tower? What if she’s lying dead out there in the snow at this very minute?”

“Do you have any reason to believe this is what’s happened?” Des asked him.

“And who are you?” he huffed, arching an eyebrow at her.

“I’m the resident state trooper, Mr. Ackerman.”

“Well, good. Maybe you can do something about this. Carly is missing, and absolutely no one gives a damn.”

“And Carly is…?

“My wife, of course. I demand that you find her.”

The pianist had stopped playing. Des could hear footsteps starting toward them across the hardwood floor.

“Mr. Ackerman, I think you need to calm down,” she advised Aaron, unsure whether she was dealing with a genuine situation or a genuine nut. Possibly she was dealing with both.

“It’s true, Aaron, this gorgeous lady doesn’t even have her coat off yet,” the piano player said as he breezed in from the Sunset Lounge. He was an older man, tall and elegantly dressed. “And a very nice coat it is,” he observed, fingering her sleeve expertly.

“Des, this is Aaron’s Uncle Teddy,” Mitch said. “Teddy’s in the clothing business during daylight hours.”

“Glad to meet you, Des.” Teddy turned to his nephew and said, “What is all of this?”

“Yes, darling, why such a fuss?” Norma asked Aaron. “Has something happened between you two?”

“What’s happened,” Aaron answered, clenching and unclenching his fists, “is that she’s missing and needs to be found.”

“What are you driving these days, Mr. Ackerman?”

“A Mercedes wagon. Why is that of the slightest significance?”

“Silver, with Washington plates?”

“It is. I repeat, why?”

“Because it’s still parked out there in the lot-meaning she hasn’t left the premises. Les, do you keep the unoccupied guest rooms locked?”

“Yes, we do,” he replied, nodding.

“Meaning she’s either in one of the common rooms or she’s outside. Mr. Ackerman, did you notice if her coat was missing from your room?”

“I-I don’t remember.”

“Then let’s go have a look, shall we?” Des started for the stairs.

A lushly built redhead appeared in the dining room doorway, clad in a staff outfit of black vest and slacks. “Les, I can have Jase look around outside, if you’d like,” she said.

“That might be a good idea,” he said to her.

“Trooper, shouldn’t you be calling someone else?” Aaron asked Des rather pointedly as he led her up the grand curving staircase.

“Such as who?”

“Such as someone who deals with this sort of thing on a regular basis.”

“Mr. Ackerman, let’s assume I know how to do my job and we’ll get along just fine, okay?” she said politely. “Only, I can’t help you unless you help me.”

“Absolutely. Tell me how.”

“By explaining to me why you are so freaked out.”

They’d reached the second-floor landing. Aaron hesitated there. “Well, okay,” he allowed, lowering his voice. “But this has to be in the strictest confidence. I can’t allow some media outlet to get a hold of it.”

“They won’t.”

“I have your word on that?”

“Spit it out, Mr. Ackerman.”

“Carly overdosed on Prozac a few weeks ago when we were at our farm in Virginia. I had to rush her to the emergency room. She almost died. Now do you see?”

“Yes, I see.”

“I thought you might,” he blustered, starting down the second-floor hall.

The corridor was softly lit and quaintly old-fashioned. The doors were of polished oak. The carpet had a floral pattern, the wallpaper a water-fowl motif. Vintage photographs of yesteryear’s celebrities lined the walls. At the end of the hallway there was an outside door, the top half of it glass.

“Where does that go?” she asked Aaron, motioning to it.

“Up to the tower.”

“Did you look for her there?”

“Well, no,” he had to admit.

Too busy huffing and puffing, Des thought as she made straight for it, digging her gloves out of her coat pocket. There were twenty-four rooms on the second floor, twelve on each side of the hall. Halfway down the hall there was a housekeeper’s closet. Also a fireproof steel door that led to the staff stairway. Next to that was an elevator for transporting wheelchair-bound guests and freight. When Des reached the end of the hall, she pushed open the outer door, or tried. She could feel the wind fighting her. She fought back and ventured out onto a snow-packed, floodlit observation deck. Wind gusts buffeted her and ice pellets smacked her in the face. The deck was surrounded by a three-foot-high stone parapet topped by an iron safety railing. A narrow iron staircase led up to the third floor, and from there on up to the castle’s trademark tower, which was lit up bright enough for the drivers way down on 1-95 to see. Des felt certain that on a balmy summer evening this would be a breezy, terrific place to be. Right now it was intensely uninviting.

The great Aaron Ackerman remained behind in the warm, dry hallway.

Des could make out several sets of footprints in the deep snow just outside the door. Someone had been out here since early that afternoon, when the snow had tapered off.

“CARLY?” she Called out. “ARE YOU OUT HERE, CARLY?”

She heard nothing in response, just the howling wind.

There were more shoe prints on the iron stairs up to the tower. It was hard to tell how many sets since these prints had turned to partial slush in the weak afternoon sun and then iced back over. The handrail was coated with a shimmering layer of ice. She clutched it tightly as she started climbing, her boots slipping and sliding under her.

“CARLY?”

There was no outside door leading into the dimly lit third-floor corridor. Just a window, which was locked. She continued on, making her way up the final exposed flight of stairs to the tower, her shoulders hunched against the wind gusts.

“CARLY?”

The cement floor of the enclosed tower was damp but free of ice and snow. There were narrow vertical slits in the tower walls for people to peek through. Hundreds of these people had carved their initials in the mortar between the stones. Quite a few had left cigarette butts behind.

But there was no sign of Carly.

Aaron was waiting down there in the doorway for her with an anxious expression on his face. She gave him a thumbs-down sign as she shook the ice pellets from her coat. Then she followed him to room five, the third door from the center staircase. That door was not locked. It was a lovely room with a fireplace, ornate wooden molding, a big oak bedstead. It was also a mess. Dirty clothing was strewn all over the floor, up to and including underwear and stockings. Newspapers, books and magazines were heaped on the nightstands and dresser and desk. The bathroom was no tidier.

Carly’s black leather II Bisonte handbag lay on the bed. So did her full-length mink.

“Did Carly bring another coat with her besides this one?”

“No, she did not,” Aaron replied.

Meaning that she wasn’t out taking a stroll. Not that any sane person would in this weather. “Which of you is the smoker?” she asked, noticing the butts in the fireplace.

“Carly is,” he sniffed. “Dreadful habit. It reeks of human weakness.”

“Okay, it’s time for the real deal, Mr. Ackerman,” Des told him, standing there in the middle of the room with her arms crossed. “Did you two have a fight tonight?”

“Perhaps a small misunderstanding,” he admitted, clearing his throat. “She seems to have gotten it into her head that I’m being unfaithful to her.”

“And are you?”

“What business is that of yours?”

“Mr. Ackerman, you’ve made it my business. I came here this evening to enjoy a pleasant meal. Instead, you’ve got me traipsing all over the place. Now you can tell me what’s going on or you can go look for Carly yourself. The choice is yours.”

“Point taken,” he acknowledged, running a hand over his neatly trimmed black hair. “I love my wife. I would never do anything to hurt her. And that’s the absolute truth.”

The classic non-denial denial. Des had heard it from every cheating husband she’d ever met, including her own. “I see,” she responded. “Let’s head back down with the others, shall we?”

They were gathered in the taproom. All of them looked up at Des with tense anticipation when she and Aaron strode in.

“Any luck?” asked Les.

“Not one bit,” Aaron replied, his voice cracking with strain.

“Let’s try to relax, okay?” Des suggested, shrugging out of her coat. “There’s no cause for alarm at this point.”

“Jase is still looking around outside for her,” the curvy redhead told Des as she took her coat from her.

“And Jase is…?”

“My brother. Oh, I’m so sorry, we haven’t met. I’m Jory,” she said, smiling at Des just a bit too brightly. Jory had an artificially ingratiating manner, the kind that men never saw through and women always did.

“Glad to know you, Jory.”

There were two others in there whom Des didn’t know yet. He was a squeaky-clean young corporate type. She was a lanky, jittery thing all tricked out in a beret and retro tweeds.

Mitch introduced them to her as Spence Sibley and Hannah Lane. “Spence is with the studio,” he explained. “And Hannah’s with Ada.”

“She is?” Ada frowned at this, confused. “Since when?”

“Des, why don’t you warm up in front of the fire?” Les said. “May I pour you something?”

“A glass of red wine would go down pretty nicely.”

“Coming right up,” he said, scooting around behind the bar.

Des felt a tug at her sleeve and discovered that Ada was standing right beside her now. She could have sworn that the old filmmaker was over on the other side of the taproom not one second ago. She moved fast for someone of her years. Fast and quiet. “Perhaps you’d like to powder your nose first,” she said to Des under her breath.

“Something wrong with my nose?”

“I just thought you might wish to freshen up a bit,” Ada persisted quietly, her gaze positively piercing. “The ladies’ lounge is just off the dining room, second door on your right…”

It was lavishly appointed with mirrored makeup tables and plush chairs. Des could hear the sniffling as soon as she walked in. It was coming from the farthest toilet stall. She could see the black stiletto heels under the stall door. “Carly…?”

“What do you want?” a voice mewled in response.

“I want you to come out.”

“No!”

“Will you at least open the door?”

Carly flung it open. She was a slender, pretty little thing in a skimpy black dress. Her blond hair was long and shiny, her eyes puffy and red from crying.

“Now come on out of there,” Des said to her gently. “Let’s have us a talk.”

She came along willingly enough. They sat in two of the little chairs in front of the makeup mirrors, Carly dabbing at her swollen eyes with a tissue. She wore false eyelashes, a ton of eyeliner, mascara. And not one bit of it was any the worse for wear. Forget the Internet-as far as Des was concerned, the most amazing technological breakthrough of the past twenty years was stay-on eye makeup.

“Everyone has been looking for you, Carly. What’s going on?”

“I’m miserable, that’s what,” she snuffled. “And I’m a fool. And I’m… I’m sorry, do I even know you?”

“My name is Des. I’m with Mitch.”

“Of course. You’re the state trooper, are you not?” Carly had finishing school manners and a slight Southern accent. “You don’t look like a trooper. I always picture a dull, beefy boy with a crew cut who adores things like motorcycles and hunting.”

“I hit what I aim at. Aaron is very upset, Carly. He was afraid something had happened to you.”

“Something has happened.” Carly let out a huge, ragged sob. “My marriage has fallen apart. That man, he… he brought his born-again whore here with him!”

“His born-again who?”

“Hannah,” she said angrily, her fists clenched. “Little Miss Christian Virtues. Acky’s been squiring her around D.C. for weeks. Taking her to cocktail parties, to dinners, to bed. My best friend saw them coming out of the Hay-Adams together on Christmas Eve. She wants to make a movie about Ada, you see, and it’s thanks to Aaron that she’s here this weekend. He got her this job because she, because they…” Carly broke off, tossing her long blond hair. “I am not a nut, present evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. I actually saw the two of them kissing out on the observation deck this afternoon.”

Which would explain the footsteps Des had found there in the snow.

“Hannah’s not even pretty, is she? This is not a pretty girl. But she’s young, and that’s all that ever counts with Acky.”

The closer Des studied her, the more she became aware that Carly was not as young as she’d first appeared. Her figure was very good, her hair to die for. But her face had the cushioned, expressionless look that suggested collagen replacement therapy, Botox injections and possibly even surgical work. This woman was well into her forties. Aaron she’d pegged as being in his early thirties.

“It’s the young ones who hang on his every word,” Carly added bitterly. “They laugh at his jokes, puff up his ego for him.”

“Seemed to me he can do plenty of puffing on his own.”

“No, no, that’s just an act. Acky’s self-esteem is actually very low. He needs constant reassurance and mothering. He’s completely helpless. And he can be so sweet and dear.” Carly sniffled, blushing slightly. “I happen to be somewhat older than he is. Thirteen years, if you must know. And I am so terrified of losing him.”

“He mentioned something about you overdosing on pills.”

“I was just trying to get his attention.”

“Have you tried doing anything else?”

Carly frowned at her. Or tried. That stuff she was wearing in her forehead wouldn’t allow for much more than a faint, sub-dermal pulsation. “Such us what?”

“Such as counseling. You two ought to consider it.”

“I don’t recall asking for your advice,” Carly said, climbing up onto her high horse. “In fact, I’m quite certain I didn’t.”

“You’re getting it anyway. You need help. Swallowing pills, disappearing into thin air-this is not mature adult behavior.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” she admitted. “I don’t even know why I love him. Truly, I don’t. What I ought to do is divorce him. Find myself a man who’ll treat me like I deserve to be treated. The dean of students has always had a thing for me. Well, not me, but my legs. They’re still… what I mean is, I’m reasonably good-looking.”

“Shut up, you’re a bombshell.”

“I’m smart, I’m tenured. And if I wanted to descend into total blond bitchdom, I could be plenty rich, too.”

“Descend how?”

“By hiring myself a shark lawyer, the kind who’ll produce photos of Aaron and his whore together. Then I’d get it all. The townhouse in Georgetown. The farm in Virginia. The stocks, bonds, every last penny he’s made from his books.”

“You two didn’t sign a pre-nup?”

“Pre-nups are for cynics,” Carly replied, her blue eyes twinkling at Des devilishly. “I’m a romantic. Maybe the last one left on earth. Mind you, Acky resisted. He even held out for a few weeks. But in the end, he married me on my terms. He wanted me.” Carly admired herself in the mirror, her chin up, her self-confidence returning with a vengeance. “And now the bastard’s got me, for richer or poorer.”

Des took this particular display of spunk ‘n’ sass as her own cue to get up out of her chair and say, “Ready to join the others now?”

“God, no!” Carly flew right back into total panic. “I can’t face them after this. They all think I’m a menopausal hysteric.”

“Are you planning to hide in here all evening?”

“I’ll go up to bed in a little while. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

Des stood there thinking it over. “I may have an idea. Stay put, okay?”

“Believe me, I’m not budging.”

Des stuck her head out the door. She could hear voices coming from the taproom, but the coast was clear. She darted up the castle’s stairs to Aaron and Carly’s room, fetched Carly’s mink and purse from the bed, and started back down with them.

Her gallant, pudgy white knight in rumpled corduroy was planted there at the bottom of the staircase, waiting for her. “What’s going on, Master Sergeant?”

“Just a little aiding and abetting,” she said hurriedly. “It’s a girl thing.”

“Is Carly okay?”

“She’s perfectly fine. Can’t say I care much for her taste in men, though.”

“You’ll get no argument from this reporter. Anything I can do?”

“There is, baby. Go back in the taproom with the others and play dumb.”

“I can definitely do that.”

“Oh, and please don’t say anything about Carly’s shoes.”

“Her shoes? Why would I do that?”

“No reason.” She kissed him on the cheek as she slipped by on her way back to the lounge.

Carly was sitting right where she’d left her. Hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Here, put this on,” Des commanded her, handing over the big fur. “You were outside having a smoke. Act completely surprised by all of the fuss.”

“Actually, I could kill for a cigarette right now.” Carly dug a pack of Marlboros out of her purse and lit one with a gold lighter, dragging on it deeply.

“You see? It’s not even a fib.”

“But no one will buy it,” Carly pointed out. “The weather’s absolutely awful. And only a streetwalker would wear these heels out in the snow. Besides which, look at them-they’re completely dry.”

“Trust me, those folks will buy whatever you sell them. And Aaron will back your play. He wants this to disappear just as much as you do. You can pull this off, Carly. Just breeze on into that taproom with your head held high. Anyone tries to smart-mouth you…”

“I can sink my teeth into them.” Carly smiled, showing Des her teeth. They were nice and white, and looked exceedingly sharp. “It’s something I’m good at.”

“There you go. I’ll stay here a minute before I join you. We were never in here together. Never met. Got it?”

Carly took one more pull on her cigarette before she flicked it into the nearest sink and climbed into her big mink coat. She looked like a million bucks in it and she knew it. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she wondered, narrowing her eyes at Des suspiciously.

“Just doing my job.”

“Patching up my mess of a marriage is your job?”

“I do whatever needs doing in Dorset.”

“Well, I owe you one. And I hate owing anyone anything. You see, I’m really not a nice person.” Carly took a deep breath, steeling herself. Then she said, “Wish me luck,” and darted out of there.

Des sat herself back down in front of the mirror. She hadn’t been there for more than ten seconds when the door flew back open and in came Ada Geiger, a goblet of red wine clutched in her thin-boned, translucent hand.

“I believe you ordered this, my dear,” she said, gliding over toward her with it. The old woman had an uncanny way of moving, almost as if she had a cushion of air under her. Or maybe that tweed jacket she wore over her shoulders doubled as a set of wings.

“Why, thank you,” Des said, taking the glass from her. “You knew Carly was in here this whole time. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it was obvious that she did not wish to be found. I respect that. I respect what another woman needs to do. Besides, my grandson is an ass. He’s cheating on her, isn’t he?”

Des sipped her wine in discreet silence.

“Of course he is,” Ada went on, undeterred. “They’re terribly ill-suited for each other, you know. He’s needy and selfish, and she’s a fading debutante with a post-graduate degree in bullshit. I assume they’re drawn together by their mutual weakness. That is, after all, what passes for love among most couples-unless they happen to be very lucky. Are you lucky, Des?”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”

Ada eased herself slowly down onto the plump little chair next to Des and turned her penetrating, hooded gaze on her. “I wish to have a word with you. It’s rather important.”

“All right.” As Des studied Ada’s face in the mirror, she found herself recalling something her granny had told her once: Everyone gets old, but a rare few grow old. Ada Geiger was one of those- someone who had seen it all, done it all and, most significantly, savored it all. There was no regret in her proud, deeply lined face. No fear. Only wisdom. “What’s it about, Ada?”

“You, my dear. You need to be rescued.”

Des frowned at her. “Rescued from what?”

“I happened to take in the student show at the Dorset Academy yesterday,” she replied. “It invigorates me to see what young artists are doing. Mostly, what I saw them doing was dreck-lifeless, passionless, highly derivative. There was only one artist in the whole exhibit who genuinely moved me. I asked about this artist. I said, ‘Who draws the murder victims?’”

Sitting there, Des could feel her pulse quicken.

“I can’t begin to tell you how excited I was to learn that you would be Mitch’s companion this evening.”

“Well, that’s life in a small town.”

“Spare me your modesty, okay?” Ada shot back. “We are kindred souls, you and I. When I was your age, I did the very same thing you’re doing-except with a camera. Ever hear of an old-time tabloid photographer named Weegee?”

“Are you kidding me? I love his work.”

“I thought so,” Ada said, nodding to herself in satisfaction. “I knew him well.”

Des gaped at her. “God, tell me about him. What was he like?”

“A horrible, unkempt little man. He lived in cheap rooming houses, reeked of body odor and awful cigars. ‘Crime is my oyster,’ he used to say. It became mine, too, Des. I followed him around like a puppy. Drove the streets of New York City with him, night after night, listening in on police calls on his two-way radio, hightailing it to murder scenes. He kept a key to the darkroom at the New York Post, where he’d develop his pictures at two, three o’clock in the morning. Then he’d head right out to peddle them to editors around town. He tried repeatedly to get me to go to bed with him,” Ada remembered fondly. “As if he had a prayer-I was a gorgeous broad in those days. And yet, I was utterly fascinated by the man, Des, because he understood.”

“Understood what?”

“That we are all victims in the end. That’s why his work needs no captions. No critics to ‘explain’ it. It’s all right there in front of you. Because the very best art isn’t ‘art’ at all-it’s reality. That’s what I’ve always tried to accomplish with my own work. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do.”

“Me, too, I think,” Des said gingerly. Unlike the other students at the academy, she was not comfortable talking about her work. It felt very raw and personal to her, and she sure didn’t know what any of it meant.

“Which is precisely why you need to get out of that place,” Ada said to her urgently. “Des, you must stop taking classes at once.”

“But I’m learning so much. Why would I want to stop?”

“Because if you stay they will steal your soul from you. Don’t let them do it. Don’t let them mold you into one of them. That’s what they do, Des. That’s how the competent take their revenge against the truly gifted. It’s their sole satisfaction in life. It’s what they live for. Do you hear me?”

Des fell silent for a moment, floored by the old woman’s ferocious intensity. “I’m sure listening…”

“You’re already beginning to feel a bit restless there, am I right?”

“Now how on earth did you know that?”

“I already told you,” Ada said impatiently. “We’re kindred souls. Listen to your heart, Des. Get out before it’s too late.”

“And do what?”

“Go your own way-wherever that way takes you. But it will be your way, not theirs. I happen to be a cranky old woman. I know this because I was a cranky young woman. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned after all of these years, it is this: If you possess what other people want, and can’t have, then they will try to destroy you.” Ada paused, gazing around at the opulent ladies’ lounge. “It’s just like with this place.”

“Astrid’s Castle? What about it?”

“They will never, ever get it,” she said insistently.

“Who, Ada?” Des asked, wondering if the old lady was totally with it mentally. She seemed sharp enough, full of fire and strongly held views. But she also seemed to be up to her ears in paranoia.

Or was she?

“Promise me you’ll think about this,” Ada said, clutching Des by the wrist now. “Promise me you will never forget this conversation. Will you do that for me?”

“Ada, I will never forget this conversation. Count on it.”

“Thank you. I feel much better.” Satisfied, Ada Geiger released her grip on Des, then got slowly to her feet and glided back out the door.

Des stayed put for a while, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she sipped her wine. It was better this way. She was alone in there and no one else could see just how badly the goblet was trembling in her hand.