familiar-looking envelope. “Someone just left this for you.”
Chapter Fourteen
The envelope contained another photo of Sam. This one was of her and Helena, wearing similar designer coats, standing outside the Millennium Building on K Street, their expressions grim. Sam held a cardboard box like the one Jessie had used yesterday to carry Sam’s things out of Alden & Associates. Dated February 20th, the picture had been taken almost a month after the first photo Jessie had received. Its caption confused her more than the picture itself: Sam quits Alden & Associates .
Jessie rushed out of the embassy, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever had delivered the envelope. But the only people she saw were bundled-up passersby who didn’t even glance at her. Feeling foolish, she went back in the embassy and approached the woman at the security window.
“Who brought in this envelope?” Jessie asked, catching her breath.
The receptionist shook her head. “Just a regular guy. He looked like a tourist.”
Whatever that meant.
“He had on a black and gold Steelers jacket,” she said. “Counselor Lesort saw him, then he told me to take the envelope to you.”
“Did Counselor Lesort know him?”
She shrugged. “Didn’t seem to.”
Jessie was sure they had the mystery deliveryman on surveillance tapes, but she was also sure he hadn’t been the true messenger. Trying to identify him would be a dead-end waste of time.
She returned to the embassy’s lower level, passed the door to Philippe’s exhibit, and found an empty foyer outside a deserted theater. She checked her phone for a signal and dialed.
“Alden and Associates,” said a perky receptionist. Other lines rang in the background.
“This is Jessica Croft calling for Helena Alden.”
“One moment, please.”
Jessie pinched her eyes closed and waited.
“Mrs. Alden is in a meeting. Would you like her voice mail?”
“No,” Jessie said. “Interrupt her, please. This is urgent.”
“I’m sorry, but she’s—”
“Put Helena on the phone or I’ll be in your lobby within fifteen minutes demanding to see her.” Jessie regretted snapping at the receptionist, but the words were already out of her mouth. Desperate for answers, yet faced with more questions, she hoped she could keep her composure when she spoke with Helena.
An awkward moment passed. “Hold, please.”
Jessie’s gut clenched. She paced the plush carpet.
“Jessie,” Helena’s voice flared on the line. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, something’s wrong. I lied about the picture I said I found in Sam’s things. Someone sent it to me anonymously. Now they’ve sent me another one. If you’re my secret pal, cut the act and fill in the blanks. If you’re not, then it should interest you to know that two faces are common to both pictures. Yours and my dead sister’s.”
Silence. Then, the sound of a door closing.
“I’ve also learned about Sam’s involvement with the Hope Campaign,” Jessie said. “Both versions. Have I got your attention?”
More silence. “What do you want from me?” Helena asked.
“Answers. And I’m on my way to your office to get them.”
“Today’s not a good day.”
“Tomorrow won’t be any better. Call the lobby and put my name on the list.”
“I won’t be here. There’s a vote next week and with Sam gone—”
“Then I’ll go see Ian.”
“No,” Helena said, too fast. “Don’t do that.”
“Then give me a reason not to.”
For a moment, Jessie thought the line had gone dead.
“I’ll meet you after work,” Helena said. “Six o’clock, in the bar at the Market Inn.”
Jessie had never heard of the Market Inn but had Googled it and gotten directions. After fighting the rush-hour crowd on the Metro, she’d emerged from the underground L’Enfant Plaza station amid mostly unremarkable office buildings and headed for the restaurant.
Even at this early evening hour, darkness had toned down the gray atmosphere to near
Chapter Fourteen
The envelope contained another photo of Sam. This one was of her and Helena, wearing similar designer coats, standing outside the Millennium Building on K Street, their expressions grim. Sam held a cardboard box like the one Jessie had used yesterday to carry Sam’s things out of Alden & Associates. Dated February 20th, the picture had been taken almost a month after the first photo Jessie had received. Its caption confused her more than the picture itself: Sam quits Alden & Associates .
Jessie rushed out of the embassy, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever had delivered the envelope. But the only people she saw were bundled-up passersby who didn’t even glance at her. Feeling foolish, she went back in the embassy and approached the woman at the security window.
“Who brought in this envelope?” Jessie asked, catching her breath.
The receptionist shook her head. “Just a regular guy. He looked like a tourist.”
Whatever that meant.
“He had on a black and gold Steelers jacket,” she said. “Counselor Lesort saw him, then he told me to take the envelope to you.”
“Did Counselor Lesort know him?”
She shrugged. “Didn’t seem to.”
Jessie was sure they had the mystery deliveryman on surveillance tapes, but she was also sure he hadn’t been the true messenger. Trying to identify him would be a dead-end waste of time.
She returned to the embassy’s lower level, passed the door to Philippe’s exhibit, and found an empty foyer outside a deserted theater. She checked her phone for a signal and dialed.
“Alden and Associates,” said a perky receptionist. Other lines rang in the background.
“This is Jessica Croft calling for Helena Alden.”
“One moment, please.”
Jessie pinched her eyes closed and waited.
“Mrs. Alden is in a meeting. Would you like her voice mail?”
“No,” Jessie said. “Interrupt her, please. This is urgent.”
“I’m sorry, but she’s—”
“Put Helena on the phone or I’ll be in your lobby within fifteen minutes demanding to see her.” Jessie regretted snapping at the receptionist, but the words were already out of her mouth. Desperate for answers, yet faced with more questions, she hoped she could keep her composure when she spoke with Helena.
An awkward moment passed. “Hold, please.”
Jessie’s gut clenched. She paced the plush carpet.
“Jessie,” Helena’s voice flared on the line. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, something’s wrong. I lied about the picture I said I found in Sam’s things. Someone sent it to me anonymously. Now they’ve sent me another one. If you’re my secret pal, cut the act and fill in the blanks. If you’re not, then it should interest you to know that two faces are common to both pictures. Yours and my dead sister’s.”
Silence. Then, the sound of a door closing.
“I’ve also learned about Sam’s involvement with the Hope Campaign,” Jessie said. “Both versions. Have I got your attention?”
More silence. “What do you want from me?” Helena asked.
“Answers. And I’m on my way to your office to get them.”
“Today’s not a good day.”
“Tomorrow won’t be any better. Call the lobby and put my name on the list.”
“I won’t be here. There’s a vote next week and with Sam gone—”
“Then I’ll go see Ian.”
“No,” Helena said, too fast. “Don’t do that.”
“Then give me a reason not to.”
For a moment, Jessie thought the line had gone dead.
“I’ll meet you after work,” Helena said. “Six o’clock, in the bar at the Market Inn.”
Jessie had never heard of the Market Inn but had Googled it and gotten directions. After fighting the rush-hour crowd on the Metro, she’d emerged from the underground L’Enfant Plaza station amid mostly unremarkable office buildings and headed for the restaurant.
Even at this early evening hour, darkness had toned down the gray atmosphere to near
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