Chapter Nineteen #2
“No.” The voice on the other line suddenly sounded distant.
“His father was the only one who would loan him money at the time, and that was running out too. He must have had another source of income. Some windfall, like an inheritance or something. As long as it’s coming in, it’s not my business.
But he paid it upfront and never had an issue since.
Even gave me some extra, for the trouble.
” Mr. Turning paused. “But I doubt that’s the kind of story your readers want to hear. ”
“I see. Perhaps you’re right. We might need to take a slightly different angle, then,” Cora said.
“Thank you for your time.” She hung up the telephone with a twinge in her gut.
She might not be able to trust Jack, or possibly even her own judgment.
But the facts, for now, were lining up with Jack’s version of the story.
Could someone have truly bribed Truman to frame the wrong people? To shift the spotlight and tell the story they wanted him to tell? Whoever paid him off had found him at just the right moment—when he was at his most desperate.
Cora tucked the photographs into her waistband, wondering if some things were beyond mercy.
She’d always thought she was much more like her father anyway.
Upturned lip, quick to mete out justice or hold a grudge.
Sometimes Cora had wanted nothing more than to see her mother be human.
She would feel that itch and would egg her mother on relentlessly, not letting up until she finally snapped.
Breaking through that almost impenetrable fortress left Cora feeling a sense of disappointment combined with a sweet, sticky satisfaction.
A reassurance that she wasn’t quite out of Cora’s reach, yet.
So mercy was a land her mother lived on alone, more of an island than Pelican itself.
And Cora could only wonder what her mother would think if she saw her now.
Jack had spent the day trying to keep a low profile.
He followed the buzz of the party that was forming down the hill.
Waiters were serving hors d’oeuvres of speared caprese and chilled watermelon soup on silver trays.
Lanterns bobbed from lines strewn overhead, creating a canopy.
Jack wove through topiary bushes carved into the shapes of wild animals and took a glass of champagne.
Cora was nowhere to be seen. He looked beyond the starlets, who were playing a competitive game of horseshoes in sheer silver gowns that looked spun from gossamer.
He drank a sip of sparkling lemonade, letting the bubbles hit the back of his throat and burn a little on the way down.
He hadn’t seen Cora all day. Surely she had made it back to her room last night, after he had distracted the guard?
He watched the birds in the aviary and glanced over his shoulder.
Albert was there, dressed in a white linen suit, looking slightly disheveled.
He caught Jack’s eye and stared daggers at him.
Jack ignored him and turned away. He knew he was under surveillance.
Though Dallas Winston was subtle, Jack was intimately familiar with the feeling of being watched.
Jack exhaled. He was paying the cost of his decisions last night. He eyed the birds, the yellow finches, bluebirds, and doves. Watching for Cora. Knowing he had to be exceedingly careful tonight.
He took another sip of lemonade and approached Beau.
“Beaumont,” he said warmly. He stuck out his hand. “Everett Conner. We haven’t been formally introduced.”
“Everett. The card player,” Beau said, shaking his hand heartily. He grinned.
“And aspiring cowboy,” Jack said, grinning back. “I saw you in the Western on that Arabian stallion. Where did you learn to ride like that?”
“Growing up in Missouri,” Beau said. “My grandfather owned a farm in a little town called Buffalo. What about you?”
“I spent my childhood in a modest little family home exactly like this one,” Jack said airily, gesturing toward the Castle.
Beau laughed.
“Would you be game for a ride tomorrow?” Jack asked. “I’d like to see more of the land. I know Truman’s up to his ears in work right now, but Clem had mentioned earlier in the week that she could possibly give us a tour.”
Beau glanced at Clem, who was dripping in silver from head to toe. She felt his eyes on her and turned.
“Certainly,” Beau said. He smiled at her.
And though she couldn’t possibly hear what they were saying, she smiled back.
Daisy was the one who came to Jack, appearing at his elbow. “Go into the maze,” she said pleasantly, “and find the back wall.” She took his empty glass and handed him a full one. “Ella will be waiting on the other side of the hedge.”
“Cheers,” he said under his breath.
She adjusted the grip on her tray and moved on to serve Governor Gilham.
Behind Jack was a yew labyrinth twenty paces away with tall, manicured hedges—significantly larger and more impressive than the boxwood maze near the main house—and it provided the perfect place to get away from Dallas Winston’s prying eyes.
Jack waited a few more moments, watching a rainbow lorikeet in the aviary clean its wings.
Then he turned toward the maze and wandered in.
He made his way through the walls of green. The setting sun striated the sky with stripes of pink and blue clouds as he made a wrong turn into a dead end, then corrected himself. Eventually he found the back wall of hedge.
“I seem to have gotten lost,” he said aloud. He glanced behind himself, but no one seemed to have followed him.
“Perhaps I’ll send a waiter in after you,” he heard Cora say, “so you don’t starve in there.
” He moved toward the sound of her voice.
She stood on the outside of the hedge, so that no one could glimpse them together as they talked.
The hedges were thick and well pruned, but he could catch a glimpse of an eye, her full lips, through a small gap.
“I’ve invited two guests to join me on a horseback ride tomorrow,” he reported.
Her lips parted.
“Were you all right last night?” she asked quietly. “Did you get into trouble?”
He sighed. “I’m not rooming with Albert down the hill yet,” he said. “So there’s that mercy.” He kept a trained eye on the corner of the maze, waiting for someone to come around at any moment. “And yet—I think Dallas Winston is watching me closely.”
“Listen. There’s a hidden entrance to the bell tower. There are mosaic tiles in the garden paths,” she whispered. “Look for the ones near the outdoor pools, in the shape of hexagons.”
“Hexagons.”
“Normally the pattern is blue, yellow, red, green, but you’ll find one that is blue, yellow, red, white instead. Look for the white tile. That’s where the entrance is.”
Of course. When trying to find something, the first place to look was for anything off. A loose thread to pull.
“There’s a tunnel there,” she whispered. “And a secret staircase that brings you to the top of the bell tower.
“I’ll be there at 11:30,” she said, and then she was gone.