down, Rats made a run for it back to the Hall while the cats, shouted at by Stanley to behave themselves, settled on a patch of ice and preened their whiskers, having won the day’s battle.
“Afternoon, Miss Keane, Mr. Montana.” Stanley touched a hand to his deer hunter’s cap. “Might be a bit more snow later but I heard the plows will be out our way tonight, so there’s a chance you might get out of here, sir.”
“Glad to hear it, Mr. Stanley. And no doubt so is Miss Keane.”
“I’ll keep you posted then, sir,” Stanley said as we walked on.
Rats was already waiting by the back door. We went into the boot room and silently stripped off our coats and tugged off our boots. Montana followed me as I walked in my stocking feet, down the corridor past the kitchen and into the front hall. Rats immediately took up his position in front of the fire, and we went into the library that Bob always used as his office. I showed Montana the three big Rolodexes and left him to search for the suspects’ addresses.
Telling Montana I’d see him at dinner, I left him to it. Rats lifted his head as I went by but he didn’t follow me, and slightly put out, I realized he wanted to stay with Montana.
Back in the safety of my room, I undressed and put on a robe. I rubbed Vaseline into the frost-bitten bits around my red nose then lay on my velvety chaise lounge and covered myself with a soft blanket. Eyes closed, I thought about the events of the last twenty-four hours. My life was suddenly set on a different course, one I had no wish to take. I was afraid, but I could not let Bob Hardwick down.
14
Daisy
When I came downstairs that evening, Montana was gone and Rats was sitting next to the hall table with his nose pointing at an envelope with my name on it. I don’t know how the dog knew it was from Montana and whether it said he’d gone out for a while and would soon be back, but personally I was kind of relieved it was a message of good-bye.
“Daisy,”
he’d written,
(remember we agreed I could call you that instead of Miss Keane? Just reminding you so you don’t think I’m being presumptuous!) I heard the roads are clear and if I hurry I can make it back to London before the next storm. Didn’t want to wake you so I’ll say good-bye now. I’ll keep you posted as events unfold, which I expect will be pretty quickly, plus I’ll take care of the invitation with Bob’s lawyers and have them get it off right away by messenger.
It was good meeting you, Daisy Keane, even though, as Bob said, you can be “exasperating and difficult.” Give a guy a break, can’t you? I’m only doing my job. Can’t we be friends?
Meanwhile, better stock up on some cruise wear! I’ll be in touch—soon.
He’d signed it “Harry C. Montana.”
I wondered what the
C
stood for. And what did he mean I was “difficult”? Hadn’t I rescued him from the storm, given him shelter? What more did the man want?
It was dark out but not yet snowing. I went into the kitchen. Mrs. Wainwright had the night off but there was a plate of leftover roast beef and vegetables keeping warm for me. I emptied the last of yesterday’s good Bordeaux into a glass and swallowed a smooth mouthful. I gave Rats his dinner, took my plate, and went and sat at the kitchen table. I sipped my wine, listening to the clock in the shape of the old cartoon character Felix the Cat ticking on the wall. Every room here ticked away the time. It only emphasized the silence and my loneliness.
The warmed-over roast beef was still good. I finished the wine, found another bottle, opened it, filled my glass again and slumped back into my chair. I was desperately lonely. I stared at Montana’s note lying on the table.
“Can’t we be friends?” he’d written. Did he really want to be my friend, or was it simply until the “case” was solved and he was no longer on Bob’s payroll? I remembered his lean, hard face, the well-shaped dark head, the narrow gray eyes and
“Afternoon, Miss Keane, Mr. Montana.” Stanley touched a hand to his deer hunter’s cap. “Might be a bit more snow later but I heard the plows will be out our way tonight, so there’s a chance you might get out of here, sir.”
“Glad to hear it, Mr. Stanley. And no doubt so is Miss Keane.”
“I’ll keep you posted then, sir,” Stanley said as we walked on.
Rats was already waiting by the back door. We went into the boot room and silently stripped off our coats and tugged off our boots. Montana followed me as I walked in my stocking feet, down the corridor past the kitchen and into the front hall. Rats immediately took up his position in front of the fire, and we went into the library that Bob always used as his office. I showed Montana the three big Rolodexes and left him to search for the suspects’ addresses.
Telling Montana I’d see him at dinner, I left him to it. Rats lifted his head as I went by but he didn’t follow me, and slightly put out, I realized he wanted to stay with Montana.
Back in the safety of my room, I undressed and put on a robe. I rubbed Vaseline into the frost-bitten bits around my red nose then lay on my velvety chaise lounge and covered myself with a soft blanket. Eyes closed, I thought about the events of the last twenty-four hours. My life was suddenly set on a different course, one I had no wish to take. I was afraid, but I could not let Bob Hardwick down.
14
Daisy
When I came downstairs that evening, Montana was gone and Rats was sitting next to the hall table with his nose pointing at an envelope with my name on it. I don’t know how the dog knew it was from Montana and whether it said he’d gone out for a while and would soon be back, but personally I was kind of relieved it was a message of good-bye.
“Daisy,”
he’d written,
(remember we agreed I could call you that instead of Miss Keane? Just reminding you so you don’t think I’m being presumptuous!) I heard the roads are clear and if I hurry I can make it back to London before the next storm. Didn’t want to wake you so I’ll say good-bye now. I’ll keep you posted as events unfold, which I expect will be pretty quickly, plus I’ll take care of the invitation with Bob’s lawyers and have them get it off right away by messenger.
It was good meeting you, Daisy Keane, even though, as Bob said, you can be “exasperating and difficult.” Give a guy a break, can’t you? I’m only doing my job. Can’t we be friends?
Meanwhile, better stock up on some cruise wear! I’ll be in touch—soon.
He’d signed it “Harry C. Montana.”
I wondered what the
C
stood for. And what did he mean I was “difficult”? Hadn’t I rescued him from the storm, given him shelter? What more did the man want?
It was dark out but not yet snowing. I went into the kitchen. Mrs. Wainwright had the night off but there was a plate of leftover roast beef and vegetables keeping warm for me. I emptied the last of yesterday’s good Bordeaux into a glass and swallowed a smooth mouthful. I gave Rats his dinner, took my plate, and went and sat at the kitchen table. I sipped my wine, listening to the clock in the shape of the old cartoon character Felix the Cat ticking on the wall. Every room here ticked away the time. It only emphasized the silence and my loneliness.
The warmed-over roast beef was still good. I finished the wine, found another bottle, opened it, filled my glass again and slumped back into my chair. I was desperately lonely. I stared at Montana’s note lying on the table.
“Can’t we be friends?” he’d written. Did he really want to be my friend, or was it simply until the “case” was solved and he was no longer on Bob’s payroll? I remembered his lean, hard face, the well-shaped dark head, the narrow gray eyes and
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