The Devil's Interval by Linda Peterson

me?” pressed Grace .
    â€œYes,” confessed Travis. “With you.”
    Travis hadn’t known that, until he said it. Hadn’t acknowledged , to himself at least, how much he looked forward to seeing Grace, how much he enjoyed watching in the rearview mirror as she looked up from a book or magazine, and said a new word aloud, delighted with the sound of it. “Illumine,” she’d said one day. “I had no idea you could use it as a verb. Illumine, illumine.” And back she went to her book. Travis didn’t want to acknowledge how contemptuous he had become of Frederick Plummer and his careless treatment of his wife, she of the elegant body and even-more-elegant mind .
    Ivory might have known. She’d asked him about Grace in a way she’d never asked about a client before. “You seem awfully cheery for a Monday morning,” she’d observed when he stopped by for an early cup of coffee. “You must be going to drive Mrs. Plummer.”
    What would Ivory think about the Crimson Club? In fact, thought Travis, she’d be amused, a little intrigued, and completely self-possessed. And why, he wondered, should a grown man care about what his mother thought? He couldn’t help smiling about it .
    â€œWhat’s the joke?” asked Grace .
    â€œNo joke,” said Travis, “believe it or not, I was thinking about my mother.”
    Grace laughed out loud. “Okay, that’s either the best—or the most neurotic—line I’ve ever heard in here. And I’ve heard plenty. Come on, let’s go.”
    â€œWe can’t just sit here for a while?” said Travis, strangely reluctant to go further into Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride .
    â€œA ship in a harbor is safe,” said Grace, “but that is not what ships are for.”
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œJust something my grandfather used to tell me. He was a Norwegian sailor, and that’s what he’d say to me when I was afraid to try something new.”
    â€œWell, I can’t be outdone by your grandfather,” said Travis. “Let’s go.”
    As Travis and Grace stood, the redhead left her prey and stalked over to them. “Grace,” she said, “introduce me to your chum.”
    â€œTravis, Annabelle. Annabelle, Travis.”
    Annabelle presented her thin, white hand. Travis took it, vaguelyunsettled and a little excited by what he’d last seen those fingers do. He hesitated, then brought her hand to his lips .
    And then he, Annabelle, and Grace explored the pleasures of a private room .

CHAPTER 12
    O h, my!” said Andrea. “What happened in that room?” She shook her head and covered her ears. “Never mind. I think I prefer not to know.”
    â€œReally?” I said. “What kind of reporter are you?”
    â€œPrudish,” she said. “It’s my cross to bear.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter,” I said. “Not many more details to tell,” I said. “Travis went all oddly chivalric on me, ‘no kissing and telling’ after that last little revelation. Plus, we were running out of time.”
    â€œWhat did you say to Travis when he finished telling you the story?”
    We had walked across the street for coffee to have a little check-in on the story. “Check-in?” Andrea sniffed, when I proposed a latte break. “More like a checkup. You’re checking up on me.”
    â€œMaybe I am,” I admitted. “Hey, (a) I’m the boss and I get to do that and (b) when have you ever turned down a free latte?”
    â€œYankees are frugal,” she said. “You know that.”
    Once we were settled at the microscopic table at Peet’s, I recounted Travis’s tale about the Crimson Club.
    â€œCome on, Maggie,” prodded Andrea. “I’d really like to know what you said.”
    â€œOh, I just rattled on about where the custom came from.”
    â€œThe